' you have broken down my defenses, and i don’t really resent it. '
- vita sackville west
in which you really don't want to care about him and his careless attitude, but you always find yourself coming back to him. always.
feat. diluc ragnvindr & gn!reader
w.c : 5k
warnings : childhood friends to lovers, diluc lore spoilers, minor angst but ends w fluff, diluc ragnvindr.
note : happy new year! sorry for the delay hehe, but this is for @seraphiism's 2023 collab event !! please support the other authors and enjoy the fic ^^
your mother had always instructed you to stay close to her side, to never stray far away from her lest you find yourself in trouble with the master of the winery or the other servants working the orchards and tending to the land of the estate.
but with a beautiful land of ripe grapes and friendly staff greeting you as you rush past them, how could you ever just sit still beside your mother as she did her job around the winery?
the late summer breeze rushes past your face as you weave through the wooden stakes holding the wiry vines of grapes above you. the warm sun rays heat your skin as you leap over the small rocks that litter the passage leading into the main area of the ragnvindr estate. the wind whispers in your ear, making you grin as your little legs take you wherever it guides you.
you feel free, the wind pushing past your wings to lead you to your newest adventure around the manor.
your feet land firmly on the grounds behind the manor when you hear the gentle sniffles coming from behind a couple of barrels. despite your mother's warnings echoing in your head, you take gentle steps towards the sound as curiosity takes over.
you're not expecting to see a young boy with fiery red hair and matching eyes that hold the warmest, flickering fire glaring up at you with tears at the corner of his eyes and holding a bleeding knee.
"...are you okay?" you ask, kneeling down beside him. you begin to frown when he pulls his knee away from you and his glare deepens.
"i don't need your help," the young boy hisses at you and you roll your eyes.
"really? you don't need my help even though you're crying in a corner all by yourself?" you scoff at him. he doesn't say anything in retaliation and you take it as an okay for you to help him.
you pull a handkerchief from your pocket; nothing too fancy as your family couldn't afford the finest silks like the nobles could. it's cotton, white, and had a simple design of a little sparrow emroidered in the corner.
"i don't have any bandages on me," you mumble softly. your little fingers gently wrap the handkerchief around the young boy's knee several times before tying a small knot on it. without even blinking, you lean down to kiss the wounded knee.
"what are you doing?!" the young boy exclaims, yanking his knee away.
"kissing it better," you say as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "my mother always does that when i get hurt. she says it takes the pain away and makes it heal faster."
"that's stupid," the boy mumbles with a glare.
"says the one who tripped and fell and hurt himself," you argue back. you stick your tongue out when the boy shouts out a 'hey!' and roll your eyes.
"who are you and what are you doing here anyways?" you ask the young boy, kneeling beside him once more. he's still glaring at you, but it's less hostile than it was a few moments ago. "my mom said strangers aren't allowed to be here."
the young boys eyes are red, vibrantly so. the life in them burn brightly, reminding you of a fire as it flickers with warmth and a promise of a brighter tomorrow. like the hearth of a fireplace, the young boy seems to be the incarnate of warmth itself with the way he's filled with the flame of life.
"i live here, dummy," he quips back at you with a frown and your eyes widen.
"really? i've never seen you around, and i've been everywhere on this estate," you reply, bringing your thumb and forefinger to your chin as you remain deep in thought. truly, the only people you've managed to catch were all adults working for the master of this winery. never once have you seen a kid running along.
with a bright smile of your own, you lean towards the young boy. "we should be friends! since i don't know anyone else to play with here, we can play!"
the boy looks you up and down with furrowed brows, but he slowly nods. "...okay," he mumbles and you grin brighter.
"great! what's your name then? i'm-"
your name is shouted as hurried footsteps rush towards you. your mother pulls you aside as she looks at the young boy in front of you with panicked eyes.
"young master, i'm so sorry if my child said or did anything to hurt you," your mother says in a rush. she pushes your head down to bow in front of the young boy. she hisses something into your ear and you stutter out your own apology too, even if you did nothing wrong.
you find out the young boy you helped earlier that day was the son of the nobleman your mother works for, diluc ragnvindr. apparently, he's some big deal because he's the young master, but what kind of big deal hurts himself and hides between the barrels instead of asking for help?
you huff as you kick your feet sitting down by your bedside. because of the whole debacle, your mother had ordered you to stay inside to prevent even more debacles from happening even if you explained that the young master getting injured was not your fault. the sun shining from your windowsill feels so far away as you stare outside and ponder what to do.
until you hear a light pattering sound come from your window.
your curiosity is piqued as your small frame approaches the glass panes, wide eyes peeking over the wooden frame as your eyes scan the scenery.
the foliage of the trees surrounding your home cast shadows over your house with small animals running back and forth from the greenery above, causing the rustling of the leaves. the sun trickles in through the gaps of the leaves and your eyes settle on the boy with red hair standing outside your window, a small rock in his hand.
there's a proper bandage on his knee now as it was properly dressed, and his fiery eyes meet yours. he looks hesitant at first, but his brows furrow and his lips open to prepare to speak.
"...come outside and play with me," he tells you when you push open the window in your bedroom, a slight pout in his voice.
"you got me in trouble," you reply shortly, "and now i'm stuck inside because of you."
the young boy bites his lip, pondering what he could do or say to make things better. from the way he's thinking hard enough for you to see steam coming out of his ears, you could tell that he was trying really hard to think of anything to say.
"i'm sorry," he mumbles, kicking the dirt with his shoe.
"sorry, what was that?" you ask, holding your ear out.
the young master huffs, his cheeks puffed out in annoyance. he stomps his foot before-
"i said 'i'm sorry'!"
you smile at him smugly before crossing your arms on the windowsill. it was amusing to see the supposed young master like this; for such a renowned young boy, he was such a cry baby.
"okay, i can't go outside, but we can still play inside if that's okay," you tell him with a bright smile. "i'll let you in!"
"diluc..." he says, red eyes meeting yours. he reminds you of a fire with the way he's looking at you; so full of life but almost burning you if you get him too riled up. but the flames are tame now compared to the anxious flickers you saw earlier before he apologized.
"okay; i'll let you in then, diluc!"
ever since that warm summer, you and diluc have been inseparable; every afternoon is spent exploring the land of the winery but never straying far enough to get lost or end up on the other side of the lake where monsters lurk.
you were there the evening master crepus brought home another young boy around your age home; his blue hair reminding you of the blueberries your mother bought from mondstadt for you to eat. it was a bit of an adjustment with another young boy to play with, but soon you got along well with him as well.
his bright blue eyes always sparkling as you invite him to play alongside diluc and his little hand held in yours. he reminded you of the stars above with the way his eyes twinkle with youth and reflect the night sky above you when the three of you snuck out of your homes to stargaze with your hands holding onto each other until the morning sun began to rise over the horizon.
with your hands held tightly with diluc's and kaeya's, your youth together was only just beginning.
it's a cool morning where the early frost is beginning to melt as the sun continues to rise over the horizon, spreading her warmth and love across the fields of dawn winery. the young master has been gone for a couple days now; something about some sort of knight exam or whatever happening in the city of mondstadt. you would have gone with him, but your duties lie in caring for the winery whilst your friends head off to the heart of mondstadt to finish their training and hopefully become part of the knights of favonius that crepus ragnvindr had always encouraged them to be a part of.
you know having their father's praise meant a lot to your dear friends and you could only hope for the best for both diluc and kaeya as they were off doing their duties.
your ears perk as your name is shouted through the winery along with the sound of hooves rapidly against the dirt road. over in the distance, you can make out a red haired young man galloping over on his steed at near full speed. with wide eyes, you try to tell him to slow down before you get trampled and-
"oof!" you groan as a heavy body slams into you, both his weight and warmth tackling you to the ground. you're thankful that his arms cradled your head as you both go tumbling into the dirt road underneath you and the only pain was that of your body against the floor.
you don't even get to question why diluc had tackled you to the floor when he pulls his face away from you, giving you a clear view of his expression. he's smiling brightly, a wide grin on his face and his eyes of rubies twinkling brighter than any flame you've ever seen. the flames of his soul flicker brilliantly in his excitement and you can't help your own match his energy.
"i got in!" diluc says, his boyish smile growing wider. the small divots in his cheeks are cute and evidence of how hard he was grinning at the news. "i passed the trials got to do the oath swear and- oh, i wish you could've been there!"
despite growing up into a more mature-ish teen, it is moments like these where you're reminded that even as time passes and he grows taller than you, diluc is still the bright eyed boy that you've known since you were young. he looks so cute, in an endearing way, when he eagerly tells you all about his trials and how tough they were.
you really hope that the young master stays the same as he is now.
with a gentle hand, you reach up to ruffle his hair; it's soft to the touch and your eyes don't miss the way diluc pauses in his excitement as your fingers weave into his hair. you assume it's because he's not used to your praise and brush it off, even as he leans into your touch and waits for your words.
"why don't we head inside first? i want to hear everything that happened, but inside where it's warm and comfortable rather than on the dirt floor, diluc," you say to him, a slight lilt in your voice. you laugh softly when you see his cheeks flush a little in embarrassment before he gets off of you.
"i apologize, i was just so eager to tell you," diluc says softly, reaching down to offer a hand to you. you take his hand; you can feel the natural warmth emanating from his body through his gloves and, before you know it, you've been pulled up from the ground. his arm wraps around your waist to assure that you're balanced as you stand up.
"i just," diluc begins. you watch him as the young master of the winery averts his gaze briefly before he meets yours, warm rubies enveloping you with nothing but the comfort he holds for you ever since you were both younger.
"i wanted you to be the first person i told and to tell you."
a wave of something pleasant washes over you knowing that diluc, the heir of dawn winery and one of the most hardworking and talented man in all of mondstadt, rushed back home on horseback in the early hours of this chilly morning just to announce the news to you in person.
just so he could be your first in regards to his good news.
you laugh softly as something warm settles into the pit of your heart, squeezing his hand in yours as you tug him towards the main mansion of the winery estate with no intentions of letting his go for the time being.
even with the budding flowers of youth begin to bloom and the happiness that was promised to you has yet to come, you would have never expected for the spring of your youth to end so abruptly.
it happened all so quickly; crepus ragnvindr wielding a delusion, his death and the anger of diluc exploding, and the fall of your friendship with kaeya and diluc.
you weren't given the details of either one's situation, just a witness of a near death experience and the unforgiven apologies spewing from kaeya's lips as he held his injured eye in the midst of the rain washing down on them as if mourning both the loss of crepus ragnvindr and the wound wedged deep between the relationship of the ragnvindr brothers.
it was like in a mere second, the once warm diluc that would blush and hold your hand so delicately had been wiped away and replaced by a diluc grieving the loss of his father as the flames of his anger and betrayal of both his own brother and the knights of favonius for trying to brush the murder of his father under the rug explode and engulf his entire being.
he doesn't even give you a proper goodbye, leaving only a letter dedicated to you and his vision dimly glowing on his nightstand behind.
it feels like a fever dream when you hear the news of diluc finally returning after all of these years. you don't even hear it from the man himself; rather, from the whispers and excited chatter that the master of dawn winery had returned home.
part of you is excited at the news that he's alive; with no news of his existence after he ran from home in search of the truth behind his father's death other than the faint glow and warmth radiating from his vision clutched in your hands when you missed and worried for him, you were ecstatic knowing that he truly was home now.
that he's alive and breathing and still with you.
and yet, another part of you twinges in pain that he didn't come to you and announce that he was home. he had left you without even a single goodbye, not even bothering to visit you and explain his situation before leaving you questioning whether or not he even cared about how you felt about him.
of course, you aren't entitled to being the first to know, but after growing up together and usually being the first to know of everything in your youth, your heart aches knowing you were one of the last to hear of this at the winery.
it doesn't help knowing that you have not even caught a glimpse of diluc after his supposed return.
so imagine your surprise coming home one evening, the cool night air biting against your skin as you return home after a long day's work, seeing a figure leaning against your home.
at first, your blood turns cold as your heart races in your ears; it couldn't be anyone bad... the winery is a safe place and any suspicious figures are dealt with accordingly before they even step close to the winery grounds. you don't even have anything to defend yourself against if they did happen to be someone with malicious intent.
you take a step back to turn tail back to the estate but freeze when you begin to recognize the figure outside your door; red curls resembling that of flames flickering in the air and warm ruby eyes that you could recognize anywhere. despite standing in the dim evening light and having only the glow of the lantern outside of your home, you could make out the injuries through his dark clothing.
just what did he get himself into?
you hesitate at first, but eventually let your instincts take control as you begin to walk over to your home. it's as if you were both in the blooming stages of your youth again, bringing diluc home to mend his wounds after training for the knight exams.
caring for him was like muscle memory to you, even after all of the events leading to him leaving you in the dust.
you don't say a word as you open the wooden door and guide diluc in, pulling out a chair by the fireplace. wordlessly, he sits in it as you leave to prepare to clean his wounds.
your fingers shake ever so slightly as you remove diluc's coat from his shoulders, the heavy fabric falling to the floor with a thud. you apologize softly as you begin to unbutton his shirt and, as each button is undone and reveals more of his skin, your fingers begin to flinch every time your skin brushes against the skin of his chest.
his breath is warm, you can feel it against your skin as you slide off the remaining clothes on his torso. his chest is bare to you, and normally you would be gawking at how much he has physically changed since you were younger. but you cannot help but stare at how much he had been injured in the last few years you have seen him.
aside from the scratches from the most recent scuffle which led him to your quaint home beside his manor, scars litter his chest and arms. although most of them are healed, the damage that he had experienced was still evident on his skin and you hold back a gasp at how deep some of them had been; there's a huge scar that runs diagonally from the top of his chest to his stomach and you could already feel your stomach churning at the pain.
you couldn't imagine having to sustain those injuries for so long, and being alone through it all.
and, now, you hope that the injuries currently on his body heal faster knowing that he isn't alone this time. not when he has you by his side.
diluc's eyes burn holes into your skull as he watches you dip a towel into the bucket of warm water at your side; you pretend to ignore him. twisting the soaked cloth to rid it of the excess water, you gently begin to clean the wounded man in front of you.
a man you consider an old friend, but you fear he doesn't hold the same sentiment. not anymore.
it's quiet, the only sound shared between the two of you being the occasional sound of the towel dumped back into the bucket and the crackling of the fireplace in your living space. the moon casts her illuminating rays through the window of your home, but her light is nothing compared to the comfort of the fire in your home.
the comfort of the man in front of you, even if you didn't want to ever admit it to him now.
the glass jars containing the disinfecting ointment for diluc's wounds clink gently as you open them to spread over his skin.
"why are you helping me?" his voice breaks the thick silence between you two. his sudden question makes your hands pause, but you don't raise your head as you think of something to reply.
"and let an old friend bleed to death outside my door? you think i'm that heartless, diluc?" you ask him. your fingers resume their previous job of slathering the medicine over his new wounds. "i could say the same to you, why show up to my house like this?"
another silence follows your words and you assume he's done interrogating you for your kindness to him.
"i had nowhere else to turn to," diluc says after a while. your eyes catch his fists tighten on his lap as he takes another breath. "you've shown me nothing but kindness even after i was so cruel to you."
you exhale softly at his words. of course he thinks dealing with his own problems this entire time was the worst thing he could do to you. if you were being honest, it did hurt when he seemingly pretended you didn't exist or pushed you away when he had returned home from whatever he was dealing with away from mondstadt.
you had hoped for a joyful reunion, one filled with tears as you finally welcome home your old friend. but he never announced when he was coming home and you only figured out through the grapevine. he was never home when you looked for him and when you finally caught a glimpse of him, your eyes would meet for barely a second before he rushed off elsewhere and leaving you in the dust.
according to kaeya, his brother whom you've kept in touch with throughout the years. diluc had changed even more ever since his return; he kept his feelings to himself and his face remained 'constipated,' as per kaeya's words, due to his inner turmoil.
but from everyone else, he had always been so kind to them. the old women in the city would always praise how gentle the young master was, helping them walk across the city or carrying their groceries if they needed it. the young women also constantly swooned over how mysterious, yet warm-hearted diluc was; seemingly cold in nature but treating children and animals with such tenderness.
"it did hurt knowing you were ignoring me," you confess as your fingers begin to unravel the gauze to wrap over his wounds. "even if you wanted everyone to think you've changed and have become cold and guarded, i know you're still the same caring boy i've known since we were young. i hope so, at least."
his skin is warm to the touch, another feature you realize has never changed about your old friend. with bated breath, you lift your head to let your gaze finally settle on diluc's own. just as you predicted, despite the physical changes, you can still see the diluc you once knew within the scarred and older man in front of you.
diluc has definitely gotten older; the baby fat on his face slimming down slightly to reveal a more defined jaw and the bags under his eyes were evidence of his restless nights away from mondstadt. there are light scars on his face, nothing too deep to keep from his princely demeanor but are definitely proof of a troubling journey, and he has grown taller than the last time you had seen him in your youth.
but one thing that has never changed is the fire the lights up his eyes. so red and warm, you're tempted to hold his face in your hands to get a closer look. they're so vibrant, alive like the embers that flicker in the fireplace that lights your home, as they stare back at you in anticipation of your next words.
"you would never intend to hurt me on purpose. so if i should have to wait forever for you to be ready to come to me like you've had in the past, i don't mind doing so."
diluc's stoic expression wavers at your words. a sliver of guilt shines in his eyes and he looks away briefly as he digests the words you've spoken to him.
he couldn't tell you the reasons why he always kept you at arm's length; was he wary of your intentions for always being kind to him despite how he treated you or was he so used to people close to him lying to his face that he feared you were also pulling a facade?
or was he scared of you sharing the same fate as his family should he loved you with his heart on his sleeve, a fate of being held in his arms as he feels the warmth that once comforted him when you were young fade away like the embers in the hearth of a fireplace?
diluc did not want to know and he did not need to know, not when you're looking at him with such trust and compassion that he finds it hard to even hold any distrust towards you.
his dear friend from his youth who was always there to pick him up when he fell.
you did not break through the walls shielding diluc's heart for you had already found your place beside it, holding he's life with your gentle hands and protecting his soul's flames with your faith in him.
"i'm sorry," diluc apologizes to you, looking into your eyes. one of your hands is grabbed to be held by him, rough and scarred and so calloused as it held the memories and grief of what he went through to become like the man in front of you, the gauze held in your other. his warmth seeps into your skin, heating up your skin as the flames of his heart grow and encase your entire being within its embrace.
your lips part to say something, but he continues to speak.
"i thought keeping you away would benefit us both," he takes a breath as his eyes scan over your own features, taking in all that has changed since the last time he saw you in your adolescent years; how much you've grown both physically and emotionally. you look so much more mature than the naughty child who ran around breaking their mother's rules just to play with him or the dear friend who would bicker with him endlessly during their teenage years.
the years of their beautiful youth, years that he wished so dearly he could go back to and live in that peace for eternity.
but while the winds continue to blow and move time along, you've continued to stay the same despite the change.
you're still so kind, so inviting to someone like him.
you treat him like the friend you've remembered in your adolescence, even if his hands were bloodied with vengeance and his heart is scarred and wounded from betrayal and deceit.
he is still diluc, just diluc in your bright and beautiful eyes; he always had been.
his hands squeeze yours tightly, hoping that he has the courage to say what he wants to say.
"i don't deserve your kindness, or your love. but if i imagine a life where i have succeeded in pushing you away and we no longer talk," diluc begins, the fire in his eyes wavering as they hold your gaze.
"i don't think i would ever want to live a life where you're not in it."
diluc's words shake you to your core; it's something you wouldn't expect him to say now after all these years. as much as you want to immediately forgive him and push back the years of agony, waiting for any sign that he was alive while leaving his vision behind, or even watching as he ignores you despite being home after all these years, your heart aches knowing knowing he even did this to you in the first place.
"how can i know that you won't leave me like you did?" your voice is small despite being so close to him. in fear of having him see how much his actions have affected you, you face tilts down to your lap to avoid his gaze. "i can't just wait for you forever, it hurts sitting here all these years with a promise i don't even know if you'll keep."
you take a shaky breath as you speak again.
"you didn't even say goodbye."
your voice breaks as you say those words and you can feel the burning sensation as the tears threaten to spill over your eyes.
there's a moment of silence between the two of you before you hear him gently call out your name. his free hand reaches up to cup your face, tentatively guiding you to face him. he says your name again, softly as if even saying your name too harshly would cause you to break, and you hesitantly meet his gaze.
there's a tenderness that you recognize deep in those fiery pools in his eyes, one that flickers like the hearth of your fireplace and suddenly you feel like you're experiencing the most beautiful yet fleeting moment in life once more. diluc's thumb gently presses against your cheek to wipe away any tears that overflowed from your already wet eyes.
his pinky links with your own, a childish thing to do but one that you still hold dear to your own heart.
a promise between the two of you bathed in firelight and your youth reflected back at you in the shape of the young man sitting before you.
genre: angstober, events, angst with slight happy ending
summary: an arranged marriage between the kamisato family and your family, but the busy nature of being the head of the kamisato family keeps ayato away from you
word count: 1.8k
a/n: dont ask about where in the canon timeline this falls, idek myself. anyways, im just feeding those who enjoy arranged marriage troupes (myself) by writing this
the kimono restricted your breathing, obi tight around your waist. you stood beside your father, eyes trained on the floor beneath you, an ornament beside him.
pleasantries were exchanged between the head of the kamisato family and your father, while you stood silently. since birth, you had been trained to be the perfect wife, proficient in cooking, cleaning, brewing tea and needlework. it was beaten into you to remain quiet until spoken to, agree to everything your father or husband said, without question.
you knelt onto the cushion, hands placed in your lap, fingers trembling. the head of the kamisato family offered you a porcelain cup of tea, which you accepted with grace and a quiet word of gratitude.
the exchange continued around you, discussions of your marriage with ayato, son and heir of the kamisato family, as though you were a mere ghost. you quietly sipped at the tea, wincing inwardly at the bitter taste, mirroring the feeling inside your heart. the conversation ended when all the tea disappeared from the pot, the deep and unyielding voices of the men fading into exchanges of goodbye.
as you left the estate, you let a breath you didn’t know you had been holding. you had fulfilled your duty today, but the next time you came to the estate, it would be for your wedding.
the ceremony was grand, hiding the lack of love in your union of families. the wedding passed in a blur of noise and colour. bright silks, glittering jewels, and ceremonial incense that filled the air like a fog, concealing the truth. you felt like a marionette on a string, pulled from place to place by bustling servants, their hurried gestures dictating your every move. this was only a union of houses, not hearts and no amount of jewellery or grandeur could hide that.
your only companions the sweet younger sister of ayato and his faithful servant, thoma. you were grateful for their presence, keeping you grounded in the chaos. even after the wedding, they stuck true to you.
as the lady of the house, you attended to your duties diligently, from directing the household staff to overseeing the preparations of ceremonies. more often than not, you found yourself sitting in the sunlight of the patio, a pair of scissors in hand, trimming and replacing the wilting flowers, decorating the cold vases. petals fell like delicate fragments of your own sorrow. while you replaced them, you wondered if you were just like these flowers—-ornaments to be seen.
the busy nature of your husband’s work limited his time spent with you. you didn’t blame him, you understood the weight of his position, however his absence was a knife in your heart, a wound that never seemed to heal. the vases were like the halls of the house, beautifully decorated, but cold.
ayaka and thoma could only watch you with pity, the forgotten and unwanted lady of the kamisato house. they noticed how your hands would slow, becoming lost in thought, scissors dangling from your hands as you stared up at the sky, watching the birds in envy.
they longed to speak to you about it, but the silence was too heavy, too suffocating to break.
the chirpiness of cicadas faded, the end of summer near. leaves turned from vibrant green to a multitude of warm colours, sunset painted across the leaves of the trees. winter came in a flurry of snow and cold air, while spring’s short warmth was quickly replaced by the heat of summer.
without you realising, a year had passed and your wedding anniversary was nearing.
in that year, you were lucky if you could catch a glimpse of him leaving, as he slipped on his shoes to leave the house.
despite that, you had endeavoured to make your first year anniversary special. accompanied by thoma, the two of you wandered the streets of inazuma, picking out the best produce while thoma filled the air with pleasant conversation. you found yourself smiling and laughing along, heart light with cheer.
once you arrived at home, ayaka helped you prepare the feast, the pair of you bustling around the kitchen in practiced movement, like two elegant dancers, prancing around the kitchen to the rhythm of clinking utensils and bubbling pots. perhaps this dinner would bring the two of you closer.
the candles burned brightly like your hope, the only source of light in the dim room. the sun had set hours ago, the moonlight brightening the night sky. you sat patiently, ignoring the tingling of your legs, folded neatly underneath you.
as the night deepened, your eyelids began drooping, head bobbling as you fought to stay awake. the candles flickered, the wax dripping down the length of the candle.
a creak of the wooden plank startled you awake, your heart ablaze with hope. but it was only ayaka, her heart breaking at the look of hope on your face. she shook her head, watching you with pity as she watched your face crumple in disappointment. tears threatened to spill, but you held them back, sniffles filling the room.
the candles flickered weakly, their flames dimming, like your hope.
you plastered on your mask, a smile pasted onto your face. ayaka couldn’t bear to see you like this. to her, you were like the kind, gentle, elder sister she had always wanted. you quickly became someone ayaka looked up to. you listened to her talk and ramble about her problems and thoughts, she wanted to do the same. she wanted to be someone who you could open up to, someone who didn’t judge. now, she sat helpless, watching the cracks in your mask form and widen.
with quick strides, she crossed the room, engulfing you in a tight hug. surprise flitted across your face, before you embraced her tightly, tears leaking from your eyes. ayaka’s actions comforted you, her simple action breaking a hole in the high walls you put up.
like a dam breaking, you sobbed, words flowing out of your mouth, words that you had been taught from a young age should be kept hidden inside. women should only talk about the good things, the positives. talk of the negative feelings, the burdens you have, and you’ll become ugly, your tutor had scared you.
you took the opportunity of the sake placed on the table, pouring yourself endless cups, drinking away the sorrow. before long, the world took on a fuzzy haze, your face warm and your tongue slurring.
in your drunk stupor, you engaged in rare ‘girl talk’ with ayaka.
“you know,” you slurred, voice blending, head drooping. “as a child, i dreamed of receiving flowers from someone.” your voice trailed off, descending into silence.
just as ayaka was becoming worried about the lack of noise from you, the stillness was broken by soft snores. you had fallen asleep, dreaming of a life where you had affection and love. quietly chuckling, ayaka thought about how cute this scene was. your body slumping slightly, expression peaceful in the haze of exhaustion and alcohol.
despite the heaviness of the night, your relaxed and vulnerable figure warmed her heart. you looked so small and fragile in the large empty room, illuminated by the moonlight.
the shoji door slid open with a gentle swish, ayato’s tall figure framing the doorway. his hair was loosening from its neat ponytail, ink staining his fingers.
“sister.” he breathed quietly in greeting. “thoma reminded me what date today was.”
his sister’s sharp and disapproving glare made him flinch, guilt evident on his features. with measured steps, ayato entered the room, his gaze falling on your slumped form, a flicker of something flashed across his face.
ayaka’s eyes flitted between you and ayato, a complex mix of emotions swelling in her chest. relief, combined with frustration and disappointment.
“brother,” ayaka’s soft voice broke the silence, a quiet plea tinging her voice. “please, lady [name] deserves better than how you’re treating her.” a sigh falls from ayaka’s lips. “at least try to spare some time, or send a letter home when you don’t have the time, so she doesn’t have to wait like this.”
ayato stilled, the weight of ayaka’s quiet reprimand heavy on his shoulders, impossible to ignore and piercing through the composed facade he had grown so used to wearing.
“i…” ayato’s voice faltered, struggling to find the right words. in matters of state, he had always had a quick mind, ready to negotiate treaties and settle disputes, yet now, the words slipped through his fingers like sand.
“it was not my intention to neglect her,” ayato admitted, eyes downcast. “but i realise now…”
ayaka’s eyes softened as she looked at her brother. “make amends, ayato. she’s been waiting for you, tonight especially—” she gestures to the untouched food, laying on the table, the melting candles, “—she had hoped…”
ayaka is cut off when her brother’s arm shoots out, catching your head before it can hit the table. gently, he leans your head on his shoulder, the faint scent of sake clinging to you. in your sleep, you stirred, but remain lost in the dreams of a life filled with tenderness and love.
“i will try,” ayato promised, his face set with determination. “you will watch me, and you will be proud.”
for a long while, the only sound in the room was the soft rustle of the evening breeze. ayaka watched her brother in silence, hoping that this time, he would stay true to his promise.
ayato cradled your form, the soft rise and fall of your breathing a sharp contrast to his inner turmoil. his heart clenched as he imagined the hope you must have carried, waiting for him, as the hours slipped by.
ayaka studied her brother’s face, noticing the burden of regret etched into his features. ayato had always been a man of responsibility, maybe this time his duties would extend to you, his wife.
with tender care, ayato picked you up, carrying you to your room. he was startled when he felt his clothing grow wet, quiet sniffles filling the air. you were crying in your sleep.
gently, ayato set you down on your bed, as though afraid you might shatter if he placed you down too hard. he covered your figure with the luscious silk blankets, brushing away your tears with his hand. despite all the duties that were waiting for him, ayato stayed for a few more hours,
a few days later, as you sit on the patio, watching the koi fish, thoma approaches you, hands hidden behind his back.
“m’lady,” thoma breaks into your thoughts, voice hesitant. “these are for you, from my lord.”
in his hands is a stunning bouquet of native inazuman flowers, mixed with your favourite flowers, carefully selected and curated with love.
perhaps, just perhaps, things were beginning to change.
"You should try Park Me Up, " Jake suggested, his Australian accent stretching the words.
"fuck what up?" you asked, your voice unintentionally louder in confusion.
Jake stifled a laugh. "dude, Park Me Up. It's a guitar shop that sells vinyls, too. Heard the selection's pretty dope. Apparently, the owner's nephew curates it." He chuckled, rolling his eyes when he realized what you'd misheard. Danielle, sitting to your right, let out a quiet laugh at your expense.
pairing - guitar shop worker! jay x female reader
w.c - 22.4k
content: y/n is a reserved individual, who moves to seattle for university, where she meets a silver haired boy working in a guitar shop while looking for vinyls. ( mentions of members from other groups, or in enha)
warnings! jay is very very indecisive, mentions of cheating, kissing, heavy heavy angst, kissing, mutual pinning, slow burn. (lmk if i missed out anything...)
a/n: hello everyone ! i finally published my first full length fic after forever lol... It's christmas already and it should be a jolly fic but... im a sucker for angst... i hope you guys like it ! Happy holidays lovelies! Also thank you to my offline friend who proofread this for me, and thank you grammerly for correcting my grammers LOL.
You never expected yourself to fall for Jay. You really didn't. You never intended to be so completely enamored by the boy who worked at his uncle's guitar shop—the boy who always showed up in an oversized white shirt and gray sweats, hair falling messily over his forehead, yet somehow looking effortlessly perfect. The boy with silver hair that shimmered under the dim store lights as he strummed chords on a guitar he probably didn't plan to buy. But here you were, hopelessly in love with a boy who had a girlfriend.
Moving to Seattle had been a decision more practical than emotional, but it still hurt. You stood by the window of your tiny apartment, staring out at the city as it buzzed with energy, even on a quiet Wednesday night. The view was breathtaking—glittering skyscrapers against the dark sky, streets glowing with endless streams of headlights and neon signs. Yet, despite the beauty, there was an ache inside you. You missed home, the warmth of your family, and the familiarity of your old life.
Your parents hadn’t made the choice any easier. Both renowned architects, they had high hopes that you would follow in their footsteps. Seattle was where they had both studied, fallen in love, and started building their careers. To them, sending you here felt like a full-circle moment, a chance for you to experience what they had cherished so deeply. To you, it felt like being uprooted.
“You need this,” your mother had said, her voice softer than usual as she helped pack your bags. “A new city, new challenges—it’ll be good for you. Just promise me you’ll explore. Don’t hide away in your room with your vinyls all day.”
You’d reluctantly agreed, not wanting to disappoint her.
A few weeks had passed since school started, and to your surprise, things weren’t as bad as you’d feared. Your decision to major in architecture felt natural, like a familiar rhythm you’d always known. Growing up with two architects as parents meant you had a solid foundation, and the workload—while demanding—was manageable.
But school wasn’t the part that scared you. It was the loneliness you dreaded most. Your mom’s parting words echoed in your mind as you forced yourself to step out of your comfort zone, accepting an invitation from a friendly classmate named Beomgyu to grab lunch. That one small decision changed everything.
Beomgyu quickly became one of your closest friends, and through him, you met Danielle and Ning Ning, two of the most vibrant people you’d ever known. They, in turn, introduced you to their wider circle—Jake, Jungwon, and Sunoo. Jake and Jungwon were Twitch streamers, a detail you found both amusing and fascinating.
“Jake’s not even good at the games he streams,” Jungwon teased one afternoon as you all sat around a table at a cozy ice cream shop downtown. “He keeps dying and getting pity donations from girls who think he’s cute.”
Jake let out a dramatic whine, lips jutting into a pout as he folded his arms. “That’s not true! I’m good at some games.”
Danielle snorted, pointing her spoon at him. “You literally called Fall Guys a ‘competitive battle royale.’”
Jake turned to you for backup, his eyes wide and pleading. “You believe me, right?”
You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound bubbling out of you before you could stop it. Moments like these felt warm and grounding, like you were finally finding a place for yourself in this unfamiliar city
"Did you see? Daniel Caesar's new album just dropped," Jake whispered, leaning closer to you in class. His eyes flicked toward the front of the lecture hall, where the professor was mid-sentence.
"Never Enough, right? Yeah, I saw," you replied, keeping your voice low to avoid getting caught. "I think I'm gonna hit up a store to buy the vinyl. I need it for my collection."
"You should try Park Me Up," Jake suggested, his Australian accent stretching the words.
"fuck what up?" you asked, your voice unintentionally louder in confusion.
Jake stifled a laugh. "dude, Park Me Up. It’s a guitar shop that sells vinyls, too. Heard the selection’s pretty dope. Apparently, the owner’s nephew curates it." He chuckled, rolling his eyes when he realized what you'd misheard. Danielle, sitting to your right, let out a quiet laugh at your expense.
"Oh, right. Got it," you mumbled, quickly typing the shop's name into Google. It was only fifteen minutes from campus—definitely worth checking out.
Later that afternoon, curiosity got the better of you. With your classes done for the day and a spare hour on your hands, you decided to make the trip to Park Me Up. Jake's recommendation had piqued your interest, and you figured it wouldn't hurt to check out the shop.
The small bell above the door jingled softly as you pushed it open, stepping into the cozy, slightly dim space. The scent of polished wood and aged vinyl filled the air, and rows of guitars lined the walls, their polished surfaces gleaming under the warm light. In the corner, a shelf was dedicated to records, a modest but eclectic collection that immediately drew your attention.
You were flipping through the vinyls, scanning the neatly labeled dividers, when a voice startled you.
“Looking for something specific?”
You glanced up to find a boy standing behind the counter, his silver hair catching the light in a way that made it impossible not to stare for a second too long. He was wearing a slightly oversized white shirt over his grey sweats, the casual look somehow amplifying his presence rather than diminishing it. The silver haired boy was already looking at you curiously, albeit an amused smile on his face.
“Uh, yeah,” you managed, your voice almost catching. “I was looking for Daniel Caesar’s Never Enough. Heard you guys might have it.”
He smiled faintly, the kind of smile that felt effortlessly genuine. “Good choice. We just got a shipment in. Let me grab it for you.”
You watched as he moved to the back, his stride unhurried but purposeful. When he returned, he held the vinyl in his hands like it was something sacred, carefully placing it on the counter between you.
“Here you go,” he said, his voice soft. “This one’s already been pretty popular.”
“Thanks,” You hesitated before asking, “So, do you curate the collection here?”
He blinked in surprise before nodding. “Yeah, I do. How’d you know?”
“Word of mouth,” you said, shrugging lightly. “A friend recommended the shop. Said the vinyl selection’s great because of you.”
His smile widened slightly, and there was something in his expression that made your stomach flip. “Glad to hear it. I try to make it as diverse as possible. Let me know if there’s something you’re looking for, and I’ll see what I can do.”
You opened your mouth to say something, but the boy beat you to it. “What genre of music do you listen to?” he asked, his tone casual but curious.
You hesitated, feeling a little self-conscious. Some of your friends always teased you for having the music taste of a middle-aged woman. “Um, I’m not sure if you’d know them, but... Oasis? Red Jumpsuit Apparatus, The 1975—and, you know, the more basic ones like Frank Ocean, Tyler, Kendrick…” Your voice trailed off, and you missed the way the boy’s smile grew wider with every name you mentioned, his eyes lighting up with excitement.
“Oasis? No way. That’s my favorite band,” the silver-haired boy blurted, his enthusiasm catching you off guard. “Usually, there aren’t many people our age who listen to them. My friends always call me an old soul because of my taste in music. But finally—finally—I don’t have to be an old soul alone!”
He leaned back, grinning from ear to ear. “Honestly, I think I've met my match. I listen to almost every artist you just named. You might even be better at curating playlists than I am,” he chuckled, the sunlight streaming through the window catching on his silver hair and making his honey-tanned skin seem to glow.
Your cheeks flushed slightly at his enthusiasm, the way his eyes lit up as if he’d just stumbled upon some rare treasure. You hadn’t expected this reaction, let alone from someone who looked like they belonged on the cover of a magazine instead of behind the counter of a record shop.
“You're just saying that,” you said with a shy laugh, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “I'm not that great at curating. I just... listen to what feels right, you know?”
The boy shook his head, his smile unwavering.“No, I mean it. Oasis is a bold choice, especially for someone who looks…” He trailed off, suddenly catching himself.
Your brow arched slightly. "Looks what?”
He cleared his throat, his confidence faltering for just a moment. “Looks like they'd be more into pop or something.”
You rolled your eyes, but there was no bite in your response.“Yeah, well, don't judge a book by its cover. Or a person by their playlist.”
His laugh was soft, the kind that made your chest tighten unexpectedly. “Fair enough.”
The conversation settled into a comfortable rhythm, the initial awkwardness melting away.
“Okay, I have to ask,” Jay said suddenly, leaning against the counter with a mischievous glint in his eye. “Favorite Oasis song?”
You hesitated, pretending to think it over even though you already knew the answer. “Don’t Look Back in Anger. Classic.”
He nodded approvingly, his grin widening. “Respect. Though, Live Forever might just take the top spot for me.”
You tilted your head, a playful challenge in your tone. “Strong choice. But I think Champagne Supernova could give it a run for its money.”
Jay’s laughter filled the shop, warm and unrestrained. “You’re good. I might just have to hire you as my personal music consultant.”
You were about to respond when the door chimed again, signaling another customer. Jay turned slightly to greet them, but his feet remained planted, standing in front of you with that wide, easy smile. To him, it felt like looking into a mirror—like seeing himself, just in the opposite gender.
You wanted to speak, to ask for his name, but the customer broke the moment, calling for his assistance.
“i've, um, got to go. See you around? ” he said softly, giving you one last glance. A dimple appeared on his left cheek as he smiled, the kind of smile that lingered, just like the glint of his silver hair catching the light. For a fleeting moment, it felt as though the world slowed down.
“See you,” you whispered to yourself, knowing he couldn’t hear you anymore. You carefully placed the vinyl back where you found it, a small smile tugging at your lips—because you knew you’d be coming back.
The soft click of the door echoed behind you, and the quiet hum of the city greeted you as you stepped onto the sidewalk. The night air was crisp, brushing against your cheeks, and for some reason, you couldn’t wipe the small smile off your face.
You couldn’t stop thinking about him. About his silver hair, the excitement in his voice when you mentioned Oasis, and the way he had lingered—just a little longer than he needed to—before walking away.
As you walked, your thoughts kept drifting back to the shop. To him. It was silly, really. You barely knew him. He was just a boy in a guitar shop. But something about him tugged at you in a way you couldn’t quite explain, as though a song you’d forgotten had started playing in the background of your life, soft and familiar.
Meanwhile, inside the shop, Jay was still standing behind the counter, his head tilted slightly as he watched you through the large front window. The orange glow from the streetlights traced the outline of your figure as you disappeared down the street, and for reasons he couldn’t quite articulate, his chest tightened.
It wasn’t often that someone caught his attention like that. Sure, plenty of customers passed through the shop, and Jay, ever the charmer, knew how to win people over with a smile or a bit of small talk. But this felt different. The way you spoke, the way you looked at him—like you really heard him, like you understood. It was rare. And it left a mark.
The sound of the other customer clearing their throat broke him from his trance. He turned back, hastily fixing his expression into something neutral, professional, but the remnants of his smile were still there.
“Sorry, what was that?” he asked, trying to focus.
The customer repeated their request, but even as Jay worked, his mind stayed far away, replaying your words, your quiet demeanor, the way your face flushed when you saw him smile at you. It was such a small thing, but it had stuck with him—how you’d looked so startled, yet soft and genuine all at once, like no one had smiled at you that way in a long time.
He wasn’t quite sure why it mattered. Or why it kept tugging at the corners of his thoughts, refusing to let go.
Jay’s hands moved on autopilot as he rang up the customer’s purchase, his mind somewhere else entirely. He thought about the way your voice had softened when you spoke about the bands you loved, how your fingers brushed the edge of the vinyl as though it were something precious. And the way you whispered—so quietly he wasn’t even sure he’d heard it—“see you.”
You’d meant it, hadn’t you? That you’d come back?
Jay blinked back into focus as the customer grabbed their bag and left, muttering a “thanks” on their way out. He let out a breath, leaning back against the counter, rubbing a hand along the back of his neck. This was ridiculous. It wasn't like he hadn't met interesting people before.
But you weren't like the others.
You didn't try to impress him, didn't try to force conversation. You were just... yourself. Unapologetically quiet, honest, and deeply sincere in that brief moment. It felt like a melody he couldn’t place but one he already knew by heart.
He ran a hand through his silver hair, glancing out the shop window to the darkened street. You were long gone now, but the image of you—standing there in the soft glow of the shop’s lights, lips quirking into that small, shy smile—lingered in his mind.
“Get it together, Jay,” he muttered to himself. But the truth was, he already knew he’d be watching for you. Waiting for that door to chime again.
And when it did, he wasn’t sure what would happen—he just knew he wanted to find out.
The soft jingle of the bell above the door announced your arrival. You stepped into the shop, your eyes darting instinctively toward the counter—only to find it empty.
He must not be working today, you thought, a tinge of disappointment settling in. Still, the familiar scent of old vinyl records mixed with the faint tang of guitar polish surrounded you, offering its usual comfort.
Then you heard it. Soft, deliberate strums of a guitar, playing the chords to “Beside You” by Keshi—one of your favorite songs. Curiosity tugged at you, and you ventured deeper into the store, following the sound.
The shop was quieter today. A few customers lounged in the listening area, sipping coffee or flipping through newspapers. As you rounded a shelf, your eyes landed on him.
The silver-haired boy sat perched on a wooden stool, a black-and-white guitar cradled in his lap—a Fender Stratocaster, you’d later learn, named Veronica.
You stood there, captivated. Every movement—the way his fingers glided along the strings, the way the melody hummed through the shop, the way his expression softened when he played—held you still. An unspoken feeling stirred inside you, unfamiliar and warm, as you watched him.
The soft strums of the guitar reverberated through the small shop, blending seamlessly with the faint crackling of a vinyl playing somewhere in the background. Your heart thudded softly against your chest as you watched him, completely lost in his own world—eyes low, brows furrowed in concentration, the slightest pout on his lips.
It wasn't fair. How could someone look so effortlessly perfect in such a simple moment? The silver strands of his hair fell over his forehead, catching the warm afternoon light filtering in through the shop’s windows. The oversized white shirt he wore draped lazily over his frame, the sleeves pushed up just enough to reveal his forearms as his fingers moved gracefully over the frets.
And the song—your song.
It wasn’t just the way he played it that captivated you, but the feeling in every note. It was as if he wasn't just strumming chords; he was speaking in a language that only the two of you understood.
You didn't want to interrupt. You didn't want to break the spell. So you stayed there, hovering silently between the shelves of vinyls, letting yourself get lost in the way he swayed slightly with the rhythm, the way his foot tapped softly against the floor.
Then, the song ended with a final, lingering note. The hum of the strings faded into silence, leaving the air thick and still. For a moment, he stayed there, letting his hands rest on the guitar strings, eyes still downcast.
And then he looked up.
The sudden shift in his gaze nearly made you flinch, your breath catching in your throat. His eyes—soft brown, filled with a quiet warmth—locked onto yours, and for a second, neither of you spoke. His expression flickered from surprise to something unreadable before that familiar smile crept onto his face.
“You came back.” His voice was soft, laced with both surprise and something else—something you couldn't quite place.
You nodded, a little breathless as you stepped forward. “I—I didn't mean to interrupt. You were playing Beside You. It's… it's one of my favorites.”
His smile widened just a touch, dimples peeking through. “Yeah? Mine too. Guess we really do have the same taste.”
He carefully set the guitar down on its stand—Veronica, you remembered—and turned toward you, leaning back against the counter. “What brings you in today? Another vinyl to add to the collection?”
You shrugged, trying to play it cool despite the nervous fluttering in your chest. “Something like that. I actually just—” you hesitated, unsure how to finish the sentence. “—wanted to see what was new.”
Jay raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “You sure? Or did you come back to listen to me butcher more songs?”
You laughed softly, shaking your head. “I didn't know you could play the guitar, but You’re too good to butcher anything.”
His smile faltered just slightly, as if caught off guard by your words, but he recovered quickly, scratching the back of his neck. “Well, I've got a long way to go, but thanks. I’ve picked up guitar since i was a 5, it's quite normal if your uncle owns a guitar shop. "His voice was quieter now, a bit more vulnerable.
There was a beat of silence, but it didn’t feel awkward. It was comfortable, like the calm right before a storm, where something hung unsaid between the two of you.
“Want me to play something else?” he asked, suddenly breaking the stillness.
You blinked, startled. “For me?”
“Yeah, you're already here, so why not? Pick a song,” he chuckled, settling back down onto the stool with an easy smile.
You paused, considering. “What about… Oasis?‘Wonderwall’ ?”
His head shot up, eyes lighting up like a kid at Christmas. “You're seriously making my day right now.”
The shop seemed to fade away, the quiet hum of the world outside disappearing into the soft, unpolished notes of the guitar. It was just you, the boy with silver hair.
I don't believe that anybody feels the way I do about you now.
Your breath hitched when his gaze met yours. It wasn’t just a fleeting glance this time. It lingered—his brown eyes holding yours with an intensity that made your pulse quicken. His lips curled into the faintest smile, as if he’d felt the weight of the words, too, as if the song were meant for this moment.
For you.
You gripped the edge of the shelf behind you, knuckles turning pale as you tried to steady yourself. The warmth flooding your chest, the flutter in your stomach—you’d never felt this before. Not like this. It wasn’t some grand moment in a romantic movie, but it felt just as significant. Like something you weren’t supposed to feel but couldn’t resist.
You wondered, then, if he felt it too.
The way his eyes softened every time he looked at you. The way he smiled like he was holding onto a secret you didn’t yet know. The way he played this song, one so simple yet so heavy, as if the lyrics were carving a space just for the two of you.
Your heart whispered things you weren’t ready to say out loud. Does he see me the way I see him? Does he feel this, too?
It felt like magic, the kind of moment that you’d replay in your head on sleepless nights, the kind of moment you’d tuck away carefully, afraid it might slip through your fingers.
The strumming grew softer as he reached the final verses, his fingers deftly strumming the last chords. But even as the sound faded into stillness, the look he gave you lingered, as though he, too, had felt something shift.
The silence between you was heavier now, filled with words neither of you dared to speak.
“ that was… really good,” you said softly, breaking the silence. Your voice came out quieter than you’d intended, almost trembling.
The boy’s smile widened, though his expression held something else—something deeper, more uncertain. He set the guitar down gently, leaning back slightly on the stool as his eyes stayed on you. “Thanks. I haven't played that one in a while.”
“Well, it didn't sound like it,” you replied, forcing a small laugh to break the tension that seemed to have wrapped itself around you both.
He tilted his head, his silver hair falling into his eyes before he brushed it away. “You really love this song, huh?”
You nodded, your fingers nervously playing with the hem of your sleeve. “Yeah. It's… special. Makes you feel things, you know?”
His gaze softened again, and for a moment, you thought he was going to say something—something important, something you weren't sure you were ready to hear. But instead, he smiled softly, a little wistfully.
“Yeah. I get that.”
And just like that, the moment passed, leaving you teetering on the edge of something unknown.
You both fell into a quiet that wasn't uncomfortable, but it wasn’t easy either. It was the kind of quiet where feelings settled heavy in the air, unspoken but undeniable. You wondered if he could hear how fast your heart was beating or if he could see the questions swirling in your mind.
“I just realized I don't even know your name. Mind gracing my ears with it?” the boy teased, his dimple deepening as he broke into a warm laugh.
He only has a dimple on the left side of his cheek, you thought to yourself, unable to ignore how effortlessly charming it made him look.
Your face flushed at his words, and you laughed softly, trying to play it cool. “It's Y/N.”
“Y/N,” he repeated, as if testing how it sounded. His grin widened. “Interesting name. I'm just plain old Jay. Or—if you're feeling formal—you can call me Jongseong. Most people just stick with Jay, though.”
He leaned casually against one of the shelves that displayed vinyls, crossing his arms as he watched you, the playful glint in his eyes never fading.
“Jay suits you,” you said quietly, the name lingering on your tongue like it belonged there. You glanced down at the vinyls displayed in front of you, fingers brushing absentmindedly over the edges, though your attention was nowhere near the records. It was on him—the way his smile tugged slightly higher on one side, the way his silver hair framed his face like it was meant to catch the light perfectly.
“Does it?” Jay mused, his tone teasing but gentle. “I always thought it was kind of boring. Plain. But I guess I’ll take your word for it.”
You laughed softly, shaking your head. “It’s not plain. It's…” You hesitated, meeting his gaze. “It's fitting.”
He raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Fitting, huh? What’s that supposed to mean?”
You bit your lip, feeling the heat creeping up your face again. Why did he have to look at you like that—like you were the only person in the room? “I just mean… you don’t seem like a ‘Jongseong.’ You seem like a ‘Jay.’ Simple. Warm.”
Your voice trailed off as you realized what you’d said, your heart pounding in your chest. Warm? Did you really just say that out loud?
Jay’s dimple appeared again as he smiled, his eyes crinkling slightly at the corners. “Warm, huh?” He shifted his weight, leaning more comfortably against the shelf, and for a split second, it looked like he was trying to hide how flustered he was. “You’ve got a way with words, y/n.”
You looked away quickly, suddenly fascinated with the cover of a vinyl on the shelf. “I’m just being honest,” you murmured, your voice barely audible.
