You Have My Eyes
Blue Lock! Alexis Ness x Reader
A secret, a child, and a love that learned patience after years apart.
Warnings: Angst; Fluf; NOT PROOFREAD!!!
[You Have My Eyes - Oliver Aiku]
[You Have My Eyes - Meguru Bachira]
[Got a little carried away so it turned out a bit long.]
You never expected the world to feel so dim. You never expected yourself to feel so dim. Maybe it happened slowly—like a candle flickering out over months, not seconds. Or maybe you simply woke one morning and realized that nothing moved your heart the way it once had. No excitement. No wonder. No anticipation for tomorrow. You didn’t even notice how badly you’d retreated into yourself until you found comfort in the quiet corners of Munich—the places where no one asked questions and no one expected your smile to be real.
You didn’t play soccer. You didn’t follow it. And you certainly didn’t know the name Alexis Ness. All you wanted that evening was shelter from the rain.
Munich rain is unforgiving. It doesn’t fall—it drenches, heavy drops splattering against stone and metal with a sound like thunder softened through water. You duck under the awning of a bookstore as the sky cracks open. Your coat is cold against your skin, hair dripping, the winter air biting at your fingertips. The city is reduced to blurry silhouettes and silver reflections. You inhale, the scent of wet pavement and paper drifting from inside the shop. And then— Footsteps. Fast. Light. Almost joyful.
You glance up just as someone dashes across the street—coat flying behind him, boots splashing through puddles. His hair, light brown fading into magenta-tipped ends, sticks to his forehead in soaked strands. He’s laughing. Actually laughing into the rain like it’s some kind of miracle. He skids to a stop right in front of you, breathlessly dramatic.
“Ah—entschuldigung!” Excuse me! he says with a grin, wiping water from his eyelashes. “I didn’t mean to splash you. The rain pulled me in.”
You blink. “The rain… pulled you in?”
He nods, utterly serious. “Rain magic. It’s stronger in winter.”
His eyes—sharp, shimmering magenta—look at you with a kind of intrigue that feels too direct, too intense for a stranger. You step back slightly. He steps forward slightly.
“I’m Alexis Ness,” he says, bowing with needless flair. “Midfielder. Magician. Part-time chaos victim.”
He holds a hand to his chest. “At your service.”
“…Midfielder?” you echo, awkward.
He brightens. “Fußball! Soccer! You know—”
“I don’t watch soccer.”
He freezes. Then his face lights up with something almost… relieved. “Wirklich? Truly? You don’t?”
You shake your head. He sighs happily, pushing wet hair back. “That’s refreshing.”
Why refreshing? You’re too caught in confusion to ask. Instead, you offer him your umbrella because he looks ridiculous—coat dripping, boots soaking, hair plastered to his forehead. “You’re going to catch a cold.”
“Impossible,” he insists. “Kaiser says I’m like a cockroach—you can’t kill me.”
You choke on a laugh. “Who’s Kaiser?”
The way his smile softens is bizarrely romantic. “No one you need to worry about.”
Before you can question it, he lifts his coat over your head, shielding you from the rain while stepping into the downpour himself. “May I walk you home?” he asks gently.
Not pushy. Not demanding. Just sincere. You should say no. Instead—
“…Okay.” Something shifts—subtle, barely there—in the air between you. Magic, he might call it. Whatever it is, it begins here.
Ness is… unusual. He appears everywhere, and he doesn’t even pretend it’s coincidence. The next time you see him, he’s waiting near your tram stop, leaning against a lamp post like he’s posing for some rain-soaked magazine cover. “You came,” he says softly, as if you had arranged it.
“You’re the one stalking me.”
He gasps. “Stalking? No, no. Following. Very different.”
“It’s not that different.”
He laughs, a little too delighted. “But you’re smiling—so I’ll take that as encouragement.”
You roll your eyes. But the truth is— You are smiling. And it feels strange. Rusty. Like rediscovering a muscle you forgot existed. He talks to you about everything and nothing. About the way magic hides in places people don’t look. About how winter sky makes him feel like he can fly. About how loneliness is easier when you pretend it’s a spell rather than a curse. You notice the way he looks at you—not like a stranger. Not even like a friend.mMore like someone who’s searching for proof you’re real. There’s a fragile hunger in his eyes sometimes, a flicker of desperation behind the cheerful mask. You understand it more than you’d like to admit.
He drops little German phrases everywhere, like sparks meant to ignite something in the air: “Du siehst müde aus…” you look tired....
“Darf ich dich begleiten?” May I walk with you?
“Mit dir fühlt sich die Welt leichter an…” with you, the world feels lighter.
“Du bist… besonders.” You are... Special.
You try not to think about what “besonders” means. But you do. Too often.
It’s raining again when it happens. He walks you home under your shared umbrella, his shoulder pressed lightly against yours, the warmth of him strangely comforting. When you reach your door, he stops. His breathing stutters. His fingers tremble. “Will you go out with me?” No hesitation. No buildup. Just raw honesty.
Your heart lurches—but you shake your head. “I’m not ready. For… anything like that.”
For a moment, something hollow flashes through his eyes. Then he smiles—soft, accepting. “No magic works the first time,” he whispers.
A week later, he finds you again—this time holding a small slice of sachertorte. “It’s my favorite,” he says, cheeks tinted pink. “I wanted you to try it.”
You taste it. It’s rich. Warm. Sweet enough to soften the edges of your day.
He watches you like your reaction is the answer to a question he’s been scared to ask. Then—quietly: “Will you go out with me?”
Your heart squeezes painfully. “I can’t.”
His smile doesn’t crumble. But something in his posture does. “I’ll wait,” he murmurs. “Magic takes patience.”
The third time, you find him sitting alone on a bench, head bowed, arms wrapped around himself like he’s holding broken pieces in place. “Ness?”
He looks up—eyes puffy, magenta irises trembling. “Oh,” he laughs weakly. “I didn’t want you to see me like this.”
“What happened?”
“Kaiser said,” he whispers, voice cracking, “that I’m being childish. That I should stop chasing someone who keeps rejecting me.”
Your breath catches. “That’s not fair.”
“But he’s right, isn’t he?” Ness lifts a hand to his face. “Maybe I’m too much. Too intense.” He swallows hard. “Too… me.”
Something in your chest fractures. He looks at you—raw, vulnerable. “Even if I’m too much… will you go on one date with me? One chance. One moment where I can prove magic is real.” His hands tremble. Your heart breaks open. “…Okay.”
He stills. Then— “W-Wirklich?” Really?
When you nod, he bursts into messy tears, hiding his face in his sleeves. “Meine Güte… My god... you said yes… I can’t—oh God—don’t look at me—” You do look. And you think he’s the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen.
He takes you to a winter market. Lights glow like captured stars. Children laugh. Street musicians play soft, warm melodies under the darkening sky. Ness walks beside you, close enough that your hands brush with every step. He doesn’t take your hand—not yet. He’s too scared. Instead, he looks at you like the world is suddenly worth believing in. He buys roasted almonds and holds them out shyly. He drapes his scarf over your shoulders when you shiver. He wins you a plush momonga from a carnival booth and presents it like a trophy. “Behold,” he whispers dramatically, “your magical companion.” You laugh—and the sound makes his breath hitch. But the moment shifts when a familiar voice cuts through the winter air.
