⟢ void ⋅ she/her ⋅ of age ⋅ active when inspiration hits
⟢ my fics ⋅ masterlist ⋅ only writing for 2hollis + rommulas
⟢ requests ⋅ ask box always open
⚠︎ most of my stories contain nsfw content · mdni
⚠︎ english isn't my first language, please be kind
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join the #voidunity <3
i genuinely love getting to know all of you. i always try my best to reply and interact whenever i can, even if my job gets a little overwhelming sometimes. just know i appreciate every message, every reblog and every single one of you
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♪ ⋅ 2hollis ⋅ nettspend ⋅ ken carson ⋅ oklou ⋅ jane remover ⋅ rommulas ⋅ fka twigs ⋅ tokio hotel ⋅ the nbhd ⋅ don toliver ⋅ nkeeei ⋅ billy idol ⋅ depeche mode ⋅ ghost ⋅ amaarae
my favorite fic of yours is “favorite drug” it was the one that introduced me to u and i would listen to favorite by tigers jaw while reading it i love u thank u for feeding us with ur fics 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻
author's note: found this sitting in my notes and somehow never found the right moment to post it. since i don't really have time to write at the moment, i thought i'd finally share it with you. enjoy <3
! implied smut - mdni
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the church smells like incense and old wood. thick, almost suffocating. golden light spills through the stained glass, coloring everything in soft reds and blues that move when you breathe.
you sit still. hands folded. like you belong here. like nothing happened.
priest hollis stands at the front, draped in white and gold. the fabric falling clean and heavy over his frame. pristine. untouched. the collar sits sharp against his throat, hiding everything you know about the skin beneath it.
his voice is steady when he speaks. practiced. calm. like last night never existed. but you hear it. the slight roughness underneath. the crack he’s trying to smooth over. "come forward."
it echoes through the church, low, carried by the organ behind him. something slow, almost haunting, the notes dragging just a little too long, like they’re bending under their own weight.
people rise. row by row. you wait. you shouldn’t go. you know that. but your body moves anyway.
the marble floor is cold even through the thin fabric of your dress as you step forward, the space narrowing, the air growing heavier with every step closer to him. closer to the altar. closer to something that was never meant to happen.
he doesn’t look at you at first. he can’t. his hands are steady as he lifts the host, the thin white wafer, delicate between his fingers.
"the body of christ." the words sound wrong. or maybe it’s just you. you lower yourself slowly, knees touching the ground. and then he looks at you. and everything fractures. for a second it’s not the church anymore.
it’s last night
dim light. uneven breath. your hands gripping fabric that isn’t there now. your head tilted just slightly, the same angle, the same position, devotion twisted into something else entirely.
his jaw tightens. just barely. but you see it and your mind does the same cruel thing.
white and gold robes blur into bare skin. the careful distance between you collapses into heat, into closeness, into the memory of how his breath hitched when you looked up at him like that. exactly like this.
the organ swells. distorted now. heavier. almost wrong. you open your mouth. just slightly. waiting. the gesture is innocent here. sacred. it’s supposed to be. but the way his hand pauses, just for a second too long, gives him away.
his fingers brush your lips as he places the host on your tongue. skin against skin. brief. electric. his rings catch the light as his hand pulls back, the metal glinting, trembling just enough to betray him. you look up at him. slow. and for a second, he forgets where he is. you see it.
in the way his breathing falters. in the way his eyes darken. not with faith, not with devotion, but with something far more dangerous. something he already gave into once. the moment stretches too long. like it might snap.
and then it’s gone.
you stand. turn. walk back like nothing happened. like your heart isn’t pounding. like his gaze isn’t still burning into your back. like the altar isn’t holding a secret it was never meant to keep.
love u void thank you for returning you give me a will to live your fics genuinely help me get thru life even if you stop writing I will forever keep re reading your fics :)
thank YOU for these kind words :( people like you are the reason i came back to writing. you make me feel so incredibly loved and i’ll forever be grateful for that. i love u too <3
to imagine a world that felt gentle. peaceful. untouched by grief. a place where the heart did not have to fear every beat. where longing was not a sin. where love was not decided by bloodlines or titles. an escape from the life you had been given. from the life in which you would never be anything more than...
a maid
sleep had barely found you that night. sorrow had settled inside your chest like a dagger lodged between your ribs. each breath seemed only to drive it deeper. each movement reminded you that it was still there.
how foolish you had been. to believe, even for a single heartbeat, that the future baron might descend from the place god had given him. that he might offer you something no servant had ever been promised.
his heart
by morning you had convinced yourself that none of it had been real. perhaps you had imagined every lingering glance. every careful word. every stolen moment beneath the stars. perhaps baron hollis simply enjoyed the game, no matter who it wounded. perhaps the other maids had once returned to their chambers just as you had: hearts broken by kindness that had never truly belonged to them. you would never know.
and there was no soul to whom you could confess your grief. every word would be treason. and treason was answered with death. immediately.
soft rays of morning sunlight spilled through the tall window, announcing the beginning of another day. the castle was already stirring beyond the walls. footsteps echoed through distant corridors. servants called quietly to one another. preparations continued without pause.
the wedding
only tomorrow remained before it. you lowered your head, unable to suppress the bitter ache rising inside you. of course. how could you ever have imagined another ending when this one had been written long before you arrived?
your body felt unusually heavy as you rose from the narrow bed. your limbs were slow to answer you. your eyes burned from too little sleep. your heart felt heavier still. almost without thinking, your hand drifted to your chest. it was still beating. despite everything.
you drew one slow breath, then another. the coarse fabric of your gown rose and fell against your skin, wrapping around you like a rough imitation of an embrace. perhaps it was the closest thing to tenderness this life would ever allow you. yet you lived within a royal household. and that alone was considered an honor. regardless of the circumstances. besides, you had brought yourself to this sorrow.
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today, finding your place within the rhythm of the castle proved difficult. sleep had abandoned you almost entirely, leaving the world veiled behind a dull haze. every corridor seemed quieter than it truly was, every voice farther away, as though you walked beneath a heavy sky while everyone else still stood in sunlight.
the other maids noticed before long. you misplaced folded linens. lingered where others needed passage. forgot instructions that would ordinarily have required no thought at all. gentle sighs soon turned to impatient glances. whispers followed whenever you passed.
for the first time since your arrival, you had become a burden. it did not escape lady elinor's notice. before you realized she had crossed the room, she was already standing before you. you lowered your gaze at once.
"how may i serve you, my lady?" silence. then a quiet, disapproving breath. "you have been utterly useless today." her voice was composed, though no less cutting for it. "almost an embarrassment to this household." you swallowed hard. "i command you to go to the chapel at once." another pause. "perhaps god will return your senses before i dismiss you from my service and your family's name is stained by your failure."
your eyes lifted instinctively, already shimmering with restrained tears. "go." she struck one silk-gloved hand lightly against the other. the sound alone made you flinch. "yes, my lady." you curtsied immediately before hurrying from the room, your head lowered the entire way.
it ought to have felt like a kindness. a brief escape from work. instead it felt like public humiliation. every servant had heard. every servant had watched. your eyes burned fiercely. you brushed away a single tear before anyone else could notice, forcing yourself to breathe evenly.
no one must see you cry. what if someone questioned why? what answer could you possibly give? that your heart had begun mourning a man who had never truly belonged to you? that would not merely be foolish. it would be treason.
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the air within the chapel felt different. cooler. quieter. the moment you stepped through its heavy doors, the noise of the castle seemed to remain behind, swallowed by ancient stone.
you walked slowly toward the altar. candles burned steadily in polished silver holders, their flames dancing softly in the stillness. at the center rested a great bible, worn with age, its pages spread open as though waiting for those who had nowhere else to lay their burdens.
you stopped before it. closing your eyes, you drew one slow breath before lowering yourself onto your knees. your hands folded together instinctively. your lips moved without sound.
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dear lord. take this sin from my heart. lift this weight from my soul. forgive the greed that has found its home within me. i belong only to you. let my heart remain pure in your name. amen.
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a single tear escaped before you could stop it, tracing silently down your cheek. speaking the prayer had made it real. there was relief in surrendering the words but there was pain in finally admitting them. you drew another slow breath - and stopped. that scent. leather. lavender. something herbal beneath it. you knew it.
before your eyes had even opened, you felt another presence kneel beside you. close enough that you could sense the warmth of him. your pulse stumbled. slowly you turned your head. a few loose strands of pale blond hair had fallen forward beside his face.
baron hollis
his eyes remained closed. yet somehow he knew you were looking. a faint smile appeared at the corner of his mouth. "my lord..." you whispered immediately, lowering your head once more. "forgive me. i did not know you were here."
silence answered you. you should leave. your prayer was finished. you had confessed your sin. there was no reason to remain. except your heart refused to obey. look at him. just once. see what his eyes have to say. before reason could reclaim you, longing won.
you lifted your gaze. his eyes were already on you. warm. gentle. as though he had been waiting for you to look. they searched your face without hurry. lingering. his expression changed almost instantly. "your eyes..." you blinked. "my lord?" - "they are red." you looked away at once. "i fear it is only an allergy... or something of the sort."
he said nothing. instead his hand rose. for a heartbeat, it hovered before your face, as though even he questioned whether he had the right. then two fingers settled gently beneath your chin. he lifted it just enough for the light to reach your face. his thumb brushed no farther than necessary. his gaze moved slowly across your eyes, then lower. following the pale tracks your tears had left upon your cheeks. his jaw tightened. "these," he said quietly "were not caused by an allergy."
you blinked, gently drawing yourself from his hand. "and even if they were..." you whispered "it would change nothing." he let his hand fall and nodded once. "i know grief when i see it." his voice remained low, almost swallowed by the quiet of the chapel. "not the kind carried by the body." his eyes found yours again. "the kind carried by the soul."
you held his gaze. there was no command in it. no distance. only an unbearable tenderness that made it impossible to look away. silence settled between you. the candles flickered softly before the altar. you knew you ought to let the moment end. you ought to leave. you had already said too much. already felt too much.
yet one question had lived inside you since the previous evening, refusing to be buried. your eyes drifted toward the altar. his followed.
"did you show her... the same place?" the words were scarcely louder than a prayer. he did not look at you. he did not hesitate. it was as though he had expected the question long before you found the courage to ask it. "no." the answer came quietly. his gaze remained fixed upon the cross before him. "never."
then, without warning, something changed. the softness vanished from his expression. his entire posture stiffened, every muscle in his body drawing taut. his gaze flickered briefly toward the chapel entrance before returning to the altar. for the first time since you had met him, he looked uneasy.
as though he had suddenly remembered something. or someone. he rose so abruptly that it startled you. "my lord?" you asked quietly. he did not answer. not an apology. not an explanation.
without another glance in your direction, he turned and crossed the chapel in hurried strides. a moment later, the heavy wooden doors slammed shut behind him, the sound echoing through the empty hall. and just like that, he was gone. once again, he had left you with more questions than answers.