For a moment, the two of you fell into a comfortable silence, the tension settling like a quiet hum in the air between you. It wasn’t heavy, but it wasn’t light either—it was something else. Something unspoken.
Jay tilted his head, breaking the silence first. “So, y/n… what’s your story? You seem like someone who has one.”
You blinked, caught off guard by the question. “My story?”
“Yeah,” he said with a small shrug, his tone softer now. “Everyone’s got one. You don’t seem like the kind of person who just ends up here by accident.”
You exhaled slowly, feeling the weight of his question. “I… moved here for school,” you said, choosing your words carefully. “Architecture. My parents are both in the field, so it kind of feels like… I don’t know, like a path I’m supposed to follow.”
Jay’s expression softened, his head nodding slightly as if he understood more than you were saying. “That’s a lot to carry, huh?”
You looked up at him, startled by how easily he’d seen through you. “Yeah,” you admitted, your voice quiet. “Sometimes.”
There was no pity in his gaze, only understanding—like he’d felt the weight of expectation before too. “Well,” he said after a moment, his tone lighter, “for what it’s worth, it sounds like you’re doing fine. You’ve got good taste in music, so you can’t be that lost.”
You laughed at his attempt to lighten the mood, grateful for the small reprieve. “That’s your bar for success? Good taste in music?”
“Absolutely,” Jay replied, grinning. “It says a lot about a person.”
“And what does my music taste say about me?” you challenged, tilting your head slightly.
Jay’s smile faltered for just a moment, something unreadable flashing in his eyes before he answered. “It says you’ve got depth. You feel things. You appreciate what’s real.”
His words struck something deep in you, leaving you momentarily speechless. How could someone you’d barely met see you so clearly?
Jay cleared his throat, as if realizing he’d said too much. “Anyway,” he said, pushing himself off the shelf, his voice returning to its usual playful tone, “you’ll have to come back so I can keep quizzing you on music. I can’t let you win the ‘good taste’ trophy just yet.”
You smiled, your heart fluttering. “I’ll think about it.”
“You better,” he teased, his dimple reappearing. “Veronica and I will be waiting.”
“Veronica?”
He gestured toward the guitar leaning against the stool where he’d been playing earlier. “She’s temperamental, but she’s good to me.”
You laughed, shaking your head. “You named your guitar?”
“Of course I did,” Jay said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “She deserves it.”
You smiled as you watched him, your heart inexplicably light despite the unfamiliar feelings tugging at you. “Alright, Jay. I’ll be back to check in on you… and Veronica.”
“Looking forward to it,” he replied, his voice softening.
As you walked out of the shop, the bell chiming softly above you, you couldn’t help but glance back through the window. Jay was still standing there, watching you leave, a small smile resting on face.
You hadn’t gotten far when a familiar voice called out to you. It wasn’t hard to recognize—Jay.
Turning back in confusion, you spotted him jogging toward you, something tucked under his arm. As he got closer, you realized what it was: the vinyl you’d meant to buy on your first visit. Never Enough was nestled carefully against his chest, the moonlight catching his silver hair and making it glow like a halo.
Stopping in front of you, slightly out of breath, Jay held up the record and offered it to you.
“This is… for you,” he said, panting softly as he caught his breath. “Consider it a ‘nice to meet you’ gift.”
Your mouth fell open in shock, completely caught off guard. You stared at the vinyl, knowing you hadn’t paid for it. “I can’t,” you stammered, shaking your head and waving your hands frantically. “It’s too expensive, and… won’t your uncle beat you up for this?”
Even as you protested, the thought of his kindness sent a quiet warmth spreading through you.
That’s when it struck you how tall Jay really was. Looking straight ahead, you only met his shoulder. He leaned down, a teasing grin tugging at his lips as he whispered, “What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”
As quickly as he leaned in, he straightened back up, his playful expression unwavering. “Besides,” he exclaimed louder, puffing his chest out for effect, “I’m his nephew. What’s he gonna do? Fire his best employee and the guy with the best taste in the shop?”
He grinned, brushing a few stray strands of silver hair away from his face, the confidence in his voice making you laugh despite yourself.
You stared at him, stunned and unable to form a coherent response. The vinyl now resting in his hands, being held out to you like some kind of offering. It didn’t help that the teasing grin on his face had you feeling lightheaded, your heart hammering wildly in your chest.
“I really can’t take this,” you said again, though your voice wavered, betraying how much you wanted to accept it. “It’s too much.”
Jay tilted his head, the grin softening into something gentler, more sincere. “Y/n, it’s just a record,” he said quietly, though there was something in the way he said your name that made your heart stutter. “It’s not about what it costs. I just… I thought you’d like it.”
You met his gaze then, and the sincerity you found there nearly knocked the air out of your lungs. He meant it. There was no teasing now, no charm for the sake of charm. Just Jay—simple, warm, and standing in front of you with an earnestness that made your walls crumble just a little more.
Your lips parted, searching for something—anything—to say, but all you managed was, “Thank you.” The words were small, almost insignificant compared to the way your chest felt full and heavy all at once. “I really mean it.”
Jay’s grin returned, softer this time, and he placed the vinyl carefully in your hands. “Good,” he said, his voice quiet as if this moment was fragile. “Then it’s settled.”
You stared down at the vinyl, tracing the edge of it with your thumb as you tried to process the butterflies fluttering in your stomach. He didn’t have to do this for you. He barely even knew you. And yet, here he was, going out of his way to make sure you left with a smile.
“You’re really something, Jay,” you muttered, shaking your head in disbelief, though a smile tugged at the corners of your lips.
“And you’re really stubborn,” he shot back playfully, his dimple making another appearance as he chuckled. “But I guess we balance each other out.”
You rolled your eyes, clutching the vinyl closer to your chest as you tried to ignore the fluttering in your stomach. “You’re lucky you’re funny.”
“Lucky, huh?” he teased, tilting his head to the side as he looked at you. “I’ll take it.”
There was a brief pause, a moment suspended in time where neither of you spoke. The afternoon sun cast long shadows on the pavement, the light softening everything around you. For a second, you let yourself take in the sight of him—the way his silver hair fell just slightly over his eyes, the way his smile lingered even when he wasn’t speaking.
The silence between you wasn’t awkward, though it brimmed with something new. Something unsaid. You clutched the vinyl close to your chest, a smile tugging at your lips as you watched Jay recover his usual composure.
“Well,” you said finally, breaking the silence as you tried to steady your heartbeat. “I should get going before I take up your whole day.”
Jay smirked, his hands sliding back into the pockets of his grey sweats. “You say that like it’d be a bad thing.”
“Well,” he said after a beat, copying your words,“You better come back soon, okay? Veronica and I have more songs to play for you.”
You laughed, the sound light and genuine. “You really can’t go two minutes without mentioning Veronica, huh?”
“She’s a big part of my life,” Jay replied with mock seriousness, though the teasing sparkle in his eyes gave him away. “But don’t worry—I’ve got room for other important things too.”
Your heart stumbled over itself at his words, and you quickly looked away, pretending to be interested in the vinyl again. “I’ll come back,” you promised, your voice soft. “I’m starting to think this place might be my new favorite spot.”
Jay’s smile widened, a dimple peeking through on his left cheek. “Good. I’ll hold you to that.”
As he stepped back toward the shop, you watched him go, his silver hair catching the light one last time before he disappeared through the door. You stood there for a moment longer, clutching the record against your chest as a smile broke across your face.
You hadn’t expected to meet someone like him. Someone who made you feel seen without even trying. Someone who handed you a vinyl you’d wanted as though it were the easiest thing in the world.
Back inside the shop, Jay stood by the window, watching you disappear down the street with the vinyl tucked securely in your arms. His smile lingered, but there was a new weight settling in his chest—something unfamiliar, something he couldn’t quite name.
“She’s cool,” he murmured to himself, running a hand through his hair.
And as much as he tried to shake it, the image of your smile stayed with him, refusing to leave.
You found yourself visiting the record shop more often, stopping by every few days after classes, just to say hi to Jay. It always ended with you staying until the store closed, lost in conversation with him.
He greeted you with a warm smile every time, like he was anticipating your arrival. Time flew by when you were having fun. You’d pop in during the afternoon and leave only when the crickets began singing. It became a routine so familiar that even some customers started mistaking you for an employee.
Talking to Jay was easy. He seemed to understand how you felt, sharing his own experiences that mirrored yours. The more you talked, the more Jay couldn’t help but notice the way your eyes would light up when you found that you shared the same thoughts or tastes. It was like two puzzle pieces fitting perfectly together. Jay was a mirror image of you—until the conversation turned to ice cream.
“Mint chocolate tastes like toothpaste,” Jay deadpanned, making you laugh.
“Does not. That’s like saying matcha tastes like grass,” you shot back, rolling your eyes playfully.
“No, it doesn’t! I’d rather eat grass than have toothpaste for dessert,” he replied, his tone teasing, a grin tugging at his lips.
Your jaw dropped in exaggerated disbelief as you crossed your arms over your chest. “Oh, so now you’re a grass-eating expert? Should I grab you a handful from outside?”
Jay let out a laugh, the sound full and genuine, echoing through the quiet shop. “Hey, don’t twist my words! All I’m saying is, grass might be the superior option here.”
“You’re impossible.” You shook your head, though you couldn’t stop the grin tugging at your lips. It was hard to stay fake-mad at him when he looked so effortlessly charming, his silver hair falling into his eyes as he leaned back casually against the counter.
“Impossible but right,” he shot back, that dimple on his left cheek peeking out as he smirked at you. “You’re really defending mint chocolate like your life depends on it, huh?”
“Because it’s amazing and you have no taste,” you retorted, pretending to look insulted. “I feel bad for you. You’ll never know true joy.”
Jay clutched at his heart dramatically, wincing as if you’d just stabbed him. “That hurt, y/n. Truly. I think I need Veronica to comfort me now.”
You couldn’t hold back a laugh as you watched him make his way to the stool where his guitar sat. He grabbed her gently—like she was something fragile—before slinging her across his lap. “Fine, go cry to your guitar,” you teased. “She probably agrees with me anyway.”
“Oh, she definitely doesn’t,” Jay argued, already strumming a playful tune. “Veronica has class.”
You rolled your eyes, but your chest felt light, warmth spreading through you. Moments like these—full of laughter, teasing, and easy conversation—made you forget about everything else. Your classes, your homesickness, the weight of your parents’ expectations… none of it mattered when you were here, talking to Jay. It scared you how much you looked forward to these moments.
Unbeknownst to you, Jay felt the same way. The first few times you visited, he thought it was just a coincidence—that you were probably there for the records. But now… now, he knew better. Every time the bell above the door chimed, his head would snap up, hoping it was you.
You had become his favorite part of the day.
As he played soft, absent-minded chords on Veronica, his eyes flickered toward you. You were leaning against the counter, flipping through a box of vinyls, your expression relaxed and content. For a moment, Jay just watched you, his fingers faltering slightly on the strings.
“Hey, y/n,” he called out, drawing your attention.
You looked up, curious. “Yeah?”
He hesitated for a second, the words on the tip of his tongue. Something about how much he appreciated you coming here, how he felt like the days were brighter when you were around. But instead, he defaulted to teasing, a grin tugging at his lips.
“Promise me something.”
“What?” you asked, raising a brow.
“When I’m right about mint chocolate being trash, you’ll admit it publicly. Maybe we’ll record it and everything. Sound fair?”
You groaned, tossing your head back. “You’re impossible. Truly.”
He chuckled softly, the sound mixing with the hum of his guitar. “But I’m right.”
And for a while, you both sat in that moment—filled with music, banter, and the quiet comfort of knowing you weren’t alone.
Neither of you dared to admit it, but this routine you’d fallen into? It felt dangerously close to something more. But you couldnt shake that uneasy feeling when you looked at jay. He seemed like he was conflicted between telling you something.
As you perched on the familiar stool, your gaze drifted to Jay, who stood at the counter wrapping up a vinyl for a customer. His small, focused smile tugged at something deep inside you. The soft melody of Mac Ayres' Easy played in the background, and you found yourself humming along, lost in the rhythm.
You were so engrossed in the music and your thoughts that you didn’t notice Jay walking toward you until he was standing right in front of you. Startled, you jumped, nearly toppling off the stool.
Jay’s reflexes were quick. His hand shot out to grab your arm, the other steadying you by your waist. “Careful there. Someone must be deep in their feels, huh?” he teased with a grin, his laugh soft and warm.
The contact sent a jolt through you, like a spark lighting your nerves. His touch was firm but gentle, his proximity overwhelming. The scent of his cologne—a mix of cedar and wood—wrapped around you, intoxicating and grounding all at once. Your face burned as you tilted your head to meet his gaze.
“Yeah, it’s hard not to when the curator has such good taste,” you whispered, your voice quiet in the closeness between you. You felt yourself soften under his touch, curious to see how he’d respond.
Jay’s heart stuttered as he looked down at you. Your words carried more weight than they seemed, and something about the way you said them made his chest tighten. He cleared his throat, the heat rising to his cheeks as he tried to keep his composure. His hands lingered a fraction longer than necessary before he let go, his reluctance almost palpable.
“Well,” he murmured, his voice low, “you’re right, considering you picked this one with me.” His eyes held yours, glinting with something unspoken—something you dared to hope might be fondness.
You felt your heart flutter at his words, the shared memory softening the ache you’d tried so hard to bury. For a moment, it was just you and Jay, suspended in the quiet hum of the record shop, with the melody weaving around you like a thread tying you together.
“I know how to play this on the guitar. Wanna listen?” Jay asked, already moving toward Veronica without waiting for your reply.
You nodded, your eyes following his every movement. The way his forearm flexed as he picked up the guitar and adjusted it in his lap, his fingers effortlessly finding the chords—it was mesmerizing. The first familiar notes of Easy filled the shop, his playing smooth and precise, as if the guitar had been made just for him.
Halfway through the song, you couldn’t hold back your curiosity any longer. “Why haven’t I seen anyone else play this guitar?” you asked, breaking the gentle spell of the melody. “I mean, I know the rest of the guitars are free for trial and use, but no one ever touches Veronica.”
Jay chuckled softly, his fingers continuing to dance over the strings. The sound was warm and unhurried, perfectly complementing his low, quiet response. “Let’s just say I don’t like other people touching what’s mine.”
The possessiveness in his tone caught you off guard, sending a shiver down your spine. His words hung in the air, deliberate and weighted with something unspoken. When he tilted his head to look at you, his dark eyes lingering, you couldn’t help but wonder—did he mean the guitar, or was there more to his statement?
Jay's words hung in the air, the weight of them sending a spark of electricity through you. You blinked, momentarily stunned, unsure how to respond. His fingers never faltered on the strings, the melody of the song weaving around the quiet tension that had settled between you.
"Yours?" you repeated, your voice soft but questioning.
Jay smirked faintly, his eyes still on you, an unreadable emotion swirling in their depths. "Veronica," he clarified, though the slight upturn of his lips hinted that he knew exactly what his words had done. "She’s special to me. I guess I’m a little protective."
You nodded slowly, trying to ignore the way your heart raced in your chest. "I get it," you murmured. "She’s beautiful. Sounds even better when you play her."
Jay’s smirk softened into a genuine smile, his fingers continuing to strum as he looked back down at the guitar. "Thanks. But I think she just likes the company," he said, his tone light, though there was something unspoken beneath his words.
The melody shifted, and he began playing something softer, more intimate. You watched him, mesmerized by the way his hands moved effortlessly across the strings, the music flowing from him like a second language.
"You know," he began, his voice low, "there’s something about playing for someone who actually listens. Makes it... feel different." He glanced up at you, his gaze steady and vulnerable. "You always listen."
Your breath hitched, and you felt your cheeks heat up. "Of course I listen," you replied quietly. "You’re... talented. And music—it says a lot about a person. About what they feel, even when they don’t say it."
Jay’s fingers stilled for a moment, and he looked at you as if seeing you in a new light. "That’s true," he said softly. "Music has a way of saying things words can’t."
For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence filled only by the faint hum of the shop’s ambiance and the distant buzz of conversation. Jay’s gaze lingered on you, as if he were trying to decipher a melody only he could hear.
Then, with a soft chuckle, he resumed playing. "Guess I’ll have to keep playing for you, then," he said, his tone playful but his eyes betraying a hint of something deeper.
You smiled, your heart swelling despite yourself. "Guess you will," you whispered, wondering if Jay realized just how much his music—and his presence—meant to you.
That day, you and Jay exchanged numbers, texting each other occasionally to share songs from different artists. Things were going surprisingly well—so well that it stirred an uneasy feeling in your chest. How is this going so smoothly?
There was never a shortage of topics to talk about with Jay. One evening, you were in the shop again. Jay sat on the stool, absentmindedly strumming chords on Veronica, while you animatedly recounted your two-day camping trip to snag Bailey Zimmerman’s Religiously record.
Jay listened attentively, his warm eyes fixed on you, and that damn smile—the one that made your heart race every single time—resting on his face.
“You should come see my record collection sometime,” you said, your words bubbling with excitement. “It’ll blow your mind. I’ll even let you borrow some if you’re nice enough.”
Jay chuckled softly, his voice dropping slightly. “Yeah? Haven’t I been nice enough to you already?”
The air shifted. His words carried more weight than his playful tone suggested.
“Yeah, you’re really nice to me,” you mumbled, suddenly feeling self-conscious as you looked down at your shoes, your cheeks growing warm.
Jay leaned forward slightly, his voice softer now. “You know what? I’d love to—”
The chime of the shop’s door interrupted him. Startled, you turned to see who it was, only to meet the gaze of a striking blonde woman standing in the doorway.
“Seongie, are you done packing up?” she called cheerfully as she stepped inside.
She wore a denim dress, her blonde hair cascading down her back, paired with knee-high boots. There was an undeniable air of elegance about her—a confidence and beauty that made your stomach churn.
Seongie? The name echoed in your head. You’d never heard anyone call him that. Who is she?
You glanced back at Jay, your eyes wide with confusion. But he was already looking at her, his face lighting up with an expression you’d never seen before—soft, adoring, and unreserved.
“Hey, pretty,” Jay greeted, setting Veronica down and standing up to embrace her.
Your heart dropped into your stomach as you watched them. The warmth of the shop suddenly felt suffocating.
When they finally pulled apart, Jay turned to you, though his gaze never really left her. “Y/N, meet my girlfriend, Giselle. Giselle, this is Y/N.”
Girlfriend? The word hit you like a punch to the chest. Your mind spiraled, replaying every interaction with him, every shared moment. Of course, he had a girlfriend. How could someone like him not have a girlfriend?
“Hi, Y/N. Nice to meet you,” Giselle said politely, though her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. She studied you, her gaze curious, as if trying to figure out your connection to Jay.
You forced a smile, willing your voice to sound steady. “Hi. Nice to meet you, too.” But the strain in your tone betrayed you, and you cringed inwardly at how obvious it sounded.
Giselle’s attention shifted back to Jay, who began explaining how the two of you met. Halfway through his story, you blurted out, “I should go. It was really nice to meet you, Giselle. I can see why Jay would fall for you.”
You smiled, but the sadness in your eyes was unmistakable. If Giselle noticed, she didn’t show it, happily bidding you goodbye as she rested her head on Jay’s shoulder.
But Jay noticed. He saw the way your usual spark had dimmed, the way your gaze flickered with hurt when it shifted from him to Giselle. A pang of guilt tugged at his chest, but he quickly pushed it aside, chalking it up to excitement at seeing his girlfriend.
“Y/N—wait,” Jay called out as he watched you gather your things, already halfway to the door.
“Bye, Jay,” you whispered, your voice soft but resolute.
Jay frowned, the ache in his chest growing as he watched you leave. There was no see you tomorrow or see you again soon—just bye.
He exhaled deeply, his chest tightening as he stared at the closed door, your figure growing smaller in the distance.
The shop felt colder after you left, the faint jingle of the door chime lingering in the air. Jay’s eyes stayed fixed on the spot where you’d stood moments before, his jaw tightening slightly. He barely registered Giselle’s hand sliding into his, her cheerful voice breaking through the sudden heaviness in his chest.
“Who is she?” Giselle asked, her tone light, but the underlying curiosity was unmistakable.
Jay blinked, forcing himself to refocus. “She’s a regular,” he said casually, rubbing the back of his neck. “She’s really into music, so we hit it off talking about records.”
Giselle raised an eyebrow, her perfectly manicured nails tapping against the counter. “You seem close,” she said, her words measured. “She looked… comfortable here.”
Jay hesitated, sensing where this was headed. “She’s just a friend,” he said quickly, though the words felt strangely hollow as they left his mouth.
Giselle didn’t reply immediately, her sharp eyes narrowing slightly as if she were trying to read between the lines. “Hmm. A friend, huh?” She let the word hang in the air before shrugging, a smile spreading across her lips. “Well, as long as that’s all she is.”
But Jay felt the weight of her gaze, even as she moved to pick up a vinyl from the shelf. For a moment, he considered telling her more—explaining the connection you two had, how effortless it felt—but something stopped him. Maybe it was the way Giselle leaned into him, her confidence unwavering, or maybe it was the faint trace of guilt bubbling in his chest.
As they left the shop together, Giselle chatting animatedly about her plans for the evening, Jay found his thoughts drifting back to you. He replayed the look on your face when he introduced Giselle—the flicker of pain you tried so hard to mask. It had been subtle, but it was there, and it gnawed at him.
You, on the other hand, were trying to pull yourself together as you walked briskly down the dimly lit street. The ache in your chest was sharp, but you scolded yourself for feeling it. How could you have let yourself get so carried away?
Of course, Jay had a girlfriend—someone stunning, confident, and poised, someone who seemed perfect for him. What had you been thinking? That you, with your hesitant smiles and awkward jokes, could be someone special to him?
Your phone buzzed in your pocket, and for a moment, you thought it might be Jay. But it wasn’t—it was a message from Sunghoon, your classmate about an upcoming project. Letting out a shaky breath, you tucked your phone away and kept walking, refusing to let yourself look back toward the shop.
Later that night, Jay sat on the edge of his bed, his phone in his hand. Giselle had fallen asleep beside him, her even breathing filling the quiet room. He stared at the screen, debating whether to text you.
A part of him knew he shouldn’t. He had no reason to—no justification for reaching out beyond the nagging feeling in his chest that he couldn’t shake. But as his thumb hovered over your name in his contacts, he stopped himself.
Instead, he locked his phone and leaned back, staring up at the ceiling. Giselle shifted slightly beside him, murmuring something in her sleep, and he turned his head to look at her. She was beautiful, kind, and everything he thought he wanted.
So why couldn’t he stop thinking about the way your voice had trembled when you said goodbye?
And why, when he closed his eyes, was it your face that lingered in his mind?
It had been a month since you stopped visiting Jay at the record shop. Neither of you had reached out—no texts, no calls, no accidental run-ins. On the surface, everything seemed normal. You fell back into your routine: hanging out with your friends, spinning the same familiar vinyl records, letting music fill the void. But deep down, you knew it wasn’t the same.
How could it be, when your thoughts kept drifting back to him? The silver-haired boy with warm, expressive eyes. The boy whose dimple only appeared on his left cheek when he smiled. The boy with that small, barely noticeable mole between his brows, leaning slightly to the left.
You couldn't forget him, no matter how hard you tried.
Many nights, your thumb hovered over his contact, debating whether to message him. Maybe you could send a song—something by Mac Miller, perhaps—and pretend it didn’t mean anything. But each time, you stopped yourself.
He had Giselle. He was happy with her. And who were you to ruin that?
Sighing, you locked your phone and let it fall onto your bed, as the second verse of Daniel Caesar’s Valentina played softly in the background. The lyrics seemed to mock your longing, your hesitation, your inability to move on.
Across town, Jay was struggling with his own thoughts.
Every shift at the shop felt emptier without you. Every time the door chimed, his head snapped up, hoping—praying—to see the girl with the mole on her neck, the one that matched his birthmark, just on the opposite side.
You.
The girl who had the same music taste as him. The girl who loved mint chocolate despite his protests.
Jay knew it was wrong—so wrong—to be thinking of you while Giselle stood by his side. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop.
He remembered the way your eyes lit up when he handed you that vinyl, the soft smile you gave him as you watched him play the guitar. Those moments played on a loop in his mind, haunting him with what could’ve been.
His shoulders slumped every time the door opened, only to reveal someone else. You were nowhere to be found. And the shop—once his sanctuary—felt hollow without you there.
It was strange, this emptiness that had taken root in his chest. You weren’t just a customer or a casual friend. You had seen him. The real him. Not the charming, silver-haired boy everyone else knew, but the boy who could talk for hours about Oasis, who played guitar on quiet afternoons, who laughed at stupid arguments about ice cream flavors.
You had understood him in a way that no one else did—not even Giselle.
And now, you were gone.
Days turned into weeks, and Jay started to believe he’d never see you again. Maybe you hated him. Maybe you were angry that he hadn’t told you about Giselle sooner.
Or maybe he had imagined the connection altogether.
But the memory of the sadness in your eyes that day—your voice strained when you said goodbye—stuck with him. It made him wonder. Did you like me?
The thought filled him with equal parts hope and guilt.
Jay sighed, dragging a hand through his silver hair as he stared out the shop window. The world outside seemed as distant as the one he shared with you, the one that had slipped away before he even realized how much it mattered.
He wanted to see you again.
But did you feel the same?
The air in the record shop felt heavier these days. Jay had tried to distract himself, pouring his energy into curating the shelves, perfecting his playlists, and helping customers find hidden gems. But none of it filled the quiet void you’d left behind.
One evening, as the shop neared closing, Jay sat on the wooden stool where he used to play Veronica for you. He strummed absentmindedly, his fingers faltering on the chords. “Beside You” by Keshi came to mind, and he played the opening notes, but the melody felt hollow without you there to listen.
“Why does it feel like I lost something I never even had?” he muttered to himself, letting his hands fall into his lap.
You thought you’d have to get over Jay in your own time, quietly and painfully. But apparently, your friends had other plans.
“Y/N, we’re going to Park Me Up,” Jake announced after class, his voice brimming with excitement as you zipped up your bag.
You froze for a moment, trying to think of an excuse. “Oh, I, uh… I need to go somewhere. To buy cupcakes,” you blurted out, wincing at how unconvincing it sounded even to you.
Jake gave you a deadpan look before his lips curved into a playful pout, his puppy-dog eyes locking onto yours.
“Aw, come on, Y/N! Ning Ning needs our help picking out a gift for Beomgyu. His bandmates decided on a guitar for his birthday, and she’s clueless. It’ll be fun! Don’t be a party pooper,” he said, clasping your hand for dramatic effect.
Before you could protest further, Ning Ning and Sunoo appeared out of nowhere, already hyped about the plan. They didn’t even give you a chance to escape—Jake grabbed one arm, Sunoo grabbed the other, and Ning Ning cheerfully led the way.
“Guys, I really don’t think I should—”
“Too late, Y/N!” Ning Ning sang, ignoring your protests.
You sighed in defeat, letting them drag you toward the destination. Park Me Up wasn’t just any guitar shop—it was Jay’s guitar shop.
The thought sent a wave of dread through you.
The shop was just as you remembered it: cozy, filled with the scent of polished wood and vinyl records. The familiar bell jingled as the four of you stepped inside.
You scanned the counter immediately, your heart pounding, but Jay wasn’t there. Instead, his uncle, Peter, stood behind the register, greeting your group with a warm smile.
“Welcome in, folks! Let me know if you need any help. Oh, hey, Y/N, haven’t seen you around lately. Jay’s been chewing my ear off asking if you’ve stopped by. Pretty sure his neck must be sore from how much he cranes it looking for you,” Peter teased.
Jay? He’s been looking for me? Why? A flush crept up your cheeks, your heart racing even faster at the thought of Jay being nearby.
Your friends glanced at you in confusion as you hovered awkwardly near the entrance, trying to stay out of sight.
“Jay?” Danielle tilted her head curiously, while Sunoo snickered.
“Jay’s my nephew,” Peter explained, leaning casually against the counter. “He and Y/N here hit it off pretty well. She was here so often, I was even considering paying her for helping out around the shop.”
His warm eyes sparkled with amusement, so reminiscent of Jay’s, but his words left you flustered.
Jake’s brows shot up as he smirked at you, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. “Ooh, hit it off pretty well, huh?”
“It’s—it’s not like that,” you stammered, voice dropping to a whisper. “Jay has a girlfriend. We just had a lot in common, that’s all.” The word girlfriend cut like a knife, the ache in your chest returning.
Your friends didn’t press further, shrugging it off as they scattered toward the guitar section. But Jake lingered, his brow furrowing as he noticed you rooted in place. Without hesitation, he grabbed your hand, tugging lightly.
“Y/N, come on!” Jake urged. “You’re supposed to be helping!”
Just then, the sound of shuffling from the storage room caught everyone’s attention. A moment later, Jay stumbled out, brushing dust from his silver hair.
“Uncle, did you just mention Y/N? Is she here? I swear i heard her voice,” he asked, his voice quick and eager as his eyes darted around the shop—until they landed on you.
The world seemed to slow as your eyes met his, and your heart leapt into your throat. How was it possible for him to look even better, with the roots of his hair starting to grow out, giving him an effortless charm? You swallowed hard, almost breaking eye contact, afraid Jay might see through the carefully constructed facade you’d built to convince everyone—yourself included—that you were fine. Just like he always did.
His gaze shifted downward to where Jake’s hand still held yours, and you swore you saw something flicker in his expression. His brows furrowed slightly, but was it disappointment? Anger? Defeat? You couldn’t tell, but the uncertainty sent a shiver down your spine.
“Hi! You must be Jay. I’m Y/N’s boyfriend, Jake,” Jake said smoothly, his voice cutting through the silence, his blatant lie delivered with practiced ease. He was testing a theory, watching Jay’s reaction like a scientist observing an experiment.
Jay’s brow furrowed deeply, the tight-lipped smile he’d worn vanishing in an instant. In its place was a frown, his expression growing colder and more guarded by the second. His gaze shifted from you, but not before you noticed the way his jaw clenched and his shoulders tensed. Was he... jealous? Did this really affect him? The questions raced through your mind as you struggled to process the shift in his demeanor.
Your jaw dropped in shock as you turned to Jake, practically yanking your hand out of his grasp. “He’s not my boyfriend!” you exclaimed, frantically waving your hands in front of your chest as if to dispel the misunderstanding. “I don’t have a boyfriend. He’s just joking! Don’t take it seriously...” Your voice trailed off into an awkward blabber, cheeks flushed as you tried to explain yourself to Jay.
Jake stood to the side, grinning knowingly as he watched the scene unfold. His eyes flicked to Jay, and his suspicions were confirmed when he saw the subtle change in Jay’s posture. The moment you clarified that Jake was joking, Jay’s shoulders eased, and the tension in his jaw loosened, though his guarded expression lingered.
Jake’s grin widened. “Just wanted to see something,” he muttered under his breath, barely loud enough for you to hear, as he stuffed his hands into his pockets.
“Not funny, man,” Jay said, his tone attempting lightness but still laced with a hint of irritation. He glanced briefly at Jake before turning his gaze back to you, his eyes searching yours.
Jake shrugged, clearly unbothered. “Just testing the waters,” he said nonchalantly, giving you a wink. “I’ll leave you two to… whatever this is.” With that, he turned and walked back toward Ning Ning and Sunoo, leaving you alone with Jay.
Jay stepped forward, his movements hesitant, as if testing the waters. “Y/N,” he called softly, his tone laced with a mix of relief and uncertainty.
You stopped, turning to face him. “Hi, Jay,” you replied, trying to keep your voice even despite the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside you.
“It’s been a while,” he said, his hands fidgeting in his pockets. “I… I didn’t think I’d see you again.”
You swallowed hard, your eyes briefly meeting his before darting away. “Yeah, I’ve been… busy.”
Jay took another step closer, the corners of his lips tugging into a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Busy, huh? Too busy to even text?”
His words hit you like a wave, leaving you momentarily speechless. “I thought…” you began hesitantly, your voice barely above a whisper, “I thought it’d be better if I stayed away. You seemed happy. With Giselle.”
Jay’s expression faltered, and he dropped his gaze to the floor, exhaling a slow, measured breath. “Yeah, I’m happy with Giselle,” he admitted quietly, his voice tinged with something you couldn’t quite place. “But that didn’t mean you had to stay away. We’re friends, right?” His tone softened as if he hoped that saying it gently might lessen the weight of the words.
Hearing him confirm his happiness with Giselle was like a dagger to your heart. You nodded numbly, biting your lip in a futile attempt to keep your emotions in check. But your eyes betrayed you, filled with the sadness you desperately tried to hide. It was a cruel reminder that the growing feelings you had for Jay would always be unrequited.
Life seemed to take away the one good thing you had just when you started to believe in it again. You knew better than to come between Jay and Giselle. You knew better than to linger in his life, where your feelings would only deepen, making it harder to pull away. But how could you not fall for him? How could you resist the silver-haired boy who made your heart race, who smelled like cedar and coffee, whose hair fell into his face as he played your favorite songs with that endearing focus?
A bitter laugh escaped your lips, masking the sound of your heart breaking. “I know I might not mean anything to you,” you began, voice trembling, “and you might not even care, but I don’t think I can stay friends with you, Jay.” Your words cracked as tears threatened to spill. “Because I know I’d just keep falling for you. And you have Giselle. I’m glad you’re happy with her. I don’t want to ruin the good thing you have in your life.”
Your voice dropped to a whisper, but the quiver betrayed the storm raging inside you. Jay’s eyes snapped to yours, his face softening as he registered the raw emotion you couldn’t conceal. You were on the brink of breaking, and both of you knew it.
Jay’s eyes widened as your words sank in, the color draining from his face. He took a small step closer, his hand twitching like he wanted to reach for you but stopped himself. “Y/N,” he started, his voice cracking. “It’s not… it’s not like that.”
You forced a smile, though your trembling lips betrayed the façade. “It’s okay, Jay,” you said softly, your voice laced with heartbreak. “You don’t have to explain. You don’t owe me anything.”
Jay opened his mouth, but no words came out. His heart ached at the sight of you—so vulnerable, so heartbreakingly honest. He felt like the worst kind of person, watching you lay your emotions bare before him, offering your heart only for him to crush it. And the worst part? He knew you anticipated his response. You always understood him too well, the uncanny compatibility between you two making it all the harder for him to let this moment pass.
But before he could say anything, you spoke again, your voice trembling with raw emotion. “I think…” you began, your tone fragile, “I think it’s best for us to just leave this as it is, Jay.”
Your words came out as a plea, each one pulling at his chest. You blinked rapidly, trying to keep the tears from falling, but the strain in your voice betrayed how close you were to breaking. Sniffling quickly, you kept your gaze fixed on the ground, refusing to look at him. You couldn’t bear to see the pity—or worse, indifference—in his eyes.
“I wish you well, Jay,” you choked out, barely managing to suppress a sob as you turned to leave, each step away from him feeling like it might break you entirely.
Jay froze, the words lodging in his throat as he watched you crumble before him. He wanted to reach out, to pull you into his arms and tell you that you were wrong—that he didn’t want to leave things like this. But your trembling voice, laced with heartbreak, stopped him in his tracks.
“Y/N…” he whispered, his voice laden with desperation, as if searching for the right words to hold you there. His mind raced, trying to form an explanation, an excuse—anything to stop you from walking away.
But you shook your head quickly, a silent plea for him not to make this even harder. “Don’t, Jay. Please,” you interrupted, your voice trembling, your resolve wavering as the words hung in the air.
He froze, his throat tightening at the finality in your tone.
Jay’s chest tightened, the weight of your words suffocating him. “You weren’t wrong,” he said, his voice breaking. “You weren’t wrong about us.”
You offered him a sad smile, one that didn’t reach your eyes. “But it doesn’t matter, does it?”
He stepped closer, his presence warm yet hesitant, his hand hovering just inches from yours. For a moment, it seemed like he might take your hand, his fingers twitching with an unspoken yearning. But he hesitated, his hand lingering in the air, uncertain and desperate. It was as if he wasn’t sure if he had the right to hold onto you, to ask you to stay.
“It matters to me,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper, but the weight of his words carried straight to your heart. His gaze burned into yours, raw and unguarded, his emotions laid bare. “You matter to me, but not in the way you want it to be. ”
The vulnerability in his tone, the way his voice cracked slightly at the end, made your breath catch. You wanted to believe him, wanted to trust those words, but the pain in your chest reminded you of the boundaries that couldn’t be crossed. Still, his proximity, the sincerity in his eyes, made it harder to walk away.
Your breath hitched, and for a moment, you let yourself believe him. But the hurt was too deep, the scars too fresh. You knew you mattered, just not the way you wanted it to be. You took a step back, creating a physical barrier between you that mirrored the emotional one you were building.
“Bye, Jay,” you whispered, your voice trembling as you turned and walked away.
Jay stood there, rooted to the spot, watching you leave for the second time. He wanted to chase after you, to tell you everything he couldn’t put into words, but his feet refused to move. He could only watch as the person who had come to mean so much to him disappeared from his life, leaving him with a hollow ache in his chest and the echoes of what could have been.
For both of you, the goodbye felt final, even though your hearts whispered that it didn’t have to be.
Your friends exchanged bewildered glances, their confusion palpable, but you didn’t turn back. You couldn’t. With each step, the weight of your feelings threatened to crush you, but you forced yourself forward, knowing it was the only way to protect your heart.
“Hey, Jay,” Jake started cautiously, his voice steady but low. “What just happened?”
Jay’s gaze remained fixed on the door you’d just walked through, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. He couldn’t bring himself to answer. How could he possibly explain what had just transpired?
Sunoo sighed, placing a hand on Jake’s shoulder. “I think we should give them space,” he said softly, gesturing toward the door. “Let’s go check on Y/N.”
The group nodded in agreement, leaving Jay standing there, his silver hair catching the dim light of the shop. His uncle’s voice broke the silence.
“Jay,” Peter said gently, coming out from behind the counter. “You care about her, don’t you?”
Jay’s shoulders slumped, and he let out a shaky breath. “Yeah,” he admitted, his voice barely audible. “I do.”
Peter gave him a sympathetic look, his brow furrowing in thought. “Then maybe it’s time you figure out what you really want. Don’t let her slip away without a fight, Jay. Not if she means this much to you.”
Jay nodded, but his heart felt heavy. He didn’t know if he deserved to fight for you after everything he’d put you through. But he did know one thing—losing you felt like losing a part of himself.
As the shop grew quiet again, Jay sat down on the stool, his hand instinctively reaching for Veronica. He strummed a few chords aimlessly, his mind replaying every moment he’d shared with you. The sound of the door chime echoed in the background, but this time, it wasn’t you walking through. It was emptiness, a reminder of what he had just lost.
Months had slipped by, yet Jay was still a ghost in your thoughts. You told yourself you were over him—that time and distance had healed the wound. But every now and then, a memory of his warm smile or the shared laughter over an inside joke would surface, and you couldn’t help but chuckle softly to yourself. It was fleeting, but the ache it brought lingered.
You convinced yourself you’d moved on. After all, you no longer visited the shop, no longer hovered over his contact late at night. But distance, as they say, often makes the heart grow fonder. Deep down, you knew your feelings for Jay weren’t just a fleeting crush or infatuation. They were deeper, more real than you wanted to admit.
On days when the ache felt unbearable, you found yourself wandering near the record shop. You told yourself it was coincidence, that it wasn’t intentional. But each time, your gaze would be drawn to the glass panel, and there he was. Sometimes he’d sit at the counter, lost in thought, his lips forming a soft pout. Other times, he’d strum Veronica on the stool where you used to sit, or move around the shop, chatting animatedly with customers.
And sometimes, just sometimes, it felt like he sensed your presence. His head would turn suddenly, eyes scanning the street. Your heart would leap, and you’d duck behind a pillar, pulse racing as if caught in a forbidden act. Surely, he hadn’t seen you. Right?
Eventually, you stopped. Sunoo, ever the voice of reason, had convinced you that spying from a distance wouldn’t help you move on. You listened. Or at least, you tried.
But Jay had noticed. Every time you came, he saw you—your wide eyes peeking around the corner, the way you hurriedly hid whenever he looked up. He felt a pull to step outside, to call your name, to close the distance between you. Yet, he held back. He told himself it wasn’t fair—to you, to Giselle, to the delicate balance of their lives. He was happy with Giselle—or at least, that’s what he repeated to himself.
So why did thoughts of you creep in when he wasn’t paying attention? Why did he catch himself searching for your laugh in the shop’s quiet, or remembering the way your eyes lit up when he played your favorite song? Could it be that he was falling for you too?
When he realized you’d stopped coming entirely, the tightening in his chest was unbearable. Did you finally move on? Had you met someone who played the guitar better than he could? Someone who shared your love for mint chocolate? The idea was suffocating, but he couldn’t shake it.
And for the first time in a long while, Jay wasn’t sure if he’d made the right choice.
One evening, Jay and Giselle went out for dinner, a rare chance to unwind amidst their busy schedules. After their meal, Giselle beamed, her eyes lighting up as she suggested, “Let’s grab some ice cream. There’s a new shop just down the block.”
Jay nodded, following her lead as they strolled into the cozy shop, the warm lights and cheerful atmosphere inviting them in. The server greeted them with a bright smile. “Welcome! Would you like to try our new flavors?” they asked enthusiastically, motioning to the chalkboard menu listing options in colorful script.
As Giselle scanned the choices, debating between strawberry basil and caramel pretzel, Jay’s eyes drifted over the menu absentmindedly. When the server turned to him, he surprised himself by blurting out, “I’ll have a cup of mint chocolate, please.”
Giselle’s head snapped toward him, a puzzled expression on her face. “Wait, mint chocolate? Don’t you hate that flavor?” she asked, her voice tinged with amusement and disbelief.
Jay froze for a moment, caught off guard by his own decision. The truth was, he hadn’t been thinking about himself when he ordered. He’d been thinking of you. Memories of your playful arguments over ice cream flooded his mind—how you’d stubbornly defended mint chocolate while accusing him of having the palate of a goat for liking matcha. He could almost hear your voice now, teasing and full of life, and the thought made his lips curl into a faint smile.
“Oh, yeah,” he said, trying to play it off casually. “Y/N used to love mint chocolate. She always said it didn’t taste like toothpaste. One time, I told her matcha was better, and she told me to eat grass instead.”
Giselle laughed softly, though there was a flicker of something in her eyes—curiosity, perhaps, or even unease. “Sounds like you and Y/N had a lot of… interesting debates.”
“Yeah,” Jay admitted, his voice quieter now. He didn’t elaborate, but as he took the first bite of the ice cream, a wave of nostalgia hit him. It was bittersweet, much like the flavor he once swore he disliked.
“I haven’t seen her around the shop lately. Did something happen between the two of you?” Giselle asked, her voice light but her gaze sharp, studying Jay’s reaction.
Jay’s brows furrowed as flashes of memory ran through his mind—your tearful goodbye, the way you’d pulled away from him, the words you’d whispered, so final and resolute. His chest tightened, irritation bubbling beneath the surface. He hated how those memories stirred feelings he couldn’t quite name, feelings that made him want to clutch onto them selfishly, as if preserving them for himself would somehow keep you closer.
“Yeah, uh… we’re not really friends anymore,” Jay said lightly, though his tone betrayed him. The seriousness in his voice, the subtle edge, told Giselle everything she needed to know. “But I don’t really want to talk about it.”
Giselle raised an eyebrow, intrigued but cautious. Jay wasn’t one to dwell on relationships that ended; he always kept his circle small, rarely letting people in. Usually, it was just his longtime friends—Heeseung and Sunghoon—who truly knew him. But you? You had broken through those walls in a matter of weeks. How had you done it?
Even Giselle, who had been dating Jay for months, had taken her time to chip away at his guarded exterior. Yet, with you, it seemed effortless. It gnawed at her—a quiet curiosity mixed with something she didn’t want to name.
Giselle studied Jay’s face, noticing the slight tension in his jaw and the way his grip on the ice cream cup tightened. It was rare for Jay to get so guarded, especially with her. She had always admired his calm and collected demeanor, but this was different. This was about you.
“You don’t want to talk about it?” Giselle repeated softly, her voice gentle but probing. “Jay, you know you can tell me anything, right?”
Jay exhaled deeply, running a hand through his hair as if trying to shake off the weight of the conversation. He met Giselle’s gaze, his expression unreadable. “It’s not about not trusting you,” he said carefully. “It’s just... complicated.”
Giselle nodded slowly, though the curiosity in her eyes remained. “Complicated how?” she pressed, her tone still soft but laced with concern.
Jay hesitated, torn between the desire to keep the memories of you to himself and the need to reassure Giselle. “She... meant a lot to me,” he admitted, his voice quieter now, almost as if he were confessing something. “We connected in a way that felt different, you know? But it’s over now. She walked away, and I let her.”
Giselle’s brows furrowed at his words. “Different how?” she asked, the question slipping out before she could stop herself.
Jay paused, searching for the right words. “She just... got me,” he said finally. “In a way that didn’t feel forced or complicated. It was easy. She understood things about me that I didn’t even have to explain.”
Giselle’s heart sank at his honesty. She couldn’t ignore the pang of jealousy that crept into her chest, but she pushed it aside. “And what about us?” she asked, her voice tinged with vulnerability. “Do you feel that way with me?”
Jay’s eyes widened slightly, guilt flashing across his face. “Of course I do,” he said quickly, reaching out to take her hand. “Giselle, you’re amazing. You’re my girlfriend. This isn’t about comparing anyone to you. It’s just... a chapter in my life that I wasn’t expecting, and now it’s closed.”
But even as the words left his lips, Jay couldn’t ignore the hollow ache in his chest. Because while he might have closed that chapter, it didn’t mean he had stopped rereading it in his mind. And the more he tried to convince himself otherwise, the more your name lingered on the tip of his tongue.
You sat in the library with your project partner, Sunghoon, discussing how to split the workload. You realized that, despite his quiet demeanor, Sunghoon was actually pretty funny. He often described himself as a "loud introvert," and the more you got to know him, the more you agreed with that description. He gradually integrated into your friend group, quickly becoming close with everyone.
As school grew busier, you started pushing aside the feelings you had for Jay and focused on your studies. With Sunghoon, you managed to score a high grade on your assignment, leading you both to agree to partner up for every project from then on.
To celebrate the end of the school term, your friend group decided to take a trip to Rome, Italy. Everyone was excited to experience the breathtaking architecture. But, as always, life had other plans.
On your second day in Rome, Sunghoon suggested visiting a vinyl shop he had read about online. It wasn’t surprising; you’d come to learn that Sunghoon shared your love for music and had an appreciation for vintage records.
“I need to grab a gift for a friend,” Sunghoon explained as you both waited for a taxi. “He’s really into vinyls. Works in his uncle’s guitar shop.”
The mention of a guitar shop made you freeze for a moment, Jay’s face flashing in your mind. But you quickly pushed the thought aside. Rome was a big city; there was no way this could be connected.It had been a while since you'd last seen him or even spoken to him, and you couldn't help but wonder how he was doing. But the memory of him telling you that he couldn’t see you as more than a friend still lingered, and it made your heart ache even after all this time.
You were standing outside a café, scanning for a place to sit. You noticed a table with a guy sitting alone, an empty seat across from him. Something about the broad shoulders felt familiar. For a moment, you thought it was Jay, but then you remembered that Jay had silver hair, not black, and you doubted he would be in Rome. But you were completely wrong.
Summoning your courage, you walked over to the boy, tapping him lightly on the shoulder. You tried to sound cheerful, “Hi, I’m so sorry to bother you, but would it be possible to share the table? I’m just waiting for someone.” You flashed your best smile, attempting to appear friendly.
But as soon as he looked up, your breath caught. Sitting at the table with a book in hand was Jay, Jongseong. You gasped in shock, and his surprised gaze met yours.
His gaze shifted from confusion to surprise, and then to something you couldn't quite place—longing? Relief? Happiness?
"Y/N?" Jay's voice was filled with disbelief. "Is that you?"
"Jay? What are you doing here?" you responded, equally shocked. How was he in Rome?
You took a moment to take in his appearance—his silver hair was now dyed back to black, and he wore a pair of black-framed glasses perched on his nose. His outfit was simple: a black shirt, blue jeans, and Rick Owens sneakers, yet somehow he looked even more handsome. You couldn’t help but notice the other female customers in the café subtly glancing in his direction, likely drawn to his effortless charm.
Suddenly, the feelings you had buried for so long began to resurface—faster and more intensely than you had expected. You missed him. You missed him more than you cared to admit. You hadn’t expected to see Jay again, but here he was, in front of you, and everything about this moment felt overwhelming.
When Jay felt a tap on his shoulder, he was expecting it to be Giselle, ready to tell him it was time to go. To be honest, the only reason he was even in Rome was for the vinyls and guitar shops—he knew there would be rare finds, given how long some of the shops had been around.
But he didn’t expect to see you.
You were standing in front of him, wearing a sundress in his favorite color—green. The way you smiled brightly at him, only to pause when you realized it was him, made his chest tighten. You looked so beautiful in that dress, the fabric flowing all the way down to your ankles, making you look like something straight out of a fairy tale. Jay’s heart began to race as he took you in, unable to tear his eyes away.
His mind raced, thoughts colliding with the reality of the situation. How was it possible that after all this time, here you were—standing in front of him in Rome? The emotions he had carefully tucked away began to surface again, sharper than before. The feelings he had suppressed, buried in the quiet moments when he let himself think of you, were now resurfacing with an intensity he wasn’t prepared for.
“I–you–how?” Jay’s voice came out as a strained whisper, his words caught in his throat. He missed you, he truly did. It wasn’t right to feel this way when he had Giselle, but he couldn’t help it. Not when you were standing there, wearing his favorite color, looking so beautiful with the sunlight catching your hair. His heart ached, watching the way your smile faltered after you recognized him.
“I’m here with Giselle,” he said, his voice low, almost as if trying to explain himself, “She wanted to go on a trip.”
The way your eyes dimmed at the mention of her made a sharp pain hit his chest. He didn’t know why it hurt so much, but that wasn’t important right now. He needed to talk to you. He needed to know how you were doing, how school had been, how you were holding up. He wanted to tell you that he had changed his mind about mint chocolate, that he now secretly liked it, and how he couldn’t stop listening to White Ferrari by Frank Ocean because the lyrics reminded him of you. He needed to know if you had moved on from him, if you were okay.
Before he could say any of this, you spoke. “I think I should go. Sorry to bother you. Have a good trip, Jay.” Your voice was soft, and Jay could hear the pain you tried to hide, the yearning that lingered beneath your words. How much you missed talking to him, how much you missed watching him play Veronica.
“Wait—Y/N.” His hand shot out, grabbing your wrist gently but firmly, holding you in place as he stood up.
“Please don’t run away from me again,” Jay’s voice was softer now, but it trembled with vulnerability. The desperation in his words made his chest ache, and the way he looked at you, his gaze so open and raw, left no room for doubt—he needed you to stay.
