//COMING SOON// ✶ IN YOUR STORY (series) - Loki in the TVA recounts the times in his life where he disappoints the one person in his life who he’s ever loved
BOB REYNOLDS (MCU)
✶ NIGHT SHIFT (series) - Bob is pushing her away and she doesn’t know why. She takes solace with his other part, during late nights when the quiet becomes too much for her to handle.
HARRY STYLES
✶ WISH I WERE (series) - after Harry kisses reader, she watches him mesmerized as his ex walks by
Tags: ANGST, GUN VIOLENCE, Superman/Clark Kent x Reader, Metahuman!Reader, Hurt/No Comfort, Established Relationship, Jimmy Knows Clark Is Superman, Lois Knows Clark Is Superman, Healing/Regeneration, Body Horror (Injury Transference) Jealousy / Love Triangle (Clark x Lois), Emotional Trauma, Protective!Clark, Jimmy is A Good Friend, Emotional Cheating Maybe
In a city of heroes, some sacrifices are invisible. You can heal anything—but at a cost no one suspects. When a gala turns deadly, you must decide how far you’ll go to save the people you love, even when it breaks your heart. Clark thought he knew you. He was wrong.
You tried again, breath shaking. “Clark. I'm serious. I’ve never healed—like this,” you said, voice thin. “Through the chest. I’d never—this could kill me—”
“I don’t care!” he snapped, louder than you’d ever heard him. “Just fix her! Please, please, I can’t— I can’t lose her—"
wc 5k
Wrote this all in one go, this was just one of the metahuman angst I thought about 😩 oops sorry
.
You were eight the first time you learned what pain could do when you touched it.
It was a July afternoon that smelled like hot asphalt and orange popsicles. The neighborhood kids were racing their bikes down the hill, and you remember thinking the world was endless—until your neighbor’s son Tommy hit a rock and went flying. There was a sound that didn’t belong in summer: metal twisting, a cry that tore through the cicadas. You were already running before you realized what you were doing.
He was on the ground, his knee sliced like a peach, blood pooling dark and fast, and his wrist angled in a way that made grown-ups panic. You didn’t think. You just pressed your hands on his injuries and whispered please, please, don’t cry. It’ll be okay.
It worked.
The skin knitted, the bleeding stopped, joint straightened, swelling ceased—and then your own scream broke the air. The pain slammed into you like a wave. Your vision went white. When you woke up, your knee was bandaged, your wrist was in a make-shift sling, and Tommy was fine, blinking at you like nothing had happened.
That night your mother sat on the edge of your bed, eyes red from crying.
“You can’t let people see how far you can fix them,” she whispered, voice trembling. “You’ll scare them.”
You learned to smile through the pain after that. You learned to hold steady even when it burned. You learned that people liked their miracles clean — painless, neat, without cost.
You practiced when no one was watching—small cuts on your own skin, bruises taken from stray cats and scraped knees. You learned the pattern of it: pain first, then the warmth of closing flesh and mending muscle, then exhaustion that sank into your bones. Only the deeper wounds left marks, faint silver ghosts that lingered after healing.
You were able to hone the process to just mere miraculous minutes.
Despite the short-term pain, you started dressing modestly—long sleeves, high collar, pants even in the summer—to keep others from noticing the evidence. People called you polite, shy, gentle. They didn’t see the way you clenched your jaw when you helped them up after a fall, or how you’d retreat somewhere quiet to breathe through someone else’s pain for just a few moments.
You told yourself it was a gift. You told yourself it meant something—that maybe if it hurt this much, it had to matter.
You never imagined that someday, someone would ask you to use it for the one wound that could break you completely.
.
Years later, you were a name on a registry—filed neatly under Metahuman, Type C: Healer.
Officially, you were part of LordTech’s Collaborative Medic Initiative, a glorified way of saying “human first aid kit with paperwork.” The Justice Gang had been your assigned team for an indefinite period of time. You were allowed to call Metropolis home —its skyline of steel and sunlight, its endless pulse.
You didn’t mind. There was something about this city that felt like forward motion. You had a small apartment with thin walls and a view of the train. You had a modest salary, a LordTech badge, and a second job you actually looked forward to starting: copy editor at The Daily Planet. Between the two, you figured you could build a life here—quiet, purposeful, almost normal.
Almost.
That afternoon’s mission had gone as smoothly as any “routine” alien tech containment could. The Justice Gang returned bruised and winded, except for one new piece—Superman. You hadn’t met him yet, though you’d patched up everyone else at least once. You weren’t sure what to expect.
“There’s our girl!” Rex Mason—Element Man—called as soon as you entered the hall, flopping onto a plush chaise. His arm oozed a faint shimmer of copper and mercury. “How good are you at treating Guy’s bruised pride?”
“I didn’t bruise shit,” Guy Gardner snapped, cradling his wrist, jaw tight. “Except maybe that robot.”
Kendra Saunders—Hawkgirl—let out a tired laugh as she leaned her mace against the wall. “You tried to punch a tank, dude. Look where that got you.”
The sweat sliding down Guy’s temple made him look less like a soldier and more like a stubborn kid caught in a lie. He finally turned to you. “Just fix this so I don’t get benched.”
You had grown to loathe that phrase. Fix it. As if you were an appliance, a thing that hummed and healed on command.
You knelt beside him, inspecting the swelling along his forearm. “You want me to ‘fix’ it,” you asked softly, “or actually heal it?”
He blinked. “Difference being?”
You smiled faintly. “The intentions.”
He groaned something unintelligible, but he didn’t pull away when your hands hovered over the break. The warmth flickered through you, the fracture crawling into your own bones before smoothing under your skin. By the time Guy flexed his wrist, your knuckles ached and your fingers trembled, but as your body repaired yourself you hid it well. You always did.
“Better?” you asked.
“You… actually did it,” Guy said, eyes flicking from his healed wrist to your calm face. “Didn’t even flinch. That’s badass.”
"That’s what they hired me for.”
When the others dispersed, the room quieted. You were cleaning up unused gauze when you heard a deep voice from behind you.
“You okay?”
You turned.
Superman stood there—taller than you expected, broader too. His voice was steady but softer than the headlines made it sound, carrying warmth that startled you. His cape hung behind him, a faint smudge of dirt along his jaw the only sign of a fight.
He looked at you, not with the distant awe you were used to seeing in past heroes, but something quieter. Concern, maybe. Empathy.
You hesitated, unsure how to respond. People usually asked how bad it was, or if you could fix them next. No one had ever just… asked you.
You gave him a practiced smile and your usual cover. “Most wounds just take energy out of me. Should be good in a few minutes! Which is good for me—I don’t want to show up to my first day at work tomorrow already slacking.”
It wasn’t an entire lie. Superman seemed to move past the excuse you made up for your powers.
“Work?” His brow furrowed slightly. “You mean LordTech?”
“The Daily Planet, actually. Copy editor.”
His expression softened, almost boyish. He offered a small smile that made something unfamiliar flutter behind your ribs. “Good luck tomorrow.”
.
That night, your apartment smelled like cardboard and takeout. You were halfway through unpacking a box labeled kitchen stuff, probably? when a knock came at your door.
Standing there was a tall man with curly hair, glasses slipping down his nose, and an awkward smile that made him look harmless in the most deliberate way. He held a small potted plant like a peace offering.
“Uh—hi,” you said, confused. “Neighbor?”
“Not exactly.” He shifted the plant between his hands before handing it out to you. “Thought I should introduce myself properly. I’m Clark Kent.”
You blinked as you cradled the new bloom in your arms. I have heard of that name before, reputable, honest. “Hi, Clark. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Actually, we’ve met before,” he said with a sheepish grin. “I got your address from Kendra.”
Your breath hitched. There was only one Kendra you knew, and while you pieced it together, Clark continued. “I figured I should get ahead of the surprise. I’m a reporter for the Daily Planet, too. We’ll be seeing each other a lot at and outside of work, I feel.”
He looked at you expectantly, his blue eyes piercing through you. For a moment, you forgot how to breathe.
“Well, Superman,” you managed in a soft voice, smiling despite yourself, “I’m glad to know a familiar face at work.”
He looked just as relieved. “Likewise.”
.
It didn’t take long for your orbits to start closing in.
Clark introduced you to Lois Lane and Jimmy Olsen on your first day. His tone was casual, but his smile was too wide to ignore. They were two whirlwinds of brilliance and chaos who made the newsroom feel alive.
Lois shook your hand without question and immediately made you laugh; Jimmy showed you the fastest way to break a copy machine and fix it again; Perry barked something about deadlines in the background like a father who secretly worried too much.
They welcomed you in so quickly, so freely.
Lois took you out for drinks the first week and made sure everyone at the Planet knew you were off-limits to office jerks. You liked her instantly — a force of nature that was sharp, funny, and impossible to intimidate. She teased Clark relentlessly until he blushed. It hurt a little more when you noticed how Clark looked at her when she wasn’t looking.
It wasn’t lust. It was tenderness. Familiarity. History. That quiet ache that belonged to people who’ve already said goodbye once.
Jimmy caught you staring once during a late edit and smirked. “You noticed it too, huh?”
“Noticed what?” you deflected.
“The thing,” he said, gesturing vaguely between Clark and Lois, who were bickering shoulder to shoulder over phrasing, pointing comically at Clark’s monitor. “They’ve got that… tragic exes who still text energy.”
You laughed, though it came out strangled. “They’re just good friends.”
Jimmy raised a brow, “Whatever you say.”
You tried to believe in yourself instead. You pretended that watching them didn’t sting in your chest. Even though it did.
Still, there was no denying the pull between you and him.
It wasn’t some grand, sudden thing; it crept in like sunlight through a cracked window. Late nights at the Planet editing side by side, shoulders almost touching, your laughter muffled between the hum of printers and Clark’s habit of reading every line out loud before you approved it. He’d lean over your screen, glasses slipping, voice low as if the words themselves might shatter if spoken too loud.
Lunches became coffee breaks, coffee breaks turned into dinner because neither of you wanted the conversation to end. He listened the way most people didn’t — not just waiting for his turn to speak, but really hearing you. Sometimes he’d bring you snacks from vendors you’d never tried, or a thermos of tea because he’d noticed you never finished your coffee. Small things, but they stacked up quietly into something whole.
He started showing up more often at the Hall of Justice after the Gang’s long missions. He never asked for anything except “How are you doing?” and “How’s your energy holding up?”
He always placed a warm hand on your shoulder and with a smile, “You did good.”
And you’d always say, “You too.”
It still caught you off guard, how gentle he could be even when covered in soot and sweat.
Superman was invincible — but Clark, Clark carried softness like armor.
And maybe that’s why it scared you, the way his eyes always found yours in a crowded room, how he’d grin when you rolled your eyes at Guy’s ramblings, how he’d offer his hand like he wasn’t sure you’d take it but hoped you would.
You started seeing patterns: the way his cape brushed your shoulder during field briefings, the way he’d drop his voice to say your name like a secret. Every day, the orbit tightened a little more.
You thought about sharing the true nature of your powers with him. That every healing came at a cost. The deeper the wound, the longer it took for you to crawl back to yourself. That there were limits, and you’d never dared test them, not yet.
But you didn’t.
You didn't want to scare him.
Eventually, friendship blurred into something deeper — slow, inevitable, tender.
The first time he kissed you, it wasn’t fireworks; it was relief. Like two people who’d been holding their breath too long finally remembered how to exhale.
He told you he’d never met anyone who made him feel so human. You told him you weren’t sure you remembered what “human” even meant anymore. He smiled, hugged you close to his chest, and said you could figure it out together.
You let him in.
You let yourself believe that love didn’t have to hurt to matter. That maybe you could hold something fragile without breaking it — or being the one broken by it.
.
The Metropolis Art Museum gleamed like something carved from light. The city’s elite crowded its marble atrium in black suits and glittering gowns, champagne flutes catching the reflection of chandelier stars. You had never felt so aware of your own heartbeat.
Perry White, in his rare generous mood, had managed to secure you a press badge despite your title being copy editor. “Consider it a morale booster,” he’d said, which you suspected really meant, We’re short-staffed and you clean up everyone’s typos.
Jimmy, Lois, and Clark were here officially: camera, notepad, and recorder in hand. You were just trying to look like you belonged.
Your dress was simple but elegant—dark navy, gloves up to your elbows, hair swept back. You caught Clark’s expression when you walked in, his eyes going wide for just a moment before he ducked his head with a blush and straightened his tie. It was enough to send a small, dangerous warmth through you.
Clarak leaned in, whispering as he brushed his lips to your temple, “You look beautiful, honey.”
You laughed, hooking an arm through his, and picked imaginary lint off his red tie. “You look pretty sharp yourself, handsome.”
“Well, you both are showing us up tonight!” Jimmy chimed in from your side, adjusting his camera bag.
“You’re wearing sneakers,” you laughed. He grinned back, unbothered.
It was easy with Jimmy—like a brother who saw everything but never judged. He, like Lois, knew what you were. That you could heal others. Neither asked questions they didn’t need to, which you appreciated. You weren’t sure what they thought of you and Clark, though Lois had a way of smiling that made you feel like she knew exactly how far things had gone.
And beneath all the laughter and banter, that quiet history between her and Clark hummed like a radio left on low volume.
.
Later, you found yourself shoulder to shoulder with Clark before The Life Line by Winslow Homer, tucked away in the Nineteenth Century American Art wing.
A storm-tossed sea consumed the canvas: a man clutching an unconscious woman, both suspended on a rescue line above furious waves. Her face half-shrouded by the red blanket he held around her, his own face obscured entirely by her weight and the spray of the sea.
Clark’s voice was quiet beside you. “Homer painted this after a real rescue off the Jersey coast,” he said. “He was fascinated by people at their breaking points. By… what we’re willing to risk for someone else.”
You tilted your head, gloved fingers resting at your chin as your eyes traced the ropes cutting across the frame. “It’s strange,” you murmured. “The man’s saving her life, but he’s… faceless. The hero disappears.”
Clark hummed, thoughtful. “Maybe that’s the point,” he said, the glass of his lenses catching the reflected light. “Sacrifice isn’t about being seen.”
You studied the canvas again, heart tightening. “Do you think the man made it?”
“I’d like to think so.”
You wondered what kind of person Clark was if the sea came for him. Would he reach for you, too?
“And her?” you asked softly.
He turned to look at you then—eyes catching the painting’s dim gold light. His mouth parted like he might answer, but Jimmy’s voice came echoing from down the hall, calling you both to join the others.
The moment dissolved.
.
The night bloomed with laughter and light until it didn’t.
The gunmen burst in without warning—four of them, ski masks and rifles.
“Everyone on the ground!” a deep voice barked.
They shouted for phones, wallets, and jewelry after that. Panic tore through the crowd like lightning. You dropped low, your mind snapping to triage mode as the elite of Metropolis huddled together on the floor, trembling, whispering.
Clark was tense beside you. You could feel it in the air, that shift in him like a storm about to break. His eyes darted, calculating exits, counting threats, but there were too many civilians, too many guns, too many eyes.
Superman wanted out. Clark Kent couldn’t leave.
Your pulse hammered in your throat. You glimpse the way one of the gunmen moved, saw the tremor in their hands. Untrained. Amatures. Even more dangerous.
“Clark,” you hissed, low. “What are we going to do? We can’t–”
He exhaled through his nose, the marble beneath his hand cracking under pressure, “I know, I know–”
The gunmen moved methodically, their voices shaking but determined as they robbed guest after guest.
You could see Clark’s jaw tightening with every second.
Lois was near the front, standing protectively in front of an elderly couple who could barely move. You wanted to tell her to stop drawing attention—wanted to reach her— but then one of the gunmen shoved the elderly woman.
“Hey!” she shouted, stepping out before more damage could be done. “Leave them alone!”
“Lois, don’t—” Clark surged forward, trying to reach for her across the room.
“I–I said everyone on the ground!”
The gunfire cracked the air.
For a second, the world blurred. You didn’t hear the screams or Jimmy’s shout. All you heard was Clark’s voice, raw and desperate.
“Lois!”
She stumbled back, shock in her eyes, hands pressed to her the side of her chest as red bloomed through her dress. The gunmen bolted. The guests scattered in every direction, their panic deafening.
Clark was at Lois’s side before anyone else could move. You followed, pulse hammering, knees hitting the marble beside them. Jimmy’s voice was somewhere behind you, trying to help keep the guests calm, to prevent a stampede.
“Lois—hey, Lois—stay with me,” Clark begged, one hand pressed to the wound, the other trembling. The blood was spreading too fast.
“Clark, baby, you need to get out of here.”
He shook his head violently, his mop of curly hair damp with sweat, “I can’t—too many eyes.”
He looked at you then, eyes frantic behind his glasses, desperation raw in his voice. “Honey, I— I need you! You have to save her— You can save her.”
You froze. “Clark—”
“You can do it. I've seen you.”
You felt your chest heave from panic.
“I’ve never healed—like this,” you stammered, voice thin.
He clutched Lois’s face like he could will her to stay awake. “Fix her!"
It wasn’t Superman’s voice. It was something raw, human, terrified. He was shaking, begging now, tears streaming down his face, his glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose. “She’s not breathing— Lois, hey, hey—”
You tried again, breath shaking. “Clark. I'm serious. Through the chest. I’d never—this could kill me—”
“I don’t care!” he snapped, louder than you’d ever heard him. “Just fix her! Please, please, I can’t— I can’t lose her—”
The words shattered something inside you.
He didn’t even realize what he’d said, didn’t realize how it sounded. But you did.
All his love, all his desperate need—was for her. Not like before, not the lingering fondness you’d tried to ignore. This was the kind of fear that only comes from loving someone so much the world stops when they fall.
And suddenly, the painting came back to you: The Life Line. The man clinging to the woman as the storm swallowed them whole, alive and desperate along the rescue line.
“Do you think the man made it?”
“I’d like to think so.”
“And her?”
You swallowed hard, eyes burning, and nodded.
“Jimmy,” you called as you stared down at the wound, voice low but firm, “go outside. Flag down the EMS. Tell them we’ve stabilized her, but we need a stretcher and backup. Bring them here. I’ll make sure she'll be okay until then.”
Jimmy blinked, startled, then nodded, his face pale. “Got it!” He bolted toward the doors, phone already at his ear, pushing through the panicked crowd.
One less witness.
You tossed your gloves aside and nudged Clark’s bloodied palms away with trembling hands. You pressed your trembling hands over Lois’s chest and glanced at her face only once. She was impossibly quiet, her eyes losing shine and focus.
“C’mon, Lois. I got you.”
Heat flared instantly — that sickly surge of power clawing through you, dragging her pain into your body. Your chest and ribs burned, bones creaking under invisible weight. You could taste iron as every nerve ignited with agony.
The echo of the sirens sounded impossibly far away.
She gasped loudly then — a full breath flooding back into her lungs as she coughed wet and ragged — just as you swallowed your scream.
You quickly pressed your hand over your chest where the phantom gunshot started to bloom between your ribs. You were shaking and blinking owlishly, watching them.
Clark was rocking Lois in his arms, murmuring her name, trembling with relief as color began to return to her face. Her eyes darted wildly, her hands trembling as she clutched Clark’s shirt.
“Clark?” she whispered weakly. “What… what happened?”
They were whispering now. Clark soothing, brushing her hair from her face like he brushed yours, a relieved, devastating smile on his face.
You did it. You healed her.
“You did good,” you told yourself under your breath, but your voice broke.
No one was whispering your name. No one was worrying about you.
Their attention never broke. Not when you placed one palm on the marble floor to stand up and slid against the red. Not when your knees wobbled.
Clark’s eyes stayed on Lois like she was the only person left in the room.
Your palm remained pressed to your chest, but the wound kept blooming, warm and slick beneath your fingers. You stepped back once, twice—testing—waiting for someone to notice.
No one did.
The marble floor seemed to tilt under you. The echo of your heels was lost beneath the low sound of Clark’s voice as his forehead pressed to Lois's. Her trembling hand rose to hold his hand, and he let her.
The sight cut deeper than the pain underneath your hands.
You took another step back, the hem of your dress brushing against broken glass.
Still, their world stayed sealed around them— his hands on her face, his voice promising her she was safe.
You turned, slow and quiet, like an animal trying not to draw attention. Your hand caught the doorframe for balance as you slipped into the deserted hallway. Blood dotted the marble behind you like a breadcrumb trail, but nobody looked up.
Nobody called after you.
.
You didn’t remember crossing the gallery, only the cool marble under your fingers as you stumbled into a side corridor. The noise of the museum—sirens, shouting, the echo of boots—faded behind you like a radio turned down.
The single-occupancy restroom at the end of the hall was mercifully empty. You slipped inside, careful to drag your hem so it caught the worst of the blood before it hit the tile. The door swung shut behind you.
The mirror greeted you first.
A stranger stared back—eyes glassy, dark navy dress soaked, skin ash-pale beneath the harsh fluorescent light. The bullet wound you’d pulled from Lois was a ragged bloom over your ribs, seeping through your fingers. Each heartbeat pushed a warm pulse against your palm.
You pressed harder. “Stop,” you whispered—not to the blood, but to the memories.