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after remaining in the chapel for a little while longer, you finally rose to your feet. the castle would not wait for your sorrow. there was work to be done. preparations that would continue with or without you.
you made your way back through the stone corridors, trying not to dwell on what had just passed between you, and yet your thoughts refused to obey.
he had not shown lady elinor. the cliffs. the stars. the place where the entire realm seemed to rest beneath the heavens. it had belonged only to the two of you. a secret. something no one else shared. the thought settled quietly within your chest, bringing with it a warmth you knew you should not welcome.
you continued walking until voices reached your ears. two of them. both male. one was deep and commanding. the other quieter. restrained. carrying a weariness you had never heard before.
your steps slowed. you should not listen. curiosity was no virtue. it was temptation. and temptation was sin. still, when you realized the voices belonged to the old baron and hollis, your feet refused to move.
you glanced once along the empty corridor. no servants. no guards. no one. almost against your own will, you stepped closer and rested lightly against the heavy wooden door, your breath held as the voices on the other side continued.
"...i hope my guard was mistaken." the old barons voice was low, yet every word reached you through the heavy oak door. "i truly do." silence. "because if he was..." a brief pause followed. "...then this conversation ends here."
you held your breath.
"but if he was not..." another silence. "...if there truly was a maid seated before you on morcant..." his voice grew colder "...then you have disgraced this house." - "father..." hollis voice came quietly. "nothing happened." - "i pray that is the truth." the old baron answered at once. "for your sake." the silence that followed felt endless.
"listen carefully. i will choose to believe that my guard's eyes deceived him. i will believe that no son of mine would forget his duty so completely... do not make me regret that mercy."
your heart hammered painfully against your ribs.
"because if i hear so much as one more whisper, one more report, one more rumor placing you beside that girl," his next words came so quietly you almost wished you had not heard them. "i shall have her brought before me..."
silence
"i will place your sword right into your hands," your blood ran cold. "you will force her to her knees... and you will behead her yourself." nothing. not a single word. only your own breathing.
after what felt like an eternity, hollis finally spoke: "yes, father." - "good." the old barons voice softened once more. "then pray my guard was mistaken -
about: you and hollis are special agents working for a classified government division. since the two of you can't stand each other, you're usually assigned to separate missions.
until today
your commanding officer sends you undercover to an exclusive dinner attended by politicians and other powerful figures. someone in the room is leaking classified government information. your cover? a happily married couple. for one night, you'll be hollis loving wife and he'll have to play your devoted husband.
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info: this story only goes so far... and then it's your turn. once you reach the ending, you get to decide what happens next by writing your own continuation. every ending is canon in its own way and i can't wait to see where you take it.
if you join in, please tag me in your story so i can repost it for everyone to read. i'm so excited to turn this into a little 2tumblr project and i'm even more excited to see all the different endings you'll come up with <3
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today was one of those boring office days - the kind you hated.
somehow you'd ended up as a special agent for one of the country's most classified government divisions. and while the paperwork, reports and endless hours behind a computer were technically part of the job, they were never the reason you stayed.
your favorite part had always been the missions. following suspects through crowded streets. uncovering secrets no one else would ever know. connecting pieces that didn't seem to fit until suddenly they did. every assignment felt different. dangerous. unpredictable. that rush was exactly why you loved this job. which also explained why you absolutely despised days like today.
your third coffee sat forgotten beside your keyboard as you leaned closer to your monitor, trying for what felt like the hundredth time to access an encrypted case file. after several failed attempts, you let out a quiet sigh. then your work phone buzzed. immediately your attention shifted.
boss: my office. 10 minutes.
a smile tugged at the corner of your lips. messages like that never meant paperwork. they meant a mission. without a second thought, you closed the encrypted portal on your screen. someone else could spend the rest of the day buried in files and security reports. you'd much rather be out in the field.
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ten minutes later you were on your way to your commanding officer's office. the elevator doors slid open and you made your way down the long, lifeless hallway, already wondering where this mission would take you next. you knocked twice. "come in."
a small smile found its way onto your face as you stepped inside. it disappeared just as quickly. sitting across from your commanding officer at the large glass conference table was the one coworker you couldn't stand.
agent herndon
or hollis, if you absolutely had to use his first name. though with an ego like his, he much preferred his last. not that you spoke to him often.
the dislike between the two of you had always been mutual. whenever possible, the agency assigned you to separate missions just to avoid the inevitable arguments. which begged the question:
what the hell was he doing here?
you tried your best not to let your disappointment show. walking past him, you lowered yourself into one of the chrome and black leather chairs opposite the desk, crossing one leg over the other before looking straight at your commanding officer.
not that agent herndon deserved a greeting. he hadn't even looked at you since you'd walked in.
"glad you could make it, ms. y/ln." you offered him a polite smile. "of course, sir. how can i help?" he nodded, seemingly pleased by your enthusiasm, before sliding a thick file across the glass table. without hesitation you picked it up.
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MISSION: WHITE DRESS
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you frowned "...what exactly does that mean? am i hunting a ghost? some kind of paranormal activity in the white house?" your commanding officer let out a quiet laugh. beside you, agent herndon only sighed.
"now that would be an interesting assignment, wouldn't it, agent herndon?" for the first time since you'd entered the room, the agent looked up. "i'd rather retire."
the officer chuckled but the room quickly fell quiet again. the atmosphere was thick enough to cut with a knife. he looked between the two of you before folding his hands on the desk.
"first things first. you won't be handling this mission alone, ms. y/ln." you already knew where this was going. "agent herndon will be joining you." you stared at him for a second before looking back at your commanding officer. "joining me where?" - "on the mission." - "...and why exactly does it have to be agent herndon?"
the words had barely left your mouth before you felt it. his gaze. sharp enough to burn straight through your skin. how dare you question him in front of your commanding officer?
"well," your commanding officer began, leaning back in his chair "agent herndon is the only one in the division whose cover with you would actually be believable." you frowned. "cover?" he simply nodded and tapped the file in front of you.
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MISSION: WHITE DRESS
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without another word, he reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a small red velvet box. he opened it. inside lay two simple gold wedding rings. "congratulations, mr. and mrs. herndon." he smiled far too proudly. "as of today... you're married."
your jaw nearly hit the floor. for the first time since entering the room, even agent herndon looked genuinely caught off guard. before you could process what you'd just heard, he reached across the table, picked up one of the rings and turned it between his fingers.
"...sir." he said, unusually calm, "with all due respect, are you absolutely sure there's no one else?" your commanding officer tilted his head. "i wish there was." his gaze wandered between the two of you. "if i had another pairing that made sense, i would've chosen it, trust me."
you took a slow breath before resting your forearms on your knee. "alright." you said. "let's skip the wedding talk. what's the mission?" your commanding officer let out a quiet breath of relief. finally. back to business.
"we have reason to believe there's a traitor inside the government. someone has been leaking highly classified information to foreign intelligence agencies." he opened the file and slid a photograph across the table.
"we don't know who it is. but after months of surveillance and internal investigations, we've narrowed it down." his finger tapped the image. "tomorrow evening, every person on our suspect list will be attending the same private dinner."
you glanced down at the guest list. politicians. senior advisors. foreign diplomats. people who could start, or end, wars with a single phone call.
"and that's where you come in." he looked between you and agent herndon. "you'll attend as a newly married couple." you resisted the urge to roll your eyes.
"people trust couples. especially newlyweds. they're approachable. harmless. no one questions why a husband and wife are talking to guests, asking questions or moving around the venue together."
his gaze shifted. "agent herndon is already acquainted with several of the attendees. they'll be curious to meet his wife, which gives you an opening." he paused. "to everyone else, you'll simply be mr. and mrs. herndon."
another brief silence filled the room.
"what they don't know..." his eyes met yours. "...is that you're both government agents, and i'd like to keep it that way." agent herndon nodded without hesitation. "understood, sir." you gave a small nod as well. "so we show up tomorrow, play the happy couple and keep an eye on the suspects." - "exactly."
your commanding officer folded his hands on the desk. "and you do it together. these people are experienced. politicians, intelligence officials, diplomats... they've spent their entire careers reading people. the second either of you acts out of character, they'll know something's wrong."
"don't worry." you replied confidently. "they won't suspect a thing." he smiled. "that's what i wanted to hear." his eyes moved between you two. "you're two of the best agents this division has. i know you'll handle this professionally."
he gently pushed the velvet box and the mission files toward you. "everything you need is in those files." you picked yours up. "your cover identities. your relationship. how you met, when you got married, where you supposedly live, even your honeymoon." your eyebrows lifted. "memorize it. every detail."
he stood from his chair. "tomorrow at 6pm, a driver will be waiting outside headquarters. dress accordingly. it's a black tie dinner on a private estate." you let out a quiet breath. "got it. is that everything?" - "that'll be all."
he offered you a polite smile before walking around the desk to open the door himself. "thank you for your service, ms. y/ln." - "thank you, sir." as you stepped into the hallway, you glanced back at agent herndon. he returned the look with a brief, almost reluctant nod. then the door closed behind you.
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back in your office, you let yourself fall into your chair with a heavy sigh. god. for the first time in your career, paperwork suddenly sounded more appealing than tomorrow night's mission.
tomorrow you'd be attending an exclusive dinner. as the wife of mr. hollis herndon. you let your head fall back against the chair and closed your eyes. why?
a knock never came. instead your office door opened. your eyes snapped open. agent herndon. he stepped inside without a word before placing something onto your glass desk with a quiet clink. your wedding ring.
"you forgot this." your eyes dropped to his hand. long fingers. pale skin. prominent veins disappearing beneath the cuff of his black shirt.
"try not to lose it." he said. "those things aren't cheap." you rolled your eyes. "i'm aware." he raised an eyebrow. "a thank you would've worked too." you forced the fakest smile you could manage.
"thank you." it sounded anything but grateful. a brief silence settled between the two of you before you sighed. "...i still don't know how we're supposed to pull this off." he shrugged as if it were the easiest thing in the world. "it's a job. just do what i tell you and stick to the cover."
your chair scraped against the floor as you stood. "do what you tell me?" the corner of his mouth lifted. barely. "i know the guests. i know how these events work." his eyes drifted to the ring lying on your desk. "tomorrow, you're just my wife." - "get out." he didn't argue, and just like that he was gone.
