ghostykapi

[ghostykapi]

my wife :(( will have a solo :((( my heart 💖💞💖💞💖💞💖 too much love

[ghostykapi]

the tzuyu fic staring at me like that omg 😮‍💨

[ghostykapi]

HOW R WE FEELING (i’ve exploded over fomo and thro twit)

twice x katseye interaction at lolla how do i make this about me.....

[ghostykapi]

in this twice shit for life i swear

[ghostykapi]

what if we post together 💖💞💖 soon 💞💖💞

missing twiceblr extra hard today might need to write a twice fic to feels something

[ghostykapi]

Cat

[ghostykapi]

Girl, bakit gising ka na? HAHHAHAHAH

:D ERM!

[ghostykapi]

di ko naman yata ikamamatay, kung di ko mahawakan ang iyong kamay

minsan lang ito guys

sophia will never learn how to un-love you.

that doesn't mean she has thought of it.

not by the choir in the church your families frequent to every sunday, maybe by the cafe you say you love to frequent, the mall that you go to every time you both save enough money from your allowances, her favorite restaurant a city away, her childhood home, your childhood home.

she only stops the thought every time she looks up, and realizes that she isn't back home, but in the walls of the rehearsal room.

"handa 'kong mabuhay sa aking kalohohan" manon hears her mumble once though, when the train of thought hasn't fully leave her head "kung wala ka sa 'king buhay, walang kalungkutan."

if it's not the thought of learning how to un-love you, it's just the thought of you.

you who had just graduated from college, and while she never understood how one color made your eyes pop, she can not deny how your eyes fit the yellow hood of your toga.

once, dani caught sophia staring at her phone. your smile her home screen, thumb frozen in the air, her lips parted and is on the way to pray a prayer she knows you would laugh at four years ago.

you who had posted months before a picture of the painting you both painted together, put up on display in your room, the caption a line that had brought the only hope she can have.

'ako'y maligaya, sapat na sa akin'

sometimes, the thought of you comes sharp and fast.

when lara and megan play fight and run around when the rest are tired, she has swallow in a sob. she does it successfully every time, but she remembers both of your laughs, the side of your stomach hurting from laughing too much, the sun kissing your skin the way she wishes she can do until the afterlife

lara and megan only see it in the corner of their eyes, the way sophia mumbles these lines every time that thought happens

"sapat na sa akin"

when she stares at her coffee, she thinks of you, your smile at her when you first give her your very first attempt at her favorite order in the cafe near school

"di na aaminin"

when she stares at the picture of both of you by her bedside table, where you both are in your pajamas in her room. where everything and nothing happened

"di na aaasa"

here is a thought that she will never think of

a thought of you sending her one last message years ago, before you met the cold. a feeling you knew came sooner or later, even if her promise said otherwise.

she will never know nights after, your parents and her own stare helplessly as you wail into the blue varsity jacket she has left to you. her name the only chant you have, the only prayer you will know.

"if you left me and i only had your jacket to remember me by" you turn to face her when you were both 16, doe eyes staring back at you just for you to be haunted by them forever. "i'll sell it at a high price just to book the ticket to bring you back to me"

your custard yellow varsity jacket sits in her closet, untouched out of fear of collapse.

sophia, leader of katseye, is strong, resilient, and gorgeously confident, cannot for the love of the lord learn how to un-love you, even when she cannot see you anymore.

"di ko naman yata ikamamatay" she sings softly when she cooks your adobo every sunday night, the ghost of your instructions stitched into her heart and to her hands

yoonchae watches ten steps away, watching the bits of the past that haunt sophia, the ones that will never leave her, bring out yearning only she can understand now

"kung hindi ko mahawakan ang iyong kamay"

sophia will never learn how to un-love you

she will only know the echo of your laugh, the fire in your eyes, the sweetness in your words, the softness of your lips, the saltiness of your tears that comes with her heart

so she won't die when she can't hold your hand, but she wishes you won't hold anyone else's hand, not until she's brave enough again

[ghostykapi]

thoughts on using ai in fics? :)

i've answered this before but i believe ai is antithetical to the purpose and reason for art in all capacities. whether that's music, painting, writing, dancing, etc etc.

it's a means of self expression and i believe much of art is also about the artist. especially when you dig deeper and explore their backgrounds, beliefs, culture, etc. using ai to write fics is actually enraging to me bc it lacks intentionality and authenticity. from my perspective its disingenuous and honestly not worth my time to read.

i'd rather people label their fics as ai generated if unforunately they do post it, so that at least i'll avoid it.

i'd also rather read 1000 shitty wattpad poorly formatted fics than ever touch a single ai generated fic.

[ghostykapi]

iii. true love waits (eutychia’s version)

synopsis: after a car crash leaves sophia with no memory of the past three years, y/n wakes to a wife who no longer remembers their life together. now, y/n must decide if she can live through falling in love with sophia again — this time, without knowing if she ever will.

warnings: nde, helios angst, swearing, violent scenes, read at your own risk ⚠️

a/n: ending 1

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the tv was still on, your wedding tape playing too loud for the empty room. you didn’t know why you hadn’t turned it off yet; maybe because the noise made everything feel a little less final.

the divorce papers sat on the table like it had always belonged there. your thumb hovered near the corner, the skin under your nail stinging from where you had been pressing too hard.

you needed to feel something - anything real.

sophia was divorcing you; it was like saying the sun was cancelling itself and forgetting your own name.

you picked it up with shaky hands, unfolding the pages slowly, each one rustling like dry leaves and for a second you couldn’t read the words. your eyes glazed over, heart pounding in your ears louder than the tv.

so that was it, really. she didn’t even want to know if maybe the memories might come back someday. packed up her memories, what little she had left of you, and returned to a house you used to mock for being too big and too cold.

the tears hit before you could brace for them. your whole body folded in on itself, chest heaving like it had no idea how to keep you alive through this. you pressed your hand over your mouth, trying not to wake the neighbours or the sky or whatever the fuck was left of you.

a noise broke from your throat, ugly and hoarse; grief trying to climb out.

you hadn’t even said goodbye properly, not to the woman who used to laugh into your neck after brushing her teeth, who licked vanilla icing off your nose on your second anniversary, who said ‘this is it, this is home’ while standing barefoot in the kitchen, brushing flour off your cheek.

the last thing sophia said to you was “wait -“
and you did, even when your world ended.

the pen didn’t even hesitate, it felt like mercy granted to yourself. it would make her happier, she could move on, and maybe that was all you were good for now — someone to love her when she didn’t know how and someone to let go when she didn’t want to remember.

you folded the papers, placing them back in the envelope and sealed it.

then you grabbed a blank sheet of paper and began writing a letter. not to change her mind…just to put things somewhere; somewhere outside your own chest.

-

my dearest sophia,

i’ve been sitting in the kitchen for hours now. the kettle’s gone cold twice. i keep meaning to get up, but then i look at the chair across from me — your chair; the one you used to drag a little closer just so our knees would touch like it wasn’t enough to be in the same room, you had to be close.

i keep thinking if i sit here long enough, you’ll come back. you’ll walk in barefoot and sleepy and ask me what’s for breakfast.

but i think i’ve finally understood now, that this is it. this is where we end.

life caught up with us too fast because we were too young, too tired, too hopeful. and maybe, in some quiet corner of the universe, this was always waiting for us.

what we had…god, sophia, it was the kind people spend lifetimes searching for. you were the most beautiful soul i’d ever known, and i’ll never stop missing the sound of your laugh —

that obnoxious, loud and reckless laugh you let loose in my first ever class. how was i supposed to know that girl would one day become my wife?

thank you for choosing me, even if it wasn’t forever.

by the time you read this, the divorce papers will be with you. that’ll be the end of our story on paper, i suppose, but you’ll never really be gone from me.

if the future is kinder to us, if your world ever makes room for me again, i hope i’ll be able to look at you from across the street, smile, and mean it when i say: i’m happy for you.

i love you still. i love you always. i’ll see you soon.

love,

y/n

-

the tv continued casting light across the apartment; your apartment, not hers anymore. it played the wedding tape in the quietest loop, you didn’t realise how many times it had restarted until the vows began to sound slurred in your memory.

you lifted the glass to your lips. it was your fourth. or maybe your fifth. it didn’t matter.

all you could taste was bitterness. and something sweet, something like the vanilla from the cake you both smeared across each other’s cheeks that day.

you laughed, you cried and you promised a forever. and she meant it. you know she did.

the letter was already sealed and folded neatly into the divorce envelope as you curled up on the rug, knees to your chest. you stayed like that until the silence felt unbearable, until the wedding tape stopped mid-sentence and didn’t bother restarting.

the screen went black. and your reflection stared back at you: red-eyed, trembling and alone. that was when you decided: you needed her to read it tonight.

it was cold as soon as you slammed the door close. the air bit at your skin as you stumbled down the familiar street, papers clutched to your chest.

your limp and your drunk state slowed you down as your breath fogged the air. it had rained earlier and it was probably going to again, but still you walked.

she would’ve been so angry if she saw you like this. you could almost hear her: “what the hell were you thinking?”

her brows pulled tight, hands flaring in that dramatic way that made her look even more beautiful.you used to kiss her when she got like that, laugh and say: “you’re so hot when you’re mad.”

but she wasn’t yours anymore. “my wife…” you whispered to no one, to the empty street. “i lost my wife.”

you stumbled near the edge of the pavement, breath hitching. it hit you then, like it hadn’t in all the days before.

how cruel — to have the love of your life taken from you without warning, to still see her alive and breathing, but not know you anymore.

you laughed, sharp and cracked. “you wanted a dog. we never got a dog, maybe i’ll get one after all this.”

your foot caught the curb wrong. you tripped slightly but kept walking, kept talking — to yourself, to her ghost, to the weight in your chest.

you didn’t see the headlights until they were too close and it all happened too fast.

one second you were mumbling to the night air, soaked in old memories and cheap wine, and the next; a horn blared, sharp enough to cut clean through the haze and you saw your whole life in the split second before the headlights swallowed you.

sophia, curled on the couch, feet tucked under your thigh, mouthing the words to alewife; how she would whisper i’m here into your shoulder when you were too anxious to speak; you saw the way her hair looked in the morning, messy and shining and how your fingers always itched to touch it.

you saw your old apartment, the one with no heating and broken blinds and your wife spinning around in it barefoot, singing some 2000s love song at the top of her lungs like the whole world was just the two of you.

you saw your whole life and every single one of them had her in it.

every single one.

you thought: god, if this is it, at least i loved her.

at least you loved her right.

but before the impact, you felt a yank so forceful your arm nearly popped out of its socket. your feet slipped out beneath you, back slamming against something warm and solid. your head spun, your vision too blurry to process anything except for the thundering in your ears and the fact that you were not, in fact, dead.

then came the sting, your cheek snapping sideways under the weight of a palm, it was loud enough to shock the breath out of you.

you blinked, dazed, the cold air punching your lungs and everything went quiet except the sound of someone sobbing.

your eyes were slow to adjust, but when they did — it landed on sophia.

her hand was still half-raised, chest rising and falling like it couldn’t keep up; face streaked with tears, hair messy, eyes wide and furious and full of something that looked a lot like fear.

her hands shook as she finally grabbed your shoulders, voice hoarse from crying. “what the fuck is wrong with you?” she yelled, over and over, like repetition would help her understand. “what the fuck were you thinking?”

your mouth opened but nothing came out. the honk of the car still rang in your ears, distant and echoing. the driver had already sped off, shouting something you didn’t catch - it didn’t matter.

“i — sophia,” the world spun slightly as you tried to speak. “i didn’t see it, i swear. i wasn’t trying to —”

“you were right there, y/n. you could’ve fucking died. is that what you wanted?!” her hands flew up, dragging through her hair. “you weren’t even looking —”

you swallowed hard. her grip on you was bruising because she didn’t know where else to place her panic. then, her hands moved frantically; pressing into your arms, your face, your chest like she was making sure you were still there.

“i thought —” she choked on the rest, eyes wide and wild. “i thought you —”

you shook your head. “i wasn’t trying to…i was just walking. i didn’t see it.”

“don’t you ever —” she tried to say something else but broke off into a quiet sob. “don’t you fucking dare ever do that again.”

“i’m so sorry,” you mumbled in shame.

but she wasn’t hearing you anymore.

she pressed her fingers to her temple, eyes fluttering shut like something struck her deep inside. her knees buckled a little, breath shallowing.

“hey…hey, soph —” you tried to steady her, the fear returning like a second tide.

“fuck,” she hissed, her eyes flew open, darting and glassy. “i…i can’t — it hurts —”

“what hurts?” you were terrified.

she was somewhere else entirely.

her face contorted like she was trying to swallow an entire ocean. you watched it happen in real time: the silent flickers in her expression, the way her eyes moved around like she was seeing two versions of the same world.

she staggered again but you held her in place.

and then: “you burnt the eggs,” she muttered suddenly.

your mouth parted. “what?”

“you burnt the eggs,” she repeated, blinking rapidly. “the first time i let you cook. you were so proud and i still ate it. and lied.”

at first, you thought she was just mumbling. maybe from adrenaline and the slap that still stung faintly across your cheek. but then her breathing changed and her eyes weren’t looking at you — they were looking through you, around you, into you.

“you took me to that cursed bed and breakfast in tagaytay,” she kept going, voice rising now. “and i pretended to love it, but it had a shared bathroom and no aircon. you thought it was romantic —”

“sophia…”

“you held my hand under the table when my mum said something cruel. we ran through the city in the rain, barefoot, laughing. you smelled like coconut shampoo and peppermint tea.”

your chest caved in. something inside you collapsed so quietly it didn’t even make a sound.

she looked up at you, eyes brimming with more tears. “i remember.”

the street was still and it felt like you were watching your own life from outside your body. she moved closer, hands cupping your face as her thumb brushed the sting on your cheek where she slapped you, her touch trembling.

“i hit you,” she whispered, horrified.

you nodded slowly. “a little bit.”

a breath shuddered out of her; she let out a small, broken laugh that dissolved into tears. “i thought i was going to lose you.”

you didn’t know what to do with your hands. they hovered, unsure, until finally you rested them on her wrists.

“i’m sorry,” you apologised.

“i remember everything,” she whispered. “all of it. us. i remember our vows, your laugh and your stupid obsession with raspberry-scented dish soap. i remember waking up next to you and thinking: this is it. this is what forever feels like.”

you moved closer, gently holding her face now. your sophia.

“and the night we got married —” she sobbed. “i remember you crying when everyone else had left. i remember how scared you were, i remember you saying, ‘don’t let go of me, no matter what.’ and i said ‘never.’”

you were crying now too.

“i said never,” she whispered again. “and then i forgot all of it. i forgot you — i’m so sorry.”

“you came back,” you choked out.

she nodded into your shoulder. “you never left.”

“the papers —” you whispered, voice raw. “you said you wanted the divorce, i signed them…just in case you still wanted to.”

sophia blinked at you, dumbfounded.

“what papers?” she asked. it was barely a joke, but her mouth tugged into the smallest, softest smile.

you stared at her. at this ridiculous, beautiful woman with snot on her face and mascara smudged and cheeks flushed from crying. your sophia; your wife; your girl who laughed too loudly and hugged too tightly and always apologised with a pastry in hand.

and you burst into tears.

“i thought you would be happier without me.”

she pulled you into her arms like it was the only thing she had ever known how to do. your face buried in her neck, her fingers threading through your hair.

“you idiot,” she whispered, voice shaking. “you’re my wife.”

you nodded helplessly, clutching her tighter. “i’m your wife.”

and for the first time in weeks, months, forever — it felt like something had come home. perhaps, the sun hadn’t cancelled itself after all.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the end.

[ghostykapi]

tanginang ulan na yan panira ng writing ko bastos

[ghostykapi]

just wanted to let you know I think about your twice hcs of them finding an engagement ring like at least a few times a month. it's been so long since it came out yet I still think about it a lot 😭😭😭 omg I miss twice hcs and twice fics in general. I need more delulu ass hcs/fics of twice 🤭🤭

hehe wait for a few more days nonnie i’ll give you something

thank u for letting my work live rend free in ur mind mwa mwa

[ghostykapi]

Doctor’s Orders

Doctor Momo x fem!reader

Word count: 6.2k

Filth/Smut

Summary: You have a doctors appointment that’s supposed to be a routine check up, but it doesn’t go according to plan.

TW: medical kink, gyno, power dynamics, slight teasing, degrading, possessiveness, impact play, spit, straps, ejaculating straps, collar and leash, bondage with a belt, breeding, gags out of an object you wouldn’t expect, implied squirting, uhm uhm uhm, knife play (kind of? For like a split second)

AN: I wrote a version of this a year ago for a lovely human who shan’t be named and since yall said not to be shy, here is some freaky business for you. Feedback is always appreciated and thank you for taking the time to read it! Mwah mwah mwah!

The rattling of the bus doors pulls you out of your dissociative state, reminding you that your stop was soon. The rain cascading down the windows provides a calming white noise aside from the murmurs of the strangers surrounding you.

One more stop and you’d have a block's walk to the doctor’s office, a new office that you’d never been to before. Though you were excited when you heard that there was going to be a location closer to your house, you hated the idea of going to a location out of your standard route.

The squeaking of the brakes signals you that your stop is approaching, gathering everything, making sure you don’t leave anything behind- you stand and make your way to the front.

The rain had lightened up, merely sprinkling lightly against your skin. The rhythmic tapping of droplets into the puddles on the roads was matching your footsteps towards the complex- pitter pattering as the view of the office becomes clearer.

The building was a little smaller than the previous one, a stand-alone structure with a black roof, lanterns hanging by the entrance, and a big white door with a stained glass window built into it.

Pulling the door open, gently closing it behind you, you’re met with a woman sitting at reception in black scrubs and a lovely smile.