“Ness,” Kaiser sighs, strolling toward you. “I leave you alone for one day and you run off to… what is this? Courtship?” Ness goes stiff. Painfully stiff. “Kaiser,” he mutters. “Please don’t.” Kaiser smirks at you—evaluating, amused. “Oh. This is her?”
Ness steps half a step in front of you. Jealousy, protective, immediate. “Kaiser. Enough.” Kaiser chuckles. “Relax, Ness. I’m not stealing your little crush.” Your face burns. Ness’s does too.
The moment Kaiser vanishes back into the market, Ness exhales shakily. “Sorry,” he murmurs. “He’s… a lot.” “You’re shaking.” He flushes. “I get nervous when someone tries to take what I—” He stops himself, cheeks burning. “What’s important to me.”
The rest of the date is quieter. Softer. Full of shared glances and fluttering warmth. Then, under the falling snow, he stops walking. “Can I ask you something?” he whispers. You turn to face him. His lashes glisten with snowflakes. His breath clouds the air. His expression is terrified and hopeful in equal measure. “Will you be my girlfriend?”
Your heart thunders. He looks fragile. Breakable. Like your answer might crack him open. “I know you’re scared,” he adds quickly. “I know you’re not ready for big feelings. But I don’t want you to say yes out of guilt. You can say no. I’ll stay anyway.” You look into his magenta eyes. Lonely. Lovely. Longing. And you know. You know he’s the first person in a long time who makes you feel anything at all.
“…Yes,” you whisper. Ness goes completely still. Then— He crumbles into your arms. “Danke… danke…” Thank you... thank you... His voice is muffled in your shoulder, trembling. “You’re real… you’re mine… this isn’t a dream—right?” You hold him tightly. “It’s real.” He sobs softly, breaths warm against your neck.
And you realize: This lonely boy just found something he never thought he’d have. Love.
Ness loves with everything he is. When you wake up tired, he strokes your hair and murmurs, “Du arme Maus… you poor thing… come here.” When you're quiet, he studies your expression like deciphering sacred text. When you smile, he lights up like sunrise breaking through winter clouds.
You don’t notice danger. But he does. Someone flirts with you? He slides closer, fingers brushing yours. Kaiser leans too close? Ness gently shifts you behind him. “Genug, Kaiser,” he warns softly. Enough. Kaiser laughs. “Oh, you’re jealous.” Ness goes pink. “No. I’m… preventing unnecessary interference.” (He is very jealous.)
Little things break him open: A long hug. Your hand on his cheek. Your fingers brushing his magenta-tinted hair. Whenever you touch him, his breath stutters, and he whispers things like:
“Bleib bei mir…” stay with me…
“You make everything warmer.”
“I didn’t know the world could feel like this.”
He sends you voice notes in the morning. He walks you everywhere—even when it’s out of his way. He asks gently, “Can I hold your hand?” every time, even after you’ve given him permission a hundred times.
The first time you’re distant—just tired, not upset—he panics quietly. “Did I—did I do something?”His voice is tight, scared. “Please tell me. I can fix it. I’ll do anything.” You reassure him. He melts into your arms like he’s been holding his breath for an hour. “I can’t lose you,” he whispers into your shoulder. “I can’t go back to how things were before. Please don’t disappear.” And you hold him until he steadies.
Ness kisses like he’s afraid you’ll vanish mid-touch. Soft, slow, reverent. His hands tremble against your cheeks. His lashes flutter. He breathes your name like it’s a prayer. “You’re magic,” he whispers against your lips. “My magic.”
He notices your favorite snacks. He warms your hands in his sleeves. He memorizes your expressions. He listens—even to the things you don’t say aloud. And when you’re sad? He sits beside you quietly. Not filling the silence—just sharing it. “Let me hold it with you,” he murmurs. “Your sadness. Your loneliness. I won’t run.” And he never does.
Over time, you realize that Ness didn’t fall for you gently. He fell completely. You are the first person who ever heard his loneliness and didn’t call it childish. The first person who didn’t mock him for believing in invisible things. The first person who looked at him—not Kaiser, not the team—him. And he treats you like a miracle he isn’t sure he deserves. One night, as you’re lying together on your couch, his head on your lap, eyes half-closed, he whispers something you will never forget: “Before you… the world had no color.” He looks up at you through heavy lashes, voice soft. “You gave me my magic back.” He lifts your hand to his lips, kissing your fingers gently, almost worshipfully. “I’ll spend my whole life trying to give it back to you… if you let me.” Your heart cracks. And mends. And cracks again. Because this boy—this strange, bright, lonely boy—loves you with an intensity that should be impossible. And yet— It feels like home.
For a long time, loving Alexis Ness felt like standing in snowfall—quiet, soft, luminous. Even his intensity felt warm, like a blanket wrapped too tightly but still comforting. But seasons change. Schedules tighten. Reality whispers louder than magic. And you start to feel it first. Not because you loved him less. But because the world refused to pause for the two of you.
He tries so hard. Too hard. He Video calls from hotel rooms at midnight, eyes red with exhaustion but still smiling. “Nur kurz… just for a moment— I want to see you.” He sends voice notes before practice. He sends pictures of his meals. He sends little recordings of things that remind him of you: a winter sky, a song playing in the gym, a momonga plush in a store. But the more effort he gives, the more guilt grows in your chest. Because sometimes you’re busy. Sometimes you’re tired. Sometimes you can’t answer right away. And every missed call starts feeling like a crack in your foundation. “Ness, I’m sorry—”, “No, nein, it’s okay,” he insists, smiling softly. But his eyes tell a different story.
Your schedules only get tighter. His trainings stretch longer. Away games turn into months without breathing the same air. Every time he leaves, he clings harder. “Hold me a little longer,” he murmurs in bed, arms wrapped tightly around you. “Just… a little more. Bitte.” Please. And every time he comes back, he cries just from seeing you open the door. But even he can feel it. The more he tightens his hold, the more the space between you grows.
It happens on a cold evening. Your kitchen is dim, lit only by the soft overhead lamp. Ness stands by the counter, hair messy from training, duffel bag still by the door—he walked in minutes ago. He looks exhausted. Too exhausted to pretend. You watch him open the fridge mechanically, like his mind isn’t fully in his body. “Ness,” you say quietly. “We need to talk.”
He stops. His hand grips the fridge handle too tightly. After a moment, he closes it and turns around. “Okay.” His voice is barely above a whisper. You take a breath. The air feels sharp in your lungs. “I don’t think we can keep doing this.” He blinks. Then again. Slower. Like he didn’t understand the shape of your words. “...What?” You swallow hard. “It hurts too much. Waiting all the time. Missing each other. Trying to fit into hours that don’t exist.” His lips part. His breath catches. Color drains from his face. “No,” he says immediately.
“No—no, no—don’t—don’t say that.”,
“Ness—”
He takes a step forward. Then another. Until he’s standing right in front of you, shaking. “We can fix it,” he says desperately.
