twt: @sg_artem | 21+ | on tumblr for ToT, LaDS, MLQC, genshin content. | I also post rants, doodles, and original fluff or smut fanfics when I feel inspired or have the time. |
SUMMARY: You have spent your life inside hospital walls, your world stitched together with IV lines, late-night alarms, and the quiet acceptance that some things cannot be fixed. You've been passed from one doctor to another, another test, another trial — all chasing a miracle that never came. Somewhere along the way, you stopped waiting for tomorrow.
But life, in its quiet cruelty and unexpected grace, gives you something you never thought to ask for — a glimpse of another world. A different kind of heartbeat, steady and sure, weaving its way into your fragile one. Moments you never believed you could have: laughter, longing, dreams too big for a hospital bed.
You don't know how long it will last. You don't even know if you dare hope for more.
But when the night is quiet and the snow falls just right, you let yourself believe — for one stolen breath — that maybe your story isn't meant to end here.
Maybe, somehow, you are just beginning.
WORD COUNT: 9.5k
You're dying.
For as long as you can remember, you've known more of hospitals than your own house. It's gotten to a point where when you think of home, it's not a cozy living room or the scent of your mother's cooking that surfaces — it's the sterile, cold corridors of Akso Hospital. The beeping machines. The too-white sheets. The antiseptic sting in the air. That's home.
You've been passed from hospital to hospital like a worn file folder, a case study waiting for a miracle. Doctors, researchers, specialists — all curious, all clinical. Some of them smiled too brightly when they poked at you; others barely met your eyes as they dictated notes into recorders. No matter their faces, it was always the same: a child with a heart too fragile for the world she lived in. Congenital heart disease, they'd say, like it was a sentence you had to carry. Words like hypoplastic, cardiomyopathy, degeneration slipped off their tongues without a second thought.
Research papers had been written about you. Trials run, theories floated, hands reaching inside your chest like gods trying to rewrite fate. But there was no saving you. Not really. Only delaying the inevitable.
At some point, death stopped being a frightening monster lurking at the end of the hallway. It became a quiet fact. A gentle inevitability. Like winter following fall. Like the last leaf leaving the branch. Sometimes you even think of it fondly — a release from the endless pricks of needles and the sting of failed hope.
You don't cry about it anymore. You stopped doing that years ago.
Just you, and the slow ticking of monitors, and the muted conversations outside your door.
But there are still things that ache. Things that death doesn't erase.
Like the school uniforms you never wore.
The scraped knees you never had from playground games.
The friendships you only knew from books and half-forgotten fairy tales read to you by bored nurses.
You grew up surrounded by adults: brisk nurses with kind smiles, tired doctors with far-off eyes, other patients far older than you. No childhood secrets whispered under blankets at sleepovers. No first crushes shared during recess.
Today is supposed to be your sixteenth birthday. A milestone for most kids — laughter, cake, maybe even a little rebellion. You asked for so little. Just a single scoop of ice cream. Something sweet, something that would make you forget, just for a second, that you're broken inside.
Maybe your body decided it was too much joy. Maybe it was just bad timing. Whatever it was, the chest pain started fast and sharp, a blooming fire that stole your breath and sent the world spinning. They rushed you to the ICU, alarms blaring, voices cutting through the fog of your consciousness.
Doctor Li was there, of course. He's always there. A steady presence when everyone else felt like passing shadows. You caught glimpses of his furrowed brow, the tightness in his voice as he barked orders you were too far gone to understand. He was fighting for you. He always did.
The world blurred. Faded. You remember thinking — distantly — how strange it was to die with the taste of vanilla on your tongue.
You don't die that night. Not yet.
But something inside you, small and bright and hopeful, dims just a little more.
The next few days bleed together in a haze of machines and murmured reassurances. You drift in and out of shallow sleep, tethered to the world by the soft beeping of your heart monitor and the cool, practiced touch of the nurses adjusting your IVs. Doctor Li checks on you more than usual — lingering longer at your bedside, as if afraid that if he looks away, you might simply vanish.
You hear snatches of conversation sometimes. Fragments that weren't meant for your ears.
It’s strange how even in survival, you feel like a guest overstaying her welcome.
"She stabilized, but barely."
"Should we consider moving her back to the general ward?"
"Give her time. Let her rest."
On the third day, you notice a figure lingering near the doorway. Not a nurse — they’re always in motion, efficient and brisk. Not Doctor Li, either — this figure carries a stiffness to his stance, a sharpness that cuts into the sterile quiet.
You glance over, disinterested. A boy, maybe a few years older than you, dressed in street clothes that look out of place in the hospital’s sanitized world. Dark hair that falls messily into his eyes, a scowl permanently etched across his face like it was born there. He shifts his weight from foot to foot, like he doesn't want to be here.
You recognize the look immediately — resentment barely contained behind a mask of detachment.
You turn your head away. You couldn't care less.
Let him glare. Let him hate. You’re used to people looking at you like that — like you’re an inconvenience, a burden. You’ve spent your whole life apologizing for existing, even when your lips stayed silent.
He says nothing to you, and you say nothing to him.
Good. Silence is easier. Cleaner.
Later, you hear the nurses whispering about him.
You don't understand why any of it matters. To you, he’s just another shadow passing through your world. Another person whose life will keep moving forward, even when yours stands still.
"Doctor Li’s son. Came straight from his graduation. Poor kid."
"Must be hard, sharing your father with the hospital."
"He'll understand someday. Sacrifices have to be made."
You close your eyes and let the steady rhythm of the heart monitor lull you back into sleep.
Tomorrow will come. Or it won’t.
It hardly makes a difference.
Tomorrow comes. And then the day after that.
Somehow, despite everything, you keep breathing.
You're moved out of the ICU eventually, back into the quieter, less urgent wing of Akso Hospital that has become more familiar than any childhood bedroom you never had. The walls here are softer shades of green, the windows wide and bright — an illusion of freedom you stopped believing in a long time ago.
Your days fall into a familiar rhythm: early morning blood draws, midday vitals checks, whispered conversations with nurses who treat you like a little sister they can't protect. You read when you can, mostly battered romance novels left behind by old patients, and sometimes you simply lie there, counting the cracks in the ceiling tiles like they hold some secret map to a life you’ll never live.
And Zayne —he starts appearing again.
At first, it’s just glimpses. A flash of dark hair down the corridor, the low murmur of his voice when he trails after Doctor Li during rounds. He doesn’t look at you. Not directly. He keeps his gaze clipped to charts and clipboards, face tight with the kind of focus you recognize all too well: the kind born from trying to control what can’t be fixed.
You wonder — briefly — why he keeps coming back.
Most people your age would run from a place like this. Wouldn't they? Chase the world outside with hungry hands, desperate to live, to feel something more than fluorescent lights and beeping machines.
But Zayne stays.
He stands at his father's side, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his lab coat, frowning at words too complicated for you to care about. He listens when Doctor Li explains your charts, your declining numbers, the latest tests they want to run. Sometimes he asks questions, voice low and rough around the edges.
You don't bother trying to hear the answers.
You’ve long stopped hoping anyone had any real ones to give.
The way his shoulders stiffen when Doctor Li mentions your heart’s deterioration. The quick, darting glances he thinks you don’t catch when you wince from another IV insertion. The rare moments his mouth tightens in something almost like frustration, or helplessness.
Still...
You notice things.
You pretend you don't see.
You pretend it doesn't matter.
And you — you have always been leaving.
Because it doesn't.
You have learned, through years of slow dying, that getting attached only makes the leaving harder.
It happens on an afternoon like any other.
The kind where the sun slices through the window just enough to make you ache for the world outside — a world you’ve only seen in pictures and half-forgotten dreams.
You’re sitting up in bed, a book resting on your lap, though you haven’t turned a page in what feels like hours. Your IV pole hums faintly beside you, the only real reminder that you’re still tethered here.
You glance up without thinking — and there he is.
You hear footsteps before you see him.
Not Doctor Li’s sure, even strides.
Softer. Slower. Hesitant.
Zayne.
Hovering awkwardly just inside your room, clutching a thick textbook to his chest like a shield. He's not wearing his usual scowl today. Instead, his face is carved into something tighter, more uncertain, as if he isn't quite sure whether he should even be standing here.
You raise an eyebrow, silently daring him to speak.
He clears his throat. It sounds painful.
"I—" he starts, then immediately cuts himself off, glancing away. His hand tightens around the book's spine.
You blink at him, unimpressed.
If he’s here to offer hollow pity or awkward small talk, he can save it. You’ve heard it all before — the forced conversations, the clumsy sympathy from visitors who can't even look you in the eye for long.
You drop your gaze back to your book, pretending he isn't there. Silence stretches thick and heavy between you.
For a moment, you think he’s going to retreat, like so many others have.
But he doesn't.
You freeze, your thumb hovering over the corner of the worn page.
Instead, after a beat of hesitation, you hear him mumble — so quiet you almost miss it —
"…That book’s terrible."
Slowly, you glance up again. He’s staring at the battered cover, expression wrinkling in disdain.
"I mean," he says, awkward and stiff, like every word is being dragged out of him by force, "the plot makes no sense. The heroine falls in love with a guy who literally tried to kill her in the first chapter."
You blink once. Twice.
"Yeah," you say, voice hoarse from disuse, "but it's not like I've got a lot of options."
And then, unexpectedly, a small huff of air escapes you — not quite a laugh, but close.
You hadn't realized how long it had been since someone your age spoke to you like that. Not like you were breakable. Not like you were already halfway gone.
He shifts his weight, looking vaguely guilty now. Like he hadn't meant to insult your sad little world.
You watch him for a moment longer, studying the way he fidgets — a boy trying very hard not to look like he cares, even though it’s written in every line of his posture.
Without thinking, you extend the book toward him, offering it out like a peace treaty.
"Got any recommendations, then?"
He stares at you, startled. Like he wasn’t expecting you to talk back. Like he wasn't expecting you to choose to talk to him.
Slowly, almost warily, he steps forward. Takes the book from your hand, fingers brushing yours for the briefest second—warm and real and alive.
Something small shifts in the air between you.
Barely there.
But you feel it all the same.
But right now—for the first time in a long, long while—you don’t feel quite so alone.
Maybe tomorrow he'll disappear again.
Maybe you’ll still die before you ever really know him.
The next day, you don’t expect him to come back.
People make gestures sometimes — quick, impulsive things born of guilt or pity. You’ve learned not to get your hopes up. You've learned not to expect anyone to stay.
But late in the afternoon, as the sun dips low and the room fills with that golden, aching kind of light, you hear familiar footsteps outside your door. Slower, more deliberate this time. No shuffling nurses, no hurried doctors.
You glance up from your spot on the bed just as Zayne leans into the doorway, one hand shoved deep into the pocket of his jacket, the other holding something behind his back like a guilty secret.
He doesn’t say anything at first. Just looks at you, frowning faintly, like he’s annoyed to find you still there. (Or maybe annoyed with himself.)
You raise an eyebrow, a silent question.
He scowls a little deeper — a defense mechanism, you think — and mutters, "You said you didn’t have good options."
Before you can reply, he pulls his hand from behind his back and tosses a book onto your bed.
It lands with a soft thud against the sheets, the cover facing up.
You blink at it, surprised. It’s thick, heavier than the flimsy paperbacks you usually get stuck with, and worn around the edges like it's been read a dozen times. A fantasy novel, from the looks of it — something with sprawling kingdoms and sword fights and impossible magic.
You run your fingers lightly over the embossed title, almost afraid it might disappear.
"I had it lying around," he says quickly, too quickly. "Figured you could use something... less stupid."
You look up at him again, and this time you catch it — the faint pink dusting the tips of his ears, the way he can't quite meet your gaze.
You almost smile. Almost.
Instead, you trace the cover one more time, letting the weight of the book settle into your lap like something precious.
"...Thanks," you say, quiet but sincere.
Zayne shrugs, like it’s no big deal. Like he doesn’t care. But he lingers a moment longer than necessary, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot.
Finally, he jerks his head toward the book. "Page ninety-seven is the best part," he says gruffly. "Don't skip to it, though. You have to earn it."
And with that, he turns and stalks off down the hallway, disappearing before you can say anything else.
You watch him go, your chest feeling strangely full, like someone had opened a window inside you after years of stale, closed-off air.
You pick up the book, flipping it open carefully. On the inside cover, in faded ink, there’s a name scribbled messily: Zayne Li.
You smile — small, private, and fleeting.
—
Maybe you were wrong.
Maybe not everyone leaves.
You tell yourself it’s just a book.
And every single one of them — every single page — is littered with traces of him.
One book turns into two. Then three.
Each one arrives without ceremony — sometimes left on your bedside table when you’re asleep, sometimes handed over with an awkward grunt and averted eyes. Always worn. Always loved.
Little notes crammed into the margins. Sharp, neat handwriting in black ink. Observations. Sarcastic comments. Underlined passages with a single word beside them — you. Sometimes a whole phrase: this reminds me of you or you'd probably argue about this part.
It’s like Zayne is sitting beside you as you read, muttering in your ear.
The strange thing is — the words, the quiet thoughts he left scattered across the pages — they make you feel something. Something unfamiliar and terrifying. A buzzing under your skin, a pressure behind your ribs, too wild and heavy to name.
You devour the books hungrily.
You savor every messy annotation like it’s oxygen.
You tell yourself it’s nothing. You're just imagining things.
Until the night it isn’t.
You’re halfway through another novel — a sweeping, painful story about a dying girl and a boy who loved her too much — when it happens.
Your heart flutters.
You freeze, book slipping from your hands onto the bed.
Not in the way it usually does — the panicked, stuttering rhythm that sends alarms shrieking and nurses running.
This flutter is different.
Soft. Gentle. Terrifying.
For a second, you can't breathe — not from weakness, but from something that feels suspiciously like hope, like longing.
Within seconds, your room explodes into motion — nurses flooding in, monitors flashing to life, Doctor Li himself arriving in a whirl of urgency.
You panic.
You hit the pager beside your bed, repeatedly.
They swarm you with equipment, prick your fingers, measure your heart rhythms. Voices rise and fall in a symphony of concern.
In the middle of it all, you sit there, dazed and mortified.
Because you realize — slowly, stupidly—you’re not dying.
When the chaos finally ebbs, when the monitors hum their steady, forgiving rhythm again, Doctor Li kneels beside your bed and presses a gentle hand to your shoulder.
Not yet.
Not from this.