Clark’s voice, hoarse and desperate, still rang in your head.
I don’t care! Just fix her!
I can't lose her.
Lois’s hand on his face. His forehead against hers.
The look he hadn’t given you.
Your knees gave out and you slid down the door until the tile met your back. Cold. Hard. Steady.
You worked by muscle memory—one hand bracing your ribs, the other clutching the sink as you forced your breathing to slow. The healing would come, you told yourself. It always did. Though it came slower with big wounds.
Slower still with a broken heart.
But you've never had a wound like this.
The pain was a tide. It licked up your spine, pulled at your lungs, filled your head with white noise. You bit your lip until you tasted copper to keep from crying out. You didn’t want to scare anyone. You didn’t want to draw them here.
Blood trickled between your fingers, down your arm, spattering onto the tile.
The edges of the room wavered. You could almost see the Winslow Homer painting on the bathroom wall instead of the mirror—red blanket, storm-slick rope, a woman carried by a faceless man.
You pressed your head back and laughed once, a small sound, broken in the middle.
Your hands shook. Your lips went numb. Still, you stayed quiet, curling in on yourself like a wounded animal. If you could just ride the tide long enough, your body would stitch itself back together. God, you hoped.
Then a voice cracked through the silence. “Oh my God—”
You blinked up, disoriented, as the door flew open. Jimmy filled the doorway, wild-eyed, the press badge crooked at his throat. He froze when he saw you on the floor.
His hands trembled as hand hovered over your shoulder. “I was looking for—You’re—bleeding, how?! Jesus fucking—!” He spun toward the hall, voice rising. “Clark! She’s—”
You clutched his sleeve weakly. “Don’t, please don’t,” you rasped, though your voice sounded like it came from the end of a long tunnel. “Lois needs him. I’ll be fine, just…gimme a minute.”
Jimmy’s eyes snapped back to your face, furious and panicked as he pressed trembling hands against yours. “I don’t think we have a minute! God, how are you even—” His hands hovered, not sure where to press. “Clark!”
Your head lolled to the side, “Jimmy, shhh, I’ll be—just wait,” you whispered. “Clark told me… to save her. Lois is alive. Fixed. That’s all that matters.”
Jimmy’s grip slipped on your blood. “No, no, shit,” he muttered, pressing his hand over yours again as if he could hold you together. “This isn’t fine, this isn’t—I thought you could heal—Clark! Where the hell are you?”
.
A few agonizing seconds later, you heard a familiar stride echo down the hall.
Clark’s voice then filtered through. “Sorry, Jimmy. EMS just arrived—they’re transporting Lois to Metropolis General just to be safe. I was going to meet them there. Police have the—”
He had his eyes down, meticulously rubbing a washcloth between his hands, the towel tinged pink with blood.
He stopped short.
“Jimmy, what the—”
Clark immediately dropped the towel and collapsed to his knees beside you, his hands reaching out for you.
“Hey—hey, no, no, no—” His voice broke apart. “What happened?”
Jimmy’s words tumbled out in a panic as he adjusted his hold on your ribs. “She was fine, I thought she was fine! She told me to flag EMS, said she’d take care of it, you were there, you heard her, and, and—Clark, she’s bleeding out, I think she’s—”
Clark’s eyes flicked from the wound between your ribs to your face, back again. He froze. The realization hit him like a blow. “This—this was Lois’s wound.” His breath stuttered, disbelief hardening into horror. “You—how—how long have you—”
You tried to focus on his face, but the room kept tilting, the edges of his silhouette bending in the light. “Awe, Clark…please don’t… don’t look like that,” you whispered, frowning. “You said—save her. I did.”
Clark didn’t move. His throat worked, breaking around the words, and finally all his attention was locked on you—on the realization that you had taken on a life-threatening injury to save someone else, someone he had —
The room felt impossibly small, suffocating with the weight of your shared secret, the blood, the silence between sirens and shouting. Clark’s eyes searched yours, haunted.
“I didn’t know,” he choked, shaking his head violently. “I didn’t know this is what happens when you heal people. You told me it took energy out of you. Not— not this.”
You shook your head slowly, barely conscious, vision flickering at the edges. “It… scares people,” you murmured. “Even you…”
Clark made a wounded sound, somewhere between a sob and a growl. “I'm so sorry. I forced you to— I—how could I—” He cradled your head with shaking hands. “You shouldn’t have done this. You shouldn’t have had to— I didn’t think—”
“You never do, when it’s her,” you murmured automatically as your eyelids fluttered shut, and tried to focus your energy.
Clark flinched like you’d struck him. Jimmy looked between you, helpless eyes wide with disbelief, the horror settling heavy on his shoulders.
Jimmy then stood and was halfway through the door. “She’s losing consciousness! We need EMS to take her, too!”
Clark’s jaw tightened. “They've already left, won't be fast enough to come back,” he muttered, and Jimmy looked at him sharply, pleading.
“Then fly her out!” Jimmy yelled, voice cracking on the last word. “You’re Superman, for God’s sake—get her out of here!”
The name cut through the air like a confession. You heard a siren's wail diminish with distance.
You blinked, barely conscious, watching him war with himself—the hero and the man both frozen. “Clark,” you breathed. “Go. Lois needs—”
“No,” he said instantly, voice sharp, raw. “Don’t—don't say it. I’m not—” His words collapsed under their own weight. “I’m here. I'm here.”
You wanted to tell him it was fine if he left. That you understood. That you’d live. That it would just take time. But your lips barely moved, and all that came out was a whimper.
He leaned closer, voice trembling. “You saved her. But you—” His hand cupped your face, thumb brushing your jaw. “You should’ve told me. I would’ve—I would’ve never asked. I swear I would’ve—”
You managed to shake your head, “I did tell you…you said you didn’t care,” you whispered.
Clark froze, eyes wide, pupils blown, every color draining from his face. His hands shook as they hovered over your shoulders, unsure whether to cradle you or hold you back.
His hands fumbled at your bloodied hands, trying to find some small comfort, some way to make it right, but he was paralyzed by guilt, horror, and the raw reality of your sacrifice. His chest heaved, and he muttered broken apologies over and over, unable to stop, unable to look away from what he had forced you to do.
“I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.”
“You… you wouldn’t have forgiven yourself if Lois… I just couldn’t let you ever feel that way. Clark, I love you so much.”
The words cost you everything, but you meant them.
You could hear Jimmy shouting for the medics from the hall.
The roar of the sea, like a siren, was in your ears, getting louder, pulling you under.
Your last thought was of the painting swaying in its frame — the man and the woman, the storm, the rope that bound them both to salvation.
You finally understood what your mother meant, long ago, when she warned you not to let anyone see how far you could fix them.
Bob Reynolds / The Void x reader
Bob is pushing her away and she takes solace with his other part, during late nights when the quiet becomes too much for her to handle.
cw: angst, depressive thoughts, hurt/comfort, comfort from the void, the void is definitely ooc, bob breaking reader's heart, unrequited love
wc: 3,660
a/n: coming out of years of hibernation for this man. this is my first time writing for bob and I'm honestly excited to get back into it :) there will be a pt. 2
New York was always a dream of hers. She wanted to be surrounded by tall buildings, wanting to be engulfed in the noise and wanted to take in the liveliness of it all. Never did she ever think the city could feel so quite.
It wasn’t supposed too, but she feels it. She’s felt it for a while now that she’s lived for a few months now. It was definitely past midnight, that’s all she knows. Looking out to the city from the famous Avengers tower, her brain still can’t wrap itself around it. (It’s like it can’t, because then the realization of the weight of responsibility will simply crush her) But she’s here as one of them, wrapped in a blanket and looking out the large windows down at the city, feeling the quiet. And feeling a heavy weight.
She couldn’t sleep again. It’s been three weeks of nights when her mind was too noisy and everything else around her was too quiet. She didn’t know how else to describe it to Yelena and Ava, other than that she was just tired and having trouble sleeping. Yelena offered her a bottle of sleeping pills, but she realized that her regeneration powers would work against it. So, she resorted to allowing her mind to run as much as it needed to till it was too tired to think. To grow sick of thinking. Thinking about him.
She knew Bob was the reason why she wasn’t able to have a good nights rest for a while. And it’s because she has fallen into the routine of him knocking on her door, crawling into her arms, and falling asleep, entangled till the sun rose. She grew used to his warmth and his weight that comforted her even during the summer heat. His mumbles of ‘thank you’ for letting him in and ‘goodnights’ before he would lay his head on her chest, as well as his hums of content when he’d hear her heartbeat.
Now all that’s left is the lingering smell of him on her sheets and waiting for the same knock on her door that she was so looking forward to.
It wasn’t just the night routine that fell off. She noticed the way he wouldn’t look her in the eyes anymore. He’d still smile and have conversations with her during the day, but they grew shorter, and she realizes she doesn’t see him as much as she used to. Though she started going on missions, training more, and attending events to fill her schedule, Bob always seemed to be on the other side of the room or busy conversing with anyone else but her. It bothered her so much, because after the announcement that her and the team would be the ‘New Avengers’, she’d thought her and Bob’s relationship would grow into something more in the months following.
But nothing. And that’s why she can’t sleep. Because now, she’s thinking of all the possibilities of where it went wrong, what was wrong with her, or if she was just overthinking it. Maybe she was just reading too much into the situation. Maybe whatever they had going on wasn’t as solid as she thought it was. Maybe Bob just didn’t like her anymore.
“You’re up again.” She senses his presence before he speaks, starting to get used to it. “Seems like it.” She retorts, watching the figure standing feets away from her. “You are too.”
“Yes. I can feel your wallowing even when I’m dormant.” The Void moves to sit across her, turning to also look out the window.
She couldn’t explain it yet, but this is her fourth encounter with The Void during one of these sleepless nights. The first time absolutely scared her, only seeing the light in his eyes amidst the darkness of the room at 3 in the morning. She had her hands glowing a light and aimed it at him, in attack mode even though she was radiating healing magic that wouldn’t do anything to him. But the light from her hands showed The Void standing there with his head tilted, recognizing the girl from the time she entered Bob’s mind. The girl who ran up to hug Bob amidst the chaos and whose eyes shined when she reached out to touch The Void afterwards. He told her that Bob fell asleep soundly in his own room and that he himself woke up.
The first encounter ended quickly, with her fast walking back to her room and sulking in there. The second encounter was longer than the first, but she still had her guard up – rightfully so – as she didn’t really know exactly what The Void wanted. They conversed and sat in silence, but she chuckled at how absurd the situation was. In the third encounter, The Void came across her when she was crying.
She quickly wiped off the tears and he didn’t ask her what was wrong. He just sat across from her, where he is now, and said “you don’t have to stop on my account”.
At first, she didn’t know whether to take it seriously or as a joke to lighten the mood. Then she realized who she was with. She gave a small smile, shaking her head. “I was tired of crying anyways.” They sat and talked till the sun rose, and The Void went off into Bob’s room. She went to hers before any of the others came out.
“Do you tell him that I come out some nights?” The Void asks, watching as she adjusts her legs to hug them on the couch. She slowly nods, “I did. I do whenever I can.”
He says nothing and she starts playing with her fingers. “I knocked on his door the night after the first time, wanting to tell him before the day ended. … He wasn’t in there. I knocked on Yelena’s door and there he was… I just said it wasn’t anything to worry about though, reassuring him I was okay.”
Yelena was very concerned and so was Bob. He moved towards her, asking if she was okay, making sure she wasn’t physically or psychologically hurt. But Bob also looked embarrassed, getting caught in Yelena’s room, getting ready to sleep on the pull-out couch she had set up for him, and getting informed that the lowest and most dangerous side of himself is able to come out when he’s asleep and unaware.
But she was insistent that The Void didn’t do anything wrong, that they just talked. She was regretting knocking on her door and seeing him there. She was thankful it wasn’t a long conversation. Yelena said that if she believes The Void wasn’t doing anything malicious and Bob had slept soundly that night, then it should be fine… for now.
“You don’t have any malicious intent, right?” she asked. If the dark figure could smile slyly, she knows she’d be able to see it on him. “No.”
“At least for now?”
“Do you want me to have malicious intent?”
She lets out a small laugh and shakes her head. “No. I believe you.”
She’s smiling but The Void could feel her pain, thinking back to that memory. They sit in another moment of silence, and he watches all the thoughts running through her mind – just like he has before. He knows how this woman feels about his other part; how much she yearns for his attention and how sad she’s gotten because of the way he’s been treating her. Yet here she is, feeling comfortable with the darkest side of him. The Void relishes in it, knowing how she has grown to love Bob for the past few months, and now it seems the feeling extends to every part of him – even what he considers his biggest flaw.
He doesn’t fully know why he’s sitting across from her, however. Why does he choose to spend the nights in her company when he’s finally able to come out of nothingness? Or why was he intrigued by her the second she had laid her glowing hand on him the first time they met. He wanted to ask her why she did that. But he sees a question forming on her face before he does.
“You know everything I’m feeling right now, don’t you?” He nods. “And I know why.” He adds.
“… I know you’re technically… him. You know what he’s thinking and feeling and doing. But I’m not going to ask you anything about how he feels or why he’s doing it – it honestly just won’t feel right because I know he’s an entirely other person than you. But for some reason, I just want you to know that... I’m not doing well. But your company helps.”
He watches as tears fill her eyes again, this time letting them fall. It goes against everything that he was made for, finding himself reach out and wiping a tear away. She looks grateful and is no longer alone. She decided sometime by the end of the second encounter that if she was going to be sad, she didn’t want to be sad alone. She went through something similar when the Thunderbolts started to feel like a new family the she had found. But this kind of sadness was different. This was her heart breaking and she grasped the closest thing to the person that was causing it.
“Look what you’ve done.” She hears him mutter under his breath, to himself. It makes her heart race a little as he pulls his hand away. It was then did she realize how cold his touch was against the heat of her cheek.
***
The rest of the team were also very concerned when they heard that The Void was coming out on random nights. Even more so when she tells them all he does is sit and talk with her till she finally feels her eyes droop and retire to bed. She doesn’t tell them exactly what they talk about, but they were still nonetheless very confused.
“I didn’t know you had trouble sleeping.” Bucky said, pouring her a cup of coffee. She shrugs it off, “It’s just some late nights.”
Bucky only nods but still furrows his brows in unease. He’s had his fair share of restless nights. “As long as it’s not affecting your training and you’re still getting a good amount of hours.” It’s all he says, pouring just a little bit more coffee in her cup.
“Wait, so you still don’t remember anything whenever The Void comes out? Does that mean you’re out of control when you’re not awake?” Walker asks Bob who is sitting on the couch, book in his hand. He’s farthest away from her, seeming to tune in and out of the conversation, which only makes her feel nonimportant.
“No- no I don’t remember any of it. I honestly don’t know what it means…” He glances at her for a second, seeing the way her eyes search for his. It’s quick and he seems to notice before quickly looking back at Walker whose moved to plop down on the couch next to him, bowl of cereal in his hand. “I don’t know… but I wake up like it was the best sleep I ever had.”
“Well good for you, bud. Doesn’t negate the fact though, that a being that can turn anything into shadows – and has - is hanging out with one of our own whenever he wants.” Walker eats his cereal, and she stands up to leave.
“Take your coffee with you.” Bucky tells her and she does so, telling him she’ll be in her room. She walks off, growing tired of the conversation and for a moment, just wanted the quiet again. She was also starting to feel suffocated being around Bob when he would even barely acknowledge her. She feels her heart breaking every time they pass without anything being said, nothing of the close friendship they shared for months. Maybe she was just overthinking it. Maybe it was just something she blew out of proportion.
She hears a knock on her door an hour later and freezes. In the middle of her practicing her magic, she recognizes the light, rhythmic taps. She hears him call out her name when she realizes she kind of froze for a second, thinking it was just a sound she imagined.
Opening the door, she sees Bob who stands there nervously and offering a small smile. “Hey. You’re probably sick of hearing this… but uhm- I do just want to make sure that you’re… okay.”
He was right, she was sick of being asked the question. All she could do was nod and hum ‘mhm’, wanting that conversation to end there. Bob’s smile falters as she essentially gives him nothing and finds himself standing there, wanting to hear more.
“Oh- okay. Good.” He knows he doesn’t deserve more, but he can’t help the way his shoulders deflate when she asks, “Was there anything else you needed?” She said it softly, a hint of hope in her voice. The last bit of hope she had, giving him the opening to talk.
His hands started fidgeting and he could no longer look her in the eyes. He knows he should have just said something, anything else. “No. No just… wanted to make sure…” He takes a step back and she takes in a deep breath, watching him pull away. She thanks him with a small smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.
She sees him fighting some internal thoughts through a moment of silence, looking like he did want to say more but just couldn’t find the words. Or he was holding himself back from blurting something out of turn.
“Bob?”
His eyes finally met hers. “Yes?”
“Did I… do something?” It was a question that had been eating up at her for weeks. Him keeping his distance because of a possible thing going on with Yelena was one thing. But him keeping his distance because of something that she did that could have possibly hurt him was another.
“What?”
“Do I do something wrong? I feel like I did because … well we’re not as close as we used to be and I feel like you’ve been pushing me away. I don’t know what it was, but I’m sorry.” She feels her heart racing and she wants to close on herself. She’s not a confrontational person, but she knew Bob wasn’t either. Someone had to bring it up eventually.
“No- no, of course not. You’ve done nothing wrong.” He stammers out. She looks at him even more confused.
“Then why…?” Her voice trails off when he steps closer to her. It’s the closest he’s ever been in a while, and she suddenly remembers how much she’s missed it.
“You have nothing to be sorry for, at all, I swear. It’s me, I just… It’s hard for me to feel great about myself whenever I’m around you and I… can’t.” The sentence he wanted to say escapes him as anxiety takes over, only realizing what he said moments later and too late.
She knows tears are welling up in her eyes and her shaky breaths are apparent. She can feel the hurt from his words reach every nerve in her body. She doesn’t feel so great about herself either at this moment.
“I’m sorry…” Was all he’s able to push out, seeing her quickly wipe away her tears. Out of instinct, he moves, reaching his hands out to take her hands in his. But she shakes her head, moving behind her door. He winces, his chest tightening. “It’s okay.” He hears her say under her breath.
He’s calling himself an idiot repeatedly in his head, but he’s desperate to let her know it’s not her fault. “No, I’m sorry. You deserve someone so much better than me. I… I don’t know how to do this.”
“Bob…”
“I should have said something earlier. I didn’t, I couldn’t because it was a lot- and I just didn’t want to fuck anything up. But… every time I was around you it was just constantly that. That anxiety of knowing I was going to mess up either way and end up hurting you – and I didn’t want that. I really didn’t want to do that. But I was also just… sick of constantly feeling that? You know? So… I just couldn’t anymore…”
She wanted to reach out now, pull him into a hug. But after that, she feels like she isn’t allowed. All she could do was nod. “I understand. I didn’t know it was so hard for you, that you were thinking that still.”
“I didn’t tell you, you had no way of knowing.” He chuckles at himself awkwardly, feeling a tear roll down his cheek.
“Thank you for telling me now… but I’m still hurt that you’d rather push me away than talk about it. That you’d think I’d ever give up on you like that.”
“I just didn’t want you to deal with… any of it. I was constantly going to you when I had nightmares, whenever I was at my lowest - and I could hurt people if I wasn’t in control, without even realizing it. I didn’t want you to carry all my baggage.”
“Bob, never have you ever felt like a burden to me.”
“That was the thing… You’re so gentle and warm. You always reassured me and made me feel wanted. I think I panicked because… because I couldn’t understand why.”
She takes a moment to breathe, knowing exactly why. She made sure to show him all the care and love she believed he deserved simply because she did love him. It was easy to make him feel wanted when she genuinely wanted him by her side. She thought he felt the same.
“I’ve been feeling like a burden.” She finally admits and his heart breaks. This was the last thing he wanted. “But at least… now I understand. I get it, Bob.”
For the first time in a while, every part of her being wanted to rest. She feels her body wanting to shut down, to just lay in the comfort of her bed and re-energize. Her mind, maybe out of overdrive, is empty and no longer filled with ‘what ifs’.
“I’m sorry.” He apologizes once again, and she knows it’s genuine. She knows it’s real because she noticed when he wanted to reach out again, to hold her or to ground her. Because she knows Bob, that there really is a chance he does feel the same way. He just won’t allow himself to do so, yet.
And that’s something she realizes she’s willing to wait for.
***
“What would you do if you weren’t talking with me?”
“I don’t know… Torment people’s dreams. Find their deepest darkest fears and exploit it. Keep them locked in that never ending cycle till the sun rises.”
“You’ve thought about it.”
The Void has thought about it more than once, ever since the third encounter when they started to have full conversations. They’re in her room this night, sometime around midnight because she has rarely left it after her conversation with Bob. Him showing up tonight here specifically felt intimate. But she refused to think anymore of it.
“Yes.”
“Kind of predictable though.” She’s wrapped in her blanket, sitting up right on her bed as he’s accessing her room, walking around the space.
“Predictable?”
“Yeah. You’d kind of just be doing what Pitch is doing in Rise of the Guardians.” She’s so happy with the connection she makes. It’s even better when he snaps her head in her direction. “Excuse me?”