“We always fix things. I’ll adjust. I’ll sleep less. I’ll— I can try harder—”, “Alexis—”,
“I can make time. I swear. I’ll call more. I’ll—just—please—don’t—”
His voice breaks mid-sentence, cracking open something raw. “Ness,” you whisper, tears burning your eyes. “I don’t want to keep hurting each other.” He shakes his head violently. “No. No. Please—don’t do this. Don’t end us.” He grabs your hands—gently at first, then tighter when he feels you tremble. “I can’t lose you,” he pleads. His magenta eyes glisten, shimmering with frantic tears. “You’re— you’re everything. You’re my magic. Don’t take that away.” You choke on a sob. He presses his forehead to yours, crying openly now—silent tears falling onto your cheeks. “I’ll change,” he whispers. “I’ll be better. I’ll be whatever you need. Just don’t say goodbye.” His hands cup your face, trembling. His lips brush yours—not a kiss, just proximity, aching and desperate. “We can make it work,” he breathes. “Bitte…” please… Your heart shatters. “I love you,” you whisper. “But we’re breaking each other.” He flinches like you slapped him. “No,” he chokes out. “No, not you. Never you. Don’t—don’t say love past tense.” Your tears spill over. “We’re hurting, Ness,” you sob. “I don’t want us to resent each other.” He squeezes his eyes shut, shoulders shaking uncontrollably. “But I’d rather hurt than lose you.” That sentence nearly destroys you. You cradle his face, burying your forehead against his. “I don’t want to leave you,” you whisper. “It’s killing me.” He lets out a sound—broken, breathless. “Then stay.” You can’t. He knows. You know. And the moment the truth settles in the cold kitchen air, he collapses against you—arms tight, head buried in your shoulder, sobbing with a rawness that splits you in half. “I’ll never stop loving you,” he cries. “Even if you walk away.” You hold him as both your hearts break, tears soaking into each other’s skin. For a long time, there is no breath. No movement. No world. Just the two of you clinging to something that can’t survive anymore. When you finally let go— It feels like tearing out your own ribs. He steps back. Just one step. It’s enough to feel the cold spill between you. “Okay,” he whispers. His voice is empty. Hollow. “If this is what you want…I’ll let you go.” But he’s lying. You can see it in his eyes. He’d never let go if you didn’t pull away first. And so you do.
The silence is the loudest thing you’ve ever heard. Your apartment feels wrong—every corner still carrying his laughter, his tears, the warmth of his arms around you. The scarf he left behind still smells like him. Ness does not message you. Not once. Not because he’s healed—no. You know him. You know he’s doing it because if he reaches out, he won’t survive the answer.
Kaiser messages you once. “He’s not okay.” That’s all. No teasing. No smugness. Just honesty. You type back. “Neither am I.” You don’t send it.
Every night, you lie awake imagining him in some unfamiliar hotel bed, eyes red from crying, hands gripping the sheets like he’s trying not to call you. Every morning you wonder if he’s eating. Sleeping. Breathing. Part of you wants to reach out. To ask if he’s okay. To say you’re sorry. But you don’t. Because you’re afraid that seeing his name light up your phone will undo everything. That you’ll run back. That he’ll let you. That you’ll break each other again.
And so the week passes. Seven days. Seven nights. Seven moments where you almost dial his number. On the seventh night, you open your window. The winter air stings. The city lights blur. And for the first time since he held you in the kitchen— You let yourself cry for real.
Somewhere far away, in a hotel room that feels too big and too cold— Alexis Ness sits on the floor, back against the door, head in his hands. He whispers into the silence: “Bitte… Please… just one more miracle.” But there is only quiet. Only distance. Only heartbreak. The magic hasn’t disappeared.
It begins with a test. A small, stupid piece of plastic—white and shaking in your hand as if it knows it’s about to break your life open all over again. The bathroom feels too small. Too bright. Too silent. Your knees hit the floor before you even realize you’re falling. And then— You cry. Not delicate tears. Not cinematic softness. But the kind of sobbing that punches the air out of your lungs. The kind that burns through your ribs. The kind that feels like you’re grieving and living at the same time. A month after losing him—A month after forcing yourself to walk away— A month after believing silence was mercy— You find out you’re pregnant. Your tears drip down your chin and splash onto the test still clutched in your shaking fingers. You whisper the only thing you can manage: “…No, no… not now… not like this…”
But life does not care about timing. Life does not care about heartbreak. Life does not care about the promises you didn’t keep. Life chose this anyway. A miracle, Ness would have said. His eyes would have brightened— His hands would have trembled with joy— He would have knelt in front of you, pressed his face to your belly, whispered “wirklich?” Really? against your skin— But he wasn’t here. So you cried again.
You tell no one. Every day for the next month you wake up with the same war inside your chest: Tell him. Don’t tell him. Tell him. Don’t tell him. But the thought of calling him— Of hearing his voice crack— Of him begging, pleading, promising, breaking— You can’t do that to him. You can’t do it to yourself either. He was already drowning in grief from losing you. You were already drowning in guilt. Adding this? Adding fatherhood to that heartbreak? No. You tell yourself it’s mercy. You tell yourself it’s protection. You tell yourself you’re strong enough to do it alone. Even though the truth is. You choose silence because you’re afraid.And because you still love him. Too much.
So you leave Munich. A new city. A small apartment. A new job that doesn’t ask questions. You disappear.
Your pregnancy is not gentle. Morning sickness tackles you from weeks 6–14. You throw up until your ribs ache. You cry quietly into your pillow when the nausea won’t stop. Sometimes, when the pain gets bad, you find yourself whispering— “Ness… please…” But he isn’t there to hear it. By the time your belly begins to show, you feel like you’re living in two worlds: The world where you’re strong enough to do this alone. And the world where you miss him so deeply you feel physically sick. Your nights are the worst. You lie in bed, hand over your bump, and imagine his soft voice:
“Schau… look. Our little miracle.”
“Bleib bei mir…” stay with me…
“Don’t cry, Liebling… you’re safe.”
You imagine how he would have held you through every cramp. How he would have talked to your belly in German. How he would have cried when he felt the first kick. You imagine him promising: “I’ll be a good father. I swear. I’ll give them all the magic I never had.” And you cry every single time.
The sterile room smells like disinfectant. The lights hum softly overhead. Your hands are cold as gel touches your belly. When the doctor points at the screen, your breath stops. “Would you like to know the sex?” You hesitate. Then nod. “It’s a girl.” You inhale sharply. A girl. A daughter. His daughter. You bite your lip— hard— trying not to cry again. You whisper softly: “…Hello, little one.”
And for the first time, something warm flickers inside you. Hope. Fear. Love. All tangled. You walk out of the clinic clutching the ultrasound photo to your chest, tears slipping silently down your cheeks. That night, you place the picture on your bedside table and whisper: “I wish he knew. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” You tuck your face into your pillow and let yourself fall apart all over again.
You spend months searching baby name lists, trying to distance yourself from the past. But every name feels wrong. Too common. Too soft. Too cold. One night, lying awake with your heavy belly, a name flickers in your mind like a spark: Anja.
German. Beautiful. Soft. And suddenly you’re crying quietly because of course— Of course her name had to be German. Of course her name had to carry a piece of him, even if he never knew. “Anja…” You whisper it into your empty room. Into the dark. Into your loneliness. “It’s perfect.”
You give birth on a stormy night. Rain thrashes against the hospital windows. Thunder rumbles above the building. The world feels too loud and too soft all at once. Labor is long. Painful. Lonely. No hand to squeeze. No voice in your ear. No one saying “just breathe… I’m here.” You scream into the void. You sob through contractions. You cling to the bed rails like they’re the only things keeping you alive. And then— A cry. High, new, trembling. Your daughter’s first sounds. The nurse places her onto your chest and your breath stops entirely. She is— Perfect.