"You’re alright," he says, voice warm and steady. "It was just... an excitement response. A little arrhythmia. Nothing dangerous."
You nod, face burning.
You don't tell him it wasn't excitement about life. It was about his son.
It was the first time in your memory that your heart had jumped not from fear, but from feeling something more.
It was a start.
Time moves strangely after that.
You learn him.
Weeks blend into months.
Zayne visits more now — under the pretense of study sessions with his father, but you both know better. He still brings you books, still pretends it's nothing, but sometimes he stays to see which parts make you smile. You argue with him over characters. He rolls his eyes when you get too emotional. You learn the patterns of his dry humor, the sharp warmth hidden under his guarded exterior.
And, quietly, dangerously, you start to want more.
One afternoon, you find yourselves alone. Doctor Li is caught up in surgery. The nurses are busy elsewhere. The hospital is unusually quiet.
Zayne sits slouched in the chair beside your bed, tapping a pen against his knee. You’re thumbing through the latest book he loaned you — a nonfiction this time, something about stars and deep space, endless distances that make your small, fragile life feel even smaller.
For a while, you exist in comfortable silence.
Then, without looking at you, Zayne says, "You know you’re sick. Really sick."
It's not a question. It's a fact, laid bare between you.
You close the book slowly, pressing your palm flat against the cover to keep your hands from shaking.
"I know," you say, voice barely a whisper.
Zayne leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, his gaze fixed somewhere on the floor.
"I want to fix it," he says roughly. "I’m studying to fix it."
You stare at him, heart twisting.
"You can't," you say, almost gently. "Nobody can."
His jaw tightens. His fingers curl into fists against his thighs.
"I have to," he mutters. "Otherwise... what's the point?"
The words hang there between you — raw, desperate, infuriatingly beautiful.
You swallow hard, feeling the sting of tears behind your eyes.
"You don't have to waste your life on me," you say. "You have your own future. Your own world."
Finally, he lifts his head and looks at you — really looks at you.
And in his dark, tired eyes, you see it.
"I'm not wasting it," he says.
The stubbornness.
The grief.
The terrible, trembling hope.
He says it like an oath. Like a prayer.
And for the first time, you let yourself believe — just a little — that maybe, just maybe, you're not fighting alone anymore.
You glance up from your book, startled to see Zayne standing by your bedside, a mischievous glint in his otherwise serious eyes.
A rustle of cloth. The scrape of a chair being quietly pushed back.
He holds out his hand to you — palm up, steady.
"Come on," he says, voice low and urgent. "Before someone notices."
You stare at him like he’s lost his mind.
"I’m not exactly mobile, in case you forgot," you say dryly, gesturing weakly at your IV stand and the tangle of wires monitoring your heart.
Zayne’s mouth tugs into the smallest, briefest smirk.
"I planned for that," he says.
He lifts a second IV pole from behind him — wheels it forward like a grand conspirator revealing his secret weapon. It’s empty except for a few dummy wires and a hastily knotted hospital gown draped over it like camouflage.
You blink.
He actually planned this.
"You're insane," you whisper.
"Maybe," he says. "But so are you for trusting me."
His fingers curl around yours, warm and sure, and for the first time in a long while, you feel something electric under your skin — something alive.
You don’t trust easily.
You never have.
But tonight — with the sterile hum of the hospital around you, and the fierce, reckless light in Zayne’s eyes — you find yourself reaching for his hand anyway.
Carefully, painstakingly, he helps you out of bed, maneuvering your real IV to look as inconspicuous as possible. You clutch his arm for balance, and he doesn't flinch or pull away. He just stands there, solid and steady, like he was built to hold you up.
Together, you slip out of your room and into the dimly lit hallway.
The hospital at night is a different world — softer, quieter, suspended in time. The usual sharp edges of sterile life blur into something almost magical.
Zayne leads you through the labyrinth of corridors, past empty nurses' stations and closed doors, moving like a ghost through his second home.
Eventually, he pushes open a heavy door, and you find yourself on the hospital’s rooftop.
You don't ask where you're going.
You trust him.
The cool night air hits you like a blessing. Linkon city sprawls out below you, lights blinking like a thousand tiny stars scattered across the dark.
Above you, the real stars stretch in endless constellations, faint but stubborn, refusing to be erased by the city's glow.
You stand there, breathing in the night, the IV pole at your side forgotten for a moment.
Zayne leans against the railing, his arms crossed over his chest, watching you with an unreadable expression.
"This," he says, tilting his chin toward the sky, "is the closest I could get to taking you out of here."
You stare up at the heavens, feeling something bloom painfully in your chest.
"You’re not supposed to do this," you whisper, but there’s no anger in your voice. Only wonder.
Zayne shrugs. "Sue me."
You laugh — a small, broken sound — and he turns his head slightly, like he wants to hear it again but is too proud to ask.
Finally, you glance over at him.
For a long time, you just stand there.
Two kids on a rooftop.
One dying, one refusing to let her go quietly.
"Thank you," you say simply.
His mouth twitches — the barest ghost of a smile.
"You’re welcome," he mutters.
Then, after a beat:
"You’re not allowed to die yet, by the way."
You blink at him, startled.
"That’s an order," he adds, looking away as if embarrassed. "Doctor’s orders."
Not if there’s still more of him.
You bite back the emotion swelling in your throat, smiling instead.
Because you realize, deep down, you don’t want to die yet.
Not if there’s still more of this.
After that first night, the rooftop becomes your place.
Whenever the nights are quiet and the staff is distracted, he appears in your doorway with a raised eyebrow and a silent question.
You and Zayne never talk about it.
You never plan it.
It just happens — an unspoken ritual.
You always nod.
And then you're off again — sneaking past monitors, wheels squeaking faintly, IV pole rattling slightly as you creep through the halls like co-conspirators against fate.
The rooftop feels almost sacred now.
Up there, the air smells less like bleach and more like possibility.
Up there, you aren’t just a patient strapped to machines — you’re alive.
You learn more about him — the way he hates instant coffee but drinks it anyway. His ridiculous sweet tooth. The way he grips the railing a little too tightly sometimes, like he’s afraid of losing control. How his smiles are rare but real, and he saves most of them for you.
Sometimes you talk.
Sometimes you sit in silence.
He listens. Really listens.
And he learns about you — the real you, the one buried under layers of hospital gowns and medical files.
He learns you love thunderstorms. That you used to dream of becoming an astronaut before you got too sick to dream at all. That you’re terrified, not of dying, but of being forgotten.
And something inside you, long frozen, starts to thaw.
You start pushing yourself during physical therapy. You sit up longer. You fight to stay awake through bad days just so you can catch a glimpse of him passing by.
You get stronger.
Not in the way that matters medically — your charts still fluctuate, your heart still falters sometimes — but your spirit grows stubborn. Fierce. Hungry.
And even if you don’t say it out loud, you know he wants it too.
You want more time.
You want more nights under the stars.
You want more him.
But the clock is always ticking.
Some nights, the pain comes back — sharp and sudden, clenching around your ribs like an iron hand. Some nights, the monitors scream and the nurses race in, and Zayne isn't allowed to visit until you're stabilized again.
On those nights, you stare at the ceiling and try not to think about how fleeting all of this is.
And then one night, when you’re both on the rooftop again, he blurts it out.
You wonder if he knows.
If he feels it too — the way the future presses down on you both like a heavy, inevitable sky.
"You’re getting worse," he says, voice low and tight.
You don't argue. You don't pretend.
Instead, you lean against the railing, the cold metal digging into your palms, and whisper, "I know."
You expect him to retreat. To shut down the way most people do when confronted with the ugly truth of you.
But Zayne just steps closer.
"You’re still fighting," he says roughly. "Even when it’s pointless. Even when you’re scared."
You laugh — bitter, broken.
"There's no winning this," you say. "No miracle cure. You know that, don't you?"
Then, very quietly:
He says nothing for a long time.
Just stands there, breathing hard, like he’s holding back something too big for words.
"I’m still going to try."
You turn your head, meeting his gaze fully for the first time in what feels like forever.
There’s no pity there. No empty promises.
And for the first time, you allow yourself to lean just a little closer, resting your forehead against his shoulder.
Only determination.
Only him.
He stiffens — startled — but then, slowly, carefully, he shifts so you fit against him better.
The IV line tugs against your arm. Your heart monitor blips faintly in the background.
But here, in this small, stolen moment, you aren't a diagnosis. You aren't a prognosis.
You're just a girl.
And he's just a boy trying to save you.
The night it happens, you’re both too tired to pretend you're fine anymore.
The rooftop air is thick and heavy, the heat of the day still clinging stubbornly to the concrete. You sit cross-legged on a worn blanket Zayne smuggled from the staff lounge, your IV pole parked dutifully beside you, your heart monitor muted to a low, steady pulse.
Zayne lounges beside you, long legs stretched out, arms folded behind his head as he stares up at the stars.
Neither of you say much.
The sky stretches overhead in an endless velvet sweep, pinpricked with faint light. Somewhere far below, Linkon city hums and breathes without you.
Words feel too heavy tonight.
Besides, you don’t need them.
You turn your head slightly, watching him.
His face looks softer in the dark — the stern lines of his mouth eased, the tension usually buried in his shoulders melted away. You can see the faint smudges of exhaustion under his eyes, the little crease between his brows he probably doesn't even realize he has.
You realize — with a strange, aching clarity — that you want to remember this. You want to burn this version of him into your memory so you can carry it with you, no matter what happens.
Your eyelids grow heavier with each passing minute.
The monitors hum quietly beside you, a gentle lullaby.
Somewhere between one heartbeat and the next, your body leans sideways — just a little, just enough — and without thinking, without planning, you drift closer until your head finds his shoulder.
Zayne goes rigid at first — like someone just pulled a fire alarm inside his chest — but after a long, tense second, he shifts carefully, allowing you to settle against him.
You half-expect him to tease you. To make some snide remark.
But he doesn't.
Instead, he stays perfectly still, perfectly steady, like he’s afraid even breathing too loudly might wake you.
You don't remember falling asleep.
But you remember the feeling —safe, warm, suspended in something fragile and golden —as you sink into dreams for the first time in months without fear clawing at your throat.
You wake up hours later to the faintest touch — Zayne carefully adjusting your IV line, his fingers clumsy with sleep, his eyes still heavy-lidded.
He blinks down at you, caught between guilt and something deeper, something raw.
"Sorry," he mutters, voice rough. "Didn't mean to—"
You cut him off by curling a little closer, burying your face in the crook of his arm.
Later, when you’re both back inside, tangled in warmth and silence, the question slips out before you can stop it.
And for once, he doesn't argue.
He just lets you stay.
You’re still curled under your hospital blankets, the faint beep of your monitor filling the room like a heartbeat. Zayne sits in the chair beside your bed, scribbling distractedly in his med school notebook, but you know he’s only half-focused at best.
"Zayne," you say quietly.
He hums in response, not looking up.
"If you could have anything," you whisper, "anything at all… what would you wish for?"
He freezes, pen hovering midair.
The silence stretches so long you wonder if he’s going to answer at all.
Looks at you.
Then, slowly, he sets the pen down.
Leans forward, elbows braced on his knees.
His eyes are tired and beautiful, reflecting every terrible truth you both carry.
You open your mouth — to ask with who, to demand more clarity — but he beats you to it.
"I’d wish," he says slowly, like dragging the words out of his chest hurts,
"for more time."
"With you," he says, voice breaking just slightly on the last word.
Your heart stumbles painfully in your chest — not from illness, not from fear, but from the sheer weight of him, of this.
You can’t breathe.
You don’t even realize you’re crying until he’s there, wiping a thumb under your eye, the touch so painfully gentle it almost undoes you completely.
He just stays.
He doesn’t ask for anything more.
He doesn’t try to kiss you, or make promises he can’t keep.
Because he knows. You both know.
This love—whatever it is, whatever it’s becoming—isn’t about grand declarations or fairy-tale endings.
It’s about now.
It’s about this fragile, fleeting moment where you are still here, still breathing, still together.
And for tonight, that’s enough.
The days that follow feel… different.
It’s subtle at first — a lighter step in your walk, a softer smile tucked at the corners of your mouth — but it’s there.
Hope.
Tiny, fragile, impossible hope.
And it’s all because of him.
You don’t dare speak it aloud — not when your body is still betraying you at every turn, not when your doctors still whisper in careful, practiced voices outside your room — but it grows inside you anyway.
A stubborn little flame.
Because of the way Zayne looks at you now — not like a patient he’s sworn to protect, not like a lost cause — but like a person.
A girl with dreams worth fighting for.
One night, when the hospital halls are unusually quiet and the rooftop is bathed in a silver wash of moonlight, you find yourself blurting it out.
Your secret list.
The things you thought you had buried.
"I want to see snow," you whisper, breath misting faintly in the cold. "I want to dance without an IV pole dragging beside me." A soft, broken laugh slips from your mouth. "I want to eat an entire cake without someone telling me it’s too much sugar."
You glance at him, embarrassed, cheeks hot. "And I want someone to kiss me like it’s the end of the world."
But Zayne just listens — really listens — every word sinking into him like gospel.
You expect him to laugh.
Or worse, to pity you.
And when you fall silent, when you turn your face away to hide the burning in your chest, he steps closer.
You blink up at him, stunned.
"So we’ll do it," he says simply, like it’s the easiest thing in the world.
"We’ll do all of it."
"Zayne—"
"I mean it," he cuts in, voice fierce and steady. "Whatever time we have — we use it. Every second. No regrets."
You want to believe him.
God, you want it so badly your heart physically aches with it.
Still—still—
But you’ve been burned by hope before.
You know how cruel the world can be to people like you.
The way he looks at you now, fierce and soft all at once —the way he says we —you think maybe, just maybe, it’s worth believing again.
"Okay," you whisper, a little breathless, a little terrified.
He smiles then — not the small, careful smirks you’re used to, but a real, breathtaking smile that lights up his whole face.
"Good," he says, offering his hand to you like it’s a promise.
You slip your fingers into his, and the night folds around you, carrying your fragile hopes into the stars.
Later, back in your bed, curled up under warm blankets and still clutching the memory of his hand in yours, you allow yourself to dream.
Tiny dreams.
Stupid, beautiful dreams.
You fall asleep smiling.
You imagine catching snowflakes on your tongue with him.
You imagine dancing barefoot in a field, laughing until your lungs ache for the right reasons.
You imagine frosting on your nose, stolen kisses, clumsy hands trying to twirl you around.