“Oh my- he’s all about shadows too. You… you’re stealing his brand.”
“I don’t even know who or what you’re talking about.”
She laughs, unable to unsee the similarities but also at the casual nature of the situation. She watches him go through one of her bookshelves as if he’s taking in every single title on there. She can admit it’s almost an endearing sight – a figure of pure shadow being interested in some Shakespeare. Very poetic.
“You’ve been in this room for a while.” He suddenly points out. She hums, adjusting the blanket so it would go over her head.
“And you would know why.” She says his silence a confirmation. “The weight feels heavier nowadays.”
“I can feel it.” His attention is fully on her now, walking towards the bed that she’s sat on. She’s grateful to have a huge window in her room, overlooking the city.
“I think… every now and then I’m reminded of how small everything really is. How… insignificant we really are.” She mumbles, feeling the side of the bed dip. He sat next to her, looking out the window.
“Speak for yourself.” He retorts. She laughs and continues.
“Even though my job is saving people, being such a huge public figure, or even knowing how many people do genuinely care about me… why does it still feel like not enough? That I’m still doing something wrong and I still feel… insignificant.”
“All these sad feelings… and it’s because of him.”
She shakes her head, having accepted that a long time ago. “It may be more than that…”
“It’s a disheartening reminder…” He says, turning to look at her. She looks ridiculous, wrapped in a blanket like that and having a depressing conversation. “Because it is true. Compared to all the gods and beings in the universe, you are a speck amongst it all. In a hundred, maybe thousand years into the future, you won’t even be an echo in a world that’ll keep spinning… so that’s why being the object of someone’s love feels remarkable.”
She looks at him, his words heavy on her chest.
“Beings would do anything for it… would wait for it. Because though fleeting, it feels infinite.”
summary: you're engaged to bucky when you find out that not only are fated mates real, but you have one... and it's not your fiancé (soulmate au)
notes: okay, listen, this was never supposed to see the light of day... this was what i would write between other fics when i felt blocked or wanted to be dramatic and wax lyrical about loving lewis pullman... so basically, this is me not-so-subtly saying i would abandon everything i know and love for him... please be kind! this one feels weirdly personal because it's so emo??? but regardless, i hope you enjoy and would love, love, love to hear what you think! (p.s. happy birthday to me!)
warnings: swearing, angst, mention of slight age gap (with bucky), heartbreak (lots), crying, fainting, the void (almost), alcohol consumption, acotar reference (if you squint), so many metaphors, nudity, and horniness very slightly bordering on smut (yes, i still managed to make it horny) so 18+ ONLY MDNI!
word count: 14951
Mates.
It’s not something you hear about often—and it happens even less.
Centuries ago, it was something creatures hungered for. Something that drove them. Compelled them to find their one true mate and, well… mate.
But that was long ago. Now, it’s rare. Fabled. Forgotten by most. Even fewer still are lucky enough to have one.
There are other words for it now—soulmate, twin flame, kindred spirit, true love. Softened, romanticised. Colloquial terms thrown around like confetti at a wedding. Used to describe someone you choose to love. Not someone you’re bound to by something older than time.
Because mates? Real mates? They aren’t chosen. They’re fated. Selected by some ancient magic. A gift from the gods—or whatever existed before gods. Two souls born within the same lifetime, tethered by something invisible and unbreakable. And if they meet?
Well... no one really knows what happens then.
You see, with a world this big, teetering on the edge of collapse, stuffed to the brim with people all trying to survive—who has time to go chasing destiny? Who’s got the energy to scour the globe in hopes of locking eyes with some cosmic stranger?
Sure, the sex would probably be mind-blowing. But sex can be plenty good without a soul-deep connection plucking the strings of your orgasm.
Which is exactly why no one really cares about mates anymore. Most people don’t even believe they exist. And those who do? They’re usually just lonely—reaching for hope, not magic.
And you? Well, you’re more than happy in the arms of your sex god super soldier fiancé.
Or at least… you were.
-
“Do we have to?” Bucky sighs, his face buried in the crook of your neck, stubble grazing your skin.
You giggle and squirm beneath the weight of his body—his very naked body.
“Come on,” you say, half-heartedly shoving at his chest. “We’re already going to be late. Besides, you can’t possibly be ready to go again.”
He lifts his head, blue eyes glittering with mischief. “Sure about that, doll?”
He shifts, and you feel it—thick and heavy, pressing insistently against your hipbone.
Your eyes go wide, heat pooling between your thighs. “Aren’t you supposed to be like... over a hundred?”
He chuckles, sliding down a little, clearly aiming for your breasts.
“Technically, yes. Biologically, no.”
You hum, enjoying the rasp of his beard as it brushes against your skin. “Still,” you tease, “even biologically, you’re almost an old man.”
His head snaps up, eyes wide in mock offense. “Excuse me?”
You giggle again, trying to wriggle free. As much as you’d love to stay tangled up with him all morning, you really don’t want to be late—again—and keep his teammates waiting. They’re not exactly the warm-and-fuzzy type, but not in a bad way. More like the sarcastic, sharp-eyed, chaos crew who’d never let you live it down if you showed up looking freshly ravished. And honestly? You’re not in the mood to be roasted before coffee.
“For that little comment,” Bucky says, shifting to straddle you as the blankets fall away, “I’m cutting you off.”
You try to look up at his face, but your attention is… elsewhere. More specifically, the part of him that obviously doesn’t agree with this whole cutting you off plan. It’s hard—painfully hard—and staring right at you, begging to be touched.
You lick your lips, eyes wide with feigned innocence. “Cutting me off?”
He nods, sliding off the bed and taking his gorgeous body with him. “Mhm. You’re cut off. For at least twenty-four hours.”
You scramble after him, following him into the ensuite like a woman on a mission. “Twenty-four hours?!”
His mouth twitches like he’s fighting a grin, but he keeps it together. “Yep.” He turns to you, leveling you with a mock-stern look. “You called me old.”
You jut your bottom lip out in an exaggerated pout. “It was just a joke.”
He leans in and kisses your pouty lips. “Well,” he murmurs, “maybe next time you’ll think twice.”
Then he turns to the shower and cranks on the hot water, leaving you standing there like a sulking child who’s just been denied dessert.
As the two of you shower and dress in companionable silence, a twinge of guilt starts to settle in your chest. Maybe you shouldn’t have made that crack about his age.
He didn’t seem offended—but still. The age gap is real. It’s not something either of you acknowledges often, but maybe you should be a little more mindful. He is the older one. The one in the public eye. The one who constantly fields backlash from idiot reporters and politicians, all desperate to dig up something to use against him.
And now that you’re engaged—engaged—right as he’s stepping into this whole New Avengers thing? The spotlight on him is brighter than ever. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to pick your playful jabs a little more carefully. Just for a while.
“Hey,” you murmur, lacing your fingers through his as you step into the tower elevator. “Sorry about before.”
He hits the button for the main floor, then glances at you with a puzzled little frown. “For what, doll?”
You shrug. “Calling you old.”
He chuckles—low, rough, and unfairly attractive. “Don’t be sorry. I’m a big boy. I can take a joke.”
There’s a beat of quiet as the elevator hums around you. Then, he leans in, lips near your ear, breath warm on your skin.
“I’ll just have to punish you for it later.”
Anticipation sizzles beneath your skin, adrenaline zipping down your spine before settling between your legs—a place Bucky’s words have a habit of landing.
Before you can fire back something smart—or filthy—the doors slide open, and you're greeted by the wide, sunlit expanse of the New Avengers common room.
“Finally!” Yelena calls, her head popping up over the back of the couch. “You’re like… twenty minutes late.”
“It’s not my fault,” you say quickly, slipping away from Bucky toward the kitchen. “All Barnes.”
He shoots you a look, lips twitching, then turns back to his teammates, moving toward where most of them are crowded around the living room setup in the centre of the huge space. Everyone is here except their newest specially-abled member—Bob.
You haven’t met him yet, and honestly, you’re not exactly eager. You know he’s got… issues, to say the least. And with all the other complications this group brings, you’re already close enough to being overwhelmed. How they came to be Earth’s Mightiest Heroes 2.0? You’ll never understand.
You busy yourself in the kitchen, fixing coffee and some breakfast while Bucky and his team dive into their meeting. You don’t live at the tower—you and Bucky have a small apartment a few blocks away—but you’re more than comfortable here. At first, coming along to all the meetings and mission briefings felt like a drag, but eventually you got to know everyone, and now, it doesn’t bother you so much.
An hour later, the meeting slips into something more casual. Bucky excuses himself to take a phone call, and Ava disappears—literally—so you take the opportunity to settle onto the couch, half-listening as John and Alexei bicker over what to watch on TV.
John wins, and you’re stuck watching college sports.
“I read your book,” Alexei announces, turning to you with a proud smile—his back now to John.
You tilt your head, frowning. “My book?”
“Yes, yes.” He slings an arm over the back of the lounge, turning fully toward you. “The one you told me to read.”
You stare at him, confused, for a beat longer than you’d like—until realisation dawns, followed swiftly by mortification.
“Oh my God, no,” you mutter, face burning. “No, Alexei, you didn’t—”
“The one about the faeries,” he says proudly. “It is a little naughty, but it is good.”
“You!” Yelena gasps from across the room. “You’re the one who told him to read those books!”
You sink deeper into the plush couch, hands flying up in surrender. “No, I swear—I didn’t tell him to! He asked what I was reading, and I... I told him. That’s it. I never told him to read them!”
John groans. “He hasn’t shut up about those porn books all week.”
From the kitchen, Bucky turns sharply, halfway through his phone call. His eyes land on you—wide with amusement, brows lifted in mock surprise, the phone still pressed to his ear.
“They’re not all naughty,” Alexei says with a small frown—and you’re not sure if he’s defending himself or you. “There is fighting and magic too. They are good books.”
You can’t help but let a quiet giggle slip past your lips. “Which one are you up to?”
His eyes sparkle with excitement. “I just finished the second book.”
You sit up and lean toward him, ignoring the dirty looks from Yelena and John. “Oh my God, did you love it? The second one is my favourite.”
Alexei nods eagerly. “I loved it. They are perfect together. Much better than the blond man.”
“Much better,” you agree with another soft laugh.
“I have question, though,” he says, his smile faltering into a curious frown. “How can they be mates if they are born hundreds of years apart?”
Yelena scoffs. “The book has soulmates too?”
You turn to her with a playful smile. “They’re mates, not soulmates. Like, fated mates. It’s not as lame as it sounds.”
“It sounds very lame,” she deadpans.
“It is not lame,” Alexei argues. “It is beautiful.”
Yelena rolls her eyes and John lets out a disbelieving laugh, still focused on the TV.
“You know,” you say slowly, leaning forward to catch John’s eye on the other side of Alexei, “some people actually believe in mates. Like real soulmates.”
“Yeah—desperate people,” John quips.
You roll your eyes. “No—I mean, yeah, but not just lonely people. Some still think fated mates are real. Rare, but real. Like some kind of ancient, sleeping magic. Most people won’t find theirs, because the world is too crowded now. But centuries ago, it used to matter. In some cultures, it still does.”
Yelena snorts. “Still sounds lame.”
You’re just about to respond when Ava phases in beside you, startling you.
“It’s true,” she says plainly. “I’ve heard stories.”
You ignore your spiked pulse and tilt your head. “You have?”
She nods. “Yeah. You know, when I was stuck in a lab for most of my childhood. I read a lot. Learned a lot. There are a few different versions, but some cultures still believe in real mates.”
Yelena frowns, but leans in—clearly intrigued. “This is ridiculous. There is no way every person has someone they are destined to be with. If that were true, we’d know more about it.”
“Not everyone has one,” you say. “It’s actually pretty rare.”
Ava raises a sceptical brow. “So, you believe in mates?”
You shrug, your cheeks warming with a touch of embarrassment. “I don’t know.”
“How do you know so much about it?” Yelena asks, a small smirk tugging at her lips.
You press your lips together, buying a moment to decide whether or not to tell them your story. But really—why not? It’s not like you have anything to hide. Mate or not, you’re happy with Bucky. And you know you will be for the rest of your life.
“Okay,” you begin, leaning forward, elbows resting on your knees. “A few years ago, I was at this gala—something for work—and this woman approached me…”
- Five Years Ago -
You tip the champagne flute to your lips, emptying it in one gulp.
“Wow,” you mutter to yourself. “These fancy events are stingy with the refreshments.”
An older couple nearby gives you a dirty look, but you ignore it and wander off in search of another waiter with another tray of tiny, unsatisfying champagne flutes.
“Excuse me?”
A woman steps into your path before you can reach the next tray. She’s older, with a lined face and silver-grey hair that falls almost to her hips. Her floral dress flows a little too gracefully for a ballroom with no breeze, and the many pieces of jewellery adorning her neck and arms clink softly as she moves.
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” she says with a small, serene smile. “But I had to speak to you.”
You tear your eyes away from the waiter retreating with your drink.
“That’s okay,” you reply, turning to meet her gaze—only to falter when you notice her eyes. They’re not hazel or green or brown. They’re gold. Entirely gold.
“Sorry, I—uh, I don’t think we’ve met?”
You offer your hand, which she takes gently, though her eyes never leave your face. They scan your features like she’s searching for something—something buried. Something you’re not sure is even there.
“No, we haven’t,” she says, stepping a little closer. It’s invasive, but her strange energy keeps you frozen in place. “I don’t normally do this. I usually keep my… visions to myself.”
Oh, God. She’s a fucking loon.
You let out a soft, awkward laugh. “Visions?”
She nods. “I’m not crazy.”
Sure, lady.
“My family is gifted—well, some of us are,” she continues. “I prefer to keep to myself, but when I saw you, I had to say something.”
You frown. “Say what?”
“You have the mark.”
“The… mark?”
“Yes,” she says, and you realize she’s still holding your hand as she gently places her other over it. “In your fate lines.”
Your eyes dart around the room. Why is no one noticing this weird little encounter?
You glance back at her—into those strange gold eyes. “My what, now?”
Her brows pull together slightly. “You don’t believe in fate?”
“I believe in free will.”
She smiles. “The two aren’t so different. Fate offers the door. Free will decides whether you open it.”
“Okay...” you murmur. “So I’m marked?”
“You have the mark,” she corrects. “The mark of a mate. Your other half. The dark to your light. You’ll know him when you feel the pull. It won’t be gentle—it never is, for ones like you.”
Your brow creases. “Ones like me?”
She studies you again—longer this time. Her smile is faint, but her eyes are deep, unblinking. She’s not looking at you. She’s looking through you. Still searching for something beneath your skin.
“You’re not ordinary,” she says softly. “Neither is he—at least, he won’t be when you meet. That’s why it matters. You two were made for something bigger. Together, you’ll either shift the course of something… or break it entirely.”
Okay. Definitely time to find that waiter. And take the whole damn tray.
She leans closer, her voice a whisper now—but somehow heavier. “This isn’t about belief. It’s about design. You can walk away—fate gives the door, not the hand that turns the knob. But when the moment comes, it won’t feel like a choice. Not to you. Not to him. Because something in the marrow of your bones will know.”
You swallow hard, the hairs on your neck standing straight.
She glances around once, then leans in—like she’s sharing a secret. “There will come a time when everything depends on whether you hold onto each other. Or let go. And if you let go…” Her lips press together, almost regretful. “Well. I suppose the universe will just have to adjust. Somehow.”
And then, like smoke in a breeze, she slips into the crowd—leaving your pulse racing and the taste of stardust on the back of your tongue.
- Present -
“Were you on drugs?” Yelena asks—not accusing, just curious.
You shoot her an unimpressed glare. “No.”
Of all the faces in the room, Alexei’s is the most excited—his eyes practically sparkling.
“Did you go after the mysterious woman?” he asks, leaning in.
You shake your head. “No. I went after the waiter and took his tray.”
Yelena snorts. “So you were drunk.”
“I wasn’t drunk,” you argue. “Yet, at least.”
Ava tilts her head, eyes narrowed. “Did you believe her?”
You shrug. “I don’t know. It sounds far-fetched, but… look at the last ten years. Super-people, aliens, sorcerers, magic. It’s not that hard to believe in the grand scheme of things.”
Alexei leans closer, dropping his voice. “Do you believe Barnes is your mate?”
No—but you’re not saying that out loud.
“Sure,” you say, your voice just a little too high. “I mean, assuming I believe the woman—which I never said I did—”
“You do,” Yelena cuts in. “I can see it in your eyes.”
You shoot her a look. “Whether or not I believe her... I love Bucky. He’s my person. I don’t care if he’s my cosmically assigned soul partner or not. I want him. Only him. End of story.”
Yelena breaks into a cheesy smile. “Aw, you are so cute. Sappy, and a little gross, but cute.”
You roll your eyes as she pushes off the lounge and heads toward the kitchen, where Bucky is still muttering into the phone. John’s attention is glued to the TV—you’re not even sure he heard your story. And Ava phases out again, disappearing somewhere into the tower.
After a moment, Alexei turns to you, voice lowered. “Are you scared?”
You frown. “Scared of what?”
“If you meet your mate.”
You laugh—softly, uneasily—ignoring the sharp twist of anxiety in your chest. “I don’t even know if I believe in that. So why would I be scared?”
“Because,” he says, glancing toward the kitchen, “you’ll either have to break his heart, or break your own by refusing fate.”
His words hit harder than they should. For a moment, it’s like your lungs forget how to work—air punched right out of your chest, heart pounding hard and fast against your ribs.
You’ve never thought about it like that—because you’ve never truly believed the strange woman’s prophecy. You met Bucky nearly a year later, and the thought never crossed your mind.
Not until now. Not until you had to retell that bizarre encounter out loud.
And sure, you could keep telling yourself you don’t believe in it. But there’s always that one question that lingers.
What if?
What if what she said was real?
What if Bucky isn’t your mate?
What if you find him?
What if she was right—and you can’t stay away?
What if the choice comes down to breaking Bucky’s heart… or your own?
-
“You okay?” Bucky asks, his fingers laced with yours as you walk down the corridor toward the elevator.
You’d spent the last few hours watching TV with Alexei and John—mostly talking about books—while Bucky worked. You tried to push all the weird questions and swirling doubts out of your mind, but it wasn’t easy with Alexei’s constant interrogation.
“Yeah,” you reply quietly. “Just tired.”
He squeezes your hand. “You sure?”
You glance up and meet his baby blues—so sincere it makes guilt creep up your spine. You can’t just tell him you’re scared he’s not your person... That would break his heart. And for what? Some cryptic message from a strange woman about a mark you’ve never even seen? Or believed in.
“Shit,” Bucky mutters, his eyes snapping away from yours.
You frown and follow his gaze, eyes widening when you see the end of the hallway swallowed in black.
“Um,” you lean into him, “what the fuck?”
“It’s Bob,” he says, slowly backing away. “He’s having a nightmare.”
You glance up at your fiancé. “He’s still sleeping?”
“Yeah, he has trouble actually sleeping,” Bucky replies. “That’s why he’s in his room all the time. He’s trying to sleep, and then whenever he does... it’s this shit. I thought I had nightmares, but this kid…”
Your heart thuds heavy in your chest—but not fast. Not panicked. You should be panicked. But you feel calm. Strangely calm. Even as the darkness creeps across the floor and walls, inching toward you as you back away.
“What happens if we touch it?” you ask, hesitating mid-step.
Bucky tugs your hand, urging you to keep moving. “Nothing good.”
Your head tilts as you watch the inky mass crawl, swallowing everything in its path. Your fingers twitch with the urge to reach out—but you know better.
“Is it cold?” you ask, eyes still fixed on the darkness.
Bucky frowns. “What?”
“The darkness,” you say, glancing up at him. “Is it cold? It doesn’t seem cold.”
He stares at you like you’ve just asked if it tastes like chicken. “It doesn’t really... feel like anything,” he says, eyes darting between you and the growing shadow. “Now, come on. We’ll take the stairs and warn the others.”
You stop short, frowning. “You’re just going to leave him?”
He looks at you like you’ve lost your damn mind. “Well, no. We’ll go in if we have to, but it’s usually better to wait it out. He’s getting better at managing it. It usually stops before it spreads too far. So, we try not to interfere unless we need to.”
“He shouldn’t have to deal with it by himself,” you argue.
“I know that,” Bucky says, tipping his head slightly as he studies you. “We all know that. And he knows we’re here for him. But we can’t sleep beside him every night—if we do, we get pulled in the second he starts dreaming. He knows we’ll help him if he needs it, but he’s trying to learn how to control it on his own.”
You feel an ache to run in after him—a man you barely know—to dive into that abyss. But you know it’d be stupid. You’re not like Bucky or the others. Not enhanced. Not particularly special. You probably wouldn’t last a second inside whatever hellscape awaits you in that darkness.
“Okay,” you mutter, squeezing Bucky’s hand. “Let’s go.”
You backtrack through the tower to the common area and give the others a heads-up. Then, taking the route furthest from Bob’s room, the group filters out. Yelena and Ava decide to hang back and keep watch, while Alexei and John head off in search of lunch.