And also— Ness. So painfully, unmistakably him. Her eyes, still foggy but undeniably magenta. Her hair soft brown with magenta-tipped ends, like she borrowed the color straight from his heart. Your throat closes. “Oh my God,” you whisper, voice breaking. “You look like him…” The nurse smiles. “She looks like her father, then?” You stare at your daughter. “Y-Yes. Very much.” You cannot explain why you’re crying so hard. Why holding her feels like losing Ness all over again. Why every breath hurts and heals at the same time. You kiss your daughter’s forehead, tears falling onto her tiny skin. “Welcome to the world, Anja.”
You raise her alone. You learn to function on two hours of sleep. You learn how to soothe her colic. You learn how to hold her small body against yours and sway until she stops crying. And sometimes— When she sleeps on your chest just right— You swear you feel Ness’s presence in the room. A phantom. A memory. A piece of him living in her heartbeat.
People comment on her eyes all the time. “What a beautiful color!”, “So unique!”, “Oh my, she looks like she’s glowing—” And every time, you force yourself to smile. “Thank you.” But deep down, your heart squeezes so painfully it almost stops. Her eyes are magenta. Just like his.
You never teach her any German. Not a single word. You don’t trust yourself to speak it without breaking. But sometimes, when she babbles nonsense in her baby voice, the rhythm of the sounds reminds you of his accent. His warmth. His laugh. His soft “bitte” please and “schatz.” treasure Sometimes you cry silently while washing dishes. Sometimes you sit on the couch holding her tiny hands, whispering: “He would’ve adored you. He would’ve spoiled you. He would’ve cried more than you do.” You never take photos of yourself crying, but if you did, there would be hundreds.
Anja turns three in late winter. She is small and bright and curious. Her hair curls softly at the ends—light brown dipped into magenta like watercolor. Her eyes are glowing gems, warm and searching. She doesn’t know many words yet— learning slower than most toddlers. Just short babbles, soft phrases, little pieces of sound.
“Mama.”
“Up.”
“More.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Mine.”
Simple things. You never teach her German. You can’t. It hurts too much. You’re scared she’ll say something that sounds too much like him. But sometimes— When she sits on the floor with her plush toys, humming— When she looks at you with that soft, lonely expression— When her tiny hand pats your cheek when you cry— You feel him. Like he’s still here. Like he never left. Like the magic he believed in didn’t die after all.
One evening, you’re sitting on the couch, exhausted, watching her stack wooden blocks. She looks up at you suddenly. Her magenta eyes sparkle. “Mama,” she says gently, pointing at herself. “Anya.”,
“Yes, baby. You’re Anja.”
She smiles. Then she tilts her head— a gesture so eerily like Ness that your breath catches— and babbles something soft and melodic. It sounds almost like: “Za-va… maa… chuh…” Nonsense. Or maybe. Magic. You feel your throat tighten. Your eyes burn. You whisper into the quiet room: “You have his eyes…his colors…his gentleness…” Your voice cracks. “And you have the miracle he never got to see.” You pull her onto your lap. She settles against your chest, humming softly. You smell her hair— and faintly, impossibly— you almost smell him. You close your eyes. Three years without him.
Three years without his voice. Three years without his magic. But the miracle lives in your arms. Her little fingers curl into your shirt. “Mama,” she whispers again. And you realize— This is the part he should have been there for. This is the moment he should have held. This is the child he should have known. The heartbreak swells again, sharp and crushing. You kiss the top of Anja’s head, holding her tighter. Softly, painfully, you whisper: “I’m so sorry, Ness…You deserved to know her.” And the room falls quiet. The only sound is your daughter’s soft breathing. A miracle born from a love you never truly lost.
Munich feels different after all these years. You came only for the weekend — your parents wanted to see you, your friend insisted on coffee, and Anja… well, Anja just wanted to run around because sitting still has never been her strength. She’s three years old. Small. Soft. Curious. Magenta eyes shimmering like the child version of the boy you once loved. And you, stupidly, forgot how unpredictable toddlers are.
You’re standing outside a café, sipping warm tea, speaking to an old friend about harmless things — work, weather, how much you've changed since leaving Munich. Anja holds your hand. Then lets go. Then holds it. Then lets go again. You glance away for only one second — ONE — because your friend asks something. Your eyes shift up. You nod. You answer. And when you look down again— She’s gone. Your heart stops. “Anja?” You spin, scanning the sidewalk. Nothing. No small figure. No magenta eyes. No brown hair with magenta tips. “Anja?!” Your voice cracks. Your friend jumps to help, checking behind the benches, the corner, the tiny playground. But Anja is nowhere. Panic rises like a scream under your skin. You start running. Calling her name. Tears blur your vision. She would have wandered. She always does. But here? Here? Near the training grounds— near HIM — no, no, no— Your lungs burn. “Please,” you whisper to no one, voice breaking. “Please be safe. Please—please—” Your heart feels like it’s tearing apart.
The Bastard München training field is full of shouting and the thud of cleats against turf. Kaiser wipes sweat from his forehead, annoyed at the world as usual. Then he stops mid-motion. “Oi,” he calls out loudly, pointing. “Why is there a tiny thing running straight across the field? Did someone order one?” Ness glances over, uninterested. “Kaiser, seriously?” But the second he looks— His breath hitches. A little girl is waddling determinedly across the grass, arms slightly out for balance, hair bouncing with each step. Light brown. Soft. And at the ends— Magenta. Not dyed. Natural. Undeniable. Ness freezes. He blinks. Once. Twice. Again. Something tugs in his chest. “…She looks familiar,” he murmurs under his breath. Kaiser snorts. “What, because she has pretty eyes? Relax, she’s not yours.”
Ness rolls his eyes — but he’s already walking toward her, instincts pulling him forward. The little girl sees him approaching and stops. Her cheeks are rosy from the cold. She hugs a tiny plush bunny to her chest. And her eyes — her glowing, impossible, magenta eyes — look straight into his. His breath stutters. No. No, it can’t be. But something… something deep in him aches. He kneels slowly so he isn’t towering over her. “Hey, kleine Maus…” he says gently. “Are you lost?” She blinks. Then smiles shyly — the same shy curve he used to make when he was nervous. He feels something sharp twist in his chest. “What’s your name?” he asks softly. She doesn’t speak. Just tilts her head, curious. “Ah… not many words yet?” he murmurs kindly. “That’s okay.”
Kaiser calls from behind him: “Careful, Ness. Maybe she bites.” Ness ignores him, fully focused on the child in front of him. She reaches out — slow, hesitant — and touches his cheek with tiny fingers. He stops breathing. Her touch is warm. Soft. Full of innocent trust. And he feels something explode through his chest so suddenly he almost gasps. His eyes sting. His throat tightens. Why does this feel like— Why does she feel like— Why is his heart— She giggles when he makes a surprised expression, and he swears something inside him melts right into the grass. “You’re… adorable,” he whispers, voice betraying him. “Way too adorable…” She looks up at him again. Eyes shining.