He knew deep down it was wrong. So, so wrong. But in that moment, all he could think about was how much he longed to see you again.
“Jay? What are you—who’s that? Oh, y/n?” Giselle’s voice sliced through the tension as she neared the two of you, her footsteps faltering slightly as she took in the scene.
Giselle's voice rang out sharply, pulling Jay’s attention toward her. Her eyes, once confident, now flickered with something unsettling. As she got closer, the look of confusion and concern on her face grew. She took in the sight of Jay still holding onto your wrist, the gentle way his fingers were wrapped around you. His gaze was soft, almost pleading, something that made her heart twist. She could feel the weight of the shift in the air, the subtle change in Jay's demeanor, and she knew something was different.
The sight of him looking at you like that, so vulnerable and open, made her stomach churn with unease. Giselle had always been sure of Jay—sure of the way he looked at her, sure of the space he made for her in his life. But now, it felt like something was slipping out of her grasp, something she couldn’t quite define.
She knew about Jay’s past relationships—how his exes would beg him to take them back, and yet he never budged. Jay had always been laidback, never one to push things or chase anyone. He’d let things happen naturally, even if that meant moving on when things got tough. But this? This was different.
As she studied you, her gaze softened just a little, but it was enough for you to feel the shift. She could tell by the way you carried yourself that there was more to your relationship with Jay than just a casual meeting. There was history in the way he held your wrist, in the way his eyes searched yours for something he seemed to have lost. It wasn’t hard to see it now. Giselle had been with Jay for long enough to know the subtleties of his body language, but she had never seen him like this. Never seen him plead with anyone.
The jealousy bubbled up in her chest, rising faster than she could control it. She hated feeling like this, but she couldn’t stop it. The effortless way you had him wrapped around your finger was something she could never seem to achieve. No matter how hard she tried to get close to him, how much effort she put into learning about his music, his favorite bands, his quirks—Jay had always been a little distant, a little elusive, like he was holding something back.
But with you? It was different. The connection was palpable, even if it was unspoken. You had always been able to reach him in ways she couldn’t, and the sight of him wanting to talk to you, to stay with you, made her feel invisible.
As Giselle’s gaze turned bitter, she watched Jay’s grip on your wrist loosen, his hand dropping back to his side, defeated. She saw you step back, but the look in your eyes—mirroring Jay’s longing—was all the confirmation she needed. You weren’t just infatuated with her boyfriend; you were in love with him. You were in love with Jay.
“Y/n, what a coincidence!”
Giselle’s smile was tight, laced with an air of false cheerfulness as she greeted you. The subtle intertwining of her fingers with Jay’s was intentional— a clear display of ownership, a silent message that she wasn’t going anywhere. She wanted you to see it, wanted you to feel the distance between you and Jay, wanted you to know that no matter the history, the connection, or the lingering feelings that might still exist, Jay was hers. And she would make sure you understood that.
Jay’s fingers curled against hers, a motion so small, yet filled with so much meaning. Giselle wasn’t sure if it was a silent reassurance for her or a subtle signal to her, telling her not to overstep, not to push too far. He wasn’t looking at her as much as he was looking at you—his gaze was distant, almost apologetic, as though there was a silent conversation going on between the three of you without words. But Giselle was determined to play her part, to hold onto what she thought was hers.
She watched you, her eyes narrowing just slightly, noticing the way your gaze flickered to their intertwined hands, the way your lips pressed into a thin line as the sadness in your eyes became undeniable. For a moment, Giselle felt a flicker of guilt. She could see it in your eyes—the resignation, the hurt, the unspoken words. But that flicker was fleeting, quickly buried beneath a layer of pride and possessiveness.
She watched your expression falter, the realization hitting that the distance between you and Jay was no longer something you could ignore. The subtle disappointment in your face was enough for her to feel a cruel satisfaction. It was like the pieces of a puzzle falling into place. Giselle wasn’t stupid—she could read the way Jay’s body language changed when he was around you, the way his eyes lingered a little too long, the way his tone softened. She could feel it now—the same undercurrent of something that had once been hers. And she wasn’t about to let that slip away without a fight.
The quiet ache in her chest was still there, but it was drowned out by the heat of her jealousy, her insecurity, her need to win. And if that meant pushing you to your breaking point, to make you feel as small and as invisible as possible, then she was willing to do whatever it took. You weren’t going to be the one to take him away. Not after all the effort she had put in to build her life with him.
As Giselle turned her head to kiss Jay on the lips, she heard the small gasp escape from you, and in that moment, she knew she had won.
Your heart shattered, watching Giselle kiss Jay. You wished it could be you, to hold his hand, to feel his arms around you, to feel his lips against yours. But that would never happen, not when all Jay saw you as was a friend. You wanted to turn and walk away, but the ache in your chest kept you rooted to the ground, helplessly watching the scene before you.
Silently, you prayed for someone—anyone—to pull you from the situation. It felt like the universe answered your silent plea when Sunghoon arrived.
“Y/n, let’s go—Jay?” Sunghoon’s voice called out, confusion creeping into his tone as he noticed Jay standing in front of you.
“Hoon?” Jay responded, just as confused, wondering how you and Sunghoon knew each other.
“What are you doing here?” Both of them asked in unison.
“I’m here with Giselle for a holiday. You? How’d you know Y/n?” Jay cleared his throat, trying to keep things lighthearted, though his voice held an edge of protectiveness that Giselle quickly noticed.
Sunghoon glanced back and forth between you and Jay before offering Giselle a polite smile in greeting.
“You guys know each other? Y/n, that’s the friend I told you about who works at a guitar shop. That’s Jay,” Sunghoon explained, oblivious to the tension in the air.
Ah, so they were friends.
Before anyone could say another word, Giselle cut through the silence, her voice a little too bright. “Oh my god, are you guys dating? Jay, look at their matching bracelet! It’s so cute. Should we get one too?” She gestured toward the friendship bracelet that Jungwon had made your whole friend group get, but since the others weren’t around, it made it look like you and Sunghoon were a couple.
Jay’s breath hitched. Were you dating Sunghoon now? How did he not know about this? Sunghoon had never mentioned anything about you when they hung out. Why were you alone with him?
You wanted to explain, to deny the accusation, because it felt wrong to even entertain the thought of being with someone other than Jay. But as your eyes locked with Giselle’s, she gave you a look that made it clear what she was trying to do. You could feel the guilt washing over you. No matter how hard you tried to distance yourself from Jay, the pull was still there.
So, with a heavy heart, you nodded and whispered, “Yeah, we’ve been dating for a while now. We’re in the same class, and we got closer.” You rushed the words out, hoping they sounded convincing.
Sunghoon looked down at you, his brow furrowing in confusion, but he knew better than to expose your lie in front of everyone now. He played along, extending his hand to hold yours.
“Sorry I didn’t tell you guys sooner. I just wanted to find the right time to properly introduce her,” Sunghoon lied smoothly, glancing at Jay.
The weight of the lie you just told settled heavily in your chest. Every word felt like a betrayal, not just to Jay, but to yourself. You could see the confusion flicker in his eyes, the way his lips parted slightly, as if he wanted to ask more, to understand, but he couldn’t. Instead, he swallowed whatever questions he had, and his gaze drifted to Sunghoon, his brows furrowed.
Giselle, on the other hand, was smiling too brightly. She was the one who had won, the one who had forced your hand. Her expression was smug, satisfied as she watched the situation unfold. When you nodded and agreed with her assumption, it was like she had claimed her victory. The small, almost imperceptible twitch in Jay's expression wasn’t enough to make her question her dominance. Instead, she looked between the two of you, a thin veil of sweetness hiding the bitterness she felt beneath the surface.
Jay couldn’t look at you directly. He turned to Sunghoon, his voice casual, yet there was a hint of uncertainty in it. "I didn’t know you two were... close," he said, the words like they were heavier than they sounded.
You couldn’t help but feel like you were suffocating. Every part of you wanted to reach out to Jay, to tell him the truth, to explain that you never intended for this to happen. That it wasn’t about Sunghoon at all. But Giselle’s gaze held you firmly in place, daring you to break, daring you to unravel.
Sunghoon’s hand on yours felt oddly comforting, but it couldn’t block out the ache in your chest. He squeezed your hand, the pressure there like a silent reassurance. He had always been protective, always there for you when you needed someone. But even in this moment, his presence felt like it wasn’t enough to shield you from the heaviness of the lie. The guilt gnawed at you, the burden of keeping up this façade pulling you further away from the truth.
"Right," Jay said finally, his voice quieter now. He gave a small nod, but it was clear that something was weighing on him. His gaze flickered back to you briefly, but you couldn’t meet his eyes. You couldn’t bear to.
Giselle leaned in a little closer to Jay, her fingers tightening around his. "Well, if you’re all set, I think we should go, baby. We have a lot of things to do, don’t we?" Her tone was overly sweet, but it cut through the tension like a knife. She was reminding everyone who Jay was with, reminding you where you stood.
You nodded, your heart sinking deeper into your chest. "Yeah, you should go. I should go too," you said, your voice barely above a whisper.
Sunghoon gave you a gentle nudge, his thumb brushing against the back of your hand, and you took a step away, trying to escape the suffocating atmosphere. But as you turned away, you caught one last glimpse of Jay—his face unreadable, his body tense. He was still holding onto something, still fighting the pull between you and Giselle, between what was real and what had to be hidden.
You turned your back before your emotions could get the best of you, walking away with Sunghoon by your side. But even as you put distance between yourself and that moment, you knew the lie you had told wouldn’t just fade. It was going to hang over you, a shadow you wouldn’t be able to outrun. And Jay? Well, you had no idea where things stood with him anymore. But you knew one thing for sure—everything had just become so much more complicated.
“What was that?” Sunghoon asked softly once you were out of sight of the couple.
“I didn’t know you two were friends,” you mumbled, your gaze fixed on the ground. “I met Jay when I visited the guitar shop he worked at. We got along really well, and I...” You hesitated, your voice faltering. Sunghoon’s reassuring nod gave you the courage to continue.
“And I fell for him,” you admitted quietly. “But then I found out he was dating Giselle. I tried to move on, Sunghoon. I really did. But now, seeing him here in Rome... it’s like all those feelings are coming back, stronger than before.”
Your voice dropped to a near-whisper, trembling with emotion. “I think I’m in love with him, Sunghoon. But I can’t have him, and it hurts so much.”
Sunghoon stopped walking, his expression serious as he took in your words. He didn't interrupt, letting you speak your heart, and when you finished, there was a long pause. You could feel the weight of the silence between you, but it wasn’t uncomfortable.
He let out a quiet sigh before looking at you with understanding eyes, his tone soft. “I had no idea you felt that way about Jay,” he said slowly. “I could tell something was off, but I didn’t know it went this deep. You don’t have to carry this burden alone, Y/n.”
You looked up at him, the vulnerability in your eyes showing the rawness of your feelings. "I feel so stupid," you admitted, "for letting myself fall for someone who’s already with someone else. And now I don’t know what to do. I can’t just… turn it off. But seeing him with Giselle, holding her hand, it was like a slap in the face."
Sunghoon’s expression softened, his voice firm and caring. “You’re not stupid, Y/n. Love isn’t something you can control. You can’t just turn it off because it’s inconvenient. And I know it hurts to see him with her, but you have to remember that his relationship with Giselle doesn’t define you. You deserve someone who sees you the way you see them, someone who won’t make you feel like second place.”
You closed your eyes, the weight of his words settling in. You wanted so badly to be that person for Jay, but the reality of the situation made it feel impossible.
“I know,” you whispered. “But it doesn’t change how I feel.”
“I get it,” Sunghoon replied quietly. “And you’re allowed to feel that way. But you have to focus on healing, Y/n. If you keep holding onto something that isn’t yours, it’s only going to hurt more in the long run.” He paused, watching you carefully. “You deserve someone who’s going to choose you, not someone who’s already made their choice.”
Your chest tightened as Sunghoon’s words echoed in your mind. You nodded slowly, but a part of you still longed for something that seemed so far out of reach.
“I don’t know if I can move on from him, Sunghoon,” you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper.
Sunghoon gently squeezed your hand. “You don’t have to right away. But take it one day at a time. You’ll get through this, Y/n. And no matter what happens, I’m here for you, okay?”
You gave him a small, grateful smile, the first one in what felt like a long time. "Thank you, Hoon. I really needed to hear that."
Jay couldn’t focus on anything Giselle was saying because his thoughts were consumed by you: the way you looked in that green dress, the brightness of your smile. He had always thought he was good at making decisions, at choosing the right path. But sitting alone in a café in Rome, he realized that when it came to you, he didn’t even know what the right thing was anymore.
“Are you falling for her?” Giselle’s voice broke through his thoughts, sharp and accusing. She stared at him, waiting for an answer.
Usually, Jay would have shaken his head defensively, pouring extra effort into reassuring her—just as he always did when she questioned his feelings. But this time, he couldn’t.
When Jay started dating Giselle, he thought she was the one. He pictured himself ten years down the road, marrying her, starting a family. That vision had seemed so clear and solid. But now, everything was blurry. Everything was you.
His head hung low in shame and guilt. He couldn’t bring himself to meet her gaze or deny it. He didn’t want to lie to himself anymore, and he didn’t want to lie to Giselle either.
The sight of Jay’s silence, his lowered head, shattered something inside Giselle. She felt her heart plummet, realizing what he wasn’t saying aloud—that he was starting to fall for someone else, and it was happening right in front of her eyes.
Hurt and sadness flickered across her face as she looked at him. She wasn’t ready to let him go. Not yet. She had loved him dearly and used to feel so secure in their relationship. She never had to question his loyalty or love. Jay had always been kind, warm, respectful—a man anyone would admire. He had been her perfect match.
But then you came into his life, and everything changed. You unraveled their relationship without even trying. She could see it in the way Jay’s face lit up when he talked about you, in the private jokes he’d share that only the two of you could understand. Even when they were out together, he would somehow bring you up.
There were nights when insecurity gnawed at her, especially when she noticed how his shoulders slumped as if he were expecting someone else to walk through the door—someone who wasn’t her. She knew, deep down, that he was looking for you.
Frustration and anger consumed her, and eventually, those feelings overwhelmed her guilt. She sought solace elsewhere. Intak had been a distraction, a way to fill the void left by Jay’s drifting attention. Initially, she felt guilty about going out with Intak while still with Jay, but over time, she convinced herself it wasn’t her fault. It was your fault.
You had turned Jay’s head. You had ruined what they had. And now, standing there, she could feel her anger boiling over, fueled by the bitterness of knowing she had been losing him long before this moment.
“Giselle…” he finally murmured, his voice low and uneven. He looked up, and the heartbreak in her eyes made his chest tighten painfully. “I—I don’t know what to say.”
Jay felt the weight of Giselle’s silence as it stretched between them, the tension thick and suffocating. He could feel her gaze boring into him, searching for answers he wasn’t ready to give. He didn’t have the courage to look at her, his shame tethering him to the ground, keeping his eyes fixed on the polished table in front of him.
The truth was messy, tangled in emotions he didn’t want to acknowledge. He knew it wasn’t fair to Giselle, and he hated himself for it. She didn’t deserve this—not the doubt, not the hesitation, not the betrayal that lingered unspoken between them.
Giselle let out a shaky breath, her hands clenched into fists on her lap. “Do you even realize what you’ve done to me, Jay? Do you know how hard I’ve fought for us, for this relationship, while you—” Her voice broke again, and she took a moment to steady herself. “While you were busy thinking about her?”
Jay flinched at the accusation, the raw truth cutting deeper than he expected. He wanted to deny it, to tell her that it wasn’t like that, but he couldn’t. He didn’t have the right to argue when he knew she was right.
Her words hung heavy in the air, and Jay felt like he couldn’t breathe. He wanted to say something, anything, to make it better, but every word felt hollow, insincere. He could only sit there, his mind racing with thoughts of you, of Giselle, of the tangled mess he had created.
“Do you love her?” Giselle asked suddenly, her voice barely above a whisper.
Jay froze, the question hitting him like a punch to the gut. Love? The word echoed in his mind, stirring up feelings he wasn’t ready to confront. He didn’t know how to answer. All he knew was that when he thought of you, his heart felt full and aching all at once, and the thought of losing you—of never seeing you again—made it hard to breathe.
“I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice cracking. “But I think…I think I could.”
Giselle’s breath hitched, and she stood abruptly, her chair scraping loudly against the floor. “I can’t do this right now,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. She grabbed her bag and stormed out of the café, leaving Jay sitting there, alone and drowning in the weight of his guilt and confusion.
For the first time, he wondered if he’d already lost everything he thought he wanted—and if you were the one he’d been searching for all along.
Jay watched Giselle’s silhouette disappear into the distance, a heavy weight settling in his chest. He should feel relief, should focus on being the boyfriend she deserved—but his thoughts were tangled, knotted around you. If he truly loved Giselle, there wouldn’t be room for this ache, this restless longing that clawed at him every time he thought of you.
You weren’t his. You never were. And now you were with Sunghoon, his best friend. It should have been easy to let you go, to convince himself that you belonged to someone else. But watching you walk away again felt like someone had ripped a piece of him out, leaving behind a hollow that pulsed with a dull, relentless pain.
Jay told himself he needed to stop. Stop complicating things, stop dreaming of something that could never be. Maybe you were always destined to be a "what if," a fleeting possibility that would haunt him for years to come. He owed it to Giselle to be better, to finally close the door on these feelings. But before he could force himself to let go, he needed to see you one last time.
Later that night, just as you were trying to convince yourself to sleep, your phone buzzed. The screen lit up with a message from Jay.
“Hey, can we talk?”
Your chest tightened. You stared at the words, your hands trembling as you debated your response. Another text followed almost immediately:
“Please.”
The desperation in that one word hit you like a punch to the gut. You wanted to say no, to protect yourself, to end this painful cycle before it broke you completely. But what right did you have to talk to Jay? You weren’t friends, weren’t lovers. You were barely even anything at all anymore.
Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, the tears already falling as you typed:
“Jay, we can’t. This isn’t right. Please don’t make this harder than it already is. We’re both happy. Maybe it’s time to put an end to this.”
You stared at the message, knowing how false it was. Happy? How could you call this agony happiness? The boy you loved was in someone else’s arms, and yet here you were, lying to him and to yourself.
The moment you hit send, your phone rang. Jay’s name flashed on the screen, and your heart lurched violently. You answered, your voice barely above a whisper.
“Hello?”
“Y/N, I’m— I’m downstairs. At your hotel,” Jay’s voice came through, rushed and uneven, like he was struggling to breathe. “I asked Sunghoon. I’m sorry, but I need to see you. Just for a while… please?”
His words were frantic, pleading. You could hear the urgency, the raw edge to his voice that shattered what little resolve you had left.
“I’ll wait until you come down,” he added, his voice softer now, almost broken, before hanging up.
You gripped your phone tightly, your heart a storm of emotions you couldn’t contain. You hated him for doing this to you, for making it impossible to stay away. But more than that, you hated yourself for never being able to say no to him. Jay was your weakness, your undoing. He was the boy who had stolen your heart so effortlessly and left you with nothing but pain in its place.
Before you knew it, your feet carried you out the door, down the elevator, and into the night. Each step felt heavier than the last, the weight of your emotions pressing down on you.
When you reached the street, you saw him immediately. He was leaning against the wall, head hung low, his hands nervously twisting the jacket he held. As you approached, trying to keep your steps quiet, his head snapped up, his eyes finding yours instantly.
For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence between you felt deafening, loaded with everything you couldn’t say. The world around you faded, the hum of the city dimming as the two of you stood there, suspended in time.
The soft glow of the streetlamp illuminated his face, highlighting the tension in his jaw and the storm in his eyes. He looked at you like you were both the answer to every question and the reason for every problem. And you hated how much you wanted to fall apart right there, in front of him, just to feel his arms catch you.
But you knew better. This was a game you could never win, and yet here you were, ready to lose all over again.
Before you could even process what was happening, Jay closed the distance between you, his hands cradling your face with a mix of urgency and tenderness before his lips crashed onto yours. The kiss was electric, chaotic, and raw, filled with emotions that neither of you had been able to express in words. His lips moved fervently against yours, tilting your head to deepen the kiss, and you felt the weight of his desperation, longing, guilt, and frustration pouring into every movement.
You froze at first, your mind screaming at you to push him away. This was wrong—so, so wrong. He had a girlfriend. You had Sunghoon. This moment wasn’t supposed to exist, and yet, as his warmth enveloped you, you found yourself unable to resist.
You weren’t supposed to enjoy the way his lips felt on yours, the way they ignited a fire in you that you’d tried so hard to extinguish. You weren’t supposed to let your hands drift up to clutch at his shirt, pulling him closer as though he was the only thing keeping you grounded. But you did.
The world around you disappeared, and all that remained was Jay—his touch, his breath, his presence overwhelming you entirely. Your lips moved against his with the same frantic energy, your emotions spilling out in a silent confession. You kissed him back with everything you had, trying to imprint this moment into your memory because deep down, you knew it wouldn’t last.
This wasn’t yours to keep. This wasn’t yours at all. And yet, for this fleeting moment, you allowed yourself to believe that it could be. Tonight, you let yourself forget the consequences, the heartbreak waiting just beyond the glow of the streetlamp. Tonight, you gave yourself to Jay completely, even as your heart fractured under the weight of knowing that this would only ever be a stolen moment.
The world seemed to blur around you as Jay’s lips moved against yours. The cold night air faded, replaced by the heat of the moment, the intensity of emotions you both tried so hard to suppress. His hands were warm, firm yet tender as they cradled your face, grounding you in the whirlwind of feelings you had been running from for so long.
But the weight of reality loomed over you like a shadow, tugging at your conscience even as your heart begged you to stay in this fleeting moment. The kiss was a storm—fierce, unrelenting, and consuming—but you knew storms always passed, leaving devastation in their wake.
“Jay,” you gasped, breaking away, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath. Your hands, still clutching his shirt, trembled as you looked up at him. His eyes were dark, searching yours for answers, for reassurance, for anything to justify what had just happened.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice hoarse, but his hands didn’t leave your face. “I just... I couldn’t hold back anymore.”
You shook your head, tears welling up as the weight of what had just happened crashed over you. “This isn’t right, Jay. We can’t do this,” you said, your voice cracking. “You have Giselle. And me—I’m with Sunghoon.” The words felt hollow, but you forced them out, hoping to remind both of you of the lines you’d just crossed.
His jaw tightened at the mention of Sunghoon, and he looked away briefly, as if the thought pained him. “I know,” he said quietly. “I know this is wrong. But I couldn’t stop myself. I needed to see you.” he admitted, his voice laced with regret. “But I can’t stop thinking about you, Y/N. I’ve tried—I’ve tried so hard, but no matter what, you’re always there.”
His confession tore through you, the raw vulnerability in his words igniting something deep within your chest, but the guilt that followed was sharper. “Jay, you don’t understand what this will do to everyone,” you said, wiping at your tears. “This isn’t just about us. Giselle loves you. Sunghoon trusts me. We can’t destroy them for something that might not even last.”
Jay’s jaw tightened, his hands balling into fists at his sides. “Do you really believe that? That this—” he gestured between the two of you, his voice trembling—“is nothing?”
You hesitated, your heart battling your mind, the truth caught in the space between. “I don’t know,” you finally admitted, your voice barely audible. “I don’t know what this is, Jay. But I know it can’t happen like this.”
Jay took a shaky step back, his face falling as the reality of your words sank in. He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling deeply as if trying to compose himself. “You’re right,” he said quietly, his tone resigned. “This isn’t fair to anyone.”
You nodded, your chest aching as you watched the boy you loved wrestle with the same emotions tearing you apart. “We need to let this go,” you said, even though the words felt like knives in your throat. “For them. For us.”
Jay looked at you one last time, his eyes filled with sorrow and longing, before nodding slowly. “Goodbye, Y/N,” he said, his voice heavy with finality.
You watched as he turned and walked away, the distance between you growing with each step. You were hoping that he didnt look back, because he would have seen your legs give out, as you sobbed silently, your tears falling freely under the soft glow of the streetlamp.
Tonight was supposed to be the night you let him go, but as you stood there, your heart breaking, you realized letting go was far harder than you could have imagined.
But then, Jay did look back.
He froze when his eyes found you, crouched on the pavement with your head buried in your hands, your shoulders trembling. You weren’t looking at him, but the sight alone cut through him like a blade. He could feel your pain, raw and unrestrained, and it twisted in his chest until he couldn’t breathe.
He knew what this was. He felt it too—the tension, the connection, the pull. But if he felt it so deeply, why couldn’t he take the leap? Why couldn’t he let go of Giselle if every fiber of his being was drawn to you?
Jay knew the answer. Deep down, he was a coward. Afraid of the consequences, afraid of shattering the life he’d built, even if it meant suffocating the part of him that longed for you. He hid behind Giselle, behind the facade of comfort, because facing the truth meant risking everything.
But now, watching you fall apart, something inside him snapped. It was as if an unseen force dragged him back to you. His feet moved before his mind caught up, and suddenly, he was kneeling beside you, his voice trembling as he whispered, “What am I going to do with you?”
His expression was strained, filled with anguish as he reached for you, pulling you into his arms. The warmth of his embrace broke the dam you’d been holding back.
“I missed you so much, Jay,” you sobbed, your voice trembling and raw. “I’m sorry. I know I messed everything up. I complicated things for you, but I’m in love with you. I know you’re not mine to have, but it hurts so much, Jay. I love you, but I know you’re happy with someone else, and I—”
Your words dissolved into breathless cries as Jay tightened his hold on you. His arms wrapped around you as if trying to shield you from the very pain he’d caused, his own silent tears slipping into the night as he held you close. For that moment, the rest of the world didn’t exist—only the two of you, broken and vulnerable under the glow of the streetlamp.
Jay’s heart clenched at your words, each syllable carving deeper into the conflict he carried. He didn’t speak immediately, just held you tighter, his own emotions threatening to spill over as he buried his face in your hair. Your sobs echoed through the quiet street, raw and unfiltered, and for the first time in a long while, he felt utterly powerless.
“Y/N,” he murmured, his voice trembling as he pulled back slightly, just enough to look into your tear-streaked face. His thumb brushed against your cheek, wiping away a stray tear as his own eyes glistened. “I’ve missed you too. More than I should, more than I ever wanted to. You have no idea how many nights I’ve stayed awake thinking about you, wondering what it would be like if things were...different.”
The pain in his voice was undeniable, and it only made your tears fall harder. “Then why, Jay?” you whispered, your voice breaking as you searched his face. “Why can’t we—why can’t you—”
“Because I’m scared,” he admitted, the words spilling out before he could stop them. His voice cracked under the weight of his confession, and he looked away, ashamed. “I’m scared of ruining everything. Of hurting Giselle. Of losing you if this doesn’t work. I don’t know how to let go of her, and I don’t know how to let go of you.”
His honesty only made the ache in your chest grow. You reached out, placing a trembling hand on his cheek, guiding his gaze back to you. “Jay, you can’t have it both ways,” you said softly, your voice heavy with both love and pain. “You have to choose. And if you can’t, then maybe...maybe I have to make the choice for you.”
“No,” Jay said quickly, his hand flying to cover yours. “Don’t. Don’t leave me, Y/N. Please.” The desperation in his tone made your heart twist, but you knew deep down that something had to give.
“I can’t keep holding on to someone who was never mine to begin with, Jay,” you whispered, your voice cracking under the weight of your emotions. “You’re you, and I’m… me. Can’t you see? You’re talented, warm, kind, gentle—and I’m a mess. Giselle… she suits you. She’s beautiful, patient, everything I’m not. You two look perfect together.”
You paused, your breaths shaky as you tried to steady yourself, but the pain in your chest only grew heavier. “I’m so tired, Jay. I’m tired of the nights I lie awake, wishing I could be the one in your arms. I’m tired of being afraid of myself because I want so desperately to be the one you look at with that gentleness in your eyes. I want to be the one who makes you laugh, the girl who loves you with her whole heart.”
Your voice faltered, breaking into a strained whisper as tears streamed down your face. “But I can’t. I can’t be that girl, Jay. I’ll never be her.”
Your sobs softened into quiet sniffles, the silence between you thick and suffocating. You couldn’t bear to look at him, afraid of what you might see—pity, regret, or worse, nothing at all. All the words you’d kept locked inside were now laid bare, and yet, the ache in your chest only deepened, the weight of your unspoken love threatening to crush you.
Jay’s chest tightened with every word you spoke, each one laced with pain, longing, and a finality that made his heart feel like it was being crushed. He reached out for you instinctively, his hands trembling, but he stopped himself, letting them fall to his sides. He knew he had no right to comfort you—not when he was the source of your pain.
“Y/N…” he began, his voice hoarse and broken. “Don’t say that. Please, don’t say that about yourself.” His eyes glistened with unshed tears as he took a shaky step toward you, though the weight of your words kept him from getting too close. “You don’t see what I see, do you? You’re not a mess. You’re—” He swallowed hard, his voice cracking. “You’re everything, Y/N. Everything I didn’t even know I needed. And I hate myself for making you feel like you’re not enough because you are. You always were.”
Your lips trembled as you shook your head, stepping back. “Don’t do this, Jay. Don’t say these things when you know you can’t follow through. You’re with her, and I’m… I’m not a part of that world. I can’t keep pretending like there’s a place for me in your life when all I’m doing is hurting myself.”
He reached out again, his hand hovering near yours before pulling it back, defeated. “I don’t know what to do, Y/N,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m so lost. I thought I had everything figured out, but then you walked into my life, and now—now nothing makes sense. I don’t want to lose you, but I also don’t want to keep hurting you like this. I don’t know how to let go of you, Y/N. I don’t know how to stop wanting you.”
You bit your lip, forcing yourself to stay strong even as his words tore you apart. “You have to,” you said, your voice steady despite the tears streaming down your face. “For both of us. You have to let me go, Jay. Because I can’t keep living like this. I can’t keep loving someone who’s never going to be mine.”
The finality of your words hung heavy in the air, and Jay felt his knees go weak. He wanted to argue, to plead with you to stay, but deep down, he knew you were right. He had been selfish, holding onto you while refusing to make a choice. And now, it was too late.
“Okay,” he whispered, his voice cracking as tears rolled down his cheeks. “Okay, Y/N. If that’s what you need, I’ll—I’ll let you go. But just know that I…” He hesitated, the words caught in his throat. “I’m sorry. For everything. For not being brave enough to choose you. For hurting you. For loving you when I shouldn’t have.”
You nodded, your chest heaving as you tried to steady your breathing. “Goodbye, Jay,” you whispered, the words barely audible but heavy with meaning.
And this time, when you walked away, Jay didn’t follow. He stayed rooted to the spot, watching you disappear into the night, his heart shattered into pieces he wasn’t sure he could ever put back together.
Maybe in another life, maybe in another universe, he would have been the one to hold you close, his arms your safest place. He would have been the one to press soft kisses to your temple, nuzzling his nose against your neck as though the world outside didn’t exist. He would have been the one to wake beside you each morning, his fingers gently brushing through your hair, his gaze filled with the quiet adoration of someone who’d found their forever.
He would have carried you on his back when your legs gave out, laughing at your complaints but never letting go. He would have cooked your favorite meals, waiting for the sound of your keys turning in the door because coming home meant coming back to him. He would have been the one to stand at the end of the aisle, his heart racing as he watched you walk toward him in a gown that made you look like a dream.
He would have been the one you said “I do” to, your voice steady and full of promise. He would have been the one who vowed to hold you through the storms and the sunshine, in moments of joy and in those of despair. For better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health—he would have been the one to love and cherish you until your very last breath.
In another life, in another universe, he would have been the one. But here, in this tangled mess of reality, he could only dream of the love that could have been.
Maybe in another life, Jay thought, the universe would have been kinder to the both of you. In that life, there would be no Giselle, no tangled strings of guilt and confusion, no walls of "what ifs" and "too lates." In that life, he wouldn't have hesitated. He wouldn't have second-guessed every decision, every step closer to you.
He could imagine it so clearly, almost cruelly vivid in his mind. You, standing in the kitchen in the morning light, your laugh filling the air as he teased you about something silly. The way you’d rest your head on his shoulder during quiet moments, your presence a comfort he never knew he needed until it was gone.
He would have been the one to carry you when life got heavy, to wipe away your tears and kiss your worries away. He would have known, deep in his soul, that he didn’t just love you—he belonged with you.
But this wasn’t another life. This wasn’t another universe. And in this one, he had made his choices, and you had made yours. The weight of that reality pressed heavily on his chest, a bitter ache he knew he’d carry for a long time, maybe forever.
As he stood under the same stars that had once seemed to shine so brightly for him, Jay let the tears fall freely, his heart whispering a silent prayer to a world that didn’t exist.
Maybe in another life, you would have been his, and he would have been yours. But in this one, all he could do was love you from afar, a love that would remain untouched by time but buried deep within his heart.
ahhh thanks for reading up till here everyone! let me know if you liked it! this fic actually hit very close to home while i was writing because i subconsciously inserted my own feelings towards jay in this LOL😞
After months of taking a break from reblogging AU's here in Tumbler, I've finally found an AU that has made me rethink my decisions in life😅😅😅 First of all I just wanted to say the author-nim you had made one of the best of the best AU's that I have read in this app, I've taken a break from reblogging AU's since none of the AU's I've read had captured my emotions the way that this AU did, it was on hell of a ride a lot of mix and match emotions that had made me hold on to my phone for an hour the story was so well written that I am lost for words really, but I wanted to reblog this because I know your work deserves more recognition, I love the characters and I also love how we also get Giselle's point of view of how much she's willing to sacrifice for Jay and salvaged their relationship. AHHHH I have lost my words already this story is just😘👌 Chefs kiss 💋💋💋 I would love to see more work from you in the future🥹🫶🤍
summary: you think your purpose has always been to love him.
warnings: angst/no comfort, arranged marriage, indirect exclusion, HEARTACHE, unrequited love, reader is kinda a pushover but its bc of generational trauma guys !!! imelda is a great friend, the imelda bias here is unreal so sorry im just projecting, ableism behavior guys bc these mfs are too privileged, i am fr trying to break ur heart ig. NOT PROOFREAD im lazy.
note: HAPPY CHINESE NEW YEAR!!!! i slept on this mb,,,,, the angst ominis fic that i talked abt last time but didn't upload until now .... oc cameo from @localravenclaw and @esolean !! (Ren and Lydia) hope u guys enjoy this! anys have fun reading
All your life, you think that this was what you’ve been born to do.
It’s engraved in years of tradition and history, a role you had to partake in the moment you came out of the womb. It was predetermined that your fate would end up in this situation.
Purity was an important factor for the historical families of the Wizarding world. Those who had come down from powerful bloodlines consider the tradition of keeping the family pure a sacred tradition of their power and authority over society.
A pedestal created from years and years of bloodshed to hone the perfection of wizardry and magic today. You suppose it was only an act of gratitude to be part of a long-lasting dynasty that preserved the sacred power of your ancestors. You know it’s an honor to be tasked with this role—to be given the duty of creating more branches for future generations.
You should know because this was what you were born to do.
Born and raised to be a bridge for other Pureblood families to lengthen their authority and claim over their self-built thrones. They say it’s a privilege—to be part of a family descended from the Great Four or just have connections with them through their ancestors’ relationships.
To be pure is to be great.
To be pure is to live a life filled with luxuries.
Opportunities are immediately given with just a snap of their fingers. Their authority precedes those whose blood is stained with the lesser. You’d think living a life of a pureblood would just entail all roses and gold.
Y/N would beg to differ.
“Keep your head bowed and hands on your lap,” Your mother’s voice is ever so cold. The carriage rustles with each bump against rocky terrain. You suppose it's about time you've gotten used to her tone but the booming surprise of her voice has a way of sinking its claws deep within your small heart. As a child, obedience was the foremost value you learned to be of importance. You knew that if you flick your head slightly off angle to your usual disposition due to an interest in your surroundings or the people around you, you would only get the receiving end of your mother’s wand. You knew that you'll be locked down in that dreaded abyss if your bow stuttered due to a misplacement of your foot in front of other pureblood families.
At a young age, you knew enough to not make a mistake.
Born third to the Rosier family's eldest son, you knew that your duty was to form connections—Marry off into other pureblood families and create the next generation of talented pureblood wizards. Wizards have the natural right to take what’s theirs because of their authority over society. A vision that threatens those beneath them.
So you keep your head bowed and palms tucked nicely on your lap with one palm over the other. Your mother is a cold and moving force beside you as you tried to match her pace despite your small little legs. At the age of 7, you are brought by your mother for marriage negotiations.
“Your husband will be an esteemed member of the Gaunts,” You remember your father declaring over tea. He sits menacingly in the front of the table, the glow of the flames behind him making his figure all the more unreachable. You know to only nod and not question any further. He makes a point by knocking on the wooden surface of the long dinner table that seems to stretch farther with each day. You wonder if the spaces beside you will ever be filled. You turn to him at the beckoning of your attention. “You listen carefully to your future husband, child. I cannot afford another failure.”
His words engrave deeply within your poor meek heart. You know that if you deny it, you’ll suffer the same fate that of your older sister—the one who tried to get a glimpse of the love and normalcy she desperately wanted yet ended with a tragedy.
You remembered that day in such vivid detail—the cold looks of your parents as they looked down at the state of their eldest daughter, who bawls and claws at any sort of reaction from the still and lifeless figure of her former lover.
So just like the obedient perfect child that you are, you nod and bow—subservient to the influences of those who claim to be wiser than you. You can only do so much to control your faith so alas, you let go and let the others hold the reigns.
That is until you meet him.
You were faintly aware of what he looked like. A boy with eyes as bright as the clouds, hair so smooth—so blonde that it gleams perfectly in the sunlight, and moles that litter his face, mimicking the night sky. These were murmurs of him from the servants in the halls of your manor. They say his beauty is compared to that of Rowena Ravenclaw and his demeanor spoke true as a descendant of Salazar Slytherin. However, there were also whispers of his only flaw.
“They say the young lord does not see.”
You wondered before how true the nature of the gossip of the young lord was when you took your first step inside the Gaunt estate, but now, as you stand before him who seems detached from the world with his eyes as dull as the morning sky on a rainy day, you suddenly make a conclusive remark about him.
He was truly a sight to behold.
“This is the young Lord, Ominis Gaunt," His mother declares proudly from her place, chest puffed and earrings dangling from the heaviness of the jewels that clung tightly to their placements. His father stands idly and lets his wife do all the matching. Your mother only smiles, placing a firm hand on your back—reminding you of your duty.
You bow with the elegance that of a noble—A move you’ve honed to perfection from years and years of teaching and practice. You rise back up with the same pace, eyes peering up at him from your lashes. He only seems to daze off into the distance.
“This is Lady Y/N Rosier. We’ll serve you well.”
The silence is unbearable.
You think that maybe after the taxing interaction with the grown-ups and being able to interact alone with the young lord would allow you to finally discover his true personality.
That, however, continues to be a difficulty.
"Do you like fencing, my lord?" You ask, trying to break the ice as you sit across from him in one of the receiving rooms of the Gaunt's huge manor. "Or perhaps history?"
"Stop asking." He replies curtly, stance devoid of interest. You continue to dig deep into that shell of his, hoping that your incessant need to make conversation would crumble the defensive walls he put up.
"I hear you're quite skilled in astronomy, my lord—"
"Don't call me that."
"What do I call you then?" You perk up, cheeks gleaming with a smile. The furrowing of his eyebrows only digs deeper.
"It appears that I am an avid fan of silence. I suggest not speaking at all," For a 7-year-old, his voice is cold and authoritative. You suppose it's because of his closeness to the Great Four that he is granted with such ability to freely talk however he wants. Your eyes glimmer in awe.
"I just want to get to know my future husband," You retort, trying to make sense of your fiance. You pout like a child, feet swinging back and forth—allowing yourself a moment of reprieve from the stiffness of tradition. "Mother says it's customary for us to be familiar with one another at a young age to establish proper connec—"
His hands slam hard at the wooden surface of the table in front of you. You flinch, a bit surprised by his sudden show of strength. You admit that maybe you've gone a bit too far with the questioning, but it was all for a good purpose anyway! You two are to be one in due time. So, what was so wrong about getting to know him?
You wonder if you'll ever be like him someday. To carry himself in such a stance that he doesn't need to nod or bow to anyone. He tilts his head in the direction of your voice, face contorted into a glare.
"I'll be on my way," He murmurs, voice calm, and yet his disposition evokes anger and frustration. You watch him with bated breath as he walks towards the double doors, the servants bowing and opening it for him with ease.
You know that this should be the final nail in the coffin. To detest the boy you'll soon marry as he turns into a man whose values and inhibitions clung onto him like a wolf who won't release it's jaws onto prey. You know and yet your fingers crumple the fabric of your skirt, eyes looking forward to your next meeting.
The next time you meet him is over tea. It was the turn of the Gaunts to visit your manor as dictated by the tradition of courting within noble houses. You've practiced this scenario over and over. Countless of times alone, with your governess, and with your mother. It's engraved within the depths of your mind as the wounds of the past sting with each sip of your drink.
Act like a noble. Drink like a high-born. Be a pureblood.
The thoughts ring harshly with each thump of your beating heart. Your fingers twitch, and your form stiffens—all for the sake of tradition. The words branding the forefront of your mind as you feel the intensity of your mother's gaze.
I have to do good. I need to do good.
"Your estate is a wonderful place, Lady Rosier," The Gaunt Matriarch addresses your mother with an esteemed elegance—to which your mother only responds with a courteous smile, a part of her façade.
Your mother never liked purebloods but she respected tradition. She smiles and bows in front of her peers but mocks and beseeches them in the comfort of her room.
You don't understand your mother but as a young child, validation from her was the only thing you ever wanted.
And so you try.
"It's all due to our ancestors' hard work in keeping the Rosier history alive through the manor's architecture," You respond, lips contorted into a gentle smile. The Gaunts seem impressed by your interest in the conversation and from the corner of your eye, you see your mother shift in her seat.
"I see," Lord Gaunt eyes you with a glint of interest in his eye, and he shifts his attention to your parents. "Lord and Lady Rosier, you've raised a daughter worthy of her blood. I applaud you."
Your mother smiles and for the first time, you feel your heart thump at the recognition of doing good. She then responds, "As they should be. It is their role to be worthy and I'm sure she'll be a wonderful spouse to the young master."
Your attention then shifts to the quiet blonde sitting idly in his seat. His face is stone cold, eyes dull, and fists clenching the material of his seat so hard it turns white.
Anger was the first emotion you've seen on Ominis's face.
You wonder if you'll get to see more.
"Aren't you excited?"
You squeal, influenced by the utter joy of finally attending school. It's your first year.
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where most wizarding families are built and made from. Many of your relatives built their name from their experiences as a student in Hogwarts—after all it was in your blood to be ambitious. To dream of the impossible and achieve it by any means. That's why your family house dons the colors of green and silver—a direct allegiance to the house of Slytherin, that of which many of your blood relatives reside during their time as a student.
While being excited about Hogwarts was already a given factor as a child of magic, there's also one thing you're most excited about.
"Stop bouncing about, Y/N," Ominis grumbled as he heaved his bag over his shoulder. "We still have to find our damn car."
Your relationship with Ominis did progress in some ways. He's less grouchy now and tolerates your personality enough to let you stay by his side. You've gotten used to its indifference but you think that it's good progress with how he talks more with you albeit still with glares and a cold demeanor.
He pays you no mind as he traverses through the narrow pathway of the train with the guide of his wand. You follow closely behind, hands carrying your suitcase as Ominis guides you to your assigned car.
"I can't help it, I'm literally bursting with energy," You whine as Ominis finally reaches your destination, slides the door open, and places his things inside. He plops down to the farthest corner and leans back to rest. You immediately claim the seat next to him to which he grumbles.
"There's plenty of seats for you to take," He scowls, gesturing to the empty seats in front of you both. You only giggle as you snuggle up next to him.
"Oh don't be such a stone-faced troll, Ominis!" You whine, slapping his arm. He tenses with anger at the gesture. "It's natural for me as your fiancée to be as close to you as possible."
"Stop calling yourself that," His eyebrows furrow in annoyance, jaw clenching in anger. You roll your eyes, not minding his hostility.
"But I am though?"
"I swear to Merlin's name and everything he holds dear, if you don't—"
The slide of the door halts your conversation as your eyes and his head flick toward the sudden disturbance. Two brunettes pop in, one seemingly looking like a direct copy of the other. They blink, eyebrows raised as they stare at the two of you.
"116?" The boy asks with an awkward smile. "Are we interrupting something?"
You pull yourself slowly from Ominis's space at the prospect of new friendships. You smile. "No worries, just a lovers' quarrel. I assume you're the ones we'll share the car with?"
"There is no lovers' quarrel." Ominis firmly states. The two purse their lips in slight hesitance. "Please, do join us though. Merlin knows I need it."
The two then make their way to sit in the remaining two empty seats, placing their luggage in the compartment under. You smile as they settle down in their seats, bright smiles plastered on their faces.
"Right," The boy starts. "Uh, I'm Sebastian Sallow and this is my sister, Anne. It's nice to meet you both."
You nod excitedly at the introduction, delighted to make friends at the present opportunity.
"I'm Y/N Rosier," You respond. You then gesture to the blonde next to you. "And this is Ominis Gaunt, my fian—"
"Friend." Ominis cuts through, overpowering your voice. You turn to him with wide eyes and raised eyebrows. "They mean friend."
The twins glanced at the two of you, puzzled by the shifting of the balance in your dynamics. Anne breaks the silence.
"Well, we'll be spending quite a long while here, I hope to make your acquaintance," The Sallow girl beams. Sebastian nods at his sister's words while Ominis responds with a hum of agreement.
There's not much to say when the group falls into silence once more. The four of you were strangers after all, still not used to the presence of someone new but the feeling is welcomed.
Your eyes glance at Ominis who seems to have been resting his eyes, leaning his head against the wall—waiting for the train to begin its course. The corner of your lips curl up at his iridescent beauty.
The train sounds its whistle beginning your journey.
"Are you dumb?"
Imelda blatantly states as she stares at you with disinterest in her eyes. She takes a bite of her apple. "Or just purely ignorant of what's actually happening?"
On your 3rd year at Hogwarts, you somehow get grounded to reality through the presence of Imelda Reyes.
You suppose it's all in due time that you'd be awakened from the trauma-inducing nightmare of tradition and sacred rules of your family. The need to fulfill your role. To give Ominis a home he needs, a family he wants, and a lover he deserves. You suppose that your role overshadowed your judgment of his character and behavior.
You had gotten used to it. To his blatant ignorance of your efforts, the glares, sarcastic comments, seething scoffs, or the fact that sometimes, he doesn't see you at all.
He's always like this, you think. You were never bothered by his indifference. You believed that you could love him enough for the both of you.
You were stupidly wrong about that too.
Sebastian and Anne are terrific company. After being acquainted in your first year, your little group had been formed then and there. The two of them stayed for the past 2 years and you were truly grateful for them. However, the twins were mostly close to Ominis. You didn't mind the gaps between you and the siblings seeing as you prioritized your relationship with Ominis more than anything.
You never really considered it to be a bad thing.
That is until Imelda begins to scratch at the surface of your finely built walls.
You purse your lips, minding your own business as you continue to sew a new stitch into the stretched fabric. You were unfortunate enough to share the dorm room with Imelda and while you enjoyed the rambunctious' Slytherin Quidditch Captain's companionship, this was certainly not something you'd rather talk with her. Everything was fine and there was no need to nitpick at every detail.
Your needle pokes through the hole, goes in, then out—thread sliding swiftly in the path you've carved out for it.
"I'm not sure what you mean, Imelda," You try to deflect her inquisitive nature. She rolls her eyes.
"It's just–" She pauses to readjust her position, leaning forward to rest her arms on her knees—she eyes you with keen interest. "I'm truly amazed how you've gone 3 years with him."
You glance up at her with furrowed eyebrows. "Stop speaking ill of Ominis."
Imelda lets out a loud laugh at your response. "And you even dare to defend him? Are you sure you're not dumb?"
You forcefully drop your sewing tools on your lap as you heave a sigh at her words. You turn to face her fully. "What do you want?"
"Why stay?" She responds, direct. She takes another bite of the apple.
There's a momentary pause of silence as the question rings in your mind. You had half a mind to just drop the conversation and leave but some part of you somehow wanted to defend yourself.
"He's just Ominis. He's always been like that," You respond, chest puffed in self-proclaimed confidence. "We grew up together. We're promised for each other. That's all I need—"
A sudden burst of laughter from Imelda catches you off guard. You flinch in surprise as you watch the brunette Slytherin double down in laughter. Somehow, the clawing feeling inside you becomes more prominent with each giggle and huff from the woman's lips. Your nail begins to scratch at the skin of your thumb.
"H-Holy shit," Imelda sighs in laughter, brushing off a stray tear. She giggles a few more times before finally settling down with a smile. "You're worse than I thought."
She tilts her head with a condescending look on her face.
"Have you ever seen him with the twins? Alone?" She asks. That sets off wave after wave of uncomfortable thumping within your chest. You let out a shaky breath. "I suppose you don't because you're always so focused on your dearest fiance—Actually, y'know! If you just tried to properly look at him. Maybe, just maybe, you'd finally get a grasp of yourself."
Your jaw clenches and palms sweat.
"Stop it." You try to get a hold of yourself. To take control of the situation and get a grip on your thoughts that seem to get more and more chaotic as time passes. However, despite your tries, Imelda overpowers you once more.
"Y/N," She leans forward to rest her arms on the wooden surface of the table. "Maybe, you don't know much about him at all."
Your eyes are locked on hers at the prompt of her words. You can't bring yourself to deny despite the flurry of emotions bursting within you. She tilts her head and gives you a sympathetic look.
You walked out with no response.
On your 5th year, the presence of a new student shook the halls of Hogwarts.
It was uncommon, of course, that a wizard would get admitted at such a late year and while the idea of a new 5th year would turn a few heads in curiosity, this was not the only source of attention.
Over the course of the first few days back to school, you hear talks of the new 5th year's incredible feats of surviving against a dragon attack. There were exaggerations, of course, and different variants of the story with how widespread the gossip had reached, but it all reached the same conclusion at the end.
This new girl had already made her mark as a formidable wizard.
You admired her at first, wanting to know how she did it and what brought on such circumstances. However, there was a slight uncomfortable nagging deep within the depths of your heart at your first meeting. While you felt regretful of such impression despite her kind deportment, you still felt uneasy at the arrival of her presence.
It was probably partly because of Anne's leave of absence since the start of your 5th year. Sebastian was quite privy to the details concerning Anne's sudden absence. You knew she was sick, but other than that, you were quite left in the dark. You convinced yourself that maybe Sebastian feels conflicted when talking about it, and his sudden avoidance of you bringing up the topic proves a testament to that. However, you've seen him and Ominis on the train when you came back after getting refreshments. You've seen Ominis give him a comforting hug—an affection you've barely received from him if there was any at all. You've seen Sebastian tap Ominis to stop talking whenever you enter the room.