You and Bucky say your goodbyes—for the second time today—before heading down the street toward your shared apartment.
“What was all that, hm?” Bucky asks gently, his voice soft but his eyes sharp with concern.
You’d be lying if you said you didn’t still want to go back. The darkness hadn’t scared you—it hadn’t even really deterred you. All you could think about was the man trapped inside it—scared and alone. Gifted with powers like a god, but still powerless against his own demons.
“Nothing,” you say, keeping your tone light. “Just feeling a little extra empathetic today.”
He studies you a beat longer, but you keep your eyes fixed ahead. After a minute or two, he sighs, letting go of your hand and wrapping his arm around your shoulders instead. He pulls you in close and presses a kiss to the top of your head, murmuring something too quiet for you to catch—but you’re pretty sure it’s an I love you.
Once back at your apartment, you curl up on the couch together and start watching a movie—one you insist Bucky has to see, since he missed out on so many years of excellent pop culture. About an hour in, the pressure in your chest finally starts to lift—the weird heaviness that had been stopping you from telling Bucky what was really wrong. But instead of relief, guilt settles in, and you quickly turn to him.
“Buck,” you say softly.
His eyes are on his phone. “Bob’s fine now. Yelena said he woke up and wasn’t even rattled. Said the nightmare was bad, but he found it easier to stop.”
“Oh,” you murmur. “That’s good. I’m glad.”
He locks his phone and tosses it onto the couch beside him, giving you his full attention. “Sorry, what were you saying?”
You nod slowly. “Yeah—um, about before. I’m sorry for not listening to you. For arguing. It was weird, and I was kind of lost in my own head.”
He leans forward, takes both of your hands in his, and doesn’t speak—just laces your fingers together and watches how his hands swallow yours.
You clear your throat, hesitating. “Do you remember when I told you about that strange woman who came up to me at The Vantage Summer Gala a few years ago?”
His gaze lifts to yours, steady. “Of course. The lady who told you about your soulmate.”
“Well,” you begin, “I was telling the others about it—Alexei brought up those books I supposedly told him to read, and... I don’t know, we ended up talking about soulmates, or whatever. And after I told them the story, Alexei started asking weird questions. Like if I believed her. If I think you’re my soulmate. And then... what if you’re not? And—and—” Your voice catches, throat thickening. “And w-what if—”
“Hey,” Bucky murmurs, scooting closer and wrapping his arms around you. “You’re not about to cry over something dumb Alexei said, are you?”
You let out a watery laugh, your eyes welling as you press your cheek to his shoulder.
“I knew something was eating at you, doll,” he whispers into your hair, breath warm against your skin.
You sniffle, blinking fast. “It just feels so stupid.”
“Nothing’s stupid if it hurts you,” he says firmly. “And you don’t ever have to keep things from me. I don’t care how small it feels—if it’s bothering you, I want to know.”
“Okay,” you mumble into his shirt. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry,” he sighs, pulling back just enough to look at you, still holding you close. “Don’t ever be sorry for being upset.”
You swipe the back of your hand beneath your nose.
“Now listen, okay?” He takes your hands again, holding them tight. “This might not help, but I need to say it.”
You frown but stay quiet, holding your breath like it might help hold back the tears.
“I know you’re unsure about what that woman told you,” he starts, “and I don’t know if soulmates are real or if fate really gives a damn about people like us. But I know what I feel when I look at you, and when you look at me.” He pauses, just for a beat. “I love you. And not because the universe says I should. I love you because you’re kind, and sharp, and stubborn as hell. I love the way you get quiet when you’re overthinking, and the way you look at me like I’m someone worth staying for.”
A few tears slip down your cheeks as he takes a shaky breath.
“But if one day, you find out there is someone else—if that soulmate thing is real, and you meet him and your whole world shifts—then I won’t hold you back. Even if it kills me, I won’t be the reason you’re not happy.”
The tears start falling faster.
“Do I want that? Hell no. I want you. Here. With me. Always. But loving someone means putting them first, even when it hurts. So if it ever comes to that… I’ll let you go. But until then… I’m all in. Every part of me is yours. No marks. No fate. Just choice. And I choose you.”
His voice wobbles as he finishes, his eyes shining with unshed tears.
You swallow a sob and take a deep breath, willing your voice to work.
“I love you too,” you whisper, a little pitiful after his brilliant speech.
He grins—and you barely get a second to appreciate it before he’s on you. His lips crash into yours, his hands gripping your body as he presses you back on the couch. The movie is long forgotten as he kisses you like you're the only place he’s ever felt at home.
You start fumbling with his shirt, trying to undress him, but barely make it far before his phone starts buzzing.
He groans and pushes up, and you let him go—his line of work is literally life or death.
“Everything okay?” you ask.
He nods, tapping out a quick reply before locking his phone again. “Yeah. Just John asking about tomorrow night.”
“The foundation ball thing?”
“Yep,” he sighs. “Can’t wait.”
You lean in until your lips are just inches from his. “Can I come?”
He frowns. “I thought you didn’t want to?”
“I didn’t,” you say. “But now I do. I think I need to be there.”
His expression softens as he leans in to kiss you again, murmuring, “Of course you can come.”
-
You feel strange under the glowing lights of the lavishly decorated ballroom. You haven’t even stepped foot in a place like this since your encounter with the fate lady—which isn’t helping that nagging anxiety that hasn’t let up since yesterday. But you’re still here, dressed to the nines and sipping champagne, because you knew you had to be. You just felt it. In your bones.
“Wow, you clean up nice,” Yelena says, her eyes sparkling as she approaches.
You’re at a high table near the back of the room, conveniently close to the bar.
“And excellent choice in location,” she adds with a wink.
You laugh quietly. “Yeah, I’m not a fan of these kinds of functions unless there’s copious amounts of alcohol involved.”
“I’m not a fan of much without copious amounts of alcohol,” she says dryly. “But I imagine you’ve got a little PTSD from this kind of thing. Especially after the voodoo lady read your palms.”
Her tone is teasing, but her words still prick your chest like tiny needles full of panic.
“Very funny,” you say, keeping your voice even. “Maybe if you’re lucky, you’ll meet a crazy woman tonight who can tell you all about your future.”
She scoffs. “No thank you. I am perfectly happy keeping that a mystery.”
You snort softly into your glass and take a generous sip of champagne.
“I’m pretty sure the only reason Alexei came tonight was in hopes of getting his fortune told,” she says, glancing across the room to where he’s talking to Bucky. “You know he hasn’t shut up about it for the past twenty-four hours? He even asked me to help him use a computer so he could research.”
“Oh my God,” you giggle. “I’m so sorry.”
Before either of you can say anything else, Alexei catches your eye and his face splits into a grin. He waves enthusiastically, then quickly excuses himself and begins weaving through the crowd.
“Oh, great,” Yelena sighs. “He’s coming over here.”
“You are here!” he exclaims, earning a few curious glances from nearby guests. “I am so excited to see you. We have much to talk about.”
You can’t help the laugh that escapes your lips. “Hey, Alexei. Yelena was just telling me you’ve been doing some research.”
“Lots of research,” he confirms, setting his beer down on the table. “I know everything about mates. Ask me anything.”
Ignoring the sting of nerves rushing through your veins, you start to search for a safe question—something that won’t set your anxiety on fire.
“How do you know if you’ve met them?” Yelena cuts in before you can speak.
Alexei’s eyes light up. “Ah, good question. It is obvious. You cannot deny it once you meet them. It feels like gravity is gone, and they become your only tether to the earth. You don’t need oxygen. You don’t need water. You just need them.” He smiles proudly and nods at both of you. “Now ask me what happens when you touch them.”
You frown, curiosity getting the better of you. “What’s the difference? Between simply meeting them and touching them?”
“There is all the difference,” he says, frowning like you’ve just asked the dumbest question imaginable. “You see them, and yes, you know—but you still have choice. When you touch them, you cannot change mind. You can try, but it is too painful.”
You tilt your head. “Like... it actually hurts? Or it’s just emotionally difficult?”
“It physically hurts,” Yelena answers, and your gaze snaps to her. “You’ve acknowledged the connection, so you can’t go back to being without them. It feels like you’re being torn apart the further you try to get away.”
You raise your brows, surprised by her sudden expertise.
“What?” she snaps. “I was helping him use the computer, okay?”
You press your lips together to stifle a laugh and turn back to Alexei. “Okay, so what happens if you don’t like your mate?”
He scoffs, throwing his head back dramatically. “It is not possible. These two people are designed to be together, from birth. It is deeper than souls or magic. You cannot even describe it. There is no way two beings created for each other could possibly dislike one another.”
“Okay...” you say softly, “but what if you deny it?”
“Deny it?” he echoes. “You cannot—because you will not want to. The second you find them, you will ache for them in ways you cannot explain. No one else will ever fit. No one else will ever satisfy. You will crave them in your blood, in your breath. Denying it would be like trying to unmake the sky.”
His words knock the breath out of you for the second time in twenty-four hours. You nearly stumble back at their weight—at the way they land straight in your chest.
“This part is interesting too,” Alexei continues, ignoring the way your face has paled. “Before you meet them, you feel it.”
John appears beside you, setting his drink down on the table and eyeing Alexei with a frown. “What do you mean, feel it?”
“When you are close to meeting them, everything shifts,” he says. “Just a little. Sometimes it feels like anxiety. Sometimes it feels like peace. But always, it feels like something is happening—something inevitable. You start going places without knowing why, saying yes to things you would normally refuse. There is a pull in your gut, something telling you where to go. Like the universe is nudging you to where you are supposed to be.”
The words hang in the air, humming like static before a storm—until Yelena’s voice slices through the tension.
“Walker,” she snaps, frowning. “Where the hell is Bob?”
John blinks, taken aback. “I don’t know. I thought Ava was with him.”
You glance between the two blondes, blinking slowly. “Wait—Bob is here?”
“Yes,” Yelena says, clearly irritated. “He asked to come. Said he needed to be here—I don’t know. I felt bad saying no, he never leaves the tower.”
John exhales sharply. “I’ll go find him.”
Yelena turns to Alexei. “Can you go track down Ava? Let us know if she’s with him.”
“I’ll tell Bucky,” you say quickly, already moving as you slip away from the table and into the crowd.
You move through the crowd with steady purpose, weaving between glittering gowns and polished tuxedos, eyes scanning for that familiar face.
Bucky. You’re looking for Bucky.
The ballroom thrums behind you—laughter, clinking glasses, the low swell of music—but it all begins to blur. Your heartbeat picks up, not with panic, but with something else. Something you can’t name. A shift beneath your skin.
You slip through a side door, into a wide corridor draped in golden light. The hush is immediate, swallowing the noise of the party like a dream closing over waking thought. The silence buzzes in your ears, and the air feels... heavier. Thicker. Like the world had been holding its breath, and you just stepped into the exhale.
You walk slowly, drawn forward without thought. Each step echoes, like it belongs to someone else.
And then—you see him.
At the far end of the hallway, half-turned as if he wasn’t sure whether to leave or stay, stands a man. Tall. Tousled brown curls. Shoulders hunched just slightly in a way that says he doesn’t quite know how to fit inside his own skin. His head lifts as if sensing you, like a string inside him just snapped taut.
His eyes meet yours.
It’s not a lightning bolt. It’s not an explosion. It’s worse—or better. It’s everything. The moment stretches, distorts. A pressure builds in your chest, like gravity has decided to anchor you only to him.
You can’t breathe.
The world doesn’t blur—it sharpens. Every detail. The rise of his chest as he inhales, the exact shade of his deep blue eyes, the way his fingers twitch like they know something his mind hasn’t caught up to yet. You feel it in your bones, in your blood, like a long-lost note finally striking true.
Your mouth parts, but there’s nothing to say.
He takes a step forward, unsure. Almost afraid.
And you realise—you weren’t searching for Bucky. Not really.
You were being led to him.
“D-Do I know you?” His voice carries down the corridor—low, deep, wrapping around you like silk and smoke.
“No,” you whisper, even as every part of you screams yes.
He’s still a few feet away, and you’re not even sure he heard you—but his head tilts, just slightly, like he did. Then he takes a step. And another.
Drawn forward like the tide answering the moon.
His movements are slow, deliberate—like he’s caught in the pull of something he doesn’t understand, only knows he has to follow. Eyes locked to yours, wide and dark, shimmering with a quiet awe you can’t name.
He doesn’t stop until he’s standing right in front of you—close enough to feel the warmth radiating off his skin. Close enough to forget how to breathe. But you don’t need to breathe. Not now. Not when he’s here.
He is your oxygen. Your gravity.
He is everything you will ever need.
Everything you want.
He is everything.
“Hey—there you are.” The voice crashes into you like a wave shattering glass.
You jolt, snapping your head toward Bucky as he rounds the corner, a sheepish grin on his face, completely unaware of the world he’s just torn apart.
“Bucky,” you mutter, as if reminding yourself of his name.
Bucky frowns, curiosity sharpening his gaze as it flicks between you and the man beside you. “Bob?”
You whip back to Bob, eyes widening at his outstretched hand—fingertips hovering just a breath from your arm.
You flinch as if burned, stepping back before he can touch you—and his eyes snap up, darkening with something raw and wounded. The crack in your chest widens, because you feel it too. The sting of refusal. The ache of distance. The desperate, inexplicable need to feel his skin against yours—a need neither of you understands, but both feel deep in your bones.
“What’s going on?” Bucky’s voice is tight as his eyes settle on you.
You meet his gaze, a sharp pang of guilt slicing through your chest—because the face you love isn’t the one your heart seeks anymore. Your eyes? They’re drawn only to Bob. To memorise every line, to trace every curve. To know him more intimately than your own reflection, more deeply than the shadows behind your closed eyelids.
“I was—I, uh—looking for you,” you say, forcing your gaze to stay with him.
His posture stiffens, guarded—something you know all too well after years together. His brow furrows as his sharp eyes dart between you and Bob. He can sense it—whatever it is. The shift in gravity, the subtle movement beneath the earth. He knows there’s something more, but he doesn’t know what. Or maybe he doesn’t want to.
He fixes his gaze on you. “Are you okay?”
You nod slowly, then glance at Bob—you can’t help yourself—and it feels like surfacing from deep underwater, finally able to breathe. “Bob,” you whisper.
Bucky clears his throat. “Right. Of course. You two haven’t met yet.”
He wraps an arm around your waist and Bob’s eyes flare with heat—anger. He moves as if to shove Bucky away, but you find his gaze and silently plead for restraint.
You swear his eyes darken a shade, but he holds back. Jaw clenched, shoulders rigid—tense—but no longer coiled to strike.
“Bob,” Bucky says, eyes flickering between the two of you—clearly not missing the silent exchange or the way Bob’s body tensed. “This is my fiancé.”
Time stops—or at least, it feels that way. Bob’s eyes don’t leave yours, that same wounded look returning—only now, it’s splintered into something far more devastating. Like he’d caught a glimpse of heaven—just for a moment—before being ripped from the sky and cast down. Down through the clouds, through the earth, all the way into fire.
He was so close. So close to having everything. To having you.
Now all that’s left is ash in his mouth, and a slow, burning fury aimed at the man standing beside you. A man he calls a friend. A teammate.
“I need to go,” you whisper. “I—I feel sick.”
Bucky’s arm tightens protectively around you. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
You shake your head, eyes stinging. “I need to leave. Can we go—” your voice breaks as you glance up at him, wide-eyed and pleading, “—please.”
He doesn’t hesitate. “I’ll take you home, doll.” Then he turns to Bob. “Yelena’s looking for you. Come on.”
Bucky guides you back through the same door you’d slipped through earlier, back into the chaos of the ballroom. The music, the chatter, the laughter—it all feels like it’s coming from underwater. The world keeps spinning, blissfully unaware that your axis has tilted.
A few guests nod or greet Bucky as he passes, but he doesn’t stop. He can feel the way you’re swaying beside him, the way your weight leans harder against him with every step. He’s moving fast now. He knows something’s wrong.
So do you.
Your vision swims. The lights blur into streaks of gold and silver, voices folding into one another like crashing waves.
Somewhere in the distance, you hear Yelena. Then Alexei. Then—Bob.
Bob.
You spot him behind Yelena, eyes wide and wounded, standing like a ghost at the edge of your unravelling world.
He’s the only thing that makes sense in the chaos.
The only thing that’s clear.
And all you want to do is reach for him.
But you can’t.
Not here. Not now.
Not ever.
Because you love Bucky.
Because you chose Bucky.
“Bucky,” you murmur, barely audible, “Need t’ go…”
His arm tightens again. “I’ve got you.”
“Is she okay?” Yelena’s voice cuts through the noise.
“I don’t know,” Bucky answers, urgency creeping into his tone. “I need to get her out of here—now.”
You try to blink, but your eyes don’t open again.
The music and chatter twist into a storm—deafening, chaotic, pounding against your skull.
You try to move, to breathe, to see—but nothing works.
Your eyelids are too heavy.
Your lungs feel like they’re filling with water.
Your chest is caving in under the weight of it.
Everything is too heavy. Too loud. Too much.
Then—
The world cuts out.
Everything stops.
-
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Yelena’s voice is muffled, but still clear.
“Keep it down,” Bucky hisses, his voice low—laced with urgency and… grief.
“I came here to ask if you knew what happened to Bob last night, because he’s been acting weirder than usual,” Yelena snaps, no softer than before. “But I did not come here for bullshit—I get enough of that from Alexei.”
Bucky exhales a long, tired breath. “Maybe we need to talk to Alexei.”
“Why the hell would we do that?” Yelena demands. “Whatever he’s been on about these past few days isn’t real. He’s off with the fairies—literally. Do not tell me you actually believe in all that stupid soulmate crap.”
There’s a pause. A thick, heavy silence as you try to peel your eyelids open. But you can’t. They’re too heavy.
“You didn’t see what I saw, Yelena,” Bucky says, voice strained. “The way they looked at each other... it felt—I don’t know. Like something cracked open. They were just standing there, but it was like all the air got sucked out of the room. I could feel it—the whole world shifting.”
“You sound like Alexei,” Yelena replies, deadpan. “So you’re either on drugs, hit your head, or you’re trying to be funny.”
“Why would I joke about the woman I love being inextricably bound to another man?”
Your eyes snap open. Heat licks up your spine and burns behind your eyes as your vision adjusts to the harsh morning sun.
“Okay. So, drugs. Or you bumped your head,” Yelena says, voice carrying through your bedroom door.
“Yelena,” Bucky pleads, voice cracking. “Please. I don’t know what happened, but I know something did. I need your help.”
She sighs. “Okay, fine. But you asked for this.” There’s a pause before she adds, “I’ll call Alexei.”
Your mouth is dry and your whole body aches with stiffness as you sit up, rubbing at your burning eyes. The sun through the window is too low and too bright for it to be your usual wake-up time—so you know you’ve overslept.
You throw back the duvet and swing your legs over the edge of the bed, curling your toes into the plush carpet you and Bucky picked out together. You’d chosen it the second you stepped into the flooring store. The saleswoman warned you off it—something about loose threads and visible tread marks—but it was just so unbelievably soft, you couldn’t imagine choosing anything else.
The day it was installed, you and Bucky spent the first fifteen minutes making carpet angels, laughing like idiots, and revelling in the feel of it beneath your skin. Then you spent the next hour defiling the brand-new flooring. There’s still a stain you never managed to get out—thankfully hidden beneath the bed.
Your stomach twists with nausea, bile climbing your throat until you gag. You scramble to your feet and rush into the ensuite, gripping the basin for dear life as you cough up nothing but stomach acid.
Tears well up, spilling hot and fast down your cheeks before your mind can even catch up.
You feel wrecked. Totally and utterly ruined. Chewed up and spat out by the universe.
You don’t understand anything. It’s like you’ve been dropped into the centre of the labyrinth without a torch. But there’s a rope inside your gut—tugging, steady and sure—pulling you in a direction that promises escape. Only, it’s not leading you toward where you should be going. Not to Bucky.
No, the rope is dragging you toward someone else. Your mate. The man from last night. Bob. The only thing your body seems to crave.
“Fuck,” you mutter, letting your heavy eyelids fall shut as you slowly straighten.
You avoid your reflection in the mirror as you strip off and step into the shower. You can’t look at yourself right now. You’re not just confused—you’re scared. Something inside you has changed, irrevocably. And you know that the moment you admit it, you’ll lose the power to stop it.
Once you’re showered and slightly less of a wreck, you wrap yourself in a comfortable pair of sweats and an old hoodie—one you haven’t worn in a while, since you usually prefer to steal Bucky’s. But not today. You tried to put on one of his sweaters, but the smell made you gag. And then you started crying again. Because yesterday, his scent was one of the most comforting things in the world to you. But not anymore.
Now, all you can think about is Bob—where he is, what he’s doing. And you know he’s thinking about you too. You can feel it.
After another few minutes of tears, you dry your cheeks and take a deep breath before stepping out of the bedroom and padding down the hall. When you reach the lounge room, the low chatter dies instantly, and three pairs of eyes turn to you—wide and full of concern.
“Hey,” Bucky murmurs, brows drawn tight. “How are you feeling?”
“Great,” you mutter sarcastically, avoiding his gaze.