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day of the mission - 5:30 pm
the taxi rolled through the city while you watched the streets blur past the window. you looked down at yourself for what had to be the tenth time.
a deep red silk dress hugged your figure perfectly. elegant enough for a room full of politicians, expensive enough not to raise suspicion and just flattering enough to make you feel slightly uncomfortable.
your hair had been pinned up, leaving a few loose strands framing your face. the heels, however... you hated them. whoever had decided spies should wear heels deserved prison.
the taxi came to a stop outside headquarters. you paid the driver, stepped out carefully and made your way inside. the lobby was nearly empty. then you saw him. agent herndon
he was already waiting by the entrance. black tailored suit. white dress shirt. dark tie. for a brief second, you had to admit he cleaned up surprisingly well - not that you'd ever tell him.
his eyes found you the moment you approached, and stayed there. longer than either of you expected. he'd never seen you like this before. normally you wore tactical gear, bulletproof vests or oversized agency hoodies after late shifts.
now you looked nothing like the agent he argued with every other week. the red silk caught the evening light as you walked toward him. for the first time since you'd met, agent herndon didn't have a sarcastic comment ready. he simply looked.
you raised an eyebrow. "...done staring?" he cleared his throat almost immediately. "those shoes look impractical." you looked down. "they are." - "good." - "...good?" - "means if we have to run, i'm faster." - "you're unbelievable." - "that's what i've been told."
without another word, you reached into your clutch and pulled out the plain gold wedding ring. he held out his hand. the two of you slipped them onto your fingers in complete silence.
headlights swept across the pavement. a black limousine pulled up in front of the building. the driver stepped out and opened the rear door. before you could move, agent herndon walked around the car and held the door open for you.
you blinked. "...wow." he looked at you. "how thoughtful." the sarcasm in your voice couldn't have been more obvious. he only shrugged. "figured i'd better start acting like a husband." you couldn't help the quiet scoff that escaped you. "don't get used to it." - "trust me," he said as you climbed into the back seat. "i won't."
a second later, he slid in beside you. the door closed. and the car pulled away toward the mission.
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the black limousine rolled to a stop in front of an enormous estate. a beautifully restored historic building, guarded by iron gates and surrounded by perfectly trimmed gardens. whoever was hosting tonight's dinner had money. a lot of it. probably a lobbyist, or someone even more powerful.
"ready?" agent herndon's voice pulled you from your thoughts. you looked over at him. "almost." opening your clutch, you reached inside and pulled out your handgun. lifting the slit of your dress just enough, you secured it beneath the fabric against the holster strapped around your thigh. the movement was quick. practiced.
you could feel his eyes on you before you even looked up. "is something wrong?" you asked casually, still adjusting the weapon. he blinked once before looking away. "...couldn't you have done that earlier?"
you smirked. "this thing is uncomfortable enough already. i'd rather wear it for as little time as possible." after one final check, you let the silk fall back into place and met his eyes again. "now i'm ready." he gave a single nod. then he stepped out of the car.
a moment later your door opened. he stood there, one hand holding it open while the other was extended toward you. you stared at it. "...you're kidding." - "unless you want us to blow our cover before we even make it inside."
you bit the inside of your cheek. annoyingly, he had a point. with an exaggerated sigh, you placed your hand in his. he helped you out of the car but instead of letting go, his fingers stayed intertwined with yours. firm. steady. like that was exactly where they belonged.
the chauffeur pulled away, leaving the two of you standing alone beneath the warm glow of the entrance lights.
hand in hand, you started walking toward the building. his hand completely swallowed yours. larger. warmer. his grip was secure. more secure than it actually needed to be. then again... he was an agent. keeping people safe was part of the job. you'd expected this to feel a lot worse. truthfully, it wasn't so bad - as long as he kept his mouth shut.
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the massive oak doors towered above the entrance, framed by marble columns and watched over by two suited security guards. before either of you could step inside, an older man in a perfectly tailored black suit approached with a polite smile.
"a name, please?" agent herndon didn't hesitate for a second. "mr. and mrs. herndon." the butler glanced down at the guest list in his hands before a smile spread across his face. "of course. welcome, mr. and mrs. herndon. we've been expecting you." with a respectful nod, he stepped aside.
the doors slowly swung open. warm light spilled into the night. the sound of a string quartet echoed through the grand entrance hall, accompanied by quiet conversations and the soft clinking of crystal glasses.
every surface seemed to glow. marble floors. gold details. towering chandeliers. politicians, diplomats and wealthy donors filled the room in perfectly tailored suits and elegant evening gowns. and almost immediately you felt it. the stares.
you and hollis were easily the youngest people in the room. a server appeared beside you carrying a silver tray. without asking, hollis picked up two champagne flutes. he handed one to you before lightly tapping his glass against yours. "to the mission." the quiet clink echoed between you. you took a small sip.
the champagne was expensive. far better than anything you'd ever willingly paid for yourself. maybe it would help. just enough to loosen the knot in your stomach. because every pair of eyes that landed on the two of you reminded you of one thing. from this moment on you weren't agents anymore. you were husband and wife.
"mr. herndon!" a deep voice interrupted your thoughts. an older man with silver hair approached, a warm smile spreading across his face. "what a pleasure to finally have you here." agent herndon smiled just as naturally. "thank you for having us."
the man turned toward you with genuine curiosity. "and this must be..." before you could answer, you felt a familiar hand settle gently against your waist. agent herndon effortlessly pulled you a little closer to his side. "...my wife."
for a second, your brain completely stopped working. right. wife. you looked up at the older gentleman and forced the sweetest smile you could manage. "it's lovely to meet you." he chuckled. "mrs. herndon, welcome." you gave a small nod. "thank you for inviting us."
if anyone had looked closely enough, they might have noticed how fast your heart was beating. fortunately, nobody did.
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⠀
after what felt like an endless number of introductions, polite smiles and conversations with people whose names carried far too much political influence, you and agent herndon finally found yourselves standing off to the side of the ballroom.
you took another sip of your champagne. "so..." you glanced over at him. "how are you enjoying the evening so far, agent?" he stepped a little closer. not because he wanted to, but because he didn't want anyone else to hear.
"from now on," he said quietly "call me hollis." you looked at him. "...excuse me?" - "we're supposed to be married." his eyes briefly scanned the room before returning to yours. "using my last name every five seconds isn't exactly helping."
you couldn't argue with that. instead you held out your hand with exaggerated politeness. "nice to meet you then, hollis." you smiled innocently. "i'm y/n." the corner of his mouth twitched. "i know."
for a moment the two of you simply watched the room. politicians laughed over expensive whiskey. advisors whispered in small groups. servers moved silently between them with silver trays balanced perfectly in their hands.
"noticed anything?" hollis asked without taking his eyes off the crowd. you gave a small shrug. "not yet, but-"
"mr. and mrs. herndon!" the host approached once again. "we're about to begin the first dance of the evening. it would be an honor to have our newest married couple join us." before you had the chance to invent an excuse, hollis smiled. "we'd love to." you almost choked on your champagne. "wonderful!" the older man clapped his hands together. "i'll see you on the dance floor."
the second he disappeared into the crowd, you turned to hollis. "...seriously?" he answered by taking your hand. "come on." your eyes widened. "have you lost your mind?" his grip tightened ever so slightly. "not here." his voice remained calm. "people are watching."
you followed his gaze. he was right. dozens of eyes were already drifting toward the dance floor. with a quiet sigh, you let him lead you across the polished white marble. a waiter stepped forward and collected your champagne flutes before either of you had the chance to protest. then the music changed.
suddenly you were standing face to face. hollis rested one hand carefully against your waist. the other remained intertwined with yours. for a second you forgot to breathe.
his hand rested against the thin silk of your dress. close enough that you could almost convince yourself you felt the warmth of his skin through the fabric. he looked down at you. "you planning on dancing?" your mouth parted. "...right."
clearing your throat, you lifted your free hand and rested it lightly on his shoulder before sliding it around the back of his neck. the distance between you disappeared. close enough for anyone watching to believe you were exactly what you claimed to be. a happily married couple.
your heartbeat picked up. probably because half the room was watching. or maybe it was the champagne. at least that's what you told yourself.
⠀
⌖
⠀
the first few moments felt painfully awkward. every step seemed rehearsed. every movement calculated. you were painfully aware of the hand resting against your waist, of your own fingers around the back of his neck and of the eyes following the two of you across the dance floor. you couldn't wait for the song to end.
but then somewhere, between another turn and another step, it stopped feeling so forced. without exchanging a single word, the two of you slowly found the same rhythm. the dance became easier. almost effortless.
hollis guided you into another slow turn before leaning down just enough for his lips to brush past your ear. "don't make it obvious." you frowned ever so slightly. "three o'clock." your eyes stayed on him. "don't look yet." his voice remained calm. "three men." a beat passed. "they've been watching us ever since we walked in."
your stomach tightened. as naturally as possible, you let your eyes wander across the ballroom during the next turn. there they were. three men. none of them smiled. none of them spoke. they were simply watching. studying. judging every movement the two of you made.
"they think something's off." you whispered. "maybe." another slow step. "or they're trying to figure out if we're exactly who we claim to be." you swallowed. "what do we do?" he stayed quiet for a few seconds. thinking. his thumb absentmindedly brushed against the fabric at your waist. then his eyes met yours.
⠀
"...kiss me."
⠀
you blinked. "what?" - "they're looking for cracks." his expression never changed. "a married couple wouldn't hesitate." you stared at him "you can't be serious." his eyebrow lifted slightly. "do you have a better idea?"
silence. then your gaze slowly met his. his eyes searched yours. patient. expectant. waiting for you to close the distance...
⠀
⌖
⠀
and that's where my part ends. from here on it's all yours!
everyone is invited to write their own ending and post it whenever you feel like it. there's no deadline, so take your time and have fun with it.
and if you've never posted a fic before or you're worried that your writing "isn't good enough", this is your sign to give it a try anyway. this project isn't about who's the best writer. it's about having fun, sharing ideas and creating something together.
i genuinely can't wait to read every single version you come up with. don't forget to tag me so i can read and repost your story. i already know you're all going to make this so much more special than i ever could on my own <3
WHAT stoppp, the fact you’ve already read it 3 times??? it’s not even been 24 hours yet 🥹 ilysm bun, this means so so so much to me, ur an angel 🪽 i was actually so scared part 2 wouldn’t live up to part 1 :(
about: saint murdered your fiancé. now the police are watching you just as closely as the man they're trying to catch. the closer the investigation gets to saint, the closer you get to him. the hardest part won't be hiding him from the police.
it'll be hiding him from yourself.
⠀
-
⠀
the apartment felt frozen in time. gray walls. gray skies. gray light spilling through the windows. outside, rain traced slow paths down the glass. inside, nothing moved at all.
you sat curled up on the couch, wrapped in a blanket you hadn't really left in days. your phone lay facedown beside you. silent now. eventually, people stopped calling.
⠀
grief was strange
⠀
sometimes it arrived all at once. sometimes it simply sat beside you. you couldn't tell how many days had passed anymore. or when the pain had quietly turned into something else. into nothing. no more tears. no more anger. no more strength.
just an emptiness so complete that it almost felt peaceful. you didn't wonder when life would start feeling normal again. because normal meant accepting what had happened.
accepting that your fiancé was dead. accepting that he wasn't coming back. accepting that it never had to happen. because if you had left saint alone, if you had ignored every note, if you had stopped looking for him... maybe he would still be alive.
and yet, despite the emptiness, the same thoughts returned every single day. the same accusations. the same unbearable truth.
he had been murdered. and you knew exactly who had done it.
the man you had once admired from afar. the man you should have feared. the man who had warned you again and again to stay away.
instead you'd done the opposite. one step closer. then another. until he'd found his way into your apartment. into your life. into the bed you once shared with another man.
you'd known it was wrong from the very beginning. every note. every conversation. every stolen moment. somewhere deep down, you'd known exactly where it would lead.
you just never thought the price would be his life.