People tend to have that misconception that you're awfully unaware of your surroundings due to you being characterized as a 'pushover.' You knew that your bond with Ominis or Sebastian was way different than what they had for each other. You knew it and chose not to dwell too much on the semantics. You'd rather focus on Ominis. On being the person he deserves.
This was solidified when Sebastian began including her in your lunch hangouts.
You were unfortunate enough to be separated from Sebastian and Ominis for your Potions lecture. You had to scour across the castle just to get with them for lunch. They were usually at the same place—lounging around in the Defense against the Dark Arts Tower or the Undercroft.
This time, however, you were finding it quite hard to spot the two.
"Look," Lydia Parkinson, a Ravenclaw from your year, twirls the cup of drink in her hand as she lazily looks up at you due to the lulling atmosphere of the afternoon. "Maybe you could just have lunch with us. Just saying."
Seated beside Lydia is Ren Aries, your potions seatmate (also a Ravenclaw). She has rumored romantic ties with Sebastian, which brought you to their spot in the Great Hall in the first place. Who else would know Ominis's best friend better than you?
Your eyes turn to Ren, who merely rests her chin on her palm propped up by her elbow on the table. "Don't look at me."
"You're basically dating!" You whine, hands grabbing on your books tighter. "Of course, you know where he is."
"No, we're not." Ren answers swiftly.
"Wrong." Lydia raises a breadstick and accusingly points it at Ren.
"Is she talking to you? I don't think so." Ren swats her hand away, causing the breadstick to fly across the table and into a group of first years. The three of you immediately turn your heads, not willing to face the confused glances on their faces.
Just as the first years begin to mind their own business, Lydia begins to lean in with pursed lips. "Well, I might've heard that the two left the Great Hall with the new fifth—"
Suddenly a loud slap intercepts her words. You flinch back at the sudden movement, watching as Lydia rubs her arm as she crumples over the table. Ren sends a glare toward Lydia before turning to you with a half-lidded stare.
"Don't mind her. She's delirious after drinking the pumpkin juice." Ren intercepts easily, not minding her best friend wincing beside her. You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion.
"I heard what she said?'
"No you didn't."
"I mean ..." You trailed off, eyes glancing between the two. "I just heard her say the new fifth year."
There's an uncomfortable silence as the two gaze at you with an unreadable stare. Somehow, this gaze seems quite familiar. You've seen it from Imelda, from Anne during your short moments together, and now these two. A budding stem of annoyance begins to grow in your skin.
"Why are you looking at me like that? They're probably just hanging out." You shrug it off like you've always had. It is no use fretting over such simple matters.
"Sure they are—" Lydia chuckles before Ren sends a nudge to her ribs. The redhead merely groans and grabs at the edge of the table. You look at her in concern.
"As I said, delirious." Ren lightly curls the corners of her lips to give you a polite smile. There's a pause of silence before Ren sighs—eyes gazing with an unreadable expression on her face. Your fingers twitch at its familiarity.
"They're in the Undercroft, Y/N." She says, nodding slightly. There's a slight hesitance to her tone of response as if telling you where they were wasn't something she was supposed to be doing. "Sebastian dropped by our table to tell me that, just in case I wanted to join."
Sebastian referred to Ren. Just in case she wanted to join. You wanted to ask if Ominis at least told her to tell you, but you're too much of a coward to do that.
You couldn't will yourself to look at her eyes, afraid that you might finally recognize the emotion that lingers in the depths of her mind. You suppose the inquisitive and empathetic nature of Ravenclaw runs deep within Ren's blood.
You nod as a thanks and left without a word.
You hear laughter first. Your footsteps halt at the archway of the Undercroft—breath faltering as your eyes find the familiar tufts of blonde you've grown to love over the years.
Normally, you would've already bounced over to him, reveling in his attention no matter how negative or neutral it might appear. You would've teased him and wormed your way into his arms.
However, things were quite different from where you were standing.
You hadn't had the opportunity to meet the new 5th year. You only relied on hushed whispers and murmurs across the halls of Hogwarts just to get a glimpse of what she was actually like. You take slow steps towards the source of laughter, eyes trained on their figures—smiles, and gleeful expressions plastered on their faces.
You're caught off guard by the unfamiliar presence of the new fifth year—hair as dark as midnight with a touch of silver strands that decorate the front of her hair like the stars that litter the sky. She's as pretty as they say, as radiant as they whispered about, and evokes the aura of a true born wizard.
However, the true reason for her shock lies in the fact that Ominis—the man she'd known to be stoic, unmoving, and unphased, was laughing. Ominis was laughing.
"Oh, Y/N." It's Sebastian who notices you first. You flinched at the greeting, watching as the other two paused—the new fifth year turning towards you with wide curious eyes, and Ominis subtly turned his head away from you. Your breath hitches at his actions. Sebastian awkwardly glances between the two of you. "I think this is the first time you actually met Nora. Nora, this is Y/N Rosier. Y/N, this is Nora Finley."
Nora waves at you with a smile. "Hi Y/N. Hope you don't mind me intruding."
"None at all." You reply eyes glancing at Ominis who continues to have his back towards you. You decide to continue the conversation. "I was looking for you guys. I thought we were going to have lunch."
"Oh," Sebastian scratches the back of his head, hesitantly glancing at Ominis who continuously remains silent and indifferent. "We already had lunch. Sorry."
You slowly nod in an understanding, a stiff smile plastered on your face.
"That was because you were too hungry to wait," Nora intercepts with joking shove. "Apologies, Y/N. I didn't know they were waiting for someone else."
Your finger twitches slightly at her words. "It's fine."
"I was waiting for Ren! Ominis was just being an asshole." Sebastian defends himself which earns a slap on the arm from Nora. Then, you suddenly hear Ominis speak up.
"Not my fault you were actually coward enough to not go to her yourself," Ominis says. This earns a laugh from Nora who bumps her shoulders against Ominis. "I had to pull you over." The three laugh at the situation at hand, faces plastered with glee and comfort.
So Ominis was there, with Ren and the others. Yet no one thought of telling you where they were. An anxious heavy feeling settles over your chest.
Suddenly, you feel out of place. Your ears ring, zoning out, as their motion becomes more distorted in your eyes. You feel as though you shouldn't be here—that you're the one intruding instead. The ache overwhelms you.
Your feet shuffle a few steps back. "I-I'll get going." You say, voice weak as you announce your departure. Sebastian gives you a moment's glance before nodding. Nora gives you a big wave (you feel bad, she's too much of an angel). However another reason piles onto your aching heart—mind in a daze as it beats fast with anxiety.
Ominis had not once acknowledge your presence.
You leave with your dignity intact.
Seeing Nora is now a regular occurrence.
You didn't mind it at first. You liked the girl. She was a social butterfly, easy to talk to, and her presence brought comfort whenever she was around. You couldn't argue the comfortable nature of Sebastian and Ominis around her. While you were also a generally talkative and social person, it still varied among your peers. Your personality often ventures between the lines of introvert and extrovert—only becoming active to a certain amount of people, and silent to the rest.
However, despite your positive impression on Nora, there was also the case between her and Ominis. You've seen them hanging about in various points of the castle. Even going out together when they leave classes. You haven't had much alone time to spend with Ominis as he somehow begins to become more non-approachable and cold as days pass by. Somehow, he becomes more indifferent than before.
Back then, Ominis indulges in your whims despite his initial opposition. You suppose it's probably to get you to stop, but he had always listened—one way or another. Now, he merely leaves without a word—cutting you off mid-talk and bouncing off to Nora who had just entered the room.
Your heart begins to waver and your breath speeds up. You couldn't deny the hurt that flows through you with each indifferent response of your fiance. Your fiance. He was yours as much as you were his.
So why does it feel like you're the one intruding?
"What do you think we should get Anne, Omi?" You smile, siding up to Ominis whose hands run through the braille engraved on his book. "Do you think we should get her some scented candles?"
"Anne has a sensitive nose." Ominis furrows his eyebrows before slightly tilting his head towards you. "Didn't you know that?"
"I did!" You respond with a defensive tone. Of course, you did. Anne was your friend. "I was going to buy her those simple scented candles. Just to help her with the stress."
Ominis scoffs at your words before going back to reading his book. Just as you inquire a little more about his day, you hear Nora and Sebastian chattering as they reach your spot. You were about to greet them when you felt Ominis nudge your hold away from his arm. You flinch at its intensity as he rises from his seat to walk towards the two—specifically in Nora's direction.
Your heart thumps loudly against your chest, knocking against your ribs like an ache you can't explain. You sit silently, eyes watching as they chatter amongst themselves. The looming realization begins to crawl under your skin, chipping at you—limb from limb. Your breath falters.
"Y/N!" Nora greets like the angel that she is. You smile back, albeit forced and hesitant but welcomed her warmth with open arms. She slides up to you, before calling over the two. They follow with ease. You feel Nora's arm intertwine with yours, thumbing the cloth of your robe.
Just as the two have finally settled down, Nora begins the conversation. "I'm glad you don't have DADA with these two. It's always a chaos."
You nod, still quite perplexed by the whole situation. "Really?"
"Please, Nora." Sebastian teases, arms propped on the table. "Just say you're mad that I beat you at a duel."
"Throwing a ragged cloth to my face before casting a Levioso isn't a win that you think it is." Ominis intercepts with a disappointed shake of his head.
"Blah, blah. Looks like a skill issue to me." Sebastian leans back, arms crossed over his chest. He rolls his eyes playfully. "Life isn't fair on the battlefield, Finley."
Nora turns to you with a scrunched nose. "Are you really friends with these guys?"
You find yourself pausing at her question. Thankfully, she laughs afterward, pulling tease after teasing towards Sallow. The question begins to etch into your brain as your mind conjured every possible interaction you had with Sebastian. Was he even your friend? You remember the silence and the awkward tensions whenever Ominis had to go to the bathroom or get called up by Professor Weasley. Even before then, when Anne was present in your little group of 4, the twins were always stuck to the hip, if not with Ominis. Never the three of you alone together.
Never with you.
You suppose Imelda was right. Blinded by the idea and concept of love through duty, you unintentionally neglected the possible ties that you could've had with the twins. You felt helpless.
"Oh, yeah. Before I forget, what are we getting Anne this weekend?"
Your head turn towards Nora in surprise. "You're coming?"
There's a momentary pause at your question. You wouldn't have minded it before, but now you feel the stares clawing at your skin.
"Of course, she is." Ominis replies with a tone of disbelief. "Don't be ridiculous."
"She hasn't met Anne, though? I don't think—"
"Don't speak for my sister, Y/N." Sebastian cuts through the tension with an offhanded response. You turn towards him in surprise. Nora shifts uncomfortably beside you. "We already planned this. Let's just go with it."
"You didn't tell me anything?" You're not sure as to why your voice suddenly begins to rise. Your hands clench under the table.
"My bad?" Sebastian shakes his head in confusion, as if he's the one incovenienced. "Listen up, next time then? Instead of you know—ogling Ominis, all the time?"
"Sebastian!" Nora calls out, perplexed at the sudden hostility. The brown-haired Slytherin merely turns his head away. A dreadful feeling submerges over your body as you glance at Ominis who sports an indifferent look in his face. There's a paused silence before Sebastian stands from his seat.
"Where are you going?" Nora asks, worried.
"Out. I'm floo-ing to Hogsmeade for the gift. Catch up if you guys want to." Sebastian mumbles in response. He leaves abruptly, robe trailing behind him.
Just as you were about to turn to Ominis, he stands up. "Omi?"
"You should've known better." Ominis mutters. Your breath hitches at his words. He follows through with Sebastian. Your hand clenches into a fist.
"Y/N," Nora grasps at your arm with slight comfort. You couldn't be mad at her even if you wanted to. "Are you okay?"
Your head is lowered, hair framing your face as you try to gather your emotions. You then turn towards her with a smile you've practiced from your childhood days.
"I'm fine."
The silence was unbearable.
You're not sure when was the last time you and Ominis were seated together in a room, alone—much less the receiving room of your manor. You can feel the nervousness clawing up your throat. Your mother had persisted on the two of you visiting the manor during your winter break. You wanted to accept the invitation at first, seeing as this was an opportunity to spend time with Ominis.
But seeing the disdain on his face as soon as you told him the news, somehow regret only fills your body. You had no choice either way.
"Is Hogwarts treating you well?" Your mother sips her tea with the elegance fitting for her role as the matriarch of the house. You shift in your seat, uneasy from her attention.
"Well enough," Ominis answers from your side. His face lacks the enthusiasm of talking to your family.
Your mother furrows her eyebrows at the response but doesn't say anything regardless. "I do hope you're both preparing for your engagement once you graduate in 2 years. Merlin knows how much both of our families have prepared for it."
You nod submissively, unable to resist the pointed stare your mother gives you. Ominis stands abruptly at her words, not opting to pardon himself as he walks out of the room. There's paused silence before your mother scoffs.
"Insolent child," She seethes, taking a sip out of her cup. "If it weren't for his family name and heritage, we would've found you a more suitable heir to marry. Merlin knows his family's treating him like a dispensable asset, when his brother's already married and up to take the role as head of the house."
You sit silently, eyes focused on the untouched cup of tea. Your mother's voice booms through the room, causing you to flinch at its sudden intensity.
"Go after him, Y/N. Beg on your knees if you have to. Keep him tied to the leash before he goes off pawing at others." Your mother orders. "Your sister's a testament to that. Do I make myself clear?"
Your mother's word was law. Everyone in the house knew that. Even your father, who is recognized as the head of the house. She easily controls those around her to do her bidding, and those who resist are met with dire consequences. You'd rather be by her side than against her blade.
"Yes, mother."
You found him by the courtyard.
Your family dog, an Alpine Mastiff that was gifted for your father by a collector of muggle creature, pants against his lap—enjoying the gentle caresses that Ominis runs through his fur. He sits against the huge tree in the middle, the leaves giving his face a gentle shade from the light. You make careful steps before standing in front of him.
"Feeling lethargic, Omi?" You smile. The dog, Xavier, looks up at you with its sleepy eyes before yawning against Ominis's touch.
"I told you to stop calling me that." He replies, eyes devoid of emotion. He merely runs back and forth Xavier's fur as if its stimulation calms his nerves.
"You never allow me to call you anything." You retort, voice calm as you look down at him with a forlorn expression. He doesn't need to know that.
Ominis shakes his head, a sarcastic smile on his lips. "That's because we're not friends."
You purse your lips before responding. "If you say stuff like that, I'll get hurt, Omi."
Ominis chuckles. "You've bound me to your chains, made me a spectacle with your jokes, and you're worried about getting hurt over the truth?"
You stared at him as he continues to pet the massive dog on his lap. You've gone through this routine before, and you'll go through it again. Why get hurt now?
There's a miniscule pause of silence before you let out a laugh at his words. "So touchy with everything, Omi. You really hate me that much?"
It's a joke. Don't take it to heart.
"Yes," He answers with no hesitation, face devoid of any emotion. He finally looks up and its as if those beautiful cloudy blue eyes could stare through you. "Yes, I do."
It's not true.
You've observed Ominis enough to know what he's thinking.
As much as others regarded him as an intimidating figure, he quite wears his heart on his sleeve. You know when he's angry, when he's joking, being sarcastic, sad, or whatever version of Ominis you're facing for the day. You didn't spend 8 years of your life loving him just for you to not recognize every detail on his face.
You've known him well enough to recognize patterns on his behavior, subtle differences to his emotions, and his current mood of the day. If anything, you're well versed in Ominis's body language, that you've grown well accustomed to how you act around him based on it.
That's why besides you're being hit with two realities, instead of one.
You've watched them from across the hall, chatting up a storm as the three of them were huddled in the corner. You've long since opted to observing them rather than being in the group itself, and ever since then, you've begin noticing things you weren't supposed to.
"What's got you looking so focused there?" Imelda's voice reaches your senses as a figure settles beside you. You give her a glance before looking back at the trio. She hums, following your line of sight. "Looking at your asshole of a lover boy again?"
"Don't I ever?" You sarcastically remark, laughing slightly. Imelda looks at you with a slight raise of her eyebrow.
"Wow," She nods. "That's improvement. You don't make sarcastic remarks when I point out your obsession with white boy over there."
You glance at her, heaving a breath as you contemplated letting Imelda know of your thoughts as of late. You suppose that she's the only person who has been real with you since the start. Everything's been a blur since your visit with Ominis to your manor. You've been trying your hardest to appear normal but things had just gone way off. You've started to distance yourself as well, only responding when asked or talked to—which most of the case is Nora's doing. Though, with Sebastian's constant needs for adventure and Nora's inquisitive nature, she had also lost the attention towards your interaction with the group.
With Ominis, you knew well enough that wherever Nora and Sebastian went, he went to as well. You've seen the three of them flee the Great Hall, not minding your lack of presence to the group. 4 years as a group of friends and 8 years with Ominis, and they haven't had a single thought about you that passed through their minds.
You suppose you should've gotten used to their exclusion to your presence. You're partly aware that this is due to the engagement between you and Ominis, how much he despises the centuries-old tradition of marrying those of the same stature as he is. How much he detests the forced nature of your relationship. You wished you had the power to null it, to start over, and meet him under different circumstances. To dream of a reality where he actually finds love in you, and wishes for a future with you in it.
But alas, life is hard for someone like you. To hold so much authority within your fingertips but be shackled by tradition and generational trauma. You've long accepted your demise.
"Ominis likes Nora." The words slips out of your mouth with ease. Like what you just said was something out of the news. Imelda chokes at what she hears. You look at her with concern.
"E-excuse me?"
"Ominis likes Nora." You repeat calmly. Imelda sweatdrops, moving to stand in front of you as she analyzed your facial expression.
"You're saying that like it's the weather—are you okay?" She asks, worried.
You shrug, eyes looking down at your twiddling thumbs. "It's inevitable. Everyone knows about it, no?"
Imelda pauses, face cringing as she places her hands on her hips. You chuckle at the silent admission. "I'm always a bit too late."
"Look, Y/N," She sighs, taking a step forward as she places a hand on your arm. "Ominis was doomed to be your fiance from the start. He's an asshole and just overall rude! You've got nothing much to lose anyway!"
Your tongue darts out to lick your bottom lip before pulling between your teeth. "I do. That's not how it works, Imelda."
You glance up at her, finally meeting her concerned eyes. She lets out a breath at your forlorn expression.
"I always knew Ominis didn't like what we had. I've spent most of my childhood years with him to not know the familiarity of his disdain." You reply. You recall the times you've received cold and indifferent actions from him. "He's made himself clear. I was always the one who wanted more."
"Y/N," Imelda sighs.
"I don't think Ominis ever considered me to be someone dear to him," You whispered. "I had always been something he easily cast aside. A nuisance—I've seen the way he whispers to Sebastian whenever I've said something they considered out of line. I was never something he deemed important."
Imelda is silent. You heave a sigh.
"He's happy now." You mutter. "Nora's everything I'm not, and even if I wanted to hate her, despise her—she's so pure and likeable that it's so unfair. Why is it so unfair?"
You feel tears well in your eyes. Imelda's breath hitches at the sight. She looks around, trying to see if anyone was watching. She then hears the familiar voices of the three. Soon enough she sees them walking over to pass by their area. Imelda did what she could only think of.
She pulls her off her robe before throwing it over your head, shielding you from their stares. She pulls you in her arms as the three near towards you. You couldn't see a thing but you could hear them.
"... Imelda?" Sebastian's voice comes out as confused, probably because of her hooded figure. "What's up?"
"Hey!" Imelda smiles, hands making gentle pats to your back. "Friend's not feeling well. Hope you don't mind."
There's pause of silence before Ominis responds. You feel your heart speed up. "Ah, hope they'll feel better."
"They hear that quite well!" Imelda responds with enthusiasm. You slump against her hold, feeling lethargic from thinking.
"Alright, we'll get going." Sebastian waves before the two follow them off. Just as the three of them began to make their way down the hall, you hear Nora suddenly backtrack.
"Ah, by the way, if you do see Y/N around, tell her that Professor Weasley's asking for her?" Nora says. Your body freezes and its as if Imelda had felt it as she had pulled you closer.
"S-sure." Imelda responds. The three of them began to go on their way, chatting and laughing as they disappear down the hall.
Imelda finally pulls her robe off you, eyes filled with concern. "Y/N ..."
"They knew I wasn't around," You mumble, breath trembling, and eyes devoid of emotion. "They knew. He knew."
Imelda raises a hand to fix your hair before smiling. "There's nothing much I can say that will be of help, but I do hope that you'll take care of yourself—Of what you'll do from here on out."
You pause at her words before nodding silently.
The realization settles in and its heartbreaking and grueling. However, despite that, things haven't been much clearer than before. You'll set things right. For him. For yourself.
Because love is your greatest weakness, no? Your greatest threat. Love for him, and love for your family.
Whichever will prevail?
A/N: before yall ask, yes this will have a part 2 ... i just really wanted to finish this and it went beyond what ive planned. stay tuned mwehe!!! this will not have a happy ending btw. the title daffodil's camellia is in reference to their meaning in love. daffodil can mean new beginnings but it can also mean unrequited love, camellia means romantic love or devotion. just wanted to let yall know that!
Summary:
Sebastian Sallow is great at two things: dueling, and saying the worst possible thing to the girl he likes. Now she’s not speaking to him (but everyone else suddenly is). And not even six apology letters, a box of Honeydukes chocolate, or a toast-bribed owl can fix it.
Word Count: ~4,900
(I’m a minimalist. That’s basically 10k in my language.)
Tags:
Sebastian Sallow x f!MC, Sebastian is not brooding, Explicit Language, Canon Divergence, Sebastian says something stupid and regrets it for 3000 words, Teen angst, Bird bribery, Character growth (probably), Love that might work if he stops being a prat, Sebastian being Sebastian, MC is so DONE, Emotional Spiral & Mental Breakdance, Slow Burn (kinda)
A/N:
Back with some Ominis sass, a traumatised owl, and a healthy dose of teenage spiraling. This time, I stepped a little out of my comfort zone — wrote something longer, didn’t make everything too angsty, and just let them be teenagers. As they should be. (Also attempted to sneak in some humor. I hope I’m funny.)
Honestly, I feel bad for the characters in Hogwarts Legacy — so many of them are burdened by trauma far too early, not to mention that they're only teenagers. Maybe that’s why I’m drawn to the stories I write: to let them have the moments they deserve. To give them a break — a space to be young, reckless, ridiculous — to worry about crushes and quarrels instead of villains, curses, or saving the world.
Anyway, this fic is inspired by Sebastian Sallow and his half-assed, owled apology (which, in my mind, is the wizarding equivalent of breaking up over text). And truthfully? The only thing that kept me going was the need to finally sleep at night, knowing he properly apologized to the MC
Enjoy ❤️
If there’s one thing Sebastian Sallow is good at — better than reading, better than duelling — it’s definitely taking a certain new fifth-year for granted.
(Gold star. Full marks. Ten points to Slytherin.)
Which is why Sebastian hadn’t expected her to walk away.
Not really.
She was always ready with a comeback. A lecture. A frowned pair of eyebrows (that and a half-judgmental look).
But this time? After he called her ignorant — after she flinched, just barely — she just stared at him. Silent. Lips parted like she wanted to say something, but thought better of it.
Then she sighed.
Turned.
Walked out of the Undercroft like he hadn’t just cracked something wide open between them.
And now she wasn’t speaking to him.
And worse — everyone else was.
...
“Look at this. Sebastian Sallow — hearts in pieces. Did you two lovebirds finally part ways?” Imelda asked one afternoon, leaning far too casually against a training dummy like she hadn’t been watching him fail conjuring Protego three times in a row.
Sebastian didn’t even glance at her. “What now, Imelda?”
“While you’re over here sulking, Larson and Prewett have been very chatty with your girl.” She tilted her head toward the other side of the room, where a small knot of students had gathered around her. “Oh, look. Even Clopton’s joined them.”
“She can do whatever she wants. Now, go bite someone else’s head off.” He scoffed, turning his back and attempting to cast something — anything — with actual success this time.
“I’m just saying — now that you’ve stopped hogging her, other blokes are lining up.” She gave a low whistle.
“She’s not my girl” He snapped, voice louder than he intended it to be.
“Of course.” Imelda grinned. “Care to explain why you look like you’re going to hex someone every time they say hi to her, then?”
Sebastian didn’t answer. Didn’t even look her way. He squared his stance, eyes locked on the training dummy like he hadn’t heard a word. Wand raised. Jinx ready.
Across the room, her laughter bubbled out at something Andrew said. Quiet, really — just not to him.
A blast — wide.
Off target.
Again.
“Your loss, Sallow.”
“OH—fuck off, Reyes.”
She walked off laughing. Satisfied.
He threw a tantrum that night.
Not on purpose.
It started with him stomping towards his room, scaring a pair of second-years along the way. Then it continued with his poorly written Transfiguration essay (and one quill that wouldn’t stop leaking). After that he’d tripped over his own shoes on the way to his trunk and stubbed his toe on the brass footboard.
Next thing he knew, a downpour of profanities.
The essay was in pieces. His robe was crumpled in one hand. He hurled it across the room like it had personally offended him. It landed in a sad heap beside his ink-splattered notes.
From the other side of the room, Ominis groaned.
“For Merlin’s sake — Sebastian, you’re being impossible.”
“I’m not.” Sebastian snapped, voice cracking somewhere between protest and a whine.
“Really?” Ominis sat up in bed, arms crossed over his night shirt. “Because it looks like you’re holding a personal vendetta against that robe.”
Sebastian scowled. “I said I’m not angry, Ominis,” he repeated, half-screaming now.
Ominis pointed toward the scattered essay pages. “Tell that to your Potions homework.”
Sebastian didn’t even bother to correct him. He dragged a hand through his hair. “It’s just — she’s ignoring me.”
“As she should be.”
“And Larson’s been following her around like a lost kneazle.”
“You called her ignorant, Sebastian.”
“How did you— … I didn’t mean it—!”
“But you said it.” Ominis replied, infuriatingly calm. “And she told me.”
Then he proceeded to dust off his sheets, as if the string of profanities his best friend had just graced him with had somehow soiled his expensive duvet.
Sebastian groaned again.
“Why are you even angry at the first place? You’re the one who put yourself in this position.”
Sebastian opened his mouth. Closed it. Picked up a boot and dropped it again with a thud.
“I’m not angry.”
“You’re brooding.”
“I am NOT brooding.”
“And I am not blind.” Ominis went back to his bed, set his wand aside, and pulled his blankets up. “Try not to let your emotional collapse stain my side of the room. Good night, Sebastian.”
He muttered yet another profanity (which brought his nightly violation count to three) before finally flopping himself into his bed, surrounded by a field of emotional debris.
Eventually, he dragged himself to his desk, picked up his ruined essay, and glared at it like it might start apologizing first.
Sebastian woke up cranky.
Ominis was right. He was brooding.
Not that he’d ever admit it — no, his teenage pride would sooner hex itself than confess to something that pathetic.
He tried to fall back asleep (emphasis on tried), but the word ignorant echoed in his ears every time he closed his eyes. And her face — he’d never seen her look at him like that before. Not angry. Not upset.
Just… disappointed. An expression he hadn’t even known she had.
Which is how he ended up with one hour of sleep and two dark circles under his eyes.
For the hundredth time this morning, he groaned. Failure wasn’t something Sebastian was familiar with — not in class, not in duels, not in anything that mattered — but lately it clung to him like a second skin.
Like now — after counting 520 imaginary mooncalves (he was that desperate), he gave up. Might as well start the day. Sleep-deprived or not.
He kicked off the blankets and got dressed.
Didn’t need a calendar to know it was Saturday. Ominis was nowhere in sight — breakfast, probably — and his bed was, of course, immaculately made.
By the time Sebastian finished lacing his boots, he spotted an enchanted parchment and quill bobbing smugly over his desk, clearly Ominis’s handiwork — no doubt. It hovered like a nagging thought, practically vibrating with self-righteous energy.
Go write her an apology.
He squinted at it.
Piss Off.
He’d already written five.
Five bloody letters — and not a single reply.
Sebastian stormed out of his room — no longer hungry for breakfast. So he turned on his heel and redirected his steps.
If there was one other thing Sebastian despised about being sorted into Slytherin, it was the distance from their common room to the Owlery — a fact he cursed under his breath, panting halfway up the foul-smelling tower.
He had owled her. Not once. Not twice. Five times.
(To which no single correspondence was ever received.)
By the time he reached the top, he squinted through the rafters, eyes scanning for a familiar scops owl — the one with feathers as brown as his curls and eyes almost as big as Anne’s. A detail he remembered from when they’d first picked him out together.
Didn’t take long. Their owl was perched there, nonchalant as ever, like it had absolutely nothing better to do.
“What’ve you got, Nibbles?” he called.
A peculiar name — if one must ask — but since he’d had the honor of choosing the owl, the naming rights had gone straight to Anne. If it had been up to him, he’d have picked something like Trouble. He found it completely ludicrous (and maybe a little bit brilliant) to imagine the reactions when people heard, ‘Trouble is here with your letter.’
The owl turned its head slowly. Let out a low trill.
“Nothing? At all?”
Nibbles blinked. Then hooted. One claw lifted — just enough to highlight the utter absence of mail.
“Anything?”
Sebastian thought he’d lost his mind, but he could’ve sworn Nibbles was judging him. As if it were saying: Do you see me with a bloody mail?
Sebastian scratched his head. Having exhausted his own means, he resorted now to seeking out her owl instead. He didn’t spend long to spot the thing — small, white, and built like a snow-dusted paperweight with wings. Perched smugly just outside the window.
Clearly, he was getting better at this whole owl-stalking business.
“Hey, Cotton,” he murmured.
It reminded him of the day she’d adopted her — that first trip to Hogsmeade, all wide eyes and cold fingers. He’d thought Chalk suited the owl better, but she’d insisted on Cotton. Something about wanting to be a seamstress as a child — a dream swiftly abandoned the moment she learned you could conjure fabric with a flick of a wand. (You can actually make them out of thin air? she’d gasped, completely scandalized, watching enchanted scissors float mid-air.)
The owl didn’t even nudge.
Like pet, like master. He muttered under his breath.
“Can you help me deliver this?” He held out a neatly folded letter — his sixth one; faintly perfumed with florals. (Ugh. But Ominis had insisted.)
No reply. Not even a glance.
Sebastian was losing his mind.
Academics? No problem. Curses? Easy.
But girls?
A completely different breed. (Witches and pets alike). Where was Anne when he needed her most?
“Cotton, come on.. I’m trying here.” Sebastian groveled.
“…Please?” he extended his other hand. A small piece of fresh toast laid on top of his palm. Sebastian never came unprepared, after all.
The owl swiveled its head almost fully around, staring him down with its judgmental, marble eyes.
Bribery won’t get you anywhere — He could’ve sworn the bloody owl had just spoken. With one single motion, it snatched the letter from one hand, pecked the toast from the other, and soared into the sky.
Damned owl.
Ominis might’ve been blessed with Parseltongue — Sebastian, it seemed, was cursed to negotiate with birds.
It was quiet in the library.
Not quiet quiet. Quiet enough to hear Madam Scribner’s boots echoing down the corridor — loud enough to make his headache throb like a cursed kettle. At some point, Sebastian briefly considered slamming his head into the nearest tome, if only to drown it all out. Sleep deprivation had a way of making everything too loud.
That place had always been his sanctuary.
Before the Undercroft, before the secrets, before he made a mess of everything — it was books, parchment, and peace. It fed his curiosity. Gave him silence. And most importantly — she never came here alone.
So of course, now she did.
(Sebastian was starting to think fate had a cruel sense of humour.)
He had come to borrow one bloody book. Not that he’d be reading it now.
She sat on the same table near the Restricted Section. Same posture — back straight, eyes narrowed, quill tapping out some rhythm only she understood.
She looked fine.
Like she wasn’t having a spectacularly miserable morning. Like he hadn’t said something vile. Like her world hadn’t been tilted sideways by the boy who, for some reason, couldn’t keep his ego down or his bloody mouth shut.
He hovered by the shelf for a beat too long, pretending to read the spine of Magical Theory. It might as well have been Magic and Misdemeanors: A Slytherin’s Guide to Self-Sabotage.
He dared a glance.
She didn’t look up.
Didn’t pause. Didn’t frown. Didn’t shift the way she normally would if she felt someone watching her.
She kept writing — head down, quill moving, completely undisturbed by his presence. A familiar envelope sat beside her books, dusted with crumbs from what looked suspiciously like his breakfast toast.
He made a mental note to return to the Owlery. Cotton had earned it — toast toll and all.
Sebastian sighed. He thought about what he’d done — said — to her. Finally admitted (to himself, anyway) that Ominis was right. Again.
He had been an arse, and he did deserve the silence.
Another sigh. He was just about ready to walk over — maybe not to fix it, but to try — when:
Everett Fucking Clopton.
“Is that the new translation of Gamp’s Theorem?” he asked, sliding into the seat beside her like it was his by right. “Didn’t know Weasley mentioned it’d be in our test next week.”
She gave him a small, non-committal hum.
The audacity. Sebastian’s jaw tightened. That smug, know-it-all Ravenclaw sitting right there. Clopton — of all people — parked in his seat like he belonged there.
His?
Since when has it been his?
Sebastian shoved the thought aside. But he noticed how Everett leaned in. How her grip around her quill tightened. Clearly uncomfortable — too polite to say anything.
Typical.
That was all it took.
He stalked forward, each step louder than it should’ve been.
“Ah, Sallow — we were just talking about—”
“Move.” Not a request. Not a question.
A threat.
Everett blinked. Mouth open. Words floundering.
Sebastian didn’t wait. His eyes cut to the empty space across from her — his spot — and he dropped into it without permission.
Clopton hovered awkwardly, still half-seated beside her. “Right. Well, I suppose I’ll—”
“I said, Move,” Sebastian repeated. Flat. Final.
Everett finally took the hint, muttered something about needing a book from Ancient Runes, and fled.
Silence settled between them. Not tense. Not hostile. Just — careful. Like the quiet after an explosion, when the dust hasn’t fully cleared.
She didn’t look up.
Sebastian did.
Studied the way her eyes tracked the page. The deliberate flick of her wrist as she underlined a sentence with her quill. The way she ignored him so completely, it might’ve been an art form.
He opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Sebastian cleared his throat.
No response.
He leaned forward, trying again.
“I know you’re angry. I get it—well, maybe not get it, but—look, I’m trying.”
No answer.
He sighed. “I was an idiot. More than usual. Just… talk to me, will you?”
Still Nothing.
“Please.”
That made her look up. Not all the way. Just enough that her eyes met his over the top of the parchment.
“Actually, I should thank you.” She said quietly. A pause — light, but deliberate.
“...For teaching me something I hadn’t realised — that I’m actually quite… dim-witted.” Sebastian quickly opened his mouth, but she didn’t miss a beat.
“—I suppose that’s what you really think of me.”
Sebastian felt it — a knife to his gut.
She didn’t raise her voice. Didn’t even sound upset — but it landed like a curse.
“What’s the word? … Oh — ignorant.”
And just like that, the knife twisted.
Sebastian didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Didn’t know how.
A minute passed. Then another.
She didn’t cry. She never did. And that, somehow, made it worse.
…Fuck.
“You don’t say that word by accident, Sebastian.” Her voice was quiet, but unwavering. She’d never said his name like that before — like it meant something broken.
“You say it when you want to wound.”
Fuck.
Then she blinked, once — slow. Her eyes were glassy, but nothing fell.
Didn’t need to.
“Congratulations, Sebastian. You managed.”
Her words sank in slow — like poison. No antidote in sight.
Completely fucked.
And in that moment, Sebastian felt like he was going to be sick. Or die.
Maybe both.
Sebastian returned to the dorm that night. No shouting. No slammed doors. Just silence — the complete opposite of the tantrum he’d thrown the night before.
Quiet. Heavy.
Like something had been carved out of him.
Ominis tilted his head slightly. “Everything alright?”
No answer. Not even a groan.
Sebastian just stood there, eyes vacant — staring at the canopy like an Inferius that had just lost its soul.
“Sebastian?”
A beat. Then…
“I’m fucked, Ominis.”
Ominis calmly raised his wand, red light casting shadows over Sebastian’s face — as if checking to confirm whether he was, in Sebastian’s own terms, well and truly fucked.
“Yes, well,” Ominis muttered, frowning. “I didn’t want to be the one to say it. But here we are.”
Sebastian dragged a hand down his face and groaned.
“I know that sound. You’re breathing like someone who’s either heartbroken… or hexed — Possibly both.”
“Brilliant, Gaunt. Really helpful.” He rolled his eyes as if Ominis could see him.
“Well, you started.” Ominis crossed his arms. “And frankly, I’ve never seen you look more pathetic — and I’ve seen you lose a duel to a fourth-year.”
“That was one time—”
“And this is worse.”
Sebastian groaned, collapsing into his bed like the weight of the day had finally flattened him. “She hates me.”
“I’d say you earned it.”
He groaned louder.
Ominis leaned back, looking far too satisfied for someone not even trying to hide his I-told-you-so.
“You’ll need to do better than just talk to her. Apologizing isn’t a one-time spell, Sebastian. It’s not Reparo.”
Sebastian grumbled something about Ominis being utterly insufferable — but then his shoulders dropped, and he exhaled, defeated.
“What should I do, Ominis?” He hated asking. But he hated not knowing more.
“I could tell you to write her another letter,” Ominis offered flatly, “but we both know how well that went last time — or the other four times.”
At this rate, Sebastian’s groans were starting to rival a banshee’s — tragic, high-pitched, and very hard to ignore.
“Merlin, just kill me.”
“No, no.” Ominis sat up with a grin. “I’d rather see you suffer. Much more entertaining.”
Sebastian dragged the pillow over his head. “I didn’t mean it, you know. The word.”
Ominis’s voice softened — just a little. “Then tell her that. Not with parchment. Not through Clopton’s seat in the library. Properly.”
“I did, Ominis. I’m telling you, I did everything.” Sebastian flopped in his bed, dramatically.
“And she’s still mad?”
Didn’t need a pair of working eyes to know Sebastian nodded into his pillow.
Ominis sighed. “Then you’re right. You’re completely fucked. There, I said it.”
Sebastian nearly cried. At this point, even ancient magic couldn’t save him.
Sebastian had spent the day circling corridors, half-expecting her to step from behind a stone pillar or breeze past him on the stairs with that unreadable look she wore so well.
She hadn’t. Not in the common room. Not in Charms. Not even the Undercroft.
(And he didn’t miss the way she’d stopped calling it “ours.”)
He told himself — as he always did — that it wasn’t about her. That Anne was still slipping away, and everything else was just noise in the background: a blurry chorus of things that didn’t matter as much.
But then she looked at someone else the way she used to look at him.
And the noise became unbearable.
...
“Violet, please,” he muttered under his breath in Herbology, elbow-deep in damp mulch.
“For the umpteenth time: No, Sebastian.” Violet pinched her lips. “She told me she’d hex my eyebrows off if I even tried to interfere.”
“She wouldn’t,” he said, though he wasn’t sure — but he pretended he was. Had to. Asking her roommate for help felt like a low move, but he was desperate.
“She would,” said Poppy next to her, pale and wide-eyed. “She made Imelda flinch. Imelda, Sebastian.”
He blinked. “What did Imelda say?”
Violet gave him a look. “Imelda said you were a ‘disgrace to the male species’ and that maybe next time, don’t insult someone you want to snog.”
Sebastian blinked. Twice.
“Snog—?” he echoed, already regretting opening his mouth.
He pinched the bridge of his nose, then let his head drop onto the table with a dramatic thud.
Fine.
Let them think that. Let the whole castle whisper about it over breakfast, lunch, and Astronomy Tower detentions. If everyone was so intent on believing he fancied her—
...well.
Maybe he did.
(But in the name of Salazar, he was far too exhausted to argue the semantics of it.)
Damned be the whole world.
“She didn’t like that either,” Poppy added helpfully. “Almost blasted her off behind the Quidditch pitch.”
Sebastian groaned into his hands. He was losing allies fast.
...
By the end of the day, he’d made it through the classes — barely. Words floated past him like fog, lessons sinking in like water on stone. The chatter, the spells, the dull drone of professors’ voices all blurred into a dull hum. Nothing truly reached him; his mind was tangled elsewhere, still circling the same thought over and over, a loop he couldn’t break.
By the time he reached the dormitory, exhaustion weighed him down so thoroughly he barely noticed Ominis sitting cross-legged on his bed.
“Rough day?” Ominis asked, arching an eyebrow.
Sebastian dropped onto his bed with a hollow sigh. “You think?”
Ominis might be entertained by Sebastian’s foolery, but he wasn’t blind to how fast things were falling apart—his relationships unraveling, Anne slipping further out of reach, and the whole Slytherin girls’ dorm convinced he was a laughingstock. Though, to be fair, he’d earned every bit of it.
For the millionth time, Sebastian groaned, burying his face in his hands. “I’m a disgrace.”
“More like a disaster,” Ominis said with a smirk before leaning forward. “But there’s something you need to know.”
Sebastian looked up, wary.
“She wants to see you — Undercroft.”
His heart thudded, surprise jolting through him.
“Are you sure? How did she look? Was she angry?” he asked, scrambling off the bed in a hurry.
Ominis held up a hand. “Sebastian, might I remind you — I’m blind.”
Sebastian froze mid-step, eyes wide. “Right. Of course. I forgot you navigate the world without sight and can’t see the utter mess I’m in. Lucky you.” The words slipped out easily — more habit than insult at this point in their friendship.
Ominis snorted. “Precisely. So stop asking me what she looked like. You want an opinion, you’ll have to ask someone with eyeballs.”
Sebastian flopped back onto his bed. For a long moment, the weight pressing on his chest lifted, replaced by something unfamiliar — a cautious flicker of hope.
Maybe this was his chance. Maybe this was the moment to reclaim what he’d lost.
He drew in a shaky breath — the quiet before the storm.
“When does she want to meet me again?”
He hesitated only a moment, heart thundering like he was walking into a duel. But this was worse. This time, he might actually lose.
“Now.”
Ominis never heard him bolt that fast before.
(He probably should’ve offered a floo powder, but… better late than never.)
Sebastian stood before the odd-shaped cupboard that led down into the Undercroft. His breath came fast — half from the sprint, half from the weight pressing on his chest.
Somewhere along the way, he’d remembered Floo powder existed — and how much of a pain Ignatia Wildsmith could be — but sod it. He was almost here. No shortcuts today. Not for this.
In his palm rested a small box of chocolate truffles, still warm from his pocket. Not her usual thing — she’d told him once on their first trip to Hogsmeade that she didn’t like sweets — but as a relentless sweet tooth, Sebastian had insisted she try them. He’d never forget the look on her face when she finally did: surprise mixed with reluctant delight, like she’d found something unexpectedly good.
He pushed the memory aside and stepped into the Undercroft.
There she was, leaning against the cold stone wall — a heavy book in one hand, her wand in the other. She looked up at him — gaze like glass: hard, polished, nothing getting through.
“Long time no see,” he said, voice cracking slightly.
What the actual fuck was that?
An apology? A greeting? A declaration of war? He wasn’t sure. Probably sounded like a nervous frog croaking for help. All the charm Hogwarts claimed he had — and that was the best he could come up with?
He wanted the floor to swallow him whole.
He held out the box, voice rough. “I brought these. Your favourite.”
Peace Offerings, he thought.
Her eyes flicked to the truffles, then back to him — still burning.
“Bribery?” Her tone sharpened, rising just a little.
The word hit him like a hex. He was scared shitless.
Then she said it — slow, deliberate, with that weight only she could carry: “Sebastian Sallow —”
His heart nearly stopped. Cold sweat ran down his spine.
“—What do you think I am? A bloody owl?”
The tension shattered. He blinked, the fear slipping away as if someone had lifted a curse. Because yes — now that she said it — she really did look like Cotton. Fierce, sharp-eyed, and utterly unyielding.
Her gaze said it all — Bribery won’t get you anywhere.
Pets and their masters, after all. Judgmental stares included.
That blasted owl.
“And?” She snapped — growing more impatient by the minute.
His mind immediately went back to the undercroft. The thought almost made him laugh, but he swallowed it down, hard.
Focus, Sebastian.
If he dared to laugh now, he’d be hexed to oblivion. No doubt about it. No, he’d literally die. So instead, he forced himself steady.
“Maybe I’m just trying to learn from my mistakes.”
She didn’t smile. The silence stretched, thick and heavy between them. After what seemed to be forever, she sighed.
“What do you want now?” she finally asked, voice low.
“Your forgiveness." His throat tightened. "I.. I didn’t mean it — didn’t mean the word like that.”
Sebastian exhaled slowly, the weight of his pride battling the truth. “I was angry. Frustrated. I’m sorry. I really am.”
For a moment, she was back in Feldcroft — back when he barely slept, back when he snapped at Ominis for breathing too loud and nearly hexed a Hufflepuff just for asking about Anne.
She remembered how his hands trembled in the catacombs. How his voice cracked every time he said her name. How he flinched —flinched— when his uncle raised it at him one too many times.
She tried to understand. Merlin, she wanted to.
Even when he lashed out. Even when he shut her out. Even when he looked at her like she was just another thing standing between him and a cure.
But there had to be a line.
And somehow, even after everything — even after she stood by him through spellfire and Scriptorium and loss — he still found a way to cross it.
No matter how much she wanted to understand, there was only so much she could take.
Her eyes softened for the briefest moment, just enough for a crack to show.
“Words hurt, Sebastian. You don’t simply cast them out and pretend they were never said.”
“—But I didn’t mean—”
“It makes no difference.” Her voice was quiet, but every word landed like a curse. There was a slight pause before she finally continued
“...You said it when it suited you best.”
He exhaled — the weight of it sagging through him. “I know… I’m sorry. I mean it.”
“Are you?”
He looked at her. “I swear — I am.”
Her lips curled into something resembling a smile — all edge, no warmth.
“Am what, Sebastian?” she said, plucking a truffle from the box without ceremony.
He knew where this was headed. The answer sat heavy on his tongue, pride coiled tight in his throat.
"You’ll have to be more specific — I’m rather… dim-witted, as you can see.”
His lips twitched. The sting hit sharper than he expected. He let out a bitter laugh.
“… ignorant,” he muttered inaudibly.
“Hm?” she asked, casually plucking another truffle, as if she hadn’t just heard him surrender the last shred of his pride.
"I am ignorant."
There. Said it. Let it hang.
She leaned back against the wall, smile curling—dimples and all.
“Precisely.”
Sebastian shook his head, half-smiling like someone who knew they’d lost. Then he laughed — low, dry, a little pathetic.
Still, worth it.
That was the first time he’d seen her smile in weeks.
“Friends?” she asked, voice calm again — She extended her hand. eyes dry, unreadable.
Sebastian hesitated. Then took it.
“Friends.”
Their hands shook once. He let go.
Hm?
It didn’t feel right — No, no. Not quite right.
Not when her fingers had felt that warm.
Not when her touch still lingered like a spell he didn’t know the counter to.
He glanced at her — dimples flashing faintly as she turned back to her parchment. Unbothered. Recovered. Like nothing had happened.
But something had.
Something big.
And late as ever, he was just now catching up.
Sebastian stared at the spot where her hand had been and, very slowly, remembered what Imelda had said to Poppy in the Training Room.
Next time, don’t insult the girl you want to snog.
(Brutal advice. Accurate advice).
Oh,
Oh.
Bloody hell.
He was in love with her.
(Of course he was. Only took him a full-blown crisis and half a box of truffles to catch on.)
The rest of the day was… different.
He didn’t hover anymore. He didn’t grovel. He didn’t owl six times a day or bribe birds with toast or offer sad, crumpled bits of Honeydukes chocolate.
He didn’t need to.
She sat next to him again — sometimes. Walked with him after class — sometimes. And when she did, she leaned into his shoulder without needing to explain herself.
He didn’t ask.
She didn’t pull away.
They didn’t talk about what had changed, but it was there — in the silence, in the glances, in the small, unconscious ways her arm brushed against his as they walked through the courtyard.
And when one of their classmates — Leander, now — strolled up beside her outside Herbology, grinning too easily and saying something about Hogsmeade plans, Sebastian didn’t even flinch.
He reached up. Rested an arm across her shoulders. Let it stay there.
She didn’t move.
Didn’t mind.
If anything, she tilted her head — slightly — toward him.
Prewett took the hint.
Sebastian said nothing.
He didn’t need to anymore.
He’d earned his place beside her.
It had taken one insult, two owls, six letters, a box of chocolate, and a few minor mental breakdowns… but he was here.
No letters. No toast. No bribes. Just him.
And it was enough.
For once — Sebastian knew when to stop.
(He'd gladly prove his uncle wrong.)
P.S.
1. Points if you can tell I was binge-listening to Sabrina Carpenter’s “Manchild” while writing this. (Lol. Fitting, isn’t it?)
2. Bonus points if you caught that “ignorant” was emotionally powered by Gordon Ramsay’s “idiot sandwich” meme energy. (Tell me Sebastian Sallow wouldn’t deserve the same treatment.)
Thanks for reading — I hope it makes you laugh, wince, and maybe even yell at Sebastian a little.
Let me know what you think!
-Nina
✦ The Spiral (So Far):
[2/3] : Sixth Time's The Charm
3. This is how he destroys your pussy when he's jealous.
4. Drunk sex.
5. You love it when he calls you baby.
6. He loves it when you get desperate like this.
7. Vacation?
8. This is so him, drunk in sex.
┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈
𝘏𝘦𝘦𝘷𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘴𝘭𝘶𝘵 𝘴𝘢𝘺𝘴ᯓ★: uh hi lol! First time doing this. It's 3am btw. Lmk if you guys like it. I can do the other members too. You can send requests. Thinking of doing audios too. Comment if you wanna get added in the taglist! That's it baiii <3.
— Sylus's instincts flare when you are ill, needing to nurse you back to health, whatever it takes... he fails to notice that his boys have his instincts too.
ʕ ꈍᴥꈍʔ: a sickie fic that took my left shoe and ran away fr me. what was supposed to be the fam nursing mama to health becomes a deepdive into Sylus's oversights as a father. phew. enjoys! ❀-urs
important heads up for context of this story: lucian and kyros are (my headcanon) sylus's twin boys. 2 turning 3 years in this one! ᡣ𐭩
sylus & his family | sylus x reader | fluff, mild angst, comfort. sick!reader, husband!sylus, dragon babies just wanna see mama
tw: imagery of illness/migraine symptoms, vomiting, (past) emotional trauma
Sylus’s hackles rise at the sound of the front door opening and slamming shut at noon.
Lucian and Kyros, positioned on their bellies on the carpet by his feet, pause their coloring with a curious glance. Turning their heads to the sound, they rise to go see who it is. But before they could rush off, Sylus holds them steady with his evol and strides ahead of them.