“You do not look great,” Alexei says flatly.
Yelena rolls her eyes. “Thank you, Alexei. She knows.”
You curl up on the far end of the three-seater lounge, putting as much distance as possible between you and Yelena. Bucky is on the two-seater, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, and Alexei is perched on one of the dining room chairs with his back to the TV.
It’s on, but the volume is muted.
“So,” your eyes flick toward Yelena, “what’s all this about?”
She sighs, her gaze darting to Bucky before settling back on you. “I came over to ask Barnes if he knew what happened to Bob last night, because he was acting strange—stranger than usual. But instead, I get told a bunch of bullshit about this ridiculous soulmates thing that Alexei has been going on about. And now I’m being forced to entertain the idea that it might be real. So... explain.”
You frown. “Explain what?”
“Whatever happened with you and Bob last night,” she says, waving a hand like the answer should be obvious.
You blink a few times, brows pulling tighter as you glance down. The room thickens with silence, tension rising in the air. The only sound is Alexei’s heavy breathing.
“What do you mean... he was acting strange?” you ask softly.
Yelena sighs again, tipping her head as if searching for the right words. “He was... weirdly calm. And not the kind of quiet, anxiety-ridden, dissociative ‘calm’ he usually is. He was actually peaceful. It was kind of alarming. So Ava stayed up all night to keep watch. We thought it might be the ‘calm before the storm’—you know, before one of his other personalities came out to play—but... nothing. He went to bed and slept. No noise, no darkness. Ava even phased into his room to check he was still there. And he was—sleeping peacefully.” She pauses. “He was... talking, though. Kept saying your name.”
You swallow—hard. “My name?”
She nods.
“Okay,” you mutter. “That doesn’t really mean... anything.” You glance at Alexei, like he might save you. “Right?”
“Doll,” Bucky says softly, voice tight, eyes still locked on the floor. “You were sayin’ his name all night too.”
You choke on nothing. Your chest tightens, lungs aching, heart leaping into an erratic rhythm.
“Alexei,” Yelena says sharply, turning toward her father. “Assuming this ridiculousness is real—how do we know for sure?”
Alexei raises his brows, eyes fixed on you. “She knows. And so does Bob. There is no magical way of asking the universe. They just know.”
Yelena’s head snaps back to you, her eyes wide, expectant. “So?”
A few silent tears slip down your cheeks, and you blink quickly, trying to keep the whole dam from breaking.
“Oh,” she murmurs, rearing back slightly. “I’m sorry.”
You let out a weak, watery laugh. “Why are you sorry?”
She shrugs. “For being harsh, I guess? I don’t know. I’m just... confused. It’s hard to believe any of this is real, but—”
“Why else would it affect them so much?” Alexei cuts in, gesturing toward you. “Whether or not you believe it, you cannot deny something has happened. Look at her. You think this is what happens when she simply meets someone new? Of course not—that would be crazy.”
“Couldn’t it be something else?” Yelena presses, brows knit. “Like, maybe Bob’s powers just—”
“You said it yourself,” Bucky interrupts, “he’s been better lately—especially last night. You really think that’s a coincidence?”
“Did not the crazy lady say it to you?” Alexei asks, eyes locking on you. “That you and your mate were something special?”
You nod slowly, sniffing and wiping the wetness from your cheeks. A beat of silence stretches between the four of you as you try to compose yourself, pressing down the guilt and that strange new sensation pulling you toward your mate.
“So... what do we do?” you ask, your voice hoarse as it slices through the quiet. “How do we stop it?”
“Stop it?” Alexei echoes. “You do not stop it. It’s not possible.”
Your bottom lip quivers. “But Bucky—”
“This isn’t about me,” Bucky says, eyes dark as he finally looks up. “If Bob could control himself after just meeting her, then this could be—this could help him control his powers. He might be able to use them without the other two showing up.”
You frown, narrowing your eyes. “What are you talking about?”
He doesn’t answer you. Instead, he turns to Yelena. “She could help him. This could help the whole the team.”
Frustration bubbles beneath your skin, spreading like wildfire through your veins and making your heart pound. “This isn’t about the team, Bucky,” you snap. “This is about you and me.”
Nausea swirls low in your gut, your body physically rebelling at your own words—this attempt to reject your mate. Because you don’t want to. Not really. But you know you should. You chose Bucky. And you’re going to stick with that.
Even if it kills you.
“Barnes...” Yelena says softly. “I’m not sure if—”
“This isn’t about me!” he exclaims, turning toward her sharply, his expression stormy. “Not anymore.”
You watch him with wide, watery eyes. “Bucky. Please. I don’t—I don’t want this... I don’t—” Your voice catches, breath halting as you fight for the words. “I don’t want... him.” It burns to say it, but you know it’s what Bucky needs to hear. “I want you. I choose you.”
His face softens, blue eyes turning almost cerulean—the way they do when he’s close to tears.
You turn to Alexei. “Couldn’t I just... help Bob? Be there for him to help control his powers and—and still be with Bucky?”
Alexei chuckles—low and soft, full of quiet contrition. “You could try. But it would be difficult... being so close to him, wanting him in a way you cannot explain, and holding yourself back. Not to mention the physical and emotional pain you would put him through.”
“So,” Yelena pipes up, “this could make Bob worse?”
Alexei shrugs. “Theoretically, yes.”
“Can’t we just try it?” you ask, your voice cracking halfway through as more tears spill down your cheeks.
Yelena scoots closer and gently places her hand on your knee. She’s not entirely sure what to do—your body language is still guarded—but you offer her a soft smile as her thumb begins to trace small, calming circles.
“We can try it,” she says quietly.
Bucky nods, watching you with a heavy expression and the faintest spark of hope behind his eyes. “It’s worth a shot.”
Alexei leans forward, his eyes crinkled and mouth pulling into an awkward grimace. “Well... there is one more thing.”
You all turn toward him, frowning.
“Do you remember what I said last night? About... it being different when you touch?”
You nod slowly.
“If you want to try just being his friend, then you cannot touch him,” he says. “Not at all. And you will want to—badly. But you cannot.”
Yelena lifts a brow. “Why?”
There’s a pause—an awkward silence while Alexei searches for the right words.
“You will not be able to... resist, as you say. When you first see him, it is all spiritual. Like fate. An invisible string pulling you together, but...” he hesitates, brow furrowed. “When you touch, it is more... physical.”
You suck in a sharp breath. “Physical?”
“Yes.” He nods. “Like... sexual. You will not be able to—”
“No, no,” Yelena cuts in, eyes wide as they flick toward Bucky. “We do not need to unpack this. She just won’t touch him.” She looks at you pointedly. “Right?”
You nod. “Exactly.”
Never mind that your fingertips are already burning. That your whole body is buzzing, restless with the ache to be near Bob again. The idea of his skin against yours sparks like a live wire and makes every nerve ending flare to life. You feel lit up—like something dormant inside you has snapped awake. Like a part of you was missing, and now that you’ve found it—felt it—you can’t breathe without it.
Yeah... this is going to be fine.
-
The day has been long. Maybe the longest you’ve ever lived through.
You tried to read. You tried watching TV. You even went for a run—which turned into a walk, which turned into a slow lap around the block before you forced yourself back inside. Because all you really wanted to do was find Bob. Go to him. Be near him.
It’s strange. Unlike anything you’ve ever felt. You know him—somehow. Like he already belongs to you, and you to him, even though you’ve only met once. Barely exchanged a handful of words.
Your whole body aches for him in a way you don’t understand. You feel like you’re fading without him, like staying away too long might cause you to unravel entirely. The idea of never seeing him again makes your stomach churn.
But you can’t let it show. You have to remember you chose Bucky. He’s your person—not this stranger with eyes that feel like home. You gave your word. You said yes.
So you’re going to marry Bucky.
Even if it’s not what you want anymore.
Even if he’s not what you want anymore.
“You sure you’re feeling better?” Bucky asks, stopping at the door to the bathroom.
You’ve been standing in a towel, staring at your reflection for at least five minutes now, trying to will yourself into being stronger. To shake this feeling. To silence the strange, restless hum beneath your skin—like stardust catching fire. Like gravity itself has shifted, bending around you, pulling your soul toward Bob’s with a force so fierce it almost hurts.
You clear your throat. “Much better, I promise.”
He gives you a small smile—weak, but still there.
There’s a beat of silence. A stretch of unfamiliar energy between you, tense and fraying at the edges. As if the universe itself is rejecting the bond you once believed was written in the stars.
But the stars had nothing to do with you and Bucky. Not really.
Now you know what it truly feels like when the stars choose. When they bind one soul to another.
“I love you,” he says softly, his voice hoarse. “Regardless of everything. Whatever you choose—I love you. I always will.”
Your eyes fill with tears—easily, instantly.
“I’m so sorry,” you whisper. “I wish I could—”
“Don’t,” he cuts in, nearly choking on the word. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for.”
“But—”
“Doll, I’m serious.” He steps forward, hesitating before reaching out with his flesh hand. You take it, and he gently pulls you a step closer.
“I know what I said before—about the team. That shouldn’t have been what I was worried about. But it was easier, you know? Easier to focus on something practical than to face the truth. Which is… I think I’m going to lose you.”
You shake your head, tears already spilling. “No, you’re not—”
“It’s okay,” he whispers, forcing a tight, sad smile. “Maybe it’s meant to happen. Like… literally written in the stars, right? And if being away from him is hurting you, I won’t be the one who makes you stay. That’s the last thing I want.”
He looks away, jaw working, before he meets your eyes again. “So just… forgive me. If I shut down. If I don’t know how to deal with this. If I can’t always stick around when—if—you choose him.” His voice trembles. “Because it’s going to hurt, doll. More than I probably know how to handle. But I meant what I said—I’ll let you go.”
He blinks fast, but a few tears escape anyway, carving slow trails across his cheeks. “If that’s what’s right—for you, for him, for fate or the universe or whatever this is—then I won’t fight it.”
He pauses, breathing deep.
“But you have to promise me something.” His voice steadies, just a little. “Don’t hurt yourself for me. Don’t hold back. Don’t settle. Don’t lie to yourself just because you made a promise before everything changed. Before you knew what this really was. Can you promise me that?”
You swallow hard, your breath catching in short, shallow gasps as you try not to scream. All you can do is nod.
“Good,” he whispers, his fingers brushing the ring on your left hand.
Then he leans in, eyes fluttering shut as he presses a soft kiss to your damp cheek.
A sob breaks free from your chest, more tears falling fast as he slowly turns and walks away—leaving you standing there, crying for what feels like the thousandth time today.
Not because you don’t love him.
But because you don’t want him.
And you hate yourself for that. Hate that you’re doing this to him.
But there’s nothing in you strong enough to stop it. So all you can do now is try not to hurt him more than you already have. Try to make it work.
Which is exactly why you’re going to the tower tonight.
To see Bob. To talk to Bob.
Because this thing—whatever it is—it involves him too.
And that’s something everyone else seems to have forgotten.
After drying your eyes—and then your body—you change into a fresh pair of sweats and another old hoodie. You pull on a pair of sneakers, run a brush through your hair, and head out the door. You don’t care about looking good right now. You don’t even care about looking decent. You just want to see Bob.
The walk to the tower is quiet. Bucky doesn’t try to hold your hand, and you don’t notice until you’re standing outside the looming building—when nerves start to creep in and you suddenly wish you had something to hold on to.
You glance his way, mouth parting—to ask for his hand, for comfort—but then you feel it.
That pull.
It threads through you like a live current, drawing you forward, calling to you like a heartbeat echoing in someone else’s chest. Like the ache of a memory you’ve never lived.
“You ready?” Bucky asks softly.
But his voice barely reaches you. It sounds distant, like he’s speaking from another room—or underwater. Muffled beneath the steady thrum of your pulse.
You nod, eyes fixed ahead as you step through the doors. Into the elevator.
You wait—still, silent—breath caught in your chest.
Then the doors open.
The moment you step into the common room, the air changes.
Alexei, Yelena, Ava, and John are gathered near the TV, the low hum of a movie playing as they speak in hushed tones—careful, like they’re trying not to break something fragile. But none of them are the first thing you see.
It’s Bob.
He’s sitting alone on the far couch, his elbows resting on his knees, fingers laced loosely as he stares at nothing in particular. Like he’s been waiting in stillness. Like he knew.
His head lifts before you even take a full step into the room.
The moment your eyes meet, the rest of the world exhales. Or maybe it holds its breath—you can’t tell. All you know is that everything inside you goes quiet. The noise, the ache, the confusion—it all stills beneath the gravity of him. The pull.
You don’t move at first. Neither does he. It’s like your souls got there before your bodies could catch up. Like the space between you is still catching fire.
And then, gently, you walk toward him. Just a few steps. He rises slowly, hands by his sides, eyes locked on yours with a look so open, so raw, it nearly undoes you.
No one speaks.
Not until Ava lets out a soft, wide-eyed breath from the couch. “Holy shit.”
The others glance between you and Bob, exchanging looks, but no one interrupts. No jokes. No commentary. Just the quiet understanding of people who have just witnessed something that feels... bigger.
You stop in front of him. Close, but not touching. His breath hitches. Yours does too.
Still, neither of you says a word.
You don’t need to.
Because whatever this is—this ancient, aching thing that lives between your ribs and beneath your skin—it’s speaking loud enough for both of you.
Yelena clears her throat, gaze lingering on Bucky. “Okay… yeah. I get it now.”
You blink rapidly, like you’ve just slammed back into your body after falling out of it. Slowly, you step back, eyes flicking toward the rest of the team—but refusing to snap straight back to Bob.
“This is crazy,” Alexei says, his grin so wide and his eyes so bright it looks like he might actually combust.
John pulls a face, nose wrinkled, confusion and mild disgust written all over him. “I can, like… feel it too.” He looks at you, alarmed. “Why?”
You shrug, breath caught in your throat, your voice nowhere to be found.
There’s a beat of silence, thick and humming with the weight of unspoken words and the flood of questions swirling through everyone’s minds.
Then John claps his hands together, loud and abrupt. “Okay, so… how do we figure out if she can control him?”
That snaps the room back into motion.
“I don’t think it works like that,” Ava mutters, folding her arms.
“How the hell would you know?” John fires back.
Alexei lifts a brow. “She is not here to control Bob.”
“Oh. Okay. Did you read that in one of your magic manuals?” John scoffs.
“Walker, please,” Yelena sighs. “Now is not the time to argue.”
They start talking over one another, voices rising and overlapping like a wave about to crash.
And then—
“Wait.”
The single word is soft. Barely audible.
Bob.
Everyone turns, and the room falls back into a heavy silence.
He shifts slightly on his feet, shoulders drawn tight, eyes fixed on the floor for a beat before flickering up to you. His voice is uncertain, but steady enough. “I… I’m confused.”
There’s a pause.
“What do you mean?” Yelena asks gently.
Bob swallows, glancing around the room before his gaze returns to you.
“Well… whatever this is, I feel it. I know it. I know—” His voice falters as he looks at you again, softer now, “I know you. You’re… mine.”
You don’t flinch. You don’t look away.
He blinks, grounding himself.
“But… I don’t understand what’s happening. Why it’s happening. Or… what you’re all talking about.”
You open your mouth, but Bucky speaks first, stepping forward.
“She’s not staying,” he says quietly, almost scared to say it out loud. “Not really. She’s… choosing me.”
Bob’s brows pull together, dark blue eyes widening.
“I mean… she’s here to help,” Yelena jumps in, a little too quickly. “Just to help. While we figure things out.”
“Help,” Bob repeats, like he’s trying to fit the word into a sentence that doesn’t quite work.
You finally speak, voice low. “I’m not leaving you. Not completely. But I also… I made a promise. And right now, I’m trying to keep it.”
Bob’s eyes search yours—not angry. Not desperate. Just… aching with the effort of holding something too big for his hands.
And somehow, that’s what hurts the most.
Because those words taste like acid in your mouth. Burning your tongue like white-hot lies.
You don’t want to keep your promise—not now. Not when he is standing there, looking at you like you’re the only thing anchoring him to this world. You don’t want to walk away to protect someone else, even if that someone else has your heart in his hands too.
All you want is this. Him. The man in front of you.
You want to hold him. To reach across the impossible space between you and wrap your fingers around his and never let go. To tell him that whatever force carved your souls from the same star had it right. That you don’t care about the plan or the past or the path you promised to walk.
You just want to stay.
You want to lace your soul into words and place them in his hands.
To tell him that you’ll keep him safe.
That you’ll be the light when his world goes dark.
That you’ll be steady when everything else shakes apart.
That he doesn’t have to be alone anymore.
That you’re his.
Because you are. You always were. Even before you knew.
And walking away from that feels like trying to cut the sky in half and pretend the stars won’t notice.
“I—I don’t understand,” Bob says, his voice firmer now, edged with something darker. Something dangerous. “She doesn’t want this.”
You exhale sharply, his name slipping from your lips like a prayer. “Bob, please.”
His eyes snap to you, wide and shining with everything he can’t bring himself to say. But you don’t need words. You don’t need promises. You just need him.
“You don’t want this,” he repeats, softer now. Almost broken.
You swallow hard. “I do. This is what I’m… choosing.”
His brow pulls tight. “Why?”
“I made a promise,” you say again, as if saying it enough times might make it true. “And I want to keep it.”
You don’t.
“But I’ll still be here when you need me. We can still… be together. Just… not completely.”
Bob’s eyes shift to Bucky, dark blue bleeding into molten silver. “She’s choosing you?”
The energy in the room changes again.
The air goes still. No static hum. No crackle of power. Just… silence.
Heavy and unnatural—like being buried underwater. A crushing pressure that squeezes your lungs until you forget how to breathe.
Bob’s jaw tightens. You can see it—feel it—in the tension radiating off him. In the flicker of silver that sharpens, flares, then fades again in his eyes.
“You’re lying,” he says quietly.
Your breath catches.
“I can feel you,” he continues, voice raw, trembling just beneath the surface. “That’s what this is, right? This connection? I feel you, and you feel me. So I know you don’t want this.”
“Bob—”
His hands clench into fists at his sides. “No. Don’t say it again. Don’t say it’s your choice. Don’t say it’s a promise. Because that’s not what you’re feeling.” His voice cracks, then drops into something lower. Rougher. “You want me. I know you do.”
A faint pulse of cold slips through the room—sharp and unnatural, like a draft from somewhere that shouldn’t exist. It kisses your skin, raises every hair on your arms, and sinks deeper, like ice threading through bone.
Ava shifts her weight uneasily. John glances toward Bucky, tense.
“I don’t understand,” Bob says again, and this time his voice is breaking. “Why are you lying to me? Why are you choosing something that hurts you? That hurts us?”
You open your mouth, but the words aren’t there. They’ve drowned somewhere in your throat, tangled in the ache behind your ribs.
“I can feel your heart,” he whispers, silver light blooming behind his irises again. “And it’s breaking.”
There’s a pause. A beat where no one dares to speak. No one breathes.
Then Yelena steps forward, her voice steady. “Bob, please. You need to—”
But he cuts her off, eyes flashing silver as his anger sharpens, gaze snapping to Bucky. “Why won’t you let her go?”
Bucky swallows and takes a step back, his blue eyes wide and watery, flicking between you and Bob. “I—”
“She’s not yours,” Bob says, his voice so deep it echoes through the room—through your mind. “You can’t keep her.”
The room tenses. Silence coils thick around you, something ethereal seeping into the air like gasoline waiting for a spark.
“Bob,” Yelena tries again, louder now, more urgent. “You need to calm down. Now.”
You glance at the floor—at Bob’s feet. Shadows crawl across them, creeping upward, inch by inch, slowly consuming him.
Panic flickers across his face. He knows he’s slipping. The power inside him swells—cold, fierce, pressing outward.
His breath comes faster, fists trembling. “I’m… I’m sorry—”
The air snaps, taut like a wire pulled too tight. His power spirals, wild and uncontained, slicing through the room in jagged bursts like shards of ice.
The darkness creeps higher with every breath, swallowing him slow—leaving nothing in its wake but shadow, nothing but void.
“This was supposed to help,” John snaps. “She was supposed to help him, not make it worse!”
Alexei steps forward, eyes locked on you. “You need to go to him.”
You shake your head, slow and small, tears slipping down your cheeks. “I—I can’t.”
Ava backs away, her body flickering as she prepares to phase.
“Bob, look at me,” Yelena says, steady but firm. “Breathe. You are not alone.”
But his eyes stay on you. That look—raw heartbreak etched into every line of his face, love twisted with fear and confusion—
It fractures something inside of you.
“We need to get out of here,” Ava calls from a few feet away.
John starts backing up, his eyes wide and locked on Bob—as if waiting for a sign to turn and run.
“We cannot leave him,” Alexei says. “We go in, if we have to.”
“Bob,” Yelena pleads. “You’ve got this. Please. You can control this.”
Everything starts to blur.
The shouting becomes a wall of noise, voices crashing over each other, words slurring until they’re nothing but static—a low, violent hum in your ears. The blood rushes louder. Your head throbs, a sickening, rhythmic pounding like your skull is splitting apart from the inside out.
You want to scream.