You imagine living — even if it’s just for a little while — like you were never sick at all.
The night it happens, it’s unbearably hot — heavy, clinging summer air that sticks to your skin and makes the hospital walls feel even more suffocating.
You’re dozing restlessly in your bed when he appears at your door.
Zayne.
"Come with me," he says, without preamble.
His hair is a little messy, his white coat half-buttoned and wrinkled like he’s been moving fast — a little frantic, a little reckless.
He’s breathing hard, cheeks flushed from the sprint through the halls.
You blink blearily at him, confused.
Before you can protest, he’s wheeling you out of the room, fast and determined.
He doesn’t explain. He just strides forward, unhooks your IV pole from the wall, checks the portable monitor strapped to your wrist, and mutters,
"You’re stable. Good enough."
You always have.
Your heart kicks wildly in your chest — a mix of fear and excitement and confusion — but you don’t ask questions.
You trust him.
—
He leads you to the rooftop.
It’s empty, quiet — the city sprawled out below you like a glittering sea.
The sky overhead is a deep, endless blue-black, scattered with stars.
And then —
Zayne closes his eyes.
Takes a slow, steady breath.
And the world shifts.
It starts slowly — a faint chill curling into the warm summer air, the barest shimmer of cold gathering around him.
Then, with a soft, almost imperceptible hum, it begins to fall.
Snow.
Tiny crystalline flakes drift from the sky, swirling in delicate, shimmering patterns.
You gasp — a real, sharp, alive sound — and reach out instinctively.
A flake lands on your fingertip, melting instantly against your warm skin.
"You said you wanted to see snow," Zayne murmurs, voice low and a little shy. "Real snow’s impossible right now, but…"
He trails off, lifting a hand helplessly, as if embarrassed.
As if this miracle he’s created isn’t enough.
Tears prick at the corners of your eyes.
You can't speak. You can't even think.
You just stand there, under the impossible snowfall, heart thundering in your chest like it might break free entirely.
He watches you — watches the wonder bloom across your face — and his own expression softens, the usual tension bleeding out of his shoulders.
And then—
As if the night wasn’t already enough—
He pulls something out from behind a nearby bench.
A small, messy cake.
"I made it," he says gruffly, ears turning pink. "Don’t laugh."
Lopsided.
Clearly homemade.
Icing smeared unevenly across the top.
You laugh anyway — a bright, broken sound — and it feels good, like sunlight bursting through storm clouds.
He steps closer, offering you a plastic fork.
You scoop a big, absurdly sugary bite and shove it into your mouth without hesitation, icing smearing at the corner of your lips.
Zayne chuckles under his breath — a rare, breathtaking sound — and reaches out with a thumb to wipe the frosting away.
The touch lingers longer than necessary.
The world slows down.
Your heart is pounding so hard now it’s probably setting off alarms somewhere inside the hospital.
And you realize — you don't want this moment to end.
You don’t want to forget any of it.
But you don't care.
Because then—he sets the cake aside.
Takes your hand in his.
The snow still falls around you, shimmering under the rooftop lights.
He doesn’t say a word.
He just pulls you into a slow, clumsy dance — his hand on your waist, your IV line dragging along but forgotten, your feet stumbling awkwardly in hospital socks — and you laugh again, breathless and giddy and so impossibly alive.
You sway together, turning in small circles, the city spinning lazily beyond the rooftop’s edge.
You think maybe your heart is breaking and mending all at once.
You think maybe you’re falling in love.
And when the song of the night winds down to a hush, when you’re standing chest-to-chest and he’s looking down at you with that unbearably soft expression —
You rise up on your toes.
Just a little.
Just enough.
And you kiss him.
Soft.
Gentle.
Trembling with all the things you’re too scared to say.
It isn’t perfect — your noses bump, you’re both a little off balance — but it doesn’t matter.
Because it’s real.
Because it’s yours.
Because it’s every wish you never dared to make coming true at once.
You pull back a fraction, resting your forehead against his, breathing in the cold he summoned just for you.
Neither of you speaks.
You don't have to.
Everything you feel is written in the way his thumb strokes over your wrist, in the way your fingers curl desperately into the fabric of his shirt.
You are here.
You are together.
For however long you have left.
And for now, for tonight, that's enough.
The plan takes a week to set in motion.
Doctor Li is cautious, of course — his worry etched in the lines around his tired eyes — but in the end, he agrees.
Maybe because he sees the way you light up now, the way your charts have stabilized just a little, like your heart has found something worth fighting for.
Or maybe because he remembers — painfully — what life is supposed to feel like outside sterile hospital walls.
Clearance is granted. Nurses fuss and fret, loading your bag with medications and emergency supplies, setting strict curfews and contingencies.
But you don’t care about any of that.
Because when Zayne wheels you out the front doors into the bright, wild world, it feels like stepping into another life entirely.
The city is buzzing, golden sunlight pouring like honey over everything.
And the park — oh god, the park! It's huge and sprawling and alive, filled with the scent of blooming flowers and the sound of children laughing.
Zayne’s hand never leaves yours as he leads you through winding paths, under archways draped in climbing roses, past glittering fountains that catch the light like tiny rainbows.
At one point he finds an empty patch of grass, drops a threadbare blanket he must have stolen from the hospital laundry, and you sit side by side under a tree, dappled sunlight dancing across your skin.
You’re breathless with wonder.
Breathless and alive.
For a long time, you just exist.
Breathing.
Laughing.
Watching the clouds drift by like lazy ships.
And then — quietly, almost shyly — Zayne starts talking about the future.
"Our own place," he says, tracing patterns in the air. "A tiny apartment, the kind where you can hear the neighbors arguing through the walls. We'd have to get a cat. Or a dog. Or both."
You laugh, heart aching sweetly.
He grins, warmed by your smile, and keeps going, voice steady and dreaming.
"I'd cook. You'd probably hate it. You’d tease me until I ordered takeout."
You close your eyes, letting his words wash over you like a blessing.
"And someday…" His voice falters, softens. "If you wanted — we could travel. Anywhere. Everywhere. Mountains, oceans. I’d show you real snow."
You open your eyes, finding him already watching you.
There’s a look in his gaze that’s almost unbearable in its tenderness.
"You’ll see everything," he murmurs, like a vow. "I’ll make sure of it."
You smile.
You don't say what you’re thinking — that you’d be happy seeing anything at all, so long as he’s standing beside you.
You just tuck the dream away, precious and impossible, into the quiet spaces of your heart.
You spend the afternoon like that.
Eating terrible ice cream from a street vendor.
Dancing barefoot in the grass even when your knees wobble and Zayne has to catch you, laughing into your hair.
Taking blurry, ridiculous photos with his phone — him pulling faces, you struggling to keep a straight one.
You are tired beyond words when you return to the hospital — every muscle aching, your chest tight with strain — but you are happy.
So unbearably, blissfully happy.
For the first time in your life, you feel like you belonged to the world.
Like maybe you could carve a little piece of it for yourself after all.
But happiness, you learn, is a fragile thing.
Easily shattered.
Easily lost.
It starts slowly.
Nothing you haven’t dealt with before.
A missed heartbeat here.
A dizzy spell there.
Nothing serious.
At least, that's what you tell yourself.
But soon it’s undeniable.
You don’t want to worry Zayne.
You don’t want to darken the light he’s given you.
You can’t catch your breath after simple movements.
Your fingers tremble when you try to hold a fork.
Your chest burns with a constant, gnawing ache that no amount of oxygen seems to soothe.
Zayne notices, of course.
He’s not stupid.
And he’s terrified.
The night you collapse in your room — monitors screaming, nurses rushing in a panic — Zayne shoves through the crowd like a force of nature, wild-eyed and desperate.
He’s the one who grabs your hand as they work frantically around you. He’s the one who keeps whispering your name, again and again, like he can anchor you here just by speaking it.
"Don’t," he chokes out, voice cracking for the first time since you’ve known him. "Don’t you dare give up. Not now."
You’re so tired.
God, you’re so tired.
Your vision flickers, the world tilting dangerously, but you find his face — blurry, beautiful — and focus on him with everything you have left.
"I’m so close," he says, begging now. "I’m almost there. Just a little longer — I swear — I’ll find a way —"
You smile.
Small. Broken.
You feel your heart weaken again — a tangible, physical slip inside your ribcage — but you hold his gaze.
You don’t have the strength for promises you can’t keep.
But you can give him this:
"I’ll try," you whisper.
It’s the truth.
It’s everything you can offer.
And it’s enough to make his fingers tighten around yours like he can hold you here by sheer force of will.
Like maybe love alone could be enough to save you.
It’s snowing again.
But not like before.
Not like rooftop snow under hospital lights, summoned from Evol and desperation.
This snow is real — thick, heavy flakes falling from a grey sky, the kind you can lose yourself in.
You’re standing in the middle of a wide, open field. Everything around you is blanketed in pure white.
And he’s there.
Zayne.
Not in a lab coat. Not with tired eyes and trembling hands. But whole.
Bright.
Smiling that rare, breathtaking smile he saves only for you.
"You made it," he says, voice warm as he reaches for you.
You laugh — really laugh — the sound echoing across the empty field like a song.
Your body moves easily, no wires tethering you, no weight dragging at your limbs.
You run to him.
You run.
He catches you effortlessly, arms wrapping around your waist, lifting you off your feet in a dizzying, laughing spin.
"You kept your promise," you murmur against his shoulder.
"I told you," he says simply, "I'd show you everything."
You don’t want to let go.
You don’t ever want to let go.
And so you don’t.
You stay like that — pressed against him, his heartbeat steady and sure under your palm — as the snow falls heavier, swirling around you like a blessing.
You close your eyes.
You dream bigger.
You see it all — the tiny apartment, the noisy neighbors, the stupid cat knocking over potted plants.
Burnt pancakes in the morning.
Train tickets to everywhere.
Laughing on crowded streets in cities you can't even pronounce.
Wedding rings slipped onto shaking fingers.
A life.
A real, messy, miraculous life.
With him.
Always, with him.
And for one shining, impossible moment—you believe.
You believe you’ll live long enough to see it.
You believe you already have.
The world is harsh when it drags you back.
Cold.
Bright.
Noisy.
You blink against the glare of fluorescent lights, the steady beeping of machines surrounding you.
The familiar, sterile scent of antiseptic stings your nose.
ICU.
Again.
You shift slightly — everything aches — and feel the tug of new wires and IVs threaded into your skin.
And then —
Warmth.
A hand.
Wrapped around yours.
You turn your head with effort.
And find him there.
Zayne.
Slumped in a chair too small for him, still in his hospital scrubs, dark circles bruising his eyes.
Sleeping.
But even in sleep, he doesn’t let go of you.
His hand is firm, steady, fingers laced with yours like a lifeline.
You watch him — your heart aching with something too big, too fierce to name.
You don’t move.
You don’t dare wake him.
And that’s enough.
Because for now — for this fragile, precious moment — you are still here.
He is still here.
—
You don’t know how long you just lie there, feeling his hand wrapped tightly around yours, listening to the steady blip of your own heartbeat on the monitors.
Eventually, he stirs.
You’re so tired.
But you're also… at peace.
A soft, broken noise leaves him — like even sleep can’t protect him from whatever war he’s fighting inside.
And when his eyes blink open, dazed and bloodshot, they land on you immediately.
As if he's terrified you'll vanish if he blinks again.
For a moment, he just stares.
As if he doesn't quite believe you’re real.
"Hey," you rasp, your voice barely more than a whisper.
His face crumples.
He surges forward, pressing his forehead against your joined hands, squeezing so hard it almost hurts.
You manage a smile — small, but real.
"You're awake," he breathes, voice wrecked with relief and exhaustion.
"God — you're awake."
"I wasn’t gonna miss your dramatic collapse," you joke, because you have to. Because the alternative — the raw fear in his eyes — is too much to bear.
It works, a little.
A huff of helpless laughter shudders out of him.
"You scared the hell out of me," he mutters against your knuckles, his breath shaking.
"You scare me all the time," you tease, lighter now, though your chest aches with every word. "But I’m still here."
He lifts his head, looking at you like you're something sacred.
"You have to stay," he says fiercely. "You have to — just a little longer —please —I'm so close —I swear—"
Your heart twists.
You wish you could bottle it up and drink it, let it heal you from the inside out.
He’s been saying that for so long.
So many promises.
So much hope.
You reach up, fingers brushing his jaw, feeling the stubble that wasn't there yesterday.
"I know," you whisper. "I know you're trying. I’m trying, too."
Your hand falls back to the bed, too heavy to hold up.
His hand follows immediately, cradling it again like he can shield you from the whole world.
"I can’t lose you," he says, so quietly you almost don’t hear it.
His thumb strokes over your knuckles, desperate and tender all at once.
"You won't," you whisper.
It’s a lie, and you both know it.
But it’s a kind lie.
The kind you tell someone when love outweighs truth.
His eyes glisten, wet and angry and afraid.
"You’re going to live," he says, like it’s a fact.
Like he can will it into existence.
You smile again — soft and sad and full of all the things you don't have the strength to say.
"I'll make sure of it," he vows, fierce and breaking.
"I’ll tear the world apart if I have to."
Even now, when your body feels like it’s slipping further away from you with every beat.
You believe him.
You always believe him.
Even now, when you know some promises are too big for this world.
You squeeze his hand weakly.
"I love you," you whisper before you can stop yourself.
It’s the first time you’ve said it out loud.
The first and — you know — maybe the last.
He lets out a broken, shuddering sound, and leans forward until his forehead rests against yours.
"I love you more," he whispers back, trembling.
"I love you enough to move heaven and earth if that's what it takes."
You close your eyes.
You let yourself believe it.
Just for a little while longer.
Just until the morning comes.
The days bleed together in a haze of too-bright mornings and too-quiet nights.
Sometimes you’re strong enough to sit up, to laugh a little when he brings you sweets hidden in his bag, the ones the nurses pretend not to see.
Sometimes you can’t even lift your head.
But he never leaves.
Zayne is there through all of it — a constant, stubborn presence.
He drags a battered medical textbook everywhere he goes, flipping through it with growing desperation between moments spent at your side.
You catch him muttering to himself sometimes — notes, formulas, theories — a language only he and the universe seem to understand.
His eyes never lose that fierce, determined light. Not even when the others — the nurses, the doctors, even his father — start looking at you with that pitying softness usually reserved for lost causes.
Zayne refuses.