“Welcome in! Do you have an appointment?” cheerfully rings out into the empty room, almost startling you with how loud it was.

“Yes…I transferred from the other office to this one, my name should already be on file.”

“Perfect! I’ll just grab your ID and get you checked in, it shouldn’t be too long. You’re our last appointment for the day.” Reaching for the card you were about to hand her, you see a flash of her name tag.

“Chaeyoung” quickly typed in your information and handed you back your ID. Turning around and sitting down in one of the modern chairs placed neatly in the first row of the waiting area.

The building outside might have been quaint, but the inside was sleek and stylish.

Black and white color scheme with hints of pink scattered throughout the room, accents of pink on the faux leather chairs lining the walls, a white table with a few magazines scattered on its granite top, small TV’s lowly rumbling about women’s health and faux plants in the corners.

Zoning out on whatever program was on, you barely heard the receptionist call your name.

“Ma’am, are you ready?” Holding the black wood door open for you to stroll through.

“It’s going to be the first door on the left!” Letting you navigate the hall while she locks the front door, hearing it latch as you find the room labeled “1A”.

Walking into the room, you note the pictures of the ocean hanging on the wall, the attempt at a relaxing vibe was sort of silly. It was a gynecology office, there was no relaxing here.

Placing your bag down on one of the chairs, laying the jacket you were wearing over one of the arms, and finding a seat at the end of the table, stirrups out and ready for you. The intimidating nature of them countering the “calm” feeling.

“I know..I tried to tell Dr. Hirai that it was…a choice… to have them up already…She was very adamant about it. She’ll be in soon.” Cut through the air, causing you to jump, almost out of your skin.

Arms holding yourself as you whip around, its just the small girl from reception… she must’ve caught up with you after locking the door.

A warm smile, a light giggle and a quick wave goodbye before she closes the door and you’re left to wait for the doctor to show up.

Happy that you brought your switch, being able to play animal crossing while you waited for the Doctor, who took longer than expected. Almost 45 minutes before there was a knock at the door.

At least you got most of the beetles you were looking for while waiting.

The door creaks open and the most stunning woman walks in. Long dark hair tied up in a bun, blunt bangs across her forehead, and cheekbones that would make anyone swoon.

She was wearing a fitted blue turtleneck, black dress slacks and some black strappy heels. The way the sweater hugs her frame makes you tense. Not even bothering to look up from the clipboard in front of her when she starts speaking to you.

“Good Evening, I’m Dr. Hirai Momo. Just here for a yearly visit?” Her voice rings in your ears like angels singing.

So stunned you barely even heard the words that came out of her mouth, you just sit and stare at her, mouth agape and palms sweating, lost in her features.

Finally prying her eyes from the clipboard, she looks directly into yours. Big, brown, kind eyes fall on you. The eye contact lasts for a moment before she looks you up and down.

*Did she just check me out?*

Silence between the two of you, she smiles at you politely and you return the gesture. She tilts her head at you slightly, seemingly confused by what you just did when you realize she’s waiting for you to answer her.

“Oh! Uhm…Yes.” not even sure what you were agreeing to.

Chuckling at your response, she checks a few things off her clipboard before she takes your vitals.

“I’m going to check your blood pressure and ask you a few questions before I have you change into one of these gowns.”

All you can do is nod your head, listening to her and watching her as she waltzes across the room to grab the sphygmomanometer and walks over to you.

Lifting your arms without hesitation, eyes still not leaving her while she fixes the device to your arm and pumps it full of air. Grabbing her stethoscope and listening for the sounds of your blood rushing through your veins.

Releasing the air before the sound of the Velcro echoes through the room, grabs a pulse oximeter and places it on your finger, and sits down in front of you.

“So you normally go to the other office?”

“Usually, this one’s a little closer to my flat so I figured it might be easier.” voice shaking out of nervousness, worried she might pick up on the way you’re staring at her.

The monitor on your finger beeps and she grabs your hand to read it. The softness of her skin on yours makes you wet, clenching your legs together subtly enough for her to not notice.

It does cause your heart rate to spike, and that doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Well your BPM is a little high…should we try it again?” Giggling at you with an air about her that says she knows exactly what set your heart off.

Bright red grace’s your cheeks, “no no, it’s fine”

“Alright, I’ll step out so you can change.” Leaving as quickly as she came.

—

Stripping and putting the gown on, you sit back up on the table, kicking your feet, and leaning forward with your hands on either side of you. Humming the animal crossing theme while you wait.

A soft knock at the door and a “Are you ready for me?” sends a shiver down your spine.

“Yes, come in!” shouted back through the door, maybe a little too loudly.

You shield your face in embarrassment at the unintentional excitement of seeing her again.

The door swings open and she steps through the threshold, now wearing something different. A black wife pleaser with the same slacks and shoes as before, lab coat in hand.

The tanktop hugs her body in an even better way than the turtle neck, exposing her arm muscles and her cleavage.

“See you tomorrow, Chae! Have a good night!” waving off the cute receptionist, fixated on the way her arms were holding her lab coat up.

Her collarbones were immaculate, leading into smooth and creamy skin of her chest that looked so soft. You were tempted to reach out and touch.

Dr. Hirai turns her attention back over to you, catching you staring another time. She smirks before tossing the lab coat to one of the chairs.

“I’m not going to wear that, it’s too hot in here. I know that’s not exactly professional so I hope you’ll forgive me.” playfully said to you while she walks over to the counter where all her instruments were.

“I promise not to tell.”

“...good at keeping secrets then?” grabbing a pair of gloves from the box on the counter before turning around to face you.

Leaning with her back against the counter, legs crossed and slips one glove on with ease.

“Is there anything I should know about before we get started?” snapping the other glove into place and pushing a tray with instruments on it closer to you before she takes a seat on a small gray stool with wheels and scooting over to you.

“I don’t think so.”

“Alright, well if you think of anything, let me know.” tapping your shin to signal you that she was ready for you to lift your legs up into the stirrups.

Doing exactly that immediately, you almost blush at how fast your response time was. Dr. Hirai smirks for an unknown reason before grabbing a bottle of lube and putting some on her latex covered fingers.

“This might be a little cold but I just want to make sure you’re prepared for what’s to come.” reassuring you.

“You can lay back now.” another ask you listen to immediately, trying to get comfortable enough to pretend like there wasn’t an incredibly hot woman between your legs about to shove her fingers inside you.

The cold gel-like substance is spread along your vulva and entrance with a small tease to your hole.

Feeling her run smooth circles around your sex, her fingers brush over your clit and you jolt at the sensation and you can feel yourself getting wet.

“Sensitive, are we?”

“Maybe just a little”

“Don’t worry, most people are. I’m going to slip a finger in now, is that okay?”  halting her movements to make sure that you were comfortable.

“Yes, that’s fine.” agreeing to the act.

How are you going to act like you’re fine when she is so ethereal and she’s about to have her fingers inside of you?

How are you going to keep your mind from wandering about what her lips would feel like on you?

Red lipstick marks across your neck while she’s knuckle deep in you playing with your cervix.

Feeling her finger enter you, you clench and she freezes. Giving you a second to adjust.

“Are you okay?” another moment of reassurance.

“Yes, I’m fine.” swallowing to try and regulate your shaky voice and your breathing as she continues to push her finger into you.

Feeling the knuckles on her other finger touch you, she starts to smear the lube around inside of you. Feeling pressure on your g-spot, you furrow your brows. Was she…fingering you?

“I know, I know. It’s just to add a little bit of natural lubrication too. Is that okay?”

“Yes”  catching the moan in your throat before it could escape.

“I’m going to add another finger.” this one she slips in without waiting for you to agree, causing you to almost whimper.

“You’re tense.” stoically said to you from between your legs.

“Sorry. I…uhm. I didn’t know that the doctor…I mean..you…would be so…pretty.”

Dr. Hirai lets out the sweetest giggle you’ve ever heard, like music to your ears as she continues to turn and twist her fingers inside of you. Spreading the lubricant around and coating everything she touches.

“That’s cute.” pushing against your g-spot again, this time you do let out a very slight sound that doesn’t go unnoticed.

“What was that?” taunting you, a tone you weren’t expecting her to take.

“Nothing! Nothing.” panicked in your response.

“Sounded like something.” there is now a soft rhythm to the way her fingers are moving.

Feeling the latex of her gloves against you and coated in your slick only makes you enjoy it more, thoroughly drenching her gloves in your essence.

“Alright, I’m going to use the speculum now. It might be uncomfortable but I’ll be as quick as possible.” reaffirming you and letting you know that comfort was her priority.

Dr. Hirai takes the metal device, adds lubricant to it, and slips it inside of you. Involuntarily thrusting your hips down on the cold metal, you hiss at the temperature change, enjoying the iced feeling of the metal being inserted but the good-looking doctor in front of you.

“Seems like we might not have needed that extra lubricant after all.” winking at you before slowly opening the device so she can see your cervix.

Watching her as she removes her hand, you can see a string of your slick attaching her glove to you. This makes you clench around the metal. That also doesn’t go unnoticed.

“You like this, don’t you? Have a thing for doctors?” more teasing and less work now.

She’s got her eyes on you, sliding her fingers together and playing with the slippery mess you left behind on the off-white material.

Dr. Hirai pulls her fingers apart and watches as the slick strings stretch and break between them, smirking while doing so.

“And if I say yes?” challenging her.

Her attention snapping to your face immediately, you get the pleasure of watching her eyes sharpen as she stares daggers into you.

“You know, based on the amount of lubricant you can create with a few small touches, I’d say you’re pretty healthy.” Her hands are now placed on the back of your thighs.

Lifting them up to your chest, the fluorescent lights beaming down on you offers her the view that she *really* wanted.

“I just want to get a good look at what’s inside. One moment please.” holding you in place, making sure you stay exactly where she wants you.

“Everything looks good…but something does seem to be missing…” calmly stated as she looks down and directly into you.

“Can you fix that?” not really caring at what was “missing” just needing her hands to be on you for as long as possible.

“Is that permission to do so?” one eyebrow cocked at you and that same devious smirk from before painted across her face.

“I consent to your terms, *Doctor*.” inflection on the title she had changed her demeanor rapidly.

You are still completely pried open by the device, Dr. Hirai hovers over your entrance and looks right into your eyes.

Keeping eye contact with you, she lets her spit drip right off her tongue and into your pussy.

Feeling the warmth of her saliva deep inside of you sends you reeling. A long, loud, whine following the few gasps made from feeling it trickle down your walls.

Thankfully the receptionist left before this.

“I think we are done with this” tapping on the device and letting the vibrations pleasure you very lightly while you clench around it, absolutely aching for some form of stimulation from her.

“It looks like your muscles are reacting the way they should but I’d like to see that for myself.” removing the device without letting it close all the way, making it sting a little when she takes it out of you.

Aching, you crave the feeling of fullness. Wanting her to be inside of you, you whine-  borderline beg her without using your words.

“Don’t whine.” Stoically stated through gritted teeth.

“Stand up.”

Trying to keep your wits about you, you do as you’re told. Standing up next to the table, legs shaking, when she wheels over to you. Dr. Hirai pats her thigh, instructing you to straddle her.

Finding a comfortable place on her thigh, she grabs your forearms and throws them around her neck so you can have some form of leverage. Placing her hands on your waist, she grabs you harshly and pulls you forward. Gliding across her black slacks leaving a glossy trail of cream and wetness along her flexed thigh.

“Look at how wet you’re getting my pants, darling. I bet you can drench them.” guiding you to grind down on her harder than before.

“Be a good girl and make a mess on me, slut.”

Muffling your moans was hard enough but watching her slacks get soaked from you made it even worse. Whining and whimpering at every pass, rubbing your clit on the soft fabric was adding to your hunger for her.

Your hands still around her neck, one of her hands comes up to pinch your nipples through your gown, already hardened from the rough canvas of the gown rubbing up against them.

“You’re so excited for this, aren’t you?” Watching the way you struggle to compose yourself.

“You’ve been dreaming of this, huh? A doctor touching you like this during an exam? Did you ever think this would happen to you today?”

Shaking your head no, trying to focus on what she was saying instead of the pleasure she was giving you was one of the hardest things you’ve ever tried to do, and you were just trying to not seem too fucked out already but her words fade in and out with each grind against her leg.

“Stop.”

Freezing in place, she guides you to stand up.

“Lay down…now.”

Dr. Hirai watches as you quickly lay down on the table again, placing your heels in the stirrups once more and scooting down so your pussy is close to her.

A darkened laugh leaves her lips, the glare only adds to the pathetic demeanor and desire you held for the authority figure in front of you.

She spits on her latex covered fingers and toys with your clit lightly before slowly pushing her digits into you, feeling the stretch of her fingers was enough to send you spiraling.

Harshly pressing two fingers against your G-spot and watching as you clench around her gloved fingers and squirm underneath her.

“I think you can do a little better, baby. Don’t you?” lowering herself slowly to build anticipation of what was about to happen.

“Is this what you want? Hm?” a single sluggish lick up your clit makes both of you moan.

“You taste so good, angel.”

Moaning at the pet name, you grip her hair and push her down into you. Becoming impatient at the lack of her mouth on you.

“That’s not how you ask for that.”

Her hand flies down and smacks you directly on your clit.

“Count them out.” her tone transformed to something stern, cold, and threatening.

Another sharp swat.

“Two” breathed out, trying not to sound like you like it too much.

Another smack, harsher and more rage filled.

“Three” wincing at the growing sting between your legs.

The next slap was the hardest of them all, splattering your slick on her forearms and your thighs, radiating through your entire body - sparks catching fire to every nerve you have.

“*Fuck*- Four” Gasping and muffling a groan that was stuck in your throat, unwilling to admit how much this was pushing you into a subspace.

“Good girl…you are my good girl, aren’t you?” quizzically spoken to you in a tranquil manner that sent you spiraling, the sweet and aggressive combination was enough to drive you mad.

“J-Just want to be your good girl, Doctor.” Nodding your head aggressively and trying to keep your word steady, you’d let her do whatever she wanted to.

Dr. Hirai’s fingers are still inside of you, pumping in and out much faster than before. Unable to help yourself, you buck your hips with the tempo she’s keeping for you.

“I think maybe we should check your pulse again” keeping her fingers inside of you while she stands, reaching up to wrap your hands around your throat and pulling you up by your neck.

Face to face with you, merely centimeters apart, she just can’t contain herself. Roughly kissing you, forcing her tongue in your mouth and growling into you with primal need.

Dr. Hirai removes her hand from your neck, grabs the collar of the gown and forcefully tugs down, ripping it right down the middle all the way down. Splitting the fabric into two pieces and letting it fall down the sides of the table.

Writhing underneath her touch, you can’t contain the sounds your lungs have been trying to choke back this entire time.

The belligerence in her movements makes you want to spread your legs and let her bruise you from the inside. Your hands are grasping at her, desperately trying to pull her closer to you.

Removing her fingers out of your pussy, she takes her glove off slowly being sure to leave the slick covered side out and in your view.

Walking over to the side of you, she hoists her leg over your thighs and straddles you. Grabbing your neck again, pulling you up so your faces almost touch, she utters a single phrase:

“*Open.”*

Without hesitation, you open your mouth and stick out your tongue. Her hand tightening around your throat, she spits right into your mouth before shoving the cum covered latex into your mouth.

“Maybe this will keep my whore quiet while I use her anyway I want.”

Her hand cocks back only to swing forward and connect with your cheek, the slap makes your ears ring, eyes to water, and your pussy gush, absolutely drenching the leather of the table you were preoccupying.

“The slut likes to be used, doesn’t she?” another slap across the face, this one hard enough for your tears to fly off your cheeks.

Leaning forward to pepper small light pecks down your neck, she takes a moment to admire you before she bites down into your chest, leaving massive bruised bite marks in her wake across your tits and neck.

“We will make sure everyone who sees these marks knows who you belong to, won’t we?”

Letting go of your neck, she gripped you with such force that it left a handprint across the front of your throat. Allowing your airways to clear enough for you to catch your breath and your tears to clear, momentarily.

Dr. Hirai stands and walks over to a locked drawer on the far left of the cabinets meant for tools, medical instruments and sterile objects, unlocking the door and pulling a large strap out of one of the drawers closer to the bottom, along with something else you couldn’t really make out.

Eye widened by not only the length but the girth…was that supposed to go inside you?

“Let’s see how much my slut can really handle.” removing her shirt and tossing it at you so it lands right in between your legs.

While you're staring at the shirt just stripped from her when you hear a faint jingling sound coming from Dr. Hirai across the room. Looking over to find her removing her belt from her slacks before letting the black pants fall to her ankles and hit the floor with a splat, still soaked from your “dry” humping.

She steps out of the trousers and fixes the strap to her waist. Walking over to you while fixing her belt so that it creates two loops, folding it into itself. She motions for you to put your wrists together between the two of you before slipping them over your hands and locking you into submission.

“No fights for me? Are you that much of a slut that you just let any doctor tie you up? Or is this just for me?” Antagonistically grabbing your face, chin resting in her palm, squeezing the sides of your cheeks with aggression.

“I don’t think anyone will touch you but me after today. They’ll know you’re owned, isn’t that right?” Bringing a black collar with pink accents up to your throat and fastening it one notch tighter than it should be.

A matching black leash falls to your side after she closes the latch around the ring on the leather.

Unable to respond, the glove gagging you stopped most coherent phrases from leaving your mouth, not that you were having them.

Watching as she reaches into her bra, pulling out a condom and ripping it open with her teeth. Sliding the blue colored latex onto the strap, up and over the tip and down to the base.

Reaching around her back and unclipping her bra and letting her breast free, you reach out to try and touch them with your hands still bound. She slaps your hand away from her and scowls, picking up your leash and harshly tugging on it.