And it hits him like a punch: She has his eyes. His exact color. His brightness. His softness. But he shakes his head violently. No. He’s imagining it. Coincidence. Just coincidence. Children don’t just show up looking like him. Right? Right…? He swallows. “Let’s find your mama,” he says gently, standing with her tiny hand holding his index finger. “Come on, kleine Zauberin…” little sorceress. The nickname slips out before he can stop it. Her eyes brighten, as if she recognizes the word magic instinctively. Ness’s heart hurts. Actually hurts.
You’re running. Breathless. Sobbing. Calling her name through the panic tearing your lungs apart. And then— in the distance— you see someone walking out of the field. Tall. Lean. Light brown hair with magenta tips. Head turned slightly as he listens to a small voice. Your heartbeat stops. No. No, please— In his hand, a tiny hand. Her hand. “Anja!” you cry, voice breaking. She squeals happily. “Mama!” And she breaks away from Ness’s hold, running toward you. You drop to your knees, scooping her into your arms, sobbing into her hair. “Oh God—oh God—Anja—baby— I’m here—Mama’s here—” Your friend catches up behind you, shaking with relief. You’re crying so hard you don’t even notice who’s standing in front of you— not at first. Not until he whispers your name. Soft. Shaken. Disbelieving.
“…You.” You freeze. Slowly, you lift your head. Alexis Ness stands a few feet away. His eyes — those beautiful, shattered magenta eyes — stare at you like he’s seeing a ghost. His breath stumbles. His hand trembles. And then he looks at Anja. Really looks. His entire world seems to collapse. He steps back once — just one step — as if hit by something huge and invisible. Kaiser’s voice fades behind him. The players blur away. The field dissolves. He sees only you. And the little girl in your arms. Her eyes. Her hair. Her face. Her tiny features shaped from pieces of him he didn’t know you kept. His lips part. No sound comes out. His knees almost buckle.
He whispers — barely audible: “…Meine… Gott…” My… God… He stares. Stares like he’s drowning. Stares like he’s dreaming. Then— Very quietly. Very broken. Very afraid. “Is she…?” He can’t finish the sentence. He can’t breathe. You hold Anja tighter, tears still fresh on your cheeks. And Ness’s voice cracks in half when he tries again: “…Is she… mine?” The field goes silent. The world goes silent. Only your heartbeat and his remain. Your throat closes. Your eyes burn. You try to speak— But emotion chokes the words. And Anja — sweet little Anja — peers curiously at him… Then reaches out toward him with a tiny hand. A hand that looks just like his, but smaller. Ness’s face crumples. He makes a sound — quiet, strangled, devastating — like his soul is splitting open. Tears gather fast in his eyes. And he whispers, voice breaking apart completely: “…Mein Kind…?” My Child…?
Alexis Ness stands in front of you, trembling so violently you worry his knees might give out. His magenta eyes—your daughter’s eyes—are wide, glassy, terrified. Anja is reaching toward him with her tiny hand. You can’t breathe. You can barely think. All you hear is the pounding in your chest and the quiet little sound Ness made— the sound of a man watching his world come back and fall apart in the same second. He swallows and says again: “…Mein Kind?” My child? His voice cracks down the middle. You clutch Anja closer, your heart racing. Your lips open—but nothing comes out. He takes a single step forward. Just one. But it feels like the ground trembles beneath you. “Is she mine?” he asks again, voice hoarse and breaking. “Please… please tell me she’s mine.” You look down at Anja. Her magenta eyes blink up at you, curious, innocent. Then you look at him. And your world collapses. “…Yes.” Your voice shakes. “She’s yours.” For a moment, absolutely nothing moves.
Then—Ness inhales sharply, like you stabbed air back into his lungs. His hand covers his mouth. His shoulders shake once—twice—and then the tears come. Not soft tears. Not quiet ones. His knees hit the grass. A sob rips out of him so suddenly, so violently, it knocks the breath out of you. He presses his trembling hands into the turf as if he needs the earth to anchor him. “Oh— mein Gott—” my God. Another sob. “I missed— I missed all of it— she— she’s—” He can’t even finish sentences. You stand frozen, tears burning behind your eyes.
Ness wipes nothing—lets the tears fall freely. “She’s mine…” he whispers again, voice crumbling. “She looks like me. She— she has my— eyes— oh God—” He looks up at you then. And what you see there destroys you. Not anger. Not rage. Devastation. Hurt. Betrayal. And love. So much love you almost fall under the weight of it. His lips part. “Why?” The word is barely sound. Just breath. Just pain. “Why didn’t you tell me?” You look away. But he shakes his head, tears still falling, voice breaking harder: “Tell me, bitte please— why didn’t you tell me I had a daughter?!” Your throat closes. Your arms tighten around Anja instinctively, protectively, even though he’s never been a danger and never will be. “Alexis…” Your voice cracks immediately. He steps closer on his knees, desperation pouring from him. “Did you think— I wouldn’t want her?” His chest rises, falls, too fast. “Did you think I wouldn’t love her? Did you think I wouldn't fight for her? For you?”,
“I was scared!” The words burst out of you, raw and shaking. You can’t hold them in anymore. All the guilt, loneliness, fear—it breaks out in sobs. You clutch Anja tighter. “I was scared, Alexis!” He stops breathing. You keep going—voice trembling, spilling everything you’ve buried for years. “You were already hurting. Our breakup destroyed you. I destroyed you.” You wipe tears you can’t stop. “And then I found out I was pregnant— and I couldn’t tell you. You were traveling. Exhausted. Falling apart. I thought… I thought telling you would shatter you.”,
“It did, it does—” he whispers. His voice is so quiet it hurts. “You not telling me— shatteres me.” You sob again. “I didn’t want to ruin your career. I didn’t want to make you choose between your dream and a child. I didn’t want to drag you back into my life just because I was terrified.” He shakes his head violently. “You thought being a father would ruin me?” His voice cracks. “Liebling… it would have saved me.” Your chest breaks. “I didn’t know how to tell you,” you whisper. “Every day I almost called. Every night. Every time she kicked. Every doctor visit. I wanted to say ‘Alexis, you’re going to be a father.’ But I— I couldn’t— I was so afraid—”,
“And I was so in love with you,” he breathes. “So in love I would’ve dropped everything. For both of you.” Silence. Painful, heavy, shaking silence.
Then—A tiny sound. “Ma…ma?” Anja squirms in your arms, reaching toward Ness again—her little hand opening and closing. “Mama…” Then, soft and unsure, she points at him. “Man…” Ness breaks all over again. Not with sobs—but with something softer. Fragile. Heart-wrenching. He lifts a trembling hand. “Can I…” He swallows. His voice drops to a whisper. “Can I hold her?” Your breath catches. You look at Anja. She looks at him. Her arms lift again, reaching. You nod. Ness releases a breath that trembles all the way to his bones. You lower her carefully.
His hands shake so badly you have to help guide her into his arms. The moment her weight settles against his chest—He collapses. Not physically. Emotionally. He holds her like she’s made of crystal. Like she’s a miracle that might disappear. Like she’s the first real thing he’s touched in years. His tears fall into her hair. “Oh… oh mein Engel…” My angel… He presses his cheek to the top of her head. “You’re real…” His voice is a broken whisper. “You’re real… you’re really mine…”
Anja blinks up at him, curious, tiny eyebrows scrunched. She reaches up with her little hand… And touches his cheek. The same cheek she touched before he knew her. His breath shatters. He closes his eyes, tears streaming. “You have my eyes,” he whispers. “And my hair… mein Gott…” She giggles. He laughs too—a strangled, watery laugh that’s half sob, half joy. “I missed everything,” he whispers, voice trembling. Her first steps. Her first laugh. Her first words. “I missed everything…” Your chest burns. You take a shaky step closer. “I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I’m so, so sorry.”