The big twins were out of town on a mission he’d expected to take a week longer.
You are supposed to be at work. You’d left early that morning. In a panic, having risen a few hours too close to the time you’re expected at the Association. Kicking him by accident when you wrestled against the comfort of your warm duvet.
He had no fight against you wriggling out of his persistent hold, no matter how much he whined at your absence, and was forced to accept the hasty kiss you plant on his lips before rushing out of the bedroom. You promised to be home by dinner.
He had half a mind to go after you and pull you back for his own selfish reasons, but his boys waddled into the bedroom to take your space and curl up against him. Cementing him in a warm pile of baby fat and the scent of blueberries.
Anyway, you’d said dinner.
So it was a surprise to him to see you at the door just before lunch. Toeing your shoes off, your coat half off your shoulder and your workbag dangling in your loose grip. You meet his gaze from the wall you lean against for extra support, and offer him a smile that lacks it usual depth.
He clocks it immediately. Zooming in on the details of your features like a machine built to know you. The sheen of sweat on your brow, the heavy droop of your eyelids, the paleness of your lips. It was as if something inside you had made itself at home where it was not welcome.
Black and red tendrils dissipate from pudgy bellies when his sons start to complain at not being able to reach you.
He confirms your condition in the way you squeeze your eyes shut briefly at the excited squealing and tittering of your children. The usual melodies feeling like a clap of thunder in your skull.
Sylus is able to move only an inch towards you. And you are already shaking your head and mouthing his least favorite words. “I’m fine.”
Your arms are cooked pasta around Lucian’s waist. Your knees trembling rocks holding back a landslide as you lift him to your height. You are reluctant to reduce the support and give Kyros your other hand as he guides you in the living room.
All the while Sylus stands at the ready to lighten the load he worries you refuse to lend him.
The smell of your living room is a balm to your aching sinuses, clean linen and fresh citrus blossoms. The warmth of the filtered sun through the windows is a live wire through your shivering bones. And the heat of your husband’s body as he slots himself between you and the corner of the couch is exactly what your numb skin has longed for the entire morning.
“Go upstairs.” he whispers in your ear. Unkempt hair in your eyes, features taut and tired— he suffers at the look of you. Lends you his strength to tidy you up with featherlike touches.
Your neck twinges when you shake your head.
“Boys.” you reason, pressing the weight of Lucian closer to your chest as he talks about his new doctor’s tool kit toy.
Kyros’s hand had made its way beneath your sweater and onto the skin of your belly, rubbing circles gently. For his own sensory need, unknowing how helpful it is for you too.
Sylus understands, but frowns in disapproval anyway. “Beloved…”
“Mama, hot.” Kyros murmurs, continuing his gentle ministrations. “Otch! Hot.”
“Oh no.” Lucian adds too, unintentionally slapping his hands on either sides of your face a touch too hard, making you wince. Sylus doesn’t mean to scowl, but he does. “Mama, tick?”
“Gentle, please.” their father almost begs, peeling the tiny hands that squish your skin off. You sigh gratefully at him, your skin beginning to feel uncomfortably tender.
“No—no tick, pease.” says Kyros, climbing up the cushions to get up close to your face. Sylus is quick to intercept his hand, mold his against the little one silently, to guide gentle combs through tendrils of your hair. “Mama, well.”
“Just a little dizzy, baby.” you reassure him— but the hypo-nasality of your voice and the light pop! from the top of your spine does little to your case.
Your family’s face remain unchanged—frowning in worry, staring in concern.
You swallow. The back of your throat feels dry no matter how many times you do so. Only Sylus can see the strain on your face and he’s digging his nails into his palms to keep himself from overreacting.
Instinct tells him to switch on survival mode. As if you’d come home with a bullet wound or a broken leg. His muscles itch to take you away, hoard you, encase you in a bubble of safety until you feel better once more. Claiming it his single-handed responsibility to nurse you back to health.
He’d done it before. Confident to a fault, he’ll do it again.
Lucian protests when Sylus lifts him out of your arms, while Kyros frowns at him in confusion. To placate their watery eyes and erupting sobs, he quickly says, “Go show mama your drawings.”
Their mind shifts. Papa is suddenly correct, and they rush off to collect the loose leaves of doodle-pressed papers scattered around the room. Lucian also hops off to retrieve his doctor set.
Buying Sylus the time and space to draw you near his orbit and cage you in his embrace.
“I’m fine, really.” is what you say and it drives him mad. He’d puff a cloud of smoke through his nostrils in another life with the way he scoffs.
He is calmed by the way you curl against him anyway; your clammy back to his middle, your heated forehead against the curve of his neck. You are driftwood in a raging stream with the tightness at which hangs on to you.
“I don’t appreciate it when you lie to me,” he says slowly. Not understanding why you insist on still acting tough. “Even if you mean well.”
Sylus sighs, “Haven’t we agreed? You can lean on me.”
His sentiment contests your fever as it melts your heart twice as fast. You run your fingers along the blunt stubble on his chin. “I know. I am.”
But you aren’t in the mood to get scolded. Not when every breath is like shards of glass through your mouth, your nostrils are vestigial and your brain pounds behind your heated eyes.
You sigh, your gaze trailing after your scampering children. “Don’t scare them.”
Hardened by experience, the rational side of Sylus’s brain knows you are fine in the grand scheme of things. With a paracetamol, a good sleep and hydration, you’ll be back on your feet at a normal temperature in no time.
But the side of him that feels— the one you bring out with little to no effort— it aches at the sight of you still fighting against your already protesting body. It makes him calloused to anything else that doesn’t involve benefitting you.
So, intentions far from ill but single-minded, he grumbles. “They should know.”
And ever patient you, with a heart so big and generous, push back. “But they don’t. Not yet.”
You take his hand. He frowns at your searing touch. A kiss is pressed onto his knuckles and he is ice beneath it at your request. “Gentle.”
One breath through his nose is sighed out his mouth and he nods. Gentle.
He doesn’t let you go when the boys return. Subtly keeping them from climbing back onto you as they present their scribbles with calculated stretches of his limbs coming in between you and them.
The boys are none the wiser.
They flit around you like humming birds wearing white coats. Lucian has the plastic heart-shaped stethoscope plugged to his ears. Kyros holds a baby-blue otoscope he insists is a hammer.
They ping-pong from being art curators and doctors. One talks about his drawing, while the other assesses your condition with a plastic medical tool.
“Dis ‘Pisto with hat.” Says Kyros, as Lucian bends over Sylus’s arm barrier to stick his stethoscope on your chest.
When Kyros is knocking your knee with the otoscope-hammer, Lucian narrates, “Dis mama, dis papa, dis Wookie and Kee-wan. And ‘Pisto have shoes. And Kee-wo and me—Woosian have cotton candy.”
The little ones show you their interpretations of the world through whorls and zigzags of color. When you try to listen closely and your mind doesn’t drift off, you catch that Kyros has drawn a field of flowers he sees in his dreams, and Lucian’s new fascination on distant planets. And that your temperature is “three-six” on the plastic thermometer, and you get a shot of “coffee” on your shoulder.
But you can only do so much. Powerless, thanks to Sylus’s weight on your arms and his lulling scent in your nose; beckoning like home, like rest.
Soon, your eyes droop and your head bobs back onto Sylus’s shoulder. Just as Lucian is telling you of the beach and Kyros is explaining how m’s can look like birds.
Sylus seizes their attempts at waking you back to attention with a look, which they take positively. With understanding nods, mouths rounded in quiet “oh…”s, they step away from poking you back awake.
Little fingers are raised to little lips and they murmur shushes and lovely things in your silence. And later, they tail after their father like minnows in a stream when he lifts you down the hallway and carries you to bed.
-
Kyros knows what papa is saying is important. He knows also, that whatever papa is saying, that papa is right.
And that he should listen to papa.
But the door to your bedroom is open.
“Make very little noise, because mama’s head…”
And he hasn’t seen you in an hour (which feels like a million years if he knew how to count past five).
“… go play on your own for a while…”
And he wants to know if—
“Papa.” He blurts right in the middle of Sylus’s very important reminders. Sylus turns to him patiently, taking his hand in his and massaging his palm in acknowledgement. “Roro eep with mama.”
Sylus frowns. “No, angel. You can’t.”
“Ah-huh. Can.” He nods, disagreeing with Sylus and tugging his arm back. Sylus steadies him, catching his shoulder and maneuvering him away from the door.
“Kyros.” papa says, voice deep and strong. Kyros is startled by the tone. “Mama is going to be okay.”
“But… tick.” He frowns. His eyes water, catalyzed by the sternness that has befallen this exchange. “Feel better. Need—need huggies.”
Sylus swallows nails as he stares back at his son. “Mama needs quiet right now. To rest.”
“I quiet.” He insists, pushing fruitlessly against Sylus’s embrace. “P’omise.”
Lucian, placing his own foot in the mix, chimes in. “Please, papa?”
But the decision is made. Sylus nudges Kyros to his brother, who welcomes him in a consoling hug. They stare helplessly at papa who stands and turns away. “Maybe later, hm?”
He shuts the door.
And with a heavy heart, they listen to papa.
𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ
The first time you stir from your fevered haze, you notice that you are out of your work clothes and are wearing one of Sylus’s shirts. His scent refreshing and comforting, engulfs you in a phantom hug.
The glass of warm water on your dresser is almost knocked over in the dark, but you successfully drink it along with the pills in a small dish just to its left.
Then you lie back down, drape an arm over your eyes, and drift off.
Or at least try.
It wasn’t quite a sleep— you could hear your heartbeat in your ears, too conscious of the distorted sound of your breathing, and the persistent pulse in the back of your left eye feels like how pebbles do beneath your boots.
Not to mention it was too cold, but you were sweating and shivering all the same.
Frustration holds hands with sickness; you feel your insides gang up on you to attack. When the nausea hits, you sit up blindly and scramble out of bed into the bathroom to hurl out your already empty stomach.
Sylus, the shadow you married, is already holding your hair back as soon as your knees touch the ground. “Easy.”
The headache is maxed to a hundred on its own richter with each seize and each gag. Your one hand waves Sylus away, asking him to go, to save whatever dignity you had left in his eyes.
But he refuses. A statement he makes as he stays.
When it passes, you lean back on your calves and try to get a grip of the spinning world around you. Sylus is already getting something damp and cool to press to your face.
Disgusting, you think as you brush your teeth and wash your face. But the act leaves you feeling better than you started off, paradoxically.
“Sy—“ you rasp as he guides you back to bed after you’ve cleaned up.
“Not a chance.” is all he says, lifting your shirt and slipping on a fresh one. His again.
“You’ll catch it.” you murmur.
He shakes his head, a ghost of a chuckle in his words. “It’s not that bad.”
He finds it a wonder how you’re akin to a soggy piece of lettuce right now, and still have the wits to tease him. “You’re a doctor now?”
The chuckle materializes as he tucks you back beneath the covers. “Yes. Family medicine.”
“Ooh, well look at you—AH!” you yelp, blocking his kiss with your palm as he targets your forehead. “No!”
“What do you mean ‘no’?” he gasps, swooping in for another with a impudent grin. You duck out of the way with a chiming giggle. “Doctor’s orders.”
“Stop it! I’m gross.”
He pauses at the declaration and shoots you a dangerous look. “I’ll warn you not to speak of my wife that way.”
You sniffle in disbelief. “Sylus!”
He dodges your hands expertly and successfully lands a peck on top of your head before bouncing back up to his feet with a victorious grin. You harrumph, tossing a pillow square at his face. He lets it land and laughs.
“You’ve broken your fever,” he says lightly, bending to brush sickly sweaty hair out of your now glowing face. Taking a moment to caress the plump of your cheek with the pad of his thumb.
Great. At least that was out of the way. But your mouth still tasted weird, and there’s a little creature knocking albeit politely at the back of your eyeball.
You groan. “The last time I was this bad was—“
“—The twins.” he smiles fondly, recalling the earlier days of your pregnancy. “You’ve done well keeping yourself healthy for three years then.”
“Maybe I’m pregnant again.” you joke.
He freezes. His world tilts. Are you? You couldn’t be— could you? Had he been so busy, miscalculated—
Your hand squeezes his tightly. His face is a picture you wish you could paint, one that makes your heart flutter. “I’m not.”
The thickened air thins and he releases the breath he hadn’t noticed he’s held in. His brows knit together as he breathes. “Don’t… don’t do that.”
You search his expression for anything negative, but find only a plucked sense of excitement and wonder in his shining eyes. “Too many kids?”
He almost laughs at your assumption. “No, not at all.”
“Then—“
“Not enough.”
The grin he flashes you lingers with mischief and allure, sharp lower fangs almost twinkling at you seductively. Heat crawls up your face and you’re sure this isn’t the fever. You shove any part of him you can reach with all your might in hopes to relieve the tension.
“Go. Watch the kids. You’re a headache.” you say. Turning on your side to dismiss him… or, really, to hide the flush on your face.
He leans in, the weight of his hand on your hip. Takes the opportunity to kiss you again. Your head, your cheek, your shoulder—before leaving you to drift off.
This time— you sleep. And sleep is smooth, quiet and deep.
𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ
Sylus can’t figure why his boys are extra rambunctious now, when he specifically asked them not to be.
Usually self-sustaining, Lucian and Kyros are perfectly trained to entertain themselves when the adults are too busy. But today, it’s as if all training has flown out the window, and Sylus is suddenly caring for three people and not just you.
While striding in and out of your shared bedroom, the chances that he’d have an encounter with a silver haired little boy was a hundred percent doubled.
He’d caught Lucian by the scruff of his shirt and turned him around. Two giant stuffies in his arms, far larger than his on height along with him.
Kyros had dragged books and your favorite couch blanket to your door. Sylus had to physically dig through the row of indoor plants to find him and his stash and send him away.
And at some point, Lucian snaps first. Crying when Sylus carries him off to the kitchen on his way to refill your bottle of water.
“Wanna to see mama!” He performs a full-blown tantrum in the space of his father’s one armed embrace. Pushing and shoving the unmovable force that holds him captive. “Let me go! Let me go!”
And Sylus only grumbles. A hair away from losing his own composure. “Lucian, mama is sick.”
“I doctor mama better!” He shouts now. Fueled by the expression on Sylus’s face giving absolutely nothing away. Just sheer indifference. Done with the conversation before its even started. “Let me go!”
“Lucian!” Sylus seethes. Done. Firm. Final.
Lucian freezes. Shock flooding sobering his nerves.
And then helplessly, he sobs, leaning into Sylus’s chest. Earlier shouts and shoves now faltering in the face of his father’s anger. And that hurts him more than being denied.
“I sorry.” He murmurs. No flourish, no drama. Just sorrow and regret. Sylus’s shirt is clutched in his small fists, a lifeline to keep his father tethered to him.
And Sylus is thawed in a flash. His shoulders hunch at every sniffle, his arms curl closer at each hiccup.
Then Sylus crumbles too. Bending at the waist and burying his face in his son’s hair. “Just… wait, okay?”
Lucian nods, smearing snot and salt onto Sylus’s sweater. “Love? Love Lucian, papa?”
Sylus has to clench his jaw to keep himself together. For now he finally realizes how his actions are being received by his children. And though he means well, the struggle between what he thinks is best for you and indulging in his children is like finding a shadow in a fog.
And he bears the back-breaking weight of it as he looks into glassy red irises. “Yes, of course I do.” He nuzzles his nose, wipes tears away with the swipe of his thumb. “I love you. I love Kyros. But mama is sick right now. And I just… she needs rest. So, wait, okay?”
Lucian doesn’t fully understand. But he listens still.
Sylus finds Kyros sitting by your locked door, wrapped in your blanket from the couch.
He can’t find it in himself to feel anything but endearment at the look of him. Not after the spat with Lucian still a stone in the pit of his stomach.
“Kyros.” He sighs.
“Mama need blanket?” Kyros asks, rising from his seat.
“No, angel she has enough.” He says, setting the tray of medicine and snacks to the side and picking Kyros up.
“One more!”
“No, Kyros.”
“Pease?”
Sylus shakes his head. The look in Kyros’s eyes is pitiful, but Sylus’s resolve is stronger today. Running on fumes from the stress and worry of it all, fluttering lashes and big puppy eyes just won’t make him budge.
So when Kyros’s face changes from pleading to anger, Sylus is take a back. “What are you doing?”
“Hmph!” the little boy takes a breath, mouth posturing into cry but no sound comes out. In fact, no air comes out.
Sylus turns rigid.
“Kyros,” he keeps his calm, rubbing his back with one hand and blowing steady streams of air on his face. But his heart races just beneath the surface. “Breathe, come on now.”
Kyros heaves again, taking in more air but not exhaling it out. Sylus blows again. “Please, angel. Come on.”
And with another puff of air, Kyros breaks out of the spell and cries. A loud wail that sinks into silent, frustrated hiccups. Sylus has half a mind to join him.
“Wanna go the inside!”
“Only sick people in the bedroom.” He states again, standing firm while gently rocking him side to side. Fumbling with clumsy fingers as he tries to reassure the hearts he keeps breaking.
“Wait for mama to feel better, okay?” He asks of him, pleads, holding his crying child to his chest. Drowning in the sorrow of causing both of them such pain in a day.
When he’s settled, he takes Kyros to Lucian in their bedroom. Sitting with them for a while to jumpstart a play sequence before slipping out to check up on you.
And in his act of righteousness, he fails to see the pile of your favorite things gathered by the doorway of the twins’ bedroom. Awaiting patiently to be transported to your side.
𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ
You vomit again. Sylus sticks with you until the waves of nausea calm and you tread the waters of dreams once more.
Once your breathing is even and your pupils no longer shift beneath your lids, he goes to check on your boys.
He thought they’d given up after that with the silence that followed after a while. But he clearly didn’t understand how persistent your children actually are.
“Papa.” Lucian frowns up at Sylus, large eyes twinkling with unshed tears at the wetness of his shirt. He’d tilted his sippy cup a little too much and spilled all the sticky fruit juice on his tummy. He intercepts Sylus just as he exits your bedroom.
Sylus exhales through his nose, assures him it’s okay, and gives him a change of clothes.
“My tummy cold.” Lucian tells him, guiding his father’s heavy hand to his middle. Then he heaves, “Blegh. Eugh.”
Sylus’s voice rumbles with amusement. He rubs his belly in soothing circles until he’s a little warmer and kisses his forehead.
“Better?” He asks. But Lucian doesn’t seem too happy when he nods and asks to be put down.
But just as soon as he places him down, Kyros waddles up to him with a tissue up his one nostril. “Pa.”
What is going on?
Sylus picks him up slowly. Seeing no urgency or panic in the little one’s eyes, so he’d rather not introduce the emotion to him. “You okay, angel?”
“A-choo.” He says. Says, like a script he’d planned and produced. Like someone behind Sylus had cued him with an action! The rolled up tissue flies out of his nose unceremoniously, dry as a feather.
And then it clicks.
“Oh.” He nods, understanding fully what his two clever little copies were trying to do. “I see.”
Lucian, who hadn’t gone too far away, who was idling “subtly” in the corner of their bedroom pushing a wooden car back and forth, looks at Sylus just as Kyros does.
“Are you two… sick?”
Kyros bobs his head vigorously, and Lucian is giving thumbs ups from where he sits.
“Poor angels. Sick too when mama is sick?” Sylus pouts, playing along, smothering the wheezing laughter clawing its way up his chest.
“A-huh. And—and tick babies go in— the inside room.” Kyros supplies, leaning his head on Sylus’s arm, really selling his story all too well. He points towards the direction of your bedroom and squeezes his eyes. “Achoo. Achoo! Pease.”
“Uh! Me too.” Lucian grunts, rushing over to drape himself dramatically over Sylus’s legs. Squeezing his eyes shut, hands over his very-much-okay-belly and moaning in pain. “Ow! Tummy achy!”
The laughter is far too strong to suppress now, and he gathers his boys to his chest in an adoring embrace. His caring children, he wonders where they get it from. He makes a show of a loud, defeated sigh as he brings them down with him, backwards onto the bed where they chorus his giggles in return.
“Miss mama so soon?” He asks, tilting his head forward. He brushes their bangs out of their faces to look into their eyes.
Too little to be filled with so much worry.
But understandably so— they’d never seen you sick before. Don’t know how to process seeing you act differently from their usual, put together mother figure.
And the way he carries himself doesn’t help to reassure them either. Briskly trudging around with a dip in his brow, quick and urgent. A sudden obstacle between them and their mother; equally as worried, equally as distressed. It wasn’t until the fever finally broke and he heard you joke with him once more that his lungs had regained its full capacity.
His boys haven’t had that closure yet. Their last image of you was your fluttering lashes and loosening grip on their crayon-scribbled sketchbooks. To them, it was a cartoon-swoon into an endless slumber— sudden, unexplained, too odd to feel alright with.
And here Sylus was, keeping them from seeing you. Barely providing them with an explanation outside of “mama is sick”. Underestimating how much they understand and how much they actually care.
Guilt gnaws at his heels. Faced with failing to calculate balance between caring for you and helping your sons.
Gentle, you asked him. And instead he dismisses them outright. Preferring them out of the way instead of letting them offer their helping hands to usher you to health.
He combs his fingers through their hair, marveling at how much they exude you while looking so much like him.
A wish he’d made when they were born—grant your prayer for them have his features, but let the world be kind and bless them with your heart.
“I’m sorry,” the words are brittle glass beneath a roaring flame. Broken. Fragile. The talons of his mistake dig deeper into his chest as they continue to wear their innocent hearts on their sleeves. Hearts he’s been taking for granted.
How could he have been so excited at the prospect of having another one with you earlier, while all day he kept pushing his first loves away?
“I’m sorry for hiding mama from you.” He says, cradling soft cheeks in the hard edges of his palms. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
Your heart, your beautiful heart— resonates in twin chests. So easy to love. So quick to forgive.
Kyros is the first to touch his face, mirroring his own movements and brushing his own silver hair out of his eyes. “It okay. It okay, papa.”
Lucian follows suit, cradling Sylus’s cheek with his palm.
His jaw trembles. He bites his lip to steady it. He’d found tears closer to the surface since having sons. Thinks it’s still one of the strangest feelings to have evoked so easily. But he’d also learned to stop being so surprised by the wonders his little ones do for him.
“Can go the inside room?” Kyros whispers when he finally sits them all up. Unaware of the mountains Sylus has conquered in his mind in that little moment they shared.
It was a battle he was never meant to win.
He shakes his head in defeat. He eyes the pile of yours and their favorite things by the door. “One thing before we go.”
𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ
The next time you wake is after hours of a soul-deep slumber.
Gone is the stiffness in your neck, and the dryness of your throat. Thanks to the heat-pack cradles your skull. On the bedside, a humidifier fizzes out your favorite scent.
This time, you do not wake to a pounding skull or nausea.
This time, you wake to the sound of the whispers that sent you to sleep the first time. Shushes. Lovely things.
Something hard rests beneath your fingers, it crackles and crunches when you flex. It takes a while for your blurry vision to make sense of it—and the nest of things around your bed—but when the picture comes to clarity, you cant help but smile.
Whorls of spirals in a shape of a flower in an obscure vase. A little queen made of circles and boxes and sticks wears a crown and lies in a heart-shaped bed.
And in spiraling, elegant handwritten script it is says: Feel better soon, Queen Mama.
“Took an hour to do that.” Sylus’s weight dips the mattress as he draws near to you. He moves various stuffies and plushies aside just to make space.
He catches the moisture from your eyes with his finger and finds no resistance this time when he leans in to kiss your forehead. “Boys were debating what color flowers you’d like.”
“For an hour?” Your mouth tugs downwards despite your joyful disposition. Sylus nods, curling around you like a beast and guiding your head to his chest.
He gestures to the red whorls overpowering the rest of the colors. “Lucian was very persuasive.”
You finally crack a smile. “How were they?”
“They take after you.” Is all he says, nodding towards the other edge of the bed where two curious heads with two pairs of careful eyes wait. Little crocodiles in the water.
Waiting, testing whether to approach or retreat.
Now, when have they ever held themselves back like this?
Your heart aches when you realize Sylus’s small movements— his one finger held up and cueing them to hold, his brows raised to prompt them to ask.
“How’a you, mama?” Lucian asks softly, his voice unused to speaking at such a volume. One hand comes up with the end of his plastic stethoscope, hovering, waiting to be used.
Kyros rasps, “All better?”
“Mhm.” You coo, and with one gesture from you to come nearer, they’re already overriding protocol and clawing at the beddings, climbing over the edge. Sylus uses his evol to nudge them up the incline. And they close the space between you.
You sit up against Sylus and watch each twin assume a position. Lucian balances himself on the bed and backs up bum first to sit on your lap and Kyros squeezes himself in the nonexistent space between you and Sylus.
Just before you’d fallen asleep, you remember their little voices telling you about their drawings. The presentation you so rudely dismissed with your slumber.
You have every intention to apologize, but Kyros is already starting a new story. In hushed tones and a practiced volume you can only guess is their papa’s doing.
“Papa make mama better— ‘ike, ‘ike eepy beauty.” Kyros says, pointing to the little queen on your ‘get well soon’ card.
You shoot Sylus a look and he promptly avoids your gaze. “Is that how the story goes?”
“Ah-huh! And—and papa too be da dragon that,” Lucian curls his fingers into claws and swipes them around to fill the space words cannot reach. “Roar! Roar! Go ‘way, little twinnies!”
You gasp, pressing a hand to your chest in melodrama. Not at all surprised that Sylus had barricaded the bedroom to give you space. And though you don’t think you’d have minded the little ones, you appreciating his thoughtfulness nonetheless. You didn’t think it was possible for your heart to swell more than it already has. “Oh no! How did you get through?”
“Hat twicks!” Lucian grins proudly. He taps his finger on to his temple, while his twin nods in affirmation, echoing, “Mm. Twicks.”
When you tilt your head in confusion, Sylus clarifies. “Mind tricks.”
“Mama sickie and—and go in the inside room.” Kyros says, playing with the fabric of your sleeve as he explains. Partly in fascination with the fabric, and partly to make sure you don’t drift away again. “So—so Kee-ro and Woosian sickie too!”
“Sickies!” Lucian cheers, tapping Kyros’s foot with his hand. Kyros’s delayed tap back to the back of his head tells you it was supposed to be a high-five.
You hum in understanding, letting each emotion on your face be clear as day. Corners of your mouth lifting at how adorable it must have all been to witness.
“And papa cry.”
What?
You gasp—wish it was an overreaction for the littles, but it wasn’t— and your head snaps to Sylus. His palm cradles your nape instantly, steadying you before the headache could return.
His eyes are blown wide, pupils shaking as he begs his son—don’t with just a look. But Lucian wasn’t briefed for this before he came into the sick room.
So he misses it, and blurts anyways, “He say—say sowee.” He reaches out to pat your face like he did Sylus’s earlier. Soft, syrupy-warm fingers tapping to soothe against your skin. “Sowee be hide mama.”
“Oh.” you swoon, nuzzling your nose against the column of your husband’s neck. While he drops his head in defeat, shoulders hunched as if he’s bracing for judgment. One that never comes.
Instead, you say, “Papa’s a good castle dragon, no?”
Both of them nod, heads bobbing with effort from the waist enthusiastically to drive the point home.
Fingers once drumming against the skin of your arm, Sylus reaches out to tap each child’s forehead. Activating them like sleeper agents with his command. “What else wakes the sleeping beauty?”
Their postures straighten, eyes alight and in a blink of an eye they are climbing up the blanket, over your limbs, exclaiming. “Kissies!”
Your shrieks are pleasant and warm as you receive a sloppy wet kiss on both your cheeks from each of your children. A sweet barrage of happy “mwa! mmmwa!”s are reimbursed back to them by your own kisses pressing onto the marshmallowy round corners of their face.
You overdose in their giggles and screeches as they roll around the sheets, finding home once more in your presence.
Sylus watches with the intensity of a hawk, but softened features of a father nursing his own wounded pride. Holding himself back from joining the fray, swimming in his spiralling thoughts—
For how could he have missed this? Deprive you of the most effective cure of all?
Soft lips press hard on his cheek, and he snaps out of it. Blinks to ground himself back in the moment to find you in focus. And offers you a halfhearted smile.
One you don’t buy.
“Doctor…” you says slowly, testing the waters for you know they run deep. You try again when he only scoffs in mild amusement. Evoking more from him with a softened, “My love.”
And as parched earth does touched after a drought, he crumbles.
“They begged to see you all day.” He confesses, watching distantly as Kyros and Lucian finally do what he’d been wanting them to do. Just play. Entertain themselves.
“They snuck into the plants. Lucian cried. Kyros even did the breath holding thing—“ he breathes through his nose. A wince in disguise. “I told them no, not now. Wait—until you’re better. Wait until I’m not busy. Wait… because I thought I would be all you needed.”
He winces now for real. The reality of his words said out loud like nails on a chalkboard; crashing cymbals on a porcelain floor. A humorless scoff, filled with disdain and disbelief chokes him. “How cruel.”
You consider him. The man who’d spent the whole day at your beck and call, catching you before you even fall, nursing you from sickness to health, all the while keeping your children entertained no matter how ridiculous it had gotten—still, still finding impurities in his actions.
And while he could be right. While he could have hurt them in the process of figuring it out—you can’t help but think it inevitable. “Sylus, you’re figuring it out.”
He grumbles, “I should have known.”
Damns himself with his voice of venom, “But I dismissed them. Forced them to understand without helping them understand.”
Acting exactly like the ones he despised, the ones who cast him out when he knew nothing else but to live.
“You asked me to be gentle with them.” He breathes.
Yet despite it all, gently, you take his trembling chin in your fingers and turn his face to his sons. Grounding him, reminding him where he is. Where he stands. Who he is. “You are.”
“I didn’t…” he holds his breath. Swallows the confession, but it rises up anyway. Needing to be said. Needing to be witnessed, to be heard. “I didn’t know what to do.”
That’s what he hates the most.
All the power, the strength and certainty in every area he chooses to stride; for all he has conquered— here he is. Helpless, scrambling, grasping at straws to make decisions where it matters most. With you. With his family.
“Oh, Sylus.” his hands are bound together by yours, fingers burrowing in each space. You guide his forehead down to press against yours, letting him feel you here with him.
“Now you do.” you whisper kindly. So kind, terribly sickly kind to him so monstrous.
For the first time, faced with greed he now feels shame holding.
He squeezes your hands tight as if asking for penance.
Flipping it on him—you say, “They didn’t understand. But now they do… because of you.”
He glances back at his children at your command. Play fighting across the expanse of the bed, gasping giggles and lifting little fingers to little lips when their volume gets too high, pulling each other away from you when they stumble too close.
Lucian pauses when Kyros clutches his eye, catching his brother and quietly apologizing. Planting kisses on his hair, squeezing him tight in an embrace.
Echos of his own words. Mimics of his own actions. Lessons they’ve learned from him.
“No one wants you to know everything. Not with us.” You assure him, combing disheveled bangs back to reveal his tired eyes. “We just want you.”
He stares at you. Reverently, wistfully— takes your fingers to his lips and presses hard, worshiping you for breathing. Thanking you for being.
“Gentle edges and all.” You say, the last nail to his coffin. For he has died again and again in your arms, but you bring him back to life each time.
He nods. Scars tender and seen. Swallows the lesson, digests the truth. You are well, and so are his boys. And whatever mistakes he makes on the way of keeping you this way, he will spend the rest of his life making it up to you. No matter how hard the storms wreak havoc, he swears to emerge victorious.
Until his wings are clipped. Until his soul is dragged thin. He will keep figuring it out and making things right.
His children offer the levity he needs when they stumble over each other to catch him off guard. They squeeze themselves between him and you, and heal him with kisses as well. The little ones settle themselves within the nest of huggable tokens and memorable trinkets they gathered under Sylus’s command.
For they hoard his words; they treasure his verses.
They do not tally his sins. Only his love.
𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ
Later, when the headache drags you under once more, Sylus does not fight it.
With a finger to his lips, he slips out of bed to make you dinner. Kyros follows, Lucian stays.
Kyros is slow in his movements when he plucks an egg from the fridge. When he squeezes the lemon into the soup. When he arranges the spoon and chopsticks on the wooden tray.
Lucian lays silently beside you, caressing your hair gently until he too slips on his dreams.
And when you wake the last time, Sylus is there, waiting for you.
And so are your children, with their own breakfast trays and silicone bowls with the octopus grippers to hold them in place. With their spill proof bibs and messy cheeks, already elbow deep into the soup that is served.
Clumsy hands overshoot spoons into their mouths, trying their hardest to do it on their own. Making space for Sylus to feed you instead.
“I can eat by myself, you know.” you inform him, but open your mouth for another spoonful anyway.
He smiles, shy and boyish, caught in his own indulgence. “I doctor you better, sweetie.”
You snort. “I wouldn’t mind being sick if it means this.”
He nods, watching Kyros tilt his bowl into his open mouth and Lucian’s fingers dive to retrieve his sunken spoon. A captured beauty in making their mess, with no hurry to be put away.
Your laughter, despite your exhaustion, melts something in him—peeling back the old ache layer by layer, until he can finally let go.
“Now, I know.”
✧˚ ⋆｡ read more with the little twins here || more sylus thoughts ✧˚ ⋆｡
ominis: put a finger down if you were nice to a girl to use them for your own gain then played yourself, caught feelings, and is now horrendously obsessed with them that you got sick because they chose Amit Thakkar for one charms project
sebastian, on his last finger: i don't like this game
synopsis ; you finally get your big break but sylus doesn't show up for opening night.
word count ; 12k words
author's note ; this idea has been in my drafts for so long...anyways this is my food for y'all since i won't be here this weekend! enjoy! also a big ty to @cheezeandkrackers for helping me with this <3
also this ending is supposed to be ironic since hindsight is 20/20…so pls keep that in mind when going in and reading
content warning ; angst w/ comfort! mentions of depression, death. lmk if i missed anything!
The weight on your back is indescribable. It physically forces your shoulders down, your back hunched as you keep your forehead pressed against the painted wood of the vanity. The bright lights of the dressing room pierced your eyes. A dull ache formed in the front of your head and you aren’t sure how well you are going to perform tonight. A quiet groan falls from your lips, a subtle marker of your exhaustion and depletion over the past month of performing.
Not to mention that your mind has been rather preoccupied with the empty void that haunts you in the audience. Your thoughts always move back to him, wondering if he’s okay and has been keeping with his schedule. It pains you to still care for him when you damn well that he has most likely not even thought about you at all.
You miss him but he hasn’t even bothered to show up to any of your shows. He’s probably busy with work, anyways. He’s always busy with work. Maybe it was a good thing you left his home — a place you used to consider your own home — while his job kept him…occupied. At least the resentment that built up in your heart had the chance to dissipate, even if it was a minuscule amount.
It didn’t help either that Sylus hasn’t even bothered to call or text. Not even a whisper of his voice in your ear before you step out onto the stage. He was your biggest supporter, or so you thought. But in the days that followed your argument — the same one that left you a crying mess in your old apartment, knees hugged to your chest, wondering why your boyfriend couldn’t attend a single show — you felt indifference take control of your body, causing you to go numb.
Your back straightens as soon as there is a knock on the door. Tremors overtake your hands. The familiar shake of anxiety and pre-show jitters. You have performed the show with flawless execution for its month long run. Eight shows a week with one day off — Monday, to be exact — and you are finally starting to feel the ache in your bones and head from the constant exposure of the stage lights and same demanding screeches of powerful dialogue that shakes the audience to their core.
Your character’s anguish masks your own. What was that saying again? That life imitates art? You tried to ignore that feeling, that the words on the page didn’t reflect the same torment that you feel towards your relationship with Sylus. That the married couple in the play are not indicative of your relationship with Sylus and that the two of you can somehow find a way out of the fog.
The door creaks open. Your gaze flits to the stage manger’s reflection, their black clothing and headset catching your attention. They don’t even have to say a word. You simply nod and watch as the door closes behind them, leaving you behind in the deafening silence. Your ears ring. The dull ache behind your eyes grows in size but you ignore the feeling, pushing through as you bring yourself back up to your feet.
A slow exhale leaves your mouth. You close your eyes, trying to settle your nerves.
Breathe in. Hold. Open your eyes. Exhale.
Dark bags hang under your eyes. The sunken in look from your lack of sleep and constant worry over a man who simply hasn’t bothered to support you. Sylus has claimed that Onychinus and his work has kept him away from seeing you on stage. Well, that’s what he told you when you first came home after opening night. After that, it’s been complete silence on his end. It’s not like you made an effort to reach out either, but you truly do not believe that it should be you to be the one to mend the bullet hole that ripped your heart in half.
You know that you are bound to face him sometime soon. At least it won’t have an effect on your ability to act like a tired and worn out wife who wishes to have a better life for herself. It’s not like he’ll be sitting in the seat you have reserved for him every showing. The empty seat pushes you towards desperation, towards a place of agony that only a woman in pain could feel.
You breathe in one last time. Your lungs burn as you hold in the breath. You exhale. Slow and timid. Your nails dig into the palms of your hand, rough enough to draw blood. A quick turn on your heel, feet carrying you towards the door. You push through with tears brimming your eyes and a new found determination lit up in your heart to make this the best performance of the play’s run — even if it is the last show.
Excitement bubbles throughout your body. A smile has been etched into your face ever since you woke up that morning. Despite the bed being empty beside you, you are determined to make today a great day because, you guessed it: it’s your opening night!
The play that you have dedicated so many endless nights and weekends to is finally here. The play has been a blessing to you. While Sylus worked and dealt with business deals for Onychinus, you were ready to take that shot in the dark and audition for the show. Turns out, they loved the devastation that you brought to the character. The raw authenticity of heartbreak and resignation showed through the tremor in your voice, the way your hands shook on stage as if you were truly the one contemplating divorcing your husband.
You would never do that, though. You love Sylus with your entire being. There is no way in hell that you are letting him go.
Your phone vibrates on the side table. You reach for it without looking, fingers curling around the device as you bring it to your face. Sylus’s name graces the screen. There is a flutter in your heart at the sight. You quickly openly up the messages and toss your hair out of your eyes, the smile on your face faltering once you read his words.
Work has me busy today. I’ll see you later tonight.
That’s okay. You know that he’ll be at the Orpheum Theater when the doors open. If anything, your boyfriend will be the first one through the doors with an extravagant bouquet of flowers in his arms, subtly bragging to all of those with ears that his lovely partner is in the play — and as the lead no less!
I hope work goes well! I can’t wait to see you tonight! I saved you the best seat in the house! I love you!
Your fingers dance across the screen at lightning speeds, a small chuckle bubbling on the inside of your chest. The phone is tossed to the side and you spread yourself across the king sized bed, arms and legs spread out as far as you can reach. An excited squeal leaves your body. You kick and punch the air as your laughter fills the room. A surge of anticipation — the kind that leaves the tips of your fingers tingling from excitement and joy and happiness.
Sylus is finally going to be able to see you perform. He is finally going to watch you in something that isn’t humiliating, like that smoothie commercial you booked where you were dressed up like a pomegranate, and you can feel the anticipation blossom inside of your body.
The thought itself excites you! For Sylus to see you on stage. It has you smiling throughout dress rehearsal, all throughout an interview the theater scheduled with you and your co-star, and you even found yourself smiling right as the theater doors opened.
The familiar buzz of excitement fills the theater. The audience slowly pours into the theater. A low hum is heard in the air. Quiet and indistinct conversations heard as the nicely dressed people make their way towards their assigned seats, the red material of the chairs calling their names, beckoning for them to move forward and closer to the stage.
The ensemble cast giggles and talk amongst themselves as you and your co-lead take your place on stage behind the deep red curtain. The two of you sit on a couch, one that looks like it has seen better days. Your knee bounces up and down. The remnants of your anxiety showcased in the erratic movement trapped in your legs.
“Nervous?” The man beside you asks.
You stiffly nod, forcing a smile across your face while you play with the hem of your costume’s skirt. The rest of the ensemble cast remain tucked away in the wings, watching as the curtain trembles, ready to be lifted for the first show of the play’s runs — and your career. Just to the side, you notice as the house lights breathe. One moment it’s bright, the next it’s dark, signaling the beginning of the show.
You close your eyes one last time, slowly inhaling as much air as you possibly can. The slight tension in your muscles slowly vanishes. The quiet creak of the curtain being raised forces you to open your eyes, back straightening as you and your scene partner ready yourselves for the beginning of the play.
The director wants you to stare straight ahead, to peer into the spotlight that illuminates your bodies. You force your gaze away, though, and allow yourself to look in the direction of Sylus’ reserved seat.
The director was so excited when you came to her with the news of your boyfriend requesting the best seat in the house. You had talked him out of sitting in a box seat for your first performance, claiming that box seats are for the rich who do not truly care for art. If Sylus wants to be a true connoisseur, then he needs to sit in the center of the theater, to sit among other people and to allow himself to be fully immersed in the story’s plot.
You frequently spoke of Sylus to the rest of the crew of ensemble. Let’s be real: you told anyone who was willing to listen about your relationship with Sylus. Every single person who works on the play built an image of him inside of their minds, ready to meet the man who has their leading lady so deep in love that she can barely focus whenever he sends a message. Sylus had become someone that the cast and crew were looking forward to meet and invite into the life of the theater — even the owner of the theater wished to meet him to try and secure new funds for their next play.
The curtains raise and the sly smile is wiped off of your face. The character’s persona is draped across your body, your mind making that switch into taking on the character’s life. Your eyes remain fixed on the seat. The one place in the theater where the sound and view is the best.
Your body goes cold. The air in your lungs is yanked free from your body. It is as if you have just been body slammed into a cement wall. A quiet ring forms in your ears. The terrifying sound of disappointment and whiplash deafens you even as your co-star speaks out his opening lines.
The chair is empty.
Tears brim your eyes and your force your gaze away from the sight, blinking away the tears as you take your cue to stand and address the crowd. You’re stuck, though. The words remain trapped on your tongue, the bitter taste of being letdown and frustration spreading across your mouth. An iron ball forms in your throat. You’re unable to force it away, to swallow the weight that forms in your neck.
“I’ve been married to Dean for five years.” Your voice shakes as if you are the character herself, bearing your soul to the audience to see under the lights of the stage. “And in those five years, he has let me down five times.”
The rest of the show goes as smooth as the last few dress rehearsals. You push through the stabbing pain in your heart, ignoring the way your body feels like it is being ripped open from the inside out. The ache in your throat grows but you force it away whenever you have to speak, forcing the words out of your mouth. It is only when you exit off into the wings of the stage that you allow yourself to crumble, your face breaking as you try to hide your tears. The makeup artists desperately try to save your makeup, helping talk you through the warfare that has formed inside of your heart.
It was only a matter of minutes before you were pushed back onto the stage again, forcing a smile onto your face as you pretend to be happy in a loveless marriage. You ignored the empty space in the audience. The seat you had reserved for him. With every turn and flick of the head, you are always so tempted to stare at the space. You force your mind to stay on task, to proclaim the lines that have been bestowed upon you but all you want to do is go home — not to his — and cry into your pillow until your body gives out.
Where the hell is he? What excuse can Sylus give to you that can make up for the fact that he isn’t here in the audience. What could he possibly say that can dispel the tremor in your heart, the burning ache that has tightened around your throat. Is he truly preoccupied with work?
Or has he found a comfort in the hunter he met when Onychinus’ path crossed the Hunter Associations?
The play continues and you numb the feeling of sadness that formed in your heart. While your voice remains bright and vibrant, showcasing the character’s emotionality and the devastation that she feels, you remain calm and collected under the mask. You trick the audience into think that you, the actress, take your job so seriously. That you are a professional who isn’t on the verge of having a breakdown onto the stage.
You sit on stage right. Your eyes try not to stare at the empty seat but the temptation of pain and angst is just unbearable. Slowly but surely, your eyes move inch by inch — moving mere millimeters — towards the space. An older couple sits on the left side of the chair while on the right is a burly man who looks as if he is about to pop out of his tailored suit. You suck in a breath while your scene partner recites his lines with ease, walking across the stage while you remain isolated on the couch.
“All I wanted was for the party to go well,” you say in response, picking at the fabric of your skirt.
“Nobody cares about the damn party,” he exhales loudly. You glance at the actor, replacing his face with Sylus’. You watch as he moves around the fake kitchen, slamming the cabinets shut and tossing the silverware across the countertop. He turns around and you swear you see the red shade of your partner’s eyes in him. A sharp inhale has you clutching your chest, turning away from the man. “Nobody cares about you, quite frankly. Always trying too hard but it will never be enough.”
“Dean, please,” you choke back the tears.
“When will it be enough for you?” The actor’s eyes meet your glossy ones. His fingers curl around the edge of the fake countertop, knuckles white.
Your bottom lip trembles. You slowly push yourself up to your feet, a sudden lightness overtaking your body as the lights begin to dim on the other sections of the stage. You face the audience. A single tear runs down your cheek, the ticking time bomb of your own cache of despair ready to explode.
“I don’t love you anymore.”
The words make your ears ring. Although they fell from your lips, it feels so surreal to even speak them aloud. To even say the damned phrase when your heart is in shambles. The feeling of falling out love is overwhelming. While you still hold onto the hope that your worst fears won’t come true, they still scratch at the back of your mind. Slowly countering the defenses that you have established to protect yourself.
That’s when the tears begin to fall. You allow yourself to breakdown and sob for all to see. You try to fight when away, furiously wiping your eyes and capturing the tears on your fingers. The once perfect and thick makeup begins to streak. The black mascara runs down your face, your fingers now black.
It was supposed to be an emotionless speech. One about your character finding peace and solace in her husband’s disinterest. That she has finally broken free from the spell that the man had placed on her. His final words being the straw that breaks the camel’s back. The accumulation of your stress and frustration have into fruition, taking the form of salty tears that land at your feet.
You can feel the character’s pain. When you first read the script, you were curious as to how horrible a man could be to the woman he claims to love. You wondered why he would step out on his wife, to find comfort in a younger and prettier woman. Why he would berate the woman who has remained so loyal and faithful then turn around and convince her that it was her fault for not keeping him interested.
You’ve seen her before. Just in passing, a fleeting moment in Sylus’ garage where their loud laughter suddenly faded as soon as you entered the room, tired from that day of rehearsals. Sylus introduced you. His ruby eyes remained on her, though, his lips curling up into a ghost of a smile. It made your body go cold. You remembered her smile, how it was so infectious it made you want to grin despite her closeness with your partner.
She’s younger too. Of course, she is. Just a couple years but still…her youthful spirit has yet to be crushed like yours. She wore pretty clothes and her perfume was intoxicating; spiced vanilla with an underlying scent of everything that you are not.
Is that the case with Sylus? Is he not interested in you anymore? Has that hunter from the Association finally turn his head away from you?
You collapse to the ground, legs unstable and feeling like jelly. Sobs take over your body. The familiar sharpness returns to your heart. It turns rotten.
You listen to the audience’s cries from the stage as you remained hunched over, your tears soaking into the floor beneath you. The crowd remains quiet as you cry and choked out the words. You covered your face and muttered quiet apologies to yourself, continuing with the speech. You sniffle and wipe the snot away from your nose while you speak on the devastating nature about loving a man who simply doesn’t care.
Silence falls over the auditorium. No one dares to move while you slowly recover, your arms and hands shielding your face from the blinding lights. The silence causes you to shiver. Slowly, you look up from your hands, staring into the darkness of the auditorium. In the front row, you can see the glossy sheen to the audience’s eyes.
The stage lights go black. You feel your tears stop. The lights no longer warm your skin. The audience’s applause fade and you are left alone as the stage crew and ensemble gather around you. They lift you to your feet and praise your performance. Even the director is astonished with your work, commenting that the tears added a hefty gravity to the scene that they never could have imagined.
You smile at them but quickly excuse yourself to your dressing room. The door closes with a quiet click of the turning lock. The lights remain off, the light from the outside world spread across the floor. Your back remains pressed against the door. Deep and heavy breaths cause your head to go dizzy. You push away from the door and rip the costume off of your body, tossing the fabric to the side as you gather your belongings and post-show clothes. Quickly putting them on, you sneak out of the dressing room and slip free from the back stage door, just barely missing the crowd that rushes to see you.
His face is not among those in the crowd. Another knife to the heart. Another notch in the grievances that you are about to file against your partner.
You tear your gaze away, tears streaking down your cheeks as the shrieks and cheers from the audience pierce your ears. You don’t look back, though, and instead push forward as fast as you can, finding your nearby car.
The drive to the N109 Zone is silent. You focus on the road, barely paying attention to the turning street lights and stop signs. You recklessly brake at the last second and swerve in and out of the lanes, just barely missing cars that you are about to collide with.
Danger and fury runs through your veins. Instead of the familiar heat of frustration, your anger is ice cold. Indifferent. Intolerant of how Sylus has fallen away from your grip these last few months.
Maybe you should have seen this coming. All of the signs are there, right?
While you were off parading as a different person, your boyfriend became acquainted with his new connection at the Hunter’s Association. She was the one who took your place by his side when rehearsals ran late. She was the one who took your spot on the back of his motorcycle. She was the one who took his attention away from you.
You shove away your emotions, forcing your feet to carry you inside of Sylus’ skyscraper. The elevator quietly dings with every passing floor, the nausea inside of your stomach becoming overwhelming. The doors slide open and you step out, looking around.
The lights are turned off. The click of your shoes is faintly heard as you move deeper into the main living space. The sound of a woman’s laughter causes you to stumble. You hold onto the wall for support, placing your bag onto the floor.
A chill overtakes your body. Goosebumps form on your skin. The hair on your arms and back of your neck stand up. You sulk closer towards the sound, listening to Sylus as he chuckles at a joke she said.
You peer at the two of them from the corner, remaining as hidden as you can. They sit beside each other on the living room couch, a feast of takeout food laid out before them. The smell causes you to drool. The lights are off, the only light source coming from lit candles — which are yours, by the way — that are scattered throughout the room. They sit close to one another, their arms brushing against each other as they laugh and share food, leaning in to whisper something into their ear as if they aren’t the only ones inside of the Onychinus skyscraper. Sylus faces you while she faces away. You stare at her back, the long and black hair that cascades down her back. She wears stealth clothes, ones that you recognize from the Hunter’s Association’s ads that play all over Linkon City. You go still, unable to move as you sneakily watch.
“Are you sure that it’s okay that I’m here?” she asks. Her voice is as sweet as honey.
“Of course,” his voice is as husky as you remembered it to be, “there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”
A tender smile is spread across Sylus’ face. You want to slap it off and scream in his face. You want to yell and scream, to hit him and make him feel the same exact emotional torment that he has put you through.
You slowly draw in a breath. The heat from the anger you once felt is gone. Ice takes over your body, freezing your heart. You can’t even feel the beats. The air is drawn out from your lungs. They burn, the only hint you have to let you know that you are still alive.