“Don’t! You don’t have permission for that, slut” the tone of her voice makes you clench around nothing, aching for something- anything from her.

“Tell me, whore. Who do you belong to?” lifting the head of the strap and letting the weight of it slap down on your already swollen clit.

She’s very aware you can’t answer because of the makeshift gag shoved down your throat, she’s intentionally taunting you.

“Look how my toy drips for me” grinding her strap up and admiring the sounds of the ridges sliding up against your slick, dragging the head painfully slow down your folds watching you squirm underneath her.

Lifting your hips up against her, you try to catch the strap with your entrance but her hand pushes you down against the table by your abdomen and tugs on your leash again.

Leaning into you, she pushed the strap against your swollen bud with more force before while maliciously whispering: “Desperate pathetic cum slut can’t even beg it, too busy gagged on my glove covered in her own cum, huh?”

Involuntarily rocking your hips forward from pure need, whimpering, you watch as she pulls the straps harness to the side and starts gathering her own slick on her fingers.

“The sounds you make are so fucking divine, angel. Even being gagged, my whore makes the prettiest sounds” taking the hand Dr. Hirai had between her legs, she pulled the latex out of your mouth only to replace it with her slick covered fingers, forcing them into the back of your throat causing you to gag.

Without warning, she slides her strap into you. Slightly stretching you out as it pushes against your entrance before she slid her fingers from your mouth, down to the collar and grips it hard.

“Please, please, please” begging her to slam into you harshly.

Dr. Hirai takes her gloved hand and swings it down, cruelly slapping your breast, matching the movement she made of slamming into you. Much like her previous slaps, escalating in aggression with each pass.

She grabs your bound hands, bending them at your elbows and pushing them down into your chest to hold you in place. Slithering her torso between your legs and fixing her own elbows on your arms, her hands wrap around your throat on top of your collar, leaving the leash to hang.

“Can you take this, whore? Can you handle my fucking strap?” beginning to jackhammer into you, bruising your cervix more and more with each thrust.

The way her hips rut give a tinge of pain mixed in with the euphoria, Dr. Hirai is grinding into you and holding you down, overpowering you and forcing you to take her deeper and deeper with every single thrust.

The feeling is too overstimulating for you to try and hold back, you’re struggling underneath her and trying to escape the sensations, practically screaming under her.

“Fucking hold still!” Dr. Hirai pulls out of you entirely, hitting every single sweet spot inside you and causing you to squirt all over her stomach and thighs, a surprise orgasm even you didn’t see coming.

“Did you just cum without permission?!” Anger in her eyes, brows furrowed as she snarls the phrase.

*Uh oh.*

Scoffing at your body’s act of defiance, she violently flips you over so you are face down on the table. Feeling her lift your hips, she holds your ass up by the waist.

Getting up on the table with you, scooting you forward so she has room to kneel behind you.

A thick *smack* rings out, one after another after another before you can even register that she’s smacking your ass. Trying to turn your head to see her, she palms the back of your head and slams you back down into the table.

“Don’t *fucking* move.” hand firmly pushing you down into the table, you groan at the feeling of the dripping strap between your legs grazing your clit so gently, it takes everything you have not to thrust your hips down on it.

Feeling the head of the strap touch your folds, her fingers press down on your clit and start circling at a steady pace before she dips the tip into you and pulls out again, pulling your leash taut while she does it.

Elastic snaps a few times behind you, turning you head slightly you see the blue condom on her fingers before she brings them back to your cunt, circling your clit again before slamming into you once more.

The gasp you let out from the borderline excruciating feeling of being stretched. The thickness of the strap slipping in and out of you was almost too much to bear, pain and pleasure mixing into a deliciously messy cocktail and dripping everywhere.

“No cumming until I say so, understand?” feeling the second one building up already, you know she’s planning on dragging it out and making you suffer.

The feeling of her rubbing your clit and the strap hitting your G-spot was enough to throw you overboard.

No thoughts only Dr. Hirai and the way she’s ruining you from the inside out.

Her teeth dig into your back, leaving more bruises along your spine when you feel her pick up her pace even more.

Labored efforts push it as deep as it would go, she’s huffing into your skin and making it hard for you to control yourself.

“Please, can I cum? Please let me fucking cum!” begging for permission you knew you weren’t going to get.

Dr. Hirai pulls out of you completely, removes her hands from you, and slaps your clit so hard you jump and yanks so hard on your leash that you gag.

“Cum around my strap then, whore!” bottoming out completely inside of you.

Seeing stars, almost blacking out, you gush around her strap - drenching her and everything around the both of you.

The rapturous orgasm takes every bit of energy you have, turning heat into relaxation and horny-ness into a sleepy aftermath.

The only thing is, Dr. Hirai didn’t stop. Continuously thrusting into you at a deadly pace, overstimulating every part of your body to the point of pain.

“Wait…wai-”

“Shut the fuck up and sit still like a good whore. You aren’t finished until you’re bred full, do you fucking understand me, bitch?” holding you down with all her strength and slapping your ass as hard as she can for pushing back.

Unable to help yourself, you writhe underneath her. Dr. Hirai has had enough of your brattiness it would seem so she leans back and grabs something off the tray.

Laying all her weight on top of you, you feel something cold across your neck.

“I said, Dont. Fucking. Move.”

Pumping into you furiously with something at your throat, you try to hold as still as possible while she uses you like a toy. Hearing her panting behind you, you can tell she’s close.

“Need. To. F-Fill. My favorite. *Fu-uck-ing.* Toy. Need to. Breed. What’s. ***Mine.***” ****the breathy voice and her strokes in and out of you make you clench around her strap, making it hard for her to thrust.

One of her hands leaves you for a moment and when it’s placed back where it was, there’s a chill of bulbous plastic between her palm and your skin. Pushing it down as she thrusts into you…you now realize what’s happening.

That’s when you feel it, the warmth hitting your cervix and filling you as she came, squeezing the pump to fill you. Feeling it drip out of you was comparable to heaven, it has you gasping and cumming around her for the third time on this “normal” doctor's visit.

Both of you just trying to catch your breath, you hear metal clattering on the floor. Looking over to find a scalpel spinning from the inertia of being dropped from the lifted table.

“Did you hold a fucking scalpel to my throat?” glaring back at her, wide eyed and suddenly wet again.

“Maybe I did, but you loved it didn’t you, Mrs. Hirai?”

Completely gobsmacked at what your wife had just done, not thinking she’d ever go through with the one kink she’d always been so apprehensive about. All you can do is smile at her, knowing that she wanted to please you in any way she could.

“And an ejaculating strap too? Trying to satiate that breeding kink of yours or what?” Giggled out at she lays those feather light pecks on your collar bone.

“Maybe…or maybe I just wanted to claim you even more, hm?” Resting her head on your chest and lightly pushing her hips forward to press against your cervix again.

“So what do you want for dinner, baby?” She asks as you play with some of the locks of hair that loosened from her bun.

Suddenly she stand and starts pulling out of you, watching the cum leak out and humming with pride at the mess she’s made.

“Hot pot?” suggested through your clenched teeth, the emptiness you feel is louder than any other urge your body has.

The feeling of Momo pulling her strap out of you made you want to go another round and fight the hunger and sleep that was rearing its head.

“Sounds good, baby. Let me just…clean up a little. I didn’t expect you to make such a mess on this new strap.”

“How can I not when my beautiful wife is the one who’s wearing it?” winking at her seductively.

Momo giggles at you, rolling her eyes before kissing your forehead and going to get some sanitizer to clean up the mixture of fluids that you’d left all over the ground, the table, and most surfaces.

When she returns, she sets it all down and reaches out for you, pulling you into a hug and just holds you for a moment.

“Thank you for always being such a good girl for me, baby.” laying sweet pecks all over your cheeks and jaw.

“You did so good for me.” kissing you on the lips and beaming at you, strap still attached to her.

Meanwhile, your legs are jelly and your eyes are heavy. Your stomach growls at her loudly.

“And…when we get home from dinner I’ll make you a bath, just how you like.” Quickly starting to mop and disinfect the floor to rush, knowing you’re hungry after all she just put you through.

“And if you’re good at dinner…I’ll ruin you again when we get home.” Winking and continuing to clean up.

Slipping your clothes back on, you can help but admire your beautiful wife as she washes your cum off the floor.

Giggling at that thought, you walk up to her and lean into her. Momo smiles, pausing what she’s doing, and rests her head on yours before kissing it lightly.

“Maybe not ruin” the soreness is starting to creep in.

“Oop” Momo holds in a laugh, knowing she did well was something she always wanted.

“I’m a little sore…maybe just…” wedging yourself between her and the table she just devoured you on.

Grabbing her hands and tugging her close, you can feel her smile as your lips connect again gently.

“…something a little softer, hm?” Another light peck and a smile from her.

“Whatever you want, my love.” Momo tilts your head up with her fingers and kisses you one last time before continuing on her cleaning spree.

It didn’t take long for her to be finished and dressed again. This time in sweat pants she must’ve brought over to work with her this morning.

“Nice pants.” Winking at her and grabbing her hand as you walk through the building to the front door.

“Thanks. I had on some slacks earlier but someone made a mess on them.” Looking over at you and nudging you with her elbow.

Giggling as you get to the car, you can’t help but swoon at her.

The perfect wife…

And a damn good doctor.

[ghostykapi]

chat this better be a happy ending o mumultuhin q it2

ok lang po ba na masaya naman yung ending 🥹🥹 AWA NALANG PLSSS

trans: is it ok that the ending will be happy 🥹🥹 PLEASEEEE

HAHAHA i swear, very masaya ang ending

[ghostykapi]

true love waits

synopsis: after a car crash leaves sophia with no memory of the past three years, y/n wakes to a wife who no longer remembers their life together. now, y/n must decide if she can live through falling in love with sophia again — this time, without knowing if she ever will.

warnings: major car accident scene, helios angst, swearing, violent scenes, read at your own risk ⚠️

w/c: 30k+

a/n: this FUCK ASS APP just lost my entire final edit for the second part when i tried to save it, so i need to know whether you folks like this or not to get motivation to re-finalise the whole thing. i actually hate it here

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

if there was one thing you were certain of, it’d be this: your love was built out of ordinary sacrifices: quiet ones folded into the hours of waiting, the nights spent listening, and maybe, on a night like this, it looked like a beat-up car and a woman you’d follow anywhere.

it started out a cold winter night, the kind that made you pull your sleeves over your hands and breathe out just to watch the cloud of it disappear. the sky had already turned dark, and the city lights were just beginning to glow - scattered like someone had poked holes into the evening.

you spotted them standing huddled outside bestia before they saw you; five figures bundled up in heavy coats, their laughter misting into the air. and they looked like something out of a movie, framed under the warm golden light spilling from the restaurant’s windows.

your headlights swept across their faces, casting familiar shadows as you rolled up slowly in your battered camry, affectionately christened ‘jennilyn’ by sophia in the early days of your marriage; when everything between you was still new and exciting. the name had stuck, just like everything else that made no practical sense but felt like home.

the girls hollered immediately as soon as they spotted you, waving wildly — megan dramatically pretending to hitchhike while lara and daniela giggled at her antics. even from behind the windshield, you could see the way sophia’s eyes crinkled with affection watching them; it warmed something quiet in you.

"there she is!" yoonchae called out with a grin, stepping forward like she might open the door herself. "y/n finally decided to show up…five minutes early.”

“hey, i’m not rushing nobody,” you chuckled, shaking your head. “take your sweet time, i’ve got the patience of a saint for my wife.”

“six wives, actually,” manon corrected you, leaning toward the open window. "you skipped out on us. again."

“woah manz, my bad,” you gave a small shrug, keeping your smile easy. "and i’m under too much work. you know how it is."

it was easier to lie than explain that you had been running numbers in your head all afternoon, trying to figure out how to stretch your next paycheck across three weeks. between bills and materials for your next sculpture series, a dinner out just didn’t make the cut.

thankfully, none of them pushed you on it; they never did and you appreciated that more than you could say.

“alright, we’ll see you lovebirds on the weekend, right?” lara asked, your thoughts immediately trying to scramble what event was happening. then, with a sigh, like she knew what was going on: “y/n, it’s saturday wine night.”

“right, right…yes, we will be there. let’s go, my beautiful first wife,” you chuckled, stretching across the passenger seat to unlock the door for sophia.

“remember this weekend,” daniela eyed you firmly, opening the door wider for the filipina. “i’ll bring all the wine so don’t worry about getting one.”

you nodded, a sheepish smile plastered on your face. “yes ma’am, copy that.”

“see you lovelies, i love you all — please drive safe because the roads are slippery,” sophia blew them a kiss before hurrying in, her cheeks flushed pink from the cold, rubbing her hands together vigorously as she sank into the worn seat. “baby, please tell me the heater’s working."

“uhhh, about that,” you mumbled in embarrassment, turning the fob again just to double-check, though you already knew. “it actually stopped working about halfway here. the fan’s giving up on us.”

she groaned theatrically, slumping further into the seat with exaggerated despair. "she is literally dying. we are one frostbite away from needing a new car. babe, i love jennilyn, but she’s on life support.”

“she just needs a little encouragement,” you said, patting the dashboard like it might actually help. “and maybe divine intervention.”

she laughed softly. "you sound exactly like me when i was trying to get through finals week in undergrad.”

you smiled at her, grateful for the warmth of her laughter in the cold cabin as you shifted the car into gear, the engine groaning a little as you started driving. the sound had become something familiar over the years; almost somewhat comforting.

"we’ll think about a new car after the exhibit," you continued; the wind had picked up outside and whistled faintly through the gaps in the door seals. "if even one of my sculptures sells, maybe we’ll finally send jennilyn to a well-earned retirement."

"not if," she glanced at you, her profile outlined by the dim streetlights. “it’ll sell. it’s you. people just don’t know how good you are yet.”

her words meant more than she probably realised. she had always believed in you. sometimes, it felt like she was the only one who did.

you returned her smile, though a part of you ached silently — the persistent voice at the back of your mind whispering about all the things you couldn’t give her.

two years ago, sophia had traded a life of luxury and expectation for this: a worn-out camry, sporadic sales and late-night budget debates on your small kitchen table where the legs were slightly uneven. sometimes, when she was asleep on the couch beside you, a hand still curled around her phone, you wondered if she missed her old life, the one that ran like clockwork and you had inadvertently pulled her away from.

she chose clay-stained aprons and uneven floorboards instead — you still weren’t sure what you had done in this life to deserve it.

you cleared your throat, nudging the melancholy away. “so, how was dinner?”

she immediately perked up, twisting toward you with a familiar brightness in her eyes. “megan and lara are literally unhinged,” she began, shaking her head fondly. “lara kept making the waiter rate all our outfits out of ten. i won, of course, and manon tried to reason with her but that only made it worse. yoonchae started recording halfway through — she says she’s going to make it a tiktok series. daniela got there late but she promised to pay for dessert, so no one yelled. it was chaotic; you should’ve come.”

you chuckled, eyes focused ahead on the quiet stretch of road illuminated only by weak lampposts and the distant glow of city lights. “nah, you deserve some time alone with your friends. gotta give you space to complain about me sometimes, right?”

she laughed, smacking your arm playfully, the warmth of her palm lingering even after she pulled away. “baby! shut up, as if i’d have anything bad to say about you.”

you glanced sideways, catching the gentle sincerity in her eyes; your heart began to tighten in affection and the corners of your mouth turned upwards. “you never know.”

“i always know,” she tilted her head slightly as you waited at a red light. "so what did you do while i was gone?"

"honestly?" you asked, eyes still on the road. "bed rotted, missed you the whole time."

she smiled, her hand reaching over to rest lightly on your knee. "aww baby, i missed you too — oh, and they roasted your mug collection. again."

"it’s not a collection," you groaned, putting a hand up. "it’s a lifestyle."

"it’s weird," she laughed. "specially that mushroom one…the vibes are cursed."

"you bought it!”

“which was a mistake,” she was smiling out the window now. you could see her reflection faintly in the glass, and for a second, you thought of how beautiful she looked like this: unguarded, mid-laugh and fully herself as you watched the way the passing lights painted gold across her cheekbones, the way she relaxed into the seat like she belonged there — like this was still her favourite part of the night.

it was quiet for a while after that, but you remembered other times like this: when she would ride beside you after her shifts at the recording studio, her feet on the dashboard, eyes closed, humming to whatever played softly through the broken speakers.

these moments lived with you, exactly like old furniture - scratched up in the corners, but steady.

she straightened up, her voice speaking so low that you could almost hear the hesitancy in it. “so…my dad messaged me tonight.”

the words sat between you, weightless and unbearable. you nodded once, careful not to speak too quickly. the silence stretched and you knew she was watching you from the passenger seat, trying to read your face.

you didn’t give her much.

of all the ghosts sophia had, her father was the one you feared the most. a presence you learned to treat like broken glass; something sharp and far too close.

it still surprised you, sometimes, how soft she could sound when she talked about him.

even after —

you stopped the thought before it finished, hands gripping the wheel a little tighter. “yeah?”

"he wants to talk."

your hands stayed steady on the wheel. “are you ready for that?”

she shrugged, her fingers tugging at the sleeve of her coat. "i don’t know…i thought i’d feel less hurt by now, but it still makes me mad. it still feels new and i don’t think i could ever forgive him for that.”

in your chest, something twisted. not with anger — no, it hadn’t been anger for a long time. it was the same, deep ache that came whenever you remembered how much someone could hate you without knowing you at all.

how much they could take from you…just because they could.

you nodded slowly. “maybe they’re just checking if you regret marrying me.”

her head snapped towards you. “hey, don’t do that.”

you shrugged. “just saying.”

she touched your forearm lightly, a thumb dragging over the sleeve of your hoodie. “babe, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. you know that, right?”

you glanced at her briefly, her eyes were serious; they always got like that when she was drinking, just a little more honest than she meant to be.