You want to tear at your skin just to feel something real, to make the pain physical—tangible—because at least that would make sense. You want to tell them all to shut up. To stop talking. To just let you breathe.
You want to drop to your knees and scream into the void until it spits him back out.
Bob.
Bob, whose body is almost completely swallowed by shadow.
Bob, whose eyes—silver and scared—are locked on yours, pleading. Begging.
Bob, who holds your heart in his shaking hands. Who owns your soul, even now. Even as you’re walking away from him.
The one thing you need… and the one thing you’re denying yourself.
And for what?
For the heart of someone else? For a promise that was never meant to cost this much?
You would burn the whole damn world to save him.
You’d tear the universe apart just to keep from breaking that heart.
But this? This is breaking yours too.
Bucky’s voice cuts through the chaos—barely louder than a whisper, but somehow it reaches you. Steady, but breaking.
“It’s okay,” he says, eyes locked on yours even as his own brim with tears. “Go to him. I’ll be okay.”
You shake your head, lips trembling, a silent protest caught in your throat. But deep down, you know he means it. You feel it—the weight of his acceptance, the way he's choosing love over possession. Choosing you, even if it breaks him.
“I don’t want to let you go. God, I don’t. But I can’t be the reason he breaks.”
Your chest aches so deeply it nearly folds you in half. But there’s something else there too—something small and warm and unspeakably grateful. You don’t deserve this kind of kindness. But he’s giving it anyway.
“You still have a part of me. Always will.” His voice falters, but his eyes stay soft. “But he needs all of you right now. And I… I just want you to be safe.”
A sound escapes your throat, half a sob, half his name. You take a shaky breath, tears sliding down your cheeks as you step toward him—not to stay, but to say thank you without words.
His smile is soft. Cracked around the edges. Brave in the way only someone who’s breaking can be.
“It’s okay. I promise.”
You nod once. Swallow hard. Squeeze your eyes shut—steadying yourself. Then turn back toward him.
Bob, who’s almost gone—his form nearly swallowed by the creeping dark, his features carved in flickers of silver and shadow. He stands there like a man on the edge of oblivion, barely tethered to this world. Just a silhouette of the boy you love, wrapped in light and ruin.
His eyes find yours, and for a second, everything stills.
Even now, almost lost to the void, he sees you. Only you.
You take a step forward, your body trembling with the weight of it all—the fear, the guilt, the unbearable ache of loving something you might be too late to save.
“Bob,” you whisper, his name falling from your lips like a prayer, like a lifeline.
The darkness claws higher, curling up his neck like smoke. But his eyes—those bright, breaking eyes—shine through it all. The fear in them cuts through you like a blade. Not fear of what’s happening to him.
Fear that you won’t come.
That you’ll leave.
That he’ll lose you, too.
“It’s okay,” you say—to him or yourself, you’re not sure.
You lift your hand and move forward, closing the space with slow and careful steps—like one wrong move could shatter the world.
One step, then another—until you’re standing toe to toe with him. The shadow writhes beneath your feet, hungry and alive, but the moment you enter his space, it curls back. Like it knows you. Like it fears you.
Or maybe it just recognises what he loves.
The air is ice. He’s trembling. His face—barely visible now—flickers in and out of shadow like a dying flame. You reach for him, slow and sure, your fingers brushing the centre of his chest.
Right over his heart.
And the darkness parts.
Just slightly—splitting like oil pulled from water, leaving a sliver of fabric beneath your touch. His heart stutters. Yours lurches.
Then you press your palm flat.
And a soft light blooms.
Not blinding, not loud—just a soft, golden glow that seeps from beneath your hand like a memory. Gentle and warm. It spreads slow, steady. The shadow recoils, peeling back inch by inch, retreating from the light, from you.
Everything stops.
The void is gone.
Your ears are filled with the sound of your own pulse as you stare into those dark blue eyes—like the ocean kissed the sky and gave birth to this colour just for him.
He looks so fragile now. So tired. Wrecked not just by the strain of his powers, but by the weight of you. Of your touch. Your choice.
You, choosing him.
For a moment, you just stare at each other—memorising every line, every flicker of emotion—though you already know his face by heart. You’ve always known him. In dreams. In shadows. In the quiet corners of your mind. Drifting through memories and half-sleep, like your souls were stitched together before time ever started.
Always there. Always waiting.
“You okay?” you whisper, your voice faint, barely real.
He nods.
Then you collapse into him, arms winding around his waist, clinging like you’ll never let go.
And you won’t.
Not ever.
There’s still guilt. A lingering ache for the hurt you’ve caused. A hollow echo of someone else’s heart breaking.
But right now, all you feel is Bob. His arms around you, pulling you in like a lifeline. His face tucked into your neck, curls brushing your skin like a secret only he gets to know.
All you want is Bob.
All you need is Bob.
You can’t believe you ever thought you could live without this.
Without him.
Trying to choose someone else would’ve destroyed you. You see that now.
You feel it.
At some point, you shift to the couch. The others are gone—when exactly, you’re not sure—but you’re grateful. You need space. Time. And Bob needs rest.
Which he finally gets. For a few hours.
You settle at one end, sinking into the soft cushions, with Bob’s head resting in your lap. His arms wrap around your thigh like a vice—steady strength even in sleep. You play with his curls, trace the line of his jaw, and rub gentle circles along his back as he drifts.
You’re exhausted, but sleep eludes you. You don’t want to waste a single second with him. Never before have you wanted someone so fiercely. All you need is to feel him here—safe, alive, with you.
So you stay awake. Occasionally you shift, easing pins and needles or aching muscles, but Bob barely stirs. He nuzzles into your lap, your lower belly, holding on as if you’re the only thing keeping him from unravelling.
It should feel strange, wrong even. But nothing has ever felt more right.
You know this man better than you know yourself—of that, you are certain—and no part of you hesitates or doubts. This is real. The most real thing you’ve ever known.
You know it’ll be complicated. Awkward with the team, even more so with Bucky. You’ll have to hide it from the world for a while. But none of it matters—not one bit—when the boy in your lap breathes softly against your skin. His lashes dark on flushed cheeks, lips parted with a stray drop of drool on your thigh, and that aching, desperate pull in your chest growing stronger with every breath.
He sleeps until the sun starts to set, and you stay with him. At one point, you turn on the TV and pick a random movie, but your eyes rarely leave Bob. You don’t need him to wake—you’re perfectly content just being near him—but when his lashes finally flutter open, your breath still catches.
He stretches slowly, shifting against you like a cat basking in the sun all day. Then he rubs his eyes and sits up, blinking blearily, a soft smile curling at the edges of his lips.
“You stayed,” he murmurs.
You nod.
Without him, your body feels cold, but you resist the urge to cling to him. He needs space to wake fully, to stretch his limbs and shake off the last vestiges of sleep.
“Where are the others?” he asks.
You shrug. “Not sure. They’ve been gone all day.”
He nods slowly. “Did you—Did you leave at all?”
“No,” you say softly. “Stayed right here.”
He shifts closer, one hand finding yours like it’s the most natural thing in the world—as if his hands have known yours for years.
His brow creases. “You must be starving.”
You bite your bottom lip, weighing up your next response. Because yes, you’re hungry—but there’s something else you’re craving. Something more urgent, more raw than anything you’ve ever known. Something you need more than you want. Something Alexei warned you about, and you didn’t quite believe—until now. Now it claws at your chest, primal and fierce, relentless and aching.
“There’s… something else,” you say slowly. “I don’t know if you—”
“I do,” he cuts in.
Your lips part, breath catching in quick, uneven gasps as you hold his gaze—captivated, utterly pinned by the raw hunger burning in his eyes.
His brows lift ever so slightly, a subtle twitch—a silent question hanging in the air. You nod.
Then he moves forward, hands cupping your jaw—careful but urgent, as if he can’t quite believe you’re real.
The world fractures—time fractures—and everything narrows to a single, blazing point where your lips slam together with the force of a thousand storms.
It’s raw. Fierce. Like the universe just exploded inside your chest.
His mouth devours yours—claiming, desperate—fingers tangling in your hair, pulling you impossibly closer. You burn and tremble, caught in a tidal wave of need and relief that steals your breath.
The air hums with electricity, silence shattered by ragged gasps and the wild pounding of your hearts—syncing, breaking, snapping together like a sacred, unspoken vow breaking free.
Every nerve screams alive, every touch sending sparks crashing like fireworks. It’s hot, heavy, frantic—a beautiful chaos that feels like coming home after being lost forever.
You taste everything—fire, desperation, the sharp tang of longing—and drown in it, surrendering to the moment where nothing else exists but this.
When you finally pull back, your foreheads collide, breaths mingling in ragged gasps. His eyes are dark, wild, shattered open, and in that look, you know this bond has broken through every barrier, every shadow, every doubt.
You’re his.
And he’s yours.
“I need you,” he whispers, voice rough, cracking, as his hands slip beneath your shirt.
“I know,” you breathe, arching into him, trembling. “I need you too.”
-
“Do we have to?” Bob sighs, face buried in the crook of your neck, his curls tickling your bare skin.
You giggle, placing a kiss to his shoulder, perfectly content beneath the weight of his body—his completely naked body.
“I mean,” you murmur, fingers trailing down the dip of his spine, “you’re already late. Is there really any point in going at all?”
He lifts his head, deep blue eyes shining with adoration as he looks at you. “Exactly,” he says, soft lips twitching. “Besides, I can think of a thousand other things I’d rather do.”
He shifts, and you feel it—hard and heavy, pressing insistently against your lower belly.
Your lips curl into a smirk, heat blooming low and hot between your thighs. “And what exactly might these other things entail?”
He chuckles, sliding down slightly, tracing his tongue between the valley of your breasts.
“So many things,” he murmurs against your skin, “all of them involving me inside of you… in one way or another.”
You hum, eyes fluttering shut as his mouth wraps around your nipple, drawing a breathy sigh from your lips. “That sounds…” you gasp when his teeth graze the sensitive bud, “very good.”
He looks up again, lips parting from your skin as he gives you a soft, boyish smile. His eyes are bright—almost pale blue in the morning light spilling through the windows—and he looks so damn pretty. His curls are mussed, his cheeks are pink, and his skin is pressed flush against yours in the most delicious way. Even after weeks of having him—weeks of giving yourself to him in every possible way—you still can’t get enough.
“Does that mean we’re staying?” he asks, hands gliding up your ribs toward your breasts.
You giggle, flinching at the ticklish drag of his fingertips across your bare skin. There’s nothing you want more than to stay right here with him—forever. You don’t care if his teammates are waiting. You don’t even care if they blame you for holding him hostage. All you want is to stay tangled up with Bob until something human forces you to stop devouring each other—either sleep or hunger, the usual culprits.
“Yeah,” you whisper, a dopey, lovesick smile curling your lips, “we’re staying… but on one condition.”
His brow furrows, and he sits up a little further, his hard cock grinding against you in the most distracting way.
“Bob,” you breathe, eyes fluttering shut, hands flying to his shoulders to hold him still.
He laughs softly, low and cheeky. “Yes?”
“I need you to fuck me,” you say, cheeks flushing pink—despite the fact that he literally just did, not five minutes ago. “Again,” you add. “And again, until I can’t walk.”
When your eyes open, you find his—dark and hungry, a stark contrast to the sweet, boyish softness from just seconds ago.
“And then I want pancakes,” you say with a small smirk.
His lips curve before he surges up and crushes his mouth to yours. Your chest aches. Your stomach swirls. Every coherent thought in your head vanishes. You’ve kissed Bob hundreds—maybe thousands—of times by now, and still, every kiss is earth-shattering. Every kiss steals your breath, stops your heart, and reminds you that this man was made for you.
“I love you,” he whispers against your lips.
You let out a breathless sigh as he trails kisses down your jaw, his mouth sucking a bruise into the soft skin of your neck. “I love you too.”
-
Mates are rare. They're not just lovers or partners—they’re soul-deep bonds that tilt the earth, shatter reality, and leave everything else dull by comparison. They’re not easy. They break hearts just as easily as they heal them. But when you find yours, there’s no doubt. No fear. No force on earth strong enough to pull you away.
Because despite everything—despite the hurt, the heartache, and the chaos—you know with absolute certainty that you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.
Loki is really going to give me an existential crisis every week - as if I didn’t have those on an unhealthy basis already - as well as turn me into a full nihilist by the end of it.
Honestly all I want from the series is to see Loki back in his Jotun form and learning to love himself by the end of it...this is literally the bare minimum of what I’m asking for.
Just fine is how I was feeling. I was lucky enough to be able to get started straight away with a new song to work on from a different artist. Practicing new instruments and talking to new clients have been what I've thrown myself into for the past 3 weeks.
Though drowning myself into work has kept me busy and given me excuses to ignore the hundreds of calls and texts from Harry, it felt like months had pass instead of only one. I seem to forget more about them and only remember the look on his face when I turn my back on him and left. Instead of memorizing chords and words, my brain can only comprehend the words we said and the last time I felt his touch or embrace. When I want to remind myself of what he did, the moment on the balcony is the first thing that comes to my mind and I curse myself for it.
I missed him, of course I did. As I sit in front of my laptop with an opened tab on a recording program, I am instead met with another creator's block and thinking about Harry again. Two points of thought that I hate being stuck in at the moment. The empty bags and containers of snacks and my dinner surround me and I'm wrapped in a blanket while a sad playlist is playing on spotify. It was a depressing sight.
But I can only image the state that Harry's in. After everything, I still miss and care about him, wondering if he's excited about the album release tomorrow or if he's hydrated and taking the fact that I've chose to walk out of his life better than I am. It's pathetic really, but it's part of it and I can only hope to learn to live without him through time. If that is something I can even think of doing in the first place.
He hasn't called or text throughout the whole day though. I didn't want it to bother me but it did, even if it was time away that I'm asking for. I glanced at the black screen of my phone, pressing the button to turn it on. 12:23 AM and no notifications.
'i do love you, i'm sorry' one day ago. This is a good sign. This should be a good sign.
I sighed, forcing myself to turn away from my phone and focus on finishing this piece. The instrumentals are there and the rhythm is set, but coming up with lyrics prove to be difficult when I feel physically and emotionally drained.
It was late anyways. I would of been asleep by now to get ready for tomorrow, but it was most likely made clear I wouldn't be celebrating with the gang. I told Jeff the excuse that I had a meeting up north for the valid reason, even though everyone already knows what happened between the two best friends. A lunch with Sara and Mitch a week ago started off normal and pleasant as always, but had ended with Mitch bringing up Harry and me leaving abruptly.
"He's a mess. Hasn't left his house and has been ignoring everyone all week. We don't know what really happened between you two, but it's obvious that you haven't been the same as well."
The mention was enough to irk me. "Can we not right now?"
"Look even though we care about you, it's still non of our business to get involved. But it's still our jobs to see that when someone we care about is bothered by something, we make sure they are aware of it. Both of you aren't happy and should simply talk about it."
"It's not that simple Sara, he's too stubborn."
"It doesn't have to be now, but eventually. You yourself know that what you two have is way too special to just walk away from."
"Yeah well what if it's not? What if it's just not what everyone expects it to be? That even if we somehow make it work throughout everything, he's just going to run off to someone else again who'll just be better in so many ways."
"He's not the type of person to do that and you know it."
"I thought I did."
With my head rested on my hand, I feel my eyes droop. The instrumental of the song played on repeat on the program as I try to come up with words. Heartbreak and insecurities are the only topics that come to mind with the upbeat sound. I close my eyes for bit, letting the first stage of sleep take it's toll while my brain works overtime producing lines of rhymes.
But my ringtone drives me out of it. I only force my eyes open when I pick up my phone and answer the call, not thinking of who could be the only possible human being to call me at this hour. I sighed, pausing the recording and saving it. "Hello?"
"Hiiiii love! Karl told me I should call someone because I've had too much apparently. Can you please tell him that I'm a grown man that can handle my alcohol?" Shit.
"Harry- wait hold on, you're drunk now? Don't you have... who are you with?" My voice was tired and already raspy. It took longer than needed to process what was actually happening.
"Oh just all by my lonesome self at first... imagined you here a few times but I know that wasn't true, but Karl the bartender is here now!" His voice was muffled and almost drowned out by the sound of a pub. His words were slurred and I can only rub my temples at the situation he's already put me in.
"Why did you call me for this."
"Well my phone's dead and you're the number I memorized." He said softly after hearing my tone. I shouldn't, but he's drunk and alone.
"I'll call Mitch-"
"Only want you. Please?" I can imagine him pouting and I was too tired to argue with him.
"I can't do this right now..."
"Bubs, my head is starting to hurt and everyone is not being nice. Except Karl, Karl is a nice dude."
Maybe if I wasn't overworked and sleep deprived at the moment, I would of been in the righter state of mind. But the other half of me that worried about his state took the opportunity to see him once again.
"Where are you, Harry?"
***
It was easy to find a drunk Harry Styles at a pub. A small local one that we've been too once or twice in the past, enjoying each other's company over a glass after studio hours. And there he was again, sat at the stools we'd sit on and wallowing to Karl the bartender.
"Hey." I placed a hand on his shoulder after making my way through the small crowd that gathered around him that's been listening into his conversation. His eyes light up when he turns around and sees me, while I take in how disheveled he looks. His curls are messy and his bloodshot baggy eyes tells me he's been crying for a while.
"You're here." He mutters softly after he takes a moment to register that it's actually me. I only give him a small nod in confirmation, feeling that heart ache as he pulls me into a hug. "I'm sorry." I hear when he nuzzles into my neck, most likely apologizing when he sees how tired and unwell i am as he does.
"It's okay, come on let's get you home." I managed to let out, pulling away, guiding him out of his seat and away from the bar. "Oh okay, bye Karl! Keep the change." I send the bartender a grateful smile to which he returns with a pity look on his face.
"Just hold my hand Harry okay?" I tell him when I remember how clingy he gets when intoxicated. He doesn't hesitate to do so as we make our way through the crowd and out of the building.
I managed to get him in the passenger's seat without much interaction, now in the driver's seat and cursing at myself when I realized I didn't have enough gas to take him to his house. I didn't have the energy to go to the gas station this late.
"Are you crying..." He asks, pouting when I placed my face in my hands, taking deep breaths. "Please don't be sad, love." I shook my head, counting in my head as I felt Harry lean over and watch me.
"How many did you have?" I asked when I built up the will not to cry and turned on the ignition.
"Didn't bother counting, didn't matter." I kept my eyes in front of me as I drove while I felt his still on me.
"I would beg to differ. Shouldn't be my responsibility anyways." I quickly countered, noting the sharp tone in my voice and the frown I could imagine on his face.
"I'm sorry...I really wanted to see you."
"Hmm, and getting wasted and being an inconvenience is the way to get my attention." There was a second of silence and I glanced at him to check if he was still conscious, only to see that frown and his head hung in shame. My eyes trailed to the pearl necklace tucked into his sweater, as well as a yellow ribbon tied where it clasps together.
The grip I had on the wheel loosened but I sighed as I hated how guilty I felt after, aware how difficult it was to be mad when he was hurt. "That was harsh..."
"Nooo, I deserve it. I really do because I was mean to you and I don't ever want to be mean to you. Because it hurts me too ya know? More than it did when you walked away...I'm sorry that I hurt you."
I didn't say anything after that, spending the rest of the car ride back to my place in silence.
***
"You don't have to be rich, to be my giiirl. You don't have to be cool to rule my wooorld..."
My annoyance conflicted with the flutters my heart was feeling as Harry was softly singing all the way from my car to my sofa, hand held and clinging to my side the whole time. He plopped down, immediately taking a pillow. "Ain't no particular sign, I'm more compatible wiiith- hey you have that record right? Can you put it on pretty please?"
"It's 2AM, I'm not putting on a record right now." I took off my shoes and coat, graciously doing the same for him when he pouts and rests his head back on the couch. "Aw, you used to not care about that before. Is it because of your neighbors terrible taste of music to blast so late at night?"
"What?" I rubbed my eyes, standing up and going to the kitchen. I couldn't hear his mumbled response, but I returned with a glass of water to see him humming with his eyes closed. He cuddled the pillow close to him and I rolled my eyes, almost laughing at how he was tapping his foot along with the song he was playing in his head.
"Here..." He holds his hand out expectantly and I gave it to him. He takes a drink while I place his coat over the coffee table and go to get him an extra pillow and blanket.
"Oh everything hurts." He whines as I place the pillow down on the end of the couch. "My heart mostly, but that's so cheesy of me isn't it? Yours probably hurts more m' sorry...wish I could take it away."
It wasn't just his naïve words that had my eyes start welling up with tears, but it was also the realization of how he can easily break me down. I couldn't last a whole month without being there when he needs someone, when I was the one who wanted to leave. It was also probably the realization that I had grabbed the same blanket we used to set that little picnic in the studio.
"Wish I didn't cause it in the first place." He added, which led to me sitting down on the chair next to the couch, holding onto the blanket a little longer as delirium was starting to set in.
"I don't think we should have this conversation now, Harry... this is so unfair." I mumbled, rubbing my eyes.
"It is, but I'm scared I won't get another chance." My silence gave him the answer he was already aware of.