Is this how your character felt? Is this what complete and utter betrayal look like? Is this how it feels to watch as the love of your life slips free from your fingers, dropping into the palm of a woman who probably doesn’t even know who the true Sylus is. Would it be ignorant of you to think that nobody will know him like you did? Would it be ignorant to think that this new reality you find yourself in is one that you do not wish to be a part of anymore?
This is how your relationship dies. With the smell of spiced vanilla and two bodies close together under the dim candlelight.
Tears run down your cheeks. You don’t have the energy to stop them from falling. Turning on your heel, you walk away, heading in the direction of your shared bedroom with Sylus. Your footsteps are no longer quiet or sneaky. You walk with the confidence of a determined woman. The determination to leave this place — and the man you thought you were going to spend the rest of your life with — behind.
You shove the door open with more force than you intended. The wood slams into the wall, the sound echoing across the floor. You swear you can hear Sylus and her’s laughter die as soon as you step foot into the bedroom. You don’t really care, though, and head towards the closet. Your fingers curl around the handle of a suitcase. You toss it onto the bed, the case splitting open, empty and ready to be used.
Whatever you come across, you toss it into the suitcase. You don’t even bother to fold the clothes, allowing them to knot together as the pile grows higher and higher. White noise fills your head. There’s ringing in your ear. You don’t even hear Sylus when he walks into the bedroom, too tunnel visioned to notice him. You turn around, a pair of slippers in your hands. You collide with Sylus’ hard chest, the man resting his hands on his hips as you barely look up at him.
“I asked you what you’re doing.” There’s annoyance in his voice. Irritation, even.
You don’t even look up at him, stepping around his frame as you toss the slippers into the suitcase. There’s movement in the doorway. The figure is gone before you can catch it. Eh. Whatever. You’re leaving anyways. It simply is not your problem anymore.
“I’m talking to you,” Sylus says. He groans and watches as you brush past him again. He snatches your wrist in his hand, his fingers hot against your skin. You try not to wince or flinch. The single look he gets of your face makes him pause. The streaked and ruined makeup. The way your fingers are covered in the remnants of red lip stick and black mascara from your efforts to wipe your face clean. It makes his heart ache at the sight, the man wanting to reach for you and bring you into his embrace just like he has always done when you needed him to be there. Oh, the irony. “What’s wrong? Where are you going?”
“I’m leaving,” you breathe the words out, “I don’t belong here anymore.”
“Leaving?” He’s baffled, a light scoff leaving his mouth. He waits for you to show him a sign — any sign — that this is some kind of overreaction. That you are waiting for him to stop you before you can step foot out of the base’s doors.
You keep moving, though. Your movements are robotic at best. There is no emotion on your face as you continue to shove your belongings into the suitcase. He watches, as still as the period after a brutal and deadly battle. You continue to move, packing away the life that you had built together, purposefully leaving behind the items and clothes that he happily bought for you.
“What’s going on?” Sylus asks, bewildered. “Did I miss something?”
“No,” you shake your head, venom prominent in your voice. “You wanted to be here, remember? There’s no other place you would rather be.”
The way you throw his words — words that were never meant for you, by the way — right back into his face make Sylus pause. His red eyes scan your face, trying to silently peel back the layers of your mind to see what it is that he has done wrong. His lips pucker, eyes narrowing. So you know that his Hunter friend is here. Did you misinterpret the situation? Did you think that there were traces of romance and affection in his actions?
“Talk to me,” Sylus says, his eyes fixating on you. “Tell me what happened.”
“You didn’t show up,” you say.
You casually shrug as if this is common information, as if Sylus abandoning you is now a common occurrence. Wasn’t it you who decided to act? To give yourself away for months for an audience of people who don’t even know who you are? He follows you as you walk to the bathroom. The cabinets are opened up and you pluck your hair care products and skincare regimen into your hands, walking back out just to dump them into your bag.
“What didn’t I show up for?” He asks, truly confused as to why you are suddenly holding this grudge against him.
“My play, Sylus,” the words are as bitter as your voice, “you missed my play. Not like you would care anyways since you’d rather be here with her instead of supporting your fucking girlfriend—”
“So you’re jealous,” Sylus comments, “that’s what this is about?”
“Jealous?” you turn around and stare at him as if you were just struck by a bolt of lightning. Your body feels as if it was. A tingling sensation spreads across your skin and you are sure that if you were to touch him, he would explode from the electricity of your fury. “You think I’m leaving over jealousy?”
“Isn’t that what this is about?” he shakes his head, already ready to dismiss this whole argument.
“You missed opening night, Sylus.”
“No,” the white haired man shakes his head, taking a step closer to you, “I didn’t. That’s next week.”
“It was tonight.”
His body goes cold. He opens his mouth to say something, red eyes piercing into yours. You swear you can see the vibrancy and color fade when he finally realizes. You wait a couple more seconds for him to speak but he says nothing. You scoff.
“I got a standing ovation, by the way,” you comment as you step towards the bag. You zip it up, using as much effort as you can to close the stuffed bag. “The director called me a visionary. Said my performance of a wife scorned felt real.”
“Babe…”
“Who knew that my boyfriend ditching me for some woman he met a few months ago would be the perfect motivation to have a breakdown on stage? Not me,” you laugh. Actually laugh. It’s both bitter and angry, the sound ready to snap like your emotions. The bag is zipped shut and you push it onto the ground, lifting the handle.
“I didn’t ditch you,” Sylus tries to reason. It only makes you laugh.
“Didn’t you?” you are quick to counter, an expert on keeping him accountable. “I thought you were dead at some point. Your empty seat made me think that one of your business deals went wrong. So I rushed home as fast as I could to come see you but you,” you let out a bitter laugh. One that is filled with anger and resentment. “You just had to be with her. So yes, Sylus. You fucking ditched me.”
You turn and stare at him, your gaze sharp enough to kill. Sylus easily meets your gaze, allowing the blade of your fury to rest along his neck. His expression softens, the weight of his guilt finally resting upon his shoulders. He only wishes that you would gift him the weight of your anger so that he may hold it for you, even if it means giving you just one minute of peace where the sins of his actions don’t poison your blood.
“I…” you begin but fall quiet. Your fists ball at your sides, nails digging into your palm. The pain grounds you, the stinting feeling of torn flesh rooting you into the earth. “I needed you tonight, Sylus, and you weren’t there. Ever since I was cast, you drifted away. You found comfort in another—”
“Don’t finish that sentence.” His red eyes burn into yours, his own anger and passion coming into play. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence. I have not found comfort in another woman.”
“Do you really believe that?” you whisper. “Do you honestly expect me to believe that you paid more attention to her than me?”
“Yes! Because it’s the truth!” Sylus raises his voice, his emotions getting the best of him.
The man has fought so hard to remain in control. Control of his life, the world around him, his emotions. Sylus has always managed his own expectations — and disappointments — by controlling those around him. He used people and tossed them to the side when he no longer needed them. He would never do such a thing to you. He can’t even fathom how you can believe that when he has done everything in his power to keep you happy.
It’s his fault, though. Sylus’ wishful thinking of you being happy, of living your life on the stage, was not in vain. He wanted to try and clean up Onychinus’ problems before your show’s time came. Sure, he got distracted by an interesting woman, but he never would have dreamed of tossing you to the side in favor of her. At least, that’s what he thinks. The poor man doesn’t even realize that the woman he has replaced you with has already gotten a hold of his heart. The one thing he swore that nobody else — other than you — would touch.
“You’re unbelievable,” you mutter, rolling your eyes.
“I’m not the one who made up an elaborate plot in her head about something that isn’t true!” Sylus says, waving his hands around.
“Isn’t it?” you ask, trying to keep your voice and body as steady as possible. “You were here. With her. I was there where you weren’t. You claim that you feel nothing for her but when I came home…you looked at her like you once looked at me.”
Your words are like a knife in his heart. It causes him to exhale, the air being knocked free from his chest. His eyes gloss over, your accusations growing more and more true as you build your case against him.
“When I first got the role, you were excited for me. You even said that you couldn’t wait to see me on stage,” you laugh again but this time it’s softer. Sadder. The acceptance of your crucified relationship finally settling in your stomach. “I believed you when you said that I was going to be great. That I was going to fulfill my dreams and that you were happy to watch. I want to believe you now but all I can see is a man I used to love. All I see is an honest man who has turned into a liar right in front of my eyes.”
Silence hangs between you. Your breathing is slow, controlled. Sylus’ is erratic. He takes a step forward but you draw back, placing more distance between the two of you. You look him up and down once, taking in his appearance.
He wears a nice button down dress shirt. It’s white, a color that he rarely ever wears but you noticed that he puts on a whole lot more when she’s around. His pants are the fancy tailored ones and his shoes are shined so well that you swear you can see your reflection in. Your gaze flickers to his hands. He isn’t wearing the ring you got him, the one you bought to match the one he slid on your finger. A promise that the two of you will be together forever…it has vanished from his fingers. It makes you want to cry all over again. How could he have not seen the signs?
“Why didn’t you show up?” you ask.
“What?” Sylus breathes out.
“Why didn’t you show up?” you ask him again, doubling down.
“I didn’t think that it was today,” he begins but he quickly shuts up when you shake your head.
“No,” your eyes darken. “What was the reason for not being here tonight like you said?”
“Did I say that?”
“Sylus!” you yell his name, the word echoing across the top floor of his skyscraper. “Stop! Why weren’t you there?!”
“She needed me.” The answer leaves him before he can stop it. He whispers the short sentence. Oh, how he regrets even saying it in the first place. “She needed someone.”
“I needed someone too,” your voice cracks under the pressure. The tears begin to fall from your eyes, rolling down your cheeks in hot and salty streams. “I needed my boyfriend to share this night with me. To celebrate my accomplishment.”
“It’s not like that,” Sylus dares to step forward, swallowing the lump in his throat, “she needed help with a job—”
“Does nobody else work at that damn fucking Association?! Why does she need my boyfriend to help her?!” you yell, silencing him. You close your eyes, taking a deep breath to try and steady your nerves. “I’m done, Sylus. I’m leaving, okay? Don’t even bother trying to talk to me again.”
You grab the handle of your suitcase, tearing your gaze off of him. The more you look at him, the angrier you get, and that is the last thing you need. You take a step towards the door. His voice stops you.
“Don’t go,” Sylus says, resting his hand on your shoulder, “please don’t leave me.”
“You already left me, Sylus,” you say with a resigned sigh. “And take your damn hand off of me. You don’t get to touch me anymore.”
“Let’s talk it through,” he says, “please?”
Sylus reaches out for you again. He grabs your wrist, drawing you back towards him. What he didn’t anticipate, though, is the way you swing your hand towards him, your palm connecting with his cheek. A stinging sensation spreads across his face. A red imprint begins to form on his face, the lines of your fingers etched into his skin. You don’t even feel guilty about it.
“You haven’t even said sorry,” your voice cracks, the palm of your hand stinging. Tears flow from your eyes. The drops fall to the ground after they roll off your cheeks. You don’t bother to catch them or to wipe them away. You let them fall. “No apology for missing my opening night. No apology for choosing her over me…it’s cruel, Sylus. You’re cruel. We’re done. Don’t come near me.”
The couch is uncomfortable. It has been since last week when your co-star broke it during rehearsal. He thought that jumping on it would be a good idea — as if it ever is — and now here you are, sitting on a spring that pokes directly into the place where the sun doesn’t shine.
You crack your neck and knuckles, exhaling all of the air that’s in your lungs. You don’t even pay attention to your fellow actor. There’s too much on the line, especially since it’s the last show of the play’s run in Linkon. After this…you have no idea what you’re going to do. What you do know, though, is that you’re finally going to find the happiness that you deserve.
Especially since the stage is now forever stained from your one-sided breakup with Sylus.
The creak of the curtains forces you to look up. The blinding lights are familiar now. The stinging sensation makes itself at home behind your eyes while you blink, waiting for your cue. You slowly stand. Your eyes adjust to the bright lights, the people in the crowd now coming into view. Sylus’ empty seat — one that you asked to remain reserved for him, for what reason, you’ll never know — is just to the side. You stare at it whenever you need the emotional push, to throw yourself into your sorrows for the crowd to watch. Your soul laid bare on the stage while your tears burn down your cheeks, hands outstretched towards the crowd as if they can save you from drowning in your depression.
The seat isn’t empty though. You blink a couple of times, wondering if it was just the trick of the light or if someone actually dared to sit in the spot.
It’s Sylus.
His red eyes meet yours through the darkness and just for a moment — a second so brief you barely catch it — it feels as if it is just the two of you inside of the theater. It feels as if there is no crowd, no audience watching as you freeze on stage. It is just you and him. Nobody else.
You swallow the iron lump that has formed in your throat. The pressure is immeasurable, the mass dragging along your esophagus. It makes you want to throw up, to cry and throw yourself on the ground. To let the wooden stage swallow you whole so you can disappear from life without even having to say a word or lift a finger.
“I’ve been married to Dean for five years.” Your voice is stronger this time. More resolute. There is no shake in it just the emotionless motivations of a she-devil, of a woman scorned…of an emotionally battered woman who is too tired to show how she is truly feeling. “And in those five years, he has let me down five times. This is the story of how Dean and I fell in and out of love.”
You force your gaze away from Sylus, turning around as the play continues as if this isn’t happening. You settle yourself as you cross the stage, linking your arm with your co-star’s, forcing a smile onto your face.
Admittedly, you are distracted. Sylus’ white hair and red eyes always catch your attention. Hell, it’s how you noticed him in the first place when you showed up to some random auction. You were bored out of your mind and was just ditched — ironic, right? — by your date who left you to pay the bill at the restaurant. You wandered around the N109 Zone, finding your way into a fancy art exhibit where a silent auction was taking place. The auction was dimly lit but Sylus still managed to stand out like the devil in the night, his appearance subconsciously luring you closer and closer until you stood beside him in front of a painting that depicted a war torn field. Dragon bones were laid out in the middle of the painting and hanging in the sky is a bright star, one that burns as brightly as he once said you did.
You shake your head, forcing the memory out of your head as soon as it even formed. The world of the story moves all around you while you remain stagnant on the stage unable to move as the character of Dean makes a move on another woman right in front of you. The actors on stage stop mid-movement. A spotlight is turned on, the light directed at you. You stare directly at it, gaze slipping to your ex-partner.
“This was the first time Dean betrayed me. It was five years ago. He took me to some party on his campus. Told me that he needed to talk to his friends and that I should wait for him out front. Little did I know, he had his tongue shoved down another woman’s throat. His friend felt bad for me. He texted me a picture of it. It didn’t make the pain hurt any less. That was the alcohol’s job.”
The crowd laughs. Sylus doesn’t. His gaze remains on you and you alone. He follows your shadowy figure as you cross the stage, walking off as this so called Dean and his first affair have their time to shine. A look of detestment flashes across his face at the sight. Dean and his temporary lover, if you could even call it that, fall onto the couch, their movements exaggerated.
Is this what you thought he was doing with her? Could you really think of him as a man who would ever betray you like that?
Dean and the woman kiss. Sylus shudders. He closes his eyes, just for a brief moment, before he hears your voice again. His eyes open immediately after, watching as you stand in the middle of the stage while the set is changed behind you.
“I broke up with him. I was the fool, though, for thinking that he could change. I took him back not even a month later. The bed was cold without him…I missed his warmth and the way he held me in his arms.” Your eyes move back to Sylus. He sucks in a breath, hanging onto every word. “I missed the security he gave me. The sweet kisses as he vowed to me that he would never be swayed again. I was just a kid in love, could you blame me?”
His heart lurches inside of his chest. As the play continues to unfold in front of his eyes, the more and more Sylus sees himself in Dean, the villain of the story. He can’t even begin to imagine why your character would put herself through all of that pain and suffering, of watching the man you dedicated your life to slip free from your grasp. To sit and stare as he plays mind games right in front of you, claiming that what she said is ludacris and that he would never do such a thing.
And to think that he said the same to you.
Sylus sinks into his seat. Roses sit at his feet, a bouquet made special just for you. He labored over it for hours, wondering if you would even accept the roses — or any flower for that matter! Would you accept him? Let him apologize and say sorry for the things he didn’t even say. His heart feels like it is about to fly out of his chest, ready to crumble under the pressure of you and your judgment. Whatever you decide to give him, whatever you decide to yell or scream at him…he knows that he deserves it. He deserves it all.
The play goes on. Sylus is completely enamored by your acting, the way you are able to show a bright smile to the new “friends” Dean introduces to you all while looking like you are ready to fall apart at a moment’s notice. He is infatuated with the way you lay your soul onto the stage for all to see. The way you treat him and everyone else with a casualness an old friend would have. It makes him feel welcome despite feeling an immense amount of dread overtake his body the more and more he sees how the men in your character’s life continue to let her down over and over again.
Sylus can’t believe that he allowed himself to treat you this way. He can’t believe how easy it was to lie about work, to offer his time to some measley Hunter that could barely remember what his favorite wine is or if he prefers a rifle to a pistol. He can’t believe that he allowed himself to create distance between the two of you, that he didn’t pick up on the silent cues you gave him when you tried to bring him back into bed for five more minutes of cuddles, the way you tried your best to stay up for him after a long day of rehearsal knowing that those ten minutes of conversation were enough to keep you invested in your relationship.
Sylus is mad at himslf for being the maker of his own destruction. That he is the only person responsible for pushing you away.
“Love is like a drop into the misty depths where either a bed of clouds or rocks wait for you at the bottom,” you begin, capturing his attention all over again. “It is a leap of faith. A shot in the dark that the person you have let into your life is the one who is supposed to make you happy.”
You take your time in walking across the stage. The play has reached it’s ending. Dean’s relationship with your character has evolved into a loveless marriage. Three years together. Three years of time wasted. You can’t help but relate to it, the feeling of your own time being robbed from you. It angers you more than it should.
“I wish there was a warning sign,” you look down at your feet, the tears already forming in your eyes, “because when I hit the bottom, it felt worse than what I imagined death to feel like.”
You raise your head. Your eyes meet Sylus’ in the crowd. His lips are parted ever so slightly, the man sitting on the edge of his seat. You just wished he looked like this a month ago and not now. It counts as something, you suppose.
“I used to think that Dean loved me. I used to think that there was a piece inside of me who always saw the good in him…that he wasn’t a man who used people at his disposal just because he felt like it. You know, I have stayed up so many nights wondering why he would do this to me. So many nights lost when I could have been asleep and on the nights I did sleep, the dreams were filled of a life without him. I berated myself for dreaming of such things…that only a horrible person could ever dream of a life away from the one who made them the happiest. Does that make me horrible?”
Sylus wants to answer. He wants to be the one to reach out and bring you into his arms, to keep you in his life for as long as he can. He wants to be the one to dry your tears, to be the man you deserve to have in your life. He can’t help but wonder if you, too, had dreams about leaving him while you laid in bed beside him…in his arms.
“Honey!” your co-star cries out. You remain stagnant in the middle of the stage, unable to look away from Sylus. “Clean this up! If I have to do damage control over your outburst at the party, then I refuse to be the one to clean.”
“I just wanted the party to go well.” Tears begin to roll down your cheeks, the lines forever burned on your tongue.
“Nobody cares about the damn party,” the actor slams the cabient.
The wood rattles. You close your eyes, the audience feeling the same fear as your character. The actor quickly rushes to your side, grabbing your jaw with his hand. He yanks it towards him, his face dangerously close to yours. Sylus quietly gasps with other audience members.
“Nobody cares about you, quite frankly. Always trying too hard but it will never be enough.”
“Dean, please!” you recite the lines with desperation in your voice.
“When will it be enough for you?”
“I don’t love you anymore!”
The words echo throughout the theater. The actor who plays Dean slowly exits the stage. The lights begin to dim, a single spotlight focused on you. The characters from the show line up behind you, their bodies barely visible as cries begin to overtake your body. Your hands clutch the area over your heart, the sounds of your sobs and cries filling the theater. The people in the audience begin to cry with you, gently patting away the tears with a pocketed handkerchief.
“I just wanted to be loved!” you cry out, your voice both pained and desperate. “I just wanted to be someone worthy of love! To be someone worthy of being treated like a first choice, not the second. I let him consume me. I let his desire and lust control my life and scrutinized myself for being the reason he didn’t love me anymore. I don’t even know who I am anymore!”
Your cries grow louder and louder. Sylus tears up himself, unable to bring himself to look away as you crumble to your knees.
“Why me?! Why did you have to choose me?” You yell, looking up to the audience. Sylus sits in the wake of your gaze, trapped. “Why did you have to be the one who ripped my heart to shreds? I don’t understand! Please! Why am I not worthy of your love? Why am I the one who has to suffer for your mistakes? It’s not fair! It’s not fair!”
Your voice cracks, the scream of your anguish chilling Sylus to his core. He sits back into his seat, all of the air drained from his body, breathless as you slowly rise to your feet, the tears never ending. Your eyes find his again, the tremor in your body easing.
“I hate myself because of you.” The sentence slices through Sylus’ chest. “I hate myself for loving you…for making up excuses time and time again on why you are so cruel to me. I hate myself for allowing you to hurt me. I hate myself for not leaving earlier. I wish…I wish that I could bring myself to hate you, but I can’t. I don’t think I ever will.” You pause. You take a shuddered breath and close your eyes, allowing the warmth of the spotlight to envelop you like a hug. “Maybe we are right for each other. We are the only people I know who are miserable…who love to live in misery and wallow in our sorrows. Is it bad to say that I want more? That I need more?”
You laugh. It’s bitter. A reflection of how you feel on the inside. Unfortunate, but true.
“Maybe I’m not one of those people. Maybe I’m not built to live a happy life. Is it ironic that I now realize that I don’t want to be the third person in our marriage? That I want to be treated better than you have ever treated me. Is it bad to admit that I wish the old you would come back to me? The same one that held me when my dog died. The same one that was there for me when I graduated from college…” you go quiet, staring into the distance. “My aunt used to tell me that hindsight is a privlege to have. She used to tell me that in the real world, not many people are able to get a second chance like I have. She held my hands the night your affair was exposed.”
You hold your hands out in front of you, staring at the palms. Makeup and tears stain your skin. A reminder of the true storm that destroys your mind. A frown overtakes your face.
“She held me close,” your voice lowers but the microphone picks it up, loudening your whispers, “and told me that the next time I have the chance to run, I should take it. That I will regret not rushing towards happiness that I deserve and that the road will only get tougher and tougher the longer I put it off…Hey Dean? Do you remember that joke you always said? The one that used to make me laugh till I was breathless? You said it recently and…I found myself unwilling to play along anymore. I don’t love you anymore, Dean…I don’t know if I will ever again.”
Sylus has never known what it felt like to be nervous. Ever since he was born, he has never felt what people describe to be “erratic butterflies” that flutter in your stomach. He has heard many accounts from people — especially those who was succumbed to bullets from his guns — about fear and anxiety. The emotions are so foreign to him. Even when the two of you began to date, Sylus knew that you were the one for him. That it was going to be you and him against the world. He never felt those fluttering butterflies in his stomach until now.
He waits outside of the backstage door. People from the audience stand outside alongside fans. He keeps his distance, wanting you to have your moment before he eventually destroys it. The man glances down at the roses. Nausea begins to overtake his senses. He tries to steel his nerves, to make the sensation go away and leave him alone. It doesn’t, though. He deserves it.
The metal doors swing open and people cheer and yell out your name. You exit with a bright smile on your face, waving to them as flashes of lights pop off. He sighs, shaking his head as he turns on his heel, ready to walk away. Sylus isn’t even sure if he is ready to face you yet. How could he? You poked a hole into his lies, exposing him. He wasn’t even aware of what he was doing to you…the way his words and indifference slowly killed you while you were making something for yourself.
“Sylus.”
A shock of life flashes in his stomach. The butterflies are dead, the man turning around to look down at you. You stand in front of him with crossed arms and a scowl, annoyance written all over your face. You raise an eyebrow, glancing down at the flowers.
“These are for you,” Sylus extends the flowers in your direction, hoping to whatever god is out there that you’ll take them. You don’t. You just stare at the red petals, the white baby’s breath scattered into the mix. “You…you were phenomenal tonight. Truly…you made me cry. I didn’t think it was possible for me to.”
“Why are you here?” you ask, cutting straight to the point. It takes Sylus aback. The butterflies come back.
“I wanted to…” his voice trails off. He clears his throat, trying to dispel some of the awkwardness that remains in his body. “We need to talk.”
“Do we?” you counter.
“Yes,” Sylus’ lips press into a thin line, amused. “There are things I have to say to you.”
“What if I don’t want to hear it?”
“Then I’ll leave,” he says. He means it, too. “I will leave you alone for the rest of your life if you want me to. I know that I have been an asshole and you have every right to be angry with me…at least let me drive you home. It’s snowing. You shouldn’t be walking out on your own.”
“Fine.”
Sylus’ eyes widen ever so slightly, his surprise on full display for you to see. Your roll your eyes at the sight, taking the flowers from him. Your gaze drops down to his ring finger. The black ring you got him sits there, the spot no longer vacant like it was before. And yet…you feel nothing.
You follow Sylus as he walks you towards his car. He stands close to you, shielding you from the harsh wind as snow flakes fall onto your flowers. You barely have a grip on them. The flowers are ready to fly away with the wind at any given moment, to be lost in the city of Linkon. Sylus wouldn’t blame you for letting them go. He knows that the flowers are a shot in the dark, a poor attempt to see that smile on your face because, well, you always smiled whenever he brought you flowers after a long day of work. Seeing your grin was like a shot of espresso that revitalized him after business deals gone wrong.
Oh, how he misses that smile.
He opens up the passenger side door. You let out an exasperated huff. He assumes that you rolled your eyes at him, too. You smack the flowers into his chest, slowly lowering yourself into the seat. Once your foot is inside, Sylus places the roses — which you immediately toss into the basckseat — and closes the door behind you, jogging to the other side of the car and gets inside. The car comes to life and heat from the vents help melt some of the icy tension in your body.
“Feel okay?” Sylus asks. You hum in response.
The man drives the car away from the theater, putting as much distance between the two of you and the damned place as possible. The drive is quiet, a song about heartbreak plays over the radio. You don’t pay attention. Instead, you stare outside of the car window, watching as Sylus drives through the empty streets. Snowflakes hit the foggy window. You tap your finger against them, letting the heat from your body melt the icy designs.
Sylus watches you from the corner of his eye. The butterflies have returned to his stomach. He ignores the feeling and clears his throat, the car coming to a slow stop at the red light.
“Can I take you somewhere?” Sylus asks. It’s another shot in the dark. One that he hopes you’ll take.
“Fine,” you mutter under your breath, keeping your gaze fixed out of the window.
Sylus nods once and turns left, heading away from the city and towards the river. You barely pay attention, opting to stare out at the snowy landscape. The lights of the city slowly disappear, the car taking you up the side of the city where there’s a lookout of the city. Minutes pass and the car finds itself in a parking spot, the tall man slipping free from the car. He moves to your side and opens up the door, offering you his hand. You ignore it and shove your hands into your jacket pockets, stepping away from him and towards a bench that overlooks Linkon City.
You sit down and Sylus takes his spot beside you. The silence from the car is replaced with the quiet sound of the wind, snowflakes flying past your face. You hug your arms close to your body, slightly shivering. Sylus is quick to wrap a scarf around your neck, the warmth from his hands lingering in the fabric. You contain an eye roll, quietly thanking him before the silence takes over once again.
“Sylus,” you exhale his name, steam from your breath evaportating in front of your eyes, “now is the time to talk.”
“I miss you.” He stares straight ahead, just barely seeing the look of shock — or is it disgust — on your face. “I also want to say…I’m sorry.”
“Is that all?” you ask.
“No,” he shakes his head, finally turning to look at you. “I want you to know that I heard you loud and clear. I heard you a month ago when you left and…I heard you during the play. I’m sorry for pushing you away. I…I don’t know what else to say or how to make things better between us but I miss you. I missed you the moment I let you step through that door. I never should have.”
The silence is less ugly now. At least you can breathe again, the cold air keeping you wide awake and alert. It even helped alleviate the strain behind your eyes. Dark gray clouds hang low in the sky. If you were to ask Sylus, he would bring one down to earth for you.
“I told her to never contact me again. I gave her information to someone else in Onychinus that she can turn to when she needs help,” he continues, answering the questions that pop into your mind. “I want you. Not her. I should have made that very clear and prioritized you.”
“No shit,” you mutter, looking down at your bare hands.
“Do you hate me?” he asks. You hesitate to respond.
A piece of skin pokes up beside your nail. You glare at it, a scowl overtaking your face. With the tips of your nails, you slowly peel it back. Your finger stings but the ice cold air numbs the pain almost instantly. Sylus sighs and places a hand on top of yours, stopping you from doing it any further. You turn to look up at him, to yell at him to let go and to not touch you, but as soon as your eyes meet his red ones: you’re a goner.
“You hurt me,” you whisper, voice cracking.
“I know,” he nods. He swallows the lump that formed in his throat. “And I know that there is nothing I can do or say to erase that pain. You have every right to be mad at me. Hell, I’m angry at myself for not seeing it any sooner.”
“Okay.” You nod, unsure of what else to say.
“I want you back in my life,” he quietly pleads. Sylus’ voice feels small. You have never seen him like this before. It’s…confusing. “I…I haven’t been sleeping well. Not since you left. Is it selfish of me to ask you to come back?”
“Yes,” you immediately respond.
Sylus bites back a frown, tearing his gaze away from you and towards the snowy Linkon skyline. Your eyes move to the line of his nose. The way the corner of his lips tug downward into a frown no matter how hard he tries to keep it away. You finally notice the bags under his eyes, the way his posture is slouched instead of its perfect state. You divert your gaze, gnawing at the inside of your cheek.
“I haven’t been sleeping well either,” you reply. Sylus’ head snaps to look back at you.
“Really?” he asks. You nod.
“It’s more of a…how can I sleep knowing that the man I was in love with chose everyone else over me kind of thing,” you say. You ignore the way Sylus’ expression breaks, the way his guily presents itself across his face. “I miss you, Sylus, but…”
“I know,” he finishes your sentence for you. He reaches out and gently moves your hair out of your face, tucking it behind your ear. You tilt your face to look at him. He lowers his voice, “I promise to be better. Just…give me another chance. Please.”
“I don’t know,” you shake your head, holding back the tears. “Can I trust you?”
“Yes,” he gushes.
“How will I know that you’re mine and not…theirs?” The question barely comes out as a whisper and yet it is all Sylus can hear. “I don’t know if I can go through that heartbreak again.”
“You won’t have to,” he takes your hands in his and pull them to his chest. Right where his heart sits, to be exact.
Your eyes meet his and you can see the gloss over them, the way he is holding back every urge to cry and show his vulnerability. You know that this is hard for him. To show his emotions in a way that is not anger or through death. You finally take off the final mask that Sylus wears. His soul is on a silver platter for you to take. For you to keep and protect until the end of time.
“I love you. There is nothing else that I know to be more true than the fact that I am in love with you and thet I have been so fucking blind to just how happy you make me,” Sylus says. You hang onto every word, subconsciously leaning towards him. “I regret every single choice I have made in the last months. If I could go back and do it all over it again: I would. It’s what you said in the play…hindsight is a privlege. It is a privlege that we have. That we can take for ourselves.”
“Sylus…”
“You can trust me,” he continues, “you know you can. It’ll be just the two of us. I promise.”
The wind whips around your bodies. One of Sylus’ hands leave yours, finding its way to your cheek. You lean into the warmth, closing your eyes as the memories flood back to you.
Everything went sour in a matter of months. Before that, the two of you were rock solid. You were happy. The two of you share memories that nobody else will have access to. You remember all of the countless nights you stayed up waiting for him, sleep ready to take you over just as he walked through the bedroom door. You remember all of the times he brought you flowers and kissed your cheek, claiming that you are the most beautiful woman in the world. You remember all of the times Sylus held you when you cried. He has been there for you through thick and thin…is that something you’re willing to give up?
“I’ll come back,” you open your eyes. A smile begins to form on his face. It fades when you begin to speak again, “but we need to take things slow, okay? One day at a time.”
“One day at a time,” Sylus repeats. His eyes drop down to your lips, his eye glowing at the sight. Your hands flatten against his chest, feeling his unsteady heartbeat before they slip up and around his neck. The man pulls you closer, his touch light and gentle. “May I kiss you? Please?”
He asks as if he’s been starving for years. You nod, fingers slipping into his white hair, his lips connecting with yours in a slow and tender kiss. You sigh into his lips, hungry for more. The man gives it to you but he gently takes your left hand away from his neck, bringing it down to your laps.
“Sy,” you whine, earning a smile from him.
A cold sensation slips up your ring finger. You gasp, surprised by its presence. You look down and see a dark silver band wrapped around your finger with a black rock sitting in the middle. It looks similar to the ring you bought Sylus. The same one that he’s wearing right now.
“What…”
“This is my vow to you,” Sylus gently places his finger under your chin, tilting it back up so that you look at him. “My vow that my heart belongs to you and you alone. I know things will take time between us but…I need you to know that this,” he taps the top of the ring, sending chills down your spine, “is what my future looks like with you.”
“Do you mean it?” you ask, mouth suddenly dry. He nods.
“I meant every single word. I’m yours. Completely and utterly yours.”
as always ; likes, comments, & reblogs are greatly appreciated! be sure to support your favorite writers! <3
Warnings: use of profanities, mild sexual content, Intense make out sesh 😳, characters are in their 7th year.
Summary: Truths emerged and friendships were tested as you found yourself confronting two years' worth of suppressed feelings towards Sebastian. Drunk.
It was girls night for you, Imelda, Natty, and Poppy at the Three Broomsticks. The warmth of the crackling fire danced across the cosy interior of the Three Broomsticks as the four of you settled around the table just by it. The mood is relaxed, the air thick with the aroma of butterbeer and laughter. Shirts and ties, usually stiff and proper, now hang loosely as you let yourselves unwind, embracing the comfort of casual company.
Behind the bar, Sirona moved with practised efficiency, her long apron swaying as she poured drinks and served food with a smile. The clinking of glasses and the clatter of plates blend with the lively chatter of the patrons, creating a vibrant symphony of sound that fills the room.
She made her way over to your table not long after Imelda signalled for another round of butterbeer. If anyone was keeping count, it might have been your third glass, and the beverage had everyone feeling increasingly lighter.
The Slytherin quidditch captain suggested that they should play a game of truth or dare, knowing the game would make the night more exciting and perhaps deepen their friendship.
The rules were simple: each of you would take turns spinning a bottle to determine who would be asked the truth or dare. The chosen person would then have to decide between revealing a truth or completing a dare, no matter how daring or embarrassing it might be. If anyone refuses to do so, they must chug their entire glass of butterbeer.
Imelda, always the adventurous one, volunteered to go first. With a mischievous twinkle in her eye, she spun the bottle and watched eagerly as it came to a stop, pointing straight at Poppy. Without hesitation, she immediately challenged her Hufflepuff friend, “I dare you to dance in the middle of the Tavern.”
Poppy, ever the good sport, rose to the challenge with a laugh, “Natty, I know you’re the Gryffindor, but let me show you bravery.”
With a confident smile, Poppy gracefully made her way to the centre of the bustling tavern. The eyes of the other patrons followed her every move, curious and amused by the unexpected spectacle unfolding before them. She began to dance, her movements fluid and graceful, drawing cheers and applause from the crowd. With each twirl and leap, she seemed to radiate a contagious energy, filling the room with a sense of joy and excitement.
They cheered her friend on from the table, her dare proving to be a testament to Poppy's drunken adventurous spirit and unwavering bravery.
“I can’t believe she’s actually doing it.” you laughed, feeling disbelieved that drunk Poppy is very funny.
“Go Poppy!” Imelda clapped and cheered at her tiny friend who’s twirling in the middle of strangers.
As Poppy completed her final twirl, she accidentally collided with a taller guy, and his arms instinctively encircled her petite waist to steady her, preventing any stumble.
“Oh! Sorry!” As Poppy apologised, she quickly realised the man she had bumped into was none other than Ominis.
Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment, but Ominis just chuckled good-naturedly, “Nice moves.”
“T-thanks.” She knew that Ominis was simply being courteous because obviously, he couldn’t have seen her doing all those moves.
“Oi! Poppy, no!” Imelda shouted from across the room, prompting the two people to turn their heads to the loud girl calling out for her “It’s girls night. Come back!”
Poppy chuckled, shaking her head at Imelda's exuberant interruption. "Looks like I'm being summoned," she remarked, casting a playful glance at Ominis before walking away from his embrace. Ominis smiled understandingly as Poppy made her way back to our table, her steps light with amusement.
Your gaze followed Ominis as he made his way back to his own table, and you found yourself locking eyes with Sebastian, who obviously came with his best friend. You were having so much fun with your girls you didn’t notice they were here. You didn’t even know that Sebastian was planning to visit the Three Broomsticks as well.
His piercing gaze held yours for a moment, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of his lips, and you returned his smile. It felt as if your gut was twisted and turned, in the most enchanting way possible because, Merlin, that man is beautiful as hell.
Natty nudged you to get your attention back and smiled kind of teasingly but you didn’t really bother.
The night went on and the game kept on going. The dares became increasingly daring, you found yourselves caught up in the exhilarating energy of the game, revelling in the thrill of pushing each other outside of our comfort zones.
Natty spun the bottle with a flick of her wrist, the anticipation building as it whirled around before coming to a stop and finally it was finally your turn to take up on the challenge.
A playful smirk danced across Natty's lips as she posed the inevitable question, "Truth or dare?"
“Truth.” You said.
Imelda scoffed and raised her eyebrows in mock surprise at your choice, “I thought the girl who fought goblins and dark wizards to save Hogwarts would be more daring.”
Imelda's playful taunt elicited a round of chuckles from the rest of the group, but you remained unfazed, a smirk playing at the corners of your lips. You knew that sometimes the most revealing truths could be just as daring as any physical challenge.
“Don’t worry, I have a good question for this one.” Natty assured, "What's the deal with you and Sebastian?"
Your heart skipped a beat at the unexpected question, but you couldn't help but smile at Natty's boldness. The other girls quickly leaned in eagerly, clearly intrigued by the topic.
You took a moment to gather your thoughts, feeling a rush of emotions swirling within you. Sebastian had been a constant presence in your life ever since you started your Hogwarts day, his friendship was a source of comfort and strength through both joyous and challenging times. But there’s all to it– friends.
It was not the first time someone threw that question at you. You understood that the close bond you shared with Sebastian might inadvertently lead others to misconstrue your relationship. It wasn't uncommon for people to mistake deep friendships for something more romantic, especially when the connection was as strong as yours and Sebastian's. While you cherished his companionship more than words could express, what you two have was purely platonic.
At least that’s what you like to convince yourself.
Although you’d be lying if you never wondered what it feels like to run your fingers through his brown hair, or how comfortable it would be to rest your head on his chest, or.. how soft his lips might feel against yours. You couldn't deny the allure of such fantasies, the temptation to explore the unknown and experience the intimacy that might lie beyond the boundaries of friendship. But as quickly as the thought had surfaced, you pushed it aside, unwilling to entertain notions that could potentially complicate your relationship with Sebastian.
So in conclusion, do you like Sebastian? Yes.
Will you admit it, even to yourself? No.
But still, you were determined to cherish the friendship you shared with him for all that it was– a source of comfort, support, and hearty companionship. This wasn’t something you’d be willing to risk losing.
“I don’t know how many times I have to tell you guys, but there’s nothing going on between us.” you lifted your mug to have a sip of your butterbeer as you replied.
“And I don’t know how many times I have to tell you– you’re clearly lying.”
You chuckled at Natty's persistent teasing, her playful banter a familiar soundtrack to your conversations about Sebastian. Despite your repeated assurances, your friends seemed determined to challenge the authenticity of your claims.
With a good-natured shrug, you replied, "Believe what you want, guys, but I assure you, there's nothing romantic."
“Really?” Imelda chimed in, “You’re saying, all of those late night ‘studies’ you often share, those ‘adventures’– for two years, neither of you ever had any momentary lapse?” She pressed on as she made some air quote gestures with her fingers.
Sure, there were stolen glances, and perhaps touches. Not anything raunchy, but like when Sebastian wordlessly reached out and took your hand in his during your walk home from Hogsmeade on a chilly night to keep you comfortable.
Or other moments when Sebastian would act sweet and protective towards you, but you figure it’s all a natural thing. Like how he would come between you and the oncoming attack, shielding you from harm with his own body during your battles with dark wizards. It was merely a fleeting instance of a friend's deep-seated desire to ensure the safety of their companion, just like how you took the Cruciatus curse for him in the scriptorium.
But then again, nothing ever goes beyond any of that. No confessions nor pursuits of something romantic were ever explicitly made. Those moments always dissolved into other lingering echoes of unspoken words.
“Hey, Natty asked the question and I answered.” you stayed persistent with your statement “There is truly nothing.”
“Don’t you wish there was something, though?” Poppy innocently remarked.
Well, isn’t Poppy Sweeting just fucking delightful when she’s drunk, asking all the right fucking questions.
You hesitated, eyes shifted around your friends who were staring at you, anticipating the answer. You couldn't shake the unsettling feeling in the pit of your stomach. They knew you well enough to sense what you were possibly feeling, but as friends who are supposed to be annoying to each other, they just want to hear it coming out of your mouth. The confession– the admittance of your long profound feeling towards the Slytherin boy whose longest relationship was with detention.
Taking a deep breath, you met their gaze with a forced smile, “No, Poppy. Sebastian and I have always been close, but–” You replied as you were trying to choose your next words carefully. "I know you guys want this to be something so bad but I value our friendship too much to risk anything.”
It was a half-truth, a carefully crafted response designed to conceal the true depth of your feelings. The other three shot you a look of disappointment because yet again another lie came out of your mouth.
"Anyway, why is it always about me and Sebastian?" Your frustration bubbled to the surface as you interjected, unable to bear the spotlight focused solely on your relationship with Sebastian. "What about Poppy and Ominis? Aren't they just as obvious as whatever you think is going on with me?”
With a determined edge to your voice, you redirected the conversation, shining a light on the dynamics between Poppy and Ominis. After all, they too shared a close bond that was evident to anyone paying attention. Poppy's cheeks flushed slightly as the attention turned to her.
“Hey, don’t try to change the subject, alright?” she was refusing to have their own relationship coming under the same scrutiny.
There was a momentary silence as Imelda and Natty exchanged glances, like a sudden moment of realisation dawning upon them that they also don’t know much about what’s going on with Poppy.
“So..” Natty carefully started, “Have you guys kissed yet?”
“Stop it.” Poppy insisted.
Imelda chimed in, her tone light but her question holding a curious edge. "You know what I always ponder about?" she mused, her eyes flicking between her friends. "If he's blind, do you reckon he'd still know where.. everything is?" Her hand swept in a casual arc, encompassing Poppy's figure in a playful gesture.
“Imelda Reyes!” Poppy’s eyes widened in disbelief at her friend's vulgar question. You and Natty could only let out a satisfied laugh at the remark. Imelda shrugged nonchalantly, a mischievous grin playing on her lips as she revelled in the reaction she had elicited. It was moments like these that reminded you all of the genuine bond you shared, forged through laughter, support, and the occasional inappropriate joke.
The banter continued unabated, with Imelda persistently needling the annoyed Poppy, her playful jabs met with a mixture of exasperation and reluctant amusement. Meanwhile, Natty, ever the peacemaker, interjected with lighthearted comments and gentle nudges to steer the conversation away from the edge of tension.
As you watched the amusing interactions among your friends, you realised that your glass was running empty. So you took a final chug at the remaining butterbeer and excused yourself from the lively conversation. You made your way to the bar, eager to replenish your beverage.
At the bar, you signalled Sirona for another round, patiently waiting as she bustled about, attending to the needs of other patrons. Leaning casually against the polished wood, you watched as she deftly mixed drinks and served customers.
In the midst of your wait, a man sidled up beside you. You took a glance at him and realised it was a Ravenclaw student, Andrew Larson. A charming grin played on his lips and you returned his smile. He raised his hand to catch Sirona's attention, signalling his order with a casual wave. With a quick nod and a warm smile, she acknowledged him before returning to her tasks. As Andrew turned back to you, his gaze lingering a moment longer.
“Hi." he greeted, "Haven't had the pleasure of seeing you around here lately.”
You returned his greeting with a warm smile. “Well, it’s our final year, with the N.E.W.T coming up–” She sighed, “You’re a Ravenclaw, you know the rest.” As a resident of the house that embraces learning, she figured he would be able to relate the most.
Andrew's charming grin widened at your response, his eyes twinkling with curiosity. "Well, I'm glad you’re here now." he said, his voice smooth and easygoing. "This place is always more enjoyable with good company."
Did he just.. flirt with you?
The hottie of Ravenclaw– the tall, broad shoulder, blonde, Andrew Larson was flirting with you? It was flattering, surely, but your heart wasn’t exactly there.
“Can I get you–” As he was about to offer you a drink, Sirona came with your fully filled mug of butterbeer. Andrew halted his sentence, a bit embarrassed, but made quite the quick comeback “something else from the bar? Snack, maybe? Or more drinks?”
You couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt as you noticed Andrew's flustered reaction to the unexpected arrival of your butterbeer. It was clear that he had been planning to offer to buy you a drink, only to be thwarted by Sirona's timely arrival.
"Actually, I think I'm all set for now," you replied with a grateful smile, gesturing to the mug of butterbeer in front of you. "But thank you for the offer."
“Are you sure?” He persisted.
“Yes, Andrew.” You gave him your warmest and sincere smile.
Andrew nodded understandingly, a faint blush still lingering on his cheeks as he recovered quickly from the momentary embarrassment. "Well, if you change your mind–”
“I don’t think she will, mate.” Before Andrew could finish his sentence, Sebastian's voice cut through the air, his presence suddenly dominating the scene. He leaned casually against the bar, his arm resting just behind your back. It almost felt like he was about to embrace you, his proximity drawing you in.
With Sebastian's taller frame towering over you, it felt like your face was almost nestled somewhere around the crook of his neck. Amidst the chatter of the tavern and the scent of butterbeer, you couldn't help but catch a whiff of his cologne—a captivating blend of fresh, woody, and spicy notes that seemed to envelop you in its seductive aura.
“Excuse me?” The sweet and soft look on Andrew’s face was replaced by a subtle hint of defensiveness.
“She doesn’t want anything from you, so.. run along, Larson.”
Caught between the two men, you felt a surge of unease wash over you, unsure of how to diffuse the tension that hung thick in the air. Andrew didn’t even bother to argue with Sebastian, he just excused himself and the two of you were left alone.
Your hand instinctively reached out to smack Sebastian's chest, the action fueled by a mixture of frustration and confusion. "What the fuck was that?" you demanded, your voice low but laced with an undercurrent of anger.
Sebastian flinched slightly at the unexpected gesture, his expression shifting from defensiveness to contrition. "I was just trying to protect you from that undoubtedly sleazy guy who's trying to worm his way into your clothes. You're welcome."
"What?" you exclaimed, caught off guard by Sebastian's blunt statement.
"It's Andrew Larson," Sebastian clarified.
Your face twisted into a puzzled expression as Sebastian stated the obvious, and you replied sarcastically, "Oh, pardon me, I thought it was Ominis."
Sebastian rolled his eyes in exasperation. "You know how he is."
Sure, whispers were circulating about Andrew, portraying him as a womaniser whose primary goal was to seduce as many girls as he could. But you weren't some naive ingénue who could easily be swayed by sweet words and charm. Despite feeling flattered by Andrew's attention earlier, you were offended by the implication from Sebastian, of all people, that you were incapable of protecting yourself. After all the battles you've faced and triumphed over, you knew you were more than capable of handling any advances or situations that came your way.
You couldn't help but roll your eyes in response, a mixture of annoyance and amusement bubbling within you. It was typical of Sebastian to jump to conclusions and assume the worst about others, especially when it came to your interactions with guys.
"Yeah, I know," you replied, your tone tinged with sarcasm. "Because Andrew is clearly the biggest threat to my virtue in this entire tavern."
“Merlin, did your butterbeer contain five percent alcohol and ninety-five percent sarcasm?” Sebastian let out an exasperated sigh as his frustration was evident in the way he pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm just looking out for you, okay?" he muttered, his voice softer now, almost pleading.
You softened slightly at his words, "I’m sorry," you said while offering him a small smile of reassurance. "But, maybe I wanted to be swayed and flirted with by some cute guy tonight.” Those last statements came out a bit soft but Sebastian could still hear it.
Sebastian chuckled softly at your admission, his eyes softening with amusement as he took in your slightly flushed cheeks and the playful glint in your eyes. "Wow, you're really drunk, aren't you?" he teased gently, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
You grinned sheepishly in response, nodding slightly. "A little bit, yeah," you admitted, feeling a surge of warmth spreading through you at his lighthearted response.
You felt a shiver run down your spine as you caught Sebastian's intense gaze locked onto yours. There was something magnetic about the way his eyes bore into yours, drawing you in with an almost hypnotic allure.
His appearance only added to the intensity of the moment. His hair was tousled in a way that made him look effortlessly handsome, his shirt untucked and his tie slightly loosened, giving him a casual yet undeniably appealing air. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up, revealing the veins in his arms, and you couldn't help but feel a flutter of attraction deep in your chest.
Merlin's sake, he looked so hot.
For a moment, you found yourself momentarily lost in the depths of his gaze, captivated by the raw energy that seemed to radiate from him. It was as if the world around you faded away, leaving only the two of you locked in a silent exchange that spoke volumes without a single word being uttered.
"So, you girls having fun?" Sebastian asked with a casual tonel as he attempted to steer the conversation back to lighter topics.
You nodded, grateful for the change in subject. "Uh, yeah, we're just playing truth or dare," you replied, gesturing towards the table where your friends were gathered.
Sebastian's eyebrows lifted in surprise. "Oh, is that why Poppy randomly started dancing then?" he asked, a hint of amusement colouring his voice.
“Yeah, something like that," You chuckled. “Anyway I think I should go back before Imelda starts screaming at me.”
Sebastian nodded in understanding, a small smile playing on his lips. "Yeah, probably a good idea," he agreed. "I'll see you around?"
You returned his smile with a nod, feeling a sense of warmth and gratitude wash over you. "Definitely." you replied with genuine affection.
It sounded like an assurance– like a promise that you will always be around.
As you rejoined the lively group at the table, the warmth of Sebastian's presence lingered in the back of your mind. Immediately, you were greeted by a chorus of playful cheers and teasing remarks from your friends. Imelda, in particular, couldn't resist the opportunity to poke fun at your brief absence, teasing and winking suggestively in Sebastian’s direction.
You knew this would just add more fuel to the fire of assumptions your friends are already burning. Your cheeks flushed at the teasing, but you couldn't help but laugh along with them. Throughout the night, amidst the laughter and banter, you couldn't help but steal glances at Sebastian, who was seated across the room. His presence seemed to draw you in like a magnet, and no matter how hard you tried to focus on the conversation at hand, your gaze would inevitably wander back to him.