“i know,” you sighed. and you did most days. “but you also loved them once, they’re your family. and i hate that i’ve driven you away from them.”

“and you’re my wife. whatever happened was unfair.”

"it was unfair," you said gently, closing your eyes at the sudden flashback. "but you don’t have to decide anything tonight. or tomorrow. just know that i’ll always be here for whatever choice you make.”

her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her coat, you knew her well enough to recognise that as nerves. she looked like she was about to say something else — like she might even cry a little, simply just from the ache of wanting two things at once — but the world shattered before the words could come out: headlights blazed across your windshield, bright and too sudden.

a car swerved into your lane out of nowhere, tyres shrieking against the slick road. without thinking, you yanked the steering wheel to the side but it was too late.

metal clanked against it each other as the other car made contact with your hood; it screamed as you lost traction and gravel tore beneath you. your hand reached for hers instinctively.

“wait —” her voice cracked in confusion, body tensing.

the collision stole the rest.

it folded with a horrifying crunch as glass sprayed across your vision. the impact immediately knocked the air from your lungs, made worse by your shoulder slamming into the door, pain blooming immediately.

there was a moment of pure chaos — motion and noise and sudden searing light.

then, stillness.

your vision flickered; tasting blood in your mouth. you weren’t sure if your body had stopped moving or if your brain had just disconnected from it.

a horn droned nearby, endless and disoriented. you were floating, somehow, consciousness slipping in and out - it wasn’t long before sirens began to wail in the distance.

someone was yelling but their voice didn’t sound real. you tried to move your hand across the console, searching for sophia’s but your fingers wouldn’t cooperate.

a figure moved across your vision. paramedic, maybe. you couldn’t feel your legs and couldn’t see clearly.

something warm and sticky was trailing down the side of your face and everything and nothing hurt at the same time.

but your thoughts — what little remained of it, at least, landed on one thing.

if you had known this would be the last time, you would’ve done everything differently:

you would’ve pulled over and waited, let her talk and say her goodbyes to her sisters a little longer and kissed her like it was the first time when she got in the car, you would’ve told her how she saved you just by showing up.

because you didn’t know it yet, but when sophia would open her eyes again, she wouldn’t know your name; wouldn’t remember your kitchen, the first night you stayed up until sunrise just talking in bed. she would forget the way you hold her hair back when she’s sick, the clay mug you made her that still sits cracked but proud in the hallway.

she would look at you like a stranger. and you, for all your quiet sacrifices, would have to start over again.

or perhaps, never.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

there was something unsettling about waking up slowly. it felt like coming up for air underwater, your consciousness swimming through heavy fog and pressing through layers of darkness until you broke the surface. you drew in a breath, sharp and sudden — your body immediately exploding with pain, radiating in pulsing waves that locked you in place.

your eyelids felt impossibly heavy, pulled down by medication and exhaustion. when you got to open your eyes, the room came into shaky and unfocused view: muted white walls and the hiss and beep of machines.

you tried to speak but no sound came out: only a dry, guttural rasp that scraped up your throat like sandpaper.

something was very wrong; you couldn’t speak and you couldn’t move your fucking legs nor your arms.

your mouth opened again; another gasp.

your chest began heaving, muscles protesting and heart pounding out a rhythm of helplessness. movement stirred nearby, fabric rustling and footsteps approaching.

blinking sluggishly, your forced your head to turn slightly toward the sound.

a familiar figure unfolded from a small, uncomfortable-looking blue couch in the corner, stretching stiffly. it was lara, rubbing sleep from her eyes, her sweatshirt wrinkled and messy from being used as a makeshift pillow.

beside her, manon sat up quickly, her phone falling to the floor as she reached your side in seconds. her eyes widened when she saw you blinking, chest hitching with pain and panic.

lara had stood the second you started gasping. “i’ll get the nurse —” she rushed out of the room.

manon cupped your face in both hands, gently holding your gaze. her voice stayed low, grounding. “you were intubated,” she explained softly, her voice shaking as tears pooled in her eyes. “you’ve been asleep for a week, they just took the tube out yesterday so your throat’s going to hurt. i know, i know, it’s scary — but you’re breathing on your own now. you’re okay.”

your eyes flooded with tears helplessly, vision blurring because it felt like you were living in a body that didn’t belong to you.

everything ached. and you were stuck in the fire: too awake for comfort but too weak to fight.

their footsteps rushed quickly and before you knew it, a nurse and a doctor followed lara back in.

the nurse checked your vitals while the doctor moved to your side. you listened as best you could while they spoke gently, more to lara and manon than to you.

turned out, you had been asleep for almost a week and intubated due to low oxygen levels. your throat was still recovering from it — hence the pain and inability to speak. there were fractures in your right tibia and left shoulder: crutches and a sling were your best options.

on top of that, you sustained bruised ribs and a concussion. the bright side was there was no internal bleeding, no spinal damage. your prognosis was somehow good; a full recovery was expected in no time.

when they left, the room felt softer again as if the world had narrowed back down to something you could manage.

lara stepped to your side, brushing a strand of hair from your face like it was instinct. her eyes were red, but she was trying to smile.

“sophia’s okay,” she mumbled, voice thick. “she’s stable now. it took a while, but…she made it. you both did. in fact, on the same day.”

she sat on the edge of the bed carefully, mindful of the tubes and the cast.

manon took your hand in hers, rubbing her thumb across your knuckles slowly. “she’s still out, they’ve kept her in a coma to let her brain heal properly. her injuries were bad too, but she’s strong.”

you blinked, trying to take it all in. the beeping of the machines; the ache in your bones; the sting behind your eyes.

sophia was badly hurt.

manon looked down for a moment. “the responders said…when they found you two, she had an unbuckled seatbelt. she must’ve done it that second, turned her body towards you. they think she was trying to shield you.”

your mouth opened slightly, but still, no sound.

lara wiped your tears gently with her sleeve. “rest, okay? you’re safe now.”

and you did…eventually. though your mind kept screaming for her name, your eyes fluttered closed, exhaustion tugging you under again.

rehab was slow, a bit humiliating, sometimes. your body still didn’t feel like yours — not yet. you were learning how to sit up without nausea and how to transfer from bed to chair with grace you didn’t have. your leg, still in a brace, felt like dead weight.

everything took longer than it should’ve - just getting dressed felt like a full shift at work.

the worst?

time moved like wet cement, your mornings bled into late afternoons and you started marking the hours by which friend would show up next.

they made it bearable.

each day, one of them showed up with something new: takeaway that didn’t taste like cardboard, a new playlist, a trashy magazine, a clip-on fan for your temporary wheelchair and boardgames.

manon downloaded puzzles onto your tablet and kept score on a folded piece of paper taped to your tray table; yoonchae insisted on giving you scalp massages while you watched reruns of grey’s anatomy; daniela brought weird snacks she smuggled in her coat — pepero, haw flakes, little slices of dried mango, she said she was building you a snack altar.

lara brought gossip. recent and messy ones: who was sleeping with who, who was soft-launching a breakup, who got banned from a certain club for throwing up on the bar. she was your link to the real world, your anchor to a version of life that didn’t smell like antiseptic and overcooked carrots.

and it was megan who made you move. she wheeled you out every afternoon whether you wanted to or not, said you ‘needed vitamin d’, you said she ‘was annoying’. she said she was ‘unemployed and had nothing better to do.’

sometimes, you both had a point so you would remain quiet.

you would circle the hallway, sometimes the garden. most often just the long corridor between wards.

she would ramble about her gym crush or her beef with the hospital café. it was concerning how she challenged old people in wheelchairs to races too because they won more than you did.

but every single day, without fail, megan stopped you by sophia’s room. didn’t have to ask, she just pushed the brakes on your chair, waited outside and let the silence settle in.

her room was quieter than yours; peaceful. her skin was paler, face softer in the absence of expression too. her dark hair was always braided or clipped back neatly and her lips slightly parted like she might be dreaming of saying something.

there were always flowers on the window ledge — some from other artists, a few from her friends at the studio and the rest from you.

most of the time, you brought her oranges even though she couldn’t eat it, just to fill the silence. your voice had come back slowly, albeit hoarse and unreliable, it was a reminder of the tube that had kept you alive.

it was often: “i love you, sophia, that’s all.”

and then nothing.

megan would place a hand on your shoulder. or squeeze your wrist. and that was enough to let you know it was time to go.

eventually, you began to move more throughout the days. you could sit up without support, eat on your own because the sling got taken out.

the nurses said you were progressing well; your leg would need a few more weeks, maybe months, but you would get full function back. after the crutches, you would need a cane to support you.

they told you this like it was a gift, as if it would mean something if you weren’t walking beside her.

still, you kept going.

when you stood for the first time, lara cried.

when you took your first few assisted steps, daniela bought cake and said she deserved partial credit for all the snack altar.

but you only felt like yourself when the door to sophia’s room clicked open. and you could see her there. still asleep, still fighting.

and you? well, you waited like you promised her you would.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

it wasn’t planned.

you hadn’t thought it through, really, the ring had been sitting in the drawer beside your bed for weeks now — recovered from the wreck alongside a crumpled photo, her bent sunglasses and the burned edges of a receipt for dumplings from the week before.

the nurse had handed it to you in a small plastic pouch with an empathetic smile, you didn’t ask.

but that day, something felt different.

megan had just wheeled you back from physio and when you passed sophia’s room, you stopped her with a touch to the arm.

“can i stay?” you asked.

she glanced at you, then at the door. “i’ll get coffee. need anything?”

you shook your head.

“i’ll be back in ten,” she pushed the door open and guided your chair in slowly, parking you at the same spot beside the bed. “you want me to close it?”

you nodded.

the room buzzed gently, a mix of machines and air vents — you were used to it by now. what you weren’t used to was how much smaller sophia looked, even though she hadn’t changed. she was beautiful still, heartbreakingly so.

one of the nurses had tied a ribbon in her braid that morning and it matched the trim on her hospital blanket. and someone had painted her nails pink — probably yoonchae.

your hands trembled slightly as you reached into your hoodie pocket. the rings sat inside a tissue - yours and hers, you had kept them wrapped like that since.

her wedding ring was thinner than yours, still had a faint dent from where she knocked it on the kitchen counter one morning, looking for a specific pair of earrings.

you held it between your fingers for a while before sliding it gently back onto her finger. it looked right. you let out a slow breath, shaky and quiet as you leaned your elbows on the edge of the bed.

“so,” you murmured, smiling. “you got your wish.”

you spoke more now, your voice had grown steadier. the rasp was still there but it no longer hurt.

“jennilyn’s gone…like total fucking write-off. they said the engine basically folded in half,” you laughed under your breath. “so you won, baby. you always do, don’t you?”

she didn’t move but you kept talking anyway.

you told her how you hated the food here, except what the girls snuck in; how megan took corners too fast in your wheelchair and threatened to start racing old people; how manon had ordered you a cane online and wrapped it in glitter tape as a joke. you promised to burn it but you’ve actually been using it a lot.

you tried to laugh again but your voice cracked at the end; reaching for her cold hand, you lifted it gently and pressed it against your forehead.

“we’ll get a new one. something safe and boring. one of those mum vans, maybe. specifically with better airbags and bluetooth and —”

you stopped, leaned in closer, your hand sliding over hers as your chest ached with the weight of everything unsaid.

“i’m sorry,” you whispered. “i’m so fucking sorry,” you bowed your head, pressing your lips to her knuckles. “i didn’t keep you safe. i should’ve — i should’ve seen the car. i should’ve braked faster. i should’ve done something. you were just…just talking about your dad and i was listening, i swear, i just… i thought we had time. i didn’t think —”

you pressed her hand against your cheek; you would do anything to feel her warmth again. anything.

the tears were quiet but they came, one after another, falling into the blanket pooled between you. you kissed her hand, gently, where the ring sat.

“please, i don’t know how to do this without you,” you mumbled in between sobs. “come back to me, baby.”

you didn’t believe in god, not really…you hadn’t for a long time. but that night, when you were wheeled back to your room and the ache in your chest wouldn’t stop, you folded your hands in the dark.

and you prayed for her.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the nurse, a tiny filipino lady named maria, came in just after dawn, you were propped up on too many pillows, leg stiff under the blanket - trying to stretch the ache out of your lower back.

the light from the window was still grey, flat against the tiled floor. she moved around the room like she always did: soft-footed and humming under her breath, probably another aiza seguerra song like she always told you about.

nurse maria was the kind woman from davao, always calling you ‘anak’ and sneaking you extra juice boxes after meds — always gentle, humming old opm songs under her breath. you liked her because she never asked too many questions but told plenty of stories.

“good, very good,” she mumbled.

she checked your vitals with the same rhythm she always had, fingers cool against your skin. you didn’t bother speaking. mornings had been slow for you lately; slow to move and slower to care.

then she looked up from her clipboard, her voice light. “today is a good day for you,” she began with a smile. “your beautiful wife woke up last night.”

your head snapped toward her so quickly it jolted pain up your spine. “what?”

for a second, you didn’t register the words. they hung in the space between you and it felt like the air in the room changed. you were suddenly too aware of everything: the hum of the vents, the heaviness in your arms, the climbing rhythm of your heartbeat. your mouth opened, but nothing came out.

she didn’t flinch, just smiled again — proud like she was delivering something rare. “it happened a little after midnight. she’s stable, still sleepy but she opened her eyes. she’s with neuro now. really not talking yet. super sedated, you understand? you were the same, nak.”

your mouth was dry, you felt your hands tighten on the blanket without meaning to. “she — she’s really awake?”

“she’s being monitored for the rest of the morning,” the nurse added, glancing at your chart. “but if you’d like, i can take you to her after lunch, just for a few minutes.”

your voice came out raspy. “i want to go now.”

she gave you a soft look and a head tilt that reminded you exactly where she was coming from. “i know you do but there’s a lot of checking they still need to do. swelling and responses. it’s better to let her rest through it. when she’s out of observation, you’ll get ten minutes. just you in the room, spouses only for now.”

you were already trying to sit upright. the cane beside the bed caught your eye but it felt too far away. the wheelchair in the corner was closer, more familiar. you hadn’t used it in three days, hadn’t really wanted to, but you were suddenly willing to be carried if that’s what it took to see her.

“nak, don’t try to walk, you are still learning to stand without shaking like a leaf during a typhoon,” nurse maria said in a worried tone, already moving to help you sit up properly. “if you want, someone else can wheel you to the room, pray not megan, and i’ll walk with you. the cane’s still too risky for that distance.”

you nodded, not trusting your voice.

on cue, the door opened a second later with the rush of outside noise. daniela’s voice came in before her body did, loud and exaggerated. she had a paper bag in one hand and her phone tucked under her chin, talking to someone about how hard it was to find decent coffee in this part of the city. yoonchae followed close behind her, balancing two paper cups in a drink tray and something wrapped in foil.

they stopped immediately when they saw you sitting up.

you didn’t have to say anything. you must’ve looked different — your eyes, perhaps something in your posture.

daniela stared for half a second, then turned to nurse maria. “what happened?”

she didn’t pause, just eyeing the two girls up and down in the most painfully obvious way. “her wife’s awake.”

the sound the latina made was a short gasp, like the air leaving a balloon too quickly. the paper bag dropped onto the tray beside your bed as she moved forward, hands hovering around your shoulders like she didn’t know whether to hold you or hold herself together. behind her, yoonchae put the drinks down carefully and reached for your wrist. her fingers were cold.

you didn’t cry, not yet, but the weight in your chest shifted in a way that felt dangerous.

nurse maria gave you all a moment before speaking again. “please call the others. she’ll want them to know. and get her out of this depressing gown, okay?”

“with pleasure,” daniela grinned, already halfway into your duffle bag.

within a few hours, lara, megan and manon arrived with more clothes and a hundred questions you didn’t know the answer to. there were too many bodies in the room and not enough air, but for once, it didn’t feel suffocating. lara was sniffling even as she helped you change into a soft jumper and sweatpants, brushing your hair with fingers that were too careful. megan tied your laces like you couldn’t be trusted not to trip. manon held your cane while yoonchae fixed the sleeves of your top.

“no hospital grey,” daniela muttered to herself. “not today.”

it took a while to get you up — you had one good leg, one bad leg and two arms that were still weak from weeks of disuse. but you stood. and when they wheeled you out, you didn’t look back.

the observation ward was quiet. colder than the rest of the hospital, stripped bare of flowers, noise or anything human. the fluorescent lights overhead buzzed faintly, casting everything in that pale blue.

room 217 was at the end of the hall. nurse maria walked ahead of you like she promised, nodded to someone at the station, then pushed the door open and held it for manon, who guided you carefully inside.

the room was silent except for the monitors. sophia lay still, propped slightly upright. the blanket was tucked high around her waist, arms limp at her sides. someone had washed her face and her lips were dry but pink, she had more colour to her face now.

the line of her throat, the way her lashes sat against her cheek — it all looked like her and at the same time, it also didn’t.

you felt your hands go still in your lap.

“ten minutes,” nurse maria whispered behind you. “don’t expect too much yet.”

the chair slowed to a stop beside the bed and manon quietly stepped out. the only thing you could do was stare as sophia opened her eyes slowly.

they fluttered open in intervals as if her body wasn’t sure whether it was ready to be in the world. her gaze was unfocused at first, swimming in slow motion between the ceiling and the wall, drifting down to the blanket, the iv line.

her lips parted slightly and her chest moved like she took a deep breath…until her eyes finally settled on you.

you leaned forward by a fraction.

nothing changed.

no lift in her brow or a catch in her breath or flicker of softness. just dead silence.

she looked at you the way people glance at nurses passing in the hallway or at strangers who hold a door open. her gaze landed and stayed, but there was nothing behind it.

you had been preparing for the worst but you hadn’t known how sharp the absence would be when it was right in front of you. she looked at you like she didn’t know your face at all…as if you hadn’t shared three years of your life together, had never touched your skin, or cried in your arms, or chosen you again and again.

your hand slid slightly toward hers on the bed, just resting nearby. her gaze drifted, blinking slowly, and turned faintly toward the window.

manon stepped back in without speaking and you knew time was up.