"What exactly do you want another chance of Harry, enlighten me." I closed my eyes for a minute, only to open them to see Harry looking at me in a different way. It's different, but I've noticed it before.
"Loving you." He's hesitant with his next words, most likely having sobered up a little. "I hadn't seen Heather for a few days after you left, told her later on about what happened. Took your advice though, talked to her and everything. It just wouldn't work out in the end...couldn't see myself with her in the future."
"But now you do with me?" I softly muttered, holding myself back from reaching out to him. He only nods, having that guilty look on his face because he's fully aware he doesn't deserve it. My droopy eyes are glued to his and that damn pearl necklace, too many thoughts in my head to come up with one whole response.
"Should of just called Mitch. You're an idiot for giving yourself a hangover on your release day." I finally said after a moment of silence.
"Hmm? Oh that, no that's not happening." He says casually, playing with the embroidery on the pillow he was hugging.
"What do you mean?"
"I've postponed the album thingy indefinitely or something."
"Aren't you finished with it?"
"I mean it's got 12 songs and everything but I don't know if it's really finished, I don't know." He shrugs and I'm almost annoyed by how calm nonchalant he is about it.
"You never know things Harry."
"And I hate it, I knooow! I don't know why I can't just figure it out and I hate that I'm hurting you because of it." He frowns, rubbing his eyes. "But I do know now that I love you. Really love you. Maybe if I figured that out sooner, you wouldn't hate me bubs."
I fiddle with my fingers, given up on trying to collect all my thoughts together a long time ago as I can only allow myself to take in his words and listen. He was right, in any other situation where I wasn't tired and delirious, I probably wouldn't even be in the same room as him. So here I was again, allowing myself to hurt in order to make sure he's taken care of.
Maybe it's what I deserve though. He left Heather because of me. I caved into myself at the though that I ruined the relationship of two people who loved each other simply because I didn't get the memo. She is everything in his eyes, he's proven that, so why didn't I just leave them be?
"Ugh, you probably hate me calling you that now but you know I won't stop cause you are my bubs! Like how I'm you're H. Oh... well, you stopped calling me that so...maybe not anymore but I want to be. Can I be your H again please, I miss that too." My thoughts were cut off when he continued, finding him now lying down with his eyes closed.
"Maybe one day." I reassured him hesitantly. We would of stayed friends, we wouldn't of had to fall apart, if I had just left him alone.
"Was a weird nickname anyways, just a letter." He mumbles as I stood up, laying the blanket over him while he still holds onto the pillow.
"You sort of gave it to yourself though, get some sleep Harry." I managed to get out, facing away from him to hide the tear that fell. He should be trying to fix his relationship with her and not me.
"Yeah, but you just started calling me it and I fell in love with it." I take one more look at him before I shut my door, seeing his face nuzzled into the pillow and the glint of a small smile on his face as he drifts off to sleep.
***
8:23. I slept around 2 and woke up 7 hours later to faint piano keys. I took in the soft melody, not recognizing it but enjoying it for a second before I forced myself to sit up and rub my eyes, realizing how dry my skin was from crying. It was definitely a sad song made up of only four chords and a fitting way to start the day as I remember the person who is most likely playing it.
I didn't want to face him, my head feeling too mushed to deal with anything else other than work. It was a weird situation to realize, the man I fell in love with and broke my heart is playing piano after I took him in when he was drunk. He tells me he officially breaks up with Heather after realizing he loves me.
He loves me?
No he doesn't. He should still love her, should be trying to get back to her now that I'm out of the picture. But he hasn't been trying too for the past month, focused on me this whole time. But why?
I snapped myself out of those thoughts quickly, knowing how terrible the following ones would be. I didn't want to think about it anymore, wanting to forget and move on. And as I quietly open my door and peaked out onto my apartment, I see his mess of curls sat on my keyboard with the blanket wrapped around him. He was considerate enough to lower the volume at least.
I took a deep breath and walked out quietly, leaning against the door frame as I continue to listen. "Part of the album, has some of your lyrics in it." He says when he notices my presence.
"Hmm. You told me that you've postponed it." I crossed my arms as he finishes the song with a long note. I see him nod, now looking down at his hands on his lap before adjusting the blanket to fully encase him.
"Yeah I did. It didn't feel right, putting something out there that I should be proud of, but you not being there to be happy with. You not wanting too in there first place, when you put your heart and soul into it, all because of me."
I frown, looking away from him when his intense eyes met mine. "It's too early Harry..."
"You told me it wasn't a good time last night too, so when is?" He huffs and I roll my eyes.
"I don't know after I have my fucking coffee?" I scoffed, uncrossing my arms and heading towards the kitchen. I hear him sigh, not saying anything else as I prepare a cup for myself, already annoyed and stressed out. I felt him staring at me while I avoided making eye contact, rubbing my temples.
"I'm sorry if I was trouble." He says, still sat down on the keyboard with the blanket wrapped around him.
"You're sorry for a lot of things." I sighed, pouring coffee into my cup.
"I am. But I don't know how to really apologize to you when you won't even let me talk to you."
I placed my cup down, suddenly forgetting about my coffee and finally looked at him. "Well what do you expect Harry? After everything you think I'm just going to trust you again? I told you I was done, I wanted to walk out of your life."
"But you picked me up. You still care, that still has to means something." He's frustrated now, desperate even and it only frustrates me more.
"Ah yes, decent morality to not leave an A list celebrity drunk in room full of strangers. That really dumb of you to do by the way, without any bodygaurds- what were you thinking?" I said, noticing how he was fiddling with the pearls that hung around his neck.
"The past month has been hell for me and all I wanted to do was see you. I feel so fucking guilty and sad and it's eating me up because I know I don't deserve any sort of reassurance from you. But at the same time, I so badly just want you back and I'm sorry for how selfish and arrogant I am." He was crying and I soften a little because of it. He tries holding it in, looking down as he quickly wipes away the tears that fall. I don't bother hiding mine anymore, having gotten used to it by now and I was tired of it.
"I've been in pain since December. Four months that you put me through so can blame me when I just want it to stop? I am so exhausted because no matter how much I throw myself into work, all I can think about is you and loving you."
"But I love you too, shouldn't that be enough to try again?" It should of been and he knows. Maybe if he realized it sooner, during his birthday, things would be different.
"You've proven that it's not." I say disappointingly, willing myself to walk over and sat down next to him, looking ahead at my piano in front of me. "I don't know what to do anymore Harry. Why can't you let me have this? Let me move on."
"Cause you and I both know we can't leave each other, too emotionally attached. I need you in my life bubs, everything sucks when you're not in it." I laugh a little at that, because it was true in a fucked up way.
"That's so unfair, why did you have to hurt me?" I hesitantly lay my head on his shoulder before he droops the other end of the blanket around me.
"I know most of my relationships don't last. Deep down I've always loved you but I couldn't let myself fall for you because I didn't want to ruin us. The thought of us breaking up and never seeing each other again just terrified me because I never wanted to lose you, ever. But I fucked up and managed to do so anyways, and I hate myself every day as much as you do." He starts playing the song again as he speaks, but it plays it down a key and slower.
"I don't hate you, can't bring myself too, but you shouldn't of been afraid to talk to me. You know who I am, we would of worked through it no matter what." He nods, followed by only the sounds of the piano melody.
"I'm in love with you." I hear him say softly after a little while out of the blue. It catches me off guard, finding it so foreign to hear those words come from him.
I let out a soft self deprecating chuckle. "No you don't. You care about me, but you don't love me. Probably saying this out of guilt or spur of the moment type thing and I can understand that, but you love Heather. She's good for you, perfect even."
"But I fell in love with you. She's not you." His brows are furrowed together as he frowns.
"Yeah, I'm not her." The small glint of my smile quickly fades and he notices it.
"What I did during my speech was very shitty. Gemma pointed it out to me right away and it's one of the biggest things I ever regret doing." He stops playing when he sees me deep in thought, slowly taking my hand to test the waters. "But I need you to understand what I said was true, that you are such an important person to me. You are beautiful, and kind, patience, and just so fucking good to me, love. I want to cherish you because it's what you deserve and I will deal with as much rejection for you to forgive me and give me another chance. It's worth every heartbreak if it means I get to love you again."
I find myself in an intimate situation, looking into his eyes at such a close proximity, our faces only inches away from each other. I was pleading to him with my eyes, begging him not to hurt me again while the look on his face was one I used to be familiar with. He was frozen while the fear that it would only just happen again held me back from moving. His eyes fluttered down to my lips, as if asking for permission and my head was refusing it. But every other part of me wanted to feel those lips again. I looked down at his, my hand taking hold of his and placing it on my chest to where my heart is before he made the move to finally press our lips together in a small kiss.
I wanted to sob because it felt right. I felt the butterflies again and the complete state of satisfaction. This time was gentle as well, but Harry put so much love into the kiss, cupping my cheek with his other hand when he feels how fast my heart was beating.
It only took a second more before I slowly pulled away, still tightly holding his hand against my heart as he could sense my doubt. "It's going to take some time okay? Probably a long time but you caused me a lot of heartbreak. But I never stopped loving you H, as much as I didn't want too anymore." I said seriously, and his eyes lits up with hope. Holding back his smile as much as he could while he nods because he heard that little nickname again.
"I'll give you as much time and space as you need, thank you. I love you so much bubs." He pulls me into a hug, nuzzling his face into my neck and I feel instantly calmer because of it. I rest my head on his shoulder while he mumbles sweet words into my skin.
"Promise I'll be good to you."
______________________________________________
A/N: :o it’s complete. I finished it yay! I’m so proud with how this series came out and I genuinely hope you guys do as well. I’ve started my semester and it’s going to be hectic so writing will take longer to come out, but there will be future stories that I’m really looking forward to writing and sharing :)
My head was empty while I appreciated the company of a glass of wine and city view of the venue. I leaned against the railing of the small balcony nook I found, away from the crowd of people as Bowie was played faintly through the speakers.
I arrived to the party alone. Even if our relationship is awkward at the moment, I couldn't miss his birthday. Especially if it feels like it would be the last one I attend for a while. It took me only a few seconds to find him talking to his management team, a conversation that I didn't want to interrupt. And for the next twenty minutes I find myself isolated from everyone. Maybe because I know the relationship topic would inevitably come up at one point during any conversation I join into. But also because I didn't know how to approach Harry himself anymore. I can't bring myself to start the conversation, but for him, it seems like everything is good and normal.
I promised myself to only one glass of wine, so when I finished that rather quickly then intended, I honestly didn't know what to do with myself. As much as I've been trying to think like Harry and feel completely normal again, I hated how much our relationship has effected me. No matter how many times I've told myself that it's better this way, I've avoided hanging out with mutual friends to keep away from a conversation about Heather.
I took a deep breath and turned around, looking into the venue to catch Harry smiling and nodding to Gemma. One arm across his chest while his cheek rested against the other. He looked too good this evening, wearing a worn vest and matching bell bottom pants. I allowed myself to stare till his eyes glanced in my direction and catch mine.
I soften when his smile grows wider and he excuses himself away from the conversation. "For some reason, I'd knew you'd come here when we checked out the space." He says as he walks out into the balcony. "Almost had a reservation sign put up with your name on it."
He engulfs me in a hug, nuzzling his face into my neck. I slowly wrapped my arms around him and find myself resting my head on his broad shoulder when I realize this was our first hug in weeks. Oh how much I missed this feeling.
"I appreciate the thought but damn, am I thought obvious?"
"Oh I just know you too well and you love me for it."
I feel goosebumps, finding ourselves though pulled away, still in each other's arms while I smile up at him. I hummed In response before holding up a finger and turning to get the small box in my purse. When I turn back around he has a sly smirk on his face as he looks at the box wrapped with a yellow bow I hold out to him.
"Happy birthday Harry. I wanted to give this to you in person." He takes the box and unwraps the ribbon and opens it. I hold my breath, watching his reaction as he stares at a familiar string of pearls. He runs his fingers through them, a look of admiration set on his face as I twiddled my fingers.
"I always let you wear mine so I just thought you'd like a pair of your own."
"You know me well too."
"And you love me for it." I chuckled, immediately turning around and looking out onto the view as he situates himself next to me, the box once again closed and held tightly in his hands. "I'll wear these till I wear them out. Oh! We'll wear them at the same time like friendship necklaces." He tells me, giving me a side hug and squeezing my arm.
I laughed at the thought, "Only we could make friendship necklaces out of pearls worth hundreds of dollars."
We stayed quiet for a while, just enjoying each other's company. The elephant in the room knows it's been a few weeks since the last time we shared a moment alone. I'm just not sure how he feels about the reason why.
"Shouldn't you go back out there? Supposed to be a good host." I nudged his shoulder with mine, not wanting to take him away from his party and not knowing how much I could take how hard my chest is beating at the same time.
"Well you're here. Almost thought you wouldn't show since you're weren't early."
"Can't I be fashionably late for once?"
"Glad you are though, bubs. Honestly was about to spend the night a sad man when Heather canceled."
Here we go, the one topic I dreaded would come up. Of course it would be with him when it does. "Oh. Uh she isn't here?"
"No yeah she ehm. She left yesterday for Paris. Last minute gig she booked." He shrugged it off like it was not a big deal, but he's playing with the yellow ribbon in a way that tells me otherwise.
"I'm sorry, I'm sure she'll make it up when she get's back."
He scoffs, undoing the bow he just made with the ribbon. "If by 'make up' you mean a few hours in bed before she jet sets to Milan for a few months then yeah."
"Harry, you should tell her that you want her here."
"No, no it's fine. She can do whatever she wants, it's her career."
"It's also your birthday. Shouldn't girlfriends or whatever you two are right now care about that stuff?" I sighed, gently taking away the ribbon and box from him, wrapping it back while he turns and rests his back on the railing, crossing his arms and facing the entrance back into the venue. "That's the thing, I don't know what she wants out of this. I never did even when we were really together. When we were, it's so picture perfect and then when we'd get busy with our own lives, it's just so on and off. We blamed it on bad timing and long distance in the end but now that I think about it, we didn't know where to go from there."
"Do you know what you want now?"
"I think I do."
I tilted my head, growing frustrated but kept my tone calm. "Then why don't you just talk?"
"Ugh you know I'm not a confrontational person bubs." He finally looks at me, seeing me roll my eyes while he laughs it off. I shake my head, tapping on the box as he reaches out to rub my arm. "You're a dummy, Harry."
"Why do you call me that?"
I glanced at him, shrugging. "What do you mean?"
"What happened to 'H' hmm? Been calling me Harry for a while." Though his tone was lighthearted, his brows are furrowed and I can feel his intense stare.
"It's your name isn't it?"
"Obviously, but...I don't know, never mind-"
"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you..." We suddenly hear from inside, making us both turn at the same time to see Jeff holding a cake and a crowd gathered around him, slowly walking towards the balcony where the birthday boy was. His smile grows back and we exchange a look before I hand him back my present and walk back in towards the celebration.
***
"Well, I am a man of a few words... but a good comedian doesn't repeat the same joke two years in a row. Ehm, I'm gonna do what I know best which is to spew whatever I feel from in here and hope it sounds somewhat poetic." He laughs a little at his own joke, making little hand gestures and smiling when he gets the laughs and smiles back from his words. His eyes stray to the people in front of him and to the side in thought at times, but he makes the effort to look at his friends, family members and co-workers who he is ultimately grateful for. My eyes soften at his toothy grin, knowing I look like a complete fool as I stare at him in complete adoration despite it being completely obvious how enamored I am for this man.
He gives short thank you's to the his band members and relatives he's grown close too. I laugh at his awkward jokes but also the narcissistic ones he makes that boost his confidence a bit. He has one thing prepared to say for everyone that makes them melt. "Thank you Jeff for having to deal with me another year as well, while you do look after me I am always appreciative of how you act more as an old grandpa than a dude in a business suit."
"I also want to thank Heather..."
My smile dies down a bit, knowing he would want to say something about her even when she isn't here. What made my chest hurt once again was the realization that he hadn't said anything about me yet. I had anticipated it, wondering what he would say but he had skipped right over me. I placed my hand on my knee to keep it from shaking as Harry said her name instead.
"I'll just text her later but I wanted to thank her for allowing me to write about her and being an overall beautiful person."
Thinking his speech was over and accepting how little I meant to him, he finally calls my name. I froze for a bit, looking up at him to see him already looking at me. He paused a bit, an amused look on his face when he sees how caught off guard I was.
"I saved the best for last for two reasons, one because she looks adorably silly right now..." He chuckles when I save myself with an eye roll and stuck my tongue out at him.
"And two, because I knew it'll be harder for me to come up with the words to describe how important of a person you are to me."
The curiosity and need to know what he would say about me, as well as the internalized emotional stress grew. His tone was softer and he seemed more calmer than he was a few minutes ago. The sentence already began making my heart pump and ache, and the recent events that had shaken up our relationship almost thrown out the window when he continued.
"You're so good to me and I can't thank you endlessly enough for everything you've done for the past year since I hired you. Not only was it the best decision I ever made because of how talented you are, but it also gave me the opportunity to really know someone like you. I was in a bad place when you met me and I'll never forget the kindness and patience you showed me even then. And though you call me a 'boomer' so many times and constantly come up with better melodies than me, it's worth every witty joke and bad pun just to see a smile that lights up the room. Your friendship is worth every time you complain about my kale chips."
His eyes were caught on mine from the beginning, both his hands are holding his wine glass though he held confidence in his speech. It felt like just us two in the room, his words giving tone of a very intimate moment shared between two bestfriends. I bit my bottom lip, can't seeming to stop smiling.
"And though you'll be off writing more amazing music with different amazing artists - only temporarily - know that I'll always be rooting for you and always will be -"
He breaks eye contact for a moment, but that moment was enough. "- will be uhm, proud of you." His smile grows ten times wider and he sounds relieved when he looks off onto the entrance of the venue as someone arrives. His eyes go back and forth, distracted but wanting to finish what he had left to say.
"Through thick and thin, love, you always were able to be there for me."
At that point he was fully looking at the person who arrived and I didn't have the guts to turn around to see who it was. My smile instantly dies and the warmth in my chest was just filled with a familiar pang that hasn't left all this time.
Because there she was, though out of breath and all over the place, just looked perfect as she grins and mouths 'happy birthday' to him while he haphazardly continues empty compliments that are now meant for her. My vision is blurry but my eyes are stuck on the actual person he deems important in his life. This lovely being who canceled last minute but makes it in time so he'd be truly happy.
He meant to say all of it to her. You just happened to be here when she wasn't. He doesn't love you like he loves her and he never will. He never had.
It was hard looking back at him, already knowing the way he looks at her. It was deja vu. She shows up and he's instantly mesmerized.
But I did and it suddenly was all too much. Because he glanced at me when he was saying his last words, seeing me silently cry in the middle of the crowd and looking distraught. And it all grew too claustrophobic, needing to get away and leave because all I felt now was anger.
"Hey, you okay?" Gemma asks, her brows furrowed in concern. I force a smile and nodded before excusing myself. "Yeah, just fine."
***
I pushed open the door and quickly walked out of the lobby and onto the parking lot, ignoring the distant calls of my name that grew louder and louder. I hugged my coat, trying to breathe but grew more frustrated with the growing ache in my chest. I sobbed, knowing he was catching up and didn't have the energy to deal with him right now.
"Hey, what happened - are you okay?" Harry had took hold of my arm, turning me around and all I could do was push him away. "Bubs, talk to me please."
"Stop, please I'm so tired and I physically can't be near you." I softly said, not bothering to wipe away tears anymore. He looks confused and I only scoffed at him, crossing my arms and moving back when he stepped closer, holding out his.
"What do you mean? Please let me- you're crying." He tries coming closer but I shake my head, dodging his embrace because I knew I would instantly melt.
"Yes, I'm crying! I've been crying and hurting all month because of you Harry!" I cried and he instantly freezes. "You keep doing this shit and all this time I've been coming up with excuses for it. That- I don't know, maybe that you can't help what you're feeling or that I really can't blame you- but now I do! Because you know exactly what you're doing and it's so shitty that I had to realize it this late."
"W-what are you talking about?" He's nervous.
"Oh shut the fuck up you know exactly what I'm talking about. You've avoided actually talking ever since we kissed, even before Heather came back into the picture. You completely pushed me to the side the second she gave you her attention and ever since then our whole relationship has changed Harry! And either you're so fucking oblivious or too much of a coward to face it because you just acting like everything was fine and normal broke my fucking heart even more. It obviously meant so little to you but fuck, it-"
I took a deep breathe only resorting to another sob as I placed a hand over my heart. "It meant so much to me."
I see him crying too, fumbling with his fingers and trying to hold those tears in only to lose some as he's stood still, not knowing what to do. He's guilty, his need to hold me and cry gives it away but I couldn't allow him that. And he knows it's something he doesn't deserve.
"I would of understood Harry. That you didn't feel the same fireworks and butterflies like I did when we kissed - as cliché as it fucking is. That you've fallen in love with Heather when she came back because I honestly still can't blame you for that, she's an angel. That you can't control who you love, but you never said anything. You just lead me on and didn't talk to me - why didn't you just fucking talked to me Harry, aren't we supposed to be best friends?"