⠀
-
⠀
grief had allowed you to disappear for days. but there was no avoiding today. today was the funeral.
the first time you'd left the apartment since his death. the first time you'd have to face a world that kept moving without him. outside, there was no sunlight. only rain.
you stood in front of the bathroom mirror. completely still. staring at a reflection that barely looked like you anymore.
your skin looked pale, your eyes swollen. dark shadows resting underneath them no amount of concealer could hide. you had tried anyway. not because you cared what you looked like but because people would be looking at you today.
the grieving fiancée - the woman who had lost the man she was supposed to marry.
you lowered your gaze toward the sink. makeup scattered across the counter. foundation. mascara. a lipstick you'd picked up and put back down three times already. none of it felt right. nothing felt right.
behind you, the bedroom stood untouched. the sheets still unmade. his side of the wardrobe still full. shirts hanging exactly where he'd left them. shoes lined up beneath them. a jacket thrown carelessly across the chair. everything waiting for someone who would never come home.
slowly you turned away from the mirror and walked back into the bedroom. the black dress lay across the bed. simple. long sleeved. appropriate. you hated it.
you hated that there were clothes made for days like this. hated that black had somehow become the color people wore when somebody stopped existing. hated that the world had rules for grief.
wear this. stand there. accept flowers. say thank you. survive.
you pulled the dress over your head. the fabric settled against your body. you stood in front of the mirror again. smoothing your hands across the material. trying to recognize the person staring back at you. you couldn't.
your gaze fell toward your left hand. the ring was still there. white gold. beautiful. clean. untouched by everything that had happened.
for a long moment you simply stared at it. you had tried taking it off the night before. you'd stood in the same bathroom. fingers wrapped around the band. twisting it slowly. pulling until it reached your knuckle, then you'd stopped.
because the second it moved, panic had filled your chest. as if removing it would make everything final. as if the ring was the last thing keeping him connected to this world. as long as it remained on your finger, some part of the future still existed.
all the things you'd once thought would last forever. all the things you'd complained about. all the things you would have given anything to have back. your thumb brushed across the smooth metal. once. then again.
"i'm sorry."
the words barely reached the empty room. you weren't sure who you were saying them to anymore. him. yourself. you looked away from your reflection. the ring stayed where it was.
⠀
-
⠀
the drive to the cemetery passed in silence. rain tapped steadily against the car windows.
the city moved outside in muted colors. gray buildings. blurred lights. strangers walking beneath umbrellas. strangers checking their phones. people living.
the sight of it made something bitter twist inside you. how could everything continue? how could traffic lights still change? how could shops still open? how could people complain about being late or wet or tired when he was dead?
the car slowed near the cemetery gates. black vehicles lined the road ahead. people stepped out one by one, umbrellas opening above them.
your stomach dropped. for days his death had existed only inside the apartment but now it was real in a different way. there were people here. dozens of them.
people who had known him before you. people who had grown up with him. people who had loved him in ways that had nothing to do with you.
you opened the car door. cold rain immediately touched your face. someone appeared beside you with an umbrella. you didn't look to see who. you simply let them guide you toward the others.
every step felt too heavy. your heels sank slightly into the wet ground. mud gathering along the edges. the cemetery stretching out around you beneath the dark sky. rows of stones. rows of names. rows of people reduced to dates. you tried not to look at them.
then you saw his family. his mother stood beneath a large black umbrella. held upright by someone beside her because both of her hands were pressed against her mouth. she looked smaller than you remembered. older. destroyed.
her shoulders shook with every breath. a woman you barely recognized kept one arm wrapped around her waist, holding her upright. his father stood close beside them. completely still.
his face looked blank from a distance. almost calm. until you noticed the way his jaw trembled. the way his hands opened and closed at his sides. the way he kept staring toward the coffin as if he still hadn't understood what it was.
his younger sister stood between them. eyes red. skin pale. one hand gripping their father's coat like a child.
you stopped walking. everything inside you seemed to collapse at once. because you had spent days thinking about what saint had taken from you: your fiancé, your future, your home.
but seeing them made you understand the rest of it. he hadn't only taken someone from you.
he had taken a son. a brother. a childhood best friend. a colleague. a person people called when their car broke down. a person who remembered birthdays. a person who had existed in a hundred different lives before yours.. and you had led saint directly to him.
your knees weakened. someone touched your arm. gently. encouraging you forward. you wanted to turn around. you wanted to run back to the apartment. lock the door. crawl beneath the blanket. disappear into the emptiness again.
instead you kept walking. his mother saw you first. her face changed. the grief somehow deepening. then she moved toward you. you barely had time to react before her arms wrapped around your body. tight. desperate.
a broken sound left her. somewhere between your name and a sob. for one horrible second, you couldn't hug her back. because she didn't know. she thought you were grieving beside her. she thought you were another victim of what had happened.
she didn't know that her son's murderer had stood in your kitchen. that he had touched you. kissed you. held you. that you'd let him into the bed her son had once slept in.
your stomach turned. finally your arms lifted around her. she clung to you harder. "i'm so sorry y/n." she whispered. you closed your eyes. the words tore through you.
she was sorry. she was comforting you. you should have been on your knees begging her forgiveness. instead you held her while she cried.
"i'm so sorry." you whispered back. your voice cracked. she misunderstood. she pulled away just enough to look at you. both hands finding your face. her eyes moving across it like she was searching for a piece of him somewhere in you.
"he loved you so much."
your breath stopped. the rain continued around you. tapping against the umbrella. sliding down the edges. he loved you so much. you tried to answer. nothing came out. her gaze dropped toward your hand. toward the white gold ring.
something shattered across her expression. she touched it carefully. one trembling finger brushing the band. "he was so excited." you swallowed. "about the wedding," she continued. her voice breaking. "he kept pretending he wasn't nervous, but he called me about everything."
your chest tightened until breathing hurt.
"the flowers. the music. whether his suit should be black or dark blue." a small sound escaped her. almost a laugh. almost another sob. "he didn't know anything about suits."
you stared at her. images appeared without permission. him standing in front of the mirror. him adjusting a tie. him waiting at the end of an aisle that would never exist. your vision blurred.
"he would've been so happy." you looked down. at the ring. at her hand still resting over yours. "i'm sorry." you whispered again. this time the words carried everything.
i'm sorry i wanted something else. i'm sorry i let a serial killer into our home. i'm sorry your son is dead because i couldn't leave danger alone.
but she only squeezed your fingers. "none of this is your fault." your body went cold. for a second the entire cemetery seemed to disappear.
none of this is your fault
you almost pulled your hand away. almost told her. almost opened your mouth and let every horrible truth fall out in front of everyone.
saint had warned you. saint had followed you. saint had loved you. saint had killed him, and you had known exactly what he was capable of.
instead you stood there. silent. cowardly. letting a grieving mother forgive you for something she didn't even know you had done.
⠀
-
⠀
the condolences began shortly after. one person after another. faces you recognized. faces you didn't.
his aunt hugged you for too long. his old school friend held both of your hands and told you how sorry he was. a colleague said your fiancé had talked about you constantly. someone else told you the two of you had been perfect together.
every sentence felt like punishment. "i can't imagine what you're going through." you nodded. "he didn't deserve this." you nodded again. "they'll find whoever did it." your breath caught.
you looked at the man speaking. one of his cousins, maybe. you couldn't remember. his expression was tight with anger. "the police will catch him."
the words settled somewhere deep inside your chest. the police will catch him. you should have felt relieved. you should have wanted that.
saint was a murderer. saint had taken the person standing beside you in photographs. the person whose clothes still hung inside your wardrobe. the person whose ring still wrapped around your finger. but beneath the grief, beneath the anger, beneath the guilt, another feeling moved.
fear
not fear that they wouldn't catch him. fear that they would. the realization made you feel sick.
you excused yourself before anyone could notice. you walked several steps away. pretending to adjust your umbrella. pretending you simply needed air. your fingers shook around the handle.
what was wrong with you? how could any part of you still care what happened to him? how could you stand at your fiancé's funeral and feel afraid for the man who had killed him?
you pressed your lips together. hard. trying to force the thought away. it remained.
SAINT
always saint. even here. especially here.
⠀
-
⠀
the coffin rested above the open grave. dark wood beneath a sea of white flowers. you recognized some of them. lilies. his mother loved lilies. you wondered if he had. you should have known. the thought nearly broke you.
people gathered around the grave. umbrellas touching. black fabric shifting beneath the wind.
you stood in the front row beside his family. exactly where everyone expected you to be. the fiancée. the almost-wife. the woman who was supposed to share the rest of his life.
the ceremony began. you barely heard any of it. words floated around you without meaning. beloved son. loyal friend. taken too soon. a life full of promise. every sentence made the guilt heavier.
you stared at the coffin. trying to understand that he was inside. that beneath the polished wood was the face you'd watched across the couch.
the hands that had once held yours. the chest you'd rested your head against. the mouth that had said love you so casually you had stopped hearing it. you had spent so long feeling alone beside him. now you would have given anything for one more quiet evening. one more distracted answer. one more night with his back turned toward you. anything. anything except this.
the person speaking paused. his sister stepped forward. she held a folded piece of paper in both hands. they trembled so violently that his father moved closer, ready to catch her if she fell. she began reading.
her voice broke after the first sentence. people around you lowered their heads. she tried again. talking about childhood. about the time he had broken his arm trying to jump from the garage roof because he'd promised her he could fly. a small wave of laughter moved through the crowd. soft. painful. full of tears.
she spoke about how he answered every call. no matter how late. how he had driven three hours to pick her up after her first breakup. how he teased her constantly but never let anyone else do it. how he had promised to dance with her at the wedding.
your eyes closed. the wedding. again. a future appearing in every sentence only to be destroyed again.
when she finished, she bent forward. unable to hold herself together any longer. their father caught her. his mother began sobbing again. and something inside you gave way. not completely. not yet. but enough that the first tear finally escaped.
it slid down your cheek. warm against skin made cold by rain. then another. and another. your hand closed around the ring. holding it so tightly the metal pressed painfully into your finger. you welcomed it. you deserved pain. you deserved all of it.
⠀
-
⠀
the coffin began to lower. your body moved half a step forward before you caught yourself. the ropes shifted. the dark wood descended slowly into the earth.
his mother cried out. a sound so raw it seemed to tear through everyone standing there.
you covered your mouth. your knees nearly collapsed beneath you. this was it. this was the moment he disappeared. not the news. not the police. not the empty apartment. this.
watching the person you had loved vanish into the ground. someone placed a hand against your back. you didn't know who. you didn't care. the coffin moved lower. lower. until there was nothing left but the grave.
the rain fell into it. people stepped forward one by one. flowers dropped onto the wood below. white against black.
his mother went first. then his father. then his sister. when it was your turn, somebody placed a single white rose into your hand. you stared at it. water gathered along the petals. your fingers trembled.
slowly you stepped toward the edge. the grave looked impossibly deep. for a moment you saw nothing. then the coffin came into focus below. your chest cracked open.