“see you, sophia,” you whispered. her name felt weird rolling off your lips, hadn’t call her that in years. it had always been ‘babe’, ‘baby’ and whenever you fucked up: ‘the most beautifulest love of my life’.

outside the room, the hallway felt too wide.

you sat unmoving on the chair while manon stood beside you, her hand resting on your shoulder. it was daniela who arrived next. she looked at your face and didn’t ask what happened, just knelt beside you and waited.

doctor kim came soon after, holding a clipboard, her expression stern but not unkind.

it was a bit too early to confirm how sophia was doing in terms of physical recovery, but she seemed to be on the good side.

however, mentally-speaking, they were noticing some gaps.

she spoke softly, carefully used the term retrograde amnesia: forgetting events before the injury, explaining that with moderate traumatic brain injury — specially ones that involved swelling, memory loss wasn’t uncommon.

it varied in scope; there were patients who only forgot hours and months, while there were others that lost years. it depended on severity and timing. in sophia’s case, the memory loss appeared to stretch back at least three years.

her reactions didn’t quite line up with her records. she knew her name, her birthdate, her parents. but her current address? no. her career? law school. her last relationship? she said a boy’s name.

her brain, doctor kim said, had tried to protect her from the worst of the impact. but in doing so, it had folded parts of her life away…and those parts included you.

she didn’t promise you that it might return because memory recovery was never linear. most patients regained everything in a week, others remembered nothing but dreams and the rarest group got fragments and names with no meaning.

it was too soon to know.

her voice was kind and apologetic without saying sorry, you nodded at the right moments.

but your hands stayed cold in your lap and your breath never evened out because of the mere fact that sophia had opened her eyes, and for the first time since you met her, they didn’t recognise you.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the visits were quiet. no more than fifteen minutes at a time, now that the swelling had gone down. you signed the forms, memorised the neuro nurses’ names and followed every rule like it was scripture: 1. keep your shoes off by the door, 2. sanitise before touching, 3. no noise above conversation level and 4. no strong perfume.

they said the limits were for her recovery; overstimulation could trigger headaches and disorientation.

sophia slept through most of your visits. not deeply— more like a floating sort of sleep, as though her body was suspended between here and somewhere far. she blinked in and out, murmured greetings that barely passed her lips.

she never asked your name. when she did speak, it would just be a polite ‘hello’. even when her eyes were open, you could see it…that emptiness. the way her gaze drifted past you, never through you.

the absence of knowing, but you stayed anyway.

you brought a small bowl of warm water and a soft cloth each time, eucalyptus oil to mix in just a little. you washed her face gently, down the line of her jaw and behind her ears, trailed down her arms to her legs.

“just your wrists now. this one’s warm. okay, here we go,” you opted for quiet words so she wouldn’t startle and narrated your movements like a ritual.

when she was asleep, you talked about the weather, your progress in physio and about the girls — how daniela brought lumpia and fed it to the nurses like they were her children, that yoonchae cried the other night watching an old episode of grey’s anatomy, how lara nearly fought someone (manon) for the last fruit cup.

they were the kind of things she would want to know.

you braided her hair with her own brush; the soft one she used to keep in the bathroom drawer. the plaits were loose in the way she used to like them when she didn’t want a headache. parting her hair always made something in your chest ache, so you did it gently.

it happened two weeks after she woke up, you were wiping down her legs like you always did. everything had been a straight line, a routine was established. the blanket was folded neatly at the end of the bed and there were finally no machines beeping urgently.

she hadn’t stirred at all when you came in, just gave you a faint nod as you entered, eyes half-lidded, like she wasn’t fully here.

you were focused on her left calf, moving slowly, the muscles lean beneath your hands. she always had strong legs, used to tease her about how fast she walked, how you could never keep up because of her filipino calves.

smiling at the memory, you didn’t notice she was watching you until you looked up to wring the cloth.

her eyes were open, but this time, they weren’t unfocused.

she was staring at you with something new — still tired and dulled by medication, but alert in a way she hadn’t been before.

you paused when she began to speak.

her mouth opened slightly, voice coming out dry and cracked. “have we met before?”

your chest tightened, the cloth slipped from your hand and fell back on the bowl.

“yeah,” you hummed, trying to smile. “we’ve met.”

her eyes moved across your face with careful curiosity, it seemed like she didn’t want to be rude but also couldn’t pretend.

you placed the bowl beside the bed, keeping your movements steady. “my name’s y/n. i’ve just been…helping you out.”

“we’re friends?”

you took a deep breath. “yes.”

her lips parted like she was going to say something else, but her eyes were already drifting again, whatever focus she had quickly fading.

“i — well, i have to go, sophia,” you mumbled quickly, leaving everything behind as you pressed the call button but you didn’t wait for the nurse this time.

with quick steps, you held it together until you reached the stairwell.

then the weight buckled.

you sat on the bottom step and cried like you hadn’t since the night of the accident. breathlessly, like your ribs were being crushed from the inside and tried to put a hand on your chest as if that could contain it.

that night, you sat on the bed in your room, a tray of untouched crackers beside you, the tv playing low. manon came in without knocking and sat beside you with her knees pulled up, one sock half-off, her hair still damp from a rushed shower.

the light from the bedside lamp made everything feel smaller.

for a while, you didn’t say anything…just sat, shoulders touching because the silence felt full.

you picked at the corner of the blanket, voice coming to life silently. “what if she never remembers me?”

“what makes you ask that?”

“the last time she looked at me as her wife, she looked at me with so much adoration. now, there isn’t a single hint of recognition behind her eyes…it’s like…i’m a nobody.”

manon didn’t answer at first, just took your hand in both of hers and held it like it was something breakable.

she just squeezed once, gently. “then we’ll make her fall in love you again. you’re not hard to love, at all.”

and for a second, a flickering second — you let yourself believe that maybe she could.

the next morning, when you limped into the hallway outside sophia’s ward, something made you stop. it wasn’t just the silence, though that felt unnaturally thick for this part of the hospital. it wasn’t even the voices — low, unfamiliar murmurs that leaked through the ward’s sliding doors.

it was something colder, an energy so heavy it made you feel uneasy.

then you turned the corner and that was the answer to your question granted.

godfrey and carla stood stiffly by the door, dressed in winter coats too elegant for the plastic floor beneath them. they looked out of place.

his posture was immovable, arms folded tightly across his chest. despite her oversized sunglasses, carly was visibly shaking, her hands clasped in front of her as if she were holding herself together.

you hadn’t seen them since they made sophia choose between them or you. they refused the wedding invitation with silence, their absence a louder rejection than any letter could’ve offered.

now here they were, standing outside their daughter’s hospital room like ghosts that had finally decided to haunt the living.

carla spotted you first, lips parted as if she had already rehearsed what to say, but the emotion overtook her. “so you finally showed up.”

there was no warmth in her voice, only strain.

your grip on the cane tightened instinctively.

“i come here every day after rehab sessions,” you replied, keeping your voice steady. “i wasn’t expecting company.”

godfrey took a slow, deliberate step toward you. “and you didn’t think we deserved to know?”

“we found out from someone at her studio,” carla snapped, wiping under her sunglasses. “from one of her clients. not the hospital, not a friend nor a colleague. from a goddamn client, y/n.”

you inhaled slowly, willing your own grief not to rise and twist into something sharp.

“i was in the car with her too,” you muttered, jaw clenching. “i was unconscious. for days.”

your voice faltered before you found it again.

“since waking up, i’ve thought of nothing but her every fucking second. i come here everyday while dragging myself to physio, while trying to walk again and not knowing if she’d ever wake up.”

godfrey’s stare cut into you, hard and unrelenting.

you swallowed. “with all due respect, you’ve never liked me and you disowned her, so no, i didn’t think you’d care.”

silence hung, jagged and long. carla looked away. godfrey’s jaw clenched tighter.

then the ward door slid open and nurse janice stepped out, she frowned at the scene unfolding before her.

“this isn’t the place for arguments,” she said firmly, her gaze falling on godfrey. “if you need to talk, do it somewhere else. this is a recovery floor, not a courtroom.”

she turned toward you, voice gentler. “you okay if they go in and see her? they’ve been waiting.”

you nodded. “but they should know what to expect.”

you explained it quietly, evenly. about the crash and the trauma sophia sustained. how the neurologist now suspected retrograde amnesia —its effects were significant, likely covering the last three years.

the theory was that her brain, in trying to protect itself, had pulled back into safer memories…into a version of life before you.

“she doesn’t remember the life we built,” you tried so hard for your voice not to falter, not in front of them, no. “she asked me if we’d met before.”

carla’s knees wobbled and her hand found yours suddenly, fingers shaking. she held on like she was afraid she would fall apart if she let go.

and you steadied yourself despite the ache coming from your leg.

“maybe seeing you again will help,” you added softly. “she might remember the recent memories.”

carla gave a trembling nod, tears slipping from under her glasses. she let go of your hand slowly, fingers brushing your knuckles like they didn’t want to part.

you walked past them, arm burning from the effort. the air in the hallway felt thicker.

just before the turn to the lift, godfrey’s voice reached you. “y/n we’ll cover the medical costs…yours and hers.”

you stopped in your tracks but didn’t turn around. there was a lingering question in your head: what had changed? and what does this change?

but you just nodded and kept moving.

daniela and megan were in your room when you returned, curled up on the couch. the hospital tv glowed with the familiar blue of mario kart’s start screen. daniela had one leg tucked under her and the controller in her hand; megan was half-asleep, head resting against the armrest.

you limped to the recliner, groaning softly as you lowered yourself down and the cane clattered softly against the edge of the chair, your leg throbbing beneath the bandages.

“they’re here,” you announced, breathless. “sophia’s mum and dad.”

megan immediately sat up, already on her feet. she knelt in front of you without a word and gently pressed her fingers into the muscle around your knee with slow and even pressure. her palms were warm.

“how’d it go?” daniela asked, her voice had lost its usual mischief.

“not good,” you murmured. “they were angry. mostly at me…for not telling them.”

megan said nothing, just worked her thumbs in slow, steady circles.

“they were really upset because no one told them,” you continued. “i told them i was in the crash too. i’ve been pretty fucking occupied, you know what i mean?”

you blinked up at the ceiling with a frustrated groan, the white lights blurring slightly.

“and that they never liked me anyway.”

no one tried to correct you, megan stayed crouched in front of you, her hands still on your leg while daniela leaned forward to unpause the game, not to play, just to let the soft, familiar soundtrack fill the silence.

“i feel like a stranger in my own marriage,” you said quietly.

the words tasted bitter.

megan gave your leg one final press and rested her chin on your knee, looking up at you.

“you’re not a stranger,” she reassured you gently. “you’re just waiting to be remembered, but your love for sophia, it lingers. we can all see and feel the familiarity of it.”

the tears came then — not all at once, just a slow, burning sting in your eyes as the hospital hummed quietly around you.

for the first time that day, you let yourself cry.

and neither of them looked away.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

a few days later, after endless asking and a carefully worded appeal to sophia’s doctors, you were finally given permission: thirty minutes, that was all they could allow for now.

thirty minutes for sophia to be surrounded by familiar faces — something they said might help jog her memory, or at the very least, lift her spirits.

you entered her room slowly, pushing the door open with your shoulder, cane tucked under your arm. behind you, the girls trickled in one by one. lara first, her arms full of daisies from the corner florist; manon, dragging a small pink suitcase filled with snacks and old polaroids; yoonchae with a stuffed bear tucked under her arm; daniela held take-out drinks and megan brought nothing but her ridiculous charm (she was so confident that sophia would like it better than anything).

sophia looked up from the bed, blinking groggily. her head was propped against a pillow and the blinds had been opened to let the morning light spill gently across her face. when her eyes landed on the group, something changed. her mouth twitched, it was a hesitant smile as her gaze swept over each of them and then briefly, to you.

you could see it — the faintest flicker of recognition.

“wow,” sophia whispered, her voice hoarse but steady. “this is a lot…you lot…look older?”

“wow, still a bitch even after wiping a couple years of memories off her brain,” lara laughed, propping the bouquet in an empty vase.

“we missed you, dummy,” daniela smiled, dropping a straw into her drink before handing it over. “we figured it was time for an intervention.”

megan flopped into the visitor’s chair, grinning. “you look better than expected. bit corpse-y, but not bad.”

sophia let out a short, breathy laugh. her fingers fumbled with the straw. “thanks mei, i’m guessing you’re still you?”

“hey!” the younger girl frowned. “i’m basically your daughter, so you’re slandering your own blood.”

manon leaned against the side of the bed, brushing her knuckles lightly over sophia’s blanket-covered leg. “you’re doing really well, soph.”

sophia tilted her head slightly, looking at you again — this time longer. something passed behind her eyes, curiosity, maybe. or confusion.

then she looked at manon.

“are you her girlfriend?” sophia asked her. “are you guys a thing? i always see you two…you used to drag her here, manz.”

the room stilled for a second like it hadn’t expected her to speak more than ten words.

manon blinked, surprised. “me?” she snorted. “god, no. not even close!”

before anyone could say more, megan chimed in from the other side of the bed, far too excited to catch the change in the air. “she’s your wife, genius.”

your heart plummeted.

it felt like the whole world tilted and something had knocked the wind out of you without touching your chest. you hadn’t briefed them — not really, you assumed they would tiptoe around the subject like you had been.

it was stupid, so fucking stupid. because of course someone would say it, blurt it out like it wasn’t the thing you had been holding in your hands every day, delicate as glass.

sophia turned to look at you, confusion drawing sharp across her features.

“my — what?”

she glanced down, slowly, eyes landing on her hand; the ring. the one she never took off because she insisted it was ‘comfortable’ when she first woke.

her face changed.

“is this real?” she asked, voice thinner now. “am i actually married?”

no one answered, not even manon. they all looked at you like you held the answer but your mouth opened and nothing came out.

sophia pushed the blankets back, suddenly feeling overwhelmed and touching the ring like it had appeared without her knowing.

“i —” she sat up straighter, suddenly restless. “i need a minute. y/n, can you — can you step out, please?”

your breath hitched, suddenly frozen in your spot.

“please.”

you nodded, barely. the back of your throat burned, you didn’t look at the others — you couldn’t. it was embarrassing so you walked out without another word, the door closing softly behind you.

you didn’t hear anything else after that, just your own heartbeat pounding through the silence like it was trying to break something open.

three days had passed since.

the hospital room stayed cold no matter how many times you adjusted the thermostat. even the flowers lara brought had started to droop, leaning pathetically toward the window that barely let in sunlight.

and sophia hadn’t spoken much since that afternoon. not about the ring or the wedding and definitely not about the way she stared at you like she was seeing someone else’s life mapped onto hers.

“i just need time,” she said once, eyes on the wall behind you.

you said nothing and she didn’t ask you to leave this time, so you stayed.

you still arrived every morning before breakfast, despite the lingering soreness in your leg. you brought fruit cups and clean socks and swapped out the water jug like clockwork. she thanked you each time, polite and careful, like you were just another kind stranger who had simply been assigned to her.

you didn’t blame her, but it hurt in new and quiet ways.

when you helped her brush her hair, she no longer leaned into the touch. when you knelt to wash her feet with warm cloth like you always had — ever since that one winter she caught the flu and couldn’t stand for long, she kept her eyes fixed straight ahead.

“you really don’t have to do that,” she whispered softly.

“i know,” your voice didn’t tremble, but it felt like it should’ve.

you folded the cloth with steady hands and packed it away.

there were moments, flashes, where you thought you caught something in her — something curious or searching…like when she asked if she could read one of your books, the one you had left on the chair beside her. it was all about dopamine. or when she stared at her ring finger too long; or when she half-smiled at a joke you made and then quickly looked away because she wasn’t sure she was allowed to.

you never brought up the elephant in the room again and neither did she. it was better that way, you thought.

instead, you talked about the weather; or the nurse rotation and their chikas (she translated their conversations for you); or the birds that sometimes landed on the sill outside the fourth floor.

“that one’s back,” you murmured one morning, pointing at the stubby pigeon outside the glass. “he looks like he’s been punched.”

“hey,” sophia snorted and then caught herself. “you be nice to him.”

you didn’t look at her, smiling down at the cut fruit you were arranging onto her tray. whatever this was, it was better than the silence; awkward and random conversations to kill time.

the sound of her voice was enough to make your heart beat louder than anything else in the room, anyway.

“y/n,” she opened up later that afternoon, her voice quiet.

you looked up from your book. “yeah?”

“do you think i was happy?”

the question winded you, clearing your throat before answer. “i think you were very happy…content….and loved. very much so.”

she nodded slowly, maybe that answer made sense, she didn’t ask anything else.

you stayed in the chair beside her that night until your back hurt. then you stood, walked to the bathroom, ran a cloth under warm water and returned to her bed.

you crouched, gently lifting her foot. sophia didn’t stop you this time as her head leaned back into the pillow, watching you carefully.

you didn’t dare look up, but you felt her eyes on you.

and you wondered, as you wrung the cloth out into the bowl, if maybe…something in her was remembering what it felt like to be yours.

just maybe.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the day you and sophia were finally allowed to go home, the celebration carried on outside the hospital — all sunlight and camera shutters.

the girls began to joke about who cried the most (daniela), who brought the ugliest flowers (megan) who made the better playlist (manon, against lara and yoonchae���s will).

sophia looked overwhelmed but touched, her eyes flitting from face to face like she was still getting used to the attention again.

you stood a little further back, careful not to hover, though your hands itched to fix her jacket, to tuck the loose hair behind her ear. rather, you kept them folded in front of you, trying not to wince at the dull ache in your leg because you’d forgotten your cane in lara’s car and the cold didn’t help.

sophia’s parents stood a few feet off to the side, talking quietly between themselves until her carla glanced in your direction.

then they both started walking toward you as you braced yourself, smiling politely and straightening your back.