It’s getting late, and your group is getting aggressively more drunk. Everyone was so out of place, Imelda, with her usual flair for the dramatic, had climbed onto a nearby chair, belting out a tune that she had seemingly composed on the spot. Her voice echoed through the tavern, a mix of off-key notes and drunken enthusiasm that drew both cheers and laughter from the patrons.
Natty, meanwhile, had succumbed to the effects of the alcohol, her head resting on the table as she dozed off into a peaceful slumber. You couldn't help but smile at the sight of your friend, her normally lively demeanour replaced by the serene expression of someone lost in dreams.
And Poppy– oh dear, sweet, Poppy, was sitting on Ominis’ lap with her tongue down his throat. you caught Sebastian's eye, and you couldn't help but give him a sympathetic look. But to your surprise, he simply shrugged, a faint smile playing on his lips. It seemed that even he couldn't resist feeling a twinge of satisfaction at the sight of his best friend finding some unexpected romance amidst the chaos of the night.
With a chuckle, you shook your head in amusement, realising that despite the drunken antics and the questionable decisions, nights like these were what memories were made of.
Despite your best efforts to keep up, you found yourself feeling increasingly out of sync with the chaotic energy of the group. The alcohol seemed to weigh heavily on your senses, dulling your reactions and leaving you feeling disconnected from the revelry around you.
You noticed Sirona, the bartender, casting concerned glances in your direction. Her furrowed brow and subtle gestures of worry did not go unnoticed amidst the chaos of the tavern.
Finally, she approached your table, her expression a mix of concern and gentle determination. "I hate to interrupt the fun, but perhaps it's time for you all to call it a night." she said softly, her voice carrying a note of genuine care.
With a sigh of resignation, you understood that it was up to you to take charge and ensure your friends made it home safely. Despite Poppy's protests, you gently coaxed her away from Ominis' embrace, linking arms with her as you led the group out of the tavern.
As you walked, Poppy violently let go of your arm and ran to stroll by Ominis’ side, their laughter and whispered conversations filling the night air. Imelda and Natty stumbled along behind them, their steps unsteady but their spirits high as they chatted and laughed amongst themselves.
Bringing up the rear, you found yourself walking alongside Sebastian, the two of you trailing behind the rest of the group. You were stumbling a little bit so you reached out instinctively to steady yourself, grasping onto Sebastian's arm for support. Your fingers wrapped around his muscled and strong biceps, finding purchase in the solidity of his frame.
"Whoa, easy there," he chuckled, his voice warm and amused as he shifted slightly to support your weight. "Looks like someone's had a bit too much to drink."
You couldn't help but laugh at his teasing, the sound echoing through the quiet streets of Hogsmeade. "Guilty as charged." you admitted, leaning into his solid presence as you regained your balance.
You couldn't help but blush at the unexpected closeness, the warmth of his touch sending more heat to your face. You still have your arms tightly secured around him as you navigate the streets of Hogsmeade together. As you and Sebastian walked, your pace noticeably slower than the others, you watched as your friends gradually disappeared ahead of you. Imelda's infectious laughter echoed down the street, followed by the soft murmur of some other conversations.
“Hey, let’s play truth or dare.” you proposed, a mischievous twinkle in your eye as you glanced at Sebastian.
Sebastian chuckled, a smirk playing on his lips. "Oh, I don't know if I'm ready to share all of my secrets." he teased.
You chuckled at his remark, the alcohol still coursing through your veins lending a sense of boldness to your suggestion. "Come on, it'll be fun."
Sebastian's lips curled into a smirk, his gaze lingering on yours for a moment longer than necessary. "Alright, you go first. Truth or dare?”
You paused for a moment, considering your options before finally replying, "Dare."
A mischievous grin spread across Sebastian’s face as he formulated a challenge. "I dare you to.. serenade the next person we pass on this street.”
You scoffed at the challenge, deeming it far too easy to pass up. As an older gentleman, dressed impeccably in a top hat and proper suit, approached, you seized the opportunity. Stepping boldly in front of him, you launched into a spontaneous serenade, belting out a random song from the depths of your imagination.
The man's reaction was one of sheer bewilderment, his eyes widening in disbelief as he continued walking, shooting you a perplexed glance over his shoulder. But you were undeterred by his reaction, pouring your heart and soul into the impromptu performance.
Sebastian couldn't contain his laughter, doubling over with amusement as he watched the scene unfold. With a grin, he pulled you away from the bemused gentleman before things got too out of hand and you got reported for harassment. "Alright, you lunatic," he chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. "That was not too shabby."
You grinned triumphantly as you kept on walking, feeling a rush of exhilaration at having completed the dare. "Hey, I aim to please." you replied, your voice filled with satisfaction.
As the two of you continued down the street, still chuckling at the absurdity of the situation.
"Okay, your turn." you said to Sebastian.
"Truth." Sebastian replied, his expression curious yet composed.
You hummed thoughtfully, considering your question carefully before finally deciding on one that would test the waters. "Do you think I'm pretty?" you asked, your voice tinged with playfulness.
Sebastian's eyebrows shot up in surprise, caught off guard by the unexpected question. He paused for a moment, his gaze searching yours before a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "Of course," he replied sincerely, his voice soft yet earnest. "I think you’re beautiful."
You hummed in amusement and couldn't suppress a giggle. "I think you're beautiful, too, Sebastian Sallow." you admitted, feeling a rush of warmth at the confession. As you rested your head on his arm, a comfortable silence settled between you.
He chuckled at the sight of your sly face leaning on his arm and eyes could barely manage to stay open “You’re so drunk.”
“I told you I wanted to be swayed by a cute guy tonight.” you mumbled, your words slurred slightly from the effects of the alcohol.
"I think you've had enough swaying for one night," he teased, his voice warm and affectionate.
You let out a soft giggle in response, the alcohol making everything feel hazy and surreal. "Maybe," you conceded with a playful grin. "But it's your turn. Quick.”
“Fine. Dare me.”
“Alright,” you replied. This time, you took your time considering what dare to give him. You want to make sure that you’re optimising this opportunity. You didn’t know what had gotten into your head aside from the obvious alcohol, but spurred on by a sudden surge of courage, you somehow managed to say, “I dare you to kiss me.”
Sebastian laughed at your request, and thought you were kidding, but it quickly died down and stopped at his feet when he saw your face looking serious “Wait, you’re serious?”
You held his gaze steadily, “Yes.” Despite the sudden rush of nerves coursing through your veins, you stood your ground, determined to see this dare through. “Kiss me.”
His expression shifted from amusement to something more contemplative, like his eyes were searching yours for any hint of hesitation. But your gaze was unwavering as if urging him to finally close the distance you’ve been dreaming to perish.
Sebastian took a step closer and lifted your chin with his finger to get a better view of your lips. As he leaned in closer, you closed your eyes in anticipation of your first kiss with Sebastian, feeling the warmth of his breath against your skin. When his lips finally met yours, there was a surge of energy coursing through your entire body, sending shivers down your spine.
It was a soft and tender kiss, nothing deep, but it filled with emotion that had been kept away for two years. It was truly a moment that took your breath away. Surrounded by the quiet beauty of the night, you felt a connection between you and Sebastian that transcended words. It was as if the universe had aligned just for this moment, bringing the two of you together in perfect harmony.
He pulled away, and your gazes locked. You could tell his breathing was shallow from the nerves. The look on his eyes was something you’ve never seen before like a mixture of desire, longing, and a hint of vulnerability. You didn’t want him to stop. You wanted him to devour you– to be lost in you with passion.
In that moment, you felt a surge of boldness coursing through you, fueled by the electric connection between you and Sebastian. Without hesitation, you reached out, tangling your fingers in his hair as you pulled him closer, your lips crashing together in a fierce and hungry kiss. It was like a wildfire consuming you both, igniting a passion that burned hotter with each passing moment.
Sebastian wrapped his arm around you and pulled you closer until your bodies were pressed tightly together. A soft moan escaped your lips as you felt the heat of his touch. It was as if every nerve in your body was alight with lust, and you couldn't help but respond to the intensity of the moment.
As if spurred on by the sound of your moan, Sebastian deepened the kiss, his lips moving with a hunger that matched your own. You felt his crave coursing through him, a raw and primal energy that left you breathless and wanting more.
Without hesitation, you parted your lips, inviting him to explore the depths of your mouth with his tongue. Sebastian tilted his head so he could gain better access. It was a dance of passion that's been kept away for two years and each movement sending waves of pleasure coursing through you.
It was truly magical, and sensual even. You didn’t care about the fact that the two of you were standing in the middle of the road or if someone passed by and stared, because in that moment, it truly felt like you finally owned each other. It made you think of all the sinful things you wanted him to do to you and It was as if a silent understanding passed between you, a shared desire that fueled the intensity of the kiss. Without a word, Sebastian guided you backwards until your back met the sturdy trunk of a tree by the roadside.
As his lips trailed along your jaw, ear, and down to your neck, you couldn't help but lose yourself in the sensation of his touch. Every brush of his lips against your skin sent heat to your loin. When his hand found its way to your breast, cupping and squeezing it with a firm yet gentle touch, you couldn't contain the moan that escaped your lips. Your body truly felt as if it was on fire, craving his touch with an intensity that left you breathless.
Instinctively, you lifted your leg to his side, drawing him closer and inviting him to explore further. The consuming lusts between you was fucking evident.
As Sebastian's hand explored your chest, eliciting waves of pleasure with each touch, you couldn't help but release another soft moan of pleasure “Oh.. Sebastian..”
At the call of his name, it was as if a sudden wake-up call had jolted Sebastian out of the passionate haze. He pulled away abruptly, his gaze locking with yours, his eyes filled with a mix of realisation and apprehension. In that moment, it was as if the weight of what had just transpired between you both crashed down on him like a ton of bricks.
All you could think about was the sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach, the realisation dawning on you that your friendship with Sebastian was officially ruined. The two of you were breathless and exhilarated. Your lips swollen and tingling with the remnants of his touch.
He took a couple of steps back away from you.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, you screamed in your head. He remained silent, his eyes locked on yours, leaving you to wonder what the fuck was going on? Was he regretting it? The uncertainty gnawed at you, and you couldn't shake the feeling of unease that settled over you as you tried to decipher the expression on his face. It was like trying to solve a puzzle with missing pieces, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of dread creeping in.
“Sebastian..” you whispered.
“I’m sorry.” He finally said as he looked away, “I didn’t mean to..”
“It’s okay..” You replied.
Your words echoed in the silence that followed, and you felt a pang of disappointment wash over you. It was as if reality had come crashing down, shattering the illusion of the moment you had shared together. But then, unable to resist the urge to seek reassurance, you blurted out the question that had been lingering in your mind. "Do you like me?"
Sebastian's expression softened as he looked back at you, his eyes searching yours with a depth that sent a flutter through your chest. “Of course, I do.” He replied rather softly.
“Like a friend?”
A lump formed in Sebastian’s throat, making it hard for him to swallow as nervousness crept over him. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the conversation they were about to have. “Well, friends don’t do the things that we just did, do they?”
“Not really.” You replied. The weight of his words sobering you up almost instantly. It was as if a veil had been lifted, revealing the stark reality of the situation between you.
The silence that followed was heavy with unspoken emotions, each of you grappling with the implications of what had just transpired. You took a deep breath and with a shaky hand, you reached up to straighten your messy shirt and ran your fingers through your dishevelled hair, trying to regain some semblance of composure.
"Do you want it to be more than just a friend?" he finally managed to say.
You felt your heart skip a beat at his question, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air. You looked into his eyes, seeing the vulnerability reflected in them, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still. “Do you want it to be?”
“I asked you first.” He quickly and assertively interjected, “Do you want it to be something more?”
"Yes," you replied softly, your voice barely audible over the sound of your pounding heart. "Yes, I do."
"Then, how come you never said anything?" he asked, his tone tinged with a mixture of frustration and longing.
“How come you never said anything?”
He felt a pang of guilt at his words, realising that he had been holding back his true feelings for far too long. "How was I supposed to know?" he shot back, your voice tinged with defensiveness.
"Oh, because we've only been hanging out together every day for two years, we shared countless life and death moments, was that not enough?" you added sarcastically, the weight of your unspoken emotions finally surfacing. “Am I.. not enough?”
Sebastian's expression softened at your words, a look of understanding crossing his features. He took a step closer. "You are more than enough," he said softly and his voice was filled with sincerity. "You are everything to me."
“Everyone wonders why we aren’t together,” you echoed softly. “Well, little did they know I also wondered the same thing.” You looked up at Sebastian, meeting his gaze with a mixture of hope and uncertainty. And as you stood there, lost in each other's eyes, you could find everything you’ve ever wanted.
He took another step forward, “I want you.” and another, until he could reach out to caress your cheek, “I’ve always wanted you ever since you kicked my ass in Hecat’s class.”
You couldn't help but laugh at his response, a mixture of relief and joy bubbling up inside you. It was like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders, and suddenly, everything felt right in the world. His fingers tracing the curve of your jaw with a tenderness that made your heart flutter. In that moment, all the doubts and fears that had plagued you seemed to fade away.
“I want to love you.. to feel you..” He continued, “Way more than what we just did.” He smiled, but you could tell he was a little bit nervous.
"Well, you made me wait two years," you teased gently, a playful glint in your eye. “Don’t make me wait anymore.”
Sebastian's smile widened at your response, a sense of relief washing over him as he realised that you felt the same way. In that moment, you knew that you were both ready to take the next step in your relationship, to explore the depths of your love together with open hearts and open minds.
And as you leaned in to capture his lips in a tender kiss, you couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement for the journey that lay ahead. With Sebastianfinally by your side, you know everything is going to be great.
another night where you fight, another night of silence. another night where miya osamu sleeps with his back to you.
the realization that there is not much more you can do to save your relationship clutches at your chest with an iron grip.
the gravity of it makes you whimper. pressing your lips together, you shakily push yourself up to sit blinking back tears while blindly stepping around for your slippers, willing yourself not to sob—not here, not where he can hear. your toes touch the fluff of them, and you hurry to slip them on. you need to get out of here.
as quiet as possible, you leave your boyfriend in your shared bedroom.
you stumble to the couch and kick off your shoes, blindly searching until your fingers catch the lampshade switch. you yank it to provide some light, rattling as it flings back into place.
you pull your knees to your chest and press your forehead against your kneecaps. a numb part of your brain thinks oh, so this is where this was, when you think of the misery that quieted itself, replaced with a numbness that overtook you during the fight you had with him earlier.
the numbness that made your limbs feel like ice when he clicked off the phone call without even hearing you out.
you wanted to tell him so much, but in the face of his blank gaze and dismissive demeanor, you shut off. you have more fight in you, you know that. but tonight you just couldn’t. couldn’t listen to him tell you that he needed more from you—more support, more time, more patience.
you’ve given him that, right? your brain runs with thoughts you can't keep up with. you gave him yourself. you have, for months, for years. you did what you could. you’ve withstood lonely anniversaries, forgotten birthdays, broken promises. you’ve done everything you could. you gave what you could. you gave everything you could.
i want you to come home, you wanted to tell him eatlier tonight. come home. you’re never home. i know you’re busy at work and you’re doing what you love but please, ‘samu. please.
love me, too.
your body wracks with a sob, the hurt fresh, as if the words that you never got to say wounded your insides instead. you wanted to tell him that, you wanted to beg for it, beg for his time, beg for his attention, beg for him to love you back. but time and time again he just turns and says he’s tired, he doesn't want to hear it, and the moment is gone, and now the fear of knowing that leaving things unsaid will destroy you, will destroy him. will destroy both of you.
you huddle closer into yourself and sob, a sharp sound in your ears making your head pound.
“babe?” you hear through the ringing in your ears, and suddenly warm hands are on your arms. “babe, what’s wrong?” his voice is calm against your turmoil. “are you having a panic attack?”
“’samu, i’m—” you shudder and he leaves for a moment, flitting to the kitchen to grab you some water.
“drink, please,” he tells you, gently unfurling you to sit. you comply with shaky limbs, taking the water he’d given you in your delicate grip. a few sips are enough to calm you down, but the fear is still there.
he gingerly takes the glass and sets it aside. he kneels in front of you, taking your hands and soothingly rubbing his thumbs against your skin. his fingers are hot, almost like a furnace, but when you realize that he's not, he's fine, your hands are freezing, you resist the urge to pull away as he warms your palm.
when he looks up to smile at you, you see the exhaustion on his face, and, instantly, you hate yourself for it. for this.
"i'm sorry," you blurt out, a fresh wave of tears threatening to spill over.
his hand leaves yours and cups your cheek. "for what, baby?"
“i love you so much, osamu,” you tell him without thinking, voice thick and wet and miserable. you press the palm of the hand he let go of against his cheek, hiccuping when he closes his eyes to lean into your touch.
“i love you, too,” he says, ready to apologize for the fight, but it's not about that.
not anymore.
you pull away. the confusion and hurt on his face is making everything worse.
“i love you so much,” you tell him, desperately wishing that he could understand. “but i—” you sob, “but, osamu, i can’t anymore.”
osamu presses his lips together, saying nothing. you hear him sniffle, and his fingers come forward to brush at the tears on your cheeks and tuck a lock of hair behind your ear.
“i love you so much,” you confess. “i would do anything for you. and i have, i have for years. i’ve tried my best, but osamu, i’m so tired,” you sob. your voice feels like its giving out but the desperation makes the words claw themselves out of your mouth. “i’m so tired, i'm so tired and i'm so lonely, and—and—and i love you so much, but i have nothing left to give.”
you pull your hands away to hunch over and cry into your palms unable to face him. messily, you wipe at your face and push your hair back. you give him the most apologetic smile you can muster, but you're unable to see his face through your tears. “i’m so sorry i can’t give you more, osamu.”
you hear him sniffle and when you wipe your tears away with the backs of your hands, his eyes are glassy. then he closes his eyes.
the pain that washes over his face is absolutely unbearable. the furrow of his brow and the wrinkle of his chin, the lines by his scowl that you know is him trying his best to keep it together.
when he opens his eyes to look at you, his eyes are no longer glassy. your heart breaks for the pain he refuses to show. “what’s next?”
your smile is sad and wet with tears. “i think you know.” you brush his hair back and cradle his face with your hands. “let’s… let’s do this in the morning, okay?”
he nods, looking away. he licks his lips and shakes his head, and he turns to face you with a furrowed brow and a little more composure despite his watery gaze. but it doesn’t take long before his face crumples and he rushes to hide his face against your legs. his quiet sobs are pained and miserable, his chest shaking as he cries.
you press your face against his hair and cry with him.
—
the morning greets you kindly, the soft sunlight bathing your room in a sweet glow. it’s early, but you can’t keep sleeping. there’s a lot to pack.
your eyes feel hot and swollen, and bones feel heavy beneath your skin, weighing you down from getting up from the bed. still, you fight. you push yourself up to sit and notice that you’re alone. unsurprising, really; osamu has been leaving earlier and coming home later. onigiri miya needs care, needs nurturing, so it’ll blossom and grow. you need to stop begrudging him for it.
you finish your morning ablutions in the bathroom and head out to the kitchen, but when you open your bedroom door, the smell of food hits your nose like a smack to the face. your stomach twists when you see a familiar broad back—osamu didn’t leave—and your fingers turn cold.
the door slides shut behind you and he turns. “good mornin’,” he says quietly, shutting off the stove.
“good morning,” you say, walking to your kitchenette. when you see the spread on the table, you gape despite yourself. “osamu. what is—what.”
he flushes, sliding a delicious looking steak unto a plate and setting it alongside the other plates—nearly every single plate you own, you note—and your dining table is bursting with food. “cooked breakfast.”
“for how many people?” you ask, incredulous.
“i tried t'remember everythin’ you liked,” he said with a sniff, and your heart crinkles at the edges, because that means something.
“thank you,” you whisper, and you quietly take a seat while sets aside the dishware he used.
when he finishes, he turns to look at you, leaning on the counter. it takes him a while. “when you leave,” he says, “i’m going to try again.”
you stare at him, confused. you say nothing and wait for him to continue.
“i don’t want you to leave,” he says, and he rubs his face in frustration. “but i know i’ve—i know i fucked up. i love you, and i never should’ve hurt you.” he inhales through his nose. “but i did, and i can’t change that.
“but i’m not giving up on you. not on us. you—” he clears his throat, and the dark circles beneath his eyes makes your heart feel tight. “i’ll… if i have to start all over again, i’ll do it,” he whispers, walking closer and taking your chin in his hand, tilting your face up to meet his eyes. “i’ll win you back.”
“osamu,” you whisper, and his face crumples again.
“i love you too much to let you go,” he says, voice breaking as he fights back tears. “and i know that makes me a jerk. but i’m… i love you, so much—so fucking much, and i hate myself for not making you feel that. for hurting you.”
he gets on his knees and tears are streaming down your face. “leave me if you have to,” he says brokenly.
“if you need space, i’ll understand. but please,” he begs. “please don’t give up on me.”
he does the unthinkable. he curls over and bows, back curved and forehead pressed against the backs of his hands, pressed against the floor.
the horror that overtakes you is beyond words.
you drop to the floor to pull him upright, not letting him do this. he won’t do this to himself, you won’t let him. not for anyone, not for you. you pull his face against yours and kiss him as hard as you can, crying as you do.
you won't let him do this.
later, you sit on the couch, arms around osamu’s middle as you lie on his chest. the idea that this could be the last time you held him like this made you want to burst into tears again.
“i’ll make it up to you,” he promises, pushing your hair out of your face, gently guiding your chin up. “please, just… give me another chance.”
you look up at him, and your eyes meet.
—
“hey!” atsumu greets warmly as soon as you enter the restaurant, spreading his arms wide to engulf you in a hug. “it’s so good t’see you!“
“hi, ‘tsumu,” you greet, returning the hug.
he motions for you to sit as he picks up the menu. “know what you want?”
you nod, not even bothering to pick up the menu. “how are you? how’s training?”
“’m good! training’s good. teammates are pretty good, too.”
"yeah? like who?"
atsumu makes a show of looking at the menu. "oh, i don't you know them."
you roll your eyes at his obvious ploy to get you to start talking. “fine. ask me.”
atsumu instantly leans in, conspiratorially covering his mouth with the menu and whispering, “how are you two? it’s been over a month now, right?”
“oi.” you twist your head to smile up at the newcomer. “stop bothering them, ‘tsumu.”
atsumu glares at his twin. “i’m the one who invited ‘em to lunch!”
osamu rolls his eyes and lays down a platter of onigiri in front of you. he snatches the menu and smacks his brother’s wandering hands with it before they get to close. “these are not for you.”
“but that’s a lot!" atsumu whines. "can’t i have any?”
“no,” osamu says resolutely, then turns to you and gives you the softest smile he can muster, pinning the menu by his side and arm.
"i haven't even ordered yet!" atsumu complains.
osamu ignores him. “let me know what you think.”
“okay,” you say with a smile.
“and let me know if you need to take out anything,” he continues, “i’ll wrap it up for you.” he leans forward and presses a kiss to your temple. “enjoy.”
“thank you, ‘samu,” you tell him before he turns to leave.
he smiles back at you and heads back behind the bar.
atsumu has evidently forgotten about ordering, because his eyes shuttle back and forth between you two before nodding considerably. “so i take it things are going well?”
“yeah,” you admit, picking up an onigiri. “going really well, actually.”
“you’ve been…” atsumu searches for the word, “is it still called ‘dating’? you broke up. but… entertaining each other…?”
“don’t hurt yourself,” you joke. “but yeah. let’s call it dating. and it’s going well, thanks for asking.” you take a bite of the onigiri.
“does he still have a chance?” atsumu asks, genuine curiosity on his face.
you chew thoughtfully as you look back at osamu, who’s smiling at a customer. you remember that bright morning, when he helped you pack, helped you move into your friend’s apartment. when he cooked all that food, and you found it neatly packed away in a thermal bag that had a handwritten note, reminding you to eat well.
you remember the next day, when he showed up at your friend’s door, holding flowers and inviting you out to get some ice cream. you remember his messages, his calls, his check ins on you, littered across the days, asking you how you are or if you’re eating or if you need any food.
you could call him if you needed any help, if you needed anything at all.
but reality sets in when you think of how one phone call could be a mistake, it stops you from searching his name each time you pick up the phone.
in your mind, you see his bent form, his begging, his tears. you remember his smiles and his hugs and his ‘see you later’s, his gradually growing list of unbroken promises. you remember the effort, the time he’s putting into you, putting aside for you. you remember how hard he tries for you.
it's like everything is new again.
his eyes catch yours and he gives you a small wave, and you wave back, your stomach fluttering.
Summary: request: "If you're up for it I'd love to see a small lil fic of Sebastian sending his child off to Hogwarts for the very first time! Like maybe Sebastian is telling them about his adventures with Ominis and MC to make the child less nervous or just letting them know how exciting things will be for them :)"
in the same 'verse as "it's a sign of the times" [AO3]
Sebastian sets her down and rests a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Not too good, alright? It’s worth breaking a few rules every now and then to make a friend, or do what’s right.”
“Like how you met Uncle Ominis and he showed you the Undercroft?” she says eagerly.
A few feet away, you look up sharply from where you’re hugging Simon goodbye. “Did she just say ‘Undercroft?’”
“No,” Sebastian and Anne-Marie say in unison.
September 1, 1910
Suspended overhead in the bustling terminal of King’s Cross Station is a massive clock. Every morning, hundreds of thousands of Londoners – both Muggles and wizards alike, though more often the former – pass underneath the clock as they hurry to catch their trains. Many will casually glance up to ensure they’re still on time as they make their way to work, school, or even the lucky few off on holiday.
As it happens, the first day of September brings countless students to the station on their way to boarding schools all over the U.K., meaning the station stays especially crowded well into the late morning. Worried mums and impatient dads all turn their eyes toward that clock, hoping their sprogs won’t be left on the platform on their very first day of school.
Just as the minute hand slides into place at the very bottom of the clock, a handsome young family emerges from a tiny waiting room positioned at the far end of the terminal.
Hundreds of Muggle men in their funny, black suits and odd little bowler hats have already walked right past the waiting room without sparing it a second glance. In fact, had any of them paused to do so, they would have read a small sign affixed to the door that simply read, “Out of Order.”
But inside that waiting room is a grand fireplace. Not just any fireplace, mind you – one that roared brilliantly twenty-four hours a day, never needs stoking, and, perhaps most importantly, spews out bright green flames.
Sebastian Sallow first exits the waiting room with a precarious cart loaded up with trunks, birdcages, and even some broomsticks of all things. If the Muggles passing by thought anything of the man’s rather odd collection of travel items, no one said a word.
He glances up at the clock and grins.
“Ten thirty,” he says confidently over his shoulder. “See? I told you we wouldn’t be late.”
Beside him is his young wife. Their smallest child, a boy just a few months shy of his fifth birthday, is dozing in her arms. Behind them are their oldest children, a pair of twins, chatting excitedly as they follow their parents toward the barricade between platforms nine and ten.
“Doesn’t it seem a bit redundant to Floo all the way down to London just to put the children on a train back to Scotland?” Sebastian mumbles as your family weaves its way through the flowing crowds.
“Perhaps, but all the children love riding the train,” you remind him fondly. “It’s a Hogwarts tradition, especially for the little ones.”
Having never had the chance to take the Hogwarts Express yourself, you find yourself mildly envious of your eldest children, both of whom will soon be taking their very first journey on the school’s scarlet red steamer train.
“Besides,” you add teasingly. “If I recall, you and Anne met Ominis on your first train ride to Hogwarts, correct?”
“Fine, I suppose you’ve got me there,” Sebastian relents with a soft smile. “I rather think this whole journey will have been worth it if the twins happen to make lifelong friends who save their lives several times over.”
“Do we have to?” your son Simon pipes up, sounding wary. “Because I packed a book I wanted to read.”
Sebastian raises an eyebrow at you and gives you a look that reads, He is your son through and through.
“Trying to prove you’re a Ravenclaw already, are you?” Sebastian teases him. “Just like your mum, you are.”
“I’m going to be a Slytherin like you, Daddy!” your daughter Anne-Marie chimes in proudly. “Even Auntie Anne said so!”
You and Sebastian exchange a fond, albeit exasperated look. Ever since Anne (and eventually Sebastian) had accepted the life-limiting curse placed upon her by Rookwood, she’d instead focused on honing types of magic that don’t drain her of her energy or cause her any more pain. She’d found comfort in Divination and has grown into a very powerful Seer, though she often uses her gift to rile up your children with premonitions of being spoiled rotten on their birthday or soundly beating the other village children in their broomstick races.
However, predicting that your mischievous little girl will end up in Slytherin is a fairly safe bet, you imagine.
“I won’t be the least bit surprised if that’s true,” Sebastian says warmly. “But just know your mother and I will love you all the same no matter which house you end up in.”
“Even Hufflepuff?” Simon asks nervously. “Ernest from the village says Hufflepuffs are boring.”
“Don’t forget your Auntie Poppy is a Hufflepuff,” you tease him. “She’s anything but boring!”
That seems to cheer Simon up a bit, but your sweet, slightly shy boy falls back beside you as you get closer to the platform barricade.
“Alright, my love?” you ask him softly.
He reaches for your free hand and squirms up tightly against your side. “It’s really big…”
You size up the high brick archway before you. To the naked eye, it appears as solid as rock, and despite Sebastian’s reassurances that it’s perfectly safe to run straight at it, you imagine you’d be intimidated as well if you were only eleven years old.
“Don’t worry, darling,” you reassure him. “Your father and I will come with you to the platform, you won’t have to go through alone.”
He nods wordlessly and you squeeze his hand. Ever her father’s girl, Anne-Marie takes Sebastian’s arm and the two of them push the wobbly luggage cart straight at the archway, and in the blink of an eye, they’ve vanished.
“See?” you murmur to Simon. “Not so scary, is it?”
With your youngest still propped against your hip, you and Simon walk toward the barricade at a slower pace. You glance around to make sure no Muggles are watching as you slip through the magical brick facade, and then in the blink of an eye you’re on a pack platform surrounded by wizarding families and children in bright, colorful robes.
“Over here!” Sebastian calls out, and you see that he’s pulled the cart right up to the train.
“Help each other with your trunks, just like that,” Sebastian says as Simon and Anne-Marie first carry the trunk marked with an “S.S.” aboard the carriage and then return for the other marked with an “A.M.S.”
Then they carry in their owls – both young tawny birds raised from hatchlings, a gift from their Aunt Poppy. Finally, they return for their brooms, which Sebastian knows for a fact they ought not to have as first years, but he hopes he can talk Headmaster Weasley into looking the other way once they arrive with the intent of trying out for their house Quidditch teams.
(Raising your children in a wizarding village had been quite an eye-opening experience for you. Your twins have been on broomsticks since they could walk, and over the years their godfather Ominis has insisted on making sure they always have the latest model – one for each, so they won’t squabble over sharing.)
You pull Anne-Marie in for a tight hug once the children finish unloading their cart.
“You’ve got everything you need?” you ask her, pretending your voice hasn’t gone thick with tears. “I’ve packed you both some sweets for the ride, remember to share with your new friends, and write to us as soon as you get back to your dormitories please–”
“Yes, Mum,” she says, somewhat impatiently. “We promise we will.”
Anne-Marie kisses her littlest brother goodbye on his chubby cheek, fondly brushing back some of those messy brown curls your husband had given him.
“Why don’t you let your father give you a hug goodbye, sweetheart?” you gently prompt her.
You expect you’re the only one who’s noticed that Sebastian’s eyes have gotten a bit wet as he’d watched his children load up their belongings on the train. Even though he’d likely try to deny it if you prodded him, he sincerely looks like he could use a hug.
As soon as Anne-Marie approaches him with her arms out, Sebastian scoops her up against his chest like he’d often done when she was much smaller – only now her legs nearly touch the floor, and soon he’ll only be able to sway her like this with her feet firmly planted on the ground.
“Have a great term, sweetheart,” he tells her softly. “I can’t wait to hear all about it – even the parts that’ll exasperate your mother.”
“I promise I’ll be good,” she says ruefully.
Sebastian sets her down and rests a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Not too good, alright? It’s worth breaking a few rules every now and then to make a friend, or do what’s right.”
“Like how you met Uncle Ominis and he showed you the Undercroft?” she says eagerly.
A few feet away, you look up sharply from where you’re hugging Simon goodbye. “Did she just say ‘Undercroft?’”
“No,” Sebastian and Anne-Marie say in unison.
You narrow your eyes suspiciously and decide to leave it be for now, but as soon as you turn away, Sebastian leans down and whispers, “Write to Uncle Ominis and ask him where to find it. It’s a Sallow’s rite of passage.”
“I will,” she says excitedly. “And I’ll bring Simon.”
“Good girl,” he says proudly.
Anne-Marie manages to free Simon from your weepy grasp so that Sebastian can also pull him in for one last hug, reassuring his son he’ll be proud of him no matter which house he eventually calls home. Then the two link arms as they make their way toward the train, climbing up the stairs behind a gaggle of redheaded children (whose surname you could likely guess on the first try).
They settle into a compartment halfway down the carriage. Anne-Marie eagerly presses her face against the glass and makes a silly face at Sebastian, which he delightedly returns. Simon waves goodbye as well and holds up the book he’d packed, showing it off as if to say, “See Mum? We’ll be just fine.”
With your groggy son in your arms and Sebastian’s arm around your shoulders, you watch as the train slowly starts to rumble down the tracks and into the brilliant September sunshine. It’s carrying your children ever closer to your home, and yet further away from you than they’ve ever been.
You hide a few tears against the lapel of Sebastian’s robes; he kindly wipes away the rest with a handkerchief and kisses the redness on your cheeks and nose until you’re smiling once more.
“They’re going to have an incredible year,” he whispers to you. “It’s Hogwarts.”
You simply nod, not trusting yourself to answer without a stray sob slipping out.
Dozens of parents begin to Apparate away from the tracks as soon as the train rounds the corner, but with your youngest, you’ll need to make your way back to the station’s Floo flames to get home safely. This time pushing an empty cart, the three of you slip back through the brick barricade.
“It sure will feel quiet when we get home,” Sebastian says a little sadly.
“We’ve still got the littlest one,” you say softly, cradling your sleeping boy’s cheek as he clings to you through his nap. “He’ll keep us on our toes enough as he gets older.”
“I suppose,” Sebastian sighs, still sounding morose even as he reaches over and gently strokes the back of his fingers down your singleton’s back.
Then he perks up and raises an eyebrow at you. “Or perhaps we could try for a fourth?”
You shoot him a withering glare. “Not on your life, Sebastian Sallow. We’ve just sent the twins off to school, I think that means we should actually get to enjoy some peace and quiet for once.”
(Though when your twins come home for the winter holidays with countless tales of their adventures with new friends and their pockets stuffed full of Zonko’s products, Sebastian gets to be the one to tell them they’ll have a new baby sister the following summer.)
Summary: request [paraphrased]: "Rivals-to-lovers Sebastian and MC use a Time-Turner to travel to the future with Ominis in search for a cure for Anne. Instead they find a girl who's the spitting image of MC trying to sneak into the Restricted Section in the 1910s, only she has freckles like Sebastian..."
the 'verse continues in "the train ain't even left the station" [AO3]
“Anne-Marie Sallow!” she calls out. “Just where do you think you’re going?”
At once, the three of you freeze.
“Did she say ‘Sallow?’” hisses Ominis. “Did I hear that right?”
“I – no. No,” Sebastian stammers. “There’s no way that’s what she said.”
“Can you please remind me again why I’m even a part of this harebrained scheme?” you ask for at least the third time.
You’re crouched around a small table in one of the far corners of the upper section of the Library. It’s well past curfew, but since you aren’t technically breaking any rules by avoiding the Restricted Section, you’re currently getting away with your loitering, as do most students who are caught studying after hours this close to final exams.
Only, you’re not studying. You’ve been summoned there by Ominis, who despite being your closest friend at Hogwarts is also a conniving, duplicitous liar who neglected to tell you that this whole thing is Sebastian’s idea.
You watch warily as he turns over a contraband Time-Turner in his hands, inspecting its impossibly small dials and knobs. The golden sands inside the hourglass hypnotically shift back and forth while he reads over its inscriptions and consults the guidebook he’d smuggled out of the Restricted Section earlier that same day.
You have no idea where he managed to get the device – perhaps in one of those vaults along the coast in Cragcroftshire that he’d been exploring during the summer term. However, now he’s got it in his head that perhaps the reason you haven’t been able to heal Anne is that the cure to her curse simply hasn’t been invented yet. Therefore, a quick jaunt several years into the future ought to reveal a way to rid Anne of her illness (and maybe even earn his way back into her good graces).
It’s not the first ludicrous and impractical idea he’s had in the past year, nor will it be the last, but it’s certainly one of the more radical ones.
“Merlin’s beard, I’ve already told you,” Sebastian sighs. “Since we’re going forward in time rather than back, this is an unauthorized use, and in case we get stuck in the future, we might need your ancient magic.”
“So I’m an insurance policy?!” you demand.
“Not so much for Sebastian as for me,” Ominis answers plainly. “He thinks he’s got it all sorted out, but I’m not as sure.”
“I know what I’m doing,” Sebastian interjects.
You huff and roll your eyes. “Need I remind you that using a Time-Turner to go forward is expressly forbidden by the Ministry? It’s only to go back.”
“Loads of people have done it, though,” he argues. “I’ve been reading all about it, it’s well-documented.”
“And they’ve all come back to the present?” you demand.
“Yes,” he snaps. “...For the most part.”
You scoff. Unbelievable.
“Do you two honestly think my magic is just an unlimited get-out-of-Azkaban-free pass?” you hiss. “I have no idea how to manipulate time and space. If we get stuck there, we’re stuck there.”
“I’m sure you’ll figure something out like you always do,” Sebastian mutters distractedly as he fiddles with the Time-Turner.
You glance at Ominis pleadingly and he just shrugs.
“You know we can’t let him go alone, we’ll never get him back,” Ominis reasons.
“Is that such a bad thing?” you grumble.
Sebastian shoots you a warning look before he holds up the Time-Turner for the both of you to inspect.
“I have it set to jump forward twenty years,” he explains. “We’ll have to get cozy before we go, as we’ve all got to be wearing it. Physically, we’ll land precisely where we are now, at the same time of day.”
“What if the layout of the Library changes?” you ask skeptically.
“The castle hasn’t changed in centuries,” Ominis points out. “Compared to its history, two decades is indeed quite short.”
“...Fine,” you finally mumble. “Go on, then. Let’s get this over with.”
The three of you stand in a tight circle in a spot tucked away behind some shelves, hoping to remain hidden there after you make the jump forward in time. Sebastian drapes the thin gold chain connected to the Time-Turner around the three of you; it even seems to stretch and extend in length to fit. Then he murmurs a brief incantation to the enchanted timepiece and spins the innermost piece a whopping twenty times.
Your stomach lurches while it turns over and the world around you seems to spin out of control, almost like one of those Muggle carousel rides you saw once as a child. You can barely make out years and years of students and professors walking around you – through you, even – and countless books sliding on and off the shelves until everything comes to a sudden halt and you fall straight to the floor.
Ominis and Sebastian tumble with you, winded.
“That felt bizarre,” Ominis wheezes. “Where are we? Did we travel anywhere?”
“N-no,” Sebastian breathes. “Everything else just… traveled around us.”
You glance around the Library and see that as Ominis had suggested, it looks largely the same. There are some newer books among those you recognize on the shelves, their spines less creased and dyed with more vibrant colors than those of your time.
One title jumps out at you: Advances in Practical Conjuring, 1900-1910
We’re in the 1910s, you think bewilderedly. We’re in a new century.
Mercifully, the layout of the library seems to be largely unchanged. Rows and rows of dimly lit stacks stretch along the length of the grand room with two winding spiral staircases leading down to the lower level.
Once you catch your breath, the three of you cast Disillusionment on yourselves and huddle together to make your way downstairs to the Restricted Section. Ominis leads the way with his wand extended to search for any lingering students or restless ghosts, having long since proven that his spatial awareness bests both yours and Sebastian’s even without his sight.
Your trio makes it downstairs and past the first row of shelves before Ominis stops in his tracks. Sebastian collides with him and then you knock into Sebastian, causing you both to hiss some choice words at each other.
“What’s going on?” you demand in a whisper.
“Someone just came in,” Ominis explains. “The librarian is at the desk and she hasn’t noticed, but a student is coming down the stairs.”
Sure enough, across the room you see a faint flicker of light and can just barely make out the outline of a small student sneaking down the main stairs – must be a young one, you think, no more than thirteen.
“I think it’s a girl,” you offer. “I can see her just over there.”
“What’s she doing?” Sebastian whispers.
“I’m not sure yet,” Ominis says carefully. “She’s past the desk, the librarian didn’t see – oh, for Merlin’s sake.”
“What is it?” you breathe.
“She’s going straight for the Restricted Section,” Ominis mutters. “Just our luck, I suppose.”
The three of you remain crouched behind the shelf while you watch the girl creep ever closer to your hiding spot. You’re panicking inside your head, wondering what possible seams of the universe might immediately be torn to shreds if she were to spot the three of you, but thankfully she seems single-minded in her mission to gain access to the locked collection of books across the room from you.
“She’s tiny,” Sebastian snorts. “I suppose the young ones are even more bold in the future.”
“Weren’t you about her age when you first started to sneak into the Restricted Section?” Ominis reminds him.
Sebastian insists, “No, I was fourteen. I didn’t go in until Anne was attacked. She’s got to be twelve at most, maybe even a first year.”
“Will you two be quiet?” you hiss. “She’s going to hear you!”
Across the room, the Disillusioned girl pulls a key out of the pocket of her robes and starts to insert it into the lock. A girl her age wouldn’t have mastered Alohomora yet, you think, nor would it be effective on this kind of lock. You have no idea how she managed to get a copy of the key, however.
“Do you suppose we could just go in after her?” Sebastian proposes. “She’s nearly got it open, we should take advantage of that.”
“Are you mad?” you scoff. “We can’t be in there at the same time, we’ll get caught!”
“So what if some little girl from the future sees us?” Sebastian argues. “Why wouldn’t she believe we’re just students from her time doing our own research?”
But before you can further explain to Sebastian how astonishingly stupid that idea is, the girl across the room gasps softly and drops her key to the floor. In front of her, the lock is glowing red as if it’s searing hot.
That’s a new security development from your time, you think. It’s rather lucky the three of you didn’t discover that the hard way.
Immediately, the young librarian leaps from her seat and hustles across the room to the Restricted Section’s gated entrance much faster than Madam Scribner ever would have.
“Hang on…” you say under your breath. “Is that – that’s Sophronia!”
“Who?” Ominis asks.
“Sophronia Franklin, she’s a fourth-year in our time,” you explain distractedly. “She’s always lingering in the library, of course she takes over for Scribner once we finish school.”
“I know her,” Sebastian chimes in. “Tried to get me to play a game of trivia in exchange for returning a book on curse breaking I’d been waiting for. Rather precocious, I thought.”
You glare at Sebastian and he merely rolls his eyes.
“I didn’t mean it in a flirtatious way, I was referring to her choice in books,” he grumbles. “Merlin, you’re protective of her.”
“She’s a sweet girl,” you murmur, appreciative of the fact that Sebastian can’t see you blushing. Truthfully, you don’t think much about Sophronia these days, other than that she absolutely cannot catch the three of you in her Library as she’ll easily understand what you’re up to.
Before you can try to convince the boys to call it quits and return to the present, Sophronia rounds the corner and the girl’s Disillusionment charm melts away in surprise.
“Anne-Marie Sallow!” she calls out. “Just where do you think you’re going?”
At once, the three of you freeze.
“Did she say ‘Sallow?’” hisses Ominis. “Did I hear that right?”
“I – no. No,” Sebastian stammers. “There’s no way that’s what she said.”
“Apologies, Madam,” you hear the girl say with a cheeky lilt to her voice. “I was just looking for a book for my aunt, that’s all.”
Just then, Sophronia leans down to pick up the dropped key and all three of you catch a glimpse of the young girl’s face. She’s probably around twelve, like Sebastian had guessed, but her face… Merlin, she could be your younger sister.
Her slightly-upturned nose is nearly identical to yours, only she’s got a small smattering of freckles across hers. Then there’s her chin, which juts out just a bit like yours does, and you’re too far away to make out the color of her eyes but you’re positive that they’re almond-shaped just like your own.
Now that you think about it, her hair is tied back like you always did with yours when you were younger – braided with a green bow at the end, only her hair is a rich, warm brown color.
“...Is that you?” Sebastian asks softly. “How. How are you doing this?”
“That’s not me, I’m right here,” you remind him.
“Hold on, what am I missing?” Ominis whispers.
“That girl looks exactly like this one,” Sebastian insists. “She’s got her nose, her eyes, her face shape. It’s like there’s a second-year version of her, standing right across from us.”
“We’re twenty years into the future,” Ominis reminds you both. “...What if she’s your daughter?”
You feel like the room is starting to spin around you again, and you find yourself pitching to the side before Sebastian quickly tugs on your arm and pulls you back behind the shelf.
“Do not go daft on us now,” he mutters. “I don’t care if that is your daughter–”
“She’s your daughter too, you know,” Ominis chimes in. “In case you were wondering.”
“Wh… What?” Sebastian stutters, and Ominis gestures for the two of you to listen in.
“Goodness, Miss Sallow,” Sophronia sighs. “You really are so much like your father, always sneaking into the Restricted Section.”
You watch as the girl puffs up her chest proudly, a mischievous smirk on her face that doesn’t strike you as particularly like you at all – but rather Sebastian.
“I’ll gladly take that as a compliment, Madam Franklin,” Anne-Marie says.
“While I respect that you are both voracious consumers of knowledge, he, like you, had little respect for the rules of the Restricted Section,” Sophronia continues. “I’ll have to ask you to leave until you get permission from a professor for relevant research or turn fifteen.”
Anne-Marie is still arguing with the librarian as she’s being escorted out. “Perhaps if you would just let me borrow the book for a while–”
“I’m afraid I’ll also have to give you detention this time,” Sophronia interjects. “I can’t keep looking the other way simply because I owe your mother a favor. This is the third time this term!”
Anne-Marie huffs and folds her arms. “But my godfather–”
“Your godfather is a very busy man who would undoubtedly appreciate it if you spent more time staying out of trouble,” Sophronia finishes, “than trying to emulate your father. In fact, I think Ominis would agree with me that one Sebastian Sallow in this world is quite enough!”
Well, that certainly clears things up.
Sophoronia marches Anne-Marie up the stairs and out of the library. The three of you, having already forgotten your original mission, put your heads together without a word so Sebastian can drape the Time-Turner around your necks and return you to the present.
You collapse in a heap on the library floor, but this time it’s fully empty – even the librarian’s desk light is extinguished. You sit in silence for a few moments, and you and Sebastian don’t dare look at each other. Eventually you force yourself to stand and offer Ominis a hand up, steadfastly ignoring the other boy.
“So,” Ominis finally says, barely concealing his smile. “When exactly is it, do you suppose, that the two of you fall hopelessly in love with each other?”
You both curse at him at the same time, and Ominis throws back his head and laughs.
“Shout at me all you want, but that little girl is proof that the two of you are destined for each other,” he crows. “Oh, how brilliant!”
“Come now, Ominis,” Sebastian says with a nervous laugh. “You don’t seriously think that girl is, what… our child or something?”
“That’s precisely what I think,” Ominous answers, smirking. “You said it yourself, she looks exactly like her mother.”
“Stop!” you interject. “I’m not anyone’s mother, in case you forgot.”
“Perhaps not yet,” Ominis agrees primly. “I imagine it will be several more years before Sebastian makes you one.”
Sebastian goes deeply red while you sputter indignantly.
“Thats – that’s foul, Ominis,” you insist. “It’s untoward to even be talking about this!”
Sebastian folds his arms and raises an eyebrow. “Really? You’re that offended by the very idea of us having a child together? I’m hurt.”
“W-well, I just meant that we shouldn’t talk about things that haven’t yet come to pass,” you explain nervously. “Besides, all that is years away. Decades, even.”
Sebastian glances sidelong at you, and you wonder if you’re imagining the way he looks you up and down.
“Right,” he says slowly. “It’s not like we know anything for sure, obviously.”
“Of course,” you agree. “...I don’t suppose you have any other family members named Sebastian? Distant relatives, perhaps?”
“Why?” he drawls. “Looking to snag a cousin of mine so I won’t be the one to father your children?”
You shove him right into one of the bookshelves, but he laughs like he doesn’t regret it one bit.
“Now now,” Ominis murmurs. “You ought to be kind to your future husband, you don’t want to damage his virility.”
“I have half a mind to put a dent in Sebastian’s virility right here and now to save me some trouble later,” you reply, casually aiming your wand at his groin.
“Have you gone mad?!” he stammers as he takes several steps backward. “Put that thing away!”
“Oh, will you please relax?” you sigh. “We just saw one of your descendants, your ability to procreate is in no danger.”
“You could still put me in the Hospital Wing,” he sulks. “Besides, it’s not just procreation that I use it for.”
Ominis snorts. “Unfortunately, I am intimately aware of that.”
You make a face while Sebastian grins cheekily, offering no apology.
The three of you start to make your way toward the exit into Central Hall, ignoring the weak protests of the prefects stationed outside. As you make your way back toward the Slytherin common room, you all fall silent again, lost in your thoughts.
You aren’t sure how you’re supposed to forget what you saw, you think. In the future, you have a daughter. Her father is Sebastian Sallow, and… and she’s brilliant. Beautiful, courageous, more than a bit headstrong, and as determined as you both are if not more so.
You catch yourself actually grinning, and when you glance over at Sebastian, you see the same expression on his face.
“Anything you care to share?” you ask him.
“I know we probably shouldn’t talk about it,” he starts, “but there is one thing that girl said that I won’t soon forget.”
“What’s that?” you ask.
He’s quiet for a moment, and then he admits, “I heard her say she’s looking for a book for her aunt, and you haven’t got any sisters.”
You smile softly and reach for Sebastian’s hand. “No, I don’t.”
He lets you take his hand in his to give a reassuring squeeze.
“She’s still alive,” Sebastian says quietly. “She… she’s still sick, probably. But she’s still alive in the future. She meets my daughter, and she knows her.”
“She does,” you say. “And – and maybe we don’t quite know how that happens yet, but you can have a little faith, Sebastian. Things will work out the way they’re supposed to, and Anne will be with us for a long, long time. There’s still plenty of time to make things right again.”
He nods wordlessly but doesn’t drop your hand.
Just before you arrive at your common room, Ominis stops in his tracks.
“Hang on… Her name, Anne-Marie?” he asks you. “That sounds like something Sebastian would have picked. How generous of you.”
“Aww,” Sebastian laughs. “You must be so in love with me by then to let me pick the name.”
You grit your teeth and ignore them as you murmur the password to the giant stone snake guarding the door, hoping to get some well-earned rest and be rid of these boys for the night.