"i'm sorry." the words left you before you could stop them. quiet enough that nobody else heard. you hoped he did. wherever he was. if he was anywhere.
you let the rose fall. it turned once in the air. then landed softly among the others. your hand remained extended above the grave. empty. the ring caught the gray light. you stared at it. a promise wrapped around your finger. a promise you had broken long before death ended it.
"i'm so sorry."
⠀
-
⠀
people began leaving slowly. small groups disappearing between rows of graves. black umbrellas drifting toward the gates. more hugs. more hands resting against your shoulders. more condolences you didn't deserve.
his family stayed for a while. his mother asked if you wanted to come home with them. you almost said yes. then you imagined sitting inside their house. surrounded by childhood photographs. listening to stories about the man you'd helped kill. you couldn't.
"i just need a minute." you said. your voice sounded distant. she looked toward the grave. then back at you. understanding filled her expression. "of course."
she kissed your cheek. his father hugged you next. stiffly at first. then tighter. "you're still family." he whispered.
your eyes closed. the words felt like a knife. you didn't deserve that either. his sister could barely look at you without crying. when she wrapped her arms around you, her entire body shook. "he was so happy with you."
you held her. unable to say anything. because maybe he had been. and maybe you had simply stopped noticing.
eventually they left. you watched them walk away together. three people entering the cemetery as four. the realization settled inside you with unbearable weight.
saint hadn't only emptied your apartment. he had emptied their family. there would always be an empty chair now. an unanswered phone. a birthday that felt wrong. a christmas morning with one less voice.
his mother would wake up every day and remember she had buried her son. his father would carry the coffin in his head for the rest of his life. his sister would marry someday, maybe, and look toward the place where her brother should have been.
you had thought grief belonged to you. it didn't. it spread. through families. through friendships. through every person who had once built part of their life around him. and saint had left all of them standing in the ruins.
because of you.
⠀
-
⠀
the cemetery grew quiet. the workers had disappeared beneath the shelter of a nearby building. waiting for you to leave before they finished covering the grave.
you remained. alone now. rain falling harder.
your umbrella lay forgotten on the ground several feet away. carried there by the wind after your hand had loosened around it. your hair clung to your face. your dress soaked through. you barely felt the cold.
the grave stood in front of you. flowers already bending beneath the rain. his name had been placed on a temporary marker. two dates. a life contained between them. you stared at the first. the day he entered the world. then the second. the day saint took him out of it.
you dropped onto the wet ground. mud soaked instantly through the fabric covering your knees. you didn't care. your hands pressed against the earth at the edge of the grave.
"i'm sorry."
your voice broke. for days the tears hadn't come. now they wouldn't stop. your shoulders shook. breath tearing painfully from your lungs.
"i'm so fucking sorry."
the words fell into the open grave. you bent forward, forehead nearly touching the ground. the ring pressed into the mud beneath your palm.
"you didn't deserve this."
rain ran down your face. mixing with tears. filling your mouth whenever you tried to breathe.
"you didn't deserve any of it."
memories came all at once. his distracted smile. the sound of his key turning inside the lock. the way he always left cabinet doors open. the way he complained when you stole the blanket. his hand finding yours beneath the covers.
⠀
don't forget to eat today.
love you.
⠀
the note. you had kept it. still folded inside your bag. written shortly before he died. your hand moved toward it instinctively. pulling the damp paper free.
the ink had started bleeding slightly from the rain. you unfolded it anyway. a sound tore from your throat. you pressed the note against your chest.
"i loved you."
the confession felt too late. useless. cruel. you had loved him. not enough. not correctly. not when it mattered. but you had. you looked toward the grave. vision blurred.
"i know it didn't feel like it."
your breathing broke apart.
"but i did."
the rain grew heavier. striking the earth. the flowers. your skin.
"i should've stayed away from him."
the words escaped before you could stop them. silence answered. you swallowed.
"he told me to."
your fingers tightened around the note.
"he warned me and i still..."
you couldn't finish. because saying it aloud made everything real. you had gone looking for saint. again and again. every shadow. every alley. every note.
you had treated danger like a mystery meant to be solved. you had wanted to see the monster. wanted him to see you. and now the man you were supposed to marry was underground.
"it should've been me."
the sentence came quietly. too easily. you stared downward. at the mud gathering beneath your nails. at the white gold ring stained dark.
"he should've killed me."
for one moment you almost wished he had. maybe then everyone else would still have their son. their brother. their friend.
you didn't know how long you stayed there. minutes. an hour. time no longer existed. only grief. only rain. only the grave. then something changed. not a sound. not movement. a feeling. familiar.
your crying quieted. slowly your head lifted. the cemetery stretched out around you. empty pathways. black trees. rows of stone disappearing into mist. nobody. and yet your skin prickled.
the same way it had in the streets. the same way it had inside the alley. the same way it always did before he appeared. your stomach turned.
no
you looked toward the cemetery gates. empty. toward the trees. nothing. toward the stone chapel at the far end of the grounds. dark windows stared back at you.
your pulse began climbing. he was here. you knew it with the same terrible certainty you'd known every other time. watching. even now. even here.
anger cut through the grief. sharp enough to make you sit upright. your eyes searched the distance. you pushed yourself onto trembling legs. mud covered your dress. the note still clutched inside one hand.
the cemetery remained silent but the feeling didn't leave. if anything, it grew stronger. eyes against your skin. a presence hidden somewhere beyond the graves. you turned slowly, searching every shadow. still nothing.
the fury inside you rose. rain streamed down your face. your hands shook at your sides. silence. then, somewhere in the distance, a shape moved. barely. a shadow passing between two trees. your breath stopped. you stared. nothing remained. only darkness. only rain.
maybe you'd imagined it. maybe grief had finally broken something inside your mind. but you knew better.
saint had come. not close enough to be seen. not close enough to touch. only close enough to make sure you weren't alone. and somehow that made you hate him even more. because even after taking everything from you, he still believed he had the right to stay.
you looked down at the grave one final time. your fingers closed around the ring. then you lifted the umbrella from the ground. you turned and began walking toward the cemetery gates.
one slow step after another. behind you the grave remained open. ahead of you, the city waited. and somewhere between the trees, hidden beneath the rain, the man who had destroyed your life watched you leave.
⠀
-
⠀
the ride home felt endless. rain slid quietly across the windows, washing the city into blurred streaks of gray. buildings passed. traffic lights changed. you watched all of it without really seeing any of it.
at some point the driver told you you'd arrived. you weren't sure how long you'd been sitting there. you thanked him automatically before stepping outside. cold rain greeted you immediately. you didn't bother opening your umbrella. there didn't seem to be much point anymore.
by the time you reached the entrance of the apartment building, your dress was damp around the hem. droplets clung to your hair, slowly running down your neck.
the lobby stood exactly as you'd left it. warm. bright. ordinary. the elevator doors slid shut behind you. twenty three floors. the familiar mechanical hum filled the silence. normally you would've checked your phone. today it remained buried somewhere inside your bag. you didn't care who had texted. you didn't care who hadn't.
the elevator chimed. the hallway stretched out in front of you, empty. for a moment you simply stood there. your apartment waited at the end of it. home.
the word didn't feel right anymore. you reached for your keys. your fingers slipped once. then again. on the third try the key finally found the lock.
the apartment was dark. you didn't switch on the lights. there was still enough gray daylight filtering through the windows. you stepped inside. closed the door. and stopped.
there it was. that scent. subtle. barely noticeable. and yet unmistakable. dark cedar. clean linen. something colder underneath. your eyes closed. not because you wanted to remember it. because you recognized it instantly.
⠀
SAINT
⠀
a week ago your pulse would've raced. a week ago you would've searched every corner of the apartment. called his name. waited for an answer. today you were simply tired. so unbelievably tired.
you slipped your shoes off without taking your eyes off the hallway. nothing. the apartment remained perfectly still. only the quiet hum of the refrigerator reached your ears.
you slowly walked farther inside. past the living room. past the couch. past the television. everything looked exactly the way you'd left it that morning. except...
your gaze landed on the kitchen table. a folded piece of paper rested neatly in the center. waiting. of course. a hollow laugh escaped you. "of course."
you didn't move immediately. instead you stood there looking at it. it almost felt ridiculous. every time you convinced yourself he couldn't possibly get any further into your life, he somehow managed.
your fingers slowly reached for the paper. the handwriting greeted you before you even finished unfolding it. sharp. confident. familiar.
⠀
COME HOME TO ME
⠀
you read the sentence once. then again. the room stayed silent. for several long seconds, you simply looked at the words.
then your eyes drifted toward the bedroom. the door stood half open. inside his clothes were still hanging in the wardrobe. his watch still rested on the nightstand. his toothbrush still stood beside yours.
your hand slowly closed around the paper. the edges crumpled beneath your fingers. "you're sick." your voice sounded strangely calm. almost empty. "you're completely fucking sick."
he had watched you bury the man he murdered. and this, this was what he had to say. you looked around the kitchen until your eyes found a pen lying beside a grocery list. without thinking you grabbed it. turned the note over. you didn't need long. the pen touched the page.
⠀
stay away from me
⠀
you stared at the sentence. it wasn't enough. you crossed it out. started again.
⠀
leave my life
⠀
no. still wrong. another line through it. your jaw tightened. finally you wrote:
⠀
whatever this is, it's over. stay out of my life.
⠀
this time you stopped. your handwriting looked uneven. letters pressed too hard into the paper. you looked at both sides. his words. yours. it felt less like a conversation and more like a goodbye. at least you wanted it to be.
carefully you folded the note again. not because you wanted to preserve it. because you knew he'd come back. he always did.
you placed it exactly where he'd left it. straightened it once. then stepped away. "read it." the whisper disappeared into the apartment. "and leave me alone." for the first time since meeting him, you meant every single word.
you turned your back on the kitchen. your bag slipped from your shoulder. it landed on the floor with a dull thud. you left it there. your coat followed a few steps later. you didn't bother hanging it up.
the bedroom felt colder than usual. the sheets were still untouched from that morning. for a long moment, you stood beside the bed. your eyes wandered across the room. the wardrobe. the photographs. the empty pillow. the silence.
your fingers found the white gold ring. you turned it absentmindedly around your finger. it refused to move. or maybe you simply didn't have the strength anymore.
you lay down without changing. without washing away the rain. without taking off your makeup. the mattress dipped beneath your weight. your entire body ached. not in one place. everywhere.
you pulled the blanket over yourself. your eyes slowly closed. sleep found you almost immediately. not because you felt safe. simply because grief had finally exhausted every part of you.
the apartment fell silent once more. only the rain remained. softly tapping against the windows. and on the kitchen table, the note waited. exactly where you'd left it.