He looks at you over her tiny shoulder. There is heartbreak in his eyes. Pain. Confusion. But also—Love. So much love it drowns everything else. “We’ll talk,” he whispers. “When I can breathe again.” You nod through tears. He looks back down at Anja. His daughter. His miracle. He kisses her forehead gently, reverently. “Hello, Anja,” he whispers through tears. “I’m your Papa.” And the world, for just one fragile moment—stops hurting.
Ness holds Anja like he’s holding the last piece of sunlight left in the world. Her little body fits against his chest perfectly, her tiny hands gripping the collar of his training jacket, her magenta eyes—his eyes—staring curiously at the man who looks like her mirror. You stand a few feet away, heart breaking and rebuilding with every breath. He finally manages to inhale, shaky and uneven. “I won’t lose her again,” he whispers. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just… true. A vow spoken from the deepest, most fragile part of him. His arm trembles as he adjusts his hold on her, as if letting go for even one second would kill him.,“I won’t,” he repeats, voice cracking. “I refuse. I lost her once without knowing. I’m not losing her again—not for anything, not for anyone.”
Tears start again, sliding down his face slowly, silently. He rocks her a little without realizing it. A natural sway. Instinctive. Gentle. She hums—soft, content—and rests her head on his shoulder. And that… destroys him. A soft, hopeless sound escapes his throat. “Oh, mein kleiner Zauberer…” My little sorcerer… The nickname slips out like breath. She lifts her head a little, confused by the language, blinking at him. Her tiny eyebrows scrunch. He lets out a weak, watery laugh. “She doesn’t understand German…” he says softly, voice tiny. You shake your head.“I never taught her any.” He doesn’t blame you. But the hurt shows anyway. A flicker—small but sharp. He presses his lips to her temple. “It’s okay,” he whispers to her. “Papa will teach you.” She stares up at him like he just spoke the moon into existence. But she say anything. Not any word at all. The silence of that hits him hard. You see it. He feels it. His shoulders tighten for one second before he exhales shakily and hides it in her hair. “It’s okay,” he tells himself as much as her. “She doesn’t know me yet.” He looks up at you.,And now that he’s steadier—now that he’s holding her—the fury, fear, and heartbreak behind his eyes finally burns through. “How long have you lived away from Munich?” Your chest tightens. “A few years.”, “And you came back just for today?” he questions. You nod. “We’re only here for the weekend.” He goes absolutely still. Shock slams into his expression—jaw stiffening, eyebrows lifting, a tremor running through his whole body. Then heartbreak fractures through him so visibly it hurts to watch.
“Just the weekend?” he repeats, voice soft, wounded. You swallow, nodding again. He closes his eyes—once, deeply—as if steadying his soul. When he opens them, they’re bright with tears.,“I’ll come to you.” You blink. “What—?”,
“I’ll come to your city.” His voice is hoarse but certain. “I don’t care where it is. I don’t care how far. I don’t care if it takes a train, a flight, if I have to run— I will come to you.”, “Alexis—”,
“No.” He holds your gaze, still rocking Anja gently. “I lost three years. I’m not losing any more.” The emotion in his voice nearly knocks you back. But the problem is—You’re scared. Of hurting him again. Of getting pulled back in. Of repeating the story you broke once. So you choose distance. “It isn’t that simple,” you whisper. He freezes. Something fragile in him cracks. A tiny, trembling break in his expression. “…You still don’t want me close.” The pain in his voice is so raw you almost reach for him. Almost. You don’t. And that hurts him more than any breakup could have. He holds Anja a little tighter—not painfully, just protectively—as if she’s the only thing keeping him upright. “Please,” he whispers, stepping closer. “Please don’t shut me out. Not again.” Your breath shakes. “Alexis… I’m not shutting you out. I’m just… scared.” His lips tremble. “So am I.” He swallows. “But I’m still here.” Your eyes sting.
Anja stirs in his arms, looking up at him again. She pokes his cheek gently, fascinated. He laughs—soft, broken, beautiful. “You like my face, hmm?” he whispers. She giggles. He melts. Then she babbles something incoherent. “Da—ba—muh—aa—” He freezes, hope surging wildly, desperately—But she isn’t naming him. Just noise. Baby sounds. His eyes dim. Not dull. Just aching. “It’s okay,” he whispers again, kissing her hair. “She’ll learn.” He looks at you. He’s trying to be strong. Trying not to crumble. Trying not to beg. But his voice cracks anyway. “Let me be in her life.” A step closer. “Please. Even if you can’t love me again— let me love her.” Your heart caves. You nod—slowly, carefully. His knees almost buckle in relief. And for the first time since the breakup three years ago—Hope flickers in his eyes. Small. Fragile. But real.
Ness wipes his cheeks quickly with the back of his hand as he stands, holding Anja close. She clings to his jacket like she’s known him her entire life. He turns toward the cluster of teammates who witnessed the scene. Some look confused. Some shocked. Some… entertained. Kaiser stands with crossed arms, face unreadable. Ness lifts his chin slightly — a fragile attempt at composure. “I’m done for today.” Reactions are immediate. “Eh? Already?”, “Ness, what happened?”, “Who’s the kid?”, “Man brought a mini-me?”, “Those eyes—bro, she looks like she copied your face.” Ness shoots them a wounded glare, cheeks pink — not from embarrassment but from emotion he can’t hide. He doesn’t answer the questions. Doesn’t explain. Doesn’t justify. He holds Anja a little closer, hand cupping her tiny back.
“She’s my daughter,” he finally says softly. Silence. Actual silence. And as the shock spreads like a wave, Ness walks away — steady, quiet, determined. No drama. No theatrics. He just walks straight back to you. And still—You don’t move. You stand frozen on the sidewalk outside the field, heart pounding, hands shaking. You don’t even know how to look at him. At her in his arms. At the family that should’ve been years ago. He stops in front of you, breath fogging softly in the cool air. “I’ll… walk you home,” he murmurs. Then quickly, nervously, “If that’s okay.” You hesitate. His shoulders tense like he’s bracing for a knife. Then—“…Okay.” His relief is small. Quiet. Barely a breath. But real. He nods once and steps beside you.
The three of you walk slowly toward the small hotel where you’re staying. You keep your arms wrapped around yourself; he keeps both arms wrapped around Anja as if someone might try to take her away. She has her head tucked on his shoulder, one hand curled into the collar of his jacket, the other clutching her plush bunny. She is already comfortable. Already trusting. Already attached. Ness keeps glancing at her every few seconds — terrified and overjoyed all at once — as if checking she isn’t a dream. He whispers things to her under his breath: “Alles gut, mein kleiner Zauberer…” It’s alright, my little sorcerer…
“Du bist so tapfer…” You’re so brave…
“Ich hab dich…” I’ve got you…
She doesn’t understand a word, but she hums softly each time he speaks, her fingers relaxing against his shirt. Your throat tightens painfully. He looks forward again, swallowing. “You don’t have to stay far from me,” he whispers. “You can walk closer.” You hesitate. He looks down. “…Okay. I understand.” But the understanding hurts him. It shows in the way his voice sinks, in the way his shoulder stiffens. You move closer anyway — not touching, not brushing — just less far. He exhales, shaky but grateful.