He's now only inches away from me, taking hold of my hands because I was too worn out to even pull them back. "Yes! Yes, we are and I'm a stupid idiot. I'm sorry I- I should of just been upfront with you but I was so confused- and I still am. I just- I meant everything I said earlier and more because I'm always thinking about you bubs-"
I laugh at this shaking my head, not allowing anymore hope to built up. "I am! Mitch and Jeff are so fucking tired of hearing about it, but honestly so was I. But only because Heather was still in my heart and I just didn't know what to do or wanted and please believe me, I never ever wanted to hurt you."
"Why did you kiss me then?" I broke out of his hold, stepping back once again.
"I don't know darling, It just felt right and I didn't think. I-I just thought you'd leave if you knew I wasn't sure."
"Being honest about it with your supposed best friend was going to make it worse?"
"I just...I didn't want to lose you."
"But what now? you got her back, so what am I to you now? Was I supposed to be your distraction, the only option left for you to turn to? Because you fully well know that I'd drop everything I was doing just to comfort you when you were low Harry. I canceled set plans and promises because you simply asked me too, and I did since I'd always foolishly put you first because I thought you'd genuinely liked me."
"Bubs-"
"Don't. Harry you can't just put me on the side and come back to me later on if your relationships don't work out, that's not fucking fair! Ever since we met all I've been getting from you are mixed signals and I couldn't confront you about it because you'd always avoid the topic, making me feel damn silly for even thinking that way. It's just- you can't build up expectation of something between us simply because I'm the safe second option - fuck that hurts saying that."
"I- I didn't mean to make you feel that way-"
"Bullshit. You knew exactly what you were doing Harry. You're just to arrogant to own up to it. So fucking immature, all you had to do was talk!"
"Okay, okay I'm sorry let's talk, please! Don't walk away like this, we can talk now and fix this."
"No. You only want to talk now because it's convenient for you. That's the thing Harry."
"Stop-"
"You say you didn't want to hurt me, but you didn't want to hurt yourself first. And I just- I just hate how long it took me to realize how mean you are Harry."
"Don't call me Ha- you don't mean that."
"I do! and you know it too." He's struck by it and I'm giving up. Hurt is evident in his face and it doesn't feel good to make him sad, but now all I feel is disappointment and pity for myself.
"Since you couldn't have the balls to talk to me, I just always really wanted to tell you that I love you. Really fucking love you. As if you didn't already know, but... I guess it never really even mattered."
He calls my name deflatingly when I turn around, walking away. His last attempts of apologizing and begging for me to come back to him drift off into empty words that I block out as I stepped into my car and drove away. The time it takes for me to drive felt like days pass, but now turned to seconds when I turned off the engine and idled inside. I was still crying, still processing, all while replaying our last moment together. The one spent on the floor of the recording studio with a makeshift picnic before I spend the next days erasing it from my memory.
I sent him a text before going inside, turning off my phone right afterwards to avoid the rest of the incoming calls and text messages begging to fix what was left of us.
'I'll email you the lyrics to the last song tomorrow. Then I'm done.'
“Eros is an issue of boundaries. He exists because certain boundaries do. In the interval between reach and grasp, between glance and counterglance, between ‘I love you’ and ‘I love you too,’ the absent presence of desire comes alive. But the boundaries of time and glance and I love you are only aftershocks of the main, inevitable boundary that creates Eros: the boundary of flesh and self between you and me. And it is only, suddenly, at the moment when I would dissolve that boundary, I realize I never can.”
— Anne Carson, from Eros the Bittersweet: “Finding the Edge”
“So I said: “please love me,” and what I meant was: please treat me gently. Please love me with a love that can be felt. That can be touched. A love that I can write about gracefully if and when it ends. Which I may look upon with pacific eyes, and say: “that was a good love. It had to end but it was good.””
My guitar rested on my thigh as i brought my head down to lay on the fret, staring at the blank piece of lined paper in front of me. I sighed, turning my head away and just bathed in the silence of the separate room from the main studio. The weight on my chest might of suggested the frustration out of my creative block, unable to produce words or lyrics for the past weeks. Or that I was progressively losing the will to even pick up an instrument, as strumming the strings took a lot of energy for me to do.
The oversized hoodie I brought kept me warm, but i knew that wasn't satisfying enough. However the idea of wearing one of his hoodies I've place in a closed box in the corner of my apartment hurt too much and that now I'm back in the studio after weeks of trying to avoid coming here at all costs. After the New Year's party, I've done nothing but wallow up in my apartment alone, trying to come up with songs as quickly as possible just so I could get this project done and over with. That proved to be difficult however, especially with Harry trying to call on a normal basis.
"Helllooo bubs, why haven't you been showing up at the studio eh?"
"You said at the beginning of this project that I could work at home whenever I want. I'm just taking you up on that offer."
"Of course, you'd remember me sayin' that. How've you been love, haven't seen you in a while though."
"Fine, just been doing my job."
"Well yeah, can't write all these lovely songs without your talent, can I? You gonna come in tomorrow then?"
I hesitated for a second, biting my tongue when I felt my eyes pool up again. "I'll just send a pdf of lyrics to you Harry."
"O-oh. Well that would conventionally work... yes but you have to come in tomorrow though."
"Why? Just text me what you like and don't like about the verses and I'll fix them."
"Bubs you know how I feel about in person collaboration. Plus the deadlines are coming up and it'll be easier and faster to have you in the studio."
"Okay."
He hesitates this time and I could see his brows furrowed together as well as having a hand on his hip. Most likely wearing lose sweats and the knitted cardigan he's been falling in love with over the months. His hair a bit longer than it was last time I saw him and his pink lips quirked to the side in thought. Maybe the bags under his eyes are gone, has been looking more happier lately. More happier than I could of made him to be over the months. "Are you okay?"
"I have to go Harry, I'll see you tomorrow."
"Oh see yo-"
He was the first one to greet me when I arrived, and I wanted nothing more than to burst out sobbing when I see his smile. It took everything not to do so, giving him a tight lip smile and quick side hug before sitting down farthest away from him. For the first hour and a half of discussion, I didn't say much and zoned off a lot, tuning in and out of the conversation Harry leaded about a song he had written recently. I felt his glances on me when I turned away, probably sensing my unwillingness to comment so he was considerate enough to not put me under the spotlight in the discussion.
In the middle of it, Harry's phone started ringing and he didn't waste a second to excuse himself to answer it. "Hello? Oh hey darling, you almost here?" I froze when he grows a cheesy smile on his face as he walks further to the other side of the studio before telling us to continue without him. I took a deep breathe, not mentally prepared to be in the same room as her. Has she always been coming to the studio or did I just choose to worse day to finally come in?
I try to focus doodling in my little notebook, but it grew harder and harder to focus on anything else but the way he crosses his arms and laughs while on the phone with her. From the corner of my eye, it was definite he's completely captivated just hearing her voice and I could just picture the angelic tone of it.
I didn't realize I was tapping my pencil till I hear Sarah calling out my name, breaking me out of my thoughts. "Are you okay, haven't seen you in a while." I nodded, putting on a smile.
"Yeah sorry, been getting a lot of work opportunities and just a bunch of family stuff that's exhausted me." Sarah gives me a look that resembles one of a mother who knows their child isn't telling the full truth, but she nods and pats my hand. "Completely understandable. But that's exciting, new artists been reaching out to you n' all that?"
"Ha surprisingly, considering saying yes to all of them." my smile was growing genuine a little, thinking about how content I was with my career. Being a lyricist and songwriter was a definite risky path to take in terms of stability, but it made me happier knowing I was able to to do.
"Oh of course, you can totally do it. Probably wanted to see what all the hype was about when Harry couldn't stop talking about you at every social gathering he's been at." Sarah chuckles, rolling her eyes playfully.
"Yeah?" I quickly looked down, feeling my eyes water as the pang in my chest came back. "Mhmm, acts like Thomas and Mitch don't even exist."
I laugh lightly at that, fiddling with my fingers as I focused down on my notebook. I found myself in an awkward situation, not knowing how to continue the conversation but knowing I didn't want to try. I love Sarah, but I was close to break down right there if I tried and it was not the place to do so. Not when everyone is trying to meet deadlines and Harry was about to walk in with Heather at any moment.
"Hey, I actually have a lot of emails to respond to so I'm gonna be in the other room." I stood up, taking a guitar and my notebook. "Might actually be better for me to focus in."
"Sure, we'll let Harry know." I gave her a grateful smile, walking out into the hallway to a different room. I let out another shaky breath, feeling overwhelmed once I was finally alone. But before I could close the door, I hear her. I peak out to see both her and Harry standing at the entrance of the building, huddled close together.
"Sorry I forget it gets this cold in LA sometimes." She says, looking up at him while he rubs the sleeves of his sweater that was wrapped perfectly around her.
It was a simple orange stripped sweater. A vintage that Harry bought in Vienna and became one of his favorites. It was just a simple polyester sweater, but it became my favorite too. So it was hard to give it back after wearing it that night we kissed, but fuck was it harder to see her wearing it.
Now as I sit alone with no sense of motivation to do anything else but wallow in my own pity I thought about a lot of things. I should be angry, be fuming and cursing at Harry for how he's been acting. I should confront him, make him feel as hurt as he made me for choosing her. Or maybe I should hate Heather, despise her for taking the chance I had with him.
But deep down I know I couldn't hate Heather. She's such an angel, it wasn't her fault he's still hung up on her. And as much as the image of his arm wrapped around her kills me, I couldn't hate him either for the same reason. She looked prettier in his sweater than I did.
"You okay in here bubs?" As if the tears welling up in my eyes and heavy weight on my chest wasn't enough, the sound of knuckles against the door and his voice calling out my name made me almost sob.
"Yeah, I'm good. Door's open." I quickly try to compose myself when he enters the room, giving me that warming smile of his. "Just wanted to check up on ya, been quiet since you got here."
Harry looks at me with concerning eyes as he places a hand on my shoulder before crossing his arms and leaning against the wall in front of me. Keep your hand on my shoulder, the second it was there all the nerves went away. I wanted to say but instead I fake a smile again, waving it off and shrugging. "Oh no, just have a lot on my plate don't worry."
He nods, feeling his eyes on me while I try to avoid his by opening my laptop and skimming through my inbox. "Sarah told me about different singers reaching out to you." He points at my laptop before taking a seat on the chair to the side. I nodded, humming while I typed out quick responses. "Yup, thanks by the way but now I gotta sort out a whole schedule for this year." I took a glance up to see him focused on my song journal on the table in front of us.
“So...you and Heather huh?” The sheepish smile he has tugs my heart strings but I tried to keep from fumbling with my fingers.
“Yeah uhh...” He scratches the back of his neck, keeping his eyes on his hands and looking like a young kid with a crush. “Started talking again and catching up, been working out stuff between us since the party.”
I tilt my head to the side, motioning him to continue. “She’s gorgeous...”
“She’s amazing.”
I finally looked away from him and onto my screen, letting out a little chuckle.
“So you guys are back together?”
“No no, we’re just sort of figuring things out at the moment.” Though it was an answer I was hoping for, the look in his face was none the less comforting.
“Well, hope everything goes great. You guys look perfect together.” I managed to say, going back to typing while he only responds with a nod and hum.
There was silence. Does he not feel it too? Uncomfortable silence was never a thing between us but it was prevalent here. "Not gonna leave early are you though?" He says out of no where and I stopped typing for a sec to give my attention to him. "Not going to ditch me for someone else of course." He says it with a laugh, playing it off like an obvious joke... but the way he looked at me.
Part of me wanted to scream at how oblivious and selfish that statement sounded coming from him, as if he has no idea the drastic shift our relationship has taken. But I see the vulnerability in his eyes, sensing the subtext in his question that is practically asking me to stay. Stick by his side and help finish this passion project he's dedicated to put out, not only for his fans but for himself. Be with him to figure out what to do next, even if I would be in a different county or continent and working with someone else. Keep in touch throughout because I've become an important person in his life. Even if that person who used to fill that spot came back, he's still here and asking me to stay with him in a similar sense.
It wasn't the kind of love I wanted, but never the less, it was still love from Harry.
Did the smile I wear at that moment reach my eyes? When I placed my hand on top of his in reassurance, was the hesitance obvious? Maybe he did notice the little signs, but he took my hand in his anyways and placed it against his heart.
A/N: guys my heart hurts writing this lol. There’s gonna be one or two more parts of this series, but thank you for reading! feedback is appreciated :)
"My goodness, I can't believe it's been a year and this is how we're celebrating it? " I take a sip from my wine glass with a raised brow towards Harry.
We were sat on the floor at the recording studio, having a makeshift little picnic to celebrate a year. A whole year of a beautiful friendship.
"Well I thought it'd be fitting, ya know this is where we met and stuff. Look, I even got those Korean chips that you snacked on that day!" I laugh as he comically picks up a chip and places it in his mouth, followed by an exaggerated moan.
I try to hide the blush rapidly heating up my face at how much effort he put into this silly thing. It started as a little joke I brought up to him one day when we were having a lazy day, and of course Harry would take it seriously. He planned the little picnic basket after a day in the studio when everyone else left and he had asked me to stay a little longer to help him with lyrics and whatnot. It was a complete surprise and I couldn't help but adore how happy and proud he was setting this up.
"Alright I gotta give it to ya H, you are the bestest friend anyone could ever ask for. I'm just happy that you didn't include those disgusting kale chips of yours." The smile that hasn't left his face drops into a shocked and offended look.
"Hey, you said you wouldn't make fun of my addiction anymore." He scoots closer to me, gently poking my rib to which I immediately jump and swat his hand away. "I'm sorry- I'm sorry!" I giggled when he makes himself comfty sat right next to me.
Subconsciously, I move closer till his shoulder touched mine. "I like this sweater, it's fluffy and keeps people warm." I say, huddling into the fabric that Harry gave me to wear when it got colder. "You know what, I like all your sweaters H, they're all impeccable."
He chuckles, "really? It looks better on you than me, bubs." I smile, using the over-sized sleeves to cover my face and faking a groan. "Oh you would with that cliché ass line."
"It's true! Beautiful in m'clothes." He mumbles and I had to only respond with gratefully lending my shoulder as a resting spot for his head. Considering he literally had to bend his whole body to do so every time he does this, I never understood how he found this comfortable.
We shared a comfortable silence for a minute, sipping on our wine, the bottle nearly finished. The courage coming from it is telling me this would be the perfect time. It's the right setting to finally tell him that my feelings go beyond friendship and that it has been since the first month. The thought made me nervous at first, but there had been so many signs from him that had me thinking he's feeling the same way. Maybe those were just my expectations and how loving Harry is, but every time I look at him, I'm mesmerized.
"Honestly don't know what I'd do without you bubs." Harry suddenly says and I snap out of my thoughts to glance down at him staring at his empty glass. My heart started beating fast and my breathe hitched when he pulls away only a few inches away to look back at me
"This was a tough year and you've been there with me through it all, haven't been this close to someone in that short of time." He says lowly, looking right into my eyes. I take his hand in my small ones and play with his fingers in comfort, as we reflected on how this was both the best and worst year for him. While he became such a successful solo artist after the band and created the best relationships in his life, he reached a mental low dealing with his own insecurities and went through a breakup that took a major toll on him. They ended on good terms, but Harry went through the aftermath of a loss alone.
I came in a month after his break up, hired as a lyricist to help him get out of this creative block but also to help him realize how much he was really worth as a person. It was a gradual slow process of friendship at the start, but it quickly blossomed into becoming best friends, growing feelings in between for me. "You're so good to me, I don't deserve it."
He was so close and I couldn't tell if I was leaning in or not. My chest feels like it's bursting. "Harry, you've done so much for me, don't put yourself down like that. You deserve my love, mkay?"
He looked so vulnerable, staring into my eyes as I couldn't pinpoint what emotion he was feeling right now. I was always able to read Harry easily, but maybe it was the wine that made it harder to understand what was racing through his mind.
I couldn't register it. His lips on mine were foreign but felt right, like they fit perfectly. His hands cupping my face gently made me realize this was actually happening. My best friend who I've loved for so long was finally kissing me.
"You absolutely deserve mine... "
***
My anxiety was getting the best of me. The party wasn't like any other rowdy and crowded New Year's Eve celebration. It was a gathering of close friends and mutual at a penthouse with just enough drinking and fun shenanigans. I knew all these people and they knew me, yet it wasn't easy to breathe regularly for some reason.
I smiled and laughed along with the conversation among the circle of friends I situated myself in with Harry standing to my right, two people in-between us. I anxiously played with my fingers wrapped around a bulbous wine glass, zoned out but somewhat participating with the group.
I caught his eyes, both of us giving a smile when he shot me a quick goofy face. His eyes trailed down to my hands, an obvious tell. I respond with a reassuring smile, placing my hand on my chest to which he steps outside and moves to stand next to me. I soften as he places a hand casually on my back, rubbing up and down.
The nerves die down a bit. Usually, I would of been full comfortable but it was different now.
After the kiss Harry and I shared, nothing had changed as much as I wanted it too. There was still the casual flirting and touchy gestures, but other than that, Harry never brought it up.
"Soo, what now?" I had asked him when he dropped me off at my apartment. He gives me a tight smile and takes my hand in his, bringing it to his lips. "Still my best girl."
I was confused afterwards, not fully understanding how he felt towards me.
"Hey, I kind of wanted to talk to you about yesterday... " I approached him in the studio, his sweater keeping me warm that morning. "Oh yeah, you never told me what you wanted for Christmas. And by the way, I'm gonna need that sweater back sooner or later." He chuckles, going back to writing down chord progressions.
Him avoiding the subject made me think he didn't want to talk about it, so I stopped trying. It made me insecure a bit to show him any type of affection back, but I didn't have it in me to tell him when I'm engulfed in his huge frame, feeling safe and happy at the moment.
What made me snap out of my thoughts was his hand leaving my back and slipping into his jacket pocket. He then started being part of the funny story Mitch was telling, including his own side and little comedic comments that made the group laugh. As much as it brought a smile to my face, there was nothing more I wanted to do than take his arm, wrap it around me and kiss his cheek before laying my head on his chest.
He took a second here and there to glance at me, probably aware how tired i was getting even though it was only a few minutes before midnight. The kiss defiantly affected something here, as much as Harry was trying to show that it hasn't, I can at least appreciate the acknowledgment that he shared similar feelings towards me. Maybe this was him thinking about the possibilities afterwards, knowing Harry wasn't very much a confrontational person and has taken time to learn to process things more logically rather than pure emotional instinct.
When he catches me staring and throws a knowing smirk followed by a wink, I melt right on the spot but at the same time, holding back from rolling my eyes. I felt his stare kept on me when I looked away, feeling less frustrated and more understanding of his situation. Maybe I do just need to give him time...
When I looked back at him, he was now looking away at something else apart from the group. I didn't give it a second glance till I noticed he was fully distracted before Mitch kept calling his name but getting no response back. Harry was in deep trance at something more fascinating than his friend's story, and when I caught sight of what was distracting him, I fully understood why.
She stood out, so it wasn't to hard to point her out. But of course she would, she looks stunning in that dress that happens to only be a different shade of color from mine. The natural glam and brightening smile on her face as she talked to mutual friends perfected her look, but it was the sound of her melodic voice that just set the deal. It was her laughter from across the room that caught his attention first, what made him break his gaze on me to her.
My first thought was concern for Harry and if he was suddenly feeling overwhelmed or distraught by her presence after a breakup. But then I looked back at him and only saw longing and adoration. It was a look I only was recently familiarized with.
I purse my lips to hide the frown set on my face while I felt my heart beat much faster initially, watching him mesmerized as she walks across the floor to greet more party guests. Her blue eyes wide and shining, most likely something Harry was dying to see once again as he hoped she would turn his way.
Is this what hopelessness feels like? Mitch gave up on trying to catch his attention as soon as he realized who Harry was looking at, and so did the rest of the group. But here I was, desperately looking up at him in hopes that he would suddenly break away and meet my own eyes that stood right next to him.
"Guys! The count downs about to start!" Someone called out, followed by cheers and applause as everyone slowly started gathering towards the balcony to see the firework show and celebration of the city below. She moves away from the crowd though, choosing to be semi alone next to the aquarium with a glass of martini in her hand.
More people started crowding around us, the group disintegrated into a whole, but my focus was on Harry. As much as my anxiety and tiredness was getting worse, it couldn't compare to the ache in my chest when he takes a hesitant step towards her direction.
In a second, my hand flies towards his and gently tugs to me in a last ditch of desperation while I softly call out his name. Maybe it was the way he stopped and turned his head slightly before completely pulling away and walking towards her, leaving me engulfed with the crowd alone. Or that I could picture the loving look on his face when she finally sees him approaching and gives him a welcoming smile while the sound of people counting down from 20 is muddled into the background. All I could imagine to hear was his small 'hi' and compliment for how beautiful she looks, knowing how nervous he would be.
"3, 2, 1! Happy New Years!"
The celebration of those around me drowned out my glossy eyes as I see Heather take Harry's hand in hers, sharing that same complete adoration look on her face that I was only just becoming familiar with.