Refuses to believe you are anything less than a miracle still waiting to happen.
And for a while, you let him.
You let yourself believe it too.
You dream together — quietly, in snatches of exhausted conversation.
Little things.
You fall asleep with his hand in yours, and for a moment, you almost think you’ll wake up to that future.
Trips you’ll take.
Places you’ll see.
A life waiting just beyond the next sunrise.
Almost.
It happens in the middle of the night.
At first, it's nothing.
A shiver.
A slight breathlessness.
You're used to it. You think you’ll ride it out like all the others.
But then the pain hits.
A blinding, seizing agony in your chest that knocks the air from your lungs.
You’re distantly aware of Zayne shouting — your name over and over—his voice cracking in a way you’ve never heard before.
Monitors shriek.
Nurses rush in.
The world explodes into chaos.
You try to find him — try to reach out — but your limbs are so heavy, your vision swimming.
You catch one glimpse — just one — of him being dragged back by hospital staff, his face twisted in a raw, desperate kind of terror that tears something deep inside you.
But you can’t speak.
You want to tell him it’s okay.
You want to tell him you’re not afraid.
You can’t even breathe.
And as the darkness rushes up to meet you —you think, faintly —
I’m sorry.
He’s still holding your hand.
Hours later, long after the machines have fallen silent.
Long after the nurses have cried quietly behind the curtains.
Long after his father stood at the door, silent and broken, and then walked away because he couldn't bear to watch his son shatter.
Zayne is still there.
Head bowed, shoulders shaking.
Your hand cradled in both of his like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth.
"Come on," he whispers, voice hoarse and raw. "Come on — you promised. You said you’d try —"
He presses your hand to his mouth, breathing you in like maybe he can still find some piece of you, some lingering spark that he can fan back to life.
"You can't leave yet," he says, broken. "I’m not ready — I’m not—"
The words dissolve into a rough, gasping sob.
It’s not fair.
You were supposed to have more time.
You were supposed to see the world, to laugh and dance and live.
You were supposed to have a lifetime — not just borrowed days.
Zayne buries his face against your cold fingers.
He doesn’t care who sees.
Doesn’t care if it’s undignified or messy or hopeless.
You loved him.
And he loved you.
Enough to move mountains.
Enough to break himself into pieces trying to save you.
Enough to hold onto you, even now — even when the world is cruel enough to have taken you away.
"I’m sorry," he chokes out against your skin. "I’m so sorry — I wasn’t enough —"
It isn't true. You would have told him that if you could. You would have told him he was always enough.
But all that's left is silence.
Zayne stays there, long after the world outside your hospital room forgets.
Long after the snow he once summoned for you has melted away.
Long after the rest of the universe moves on.
Just like you.
He stays.
Because love doesn’t vanish with the heart that carried it. It lingers—stubborn and beautiful and devastating —like the first snowfall on a summer night.
The rooftop hasn’t changed much.
Zayne stands there now, a tall figure in a dark coat, hands tucked into his pockets against the cold.
The same cracked tiles underfoot.
The same rusted railings.
The same battered bench, where once — a lifetime ago — two dreamers sat and imagined a future they could almost touch.
It’s snowing.
Soft, heavy flakes drifting down from a sky the color of mourning doves.
The night he watched you dance in the middle of summer, your laughter lighting up the world more than any stars ever could.
Exactly the way it did that night.
The night he made it snow for you.
His throat tightens.
He tilts his head back, lets the snow kiss his skin.
Lets the memories wash over him — sharp and tender all at once.
The wind whistles softly around him, as if in agreement.
"You'd hate this," he murmurs to the empty air, a wry smile ghosting across his face.
"You always said snow was pretty, but cold was overrated."
He closes his eyes.
He can almost see you — spinning in the falling snow, hands outstretched, that shy, luminous smile you only ever showed him.
Almost.
Zayne shifts, pulling something from his coat pocket — a small, delicate bouquet.
Not flowers.
Paper cranes.
Hand-folded, each one painstakingly creased.
A thousand wishes, a thousand promises.
He sets them carefully on the bench.
A silent offering to the girl who once taught him what it meant to dream — even if dreams don’t always come true.
"I did it," he says quietly, voice rough.
"I kept my promise."
He swallows hard, staring out into the snowy city lights.
"I couldn’t save you," he admits, the old grief still a raw, tender thing inside him. "But I saved others."
Hundreds of them.
Patients who would have died, now living because of the research, the surgeries, the relentless fire you lit inside him.
Because of you.
Always because of you.
Zayne breathes in deep, the cold burning his lungs, grounding him.
"I hope... wherever you are," he says, soft and sure, "you're proud."
The snow falls heavier now, blurring the edges of the world.
Zayne stands there a little longer, letting the silence wrap around him like a memory, like a prayer.
Finally, he turns to leave.
But before he goes, he glances back one last time —and for just a heartbeat —he thinks he sees you.
He doesn't blink.
Standing there in the snow, smiling.
Weightless. Free.
He just smiles back, tears blurring the world into stars.
"Happy anniversary, angel," he says.
And then he walks away, carrying you with him — in every beat of his heart.
tags : established relationship, light kisses, hurt/comfort, angst with fluff, reader has a bad day, kinda slight references to 'hidden motive', it's like if the "youtiful" series had no smut LMAO, use of pet names "love" "sweetheart". ((also... unedited... i finished this at like 2:30am... AHFNNSNF)
wc : 3k (haha......)
an : so i have. been on a bit of writer's block since i recovered from my sick week, but i did somehow get the urge to write something a little angsty… so this was actually the perfect request to work on and i had sm fun with this!! TYTYYY FOR REQUESTING @deepspacenova ILY <333 (also i know canonically valentine's day is azure's echo day but… for consistency we'll stick with valentine's :D)
taglist : under the cut! (SIGN UP HERE)
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Valentine's Day wasn't supposed to go like this.
When you woke up, the space beside you was empty.
The curtains were drawn, and the room had been left relatively dark despite the little rays of sunshine peeking through. Comforting, in a sense, but—your hand reached out to run through the sheets beside you, now cold and devoid of the warmth of his presence. He'd left it like this on purpose; you knew that.
And it was quiet without him.
The kind of quiet that was loud, the kind of quiet that was uncomfortable.
Your eyes drifted towards the clock on the nightstand, and your heart sank at the realization—you'd slept in, and completely missed seeing him off. On Valentine's Day.
You'd both known from the start that he wouldn't be getting a day off despite the occasion, and you'd accepted it, but you had promised yourself to be present for him in the morning. What kind of girlfriend would let him leave just like that, right?
There was a note on the stand.
You reached out to grab it, and something about the emptiness in the bedroom made you feel so small. Even though you'd always been fond of the neutral colors surrounding you, they looked drearier and gloomier than they'd ever been. Your arms twitched with the urge to reach out for a hug—
There was no one there.
Good morning, sweetheart. Did you sleep well? I noticed you've been very tired lately, so please get some rest. Don't feel too bad that you didn't see me this morning. I'll be home in time for dinner, let me know when you wake up.
It was so sweet. So Zayne. Yet the heaviness in your heart didn't seem to lighten in the least, because the circumstances didn't change:
It was Valentine's Day. And you were spending it all alone.
In retrospect, you could never place the blame on your boyfriend. It had been this way from the start; you'd talked about it, accepted it, that with all of this came his busy schedules and the ever-present possibility that he would miss days like this without having much of a choice himself. You, yourself, weren't exempt to the setup, anyway—normally, your own work hours would have you out of the house in a similar manner. It was only that, this time… the mere prospect of having to spend a majority of the day alone with your thoughts had your skin crawling.
It had to be today.
It had to be now.
You could beg for a new work assignment to come in and save you from drowning, but you had been ordered to take a rest.
…Was this resting?
The air was stifling. You could breathe, but only barely.
You felt nailed to the bed, your head heavy, your body heavy, the tension in your shoulders nearly having you want to cry out if only you could muster a sound.
It had to be today.
It had to be now.
On Valentine's Day, the day of love. You would feel so pathetic, and needy, and so desperate to feel him next to you when you knew that it could not be so and you understood that this was simply the way things were. How they always have been. And it took every ounce of your energy to fight back the tears that were threatening to spill, because what kind of girlfriend would be like this, and why couldn't today be a day you felt normal?
You had to hastily wipe your tears with the sleeve of your sweater, and your hands reached for the phone next.
A simple good morning, a little how-are-you.
You would make yourself be normal today if you could help it.
So you did the only thing you could think of:
You redirected.
Pushing yourself out of bed was a task difficult enough to do, but you grit your teeth through it. Feet touched upon the soft carpet, footsteps padding across the room and towards the door. If you had the majority of the day to yourself, you could do something productive, couldn't you? You could still do that, couldn't you? You could still be the simplest, simplest form of a functioning human being… couldn't you?
A mantra repeated in your head as you made your way to the kitchen.
A list of things: you could clean, you could organize, you could read, you could play… You could cook something, maybe even bake, just so he could have some sort of surprise waiting when he got back.
It sounded like a good plan.
…
It was a difficult plan.
Deep breaths weren't enough to calm you down. Sure, every movement pulled you out of the rubble of your thoughts for a moment, allowed you to continue being for a moment. But a moment was merely a moment. And once that moment was over, then it was over. The wreckage dangling above your head would come crashing.
It was a terrifying, terrifying thing to be alone.
Every so often your eyes would drift towards your phone in hopes for a text; even a simple update, anything, anything—
You liked the quiet, but you liked it when he was around.
You liked the slowness of things, but you liked it when he was around.
On days like these, then only when all this empty space could be filled by the warmth of his presence… that was when everything else could be bearable.
And you stirred the cookie batter absentmindedly, only barely paying attention to what you were doing, when—
Ding!
Your heart jumped.
Immediately, you dropped the spatula back into bowl and turned towards your phone.
—heeeeyyyy, happy valentine's, bestieee!!!
—hope you get to have a sweeeett, sweet time with your boyfie!
Ah.
Your racing heartbeat calmed down in slight disappointment; the last conversation you'd had with Zayne had been an hour ago, and you knew realistically enough not to expect another message so soon.
And, sure, you were disappointed, but… to Tara's defense, these texts still made you smile.
She sent a flurry more of messages; silly things, cute things, just a couple of somethings to leave in your chat log. You didn't know if she'd picked up on your own behavior being off at work, but you supposed that if Jenna had, then it was more likely that Tara hadn't overlooked it, either.
A thought rang suddenly in your mind, because you could spend the rest of your day with her. A glance at the time told you that it was only half past two in the afternoon, and you still had a couple of hours left before Zayne would be on his way home. If you were looking for a distraction, perhaps, a day out could have solved it, but—
Realization dawned.
You'd have to put on something pretty, spend a couple of minutes doing makeup. You'd have to speak with people, interact with them, seem normal to them… and then maybe, then, you'd be more conscious of the fact that you were blatantly masking in front of people you held close to your heart.
Vulnerability was a fickle thing.
Though you could desperately want to be so, it was difficult to know where to begin.
It was something to accept—you didn't have the energy to… be.
Not today.
Maybe Zayne was right; you did need to rest.
And the realization furthered in that really, truly, all that you wanted was to spend a moment curled up in his lap, maybe watch a movie, maybe sit in silence… Just enough to recharge, just enough to feel safe enough to be.
You wouldn't have had to think of anything else.
But, he wasn't… Here.
He wasn't here.
Hours passed by in a similar manner, then. A cycle of distracting yourself, and failing, and trying again, and failing… You had gotten a few things done, in your defense. The kitchen and the bedroom had both been cleaned spotless. Your newly-baked batch of chocolate-chip cookies sat to cool on the counter, a treat for your boyfriend, something to remind you of what day it was today. You were proud of yourself for it, of course; despite everything, you could still do a little something.
But the feeling in your chest, the heaviness of it, the burden you bore that you couldn't quite place, yourself… it was still there. Unmistakably, still there.
And then it was late.
Later than you knew his shift to be.
You glanced at your phone once, twice—thrice, and a few times more.
The message you'd sent had received no reply.
It must have been an emergency.
You understood; really, you understood. It was like this. He had no access to his phone when things were busy, and especially not when something had come up. You knew this. You knew.
And so you grabbed a blanket from the bedroom to drape over yourself, as you curled up on the couch.
You could wait.
You could.
You could.
…You could, right?
Surfing through channels proved easy enough.
Not that one.
Not that one.
No, not that one, either.
You huffed as each channel played a show that didn't particularly interest you, the sound of their dialogue merely causing you to be irritated rather than successfully distracted. You had little to no choice but to passively play on a show, lower the volume—and at this point, truly… it was difficult to take.
You curled up, drew your knees up to your chest.
The blanket smelled like him.
You could recall how often it had been like this; it had been busy at the hospital, as much as it had been busy at work… The two of you had barely any time to spend with each other these past few days, and undeniably it had started to take a toll on you.
Because it had to line up with the way that you'd been feeling.
Useless. Worthless. A little bit less like yourself.
Thoughts like these were easy to ignore when you had the capacity to, but you didn't anymore. Once again, the space around you was too big; too heavy; too much. It cemented on you all these feelings of helplessness, the way you were left in the middle of this cold, empty space with nothing to offer solace. It was pathetic to feel this way, you thought, but you no longer had the ability to rationalize it.
You didn't like it here without him.
You missed him—a feeling that had built up all these days spent away from each other.
And then the tears started to fall.
Silent tears, an occasional sniffle here and there… Your eyes glazed over as you continued to hug your knees to your chest, head resting upon them. You weren't focusing. The television remained what it was—white noise. You could barely remember what channel you had left it on in the first place.
Your phone lit up a couple of times.
You no longer noticed it.
—
A light shaking could be felt over your body.
It was a colder touch, you could feel it through even the blanket. Your eyes stirred open. Yet, truly, even before your gaze could focus enough on the figure next to you, you knew this touch.
Zayne.
He had his hand on your arm, having nudged you awake, and you could see the faint outline of a bouquet of flowers seated right next to him. Your favorites, no less.
In front of you, the television had been turned off, and a quick glance at your phone to the side showed several missed calls and texts from him. The time flashed as eight in the evening. You had fallen asleep. Your eyes were likely puffy, and you probably looked exhausted…
Yet, these things, despite how much you had noticed and despite how much you were still thinking—
They didn't matter anymore.
The moment of silence between you two, the way he didn't ask, the way he waited, the way he watched… A wave of understanding passed over the both of you before he pulled you into his arms, and that was it.