You stop in front of your temporary hotel. The sign glows weakly, the entrance small and modest. Ness shifts Anja carefully, brushing a soft curl from her forehead. “Here we are,” you say quietly. He nods. “Thank you for walking us.”,
“It wasn’t—” His voice cracks. “—a problem. It was… perfect.” You look away. He steps forward, gently offering Anja to you. But before you can take her—She grips his jacket tighter. And refuses. She shakes her head, burying her face into the crook of his neck. “Anja,” you murmur, reaching again. She only clings harder. “No.” A tiny whisper. Her soft baby voice muffled in his shoulder. Ness freezes. Completely. You can see the moment his heart breaks and heals at the same time. He smiles — a trembling, helpless, emotional smile — his eyes wet. “She… wants to stay with me.”,
“She’s just confused,” you try. But even you don’t believe it. He shakes his head slowly. “No. She knows me.” He presses his cheek to her hair. “She knows me.” Anja lifts her head, tiny hands cupping his cheeks as if she’s trying to understand why he sounds sad. He laughs a little, breathless, shaking. Then whispers to her: “Es ist okay, kleiner Zauberer… ich bleibe…” It’s okay, little sorcerer… I’m staying. She still doesn’t understand the words. But she understands him. Her small hands slide around his neck again. Tight. Trusting. Refusing to let go. You feel something deep inside you fracture. A quiet, painful realization: She recognizes him. Not from memory. Not from faces you’ve shown her. From something deeper. Something made before birth. Something magic. Ness looks at you, tears on his lashes. “Let me stay,” he whispers. Your breath catches. “Just for a moment longer. Please. And in that fragile, broken, miraculous moment— You nod. Slowly. Softly. He exhales like he’s been drowning for years. And holds his daughter closer.
You hesitate when he asks to stay. But Anja is still clinging to him. Arms around his neck, cheek pressed against his shoulder, breathing softly like he’s her safe place. It’s impossible to peel her away without breaking all three of you. So you nod. And Ness looks like you gave him oxygen. He follows you into the hotel room, footsteps quiet, holding Anja securely. The door closes behind him with a soft click. And suddenly—The room is too small. Too quiet. Too full of him. You keep your eyes on Anja. You don’t dare meet his.
You expected him to sit stiffly in a chair. To keep distance. To pretend to be “just a visitor.” But he doesn’t. He follows Anja like gravity. She waddles around the hotel room, exploring the corners, pointing at lamps, blankets, the sliding closet door. Every time she turns, Ness follows. Soft steps. Gentle hands hovering near her back. Eyes watching her every movement like he’s trying to memorize her entire existence. At one point, she grabs his finger. Just like earlier. He freezes—momentarily stunned—then smiles with tears threatening. “Do you like holding my hand?” he whispers. She nods. He chokes a little.
She shows him her bunny plush. Ness kneels on the carpet, letting her shove the toy into his face. “Oh— hallo,” he says seriously to the bunny. “Are you her bodyguard?” Anja giggles. Ness pretends to gasp. “Really? You let me be in your circle of trust? I’m honored.” Your heart twists painfully. She plays with his hair. While he’s sitting on the floor, she toddles behind him and touches his magenta-tipped strands. He goes absolutely still. Then—“You like Papa’s hair?” He corrects himself quickly. “—Alexis’ hair?” She hums, fascinated. He laughs softly, brokenly. “She recognizes the color,” he murmurs. “To her… it’s home.” You look away, swallowing a sob. She almost falls. She trips over the blanket. He catches her instantly—hands gentle but firm, drawing her close. “Ganz vorsichtig, Zauberer…” Careful, little sorcerer… She blinks at him, confused. But soothed by the voice. She rests her head on his shoulder again. Ness closes his eyes. And you see it—the way he clings to that tiny moment like it’s holy.
The sun sets. Streetlights glow through thin curtains. Anja rubs her eyes, yawning. You prepare her small travel bed, pulling the blanket up, placing the bunny beside the pillow. Ness stands near the table, frozen, afraid to ask—You break first. “…You can help,” you whisper. His eyes lift slowly. “Really?” You nod. He moves as if he’s approaching a miracle. He kneels by her bed, brushing a curl from her face with the softest touch you’ve ever seen from him. “Gute Nacht, mein kleiner Zauberer…” Good night, my little sorcerer… Her little hand reaches for him. He kisses her forehead. And for a moment—you see the father he would’ve been from the start. The father he should’ve had the chance to be. Your chest aches. He stands only when she’s fully asleep. He turns to you.
You step away reflexively. He notices. Of course he notices.
His face falls—just a small twitch, barely visible—but enough to tear at your heart. He takes a slow step forward. “…Can we talk?” His voice is low. Careful. Desperate in a way he’s trying to hide. You retreat half a step. Ness stops. His breathing stumbles. “Please,” he whispers. “You don’t have to run from me.”,
“I’m not running.”,
“You are.” He tries to smile. It breaks halfway. “You took a step back.” You look down. “I don’t know how to do this,” you admit, voice trembling. “I don’t know how to be near you without— without hurting both of us again.” He flinches. Then takes another small step toward you. “Then hurt me,” he whispers. “I don’t care.” Your eyes widen. His voice cracks completely. “I’ll take every wound again if it means I can stand close to you. If it means I can see her. If it means I can hear you say my name again.” You clutch the back of a chair, breath shaking. “Alexis…”,
“You think I’m afraid of pain?” He laughs—but it’s sad, broken. “I lived three years without the family I didn't know I had. That’s pain.” You swallow hard. He steps close enough that you feel his breath—but not touching. He respects your distance even when it kills him. “Just talk to me,” he pleads softly. “Look at me. Let me understand what you’re thinking. Don’t shut me out. Please.” You shake your head. “It’s too much.”, “I’m too much,” he corrects bitterly. “I always have been.” Your eyes burn. “No,” you whisper. “That’s not what I meant.”,
“Then why won’t you let me closer?” He’s shaking. Actually shaking. Tears cling to his lashes. “I can’t lose you again,” he whispers. “I can’t lose her. Let me try… please.” His voice drops to a broken plea. “Tell me what to do. Tell me how close I’m allowed. Tell me how slow to go. I’ll do anything. Just… don’t push me away.” Your lips part—But no words come out. And the silence breaks him. Just a little. Enough to show in his eyes. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t touch you. He just stands there, voice trembling: “I’m not asking you to love me back.” He swallows hard. “Not yet. Not today.” Another breath. Soft. Barely holding together. “I’m just asking you not to disappear before I get the chance to try.”