⠀
-
⠀
*knock knock*
the sound tore you out of sleep. another knock followed. firm. steady. coming from the front door.
your eyes snapped open. for a second everything felt unfamiliar. then yesterday crashed back into you. the funeral. the cemetery. the rain. the note.
⠀
COME HOME TO ME
⠀
your heart lurched. he'd read what you'd written. he'd come back. another knock echoed through the apartment.
you pushed yourself upright. the black dress from yesterday was still clinging to your body, wrinkled from sleeping in it. your makeup had settled beneath your eyes. your hair was a mess. you didn't care.
⠀
*knock knock knock*
⠀
he wasn't leaving. slowly you stood and walked into the hallway. every instinct told you not to open the door. as you passed the kitchen, your eyes drifted toward the table.
you stopped. empty. the note was gone. completely. your reply. his handwriting. everything. your stomach dropped. he'd been here. sometime during the night. while you'd been asleep. he'd taken it and left nothing behind.
⠀
another knock. louder now.
⠀
you forced your feet toward the door. your hand rested on the handle for a moment before you leaned toward the peephole.
two men. dark coats. badges. police.
every thought inside your head disappeared. they know. they know everything. your hand slipped from the lock. how? had someone seen him? had saint said something? had they found fingerprints? had...
your eyes darted back toward the kitchen. the table was still empty. nothing. the note was gone.
⠀
another knock.
⠀
you closed your eyes. calm down. if they knew, they wouldn't be knocking. they would've already come in. you unlocked the door.
"miss y/ln?" the older detective offered a sympathetic smile. "good morning." - "good morning." - "i'm detective reed." he briefly showed you his badge. "this is my partner." the younger detective gave you a small nod. he looked around your age. his expression was difficult to read.
"first of all..." reed lowered his voice. "...we're very sorry for your loss." something inside you loosened. they weren't here because of you. they were here because someone had been murdered.
"may we come in?" - "yes..." you stepped aside. "of course." the two detectives entered. reed thanked you quietly. the younger detective's eyes wandered through the apartment. not suspiciously. simply taking everything in.
the untouched flowers. the jacket hanging by the entrance. the framed photographs. the silence.
"sorry..." you looked around almost apologetically. "...i wasn't expecting anyone." - "you don't have to apologize." reed offered a reassuring smile. "we'll only take a few minutes."
you nodded. "can i get you something? coffee?" - "that's not necessary." the younger detective looked at reed. "i'd actually like one." reed sighed almost imperceptibly. "really?" he shrugged. "it's been a long morning." despite everything, the exchange felt strangely normal. "...okay."
you disappeared into the kitchen. anything to have your back turned for a moment. the coffee machine hummed softly while you tried to steady your breathing.
they don't know. they can't. otherwise they wouldn't be sitting at your table.
you carried the mugs over. "thank you." the younger detective said quietly. reed waited until everyone had sat down before opening his notebook.
"i know this won't be easy." you wrapped both hands around the warm mug. "i'd just like to go over a few things." you nodded.
"when was the last time you saw your fiancé?" - "the evening before." - "how was he?" you frowned slightly. "...normal."
reed looked up. "normal?" you nodded. "he cooked dinner." the memory appeared so vividly it almost hurt. "we ate together ...we watched a movie." a pause. "he was happy." you looked down at the coffee. "he laughed." your voice grew quieter. "nothing seemed wrong." reed wrote something down.
"did he mention meeting anyone the next day?" - "no."
"did he seem nervous?" - "no."
"worried?" - "no."
"did he say anyone had been bothering him recently?" - "no."
another note.
"was he expecting any visitors?" - "no."
every answer came easier than the last. reed continued.
"did anything about his routine change during the days leading up to his death?" - "no."
"did either of you receive anonymous messages?"
your eyes instinctively drifted toward the empty place on the kitchen table. gone. the note was gone.
"...no."
the answer barely reached your own ears. reed didn't react. he simply kept writing.
"phone calls from unknown numbers?" - "no."
"letters?" - "no."
"anyone trying to contact you after his death?"
your throat felt dry. saint had stood inside this apartment. he had held you. kissed you. left notes. returned while you slept.
"no."
justice was sitting across from you. all you had to do was tell the truth.
he's called saint. he writes notes. he's been here. he killed my fiancé. the words never came. instead, another lie.
"...nothing." silence settled over the table. reed finally closed his notebook. "thank you." he looked genuinely sympathetic. "i know we're asking you to relive something incredibly painful." you managed a small nod. he stood. "if you remember anything..." - "...i'll call." - "please."
the detectives walked toward the front door. reed stepped into the hallway first. the younger detective followed, then stopped.
"...sorry." he turned back around with an almost embarrassed smile. "i completely forgot." he extended his hand. "mr. leal." you shook it. his handshake was warm. "but you can call me roman." - "...roman." he smiled.
"i'll be assigned to your fiancé's case from now on." you looked at him questioningly. "which means i'll be checking in every day for a little while." - "every day?"
he nodded. "just to make sure you're alright." before you could answer, he continued. "if saint is still somewhere nearby..." his expression remained calm. "...i'd rather know you're not facing that alone."
for a moment neither of you spoke. then you nodded quietly. "...thank you." - "see you tomorrow." the two detectives disappeared down the hallway. you closed the door. turned the lock and leaned against it.
the apartment fell silent once more. then simply stood there. unmoving.
your eyes slowly found the kitchen. the empty spot on the table. the note was gone. which meant saint had been there and you hadn't told them.
why?
you frowned. no. why hadn't you told them? justice had been sitting in your kitchen. two detectives. badges. questions. all you had to do was tell the truth. he left notes. he was here. he killed my fiancé. but you lied.
the realization settled heavily inside your chest. what the hell was wrong with you? you hated him. didn't you? then why did the thought of him being caught make your stomach turn? why had you protected him? why had it felt impossible to say his name?
no answer came. only another thought.
roman
tomorrow. and the day after that. every single day. he would walk through that door. ask more questions. look a little closer. sooner or later he was going to notice.
the lies. the hesitation. the way your eyes searched the kitchen whenever saint was mentioned. you slowly looked back toward the front door. for the first time since the funeral, saint wasn't the only person you were afraid of. because if roman kept coming back, eventually, one of them was going to find the truth.
⠀
-
⠀
the next morning, he came back. right on time. he asked the same questions. had anyone contacted you? had you noticed anything unusual? had you remembered something you'd forgotten to mention? every answer came just as easily as the day before.
"no."
the morning after that, he returned again. this time alone. detective reed never came back. it was just him. he never stayed long. ten minutes. sometimes fifteen.
long enough to ask a few questions, look around the apartment, make sure everything was alright. then he'd leave again. at least that's how it started.
after a few days the conversations slowly drifted away from the investigation. sometimes he'd ask if you'd managed to sleep. sometimes whether you'd eaten.
once he noticed the untouched groceries in your kitchen and silently moved the milk back into the fridge before it spoiled.
another time he found you standing on the balcony with a cup of coffee that had long gone cold. instead of asking questions, he simply stood beside you. neither of you spoke for several minutes. strangely the silence never felt uncomfortable.
he wasn't much older than you. long, dark curls rested against the collar of his coat whenever the wind caught them. deep brown eyes. sharp features softened only by the occasional smile. and a voice so low and calm that it somehow made every room feel quieter.
he never pitied you. you were grateful for that. everyone else looked at you like you were something fragile. roman didn't. he spoke to you the same way he would've spoken to anyone else. like you were still a person. not just someone terrible things had happened to.
some mornings, you'd already have coffee waiting before he knocked. he always smiled. "i'm starting to think you're only letting me in because of the coffee." - "maybe." it was the first joke either of you had made in weeks. he laughed quietly. and somehow you found yourself laughing too.
the investigation never stopped. every visit ended with another question. another attempt. another opportunity to tell the truth.
"are you absolutely certain nobody contacted you?" - "yes."
"no letters?" - "no."
"no strange encounters?" - "...no."
the lies came more naturally now. that scared you.
at first you'd told yourself you only needed more time. then you convinced yourself there wasn't enough evidence anyway. eventually you stopped trying to explain it.
you weren't sure anymore whether you were protecting saint or protecting yourself. because once you admitted the truth, you'd have to admit everything. the notes. the alley. the apartment. the kisses. the night you'd willingly let a serial killer hold you.
your fiancé had died believing you loved only him. his family believed the same. the police did too. telling the truth wouldn't only expose saint, it would expose you and maybe that terrified you even more.
⠀
-
⠀
days passed. then another. then another. the apartment no longer felt quite as empty. not because grief had become easier. it hadn't. but because every morning, someone knocked on your door.
someone whose footsteps you recognized before he even spoke. someone who asked if you'd eaten. who always accepted a cup of coffee. who sometimes stayed five minutes longer than he had to. sometimes twenty.
the conversations grew easier. they talked less about evidence. more about everything else. movies. the weather. a café he'd insisted made the best cinnamon rolls in the city. the stray cat he'd somehow befriended outside the precinct. ordinary things. small things. things that reminded you life still existed somewhere beyond police reports and cemeteries.
the apartment almost felt safe again and as each day passed without another note, without another knock in the middle of the night, without another glimpse of blond hair disappearing into the darkness. you slowly allowed yourself to believe something you hadn't dared think before.
maybe... saint had finally let you go.
⠀
-
⠀
the following monday felt different. for the first time in what felt like forever, you woke up before your alarm. today wasn't about detectives. or funerals. or cemeteries.
today you were finally going back to work.
standing in front of the bathroom mirror, you hesitated for a moment. you still looked tired. the dark circles beneath your eyes hadn't disappeared. your smile still felt unfamiliar, but it was something.
slowly you slipped the white gold ring back onto your finger. you hadn't taken it off once. you weren't ready. maybe you never would be.
outside the city welcomed you with warm air. the rain had finally stopped. cars rolled past. people hurried along the sidewalks. someone laughed across the street. a dog barked somewhere nearby. life had continued. whether you wanted it to or not.
you found yourself walking without constantly looking over your shoulder. the familiar streets no longer felt haunted.
your feet carried you through downtown almost automatically. at the next intersection you slowed. the alley. you noticed it before your mind had the chance to. just across the street. quiet. empty. the place where everything had changed.
where saint had stepped out of the darkness for the first time. where you'd stopped being afraid of him. where you'd started making the biggest mistake of your life. you looked away. not today.
you crossed with the next green light, deliberately choosing the longer route. it wasn't fear anymore. it was a decision.
you were done looking for him. and strangely he seemed done looking for you too. days had passed. then more. no notes. no messages. no feeling of being watched. nothing.
a small part of you almost couldn't believe it. all because of your last message:
⠀
whatever this is, it's over. stay out of my life.
⠀
you'd expected another argument. another note. another attempt to convince you. instead... silence.
maybe he'd finally understood. maybe, for once, he'd listened. the thought settled somewhere inside you. careful. fragile. hopeful.
your office building came into view. you stopped outside for a second, taking a slow breath before pushing the glass doors open. almost immediately familiar voices greeted you. your coworkers spotted you before you'd even reached your desk.