“y/n,” godfrey spoke first, not cold, but not quite warm either. “thank you for…everything. you’ve taken care of her well.”

“of course,” you answered with a small smile. “she’s my wife.”

he gave a tight nod, but it was her mum who lingered, eyes narrowing slightly the way they always had as if she was constantly working out where to place you in their lives.

“we just think,” she began wording it carefully. “that it might’ve been better if she came home to us, to the house. you know, her bedroom’s still exactly how she left it.”

you swallowed. kept your expression neutral. “with all due respect, mrs laforteza…she is home, with me.”

her brows lifted faintly. “is she, though?”

“we’re married,” you repeated, a little steadier now. “and i understand this is hard. for all of us. but taking care of her…it’s not just something i’m doing out of duty. it’s love, it’s what we promised each other.”

her dad sighed. “but she doesn’t remember that promise, does she?”

you looked down, then back at them. “she will and even if she doesn’t, i still meant every word. so unless she makes that choice herself, i’d love for her to stay with me.”

the silence between you stretched just long enough to make your chest tighten. but then sophia’s voice called from behind you — soft, curious.

“is everything alright?”

she was walking slowly toward you, bundled up in her navy peacoat, one arm looped around daniela’s. she looked so different from the last time you saw her in a hospital gown: stronger, cheeks a little pink from the wind.

her eyes flicked between you and her parents.

“all good,” you gave a small nod. “just talking.”

she tilted her head slightly, sensing something, but didn’t push. instead, she glanced at her mum, then at you again. “i’m ready to go if you are.”

“will you be coming to visit us, hija?” godfrey asked in that tone reserved for his only daughter.

“why wouldn’t i?” sophia giggled, looping her arm around yours for support. then you began to walk with her, waiting for them to object but they didn’t. “i think lara has a date so she wants to get out of here as soon as possible.”

“well, manon could’ve driven us since she offered,” you chuckled.

“i don’t remember her having a license when we first met…so…i don’t know if i can trust her skills.”

that one made you snort because she was going to be in for a ride with megan.

one quiet step at a time, you thought.

the sun had already begun its slow descent behind the warehouse buildings across the street, painting the sky in dull gold and soft grey. the apartment greeted you both in silence, a quiet too familiar now, stretching between the wide windows and exposed brick walls.

“you sure you’re going to be okay?” lara looked at you one last time just after she had unloaded the boxes in your apartment.

“yeah,” you let out a tired sigh. “thanks for everything…third wife.”

“third?” she feigned offence, gasping. “who the fuck is second?”

“hmm,” you smiled playfully. “it’s between manz and dani. maybe megan.”

“fuck off, you’re lucky i have to go!” she shook her head at you, but blew sophia a kiss. “see you later, my first wife: sophia.”

as you watched her drive off, the filipina stood next to you with confusion plastered all over her face; wondering what it was all about.

“…i hang around you and the girls so much that they reckon all six of them, including you, are my wives.”

“but i’m your real wife, aren’t i?” her eyebrows creased, as if she were thinking too deeply. “like on paper? we’re married?”

“yes, we are,” you smiled shyly. “let’s go inside and i’ll show you the papers, yeah?”

you guided her inside carefully, the weight of her presence making the space feel suddenly smaller and heavier.

“this is home,” you murmured gently, trying not to sound too hopeful. “ours.”

she sat in the chair, still in her coat, her face turned slightly as she looked around with narrowed eyes.

“this is where we live?” she asked. her voice wasn’t mean — just distant, unsure, like she was trying the words on for the first time.

you nodded. “since last year, you chose it, actually; converted warehouse. you loved that about it…the history.“

her gaze drifted up to the tall windows, the ceiling beams, the hanging plants you kept forgetting to water. the furniture was warm and mismatched, cushions worn from years of use, shelves stacked with vinyls, books, candles; tiny things you had both collected.

it wasn’t the mansion she remembered, not the world she had once belonged to. this was smaller but it was loved and it was yours and you were hoping she could at least feel that.

she didn’t say anything else, just kept looking around. you bent slowly, grimacing as your bad leg screamed in protest, hands shaking while untying her shoelaces in silence. you didn’t say a word, focusing on the loops, the soft scrape of her boots against the floor. she didn’t say thank you. just stood still, letting you do it like it was owed to her.

the routine came back easily like breathing. the same way you always did it after a long day — only now her body didn’t lean into you like it used to. now she didn’t smile down at you, tug at your hair and ask if there was chamomile left in the cupboard.

sophia’s eyes darted up to the ceiling beams. “it’s smaller than i thought.”

your hands faltered on the laces, despite already knowing the answer to it, you still asked: “than what?”

she didn’t answer, lips pressed thin.

when you stood back up, your breathing was uneven.

“i mean, i know the ceilings are quite high,” you murmured breathily, still trying to make it feel like home. “you liked that about it too…used to say it made you feel like the apartment could breathe.”

she remained quiet; her mood immediately shifting.

you helped her to her feet gently, guiding her down the hallway with one hand hovering near her back in case she needed it. you kept your touch light and distant…the way she seemed to want it.

“we’ve got three rooms,” you continued, standing with effort. “this way.”

she followed you through the hallway, her footsteps echoing against the old wooden floor. you watched her eyes scan every surface: the vinyl collection corner, alphabetised and colour-coded; the art prints you picked together; the chipped mug she once swore she’d take to the grave, now sitting on the bookshelf like a relic.

“this doesn’t feel like me,” she whispered in confusion. “i don’t understand any of this.”

your throat tightened. “i know, it’s okay. i just thought seeing it might help now.”

it was awkward…it didn’t feel right being home like this again because she didn’t fucking know you, there was no recollection of how she built this place to what it was now.

it was more of her, less of you.

“this is the studio,” you said as you opened the first door on the right. “mine…and kind of messy. don’t look too closely.”

she glanced inside. ceramic pieces lined the walls, unfinished, cracked and mended. the table still smelled faintly of clay.

“you’re a sculptor,” she said quietly, as if realising it for the first time. “is that right?”

“it’s how we met, you used to help me glaze pieces,” you replied. “but you got bored of it after a while.”

the second room you passed was the hobby room. the shelves were full of half-used sketchbooks, photography books, canvases stacked in a corner and a bunch of acrylic paints on the table. on one wall hung a corkboard full of photos — some of her with paint on her nose, some of you asleep in a beanbag; it was a collage of an old life.

“you were trying everything,” you spoke. “you wanted to find something that made you feel free. i think you just liked the trying and learning bit.

she stood still, humming as she tried to absorb it all. then she turned to the last door.

your bedroom.

it looked exactly like it had the day before the accident: her robe still hung behind the door, a water bottle sat on the nightstand. there were framed photos of your wedding, your travels, a blurry selfie of the two of you laughing, all lined along the dresser.

sophia didn’t move any further, eyes darting across the photos, the bed, the candle you lit every night just to keep the place feeling cosy.

her hands trembled slightly. “i also don’t remember this.”

you stood beside her, trying not to crowd her. “it’s okay, soph, i’m certain it’ll come back in pieces.”

but then she looked at the photos again — at herself smiling, her arms wrapped around you, so deeply in love…she stared at it like she was looking at someone else’s life.

then, without a word, her shoulder began to shake as she cried. not delicate, graceful tears — this was her feeling extremely overwhelmed.

you reached for her, instinct taking over, fingers brushing her shoulder.

“don’t touch me,” she flinched, her voice was sharp and too loud in the quiet room.

your hand froze mid-air, not knowing what to say as guilt filled your chest.

“i said don’t. i —” she shook her head, backing away further. “i don’t know you, i don’t want you touching me.”

you dropped your arm, slowly. your stomach churned in quiet shame. “i’m sorry,” you began, unsure what you were apologising for. “i didn’t mean to —”

“i left law school?” she asked, her voice suddenly rising. “i gave up law school and a mansion and my whole life…for this?”

all at once, your years together shrank - folded in on themselves, all collapsing like paper under water: your quiet mornings making coffee, her head on your shoulder during film nights, the wedding you built from nothing, with borrowed chairs and a playlist you burned onto a usb stick because you couldn’t afford a proper dj.

every fight you had forgiven, each sacrifice you made. the way you held her hand through the worst days, even when yours were just as heavy.

was that all it was to now? a moment of impulse she didn’t understand?

and it wasn’t like she was trying to be cruel either, but the words still landed like stones — the face you knew by heart, the voice that used to be home. and now, you couldn’t find yourself in her eyes.

“i don’t know who i am anymore,” she pressed her hands to her face, crying through her fingers. “i don’t know this place….what any of this means. y/n, i don’t know you.”

you stood there, heart in your throat. “i know,” you whispered. “i’m sorry, soph, i know it’s a lot to take in.”

“just — please,” she turned away, shoulders hunched and sat down on the edge of the bed. “please leave me alone. i just need a minute.”

“i’m sorry,” you walked out with a slight limp, fingers curling tightly around your cane. the bedroom door didn’t click shut behind you, but you closed it softly anyway, as if even that deserved gentleness.

from the other side, you could hear her crying —lost sobs in the centre of a room she no longer recognised. you leaned against the door for a moment, letting your head fall back. you inhaled deeply. held it. exhaled slowly. and you stood in the hallway alone, aching in a way that words couldn’t reach.

you didn’t eat dinner, opted to collapse into the couch as the cushions swallowed your sore body, staring at the ceiling until the ache in your chest eclipsed the one in your leg.

the apartment was too quiet without her humming in the kitchen, without her footsteps, her laugh echoing from the hall. your eyes landed on the vinyl shelf she used to curate with obsessive precision. her handwriting on the little tags; her ‘sundays with you’ section.

your chest squeezed.

she used to look at you like you were the best decision she ever made. tonight, she looked at you like you were a problem she didn’t know how to solve.

you pulled a throw blanket over your lap, buried your face into it, tears soaking the fabric slowly, and no matter how many times you told yourself to breathe, it didn’t stop hurting.

you missed her.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the knock came soft, but persistent. you didn’t hear it at first, too focused on shaping the curve of the vase you had been working on all week. your hands were caked in drying clay, your leg already beginning to ache from the hours spent standing, leaning too much on the wrong side.

it was only when the second knock came that you wiped your hands on a rag and hobbled out of the studio, limping slightly. your good leg was strong enough now that you could go without the cane sometimes, but the limp lingered — stubborn and quietly humiliating.

specially when the cold settled deep into the joint and sophia watched you massage it in frustration.

when you opened the front door, manon pushed in first, sunglasses still on despite the cloudy sky outside. “you didn’t answer the buzzer.”

“yeah, no shit, i couldn’t hear it.”

yoonchae trailed in after her with a sheepish grin, followed by daniela carrying two iced coffees and a paper bag that smelled like garlic and carbs.

“we brought moral support,” daniela announced, like that was reason enough for the intrusion. “and judgement, if necessary.”

“we missed you,” yoonchae said simply, walking in and looking around.

you followed slowly, every step a quiet reminder of what had happened. the ache was dull today, maybe manageable…but it was always there.

they spread out across your studio, yoonchae already perching herself on the small couch near your display shelf, daniela took the low chair by the kiln and manon stood with her arms crossed, examining your unfinished pieces.

“she’s out with her brothers, right?” manon asked.

you nodded, dragging your leg forward and leaving the door open behind them. “they went to some sneaker place, i think.”

“perfect,” manon muttered. “we’ve been trying to corner you all week.”

“corner me?”

“emotionally.”

yoonchae watched you walk and frowned. “is that going to get better?”

“yoonchae!” manon called out sharply, but you shook your head and laughed, grabbing a rag to wipe the clay from your palms.

daniela sighed. “okay, totally not the judgement i was wanting to send across.”

“what?” yoonchae blinked. “i just meant —”

“it’s alright,” you murmured, settling slowly onto the edge of the studio bench. “yeah, it’s getting better. less pain than before. some days it feels like i’m almost normal again and other days it’s like i just got hit yesterday.”

they all went silent for a second. you could feel it…the weight of their pity and how it filled the air like humidity.

daniela handed you one of the iced coffees. “how’s everything…otherwise?”

she didn’t say sophia’s name, none of them did these days. it was an unspoken thing between you all now — how careful everyone was being around it.

since that day, things had changed. not even in a way most people would notice, but you did. you felt it in the spaces between things…in the way she no longer laughed at your jokes and how she avoided your side of house.

it was like living with a ghost of your life. or maybe, you were the ghost.

at the hospital, sophia had been quiet, dazed and tender in small ways — grateful, even, that someone was there to hold her toothbrush and explain what day of the month it was.

there was warmth in her confusion back then, a soft politeness that still clung to you like hope. you told yourself it would come back to her, eventually, and she just needed time to heal.

but now, at home, reality had started to settle like dust on untouched surfaces. and sophia wasn’t confused anymore — she was distant and careful in her presence around you, as if she had to constantly check herself.

was she in someone else’s house? someone else’s life? someone else’s love story?

sometimes, she looked at you like she was trying to do the math of it all. her eyes tracing your face too long, watching how you stirred your tea, how you wiped the kitchen counter down with the same cloth as always. and there was never judgment in it…but there was no closeness, either.

she studied you in the way you would look at a childhood friend whose name you forgot.

you kept thinking about what doctor kim had said: “she might not remember falling in love with you. and if that’s the case, she may need to fall in love with you all over again. if she wants to.”

if she wants to.

you didn’t ask if she did…you didn’t think you could survive the answer.

the coffee was bitter as you took a sip. “difficult,” you admitted. “i don’t know how to explain it. it’s like she’s here but…not. like i’m living with a version of her that i’ve never met.”

manon’s gaze drifted past you, to the small stack of wine bottles near the couch, the blankets tucked neatly over the armrest and the pillow propped just right.

“so she’s in the bedroom?” she asked, already connecting the dots.

you glanced toward the living room too, at the faint imprint from where you slept last night. and the night before that. and the week before that.

you hesitated. “yeah.”

“and you’re out here?”

“better me than her,” you answered quietly. “it’s her bed too. and it’s not like she asked me to leave the room. i just…didn’t want her to feel like she had to share that space with me if she wasn’t ready.”

daniela shifted forward on the stool, her eyes softer now. “you don’t have to martyr yourself, you know.”

you smiled faintly, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “it’s not martyrdom. it’s just…this is easier, like she flinches when i brush past her shoulder in the hallway, you know?”

yoonchae moved beside you, her knee brushing yours. “does she ask about it?”

“no, she doesn’t ask much of anything anymore. we talk, but it’s surface-level. weather, breakfast, her plans for the day. sometimes i catch her looking at me like she’s trying to remember something but then it’s gone.”

you pressed the cup to your lips again to keep from saying more. the room was quiet except for the hum of the fridge and the faint tapping of daniela’s fingers against the takeaway bag.

“do you think she’ll remember?” she asked.

you didn’t answer right away. your gaze moved to the studio shelves — lined with unfinished sculptures and glaze samples. there was a piece she used to love: a white ceramic bust with cracks along the cheekbones that you had intentionally left unsealed.

she said it reminded her of you. now, she hadn’t even looked at it.

“i don’t think she’ll ever remember me, but i’m hoping still,” you admitted, fingers curling tightly around the cup. “and i don’t blame her. she’s not doing anything wrong. it’s just how it is; strangers in a house that remembers us.”

the answer came too easily, like you’d been reciting it in your own head for days. before anyone could respond, the front door opened.

surprisingly, sophia walked in first, keys in hand, smiling so brightly the whole flat felt lighter for it. two boys followed behind her, arms full of shopping bags.

“hope you don’t mind,” she greeted, slipping her shoes off at the door. “i brought my brothers.”

“hey fifi!” manon waved with a grin. “you’re home a bit early.”

“yeah, i got a headache,” sophia frowned, but smiled at you and the rest of the girls anyway. “sorry to interrupt.”

you stood, heart thudding in your chest as your leg flared in protest, but you didn’t care. you wiped your hands on your pants, suddenly aware of how much clay you had on your shirt and the smudge near your collarbone.

basil walked in first, tall and quiet, followed by a lankier teen, oreo, who looked exactly like sophia when she was seventeen — mischievous smile and all.

“hi y/n,” oreo said brightly. “it’s nice to finally meet you after all these years.”

your stomach turned.

sophia looked between you and her brothers. “wait…you’ve never met them?”

your mind scrambled. of course this would come up, you hadn’t even thought of her brothers.

suddenly, your mind remembered things before your body could — the day sophia cried on the balcony after another call from her father. remembered the words: “if you stay with her, you’ll lose everything, including your brothers.”

her way of protecting all of you was by keeping the worlds separate.

although, you eventually got to know her brothers through stories; the notes she wrote about them in her songwriting notebook; through old photos on an archived instagram. remembered everything about them too, she used to talk about basil’s piano recitals, oreo’s obsession with space and the way they all used to sneak out for milk tea after curfew.

so, you knew them. always had; they just never knew you.

“we were studying in the philippines,” basil said smoothly, saving you. “bad timing, i guess.”

sophia paused. “right. yeah, okay.”

manon, bless her heart, stepped forward and broke the tension. “so! shopping day, huh?”

oreo beamed. “she bought me a bunch of clothes. i’m officially cool now.”

sophia laughed, bright and unfiltered. “he’s graduating this year. i still can’t believe it.”