This was home.
It wasn't dark, and gloomy, and empty, and cold—
It was warm. Comforting. Full of his presence, just the way you had been longing it to be since you'd woken up. The smell of his cologne was one familiar enough to make you tighten your hold on him, make you snuggle deeper into his chest. It was secure. It was safe.
You'd missed him, truly.
And there was no need for words, not really. Instead, he stroked your hair, patiently, lovingly. A gentle kiss to the top of your head. A little reassuring squeeze of your hand.
"Zayne…"
"Mn. I'm here."
Another moment of stillness.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
You could still hear the faint ticking of the clock on the wall, but this time, it didn't bother you. Not when you could just as well hear the steady thrum of his heartbeat, not when his quiet words of reassurance could resound in your head like a lullaby.
And a stray tear fell.
Maybe, it was the relief of it. Maybe, it was how everything had bubbled up to crash into you like this.
But—
You lips trembled, and you cried.
You cried, and cried, and cried.
And it was such a stupid way to spend the day of love.
"You're… You're home, hic, I-I'm sorry, I didn't— hic— I fell asleep, a-and then—"
"Shh. It's okay, my love."
His voice was low. Soft.
"B-but I was… It's Valentine's Day, I should've…!"
"No, you do not owe me anything. On the contrary, I, too, have not been a satisfactory partner… I apologize, sweetheart. I wish I could have spent the day with you."
"It's… It's not your fault…"
"Then, it is not your fault, either."
He paused.
"You… feel unwell. You've been unwell. Haven't you? Aren't you?"
Slowly, gently, he coaxed your head up to look at him. His thumb raised, moving to wipe away your tears; to draw you closer by your chin and place a chaste kiss on the tip of your nose.
You sniffled slightly. "I… I didn't want to be needy… I know it's been busy at the hospital, and I thought I could manage, and… Zayne, I'm sorry, I know I should be more understanding. And this is only a moment that will pass, and— and I should be better, be good, be someone who can give you the world like you deserve, be— something more worth of the comfort you give me, than this…"
The words flowed out before you could stop them, and, in the end, you appreciated that you could be vulnerable with him. But it still tore at your heart to have him listen. Because wat if it was silly? What if it was stupid? In the back of your mind, even though you thought these things, you were hoping for him to tell you otherwise. And what would you do if he didn't? If he agreed with you? What if these words, these insecurities, would make him think less of you, or find it irritating, or…
You were spiraling.
You could see yourself drowning, reflected in the very window of his gaze.
He gripped your shoulders—he wouldn't let you.
It was firm, this time, his grip. Not necessarily gentle.
Yet, the look in his eyes told you everything even before he spoke.
"I never asked for you to give me the world."
Slow, careful words, and his eyes never strayed from yours:
"All I've ever wanted was you."
Your breath hitched.
You waited, quiet, a little stunned; watched as he leaned in to give you a soft kiss. One to your forehead, one on your eyelids. Your cheek, the corner of your lips—
"I ask nothing of you, if only to know that you are okay. If only to know that you understand… that I will cherish you, and care for you, for as long as you are alive. Do you remember that?"
A memory stirred.
I should think about… how to live my life to the fullest. Because in this world, there's someone who'll like me for as long as I'm alive…
Those were your words.
A wave of warmth washed over you once more as he brought back memories from that day, one that, likely, was one that he thought of often himself.
"The moon…" he mumbled. Gently, he nudged your head sideways to allow you to glance out the window. He'd drawn the curtains back, and the night sky showed itself in full view to you. "Is beautiful tonight. Just as you are. Less than you are. Because you always shine brighter. And, to me… That is all of the world that I need."
"Zayne…"
"I bought you flowers, and I saw the cookies that you left on the table. However… how much you mean to me is not meant to be celebrated for simply one day of the year, and I don't plan to do that. I would celebrate it every day, every minute, every hour of my life. Besides… no matter how hectic things get, I will always want to see you."
This time, he pulled you back to him, gently easing his lips onto yours. A quick kiss, but a meaningful one. One that made the world disappear, your troubles disappear… at least, enough for you to focus on him, and all the love that he offered— to you.
"…Zayne?"
"Hm?"
"I love you."
You snuggled into his chest, curling into his warmth.
It felt lighter, now. Perhaps, not to be completely freed from the chains you had put on yourself, but… it felt lighter. More bearable. No longer suffocating.
No longer difficult.
"I love you," you repeated. You would whisper the words, quiet as you focused on his heartbeat. "I love you, twice… thrice… and more times… Because saying it once wouldn't be enough."
"And I love you, sweetheart." Once more, he pressed his lips to the crown of your head. "Twice, and thrice, and more. And, for tonight… We can do whatever you want. My time is all yours."
And perhaps, you thought, he was your world just as much as you were his.
Last of her kind
Emperor!Alpha!Zhongli + Omega!Dragoness!Reader-
cw/tags: This chapter has no smut but still contains highly suggestive themes and sexual implications. Mentions of slavery and past sexual abuse on fem!reader, A/B/O dynamics and heat mentions. fem!reader suffers with self-worth and bad memories, including past insults and abuse.
notes: After so long finally part 2!! EEEEEEEE I am so excited but also so nervous pls ;w; like if you want the first part can be read as a standalone and have a "happy ending" but now I am committed to the emotional roller coaster, A/B/O dynamics and LONG BURN PINING so yep >:3c hope this does justice to everyone's expectation tho. And hope you like it and accompany me on this tale hehe
As a lil sidenote brackets [] now indicate past actions/words and bad memories, regular italics for emphasis, inner thoughts or the little pinyin I sprinkled here (which btw is taken straight from genshin wiki so...).
<- Part 1.
Being precious all of the sudden was… different.
Your hand subconsciously kept touching your bonding mark, as if to make sure it was still there, to soothe you.
After a quick meal just between Zhongli and you, consisting of some soft rice buns and delicious minced meat packaged inside a crispy pastry shell, you were then offered some new clothes. It was much more elaborate and certainly more layered than anything you’d worn before: a long skirt and flowy sleeves in a silky soft fabric, beautifully embroidered and hastily modified to make a hole for your tail to slip out. A sash keeping everything in place while accentuating your figure. You immediately loved it although it felt a little heavy and restricting.
Now, you quietly follow Zhongli as he leads you around the palace. He’s back to his former fully-human appearance, wearing an elegant attire, and everywhere you go, people bow at him and cast curious silent glances at you. It was rather unnerving.
It’s fine, you are used to being stared at, judged. You hold your tail up close for comfort.
The place is huge and you quickly get lost trying to map it out in your head, simply following along until you reach a large room with a few simple beds scattered around. Bookcases and cabinets stacked the walls, filled with all sorts of books, papers, jars and things. A pungent smell present in the air.
A green-haired man leans over a desk, glasses perched on his nose as he frantically scribbles some notes. What seems like powders and plants litter the space around him, along with a few more glass containers, incense, and a tea set with a steaming fresh cup.
“Baizhu.” Zhongli’s voice calls and you stiffen a little, hearing it again after a while of silence. It is still warm and deep but with a more reserved and regal tone like when he first met you.
The green-haired man (a Beta, you recognize) looks up and blinks in surprise, then smiles brightly and says some words you do not understand, you shuffle in place.
“Yes, this is her.” Zhongli replies. “I will ask you to speak in in common tongue so she can understand as well, I don’t want to unnecessarily unnerve her.”
Well, that is… very considerate. It eases you a little.
“Of course, your majesty.” He turns to you, his eyes were a bright amber, also with slitted pupils. Was it common in liyuens? “My name is Baizhu, the royal doctor and apothecary, pleased to meet you, empress.”
Empress?!
“E-Empress?!” You can’t help but blurt out.
“Why of courssse.” A high-pitched voice hisses and you almost jump when a white snake peaks her head from her coils at the desk, staring up at you. “You’re mated to hisss majesssty the emperor, sssso, it would be underssstood you’re now the empresssss.” Her split tongue flickers.
Baizhu chuckles. “Changsheng, be nice.”
You don’t know what to answer, mostly because you’re still reeling from the fact that you’re apparently now an empress, and because there’s a talking snake.
Liyue is weird…
“I decided to bring her here exactly because of that.” Zhongli turns to you and suddenly holds one of your hands, softly, staring at you with such affection it makes you melt. “Darling, would you let him check your bonding mark for a moment?”
You’re a little nervous, but it is not like you can refuse… right? You nod quietly.
Baizhu approaches and examines your neck and you fight the urge not to flinch or growl. No Omega likes it when a stranger is so close to such a sensitive spot. He hums and tilts his head but doesn’t touch you. “It seems it’s already healed due to her illuminated beast blood but the scar is present. I’d say the bond has been properly established, congratulations your majesty.” He smiles warmly.
A grateful bubbly feeling creeps up your chest. Properly established. So, it’s true.
You feel Zhongli’s hand squeeze yours lightly and look down at it, then back up at him. “Thank you, Baizhu. I will not keep you any longer. We still have a lot to do and I’m sure you do as well.”
Baizhu bows at him (at both of you, you realize) and then you’re on your way. Not before hearing the snake’s hissy whispers again
“A fine yin, hm…?”
--------------------------------------------
This is… your new home.
Zhongli shows you around some of the areas in what he called the “inner court” of the palace complex. Everything is so… large and open and lavish it has your head spinning, your eyes darting in every direction trying to take in all at once, walking fast on your new clothes. He guides you along the dining hall, a small temple, crosses through an enormous main hall where he explains audiences are held, and then a gorgeous outer garden that completely takes your breath away.
The wooden gilded architecture in golds and reds, the fresh wind and gentle sun. All sorts of new sounds and smells. The painted walls and high ceilings. The new plants and flowers. The chatters in a different language… everything is so distinct from the desert.
You soak in the new environment. Inhaling deeply.
It is both terrifying and exhilarating.
Finally, he guides you to another room, it looks similar to the nest room where you’d first been at, but larger. It is sparsely decorated with a large and comfy looking-bed, a desk, mirror and a small table with a couple chairs and a tea set. It smells nice enough.
You peek up at Zhongli.
“This will be your room.” He explains.
…What?
“We kept it simple for now but you are, of course, free to furnish and decorate it however you’d like. It’s close to my own room and anything you might need.”
Wait what?
Your ears lower down and you seem to deflate a little, disappointed. “H-Huh? But… I-I won’t be sleeping with you?” You ask softly.
Mated pairs sleep together, don’t they? They share living chambers and mix their scents together to symbolize their union. That’s what you’ve always been told. You are to always be near your Alpha, at his beck and call, warm up his bed and be ready to please.
Maybe things are different in Liyue? Or maybe it’s because he’s an emperor. Master didn’t tell you anything, so maybe you are just making a fool of yourself right now on your-
Zhongli clears his throat and looks at you a little surprised “I simply thought you’d be more comfortable having your own space, we… don’t really know each other very well yet, and I wouldn’t want to impose.”
Impose? As in order? But he’s your Alpha! “B-But I want to! Please! I-I mean… I thought that since we’re b-bonded…” You mumble shyly.
His cheeks turn a little pink, you like when that happens, he looks a lot less serious. He cups your cheek and you inhale looking up at those gorgeous golden eyes. “My dear dragoness. I don’t want you to feel forced to do anything you don’t want to. I know you were raised… differently, I cannot claim to understand your experiences, but listen to me: you are safe here.” He says the last part slowly, enunciating each word. “No one will scold you or punish you, least of all me. I want you to be free to speak and choose what you want.” He sighs. “Though I know it’ll be difficult...”
Furnish, impose, free… you don’t know any of those words.
But no punishment, to choose what you want, to be safe… it sounds surreal even.
What do you want?
His eyes soften at your nervous silence. “Let’s try this… do you really want to share my room, or would you like to stay here? I won’t be upset if you do.”
“I…” Your tail curls around you. “I want to stay with you. Sleep together. Like mates.” You mumble.
“Then it would be my honor, however, this room will stay ready if you change your mind, alright?” You glance around at the room again, and nod. “Now that that is settled, I have one last thing to do. I need to introduce you to a few very special people before I leave to-”
“Leave?!”
You didn’t mean to yelp like that.
“J-just to do my duties, I am not leaving you, I promise.” He corrects, a little taken aback. “I am sorry my dear, but as much as I’d like to spend every moment by your side right now, I have a few pressing matters to tend to. I know you’re nervous, everything is new and scary and overwhelming but I promise I’ll leave you in good hands and be back as soon as I can.”
You nod, now feeling a little embarrassed at the whole ordeal. You’d been feeling so at ease with his presence, showing you around, listening to his voice name and explain everything you saw that you’d almost forgotten. “You’re the emperor, I’m sure you’re very busy. No need to worry about me, I’ll behave, my lord.”
He frowns a little at that but says nothing, and you choose to say nothing else either.
Going back to the main hall, you immediately spot three people lined up looking at you with a mix of the already expected curiosity and excitement. One of them in particular immediately catches your attention, he’s an Alpha and you can’t help but feel a little nervous…
“Allow me to introduce you, these three are my most loyal and closest council members: Ping, Ganyu and Xiao.” Zhongli gestures at them and all three bow lightly. “Like you and I they all have the blood of xiānshòu, and you can ask them for anything should you need help or have questions. I hope you learn to trust them and feel at ease.”
You nod quietly, still a bit fixated on the other Alpha.
“Xiao, or general Alatus, is one of Liyue’s strongest, most resilient and skilled warriors. He usually keeps guard at the palace to ensure my wellbeing and now yours as well, if you ever feel danger call out his name and he’ll come.”
Ah, did they notice you were staring…?
With a gesture of his hand Xiao manifests a gorgeous Jade spear, crystalline green shards reflecting light as he taps it by his side, standing firm, you flinch in surprise. “My spear shall now serve you too, empress.” His eyes too are golden and sharp, filled with a certain rigidness and determination you can’t quite put your finger on.
“Thank you, Xiao, dismissed.”
Xiao hums quietly and promptly disappears in a burst of black and green smoke, you stand there a little startled, your hand clings to the brown fabric of Zhongli’s sleeve.
“He might be an Alpha as well, but I promise you he’ll cause you no harm.” Your alpha murmurs softly towards you.
“O-okay…” You squeak, a bit embarrassed.
“Ganyu here is one of the most reliable people in the palace, perhaps the entirety of Liyue. Everything of importance reaches her ears and passes through her eyes. She’s able to organize meetings, events, report, compile information and assist every negotiation and decision of this palace with stunning efficiency. She too will help you with anything you need and might be in charge of a little logistics regarding you settling in for the next few days.” Zhongli smiles.