“Don’t worry, darling,” Sebastian says as he ducks around you and slips inside the door. “I’ll let you pick the name for the second one, and we can duel for rights to the third.”
You go running off after Sebastian and holler, “You bastard Sebastian Sallow, how many damn children are you expecting?!”
Ominis quickly pulls the door shut behind him and shakes his head.
“Godfather,” he mutters to himself. “I’ll never know peace, will I?”
---
[Get to know more of the Sallow kiddos in "the train ain't even left the station" ❤️]
synopsis ; you finally get your big break but sylus doesn't show up for opening night.
word count ; 12k words
author's note ; this idea has been in my drafts for so long...anyways this is my food for y'all since i won't be here this weekend! enjoy! also a big ty to @cheezeandkrackers for helping me with this <33
content warning ; angst w/ comfort! mentions of depression, death. lmk if i missed anything!
The weight on your back is indescribable. It physically forces your shoulders down, your back hunched as you keep your forehead pressed against the painted wood of the vanity. The bright lights of the dressing room pierced your eyes. A dull ache formed in the front of your head and you aren’t sure how well you are going to perform tonight. A quiet groan falls from your lips, a subtle marker of your exhaustion and depletion over the past month of performing.
Not to mention that your mind has been rather preoccupied with the empty void that haunts you in the audience. Your thoughts always move back to him, wondering if he’s okay and has been keeping with his schedule. It pains you to still care for him when you damn well that he has most likely not even thought about you at all.
You miss him but he hasn’t even bothered to show up to any of your shows. He’s probably busy with work, anyways. He’s always busy with work. Maybe it was a good thing you left his home — a place you used to consider your own home — while his job kept him…occupied. At least the resentment that built up in your heart had the chance to dissipate, even if it was a minuscule amount.
It didn’t help either that Sylus hasn’t even bothered to call or text. Not even a whisper of his voice in your ear before you step out onto the stage. He was your biggest supporter, or so you thought. But in the days that followed your argument — the same one that left you a crying mess in your old apartment, knees hugged to your chest, wondering why your boyfriend couldn’t attend a single show — you felt indifference take control of your body, causing you to go numb.
Your back straightens as soon as there is a knock on the door. Tremors overtake your hands. The familiar shake of anxiety and pre-show jitters. You have performed the show with flawless execution for its month long run. Eight shows a week with one day off — Monday, to be exact — and you are finally starting to feel the ache in your bones and head from the constant exposure of the stage lights and same demanding screeches of powerful dialogue that shakes the audience to their core.
Your character’s anguish masks your own. What was that saying again? That life imitates art? You tried to ignore that feeling, that the words on the page didn’t reflect the same torment that you feel towards your relationship with Sylus. That the married couple in the play are not indicative of your relationship with Sylus and that the two of you can somehow find a way out of the fog.
The door creaks open. Your gaze flits to the stage manger’s reflection, their black clothing and headset catching your attention. They don’t even have to say a word. You simply nod and watch as the door closes behind them, leaving you behind in the deafening silence. Your ears ring. The dull ache behind your eyes grows in size but you ignore the feeling, pushing through as you bring yourself back up to your feet.
A slow exhale leaves your mouth. You close your eyes, trying to settle your nerves.
Breathe in. Hold. Open your eyes. Exhale.
Dark bags hang under your eyes. The sunken in look from your lack of sleep and constant worry over a man who simply hasn’t bothered to support you. Sylus has claimed that Onychinus and his work has kept him away from seeing you on stage. Well, that’s what he told you when you first came home after opening night. After that, it’s been complete silence on his end. It’s not like you made an effort to reach out either, but you truly do not believe that it should be you to be the one to mend the bullet hole that ripped your heart in half.
You know that you are bound to face him sometime soon. At least it won’t have an effect on your ability to act like a tired and worn out wife who wishes to have a better life for herself. It’s not like he’ll be sitting in the seat you have reserved for him every showing. The empty seat pushes you towards desperation, towards a place of agony that only a woman in pain could feel.
You breathe in one last time. Your lungs burn as you hold in the breath. You exhale. Slow and timid. Your nails dig into the palms of your hand, rough enough to draw blood. A quick turn on your heel, feet carrying you towards the door. You push through with tears brimming your eyes and a new found determination lit up in your heart to make this the best performance of the play’s run — even if it is the last show.
Excitement bubbles throughout your body. A smile has been etched into your face ever since you woke up that morning. Despite the bed being empty beside you, you are determined to make today a great day because, you guessed it: it’s your opening night!
The play that you have dedicated so many endless nights and weekends to is finally here. The play has been a blessing to you. While Sylus worked and dealt with business deals for Onychinus, you were ready to take that shot in the dark and audition for the show. Turns out, they loved the devastation that you brought to the character. The raw authenticity of heartbreak and resignation showed through the tremor in your voice, the way your hands shook on stage as if you were truly the one contemplating divorcing your husband.
You would never do that, though. You love Sylus with your entire being. There is no way in hell that you are letting him go.
Your phone vibrates on the side table. You reach for it without looking, fingers curling around the device as you bring it to your face. Sylus’s name graces the screen. There is a flutter in your heart at the sight. You quickly openly up the messages and toss your hair out of your eyes, the smile on your face faltering once you read his words.
Work has me busy today. I’ll see you later tonight.
That’s okay. You know that he’ll be at the Orpheum Theater when the doors open. If anything, your boyfriend will be the first one through the doors with an extravagant bouquet of flowers in his arms, subtly bragging to all of those with ears that his lovely partner is in the play — and as the lead no less!
I hope work goes well! I can’t wait to see you tonight! I saved you the best seat in the house! I love you!
Your fingers dance across the screen at lightning speeds, a small chuckle bubbling on the inside of your chest. The phone is tossed to the side and you spread yourself across the king sized bed, arms and legs spread out as far as you can reach. An excited squeal leaves your body. You kick and punch the air as your laughter fills the room. A surge of anticipation — the kind that leaves the tips of your fingers tingling from excitement and joy and happiness.
Sylus is finally going to be able to see you perform. He is finally going to watch you in something that isn’t humiliating, like that smoothie commercial you booked where you were dressed up like a pomegranate, and you can feel the anticipation blossom inside of your body.
The thought itself excites you! For Sylus to see you on stage. It has you smiling throughout dress rehearsal, all throughout an interview the theater scheduled with you and your co-star, and you even found yourself smiling right as the theater doors opened.
The familiar buzz of excitement fills the theater. The audience slowly pours into the theater. A low hum is heard in the air. Quiet and indistinct conversations heard as the nicely dressed people make their way towards their assigned seats, the red material of the chairs calling their names, beckoning for them to move forward and closer to the stage.
The ensemble cast giggles and talk amongst themselves as you and your co-lead take your place on stage behind the deep red curtain. The two of you sit on a couch, one that looks like it has seen better days. Your knee bounces up and down. The remnants of your anxiety showcased in the erratic movement trapped in your legs.
“Nervous?” The man beside you asks.
You stiffly nod, forcing a smile across your face while you play with the hem of your costume’s skirt. The rest of the ensemble cast remain tucked away in the wings, watching as the curtain trembles, ready to be lifted for the first show of the play’s runs — and your career. Just to the side, you notice as the house lights breathe. One moment it’s bright, the next it’s dark, signaling the beginning of the show.
You close your eyes one last time, slowly inhaling as much air as you possibly can. The slight tension in your muscles slowly vanishes. The quiet creak of the curtain being raised forces you to open your eyes, back straightening as you and your scene partner ready yourselves for the beginning of the play.
The director wants you to stare straight ahead, to peer into the spotlight that illuminates your bodies. You force your gaze away, though, and allow yourself to look in the direction of Sylus’ reserved seat.
The director was so excited when you came to her with the news of your boyfriend requesting the best seat in the house. You had talked him out of sitting in a box seat for your first performance, claiming that box seats are for the rich who do not truly care for art. If Sylus wants to be a true connoisseur, then he needs to sit in the center of the theater, to sit among other people and to allow himself to be fully immersed in the story’s plot.
You frequently spoke of Sylus to the rest of the crew of ensemble. Let’s be real: you told anyone who was willing to listen about your relationship with Sylus. Every single person who works on the play built an image of him inside of their minds, ready to meet the man who has their leading lady so deep in love that she can barely focus whenever he sends a message. Sylus had become someone that the cast and crew were looking forward to meet and invite into the life of the theater — even the owner of the theater wished to meet him to try and secure new funds for their next play.
The curtains raise and the sly smile is wiped off of your face. The character’s persona is draped across your body, your mind making that switch into taking on the character’s life. Your eyes remain fixed on the seat. The one place in the theater where the sound and view is the best.
Your body goes cold. The air in your lungs is yanked free from your body. It is as if you have just been body slammed into a cement wall. A quiet ring forms in your ears. The terrifying sound of disappointment and whiplash deafens you even as your co-star speaks out his opening lines.
The chair is empty.
Tears brim your eyes and your force your gaze away from the sight, blinking away the tears as you take your cue to stand and address the crowd. You’re stuck, though. The words remain trapped on your tongue, the bitter taste of being letdown and frustration spreading across your mouth. An iron ball forms in your throat. You’re unable to force it away, to swallow the weight that forms in your neck.
“I’ve been married to Dean for five years.” Your voice shakes as if you are the character herself, bearing your soul to the audience to see under the lights of the stage. “And in those five years, he has let me down five times.”
The rest of the show goes as smooth as the last few dress rehearsals. You push through the stabbing pain in your heart, ignoring the way your body feels like it is being ripped open from the inside out. The ache in your throat grows but you force it away whenever you have to speak, forcing the words out of your mouth. It is only when you exit off into the wings of the stage that you allow yourself to crumble, your face breaking as you try to hide your tears. The makeup artists desperately try to save your makeup, helping talk you through the warfare that has formed inside of your heart.
It was only a matter of minutes before you were pushed back onto the stage again, forcing a smile onto your face as you pretend to be happy in a loveless marriage. You ignored the empty space in the audience. The seat you had reserved for him. With every turn and flick of the head, you are always so tempted to stare at the space. You force your mind to stay on task, to proclaim the lines that have been bestowed upon you but all you want to do is go home — not to his — and cry into your pillow until your body gives out.
Where the hell is he? What excuse can Sylus give to you that can make up for the fact that he isn’t here in the audience. What could he possibly say that can dispel the tremor in your heart, the burning ache that has tightened around your throat. Is he truly preoccupied with work?
Or has he found a comfort in the hunter he met when Onychinus’ path crossed the Hunter Associations?
The play continues and you numb the feeling of sadness that formed in your heart. While your voice remains bright and vibrant, showcasing the character’s emotionality and the devastation that she feels, you remain calm and collected under the mask. You trick the audience into think that you, the actress, take your job so seriously. That you are a professional who isn’t on the verge of having a breakdown onto the stage.
You sit on stage right. Your eyes try not to stare at the empty seat but the temptation of pain and angst is just unbearable. Slowly but surely, your eyes move inch by inch — moving mere millimeters — towards the space. An older couple sits on the left side of the chair while on the right is a burly man who looks as if he is about to pop out of his tailored suit. You suck in a breath while your scene partner recites his lines with ease, walking across the stage while you remain isolated on the couch.
“All I wanted was for the party to go well,” you say in response, picking at the fabric of your skirt.
“Nobody cares about the damn party,” he exhales loudly. You glance at the actor, replacing his face with Sylus’. You watch as he moves around the fake kitchen, slamming the cabinets shut and tossing the silverware across the countertop. He turns around and you swear you see the red shade of your partner’s eyes in him. A sharp inhale has you clutching your chest, turning away from the man. “Nobody cares about you, quite frankly. Always trying too hard but it will never be enough.”
“Dean, please,” you choke back the tears.
“When will it be enough for you?” The actor’s eyes meet your glossy ones. His fingers curl around the edge of the fake countertop, knuckles white.
Your bottom lip trembles. You slowly push yourself up to your feet, a sudden lightness overtaking your body as the lights begin to dim on the other sections of the stage. You face the audience. A single tear runs down your cheek, the ticking time bomb of your own cache of despair ready to explode.
“I don’t love you anymore.”
The words make your ears ring. Although they fell from your lips, it feels so surreal to even speak them aloud. To even say the damned phrase when your heart is in shambles. The feeling of falling out love is overwhelming. While you still hold onto the hope that your worst fears won’t come true, they still scratch at the back of your mind. Slowly countering the defenses that you have established to protect yourself.
That’s when the tears begin to fall. You allow yourself to breakdown and sob for all to see. You try to fight when away, furiously wiping your eyes and capturing the tears on your fingers. The once perfect and thick makeup begins to streak. The black mascara runs down your face, your fingers now black.
It was supposed to be an emotionless speech. One about your character finding peace and solace in her husband’s disinterest. That she has finally broken free from the spell that the man had placed on her. His final words being the straw that breaks the camel’s back. The accumulation of your stress and frustration have into fruition, taking the form of salty tears that land at your feet.
You can feel the character’s pain. When you first read the script, you were curious as to how horrible a man could be to the woman he claims to love. You wondered why he would step out on his wife, to find comfort in a younger and prettier woman. Why he would berate the woman who has remained so loyal and faithful then turn around and convince her that it was her fault for not keeping him interested.
You’ve seen her before. Just in passing, a fleeting moment in Sylus’ garage where their loud laughter suddenly faded as soon as you entered the room, tired from that day of rehearsals. Sylus introduced you. His ruby eyes remained on her, though, his lips curling up into a ghost of a smile. It made your body go cold. You remembered her smile, how it was so infectious it made you want to grin despite her closeness with your partner.
She’s younger too. Of course, she is. Just a couple years but still…her youthful spirit has yet to be crushed like yours. She wore pretty clothes and her perfume was intoxicating; spiced vanilla with an underlying scent of everything that you are not.
Is that the case with Sylus? Is he not interested in you anymore? Has that hunter from the Association finally turn his head away from you?
You collapse to the ground, legs unstable and feeling like jelly. Sobs take over your body. The familiar sharpness returns to your heart. It turns rotten.
You listen to the audience’s cries from the stage as you remained hunched over, your tears soaking into the floor beneath you. The crowd remains quiet as you cry and choked out the words. You covered your face and muttered quiet apologies to yourself, continuing with the speech. You sniffle and wipe the snot away from your nose while you speak on the devastating nature about loving a man who simply doesn’t care.
Silence falls over the auditorium. No one dares to move while you slowly recover, your arms and hands shielding your face from the blinding lights. The silence causes you to shiver. Slowly, you look up from your hands, staring into the darkness of the auditorium. In the front row, you can see the glossy sheen to the audience’s eyes.
The stage lights go black. You feel your tears stop. The lights no longer warm your skin. The audience’s applause fade and you are left alone as the stage crew and ensemble gather around you. They lift you to your feet and praise your performance. Even the director is astonished with your work, commenting that the tears added a hefty gravity to the scene that they never could have imagined.
You smile at them but quickly excuse yourself to your dressing room. The door closes with a quiet click of the turning lock. The lights remain off, the light from the outside world spread across the floor. Your back remains pressed against the door. Deep and heavy breaths cause your head to go dizzy. You push away from the door and rip the costume off of your body, tossing the fabric to the side as you gather your belongings and post-show clothes. Quickly putting them on, you sneak out of the dressing room and slip free from the back stage door, just barely missing the crowd that rushes to see you.
His face is not among those in the crowd. Another knife to the heart. Another notch in the grievances that you are about to file against your partner.
You tear your gaze away, tears streaking down your cheeks as the shrieks and cheers from the audience pierce your ears. You don’t look back, though, and instead push forward as fast as you can, finding your nearby car.
The drive to the N109 Zone is silent. You focus on the road, barely paying attention to the turning street lights and stop signs. You recklessly brake at the last second and swerve in and out of the lanes, just barely missing cars that you are about to collide with.
Danger and fury runs through your veins. Instead of the familiar heat of frustration, your anger is ice cold. Indifferent. Intolerant of how Sylus has fallen away from your grip these last few months.
Maybe you should have seen this coming. All of the signs are there, right?
While you were off parading as a different person, your boyfriend became acquainted with his new connection at the Hunter’s Association. She was the one who took your place by his side when rehearsals ran late. She was the one who took your spot on the back of his motorcycle. She was the one who took his attention away from you.
You shove away your emotions, forcing your feet to carry you inside of Sylus’ skyscraper. The elevator quietly dings with every passing floor, the nausea inside of your stomach becoming overwhelming. The doors slide open and you step out, looking around.
The lights are turned off. The click of your shoes is faintly heard as you move deeper into the main living space. The sound of a woman’s laughter causes you to stumble. You hold onto the wall for support, placing your bag onto the floor.
A chill overtakes your body. Goosebumps form on your skin. The hair on your arms and back of your neck stand up. You sulk closer towards the sound, listening to Sylus as he chuckles at a joke she said.
You peer at the two of them from the corner, remaining as hidden as you can. They sit beside each other on the living room couch, a feast of takeout food laid out before them. The smell causes you to drool. The lights are off, the only light source coming from lit candles — which are yours, by the way — that are scattered throughout the room. They sit close to one another, their arms brushing against each other as they laugh and share food, leaning in to whisper something into their ear as if they aren’t the only ones inside of the Onychinus skyscraper. Sylus faces you while she faces away. You stare at her back, the long and black hair that cascades down her back. She wears stealth clothes, ones that you recognize from the Hunter’s Association’s ads that play all over Linkon City. You go still, unable to move as you sneakily watch.
“Are you sure that it’s okay that I’m here?” she asks. Her voice is as sweet as honey.
“Of course,” his voice is as husky as you remembered it to be, “there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”
A tender smile is spread across Sylus’ face. You want to slap it off and scream in his face. You want to yell and scream, to hit him and make him feel the same exact emotional torment that he has put you through.
You slowly draw in a breath. The heat from the anger you once felt is gone. Ice takes over your body, freezing your heart. You can’t even feel the beats. The air is drawn out from your lungs. They burn, the only hint you have to let you know that you are still alive.
Is this how your character felt? Is this what complete and utter betrayal look like? Is this how it feels to watch as the love of your life slips free from your fingers, dropping into the palm of a woman who probably doesn’t even know who the true Sylus is. Would it be ignorant of you to think that nobody will know him like you did? Would it be ignorant to think that this new reality you find yourself in is one that you do not wish to be a part of anymore?
This is how your relationship dies. With the smell of spiced vanilla and two bodies close together under the dim candlelight.
Tears run down your cheeks. You don’t have the energy to stop them from falling. Turning on your heel, you walk away, heading in the direction of your shared bedroom with Sylus. Your footsteps are no longer quiet or sneaky. You walk with the confidence of a determined woman. The determination to leave this place — and the man you thought you were going to spend the rest of your life with — behind.
You shove the door open with more force than you intended. The wood slams into the wall, the sound echoing across the floor. You swear you can hear Sylus and her’s laughter die as soon as you step foot into the bedroom. You don’t really care, though, and head towards the closet. Your fingers curl around the handle of a suitcase. You toss it onto the bed, the case splitting open, empty and ready to be used.
Whatever you come across, you toss it into the suitcase. You don’t even bother to fold the clothes, allowing them to knot together as the pile grows higher and higher. White noise fills your head. There’s ringing in your ear. You don’t even hear Sylus when he walks into the bedroom, too tunnel visioned to notice him. You turn around, a pair of slippers in your hands. You collide with Sylus’ hard chest, the man resting his hands on his hips as you barely look up at him.
“I asked you what you’re doing.” There’s annoyance in his voice. Irritation, even.
You don’t even look up at him, stepping around his frame as you toss the slippers into the suitcase. There’s movement in the doorway. The figure is gone before you can catch it. Eh. Whatever. You’re leaving anyways. It simply is not your problem anymore.
“I’m talking to you,” Sylus says. He groans and watches as you brush past him again. He snatches your wrist in his hand, his fingers hot against your skin. You try not to wince or flinch. The single look he gets of your face makes him pause. The streaked and ruined makeup. The way your fingers are covered in the remnants of red lip stick and black mascara from your efforts to wipe your face clean. It makes his heart ache at the sight, the man wanting to reach for you and bring you into his embrace just like he has always done when you needed him to be there. Oh, the irony. “What’s wrong? Where are you going?”
“I’m leaving,” you breathe the words out, “I don’t belong here anymore.”
“Leaving?” He’s baffled, a light scoff leaving his mouth. He waits for you to show him a sign — any sign — that this is some kind of overreaction. That you are waiting for him to stop you before you can step foot out of the base’s doors.
You keep moving, though. Your movements are robotic at best. There is no emotion on your face as you continue to shove your belongings into the suitcase. He watches, as still as the period after a brutal and deadly battle. You continue to move, packing away the life that you had built together, purposefully leaving behind the items and clothes that he happily bought for you.
“What’s going on?” Sylus asks, bewildered. “Did I miss something?”
“No,” you shake your head, venom prominent in your voice. “You wanted to be here, remember? There’s no other place you would rather be.”
The way you throw his words — words that were never meant for you, by the way — right back into his face make Sylus pause. His red eyes scan your face, trying to silently peel back the layers of your mind to see what it is that he has done wrong. His lips pucker, eyes narrowing. So you know that his Hunter friend is here. Did you misinterpret the situation? Did you think that there were traces of romance and affection in his actions?
“Talk to me,” Sylus says, his eyes fixating on you. “Tell me what happened.”
“You didn’t show up,” you say.
You casually shrug as if this is common information, as if Sylus abandoning you is now a common occurrence. Wasn’t it you who decided to act? To give yourself away for months for an audience of people who don’t even know who you are? He follows you as you walk to the bathroom. The cabinets are opened up and you pluck your hair care products and skincare regimen into your hands, walking back out just to dump them into your bag.
“What didn’t I show up for?” He asks, truly confused as to why you are suddenly holding this grudge against him.
“My play, Sylus,” the words are as bitter as your voice, “you missed my play. Not like you would care anyways since you’d rather be here with her instead of supporting your fucking girlfriend—”
“So you’re jealous,” Sylus comments, “that’s what this is about?”
“Jealous?” you turn around and stare at him as if you were just struck by a bolt of lightning. Your body feels as if it was. A tingling sensation spreads across your skin and you are sure that if you were to touch him, he would explode from the electricity of your fury. “You think I’m leaving over jealousy?”
“Isn’t that what this is about?” he shakes his head, already ready to dismiss this whole argument.
“You missed opening night, Sylus.”
“No,” the white haired man shakes his head, taking a step closer to you, “I didn’t. That’s next week.”
“It was tonight.”
His body goes cold. He opens his mouth to say something, red eyes piercing into yours. You swear you can see the vibrancy and color fade when he finally realizes. You wait a couple more seconds for him to speak but he says nothing. You scoff.
“I got a standing ovation, by the way,” you comment as you step towards the bag. You zip it up, using as much effort as you can to close the stuffed bag. “The director called me a visionary. Said my performance of a wife scorned felt real.”
“Babe…”
“Who knew that my boyfriend ditching me for some woman he met a few months ago would be the perfect motivation to have a breakdown on stage? Not me,” you laugh. Actually laugh. It’s both bitter and angry, the sound ready to snap like your emotions. The bag is zipped shut and you push it onto the ground, lifting the handle.
“I didn’t ditch you,” Sylus tries to reason. It only makes you laugh.
“Didn’t you?” you are quick to counter, an expert on keeping him accountable. “I thought you were dead at some point. Your empty seat made me think that one of your business deals went wrong. So I rushed home as fast as I could to come see you but you,” you let out a bitter laugh. One that is filled with anger and resentment. “You just had to be with her. So yes, Sylus. You fucking ditched me.”
You turn and stare at him, your gaze sharp enough to kill. Sylus easily meets your gaze, allowing the blade of your fury to rest along his neck. His expression softens, the weight of his guilt finally resting upon his shoulders. He only wishes that you would gift him the weight of your anger so that he may hold it for you, even if it means giving you just one minute of peace where the sins of his actions don’t poison your blood.
“I…” you begin but fall quiet. Your fists ball at your sides, nails digging into your palm. The pain grounds you, the stinting feeling of torn flesh rooting you into the earth. “I needed you tonight, Sylus, and you weren’t there. Ever since I was cast, you drifted away. You found comfort in another—”
“Don’t finish that sentence.” His red eyes burn into yours, his own anger and passion coming into play. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence. I have not found comfort in another woman.”
“Do you really believe that?” you whisper. “Do you honestly expect me to believe that you paid more attention to her than me?”
“Yes! Because it’s the truth!” Sylus raises his voice, his emotions getting the best of him.
The man has fought so hard to remain in control. Control of his life, the world around him, his emotions. Sylus has always managed his own expectations — and disappointments — by controlling those around him. He used people and tossed them to the side when he no longer needed them. He would never do such a thing to you. He can’t even fathom how you can believe that when he has done everything in his power to keep you happy.
It’s his fault, though. Sylus’ wishful thinking of you being happy, of living your life on the stage, was not in vain. He wanted to try and clean up Onychinus’ problems before your show’s time came. Sure, he got distracted by an interesting woman, but he never would have dreamed of tossing you to the side in favor of her. At least, that’s what he thinks. The poor man doesn’t even realize that the woman he has replaced you with has already gotten a hold of his heart. The one thing he swore that nobody else — other than you — would touch.
“You’re unbelievable,” you mutter, rolling your eyes.
“I’m not the one who made up an elaborate plot in her head about something that isn’t true!” Sylus says, waving his hands around.
“Isn’t it?” you ask, trying to keep your voice and body as steady as possible. “You were here. With her. I was there where you weren’t. You claim that you feel nothing for her but when I came home…you looked at her like you once looked at me.”
Your words are like a knife in his heart. It causes him to exhale, the air being knocked free from his chest. His eyes gloss over, your accusations growing more and more true as you build your case against him.
“When I first got the role, you were excited for me. You even said that you couldn’t wait to see me on stage,” you laugh again but this time it’s softer. Sadder. The acceptance of your crucified relationship finally settling in your stomach. “I believed you when you said that I was going to be great. That I was going to fulfill my dreams and that you were happy to watch. I want to believe you now but all I can see is a man I used to love. All I see is an honest man who has turned into a liar right in front of my eyes.”
Silence hangs between you. Your breathing is slow, controlled. Sylus’ is erratic. He takes a step forward but you draw back, placing more distance between the two of you. You look him up and down once, taking in his appearance.
He wears a nice button down dress shirt. It’s white, a color that he rarely ever wears but you noticed that he puts on a whole lot more when she’s around. His pants are the fancy tailored ones and his shoes are shined so well that you swear you can see your reflection in. Your gaze flickers to his hands. He isn’t wearing the ring you got him, the one you bought to match the one he slid on your finger. A promise that the two of you will be together forever…it has vanished from his fingers. It makes you want to cry all over again. How could he have not seen the signs?
“Why didn’t you show up?” you ask.
“What?” Sylus breathes out.
“Why didn’t you show up?” you ask him again, doubling down.
“I didn’t think that it was today,” he begins but he quickly shuts up when you shake your head.
“No,” your eyes darken. “What was the reason for not being here tonight like you said?”
“Did I say that?”
“Sylus!” you yell his name, the word echoing across the top floor of his skyscraper. “Stop! Why weren’t you there?!”
“She needed me.” The answer leaves him before he can stop it. He whispers the short sentence. Oh, how he regrets even saying it in the first place. “She needed someone.”
“I needed someone too,” your voice cracks under the pressure. The tears begin to fall from your eyes, rolling down your cheeks in hot and salty streams. “I needed my boyfriend to share this night with me. To celebrate my accomplishment.”
“It’s not like that,” Sylus dares to step forward, swallowing the lump in his throat, “she needed help with a job—”
“Does nobody else work at that damn fucking Association?! Why does she need my boyfriend to help her?!” you yell, silencing him. You close your eyes, taking a deep breath to try and steady your nerves. “I’m done, Sylus. I’m leaving, okay? Don’t even bother trying to talk to me again.”
You grab the handle of your suitcase, tearing your gaze off of him. The more you look at him, the angrier you get, and that is the last thing you need. You take a step towards the door. His voice stops you.
“Don’t go,” Sylus says, resting his hand on your shoulder, “please don’t leave me.”
“You already left me, Sylus,” you say with a resigned sigh. “And take your damn hand off of me. You don’t get to touch me anymore.”
“Let’s talk it through,” he says, “please?”
Sylus reaches out for you again. He grabs your wrist, drawing you back towards him. What he didn’t anticipate, though, is the way you swing your hand towards him, your palm connecting with his cheek. A stinging sensation spreads across his face. A red imprint begins to form on his face, the lines of your fingers etched into his skin. You don’t even feel guilty about it.
“You haven’t even said sorry,” your voice cracks, the palm of your hand stinging. Tears flow from your eyes. The drops fall to the ground after they roll off your cheeks. You don’t bother to catch them or to wipe them away. You let them fall. “No apology for missing my opening night. No apology for choosing her over me…it’s cruel, Sylus. You’re cruel. We’re done. Don’t come near me.”
The couch is uncomfortable. It has been since last week when your co-star broke it during rehearsal. He thought that jumping on it would be a good idea — as if it ever is — and now here you are, sitting on a spring that pokes directly into the place where the sun doesn’t shine.
You crack your neck and knuckles, exhaling all of the air that’s in your lungs. You don’t even pay attention to your fellow actor. There’s too much on the line, especially since it’s the last show of the play’s run in Linkon. After this…you have no idea what you’re going to do. What you do know, though, is that you’re finally going to find the happiness that you deserve.
Especially since the stage is now forever stained from your one-sided breakup with Sylus.
The creak of the curtains forces you to look up. The blinding lights are familiar now. The stinging sensation makes itself at home behind your eyes while you blink, waiting for your cue. You slowly stand. Your eyes adjust to the bright lights, the people in the crowd now coming into view. Sylus’ empty seat — one that you asked to remain reserved for him, for what reason, you’ll never know — is just to the side. You stare at it whenever you need the emotional push, to throw yourself into your sorrows for the crowd to watch. Your soul laid bare on the stage while your tears burn down your cheeks, hands outstretched towards the crowd as if they can save you from drowning in your depression.
The seat isn’t empty though. You blink a couple of times, wondering if it was just the trick of the light or if someone actually dared to sit in the spot.
It’s Sylus.
His red eyes meet yours through the darkness and just for a moment — a second so brief you barely catch it — it feels as if it is just the two of you inside of the theater. It feels as if there is no crowd, no audience watching as you freeze on stage. It is just you and him. Nobody else.
You swallow the iron lump that has formed in your throat. The pressure is immeasurable, the mass dragging along your esophagus. It makes you want to throw up, to cry and throw yourself on the ground. To let the wooden stage swallow you whole so you can disappear from life without even having to say a word or lift a finger.
“I’ve been married to Dean for five years.” Your voice is stronger this time. More resolute. There is no shake in it just the emotionless motivations of a she-devil, of a woman scorned…of an emotionally battered woman who is too tired to show how she is truly feeling. “And in those five years, he has let me down five times. This is the story of how Dean and I fell in and out of love.”
You force your gaze away from Sylus, turning around as the play continues as if this isn’t happening. You settle yourself as you cross the stage, linking your arm with your co-star’s, forcing a smile onto your face.
Admittedly, you are distracted. Sylus’ white hair and red eyes always catch your attention. Hell, it’s how you noticed him in the first place when you showed up to some random auction. You were bored out of your mind and was just ditched — ironic, right? — by your date who left you to pay the bill at the restaurant. You wandered around the N109 Zone, finding your way into a fancy art exhibit where a silent auction was taking place. The auction was dimly lit but Sylus still managed to stand out like the devil in the night, his appearance subconsciously luring you closer and closer until you stood beside him in front of a painting that depicted a war torn field. Dragon bones were laid out in the middle of the painting and hanging in the sky is a bright star, one that burns as brightly as he once said you did.
You shake your head, forcing the memory out of your head as soon as it even formed. The world of the story moves all around you while you remain stagnant on the stage unable to move as the character of Dean makes a move on another woman right in front of you. The actors on stage stop mid-movement. A spotlight is turned on, the light directed at you. You stare directly at it, gaze slipping to your ex-partner.
“This was the first time Dean betrayed me. It was five years ago. He took me to some party on his campus. Told me that he needed to talk to his friends and that I should wait for him out front. Little did I know, he had his tongue shoved down another woman’s throat. His friend felt bad for me. He texted me a picture of it. It didn’t make the pain hurt any less. That was the alcohol’s job.”
The crowd laughs. Sylus doesn’t. His gaze remains on you and you alone. He follows your shadowy figure as you cross the stage, walking off as this so called Dean and his first affair have their time to shine. A look of detestment flashes across his face at the sight. Dean and his temporary lover, if you could even call it that, fall onto the couch, their movements exaggerated.
Is this what you thought he was doing with her? Could you really think of him as a man who would ever betray you like that?
Dean and the woman kiss. Sylus shudders. He closes his eyes, just for a brief moment, before he hears your voice again. His eyes open immediately after, watching as you stand in the middle of the stage while the set is changed behind you.
“I broke up with him. I was the fool, though, for thinking that he could change. I took him back not even a month later. The bed was cold without him…I missed his warmth and the way he held me in his arms.” Your eyes move back to Sylus. He sucks in a breath, hanging onto every word. “I missed the security he gave me. The sweet kisses as he vowed to me that he would never be swayed again. I was just a kid in love, could you blame me?”
His heart lurches inside of his chest. As the play continues to unfold in front of his eyes, the more and more Sylus sees himself in Dean, the villain of the story. He can’t even begin to imagine why your character would put herself through all of that pain and suffering, of watching the man you dedicated your life to slip free from your grasp. To sit and stare as he plays mind games right in front of you, claiming that what she said is ludacris and that he would never do such a thing.
And to think that he said the same to you.
Sylus sinks into his seat. Roses sit at his feet, a bouquet made special just for you. He labored over it for hours, wondering if you would even accept the roses — or any flower for that matter! Would you accept him? Let him apologize and say sorry for the things he didn’t even say. His heart feels like it is about to fly out of his chest, ready to crumble under the pressure of you and your judgment. Whatever you decide to give him, whatever you decide to yell or scream at him…he knows that he deserves it. He deserves it all.
The play goes on. Sylus is completely enamored by your acting, the way you are able to show a bright smile to the new “friends” Dean introduces to you all while looking like you are ready to fall apart at a moment’s notice. He is infatuated with the way you lay your soul onto the stage for all to see. The way you treat him and everyone else with a casualness an old friend would have. It makes him feel welcome despite feeling an immense amount of dread overtake his body the more and more he sees how the men in your character’s life continue to let her down over and over again.
Sylus can’t believe that he allowed himself to treat you this way. He can’t believe how easy it was to lie about work, to offer his time to some measley Hunter that could barely remember what his favorite wine is or if he prefers a rifle to a pistol. He can’t believe that he allowed himself to create distance between the two of you, that he didn’t pick up on the silent cues you gave him when you tried to bring him back into bed for five more minutes of cuddles, the way you tried your best to stay up for him after a long day of rehearsal knowing that those ten minutes of conversation were enough to keep you invested in your relationship.
Sylus is mad at himslf for being the maker of his own destruction. That he is the only person responsible for pushing you away.
“Love is like a drop into the misty depths where either a bed of clouds or rocks wait for you at the bottom,” you begin, capturing his attention all over again. “It is a leap of faith. A shot in the dark that the person you have let into your life is the one who is supposed to make you happy.”
You take your time in walking across the stage. The play has reached it’s ending. Dean’s relationship with your character has evolved into a loveless marriage. Three years together. Three years of time wasted. You can’t help but relate to it, the feeling of your own time being robbed from you. It angers you more than it should.
“I wish there was a warning sign,” you look down at your feet, the tears already forming in your eyes, “because when I hit the bottom, it felt worse than what I imagined death to feel like.”
You raise your head. Your eyes meet Sylus’ in the crowd. His lips are parted ever so slightly, the man sitting on the edge of his seat. You just wished he looked like this a month ago and not now. It counts as something, you suppose.
“I used to think that Dean loved me. I used to think that there was a piece inside of me who always saw the good in him…that he wasn’t a man who used people at his disposal just because he felt like it. You know, I have stayed up so many nights wondering why he would do this to me. So many nights lost when I could have been asleep and on the nights I did sleep, the dreams were filled of a life without him. I berated myself for dreaming of such things…that only a horrible person could ever dream of a life away from the one who made them the happiest. Does that make me horrible?”
Sylus wants to answer. He wants to be the one to reach out and bring you into his arms, to keep you in his life for as long as he can. He wants to be the one to dry your tears, to be the man you deserve to have in your life. He can’t help but wonder if you, too, had dreams about leaving him while you laid in bed beside him…in his arms.
“Honey!” your co-star cries out. You remain stagnant in the middle of the stage, unable to look away from Sylus. “Clean this up! If I have to do damage control over your outburst at the party, then I refuse to be the one to clean.”
“I just wanted the party to go well.” Tears begin to roll down your cheeks, the lines forever burned on your tongue.
“Nobody cares about the damn party,” the actor slams the cabient.
The wood rattles. You close your eyes, the audience feeling the same fear as your character. The actor quickly rushes to your side, grabbing your jaw with his hand. He yanks it towards him, his face dangerously close to yours. Sylus quietly gasps with other audience members.
“Nobody cares about you, quite frankly. Always trying too hard but it will never be enough.”
“Dean, please!” you recite the lines with desperation in your voice.
“When will it be enough for you?”
“I don’t love you anymore!”
The words echo throughout the theater. The actor who plays Dean slowly exits the stage. The lights begin to dim, a single spotlight focused on you. The characters from the show line up behind you, their bodies barely visible as cries begin to overtake your body. Your hands clutch the area over your heart, the sounds of your sobs and cries filling the theater. The people in the audience begin to cry with you, gently patting away the tears with a pocketed handkerchief.
“I just wanted to be loved!” you cry out, your voice both pained and desperate. “I just wanted to be someone worthy of love! To be someone worthy of being treated like a first choice, not the second. I let him consume me. I let his desire and lust control my life and scrutinized myself for being the reason he didn’t love me anymore. I don’t even know who I am anymore!”
Your cries grow louder and louder. Sylus tears up himself, unable to bring himself to look away as you crumble to your knees.
“Why me?! Why did you have to choose me?” You yell, looking up to the audience. Sylus sits in the wake of your gaze, trapped. “Why did you have to be the one who ripped my heart to shreds? I don’t understand! Please! Why am I not worthy of your love? Why am I the one who has to suffer for your mistakes? It’s not fair! It’s not fair!”
Your voice cracks, the scream of your anguish chilling Sylus to his core. He sits back into his seat, all of the air drained from his body, breathless as you slowly rise to your feet, the tears never ending. Your eyes find his again, the tremor in your body easing.
“I hate myself because of you.” The sentence slices through Sylus’ chest. “I hate myself for loving you…for making up excuses time and time again on why you are so cruel to me. I hate myself for allowing you to hurt me. I hate myself for not leaving earlier. I wish…I wish that I could bring myself to hate you, but I can’t. I don’t think I ever will.” You pause. You take a shuddered breath and close your eyes, allowing the warmth of the spotlight to envelop you like a hug. “Maybe we are right for each other. We are the only people I know who are miserable…who love to live in misery and wallow in our sorrows. Is it bad to say that I want more? That I need more?”
You laugh. It’s bitter. A reflection of how you feel on the inside. Unfortunate, but true.
“Maybe I’m not one of those people. Maybe I’m not built to live a happy life. Is it ironic that I now realize that I don’t want to be the third person in our marriage? That I want to be treated better than you have ever treated me. Is it bad to admit that I wish the old you would come back to me? The same one that held me when my dog died. The same one that was there for me when I graduated from college…” you go quiet, staring into the distance. “My aunt used to tell me that hindsight is a privlege to have. She used to tell me that in the real world, not many people are able to get a second chance like I have. She held my hands the night your affair was exposed.”
You hold your hands out in front of you, staring at the palms. Makeup and tears stain your skin. A reminder of the true storm that destroys your mind. A frown overtakes your face.
“She held me close,” your voice lowers but the microphone picks it up, loudening your whispers, “and told me that the next time I have the chance to run, I should take it. That I will regret not rushing towards happiness that I deserve and that the road will only get tougher and tougher the longer I put it off…Hey Dean? Do you remember that joke you always said? The one that used to make me laugh till I was breathless? You said it recently and…I found myself unwilling to play along anymore. I don’t love you anymore, Dean…I don’t know if I will ever again.”
Sylus has never known what it felt like to be nervous. Ever since he was born, he has never felt what people describe to be “erratic butterflies” that flutter in your stomach. He has heard many accounts from people — especially those who was succumbed to bullets from his guns — about fear and anxiety. The emotions are so foreign to him. Even when the two of you began to date, Sylus knew that you were the one for him. That it was going to be you and him against the world. He never felt those fluttering butterflies in his stomach until now.
He waits outside of the backstage door. People from the audience stand outside alongside fans. He keeps his distance, wanting you to have your moment before he eventually destroys it. The man glances down at the roses. Nausea begins to overtake his senses. He tries to steel his nerves, to make the sensation go away and leave him alone. It doesn’t, though. He deserves it.
The metal doors swing open and people cheer and yell out your name. You exit with a bright smile on your face, waving to them as flashes of lights pop off. He sighs, shaking his head as he turns on his heel, ready to walk away. Sylus isn’t even sure if he is ready to face you yet. How could he? You poked a hole into his lies, exposing him. He wasn’t even aware of what he was doing to you…the way his words and indifference slowly killed you while you were making something for yourself.
“Sylus.”
A shock of life flashes in his stomach. The butterflies are dead, the man turning around to look down at you. You stand in front of him with crossed arms and a scowl, annoyance written all over your face. You raise an eyebrow, glancing down at the flowers.
“These are for you,” Sylus extends the flowers in your direction, hoping to whatever god is out there that you’ll take them. You don’t. You just stare at the red petals, the white baby’s breath scattered into the mix. “You…you were phenomenal tonight. Truly…you made me cry. I didn’t think it was possible for me to.”
“Why are you here?” you ask, cutting straight to the point. It takes Sylus aback. The butterflies come back.
“I wanted to…” his voice trails off. He clears his throat, trying to dispel some of the awkwardness that remains in his body. “We need to talk.”
“Do we?” you counter.
“Yes,” Sylus’ lips press into a thin line, amused. “There are things I have to say to you.”
“What if I don’t want to hear it?”
“Then I’ll leave,” he says. He means it, too. “I will leave you alone for the rest of your life if you want me to. I know that I have been an asshole and you have every right to be angry with me…at least let me drive you home. It’s snowing. You shouldn’t be walking out on your own.”
“Fine.”
Sylus’ eyes widen ever so slightly, his surprise on full display for you to see. Your roll your eyes at the sight, taking the flowers from him. Your gaze drops down to his ring finger. The black ring you got him sits there, the spot no longer vacant like it was before. And yet…you feel nothing.
You follow Sylus as he walks you towards his car. He stands close to you, shielding you from the harsh wind as snow flakes fall onto your flowers. You barely have a grip on them. The flowers are ready to fly away with the wind at any given moment, to be lost in the city of Linkon. Sylus wouldn’t blame you for letting them go. He knows that the flowers are a shot in the dark, a poor attempt to see that smile on your face because, well, you always smiled whenever he brought you flowers after a long day of work. Seeing your grin was like a shot of espresso that revitalized him after business deals gone wrong.
Oh, how he misses that smile.
He opens up the passenger side door. You let out an exasperated huff. He assumes that you rolled your eyes at him, too. You smack the flowers into his chest, slowly lowering yourself into the seat. Once your foot is inside, Sylus places the roses — which you immediately toss into the basckseat — and closes the door behind you, jogging to the other side of the car and gets inside. The car comes to life and heat from the vents help melt some of the icy tension in your body.
“Feel okay?” Sylus asks. You hum in response.
The man drives the car away from the theater, putting as much distance between the two of you and the damned place as possible. The drive is quiet, a song about heartbreak plays over the radio. You don’t pay attention. Instead, you stare outside of the car window, watching as Sylus drives through the empty streets. Snowflakes hit the foggy window. You tap your finger against them, letting the heat from your body melt the icy designs.
Sylus watches you from the corner of his eye. The butterflies have returned to his stomach. He ignores the feeling and clears his throat, the car coming to a slow stop at the red light.
“Can I take you somewhere?” Sylus asks. It’s another shot in the dark. One that he hopes you’ll take.
“Fine,” you mutter under your breath, keeping your gaze fixed out of the window.
Sylus nods once and turns left, heading away from the city and towards the river. You barely pay attention, opting to stare out at the snowy landscape. The lights of the city slowly disappear, the car taking you up the side of the city where there’s a lookout of the city. Minutes pass and the car finds itself in a parking spot, the tall man slipping free from the car. He moves to your side and opens up the door, offering you his hand. You ignore it and shove your hands into your jacket pockets, stepping away from him and towards a bench that overlooks Linkon City.
You sit down and Sylus takes his spot beside you. The silence from the car is replaced with the quiet sound of the wind, snowflakes flying past your face. You hug your arms close to your body, slightly shivering. Sylus is quick to wrap a scarf around your neck, the warmth from his hands lingering in the fabric. You contain an eye roll, quietly thanking him before the silence takes over once again.
“Sylus,” you exhale his name, steam from your breath evaportating in front of your eyes, “now is the time to talk.”
“I miss you.” He stares straight ahead, just barely seeing the look of shock — or is it disgust — on your face. “I also want to say…I’m sorry.”
“Is that all?” you ask.
“No,” he shakes his head, finally turning to look at you. “I want you to know that I heard you loud and clear. I heard you a month ago when you left and…I heard you during the play. I’m sorry for pushing you away. I…I don’t know what else to say or how to make things better between us but I miss you. I missed you the moment I let you step through that door. I never should have.”
The silence is less ugly now. At least you can breathe again, the cold air keeping you wide awake and alert. It even helped alleviate the strain behind your eyes. Dark gray clouds hang low in the sky. If you were to ask Sylus, he would bring one down to earth for you.
“I told her to never contact me again. I gave her information to someone else in Onychinus that she can turn to when she needs help,” he continues, answering the questions that pop into your mind. “I want you. Not her. I should have made that very clear and prioritized you.”
“No shit,” you mutter, looking down at your bare hands.
“Do you hate me?” he asks. You hesitate to respond.
A piece of skin pokes up beside your nail. You glare at it, a scowl overtaking your face. With the tips of your nails, you slowly peel it back. Your finger stings but the ice cold air numbs the pain almost instantly. Sylus sighs and places a hand on top of yours, stopping you from doing it any further. You turn to look up at him, to yell at him to let go and to not touch you, but as soon as your eyes meet his red ones: you’re a goner.
“You hurt me,” you whisper, voice cracking.
“I know,” he nods. He swallows the lump that formed in his throat. “And I know that there is nothing I can do or say to erase that pain. You have every right to be mad at me. Hell, I’m angry at myself for not seeing it any sooner.”
“Okay.” You nod, unsure of what else to say.
“I want you back in my life,” he quietly pleads. Sylus’ voice feels small. You have never seen him like this before. It’s…confusing. “I…I haven’t been sleeping well. Not since you left. Is it selfish of me to ask you to come back?”
“Yes,” you immediately respond.
Sylus bites back a frown, tearing his gaze away from you and towards the snowy Linkon skyline. Your eyes move to the line of his nose. The way the corner of his lips tug downward into a frown no matter how hard he tries to keep it away. You finally notice the bags under his eyes, the way his posture is slouched instead of its perfect state. You divert your gaze, gnawing at the inside of your cheek.
“I haven’t been sleeping well either,” you reply. Sylus’ head snaps to look back at you.
“Really?” he asks. You nod.
“It’s more of a…how can I sleep knowing that the man I was in love with chose everyone else over me kind of thing,” you say. You ignore the way Sylus’ expression breaks, the way his guily presents itself across his face. “I miss you, Sylus, but…”
“I know,” he finishes your sentence for you. He reaches out and gently moves your hair out of your face, tucking it behind your ear. You tilt your face to look at him. He lowers his voice, “I promise to be better. Just…give me another chance. Please.”
“I don’t know,” you shake your head, holding back the tears. “Can I trust you?”
“Yes,” he gushes.
“How will I know that you’re mine and not…theirs?” The question barely comes out as a whisper and yet it is all Sylus can hear. “I don’t know if I can go through that heartbreak again.”
“You won’t have to,” he takes your hands in his and pull them to his chest. Right where his heart sits, to be exact.
Your eyes meet his and you can see the gloss over them, the way he is holding back every urge to cry and show his vulnerability. You know that this is hard for him. To show his emotions in a way that is not anger or through death. You finally take off the final mask that Sylus wears. His soul is on a silver platter for you to take. For you to keep and protect until the end of time.
“I love you. There is nothing else that I know to be more true than the fact that I am in love with you and thet I have been so fucking blind to just how happy you make me,” Sylus says. You hang onto every word, subconsciously leaning towards him. “I regret every single choice I have made in the last months. If I could go back and do it all over it again: I would. It’s what you said in the play…hindsight is a privlege. It is a privlege that we have. That we can take for ourselves.”
“Sylus…”
“You can trust me,” he continues, “you know you can. It’ll be just the two of us. I promise.”
The wind whips around your bodies. One of Sylus’ hands leave yours, finding its way to your cheek. You lean into the warmth, closing your eyes as the memories flood back to you.
Everything went sour in a matter of months. Before that, the two of you were rock solid. You were happy. The two of you share memories that nobody else will have access to. You remember all of the countless nights you stayed up waiting for him, sleep ready to take you over just as he walked through the bedroom door. You remember all of the times he brought you flowers and kissed your cheek, claiming that you are the most beautiful woman in the world. You remember all of the times Sylus held you when you cried. He has been there for you through thick and thin…is that something you’re willing to give up?
“I’ll come back,” you open your eyes. A smile begins to form on his face. It fades when you begin to speak again, “but we need to take things slow, okay? One day at a time.”
“One day at a time,” Sylus repeats. His eyes drop down to your lips, his eye glowing at the sight. Your hands flatten against his chest, feeling his unsteady heartbeat before they slip up and around his neck. The man pulls you closer, his touch light and gentle. “May I kiss you? Please?”
He asks as if he’s been starving for years. You nod, fingers slipping into his white hair, his lips connecting with yours in a slow and tender kiss. You sigh into his lips, hungry for more. The man gives it to you but he gently takes your left hand away from his neck, bringing it down to your laps.
“Sy,” you whine, earning a smile from him.
A cold sensation slips up your ring finger. You gasp, surprised by its presence. You look down and see a dark silver band wrapped around your finger with a black rock sitting in the middle. It looks similar to the ring you bought Sylus. The same one that he’s wearing right now.
“What…”
“This is my vow to you,” Sylus gently places his finger under your chin, tilting it back up so that you look at him. “My vow that my heart belongs to you and you alone. I know things will take time between us but…I need you to know that this,” he taps the top of the ring, sending chills down your spine, “is what my future looks like with you.”
“Do you mean it?” you ask, mouth suddenly dry. He nods.
“I meant every single word. I’m yours. Completely and utterly yours.”
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