“no way,” daniela chimed in. “you were like twelve the last time i saw you!”

“dani, i’m seventeen!”

sophia reached out to touch oreo’s hair and he ducked, laughing. and just like that, her whole face lit up. the corners of her eyes creased when she laughed. there was joy in her again, like sunlight coming through a window you didn’t realise had been dirty all along.

you watched her quietly, heart aching.

this version of her, the one who lit up like the sun just from being around people she loved, was still your wife. she was different, yes — so different, but she was still the woman you married.

and even if your sophia never came back…this version of her, this girl with joy in her voice and kindness in her eyes — you knew you could love her just the same. maybe even more.

you would learn to love her in all the ways she allowed you to. again and again and again…even if it broke you in the process.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

tw: violent scene, three years ago

it had started as one of your favourite nights.

you walked her home from dinner, shoulders brushing in the cool evening air. sophia had been in a good mood — laughing, tucked into her coat, one hand always reaching for your arm when she got too excited about something.

her cheeks were flushed from the wine and her goodbye was soft at the gate, a hesitant “text me when you get home,” and a look like she maybe wanted to kiss you but didn’t know how to ask.

you didn’t mind. she had time — you both did.

the late bus back to your side of town was your only way home, didn’t even think twice about it. this was the nicest part of the city.

the stop was mostly empty; just three young boys, clearly drunk, one of them eating chips out of a plastic bag like it was a lifeline.

you didn’t look at them, they didn’t try to bother you either as you checked your phone and read her last message again, the one that said: you’re really easy to talk to, y/n. i miss u already

and then —

“hey.” a sharp voice, lazy and half-slurred. “you better leave that pretty girl alone, you hear me?”

you looked up, confused. “you’re talking to me?”

“yeah, you,” the tallest one grunted, stepping forward. “you think we don’t see you tryna flirt with her? think you’re slick?”

“i think you’ve got the wrong —”

the first hit landed before you could finish. it wasn’t even hard — just fast and unexpected, a shove to your shoulder that knocked you into the bench. then another. and another. your knees scraped concrete and your head rang.

someone kicked your side as you curled in on yourself, arms up, stupidly thinking if you protected your face, it wouldn’t get worse.

but it did.

your right hand was the worst of it. something cracked…maybe more than once. your fingers bent wrong. it didn’t feel like your hand anymore.

“fucking idiot,” one of them muttered as he walked off. “can’t say we didn’t warn ya!”

they left you there on the pavement. the bus came and you got on anyway. the driver hesitated but didn’t say anything when you sat down, blood soaking through your jeans and your breath catching on the cold like your ribs had forgotten how to move.

and when you reached home, your body took over the carpeted floor and shut the rest of the world off.

it took four days.

you were trying to wash your hair one-handed when the buzzer rang, heart tugging but you kept ignoring it.

it rang again and again. and then there were footsteps — heels, too confident for a stranger and a sharp knock on your door.

you opened it, towel slung over your shoulder, hand still wrapped in an ice pack.

sophia stood there, angry and wild-eyed. she pushed past you into the apartment.

“what the hell?” she exasperated. “you disappear for days and then i find out from mina, the gallery curator mind you, that you got fucking jumped? why are you ignoring me?”

you couldn’t even look at her. “it wasn’t a big deal.”

“not a big deal?” she grabbed your wrist gently. her eyes dropped to your hand. “your fingers are purple.”

you pulled away. “they didn’t like how close we looked, i got warned.”

that stopped her, her breath hitching. she said your name quietly like it hurt to say. “i’m so sorry.”

you shook your head. “sophia, it’s not your fault.”

“it is,” she whispered. “if i wasn’t — if i didn’t let you walk me home —”

“don’t do that,” you said, voice trembling. “please.”

and then she sat on your couch and refused to leave; ordered takeout and helped you change your bandages.

the next day, she was still there. and the next. and then the next. she never came home to her gated mansion after…not really.

“i want to be here forever,” she told you, curled up beside you on your second-hand mattress. “with you.”

and she meant it.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the apartment was dim, lit only by the early morning light bleeding in through the tall windows. you woke to soft shuffling — barefeet on floorboards, to be specific.

the room smelled like clay and dust and something faintly sweet, perhaps from the leftover pastries from a couple days ago. when you sat up, your joints groaned in protest, your body stiff from another night spent curled beneath the window. you could hear faint rustling from the far end of the apartment and it wasn’t the fridge this time, was something that sounded gentler.

in curiosity, you followed the sound, barefoot and careful on the cool timber floor until you reached the vinyl corner; her sanctuary back when things felt less breakable.

sophia was crouched there, her back to you - hair still a little messy from sleep, harbouring the old grey jumper you hadn’t touched since the accident, sleeves pushed to her elbows as she leafed carefully through her songbooks like they were sacred relics she didn’t recognise.

you didn’t want to startle her.

“good morning,” you mumbled gently, almost apologetic and voice still rough from sleep.

she turned slightly, just enough to glance at you over her shoulder. “hey,” she murmured back, distracted but not cold. her fingers trailed across the cover of a notebook with peeling gold stars.

you stepped in slowly. “you alright?”

“yeah. just…curious, i guess,” she answered, staring at a lyric sheet covered in chord notes. “these are all mine?”

“every single one,” you settled on the ottoman nearby, keeping space between you. “you used to write for hours. sometimes you would forget to eat. there was this one summer you barely left this chair.”

“me?”

you nodded. “yeah and you’re kind of a big deal in the local scene.”

she flipped a few pages slowly, brow furrowed. “i really don’t remember any of this. i…it doesn’t feel like me. law school was all i ever wanted.”

you moved carefully to your feet again, testing your weight on your leg before limping toward her. “you were already planning a studio when we met. you were still in law school, but…it wasn’t making you happy. you used to say it felt like you were living someone else’s life.”

she glanced around at the setup, trying to measure herself against it.

you exhaled slowly. “and you did a semester part-time while the studio started up. but once the label stuff came in…you finally decided to choose music.”

she didn’t say anything for a while, still staring at her handwriting like it belonged to someone else.

“i don’t know how that happened,” she murmured.

you shrugged, lips curving slightly. “you fell in love with sound and eventually produced tracks for some really popular bands in the city and you always said that law taught you structure — but music made you feel free.”

her eyes pierced yours, something quiet flickering there. “will you take me there? to the studio?”

you smiled, feeling like you had just won a prize. “do you really want to?”

“i think so,” she answered shyly. “if that’s okay.”

you nodded, already planning how to pace yourself, how long you could stay on your feet. “yea, of course.”

she smiled, the faintest one. “then i guess we better get ready.”

preparation was quiet and domestic in a way that made your chest ache.

sharing the bathroom like old times, you got ready together. she brushed her hair while you sat on the closed toilet lid, trying not to wince as you stretched your leg. she caught your eye in the mirror and smiled at you softly before passing you the toothpaste.

the morning light spilled into the kitchen as you finally stood brushing your teeth beside her. she yawned as she tied her hair, bumping your elbow once by accident.

and for a moment, just a second too long, it felt like nothing had changed, that you were just getting ready for another weekday together —your routine and rhythm intact.

sophia stepped out to the kitchen while you stayed behind in the bedroom. it was the first time you really looked around in days, you had been careful not to touch too much and disrupt whatever space she needed.

but now you glanced at the wardrobe, cracked open with familiarity and allowed your eyes to settle on the photos lining the shelves.

a wedding photo stared back at you from the top of the dresser. your hand in hers, heads tipped together, eyes full of laughter. however, the frame on the bedside table had been turned face down. a small, almost imperceptible shift — but you noticed.

the pang came sharp, fast, burying itself deep in your chest like a quiet rejection.

your throat tightened because you didn’t know if she did it intentionally or if it had simply tipped, but either way; it stayed that way.

you didn’t flip it back.

the feeling was swallowed down instead as you followed sophia to the kitchen, where she was plating eggs and toast, humming softly. she handed you coffee with both hands as soon as you came into view.

“hey, you remembered how to cook,” you teased gently, settling into your chair.

she smiled. “muscle memory, maybe. it’s not bad, right?”

“it’s perfect,” you grinned, taking a sip.

the conversation flowed easier this morning. she asked questions; about the studio, the music she liked, the kind of bands she worked with. you answered everything, watching her eyes widen as she pieced together a version of herself that had once been second nature.

she sat across from you. “so…what else did i like? besides poached eggs and writing music i don’t remember?”

you smiled, small. “hmmm, you liked cooking, dancing in the living room and late-night drives with the windows down…also bad horror movies. and that one filipino noontime show you were obsessed with.”

“which one?”

“it’s showtime?”

“oh my god,” she laughed, eyes wide. “yes.”

“you cried for two days when they got shut down for a minute.”

“i didn’t know they got shut down,” she grinned, poking at her eggs. “but sounds about right.”

“the studio,” you paused, sipping your coffee. “was the reason we could afford this place. we used to live in a tiny one-bedroom with no heating. i remember we’d leave the oven on to keep warm. but yeah, yunjin and giselle — your staff…they’re looking after it now.”

“it sounds like we lived in chaos.”

“indeed,” you said fondly. “but we were happy and it was beautiful.”

she stared down at her coffee. “this version of me…she sounds fearless.”

“she was. you still are.”

when breakfast ended, you tried to get up to clear the plates. your leg ached from being seated too long, the cold creeping in and hands gripping the table instinctively.

“i’ll get it,” sophia interjected, already standing. she returned a second later with your cane, holding it out. “here.”

you hesitated.

“come on,” she stepped closer, held her hand out gently.

it was the first time in weeks…her warmth. the offer. you stared at it for a second before taking it and she wrapped her fingers around yours with surprising care. she steadied you as you shifted weight onto your leg.

“sorry about the limp,” you muttered, half embarrassed.

she glanced down at your leg. “you don’t have to apologise every time you move,” she spoke, half-teasing. “we both got into a pretty bad crash and lived to tell the tale.”

you smiled, embarrassed. “it still feels like i’m apologising for slowing the world down.”

“then slow it down,” she said. “it’ll wait.”

you looked at her. “it gets worse in the cold, i’m counting the days ‘til summer.”

she nodded. “we’ll keep the place warm then. for now.”

you felt yourself smiling, not just out of gratitude, but because it felt like something sacred had returned.

“we’ll have to uber,” you winced as you adjusted your stance. “jennilyn’s officially dead.”

sophia’s brows furrowed. “jennilyn?”

“our camry,” you began to laugh. “you named her after jennilyn mercado.”

you grinned. “you were obsessed. said she was the definition of talent and beauty.”

she rolled her eyes. “i was always more of a kapamilya girl so i think you’re lying.”

“me? excuse you,” you raised an eyebrow. “my nominee was anne curtis!”

she laughed; the most beautiful sound. “missed opportunity.”

you laughed along with her, letting yourself imagine, just for a moment c what it would feel like if all of this wasn’t temporary. if this version of her, warm and playful and curious, was here to stay.

when you got to the studio, it clearly hadn’t changed.

the sunlight poured in the same way through the dusty skylights and the sound panels still wore the imprints of giselle’s stickers and yunjin’s messy handwriting — notes to self scrawled on yellow post-its. the scent of lavender cleaning spray clung to the couch that you could almost pretend it was a regular day, that sophia hadn’t forgotten everything and she still knew which of these cables she hated and which of the speakers buzzed faintly when left idle.

you stood beside her, still holding your breath. “this is where you spent most of your nights,” you said quietly. “you used to sleep on that couch when you had deadlines.”

she glanced at the couch and nodded once.

she stood near the soundboard, fingertips tracing over the faded edge like she was trying to remember how it felt to belong to it.

“you always hated that switch,” you smiled, limping closer. “you’d flick it by accident and lose ten minutes of recording.”

she hummed without laughing, just kept touching everything with narrowed eyes in concentration.

“do you wanna hear something?” you asked. “one of your songs...i’ve got it saved.”

sophia hesitated. “okay.”

your heart rose a little. maybe this would help, maybe music would bring something back.

you connected your drive and pulled up halflight — a song she had written for a contemporary dance piece two years ago. it one of her favourites, you still remembered the way her eyes lit up when she finally finished mixing the cello part.

you hit play and the piano started first, soft and wandering. you turned it up just slightly, watching her out the corner of your eye.

“this one you started after our first big fight, couldn’t tell you what it was all about though,” you muttered, smiling a little to yourself. “you were so dramatic about it — pacing around here like a storm, then you sat down and said ‘i want it to sound like heartbreak standing still.’ and you did it, you really did.”

the first few notes unfurled into the room. it was slow, reverent. echoing strings, soft piano: familiar and haunting. you smiled to yourself, turning slightly so she could see your face, just in case she needed the safety of something recognisable.

her back was still turned to you.

“this part —” you began, pointing toward the screen. “this is the one you rewrote, like, twelve times? i thought you were going insane.”

a soft chuckle left you, but it hung unanswered in the air. she was still staring at the floor.

“and the bridge,” you added. “you said it reminded you of when we first fought. remember? the laundry fight…over the pink sheets because you spilled my matcha on it and you said i ‘never should’ve been drinking it in bed in the first place because there’s a kitchen for that.’”

nothing; not even a twitch.

you kept going, rambling now, hoping something would shift. “that bridge section was the one giselle cried over…like, actually cried. we didn’t tell you because you would’ve never let us live it down and —”

“can you turn it down?” she quietly asked.

you didn’t hear her. “— but it was the part where you —”

“turn it off, y/n,” she snapped coldly.

your fingers hovered over the desk as you turned toward her, slightly taken aback with confusion settling in your chest. “sorry, i —”

“just fucking turn it off!” she raised her voice at you, tone sharp and mean like everything else these days. “jesus, this bullshit — it’s not me. i don’t care how many poetic metaphors you attach to it, all of this has given me a fucking headache.”

you flinched.

her voice grew louder with every word, there was venom in it — brows furrowed in frustration, her body stiff and coiled like she had been holding this in for too long.

“this place,” she continued, gesturing wildly. “this studio and that stupid song, all these memories you keep forcing down my throat. i never wanted this. law school — that was my life.”

you just stood there, breath catching in your throat as you gave her the space to let it all out.

the song still played, quietly, behind her voice. it felt cruel, now…like background music to your own humiliation. you reached out slowly and turned the speaker knob, silencing everything.

and then silence. a kind of silence that made your cheeks burn because you had never felt so small under her gaze.

sophia had stepped back, arms folded tight against her chest, as if the room had suddenly become dangerous.

“this…” she kept going, heaving out an exhausted sigh. “this isn’t me. this place — i don’t know what the fuck this is, i don’t want any of it and i don’t want this life.”

you stood there, one hand still resting lightly on the keyboard, as if letting go would make it worse. the blood in your legs felt like it had drained and your chest caved in, for a second, you wondered if you were dreaming.

“i know this must be confusing —” you tried, carefully.

“it’s not fucking confusing,” she spat. “it’s pretty clear to me that it’s bullshit. you’re filling my head with things i should feel, but i don’t. this isn’t for me — you aren’t for me.”

your ears rang.

she hadn’t meant to say that last part…maybe. or maybe she had, maybe it slipped out like something festering finally found air.

you couldn’t lift your eyes from the mixer, pulse throbbing somewhere deep behind your ribs.

because what do you say when the love of your life recoils from the very life you built together?

sophia has never spoken to you like that; her words hung heavy in the air, still echoing off the walls.

not even when she was overwhelmed and exhausted and bitter at the world. her voice had always been laced with care, even when she was upset, she never made you feel small.

but now…now, standing in the very place you built together — she made you feel like an intruder.

you blinked hard, swallowing the lump in your throat. your cheeks felt hot from shame, the kind that settles into your skin and stays there.

you wished you hadn’t said anything and never pressed play.

“i’m trying really hard, sophia,” you didn’t look up. “i’m trying so hard to help you…to not push you, to be kind and patient, but you can’t keep doing this to me every time you hit a wall, it’s not fair because this —” you finally lifted your eyes. “this isn’t how we talk to each other, this isn’t us.”

she looked away, jaw tight, arms crossed.

you felt pathetic…like you were begging someone to remember how to love you.

“you may not remember the life we built together, and that’s okay because it’s not your fault,” you added, voice cracking near the end. “but i do.”

her silence stung more than her words. you nodded slowly to yourself as you realised she had nothing to say to you, then turned to leave.

“come out when you’re ready,” you whispered, before walking out the door and shutting it quietly behind you.

your hands trembled, cane clacking once too loud on the stair. your chest ached in that terrible, hollow way that always came after being yelled at by someone who used to look at you like you were sunlight.

there was no dignity in it. no protection in loving someone who couldn’t love you back…not because they wouldn’t, but because they couldn’t.

and still, somehow, it was more humiliating to realise she didn’t even know what she was taking from you.

it really was the beginning of the end, wasn’t it?

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

you didn’t say much these days.

the apartment had grown quieter, even in the hours that weren’t supposed to feel so heavy. you woke up early like always, limping around the apartment with your cane, keeping busy with small things like making tea and cleaning surfaces that didn’t need cleaning.

sophia would come into the kitchen some mornings with a faint good morning and you would answer softly, careful not to crowd her, not to say too much, not to be too much.

and you hated how you had grown quiet when you had so much you want to tell her, but the silence felt safer than saying the wrong thing again. you found yourself moving softer, closing doors gentler and pausing a second longer before speaking — as if anything you said might spark something horrible in her again.

luckily, today she was out. lara had picked her up, daniela had texted you a group photo from the passenger seat, yoonchae tried to call you and manon had threatened to post an embarrassing throwback if you didn’t come. you replied with a thumbs up and a vague ‘maybe next time.’

you had already made up your mind not to go.

you were in your pyjamas, back braced with a heat pack and legs stretched awkwardly across the couch, gaming laptop open on your lap.

megan’s voice crackled through your headset from across the city. “that’s bullshit!”