The young woman with long blue hair and… horns? chuckles and blushes a little. “Your majesty, you're too kind, I merely love doing my job.” She puts her hands together and beams at you, sunset eyes bright. “I’m so honored to meet you, rest assured I’ll take care of anything you need. I hope you feel comfortable and welcome at the palace!”
That sounded like a lot. You weren’t used to people coddling you like this. You didn’t want to give anyone trouble or work. “T-that’s alright, thank you.”
“Now, Ping is probably going to spend the most time with you, she’s very knowledgeable in culture, history and the inner workings of the palace amongst other things. She has graciously offered to teach you liyuen and anything else you’d be interested in.”
Unlike the other two Ping has a certain calm aura to her, contrasting Xiao’s seriousness and Ganyu’s excited energy. You can tell she’s a gentle old soul as she approaches you with a soft wrinkled smile and graying hair.
“Don’t worry young empress, while Lord Morax here is regrettably busy with a work-packed schedule,” She gives him a playful side stare “You and I will have some fun. I’m sure we’ll get along just fine.” She takes your hand and pats it comfortingly. It’s kind of an awkward gesture for you, but you still welcome the warmth and good intentions.
Zhongli chuckles quietly. “In that case, I’ll leave you in her care and see you at night for dinner, alright?” He seems to hesitate for a moment but then cups your face in his hands and places a soft kiss at your forehead. The unexpected gesture has you blushing scarlet and your heart speeding up like crazy. His thumb brushes at the scales under your eyes, so affectionate in the smallest ways… “I know it’s not ideal, but it’ll be fine, yes?”
You stare at his golden eyes, the red lines, his handsome face framed with dark hair, his serene smile.
You don’t like this. You don’t want him to leave. The idea makes you uncomfortable.
But it’s not like you can say no.
You nod.
“Thank you, Ping.” Both of them exchange a glance and then he turns to the blue-haired woman still in the room. “Ganyu, if you will.”
“Right away your majesty!” She scurries after him, talking quickly in foreign tongue while both walk away.
You stare after him for a moment longer.
“It’s a little difficult, isn’t it?”
You quickly turn back to Ping and then look down, ears folding back.
She laughs softly. “No need to be ashamed dear, it is understandable that you are unsure with all this, it’s a lot of changes for such a short time and you bond is still fresh, but let’s take it easy.”
Your hand brushes at Zhongli’s bonding mark again. “O-Okay…”
“Are you hungry? Tired? Perhaps you want to rest a little?”
You want to scurry away to your mate’s room and curl up there, that’s what you want, but…
“Um, aren’t you… going to train me?”
Ping blinks a little taken aback “Train? Oh! Teach?”
Same thing.
“Well, yes. I did offer, but only if you’re feeling up to it young empress. You can take your time, we don’t have to start right away. And like I said, take it easy, it's only your second day here.” She explains. “You won’t be absorbing any information if you are uncomfortable and jittery like this.”
“S-sorry-”
“No need to apologize at all. Now tell me, is there anything you’ve seen or heard today that you’re curious about, anything you want to do?”
What you want…
You think back a few hours earlier. The infirmary, the small temple, the grand hall, and…
“The garden.” You speak. “Can we go outside and see?”
Ping smiles brightly. “Of course! I’m sure there are a lot of things there that will catch your interest and cheer you up.”
Your tail sways a little after you as you follow the old lady along the corridors.
------------------------
The garden is breathtaking.
More than a garden it feels like a whole different world. Bright and exciting and colorful, full of life. It reminds you of an Oasis, but just… more!
A grand pond with multicolored fishes and a couple of turtles sunbathing. Walk paths made of stone, plants everywhere you see: in trees with vibrant yellows, oranges and all shades of greens, in flowers with soft colors and small petals, in thick bushes. The light filters through the leaves and there’s the soft tweets of small birds.
“It’s… so pretty!” You exclaim happily.
“I’m glad you think so. Gardens like this are carefully cared for and preserved to impress, but they also represent beauty, abundance a sense of harmony.” Ping explains as she is now the one following after you, skipping along the path. “These trees you see are sandbearers, and that one is a ginkgo tree, you can tell the difference by the shapes of their leaves.” She points at each one and you follow with your gaze, picking a small leaf from the floor, golden and fan-shaped.
“Ooh…”
“See those smaller fishes? They’re goldfishes. The bigger ones are kois.” She gestures at the animals freely swimming around. Some of them are huge!
“What do they eat?” You blurt out.
“Well, usually algae and wheat. We can get some another day and you can feed them.”
“Really?!”
“Of course.”
“Oh! Is that a koi too? It’s so… long and pretty.”
“Ah, that one is a golden koi. Lord Morax has a few of them here. They are also called Jīnchì Jiǎlóng or ‘false dragons’ you know? For the small horns and long bodies. They do resemble your tail a little, don’t they?”
You move your tail forward and stare at it, then stare at the serpentine fish.
“Yes, sort of… Jin chi… jia long.” You mumble.
“Here, I think you’ll like these ones. Come with me.” You eagerly follow after Ping as she rounds the pond and guides you towards a few red bushes. They’re dotted with pink round flowers. “These are silk flowers, Nícháng-huā, usually harvested to make clothes, but there are many special ornamental variants and between us both, your dear mate has a weak spot for these so he has quite the collection.” She chuckles.
“Orna…metal?”
“Ornamental, it means mostly for decoration.”
“Oh!” Suddenly you feel dumb, you’d thought for a second that was a liyuen word too. “I’m sorry… I don’t even know common tongue very well.” How could you even expect to learn liyuen?
“No worries, dear, learning a new language is a daunting task, it takes a bit of work every day. If you keep learning, using and practicing words, you’ll get there.”
You smiled softly. Ping was so… patient and supportive.
So much different from…
[You have to try harder.]
[Tch that is not good enough.]
[Are you stupid?!]
[Useless omega.]
You looked at the budding silk flowers and blinked. Once. Twice. Why was your vision blurry now? What was this feeling?
“Oh, oh young empress please don’t cry. It’s alright” Ping’s alarmed remark helps you understand. She fusses over you. “Are you ok?”
You wipe at your tears and smile, a genuine bright smile.
“I’m fine.”
And this time, you truly mean it.
----------------------------------------
After a rather fancy bath (the kind of like you used to take before being presented to Alphas, with bubbles and scented oils...) and a good dinner Zhongli and you headed over for his chambers for the night. You couldn’t help but be a little… nervous.
This is stupid. He’s your Alpha.
He’s been nothing but kind to you.
What if he wants to… d-do things?
Then you’ll do it. He’s your mate. It’s your obligation.
You were the one who chose this anyway.
Your heartbeat was loud in your ears, anxiety creeping up your chest. Were your fingers trembling? Was the room suddenly cold?
As expected, the bedroom was quite matching his style. Golds, browns and a bit of red and black here and there. Dragon imagery adorning some of the walls, a tea cabinet with a small table and shelves filled with all sorts of trinkets from precious stones and books to a beautiful fan and a tea set.
And then there was the bed.
A large canopy bed, enough to probably have your body and tail fully stretched across and still fit in the mattress, beautifully decorated and filled with fabrics and pillows.
The scent of Zhongli’s Alpha pheromones was definitely strong.
He yawns and runs a hand along his forehead, combing along his hair before pulling out the clip on it, letting his long dark locks spill free. He takes off his robe revealing his naked torso and you jolt.
It’s fine. It’s fine. It’s fine.
You undress as well into your light sleeping clothes and gingerly slip into his bed, curling up around his pillows, surrounded by his scent.
His.
You are his.
It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine-
“Darling, is everything alright? Are you uncomfortable?” He asks concerned, climbing on the bed as well and reaching out to touch your arm. You squeak. “You’re… terrified, what’s wrong?” Then Zhongli’s eyes widen a little. “Oh. The scent… I completely overlooked that, my apologies. Is it too strong? Are you ok? Should have given you some things earlier for you to scent and include them here. This is no good…” He rambles a bit to himself as he sits up and crosses his arms thoughtfully.
You stare at him, anxiety still surging through your veins but now mixed in with confusion.
“Would you like to sleep in the other room we prepared for you instead?” He sighs.
“I… t-this is… you… would just let me leave?”
Zhongli tilts his head slightly, now he looks confused.
“I promised you that the room would be available-”
“So, you don’t want to mate?”
Silence.
He stares at you for a moment as you grip at the bedsheets, still tense.
His eyes widen as realization settles in.
Ah. The pink dusting in his cheeks is back.
“Y-You thought that… no! My dear, no, no, no…” He coughs into his fist awkwardly. “I apologize if I gave you the wrong idea. A-As I said before I want you to be comfortable and feel safe. No Alpha will force you to do anything you don’t want. Not even me. And you don’t have to feel forced to do things you don’t want to, either.”
You look down. Although you feel slightly more relieved.
“I want to stay here. A-and if you want to, I’ll service you, my lord. I was just… nervous, sorry.”
“I assure you there is no need for any of that.” He says softly. “Here.”
He pulls the covers and slips them over you both, lying down facing you but still keeping a little distance. You do the same, curled up face to face with him.
He’s so effortlessly handsome.
And kind.
And you like him.
But he’s still an Alpha.
“Is this alright? We’re just going to sleep, I promise.” He brushes some hair away from your face.
You nod.
“Is there… anything you want to talk about or ask me?”
You... don’t know.
You shake your head.
“Hmmm. Want to share about your day? What were you up to with Ping?” He gives you a playful smile. Suddenly he feels less like an imposing strict emperor, or like a scary Alpha. He’s just your Zhongli.
“She… showed me the garden. I wanted to see.”
“Ah, the royal garden has many fascinating sights and it’s a beautiful landscape to retreat to and ease one’s mind. I had the feeling you’d be interested.”
“There were so many beautiful things. She taught me about the silk flowers, nícháng-huā. And all the trees and fishes and birds.”
“Oh? Are these your first words in liyuen, my dear?”
You giggle. “I… suppose they are. She also showed me your turtles Jiàn and Fù and told me what their names mean, they are so cute. Oh! And we saw the liúlí bah… bai… bǎihé! I sang to them and they bloomed! It was... amazing.”
“I see. Not everyone can achieve that, I’ll admit I’m quite hopeless at singing.” He chuckles “What more did you learn?”
Feeling much more content and at ease you continue retelling all the new things you had experienced and the vocabulary you had learned including how to introduce yourself and some greetings and basic words. Talking for what felt like hours until weariness and sleep claimed you both.
Zhongli simply listened and stared at you, captivated. He seemed content as well.
It made you happy.
------------------------------------------
For the next couple of months, you established a sort of routine.
You’d wake up early alongside Zhongli, even though you didn’t need to, you simply enjoyed having some morning tea and breakfast with him. Afterwards he’d go tend to some of his official duties and you’d stay with Ping Lǎolao, learning more and more each day. By now you could even follow some basic conversation (provided the other person didn’t speak too fast) although reading and writing was still extremely difficult.
You’d expressed interest in some gardening and even headed to the kitchens to prepare some food by yourself. The maids claimed there was no need for the empress to do such ‘menial tasks’ but as an Omega you pride yourself in certain things, and cooking for your Alpha was something you’d yearned to do.
You were overjoyed when Zhongli praised your Jade parcels.
You’d always have lunch with him and some days he’d accompany you for a stroll or you’d stay at his study for some leisure time, or even at some meetings. It had been a little unnerving at first but you also knew it was important to know others and be known in the council, as well as understand Liyue outside of the palace walls. After all, you are an empress now.
At night, you slept close to him. The initial awkwardness of sleeping at opposite sides of the bed soon traded for a much cuddlier approach, often with you curled up to Zhongli’s chest or him spooning you, tails often intertwined together. The bed and the entire room now have a mix of your combined scents, like true mates.
And so, life was good…
------------------------------------------
You’re slowly pulled out of your sleep as Zhongli stirs in the bed. You grumble a little and yawn, already missing his warmth. It was so pleasant…
“Good morning, my dear dragoness.”
“Morning…” You mumble, not opening your eyes and instead blindly reaching for his pillow to hug and cling to. “Can we stay for longer?” You whine.
“You definitely can, but I have to go.” He kisses your forehead “Rest, my dear.”
You pout but say nothing. Squeezing at the pillow and burying your face in it.
It smells so good…
------------------------------------------
“Hmm… is it warmer today?” You wonder aloud as the maids help you up with the layers of your hanfu. The clothes still hot and heavy in contrast to what you used to wear at the desert, but today seemingly more so… the sash feels more constricting than usual. “I-I think I’d like to wear something a little lighter… if possible.”
“Of course, your majesty, no problem.”
You smile at them, grateful.
--------------------------------------------
Sitting at Zhongli’s study room you practice some basic liyuen calligraphy while he seemingly goes over some important documents. The silence is comfortable and a warm cup of Qixing tea steams at both desks. Yet, something keeps bothering you.
You huff lightly, scratching and picking at the scales of your tail, irritated with the uncomfortable feeling. Why is it so itchy? A couple of them fall off, revealing new glossy ones underneath.
“Ah…” So that means…
You stop for a moment. The feverish feeling, scents being stronger on your nose, the urge to nest and cling to your mate.
Hmm… part of you is a little excited. And yet, there is fear.
------------------------------------------
“You have quite the appetite today, dear. Eat slowly, the food won’t go anywhere.” Ping chuckles as you practically pick a little of every dish while still trying to keep some modicum of elegance. Chopsticks weren’t that easy after all.
“Yes… I think… I think it’s my pre-heat hormones.” You sigh before munching on a shrimp ball.
Your heat…
Your first heat with Zhongli. With any Alpha to be honest. You’d always had to endure them on your own (Master couldn’t have you get pregnant) and they were excruciating and debilitating, crying out for days with your skin burning and itching, trying to sate yourself with your fingers and humping pillows. But now… you’re happily bonded.
Would it… feel good again?
Like, that first time you two mated…
You feel your cheeks heat up.
“Excuse me?”
“Hm?”
You’re brought back to reality to see Ping staring at you seemingly a little alarmed.
“Pre-heat? Young empress, are you going into heat soon?”
“Y-yeah? Probably um, tonight…? Or tomorrow.” The onsets are always so quick, and your cycle has always been more or less stable.
The elder places her chopsticks down. “Have you told Lord Morax?”