His voice is barely a whisper. “Please talk to me.” You swallow hard. Your heart is pounding so loudly you’re sure he can hear it. He takes another small step—close enough that the warmth of his body reaches you. But he still doesn’t touch. His restraint hurts almost more than if he had. You look down, fingers twisting nervously. “I don’t know how to do this,” you murmur. “I don’t know how to face you without feeling like I’m drowning.” His breath catches. “You think I don’t feel that too?” His voice trembles. “I’ve been drowning for years without you.” Your chest tightens painfully. “I didn’t tell you about her—” He flinches, tears jumping to his lashes again. “—because I didn’t want to break you”,
“And you did,” he whispers. “But I still want you.” You close your eyes. He shakes his head. “I’m not angry,” he says softly. “I was… but not at you. At myself. For losing you. For letting you walk away. For not being enough to keep you then.” Your eyes fly open. “Alexis— you were always enough.” He looks at you sharply, hope flickering in his broken expression. “Then why did you leave me alone with nothing?” His voice cracks. “I would’ve held you through everything. I would’ve changed my entire world for you. You know that.” You look away, tears burning. “I was scared.”,
“So was I,” he says hoarsely. “But I still wanted you.” You take a shaking breath.
“I didn’t know if loving you was enough.”
“I didn’t know if you’d choose me over soccer.”
“I didn’t know if you would stay.”
“I would have,” he says immediately.
“I would have chosen you. I would have chosen her. Every time.”
You shake your head. “You can’t say that now.”
“I can,” he argues softly. “Because I’ve never stopped loving you.”
Your heart stops. You stare at him—truly stare. His cheeks are flushed, eyes glassy, lips parted, chest rising and falling too fast. He looks destroyed. Loved. Lost. And hopeful. Hopelessly hopeful. “I didn’t stop,” he repeats, almost choking on it. “Not once. Not in three years. Not even when I thought you hated me.” Your eyes fill with tears. You look away—too overwhelmed, too scared, too full of emotion to speak. “Hey,” he whispers, gently tilting his head, trying to catch your gaze. “Look at me… please.” You don’t. Your throat tightens, your eyes blur, and suddenly—Something breaks. A sob rips out of you so abruptly you slap a hand over your mouth. Ness startles—eyes widening, breath hitching. Then—He moves. Slowly at first, testing your reaction.
Then without hesitation when he sees you crumpling. He steps forward—And you are in his arms before you can protest. His embrace is tight—desperate—shaking. His hands cradle your back and your waist, pulling you flush against his chest as if the fear inside him has escaped and taken over. You gasp at the sudden contact. He buries his face in your neck. His breath stutters. You feel his tears on your skin. “Let me hold you,” he whispers, voice trembling uncontrollably. “Please… I need to hold you. Don’t pull away. Not now. Not tonight.” You don’t. Because you can’t. Your sobs break loose completely, your body shaking against his. You feel small. Raw. Unraveled. “Hush… hush…” he whispers, rocking you slightly without thinking. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you. I’m right here.” Your fists clutch his jacket, knuckles white. He tightens the embrace—strong arms wrapping around you like a shield. “Don’t apologize,” he whispers into your hair. “Don’t explain. Just… let me be here.” His voice is shattered. “I’ve wanted to hold you for three years.” You cry harder, collapsing into him. He clings tighter, as if terrified you’ll slip through his fingers.
At one point, his knees nearly give out and he sinks to the floor with you still in his arms, pulling you into his lap. You end up sitting between his legs, your forehead on his shoulder, his arms completely surrounding you. He doesn’t let go. He can’t. His tears fall into your hair. “You can hate me,” he whispers. “You can leave again. You can keep your distance. I’ll take anything. But let me have this moment. Please.” You shake your head, gripping him tighter. “I don’t hate you,” you choke out. “I never did.” He breathes out—sharp, broken. His hand slides up to cup the back of your head, holding you to him like you’re the last piece he has left. “Please…” His voice is barely a whisper now. “Please don’t disappear again.” You sob into his neck. He sobs into your hair. And for the first time in three long, painful years—You break together. And he clings to you like you’re the last miracle he’ll ever get.
You don’t remember falling asleep. One moment you were crying—collapsed in the arms of the only man who has ever truly broken you,and the only man who ever truly loved you—and the next… Nothing. Just heavy, exhausted darkness that swallowed three years of fear in one breath. Your cheek rests against his shoulder. Your body curled against his. Your fingers tangled in his jacket like you’re afraid of letting go. But you don’t know any of this. Because you’re finally asleep—not the brittle sleep you’ve known for years, but something deeper, warmer, safer. For the first time in three years… Someone is holding you. And Ness refuses to blink.
He stays perfectly still, back pressed to the wall, legs half-numb, arms aching—But he won’t move. Not an inch. His chest rises in small, uneven breaths. His eyes trace your sleeping face with reverence so raw it’s almost painful. The tears dried on his cheeks long ago, but the emotion never left his eyes. He whispers things you can’t hear: “Du bist hier…” You’re here… “You’re real… please stay real…” Every few minutes his gaze flickers to Anja—small, peaceful, asleep with her bunny tucked under her chin. He stares at her so long his eyes grow wet again. “That’s my daughter,” he breathes to himself, voice shaking. “My little Zauberer… and you’re here… both of you…” He still can’t believe it. He touches your hair gently—barely brushing it, terrified he’ll wake you—then immediately pulls his hand back, chest trembling. He whispers: “I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve you. But please… let me try.”
Your breathing stays soft, steady, warm against his neck. He forces himself to exhale, to gather the courage to shift. He slides one arm under your knees, the other around your back, lifting you slowly, carefully, as if you’re made of thin glass. Your head lolls against his shoulder. He freezes. But you don’t wake. He stands, cradling you gently, his heart pounding so hard he feels dizzy. He carries you across the dim hotel room—the soft hum of streetlights outside, the hush of the heater, Anja’s tiny breaths filling the quiet. He sets you down on the bed. He should leave. He knows he should. He planned to. He planned to lay you down, cover you with the blanket, check on Anja one more time… and then disappear into the hallway before morning could make things harder. He stands there for a moment, staring at you. Your eyelashes still wet. Your lips parted slightly as you breathe. Your hand limp on the blanket. He whispers: “I’m glad you slept. You’ve carried too much alone.” His voice wavers. “I’ll go now. I’ll let you rest. I don’t want to push. I don’t want to scare you away.”
He turns away. Planning on walking to the door. And then—fabric tugs. A soft, tiny tug. He freezes. Looks down. Your fingers—even in your sleep—are clutching the sleeve of his shirt. As if your body refuses to let him go. As if your unconscious heart grabbed him before your waking brain could stop it. His breath stutters. He turns slowly, gently, terrified of waking you. Your hand tightens. Just slightly. Like instinct. Like memory. Like three years of longing you never said aloud. Ness’s knees almost give out. He kneels beside the bed, your fingers still clutching him. His voice breaks into a whisper made of awe and pain. “You… don’t want me to leave.”
Not a question. A realization. He lifts your hand with trembling fingers, presses it to his cheek, and lets out a quiet, shaking laugh. “I thought I was imagining everything today,” he whispers. “But even in your sleep… you’re holding on to me.” He leans his forehead to the edge of the mattress, eyes stinging. “I won’t go. Not if you need me. Not if she needs me. Not if your heart doesn’t want to let go.” He slides his hand under yours, intertwining your fingers. Then, so quietly he almost doesn’t breathe the words— “I’ve missed you every night. Every morning. Every heartbeat.” He shifts carefully, easing himself onto the floor beside you—not touching, not crowding, just close enough that your hand remains in his. He watches you for a long time. Then he whispers into the darkness: “I’ll stay. As long as you let me.”
© an1m320v3r
Part 2? Coming possibly.
•Masterlist•