"oh my god..." one of them wrapped you in a careful hug. "we're so, so sorry." another squeezed your shoulder. "we've been thinking about you every day." - "i'm glad you're back."
their kindness should've comforted you, but it made your chest feel heavier. every conversation sounded the same. every face carried the same expression. sympathy. pity. grief.
you appreciated it. you really did. but after weeks of hearing how sorry everyone was, you wished someone would ask you something normal.
how was traffic? did you watch the game? want to grab lunch later? anything that didn't remind you why you'd been gone.
after a while the conversations faded. finally. people returned to work. phones started ringing again. keyboards clicked. printers hummed. the familiar rhythm of the office slowly returned.
it felt good. good to answer emails. good to organize paperwork. good to think about something other than death.
you reached your desk. smiled faintly to yourself. this was exactly what you needed. something normal. you pulled your chair back. then stopped. there was an envelope lying neatly in the center of your desk. no stamp. no address. your name wasn't written anywhere.
your smile disappeared. you picked it up. it wasn't sealed. your fingers suddenly felt cold.
no. not here. please... not here.
you unfolded the paper inside. it wasn't a letter. it was a newspaper clipping. an article. your eyes immediately found the headline.
⠀
FIANCÉE OF SAINT'S LATEST VICTIM SAYS SHE NEVER SUSPECTED A THING.
She described the days leading up to the murder as completely ordinary. According to investigators, neither she nor the victim had noticed anything unusual before his death. Police continue to search for the serial killer known as Saint.
⠀
you stared at the words. your interview. your lies. then your eyes drifted lower. beneath the article, written in familiar handwriting, just one sentence:
⠀
YOU LIED BEAUTIFULLY FOR ME
⠀
everything around you disappeared. the office. the conversations. the ringing phones.
your fingers loosened around the paper. he knew. he knew exactly what you'd told the police. he knew every lie.
your heartbeat pounded so loudly you barely heard someone call your name from across the room. saint wasn't gone. he'd never been gone. he'd simply been watching. waiting. he had reached your desk before you had.
⠀
-
⠀
somehow you made it through the rest of the day. you answered emails. sat through meetings. pretended to listen whenever somebody spoke to you.
every now and then, your eyes drifted back to the folded newspaper clipping inside your desk drawer. you should've thrown it away, but you couldn't bring yourself to. the words refused to leave your mind.
⠀
YOU LIED BEAUTIFULLY FOR ME
⠀
beautifully. as if he'd been proud of you. as if the lies hadn't belonged to the police. but to the two of you.
the thought made your stomach twist. every unfamiliar face suddenly caught your attention. every person walking past your office. every coworker stopping by your desk. every delivery driver entering the building. you caught yourself wondering.
does he know them? has he been here? is he watching now?
it was exhausting. by the time the workday finally ended, your head was pounding. you packed your bag and stepped outside.
the evening air was warm. the city buzzed around you exactly as it always had. people filled the sidewalks. music drifted from cafés. cars rolled through intersections. everything looked normal.
you wished it felt that way.
halfway home you reached the familiar crossing. the alley waited across the street. quiet. empty. just as it had been that morning.
your pace slowed automatically. for a brief second your eyes lingered on the narrow entrance. nothing moved. no blond hair. no black clothes. no impossible feeling crawling across your skin. still you crossed with the next light and chose the longer route again. just in case.
by the time you reached your apartment building, you almost laughed at yourself. this had become ridiculous. he wasn't there. he hadn't been there this morning. he wasn't standing in the alley now.
maybe... maybe today really had been nothing more than one final message. one final goodbye.
the apartment greeted you with silence. you checked every room anyway. the bedroom. the balcony. the bathroom. the kitchen. nothing. no notes. no scent lingering in the air. no sign that anyone had been inside. you let out a slow breath. "you're losing it." the quiet laugh that followed sounded tired more than amused.
you locked the door. double checked it. then headed into the living room. the television flickered to life almost immediately.
you weren't interested in whatever was playing. you just didn't want the apartment to be silent. voices filled the room. a game show. commercials. a sitcom you'd seen years ago. anything was better than hearing your own thoughts.
you curled up beneath a blanket. trying not to think. trying not to look toward the windows every few minutes. trying not to wonder whether someone might be looking back. the evening news interrupted the program. you barely paid attention.
"breaking news."
your eyes remained fixed on the coffee table.
"another body has been discovered."
your head lifted. the anchor continued speaking.
"...local authorities have confirmed that councilman nathan mercer was found dead earlier this evening."
your heartbeat slowed. the screen changed. blue police lights. yellow tape. flashing cameras. a street you recognized immediately. barely ten minutes from your apartment.
"investigators have confirmed that the victim's body showed the same signature associated with the serial killer known as saint."
another image appeared. officers shielding the entrance. forensic teams moving in and out. then the anchor's voice dropped.
"...authorities have withheld most details from the public. however, sources close to the investigation report that the victim's heart had been removed and placed beside the body."
your blood ran cold. not hidden. not stolen. placed. carefully. deliberately. like it had been left there for someone to find. the next image filled the screen. letters written in blood across the wall.
⠀
SAINT
⠀
your breathing stopped. everyone watching the news saw another signature. another murder. another victim.
but you... you heard something else.
⠀
COME HOME TO ME
YOU LIED BEAUTIFULLY FOR ME
⠀
and now...
a heart.
your stomach twisted. no - this wasn't for the police. it wasn't for the reporters. it wasn't even for the man he'd killed. you knew. saint had left that heart for one person. and one person only.
you weren't listening anymore. he'd done it again. after all this time, he'd done it again. and so close. why here?
your mind searched desperately for an answer. was it coincidence? a warning? had he wanted you to see it on the news? had he chosen the location because of you? or had he simply wanted you to know he was still there?
the apartment suddenly felt much smaller. you muted the television. the silence returned instantly. too loud. too heavy. your eyes wandered toward the windows. darkness had swallowed the city outside. for the first time in days you felt watched again.
that night sleep refused to come. you turned onto one side. then the other. closed your eyes. opened them again.
every small sound from the hallway made your pulse jump. the elevator. footsteps. a car door somewhere below. your thoughts wouldn't stop. your fiancé. the funeral. roman. the lies. saint. always saint.
you hated him. you repeated it to yourself over and over. you hated him. he'd ruined your life. taken everything from you.
so why... why did a small, shameful part of you keep wondering where he was? whether he'd watched the news too. whether he was safe. whether you'd ever see him again. your eyes snapped open.
"what the fuck is wrong with me..." the whisper disappeared into the darkness. you buried your face deeper into the pillow. as if hiding from the thought could erase it. it couldn't.
because no matter how hard you tried to push him away, saint had already found a place inside your mind. and that was the only place he needed to be.
⠀
-
⠀
the next morning arrived with another knock. not loud. not urgent. steady. predictable. somewhere along the way, you'd started recognizing it.
roman
by the time you opened the door, he was already holding two paper coffee cups. "thought i'd save you the trouble today." the corner of your mouth lifted ever so slightly. "trying to put me out of business?" - "something like that." he handed one to you before stepping inside.
the apartment had become familiar to him by now. he no longer looked around the room each time he entered. he simply took off his jacket, placed it over the back of the dining chair and sat down as though he'd done it a hundred times before.
today felt different. he wasn't smiling as much. you noticed it immediately. "everything okay?" he looked up. "me?" you nodded. he hesitated. "did you watch the news last night?" your fingers tightened slightly around the warm cup. the new murder. the heart. saint.
roman leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. "i almost came over." you frowned. "...last night?" - "i figured you'd probably seen it." he looked away for a brief moment before continuing. "i didn't want you sitting here alone after something like that."
the room fell quiet. you hadn't expected that answer. he wasn't asking questions. he wasn't investigating. he'd simply been worried.
"i'm okay." the words sounded unconvincing even to yourself. he studied your face for a second. "you didn't sleep." it wasn't a question. you gave a tired smile. "is it that obvious?" - "a little." you looked down into your coffee. "i'll survive."
roman didn't answer immediately. instead he reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out a small notebook. "i still have to ask." his tone became more professional.
"did anyone contact you after yesterday?" - "no."
"anything left at your apartment?" - "no."
"did you notice anyone following you?" - "no."
he wrote down each answer. then closed the notebook again. "good." he sounded relieved. almost too relieved.
another silence settled between you. outside, rain tapped softly against the windows again. inside, only the quiet hum of the refrigerator filled the apartment. roman broke it first.
"can i ask you something that isn't official?" you nodded. "have you actually been outside... besides work?" you thought for a moment. "not really." - "you should." you raised an eyebrow. he smiled faintly.
"not because i'm telling you to. because hiding in here isn't going to make this place feel safe again." you let the words settle. maybe he was right. maybe that was exactly what you'd been doing. trying to make the world smaller until nothing could reach you anymore.
"it's just..." you searched for the right words. "everything reminds me of him." roman understood immediately. he didn't ask which one. your fiancé. or saint. he assumed there was only one answer.
"that's normal." his voice remained low. "grief doesn't disappear because we want it to." he looked around the apartment. "but eventually..." his gaze returned to yours. "...you deserve to live in it again."
something tightened in your throat. nobody had said that to you before. they'd told you to stay strong. to take your time. to call if you needed anything. but nobody had reminded you that one day you were still supposed to live.
without really thinking, you sat down beside him on the couch. neither of you spoke. minutes passed in comfortable silence. then, almost absentmindedly, roman reached over. his hand rested gently over yours. not possessive. not romantic. simply there. grounding.
"if it ever gets too much..." his thumb brushed lightly against your knuckles. "...call me." you looked at him. "doesn't matter what time it is. i mean it. i don't want you sitting here convincing yourself you have to carry all of this alone."
your eyes searched his. there was something there. something that hadn't been there during his first visit. it wasn't difficult to recognize. it was much harder to decide what it meant. you slowly withdrew your hand. not because you wanted to hurt him. because you didn't know what to do with kindness anymore.
"i'm really okay." you offered him a small smile. "i promise." he held your gaze for another second. then gave a quiet nod. "i hope so."
he stood. for a moment you thought he was getting ready to leave. instead he reached beneath his jacket. your muscles tensed instinctively. when his hand emerged again, he was holding a small black handgun.
he kept the barrel pointed toward the floor before engaging the safety. then extended it toward you. you stared at it. "...roman." - "i want you to have it." - "no."
your answer came instantly. "i can't." - "you can." he placed it carefully on the coffee table between you instead of forcing it into your hands. "roman-" - "listen to me." his voice stayed calm. "if saint ever comes through that door..." he nodded toward the entrance. "...i don't want your only option to be hoping he'll leave."
you looked at the pistol. it felt wrong. heavy. even without touching it. "i've never even held one." - "i know." - "i'll show you." you shook your head. "i don't want one." - "i know." another pause. "but wanting has nothing to do with surviving."
those words lingered in the room. he crouched in front of the coffee table, meeting your eyes. "if nothing ever happens..." a faint smile appeared. "...you can hand it back to me and I'll happily admit I worried too much." his expression softened again.