“Um. N-No, not yet. But… m-maybe he already caught on...” You tilt your head.
…Right?
Then again even you took a couple of days to identify the signs, and now for sure you were at the brink of it. Maybe he’ll mate you tonight…
Hm… how will Zhongli react to your heat scent?
You have to do your best!
[Be a good omega.]
Ping stands up, her expression still gentle but with a sort of urgency to it, your instincts catch the feeling she’s worried about something.
“I have to inform about this, please stay here dear.”
Now you’re nervous. You nod slowly.
Why does it feel like you did something wrong…?
------------------------------------------
After that, things get… chaotic.
It’s only a while later that you find yourself at the infirmary. Ganyu and Zhongli are also there and everyone’s anxious pheromones in the air do not sit well with you (subtle as they are, your nose is hyperaware right now).
“I’m sorry the symptoms are already settled in. At this point it is simply not feasible to give her suppressants, she has to go through this heat.” Baizhu says, looking troubled.
Feasible? Suppressants? More unknown words but…
Is there something wrong with your heat?
Ganyu scurries off and Ping starts talking with Baizhu on the other side of the room. You cling to Zhongli’s robe, trying to soothe yourself with his presence but his scent is… agitated.
You whine to call out to him. You’re scared.
“Did I do something wrong?”
Zhongli pulls you close, cupping your face again, staring straight at you. “No… no my dear dragoness, of course you didn’t, it’s just…” He steels himself searching for the right words, it doesn’t ease you in the slightest. “We didn’t expect your heat so soon. I should have known, noticed… I’m sorry.”
Why is your alpha apologizing to you? That is ridiculous.
“Is it a bad thing?”
“It’s… not the right time.”
You’re so confused.
Don’t Alphas like it when Omegas are in heat? Soft, pliant, warm, needy and ready to breed.
“I just don’t want you to feel obligated to do this…” He says. “And… you could trigger my rut, you could end up pregnant. I don’t want to… scare you, or hurt you. It’s much too soon for us to share your heat. I thought we’d have more time for you to get acclimated to Liyue or…” He shakes his head. “Nevermind. For the next few days you’ll be in a separate room, yes? No one will disturb you during your heat, I promise.”
“B-But then… I… what…?”
Alone?
“Usually omegas take suppressants, like a type of medicine, to stave off their heats so they don’t have to face these risks or suffer them alone, and then when they’re ready, when they want, they choose to share heats with their partners.” He explains.
“But I want to! I… I’ll be good!”
Zhongli sighs. “Darling you are good, you are precious to me. You don’t need to prove anything or do things because they are ‘expected’ of you.”
He’s not listening!
He asks you what you want. He says you can choose. But now that you tell him, ask him, beg him even… he denies you?
How come you’re always making the wrong choice?
Was it all a lie then?
“But I- T-then- Why-… YOU’RE CONFUSING ME!!” You yell, tears stinging in your eyes.
There are a few gasps and you see not only Baizhu and Ping, but Ganyu and some of the maids staring at you in shock. You cover your mouth, eyes wide at the sudden burst of fierceness and emotion.
You yelled at him.
You talked back.
You should be punished.
He stares at you, frozen like a statue for a few moments. You stare at him, pitiful, your eyes begging. A whimper leaves you and Zhongli lets out a shuddering breath.
Oh, your Alpha wants you, you know it.
"Please..." You mumble, voice so small.
"I'm sorry my dear, it's better this way." His hand moves towards you, to cup your face again or brush at your hair you're not sure, but he stops himself before you can find out. He sighs, averting his gaze and looking conflicted, and then turns around.
This is your punishment.
"It'll be just a few days, you'll be well-cared for. This is for the best." He says sternly, voice pinched.
And then he leaves.
Your heart shatters.
Everything is a blur after that. You’re gently guided along towards an empty nest room, the same one you'd first met him at, there are some things with both your scents on it but they feel sterile, washed anew.
Your hands start trembling. Your eyes start to water. Your lips quiver. Your throat feels tight, choked and dry. Your body feels feverish, hot and restless.
Zhongli rejected you.
“Your majesty please calm down."
[Useless.]
[Moron.]
[Whore.]
You could no longer breathe, hear nor see. You feel like you're drowning, unable to process what just happened. Your mate…your precious mate…he…he…
NXIIEDNNEISNS I AM FINALLY REACTING TO THIS MASTERPIECE OF A CHAPTER (৹ᵒ̴̶̷᷄﹏ᵒ̴̶̷᷅৹)
The only real piece I can say is that tbh I didn't cry all that hard during this chapter update. Not to say that it wasn't sad but rather than feeling that immense sadness and cry. I felt like something was missing and immense longing was felt while reading this chapter. The writers did such a great job at teasing us with little easter eggs but also giving us hope at the same time that their love will prevail and all will be solved.
From MC naming our Yan-Yan to her guessing about his past occupations (all were correct btw like from the chef to CEO to being wealthy). It goes to show us readers how immeasurable and strong the bond that these two have. xnskjdnss Even without his memories he still remains to be the best Li Zeyan ever ︵(´ ͡༎ຶ ͜ʖ ͡༎ຶ `)︵
ALSO, THE FACT THAT HE PLANNED OUT EVERYTHING. It just goes to show just how big of a dummy he is and that he has such an immeasurable faith in MC. BDJSKDJSNSN He knows that she can save him and that the both of them can return to each other once again. The fact that what he sees in the mirage is a blurry picture of her just breaks my heart all the more. He has this gut feeling of returning and the home he wants to return to the most is by her side ༼ಢ_ಢ༽
Li Zeyan even if you're in exile you continue to be the best existence there is 😭😭 That ending scene emitted so much pain and longing. The fact that he unconsciously used his evol just to save her because time and time again he chooses to do so with it 😭 The scream of his name made by MC and the absolute vow to bring him back just NFKSKDJDN HUHUHUHU. Give me the conclusion to this arc in the next update because I don't know how much longer I can take this pain 😭😭
[ I just wanted to add that in the beginning MC was planning to go to LFG to for her proposal reporting and how she was so confused that they apparently sent them electronically. The muscle memory and the fact that all her meetings with our grumpy CEO just got taken away from her (৹ᵒ̴̶̷᷄﹏ᵒ̴̶̷᷅৹) ]
There's so much nuances and things to rant about this chapter yet it all just circles around the fact that those two are so engraved in each others lives that it hurts. Each thing they think about just sends dejavu to the other for the sole fact that they have done almost everything together. SO PG PLEASE BRING BACK OUR POWER COUPLE BACK 🥹🥹
[CN] Victor’s Confrontation Date (Eng Translation)
⌚Warning⌚ This post contains detailed spoilers for a date, 对抗之约, that is yet to be released on the global server! ♡
[Additional warning]: ig it’s not a surprise at this point for Victor’s spicy dates LOL, but yeah, considering the vivid explicitness, if you don’t qualify for the 16+ rating of the game (CN server), it’s recommended that you don’t proceed under the cut~ :>
MC, remember to continue doing what you have to do
BXKNSKJDHWIBDHOEHDB I will be the first to admit that I am the biggest clown in terms of this main story update. When the trailer was released my mind went on full-on, "AWWW this is so cute how on earth will they make it angsty." BUT ho ho ho PG once again has amazed me with their writing because HOLY COW WTFRIK WAS THAT 😭😭😭 Anika at least tried to reign me down from my hope which I'm thankful that she did because I was too freaking optimistic 😭🤣
The fact that this picture can produce a whole different set of emotions in me after reading the story is just amazing. Anika's rants and tidbits at the end helped a lot because you realize the build-up of memory loss. It wasn't just like BAM this is the angst for the chapter but it had a great build-up even though I cried like buckets during the entire thing.
So let's talk about the elephant in the room. The freaking damned memory loss into oblivion. 😭 FREAKING DUMMY VICTOR HUHUHUHU WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME. The fact that I also have to wait three months for the next update is excruciating enough but THIS JUST 😭😭😭😭
The whole build-up to the thing was freaking sad and amazing at the same time. It was bittersweet and is a knife to the heart knowing the whole story now 🔪🔪 It's the rare instances where he knows something going to happen but he gets choked up with his words and just enjoys the moment. The small smiles and the FREAKING VOICE ACTING just take the cake. ICB it all happened towards the end as well. 10 minutes was all I needed to FREAKING BAWL MY EYES OUT FOR THIS MAN. 😭😭😭
It's the way he showed no regrets even when he witnessed MC just forgetting him. Also, their overarching theme of being each other's home is so present in this ending. You see MC going back to him with their ice cream and just having a memory wipe but the fact that she knows that something's missing. She felt it down to her core that she was returning to something but she can't put her finger on what it is. The fact that she even said the name Li Zeyan is a great feat in itself. You see her struggle, pain, and overall confusion as what she was doing because the universe just wiped out her memories of the person she calls her sanctuary.
The freaking bylines just hit differently now okay 😭😭🔪 Like I know they'll return her memories eventually because Victor is a pivotal part of the story but the fact that he witnessed all that (ie. the person you love with all your being, your home, and who you have devoted your entire life to just forget about you) THAT JUST BREAKS ME. This man does not need to feel any more pain okay?! HE'S HAD ENOUGH HUHUHU PG PLS STOP. 😭😭😭
So here are my rambles on this whole freaking Victor main story update. I just want to say that I had to write this the next day because my emotions were far too raw just doing a ramble right away. Also, the fact that there are so many past date references within the story like the pool date where they had their first kiss to just the lanterns in general just broke my heart more. It was like reminiscing memories and then BOOM you just forget it all entirely. 😭😭😭
LI ZEYAN YOU DUMMY. I HOPE YOU GET THE RECONCILIATION YOU DESERVE IN THE NEXT CHAPTERS. If you further disappear to oblivion, I might just start a riot 😭😭😭😭 Lastly, freaking Meng Chang was such a pain in the ass. I wanted to throttle his pea-sized brain every time he spoke just AN INSUFFERABLE BISH.
[CN] Victor’s Mind Quest – Not the Slightest Gap (Eng Translation)
⌚Warning⌚ This post contains detailed spoilers for a mind quest, 至无隙无间, that is yet to be released in the global server! ♡
[Additional Warning]: As the spice for this mind quest is very explicit and borderline, if you don’t qualify for the 16+ rating of the game (CN server), it’s recommended that you don’t proceed under the cut~ :>
“So, don’t you want to chase, hunt, and tear me apart?”
HELLO?? Based on this line alone, what the actual hell was this SP??? The spice and the drop-down dangerous levels of the implications? I can't believe this was allowed to pass the 16+ rating but thank the Lord, it did. Honestly, this freaking blew my mind how implicitly they stated things. Let us all give claps to Victor writers for this card because, frankly, I expected spice but got a whole lot more heartwarming moments instead. The spice is like the decoration you see on top of the cake.
First of all, I would again like to commemorate the greatness of Wu Lei because, honestly, HOW THE HELL WAS HE ABLE TO GET THE SEXY CONCEPT DOWN SO WELL. Like all the damn moan, laugh, groans, and sexy whispers fdsfdsfdksf. They were all eargasms to hear, and I honestly cannot with it. The voice acting was definitely a plus for me and added 60% to the whole sexy-ass vibe of this card.
On the other hand, rather than just highlighting the sexy ass parts. This card was able to deliver so much more than just spice. It honestly showed the best mundane things that MC and Victor do together. How the both of them are just constant parts of each other's lives. We get a great perspective of the other side of the coin, rather than Victor being busy. We see how things are when MC is because, honestly, she does not get enough credit for having this whole-ass successful company. Their relationship is sometimes about how MC takes care of Victor when he's busy but also the other way around. Their relationship is a two-way street, and both continue to give everything to make each other happy.
I love those little moments where we see their domesticated sides and how they can easily read each other's emotions so well. The chapter 4 narrator's view was so CUTE. It was just them being so FLUFFY AND ADORABLE. Imagining that scene gave me butterflies in itself. We see Victor looking at MC while she has a silly smile on her face. His face supported a smile just as silly because he finally got to see her smile like that again. IT'S JUST ADORABLENESS OVERLOAD, AND MY HEART JUST CAN'T.
“Victor, you are my core.”
If you don't know this line, what are you doing here? Go read the date first HAHAHHAHAA. This line holds so much meaning, and I can't explain it well. Words will never be enough to relay this line's power and importance. We always know that both of them mean the world to each other. This line further pushes that fact. It's a statement that MC even if MC can continue to do her daily life without Victor, she will never choose to do so. Because her life without Victor in it seems dull and repetitive. Victor is her energizer who gives her the strength to carry on. Even in difficult situations, that is how they both mean to each other. It's not just you are my world, but that my world will always be a better place when you are beside me.
To be honest, I read this date fully expecting the spice to propel me. However, once again, Victor smacked me in the face saying that their relationship is so much more than that. It's the depth of how much they cherish one another. It's the fact that MC was scared because she didn't know how to dominate Victor when all along she was holding the ropes. After all, he has been irrevocably conquered by her since the first time they met.
ASKSJAJskFB okay, those are my thoughts. The two of them are so in love with each other that it makes me want to scream to the heavens. DKSJDKSJD WHEN WILL IT BE ME HAHAHAHHA. Also, can we acknowledge that MC reserved the whole place like hello??? Sugar mommy, can I have some money, please. I cried while reading the ending speeches because I am a big crybaby and the amount of love and affection they have for each other keeps bringing me to tears.
Video Translation and Line Translation from Jin Yamashina
First, If you don't like spoilers, this is not the place for you. I will be ranting about this card and all its spoiler-worthiness. Secondly, thank you, Jin, for translating this card so that I could read it a year earlier and sob my eyes out earlier than global. Thirdly, I would like to thank Hoyoverse for having the guts to give us angst cards after so long. It was actually full-on angst for the last half, and if you ignore the after-story, it ends without comfort.
“We’re moving as partners, and share the codename “Cloudbreak.”
The first thing to point out is that I can't believe their codename is Cloudbreak. If you don't know, Artem and Rosa visit Cloudbreak Temple together in Entwined Fate SSR. They also revisited the temple in Paired Blessing, so it's a pretty special place for both of them. The fact that they share the codename cloudbreak just does things to me that I can't explain. THEY CHOSE A PLACE OF SO MUCH SIGNIFICANCE TO BE THEIR CODENAME TOGETHER. Like they might know it but I DO SO DISksjdjS. It's not even just a codename for one of them. It's the fact that they share and have the same codename that just does things to my heart. HOW ARE THESE TWO PARTNERS JUST FKEHFIEIBIEBF so adorable.
“Load, reload, and shoot. I’ve taught you all of these personally, yet you can always surpass me.”
Secondly, as you can see from the image above, Rosa is holding a gun. We're not in the angsty part yet. However, just like in their dating verse, Artem teaches Rosa how to use a gun again in the pretense that she'll need it when she becomes an agent like him. It's just so heart-melting to see all these references from their dating verse in this AU. You can really see how every detail was thought of to make it as sentimental and heart-wrenching as possible.
“Y/N, have you really though it through?”
Next, this freaking ARTEM WING always has the most incredible love languages. Always letting us have the final decision. He has no choice, but we are always the ones with the choice. Reading the card made me realize just how thoughtful this man really is. He didn't enroll Rosa into the organization because he wanted her to think about it with a clearer head. Not just because he saved her but because it is what she wanted in the end. CRIESS THIS MAN, HOW CAN I NOT LOVE YOU. Always double checking if we're sure and, in the end, making us really think through the decision because he doesn't want us to live in regret BHJFHKJFOJSIO. YOU WILL ALWAYS BE MY CHOICE, YOU LOVELY MAN. Just like how Artem saved Rosa, she will always choose to save him.
“Then proudly stand by your side someday in the future.”
And then there's our dear Rosa. How can I not love how the MC is portrayed. All her feelings and thoughts are what I want to achieve as well. Her desire to save Artem and her selfish thoughts just stay by his side. THIS DAMN COUPLE HUHUHUHU. There continues to be parallelism between their dating verse on how one of Rosa's goals is to stand by Artem's side as partners. THIS MAN ALREADY VIEWS YOU AS HIS WORLD, BUT YOU STILL WANT TO WORK HARDER, HUHUUHU. It's not even the fact that she works hard, but even if she doesn't, Artem continues to accept her and reassure her that how she is right now is enough. She doesn't need to change for him, yet he still loves her very much.
“Then, I’ll choose to let you live.”
“Leave. Don’t look back.... You aren’t allowed to look back.”
AND THEN THE SCENE WHERE ARTEM WAS READY TO SACRIFICE HIS LIFE FOR HER, OH MY GOSH. My heart was pounding so hard at the thought of these two apart. Rosa slowly understood that she never was on probation and how Artem kept questioning her motives to stay. Once again, Artem was giving her a choice. She can live as an ordinary citizen or help the organization with its cause. CRIEESSS. He doesn't want her to be shackled by the weight of responsibility if she doesn't choose to bear it. Even if it would mean her sacrifice and their separation. He still gives her the right to choose what she wants. THESE TWO I CANNOT WITH THEM, MY POOR HEART. I was sobbing my eyes out for these panels. The freaking illustration didn't help because, my gosh, I have never seen Artem Wing look so coldly in my direction before.
Also, another parallelism with Chapter 6 of the main story now. Remember how Artem and Rosa were in those glass containers. How Artem was ready to sacrifice his life so that you could escape safely. He wasn't even sure if she would return, but the fact that he saw you leave safely and he was on the brink of death just killed me. This man, your selflessness will be the death of me. This is why I just love you so much dfkshfkhfkd
“Do you... want a present this year? I’ve wrapped them all, they are hidden at home.”
“I wanted to give you some right of choice and a chance of reconsiderations.”
THIS FREAKING LINE JUST KILLED ME. Artem's talking like he isn't going to make it, and he's like saying his final lines to you, oh my gosh. THIS MAN!! Even in his last moments, he thinks about how Rosa can still escape and how it's okay that she's mad at him for betraying her with the organization stuff. The heart-wrenching situation. Also, even in his final moments, he's talking about if she makes it out alive and he doesn't, she still has the CHOICE of not joining. THIS MAN AND HIS CONSIDERATION FJBSFDHHSH. It made the scene so much more angsty, and my gosh, I will never be the same ever again. CRIESSS ARTEM WING!!
“Mrs. Mrs. Wing”
“Mrs. Wing. Mr. Wing.”
LASTLY, THIS GOSHDAMMING AFTER SCENE!! Not the after story but the after scene where Rosa is supposed to have lost consciousness. I can't believe they went back to the time in the car before all the events. Firstly, the fact that he notices her distress and immediately stops the car when she starts crying fkhdskfhks. He just cups her face and wipes her tears like in the romantic scenes you see in movies. (well, he could have hugged her, but that's just my preference HAHAHHAHA) ALSO, MR. WING AND MRS. WING. THEY WERE PRACTICING CALLING EACH OTHER THESE NICKNAMES. I CAN'T. This just absolutely broke my heart. If we think that them dying next to one another, and in their afterlife, this is what they call each other CRIESSSS. The fact that these two will never be separated, even in their deaths, will be my demise. HUHUHUHU
That is all for me, fkhdskhd. Also, can I just point out that Zhao Lu's voice acting was so freaking good??? He nailed all the emotions and the angst 10000% better with voice acting like my God. And the background music, mwuah, it was chef's kiss so good. Also, all the antagonists voiced lines were so good as well. They had the best lines and all the tones that made me want to hate them so much. Overall, it was such a good card, and I'm so excited for this to come to global next year and to hear the other dubs voice it as well AHHHH. Thank you, bye!
It's now 2:30AM that I'm writing this because my brain thinks it’s a great time to write emotional things in the early mornings. Granted, I already had a panic later because of the words Li Zeyan and Zuoran (but we won't go into that unless you ask.)
Firstly, I would like to thank Anika for being my mlqc godmother and for translating all these Victor chapters and dates, and for being the best and giving me the link to Wu Lei's voice acting because if you still don't listen to these translations with Wu Lei in the background then gasps how could you still do this to me. Please listen to Wu Lei his voice is a gift, and it goes really well with the scenes. You'll love his voice acting, and the background music doesn't disappoint at all. Like please, if there's one thing you should do after reading this rant, listen to these translations with Wu Lei.
Secondly, Anika literally said I would cry buckets, and yes, I did, so I'm posting a rant to commemorate all the tears I have shed for this man. Mwah. Bless Victor and MC. I love you all so much. Never change you, too, except maybe your marital status because come on, PG!
I read Chapters 37, 38, 39, and 40 all in one going because I am a masochist but THANK THE HEAVENS THAT I DID BECAUSE I COULD NOT HAVE WAITED THAT LONG, MY GOSH. This rant will mainly focus on chapter 40 because I cried buckets and had to drink a glass of water just to refuel all the h20 that left my body.
I will say, OH MY GOSH, THESE TWO DUMMIES FOR THE LIFE OF ME, I CAN NOT BE WITH THEM. They are the epitome of trust and assurance in a relationship. Their keyword is home, and thank God PG has copyrights for Li Zeyan because no other can ever compare ㅠㅠ. The way they both keep coming back to each other is God-tier, and the ending of chapter 39 actually sends shivers up my spine.
“Stop time for me, Victor.”
BOSS QUEEN, THIS MOMENT PLEASE. It was so excellent and worthy. I also like that she did not even need to explain why again. Victor just did it because, yes, trust, we love it in a relationship.
Okay, and now for the big guns freaking Chapter 40
So am I going to start with the big elephant in the room? Yes, I am. THE FREAKING COFFEE. This is all about you, darn it. When I said that, tears started bursting from my eyes when that line came out like djsakdkahdkas. I cannot.
“Where’s my coffee?”
WHAT DO YOU MEAN FKHSKHDFKHS HE REMEMBERED. He goddamn remembered all the 17 years that were lost to his memory after so long. LIKE FHIKDSH BISH, IT WAS SO SATISFYING AND CRY-WORTHY I CANNOT. All the emotions fled through me the moment he said that. The amazement, joy, sadness, and surprise he has his memories back.
It was also after the fact that he ran like a bullet to see MC again when he remembered. The 10 seconds of breathing were like, oh my gosh, they were real. You can actually realize the span of his emotions with those breaths (again, Wu Lei, what a Godsend). The hugs that they shared like they never wanted to be apart ever again crieeeess
Also, the fact that when MC was searching for coffee, Li Zeyan was already just behind her the whole time. The symbolism and the realness of the two of them just blew my mind. I felt so much empathy for MC because of all my sobbing. She was doing as well. The fact that the one and only Li Zeyan was back with her was the greatest gift on earth. She wanted to only be his dummy, and it was possible now (i cried doing this rant if you can't tell)
I also loved that they talked about Meeting in the Past date, like I cannot. MC knows about Victor helping future MC and Li Zeyan out. GOLD. I love that date, and I love that they included it as well. CRIES FOR MY OTP COUPLE. They are too sweet for words gkdhsghdsg.
All the "You've done well" lines were so comforting. LIKE HE WAS SO PROUD, COULD HE NOT? It made me cry every time he said those words. You've done so well. He cannot even explain the happiness that both of you are in this moment, sharing it in the best way possible. LI ZEYAN, I LOVE YOU SO MUCH HUHUHUHUHU.
Lastly, because this is getting kind of long, lol. The would you think I'm selfish line. KDHKSHHORUU
“If I made time stop forever in this moment, would you think I’m selfish?”
I love how they revisited this moment and made a new one. THE FACT THAT HE ALSO STOPPED TIME, LIKE, COME ON. HFKFEOIIEH, HELP THEM. PLEASE GIVE THEM A HAPPY ENDING. I love that they bared their deepest souls to one another, and we know that Li Zeyan can only really do that with MC. He trusts and bares his soul just for her because she is the most important being in his life. Their time is moving forward again together. AND THE ENDING LI ZEYAN'S, "MC, I'm back." HWJHRIIIHD, JUST GRAB MY TEARS NOW, WOULD YOU? They have just solved all of my problems with this comfort,
I would like to thank PG and its writers for making this masterpiece. Anika, for translating and giving me the video. Thank you to Wu Lei for being one of my favorite VAs. This is a masterpiece. Finally, thank you to Li Zeyan and MC for having the best hearts out there. For your heart of gold and for being the healthiest, cutest, and heart-reaching/warming couple in the otome world. PG, GIVE THEM A RING PLS PLS PLS.
That is all for my rants, huhuhu it's all over the place, but this chapter made me feel such a whirlwind of emotions, and I think this will be the best I can do to articulate all of them.
Also, please tell me, what’s after this?? Are we going to get a new season or is it not actually over yet. Please I need to know and I don’t think PG is going to be updating main story any time soon...
Anika would have noticed my Victor dates binge because I finally had the time to read them all ς(* ` ˘ ´ *). Out of all the dates I read, I could not just ignore this masterpiece (っω⊂)
THIS DATE IS SO GOOD. I love the fantasy ones in a different way. Still, modern canon ones that go along with the timeline just make my heart flutter in different ways. PLS, FOR THE LOVE OF VICTOR, READ THIS DATE WITH THE VIDEO. Wu Lei's voice acting is just pure gold, and it's so good, especially when reading Victor's sulky parts. HE IS JUST SO UWU...
I find it so fascinating that Victor went a bit self-conscious at the thought of their age gap. It made their relationship much more precious and made him a more fleshed-out character. Once again, reminding us that this big, big, big, Boss of ours is still very much human. The line that MC replied to him was G O L D. I love it so much, and it brings such a big smile to my face every time I remember it.
"We are Souvenir's chef and the line cook, Pudding's guardians and the ones it complains to, the Omnipotent CEO Victor and his thoughtful counterpart, the empty-headed and the sulky!"
Like, can both of them just not??? How are they so cute and precious. The last pair, especially the empty-headed and the sulky. Further, just amplifies Victor's big cat energy. ( ღ⸝⸝¯ ⁸ ¯⸝⸝ )
This date has so much sulky Li Zeyan that the voice lines are just a must to be heard. The fact that he went sulky because MC didn't invite him is just too cute khsihdihwohd. Also, that MC just blew up when Victor told her she wasn't his type when they were roleplaying. THESE TWO I just can't with the both of you. (っω⊂)
Lastly, my special mention to Anna and her employees. The line, "He is indeed a really handsome guy who is super rich, gentle, and considerate. You go, Boss!" The whole company is so on board with them that it's just precious. The fact that they also notice just how gentle and considerate Victor really is when he's around MC is just precious. This date has just made it to my top ranks for sure. These precious human beings ς(≡'・'≡)
Both of them are one of my favorite OTPs, and they are just meant for each other. My next rant will be about Chapter 37, and I just feel like I'll be crying buckets.
//ANIKA HUHUHUHU HOW IS THIS DATE SO GOOD (˚ଳ˚) Thank you for translating this masterpiece. Li Zeyan what are you absolutely doing with my standards. ∩( ´∀` )∩ This is now one of my favorite dates for sure. I can't believe the two of them.
The way his vulnerability just shows and how much he appreciates all the work MC's trying to do for him. HE IS JUST HUHUHUHU SO GOOD. The date is so well written with all the past date easter eggs. It just brings you back in time with how much the both of them HAVE truly grown from before.
The both of them are each others home. It's been a reoccuring point that has kept on repeating itself but I will never get tired of it. The fact that they have each other to get through their hard times together is so precious and just full on heartwarming to see. The love and just pure passion they have for each other are so good. The both of them deserve the absolute best things in the world only ٩꒰⍢ ꒱۶⁼³₌₃
The depth of their 4 years relationship clearly shows, and I am all for it. HSIXIWIDN SULKING AND WHISPERING VICTOR WILL ALWAYS BE MY FAVORITE. The voice acting with this date. I JUST CAN'T. It's so freaking good. ٩(♡ε♡ )۶ If you don't watch Anika's translations with CN Dub you guys are missing out honestly. BEusbubsjbdjbd I love him so much.... ς(≡'・'≡)
Hi :)) I just found your acc, and if you dont mind me asking, what does the sg in your username stand for? because like sg is the short form of my countrys name and i would be nice if i found someone living in sg!!
aso pls help i cant turn it into anonymous
Hi!! ʚ(•”̮•)ɞ Nice to meet you and hope your enjoying my account so far! My account name sadly does not stand for Singapore but rather it's the initials to my name. Sorry to disappoint ⸝⸝ʚ̴̶̷̆ ̯ʚ̴̶̷̆⸝⸝ However, I do know quite a few people from tottwt that live in sg as well. If you want to come with and chat with them/us just say hi hehehe ( ˆ͈̑꒳ˆ͈̑ )੭♡
//also I think I haven't fixed the anonymous settings on my asks yet （ •́ .̫ •̀ ）
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