"but if one day you're standing in this apartment, and he comes back..." he didn't finish the sentence. he didn't need to. you finally looked at him. there was fear in his eyes. not for himself. for you.
you wondered whether his concern had begun to grow into something else. whether the daily visits had stopped being only about the case. the thought disappeared almost as quickly as it had come. your life was too broken to make sense of feelings. especially someone else's.
after a long silence you reached for the gun. not because you wanted it, because refusing it suddenly felt impossible.
roman let out a quiet breath. "good." he stood, grabbed his jacket and headed toward the door. just before leaving, he looked back one last time. "lock the door after me." - "i always do." - "i know." another small smile. "keep doing it."
then he was gone. the apartment fell quiet once more. your eyes drifted from the closed front door, to the gun resting in your lap.
the thing that frightened you most wasn't the weapon. it was the realization that you had no idea whether you'd be able to pull the trigger if the person standing on the other side of the door was saint.
⠀
-
⠀
the rest of the day passed more easily than you'd expected.
roman's visit that morning lingered in your thoughts far longer than it probably should have. there was something strangely comforting about knowing someone would knock on your door again tomorrow. and the day after that - you didn't feel completely alone.
work helped. it always had. there were emails waiting to be answered. meetings that somehow could've been emails. someone complaining about the coffee machine. another coworker arguing with the printer for what felt like the hundredth time. you found yourself smiling once. it disappeared almost immediately, but it had been there. that felt like progress.
saint barely crossed your mind. when he did, it was only for a second. you reminded yourself of the empty kitchen table. of the days that had passed without another note. without another murder aimed at you. without another impossible encounter. maybe he had finally understood. maybe your message had reached him after all.
⠀
-
⠀
by the time you left the office, your shoulders felt lighter than they had in a long time. the evening air was warm against your skin. music drifted from restaurants. life. normal, ordinary life. you'd almost forgotten what it looked like.
your usual route brought you past the alley once more. your eyes wandered toward it automatically. you didn't slow down. didn't stop. didn't look twice. you simply kept walking.
when your apartment building came into view, you caught yourself thinking about dinner instead of danger. that alone felt like a victory.
you unlocked the door. kicked off your shoes. placed your keys in the small bowl by the entrance. the apartment greeted you with its familiar silence. you wandered through the rooms almost absentmindedly. bedroom. bathroom. kitchen. everything exactly where it belonged.
you smiled to yourself. see? you'd been paranoid. nothing more.
you filled the kettle with water. made yourself tea. then curled up on the couch with the television quietly playing in the background. you weren't really watching. the voices were enough. they made the apartment feel less empty.
your body slowly relaxed into the cushions. for the first time in what felt like forever you felt safe.
⠀
*knock knock*
⠀
your head turned toward the front door. a faint smile appeared before you could stop it. "roman?" maybe he'd forgotten something.
another knock. steady. patient. you set your mug down. frowning, you crossed the apartment. your eye met the peephole. empty. you blinked. leaned closer. still nothing. "...very funny."
you unlocked the door and pulled it open. the hallway stretched out in complete silence. left. right. no one. you stepped forward. looked both directions once more. nothing.
you walked back inside. closed the door. turned the lock. and then you smelled it. that scent. familiar. impossible. your entire body went still. slowly, almost afraid to look, you turned around.
he was standing by the window. motionless. his broad shoulders outlined by the last light of the evening. long blond hair falling loosely around his face. one hand resting in the pocket of his black jeans. the other behind his back.
he'd been watching the city. watching your city. from your apartment. as though he'd always belonged there. he turned his head. those impossible crimson eyes found yours instantly. they softened the moment they did. and then... he smiled. "hi."
authors note: this story actually happened to me irl, just with another artist instead of hollis. the entire experience felt like a fever dream, so i had to turn it into a fic.
and we all love a little tea, don't we?
⠀
✩⠀
⠀
you: and you think you could handle owning me?
⠀
his reply came almost instantly.
⠀
2hollis: i don't think
2hollis: i take
2hollis: the real question is whether you could handle being mine
⠀
✩⠀
⠀
you turned your phone off again and looked out the window, taking a slow breath. for a second you'd thought your reply might've knocked his ego down a little.
it hadn't. he hadn't budged an inch. if anything, he'd only stood his ground harder. that kinda did something to you. he felt untouchable. unshakable. completely out of reach.
before getting out of the bus, you opened your chat one last time and typed back.
⠀
you: what's being yours even supposed to mean?
⠀
you hit send, slipped your phone back into your pocket and stepped outside.
the warm summer air drifted gently through your hair, pulling you back to reality. or at least, it tried to. because his voice was still echoing in your head. and the fact that he wasn't just there anymore -
he was in your dms too.
⠀
✩⠀
⠀
you finally made it home. you dropped your bag in the hallway and let yourself sink onto the couch.
what a day.
almost instinctively, you reached for your phone. your heart sped up immediately.
nothing. okay.
maybe he'd gotten bored of the conversation after all. then again, he probably had a thousand girls in his dms. who were you to expect another reply?
with a quiet sigh, you headed to the bathroom. you started taking your makeup off, already getting ready to shower, when that now familiar notification sound suddenly echoed through the apartment.
your hand was on your phone before you even realized you'd reached for it.
⠀
2hollis: giving yourself to me
2hollis: letting me decide what gets you going
2hollis: seeing if you can handle that
⠀
wow. were you reading the next chapter of fifty shades of grey, or were you actually texting dracula?
everything about the way he spoke felt so consuming. almost like he was offering you a deal.
this wasn't just flirting anymore. it wasn't even just texting. every message circled back to the same thing.
ownership.
but were you ready to be his? how much longer could the two of you keep talking before this turned into something more?
right now it was just a chat. something you could end whenever you wanted. no promises. no risk. and yet with every reply, you let him pull you in a little deeper.
maybe it was the mystery. the fact that you still didn't know his face. all you had was his voice, his music, and the version of himself he let the world see. how much more would he show you if you kept playing along?
and from that moment on, that became the only question you cared about. how far could you push this?
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you: i'd be wearing your name on my body anyway
you: so i'd already be giving you a part of me
you: i just wanna know if i'm gonna end up cursing your name
you: or worshipping it
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then... nothing. for hours.
at some point it turned into a game. a toxic one. who could make the other wait longer. who cared less.
deep down you already knew the answer. from the very beginning you were the one who was more invested.
still, you couldn't shake the feeling that you were the one in control. that you could walk away whenever it became too much. that you'd know exactly when to stop.
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later that night you were already in bed, absentmindedly scrolling through your phone before going to sleep, when a notification banner slid across your screen. your eyes locked onto it instantly.
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2hollis: you'll curse me when i push you
2hollis: worship me when i don't stop
2hollis: that's surrender
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great. now how were you supposed to fall asleep after that?
luckily you'd only read the messages from the notification preview, so they still showed as unread. not that it mattered. he probably knew anyway. to him you were about as easy to read as glass.
after staring at the screen for another minute, you gave in. because honestly, what could be better than waking up to a message from your celebrity crush? opening your eyes and seeing 2hollis lighting up your lock screen.
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you: what if i don't do what you tell me?
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with a small smile you set your phone aside, curious to see what that little bit of attitude would get you.
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the next morning was quiet. gray. you slowly opened your eyes and looked out the window. cool morning air drifted through the open frame, brushing softly against your face.
you were still half asleep, your thoughts moving slower than usual, when everything that had happened the day before started coming back.
oh my god. right. 2hollis. and - oh my god. did he reply?
you reached for your phone on the nightstand so fast it nearly slipped from your hand. the screen lit up instantly. two new messages. one from em. one from him.
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2hollis: you can try not listening
2hollis: doesn't mean you'll get away with it
2hollis: your choice
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a sharp knot settled low in your stomach and it wasn't even nine in the morning. you didn't reply right away. who knew what your half asleep self would've come up with? instead you opened em's chat first.
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☏ ˚₊
em: good morninggg
em: any updates??
em: how are we feeling
you: girl idk
you: * 2 screenshots attached *
you: you tell me
em: what are you two even talking about
em: bro wants you BAD
you: he wants to own me
em: yeah he's definitely got an ego
em: man's obsessed with himself
em: red flag
you: kinda hot tho
em: girl please don't do anything stupid
you: it's literally just a chat
em: for now
you: he'll probably get bored eventually
em: we'll see
em: keep me updated
☏ ˚₊
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your fingers tingled. as much as you wanted to make him wait, you couldn't. you wanted that rush again. that little hit of adrenaline every time his name popped up on your screen.
he'd reply... right?
doubt crept in. what if yesterday had just been boredom for him? what if he'd already moved on? there was such an obvious power imbalance between the two of you.
he was giving you something you'd never had before. and you were giving him something he could probably get from anyone.
maybe this meant nothing to him. but if you didn't text him, you'd never know. so before you could talk yourself out of it, you started typing.
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you: i think wearing your name's already kinda crazy
you: it's basically a seal
you: and if i bite you as hard as you want me to
you: guess there'd be blood too
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you rolled your eyes. this guy was making you say things you'd never imagined yourself texting. but somehow he always matched your energy.
probably a good thing you actually had to get up now. less time to overthink everything.
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your morning routine went exactly the way it always did. you turned on your speaker and of course his music was the first thing filling the apartment. the lyrics only made everything worse. or better. you couldn't decide.
you made breakfast, got dressed, went through the motions. everything was exactly the same. except every couple of minutes, your mind wandered right back to him.
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halfway through doing your makeup, an urge suddenly hit you. youtube. you wanted to know if he'd ever done any interviews. anything. literally anything that would tell you more about him.
so you paused the music, pulled your laptop onto your makeup desk and opened youtube. your fingers hovered over the keyboard for a second before you typed:
2hollis interview
you hit enter. three videos appeared almost instantly. one was audio only. one was animated. and then... oh my god.
the third one showed him sitting across from the interviewer at a table. he was wearing a mask. but it was him. really him. without thinking, you clicked on it. and just like that your nervous system was spiraling all over again.
and then he spoke. not through a song. not through lyrics. just his voice.
your breath caught in your throat. it was deeper than you'd imagined. calm. confident. exactly the way he'd been texting you.
you couldn't stop watching.
the way he leaned back in his chair. the way his hands moved when he talked. the muscles in his arms catching the light, even more defined than in the few photos you'd seen online. he really was that tall. that built.
for a second it almost didn't feel real that this was the same person waiting in your dms.
the interviewer described him as one of a kind. someone who'd already changed the sound of an entire genre. big words. for someone who had somehow found his way into your life overnight.
you were still trying to process all of it when your phone buzzed. you didn't even have to look at the name. you already knew. the same voice echoing from your laptop was now waiting for you on your lock screen.
you picked up your phone. and the moment you read his messages, a shiver ran down your spine.
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2hollis: a little blood just makes the seal stronger
2hollis: you know what you're getting yourself into, princess?