“you know,” you grumbled into your headset, adjusting your position on the couch, “you could heal faster if you didn’t keep peeking mid.”

her sniffle echoed through your headphones, followed by a violent cough. “shut up. my immune system is depressed, i’m playing with blurred vision.”

you glanced at your screen. she just died, again.

“sure,” you replied dryly. “maybe if you buy a phantom like the rest of us instead of being edgy.”

“the vandal sounds better,” she muttered.

you shifted carefully, wincing at the dull throb climbing up your back. your leg had started aching again halfway through the second round, and now even the blanket bunched beneath your knee wasn’t helping.

you should’ve stayed in bed, but the bed wasn’t yours anymore.

your team lost. again. megan groaned in frustration.

“i’m actually gonna kill you,” she was saying. “you let me get sniped again. that’s like…the third time. fourth, if we count the warm-up round.”

“i was healing,” you murmured, leaning into the back cushion. “you ran into gunfire like you had a death wish.”

“i do have a death wish. i’ve been sick for five days, i’ve eaten nothing but strawberry milk and blue takis and i haven’t seen sunlight since tuesday.”

you smiled at that. “you got sick on saturday.”

“exactly! why do you think i sound like a victorian orphan? this is my deathbed.”

you chuckled quietly, letting her rant. the sound of her voice was comforting, megan didn’t require anything from you except your presence. even when she was annoying, she was never hard to be around.

but somewhere between matches, you stopped laughing and the dreaded silence came back, curling around your chest like a slow ache.

she must’ve noticed because she was quiet for a moment. then: “you alright? you got quiet.”

you clicked into a new round. “yeah, just tired.”

“uh huh,” a pause. “and that’s why you’re letting your best duelist die a slow humiliating death?”

you smiled without meaning to. “oh, don’t be dramatic.”

“too late. i am dramatic — tell me what’s wrong.”

you didn’t respond right away. your fingers hovered above your keyboard, half-committed to reloading.

“we had a fight,” you sighed, closing your eyes. the ache settled deeper, crawling behind your ribs this time. “at the studio.”

megan didn’t speak, just waited.

“she hated it,” you whispered. “not just the space. the music, her music. she said it wasn’t her and that she never wanted it.”

your throat tightened, hands starting to tremble.

“and i get it,” you kept going, voice quieter. “she doesn’t remember and she’s scared and frustrated and overwhelmed. but the way she looked at me…it was like i was forcing something awful on her, as if the life we had was this mistake she never meant to make.”

the match started but you didn’t move.

“and i’m trying, mei. i’m trying so hard to be patient, to be kind, to give her space. but —” you broke off, swallowing the lump in your throat. “she hates the old sophia. and i think she hates that i keep trying to bring her back.”

you heard megan shift through the headset. the sound of a blanket being pulled closer.

“it’s like…she hates who she used to be. when i look at her, i can see that everything we built together makes her sick.”

you stared at the screen, blurry with tears now. your keyboard lighting pulsed faintly, casting your hands in dull blue.

“i don’t know what i’m doing,” you said, the words finally spilling. “i don’t know how to help her and i don’t even know if she wants my help.”

you wiped your nose on your sleeve.

“her parents were over the other day. i think…i think they’re trying to convince her to move back in with them, back to the mansion. law school’s come up again, too. i heard them in the kitchen.”

megan didn’t speak, but you could hear the gentle breathing on the other side; her presence alone kept you going.

“i don’t know what hurts more. that she might go. or that maybe she’s supposed to. maybe this version of her doesn’t love me, maybe she never will.”

megan let out a quiet sigh on the other side of the line. “you don’t believe that.”

“i want to,” you whispered. “i want to believe she’ll fall in love with me again. it only took a month last time.”

you laughed pathetically, turning away from the screen. the living room looked dim in the soft afternoon light, the shadows of your sculptures looming like silent witnesses. the photo frame of your wedding day was still turned face-down on the bedside table, though you tried not to take it personally.

“so why does it feel harder now?” you asked. “why does it feel like i’m loving someone who’s already halfway out the door?”

you wiped your face again, quietly.

“i just want my wife back.” you closed your eyes. “i just want her to love me again.”

megan said nothing but you could still hear the soft static of breathing, she was listening. she knew that was the only thing you needed.

and as the silence stretched…it dawned on you, like the waves kissing the shore, that perhaps you had to accept this: sophia was never coming back to you.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

a few days later, it was nearly midnight when you finally got off the bus.

your leg throbbed — sharp, persistent, like your body was warning you that you had pushed it too far. the meeting had gone longer than expected. you hadn’t even planned to stay for the post-tour drinks, but the gallery curator, sana, was kind and young and full of ideas.

you said yes out of politeness and stayed out of hope. and to make matters worst, you realised halfway down the tramline, that you left your cane back at home.

the night was unforgiving, wind slicing through your jacket, making every step feel heavier than the last. you had meant to text sophia, really had, but your phone had died somewhere between chatsworth road and that weird corner petrol station where the bus driver had stopped for a ten-minute break.

by then, you were too cold to be annoyed about it.

bills had started to pile. too many unopened emails. the accident had thrown everything out of rhythm: your savings gone to physio, medication and taxis when the pain got unbearable. and the recording studio, the only stable thing left, had been left to giselle and yunjin to run alone.

sophia hadn’t even asked about it. not once, not since she screamed at you in that same room.

you didn’t blame her…not anymore.

when you finally reached the apartment, a sense of relief washed over you as your hands shook fumbling with the keys, the ache in your lower back spreading like fire.

the place was dark as you pushed the door open. of course it was, you liked it better that way lately; less chance of stepping wrong, no chance of disappointing someone.

you toed your boots off, shoulders sagging. the floor creaked beneath your weight as you stepped inside. your only goal now was the couch, some warmth and a good night’s sleep. maybe heat if your leg didn’t stop aching.

and then —

“hi.”

you turned, startled, heart in your throat.

her voice cut through the silence, sharper than the cold. she was curled up on the couch, her legs tucked under her, face partially hidden by a thick hoodie. her hair was a little messy, eyes wide.

“jesus, sophia,” you muttered, heart pounding. “you scared the shit out of me.”

she stood up. “you didn’t answer your phone.”

you gasped, confused. “i — what?”

“and you left without your cane.”

“…yeah. i know.”

her face twisted, the worry fully blooming now. “i’ve been trying to call you for hours. i thought something happened. you could’ve fallen or passed out or —”

you swallowed, throat dry. “i’m sorry. i was at a gallery meeting across town and didn’t realise i forgot it.”

“do you know how cold it is?” her voice cracked, rising. “i thought something happened to you. i nearly called manon to check the hospitals.”

“i’m okay,” you assured softly, eyes already drifting toward the hallway. “i’m sorry i scared you. i didn’t mean to, but i’m here now so you can go to bed.”

she crossed her arms. “no. i’m staying out here.”

your eyebrows furrowed. “why?”

“because it’s freezing,” she simply answered, as if that explained everything. “and you’re not sleeping on that couch again. i’ll take it tonight.”

you shook your head, instantly. “no. i’ve got it, it’s fine.”

“you’re limping worse than usual.”

“it’s fine, soph.”

“come to bed.”

you shook your head again. “no, you go ahead. i’ll take the couch.”

“don’t be ridiculous.”

“it’s not ridiculous. i don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“then i’ll take the couch.”

“sophia —”

“just come to bed,” she snapped firmly, the words too fast. she caught herself a beat later, softer: “i’ll join you in a bit.”

you hesitated, wanting to argue more but too worn out to lift your chin. “…okay, but only because i physically don’t have it in me to keep fighting.”

when you changed out of your damp clothes slowly, each movement was a negotiation with your body. you eased yourself into bed, trying not to groan at the way the pain pulsed under the covers. the cold had settled deep into the joints as you laid still, expecting her to stay in the lounge on that nasty old couch you still hadn’t cleaned properly.

you turned your head just as she appeared at the door, a heat pack in her hands.

“for your leg,” she murmured.

she flicked on the lamp before sitting on the edge of the bed and placed the heat pack gently against your thigh. it was warm — god, it was warm — and your body sagged into it like it was salvation.

“thanks,” you uttered as you rubbed it against your leg. “it’s fucking freezing, isn’t it?”

“how’s physio going?” she asked.

you smiled, sleepy, and so, so tired. “can i tell you all about it tomorrow?”

she didn’t say anything for a moment, just pulled the covers higher up your body. and then she shifted, laying down beside you, not too close. the bed dipped with her weight.

and then, her laugh — quiet, soft, almost fond. it was the last thing you heard before sleep pulled you under.

soft morning light cutting in through the gaps in the curtains was what woke you, streaking across the sheets in warm golds. the room was still, but not empty. the mattress held the imprint of sophia’s weight and her scent — passionfruit, shampoo, something warm beneath it, lingered stubbornly on the pillows.

for a second, your brain, still softened by sleep, almost let you believe this was normal. you blinked against the light and let yourself enjoy the way your back didn’t scream for once; sleeping on a proper mattress again felt like your spine had been re-aligned by god herself.

you stretched your good leg and reached over instinctively, fingers brushing the empty side of the bed, but sophia was gone.

the house was quiet, but faint music floated in from the living area. you sat up slowly, dragging the blanket with you as you reached for your jumper.

fleetwood mac: landslide - the ache that bloomed in your chest was slow and familiar.

you limped out and paused at the doorway.

there she was: sophia, hair tied in a messy bun, wearing one of her old pyjamas and moving about the kitchen with casual ease. she had her back turned to you as she poured pancake batter into a pan and she was humming to the song.

it wasn’t loud, just under her breath but enough for the notes to catch and twist something deep in you. her hips swayed slightly as she moved, bare feet padding gently on the tiles.

for a second, she looked like your wife again; your throat caught.

but you smothered the thought hard. shoved it down into that box inside you and killed the thought before it could grow sharp edges.

“morning,” you greeted softly, so you didn’t startle her.

she turned with a smile, spatula in one hand. “morning, you slept in.”

“it was nice,” you smiled, rubbing the back of your neck shyly. “first time in a while my back didn’t feel like it was in a death grip.”

she chuckled at that, flipping the pancake like muscle memory. “that’s really good, do you want some pancakes?”

“of course, can i help?”

“hmm…could you make me a strawberry matcha? like with the crushed jam we got from the market?”

you nodded. “still your favourite?”

she shrugged, playful. “i guess?”

huh, guess the body didn’t forget even if the mind does, you thought, moving to the fridge to grab the oat milk, matcha powder and strawberries. you used to make this exact drink for her every sunday morning.

“you probably already know this, soph,” you began as you tapped the spoon against glass. “but matchas are actually better for you than coffee…slow-release caffeine, so no crashes.”

she looked at you, grinning. “i actually didn’t know that.”

you chuckled as you whisked the green tea on the bowl. “you told me that fun fact, actually…and pretended you’ve always known it.”

she gasped, mock-offended. “no, i did not.”

“you did. i remember because you said it like you discovered it yourself but i saw the youtube video open on your laptop two minutes later.”

sophia narrowed her eyes. “that’s slander!”

“not when it’s the truth.”

she snorted. “god, i must’ve been so annoying.”

you handed her the drink. “no, you were…annoyingly endearing.”

she laughed. “yeah, okay, that sounds more accurate.”

she plated breakfast: pancakes, blueberries, whipped cream and a few slices of prosciutto (you didn’t know why she had it out) and carried everything to the small round table you used as a dining space. she sat across from you, curled up in the chair like it belonged to her…like she belonged here.

“so,” she began. “how are the physio sessions going?”

you winced slightly as you eased into your seat. “he’s not thrilled that i planned to catch the bus to a gallery meeting across town. he knew it’d be too much walking — but he said we’re still making real progress. muscle strength’s coming back, very fucking slowly.”

“i’m happy for you,” she said, genuinely. “you’re tougher than anyone i know.”

and that did something to your chest. you didn’t know what, only that it felt hopeful. you picked at your blueberries, letting yourself sit in the comfort of this quiet rhythm, the way she kept glancing up like she wanted to say more.

your phone buzzed against the counter, you ignored it.

“what’ve you been up to lately?” you asked.

she sighed, nudging her plate aside. “dad’s helping me with law school reapplications. since both my parents are alumni, it’s kind of a walk-in thing…interviews are a formality.”

you hummed, ignoring that funny feeling forming in your chest. “when do you start?”

before the sting could settle, your phone buzzed again. and again. then again. the sound echoed through the small kitchen like a warning.

her eyes flicked toward it. “you should probably get that first.”

you stood slowly, a familiar unease crawling up your spine as you checked the screen. giselle. fuck. that could only mean one thing.

you hesitated, then answered.

“what the fuck,” giselle snapped, her voice immediately cutting through. “come here now. we’re so fucked off with these workloads.”

you flinched, trying to keep your voice even. “giselle, i —”

“don’t giselle me. yunjin is dead. we don’t even have to bury her cause she’s six feet under invoices!”

“i’m sorry, i’ll come by today. i promise. just…breathe, okay? we’ll sort it out,” you bit your lip, putting a hand on your hip.”

there was a pause, a sigh. “fine, but hurry. we’re dying out here.”

when you hung up, you turned back to sophia, suddenly aware of how far away she felt again.

“i have to go to the studio,” you mumbled. “yunjin and giselle are crashing out. and when those two crash, something’s seriously wrong.”

she only nodded, offering a vague apology. “i’m sorry about that.”

you smiled, half-hearted. “it’s okay, i know music’s not your priority right now.”

you turned on the record player, choosing frank ocean. his voice swelled in the quiet, gentle and full of longing. one of her old favourites; the type she used to play when she needed grounding. or on sunday afternoons, curled into you with wine and her legs tangled through yours.

you watched her rinse plates at the sink, and it hurt.

the fact that she didn’t remember how much this album meant to her…how much you did.

you thought, maybe you had to stop looking so desperate. maybe you had to stop hoping she would remember the way she used to hold you, kiss you behind your ear, leave little notes in your coat pocket.

maybe you had to let her love you again in her own time — if she ever would. you could still win her back without pressure.

but then, her voice cut through the haze. “vincent reached out to me the other day.”

the words were shattered that hope straighaway, dropping the fork into the sink as you looked over slowly. “vincent…like your ex-boyfriend?”

she nodded, casually. “yeah, i remember wanting to break up with him, at least…so it’s nothing.”

you didn’t breathe, hands gripping the edge of the counter. you felt her words crawl beneath your skin, cold and mean in a way she didn’t intend.

so it was true, in her head, they really never ended.

to you, it felt like she had just admitted she was still in it, tangled up in a version of herself that didn’t yet know you.

“what —“ you paused, closing your eyes as you tried to compose yourself. “what did he want?”

“said he saw me on my dad’s facebook and just wanted to say hi. he’s in town again, wanted to catch up.”

you ran a hand through your hair, lips pressed together. “right.”

that was all you could do, you didn’t trust yourself to say anything and couldn’t dictate her either, but something inside you had curled up.

the thought slithered in before you could stop it: she doesn’t even remember that she already left him, that she chose you.

the song changed. frank ocean crooned something low and aching: white ferrari.

you moved slowly through the apartment, eyes on everything but her - hummed a little as you packed your things, hands shaking slightly when you folded your notes and picked up your scarf. the door to the bedroom was wide open and sophia could see you, entirely, but you pretended not to notice.

it was only then that the conversation caught up with you: law school. the words echoed, uninvited, curling around your ribs like ivy.

you felt a familiar twist in your chest, the one that came with holding too much. and yet all you could think about was how sophia was stitching together a life you weren’t part of.

it was that it was his world, the version of her that had been built to please her parents. it was the version she ran from when she first met you, when she curled into your tiny apartment and kissed you like she was saving herself in real time.

it was the version of her she left behind, once upon a time, because she said: “i just want to live for myself for once.”

but now she was going back.

and you, well, you were still here, holding on to something you thought you both agreed was worth it.

you reached for your shoes, grimacing slightly as you bent forward to slip them on, your back spasming with the effort.

and then:

“wait,” sophia said softly, coming up behind you. “i’ll do it.”

she knelt carefully and helped guide your foot into the shoe. her touch was gentle and practised. her face tilted upward when she looked at you, and for a moment, the tension softened.

“do you have your phone?” she asked.

you nodded.

“will you be back before dinner?”

“probably.”

“will you be safe?”

you nodded again, tried to smile but your chest was tight and you could barely meet her eyes.

“thanks for helping me with the shoes, soph.”

as you stood, she reached for your cane before you could, extending it toward you like it weighed nothing and it hadn’t become a part of you lately.

your fingers brushed as you took it.

“come back in one piece,” she pleaded, so soft it was almost shy. and then, more firmly. “promise me?”

you stared at her.

for a moment, you forgot how to breathe because it sounded like her. like her. your sophia. the one who used to write notes on napkins, who once stood outside your apartment with cupcakes and an umbrella after your worst gallery rejection.

she used to ask you to come home safe all the time. every time you so much as left for the market.

and here she was, asking again.

you swallowed, baffled. “i promise.”

you didn’t ask why it mattered, didn’t really want to risk pushing her back into the careful coldness she had since the hospital. instead, you opened the door and stepped into the morning air, letting it hit your skin. the way she looked at you then clung to your ribs, tight and trembling.

but all you could think about was how quiet her voice had been when she said vincent; how easily she said his name. and how your own felt like a wound in her mouth.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

part 2 —

[ghostykapi]

so looking forward to your next works! your writing is incredible. i hope you take your time and take care good of yourself!! super exciteddd

thank u anon! ‘m taking my time more on this one, want the songs i choose for these ones be a bit more apparent

[ghostykapi]

🫰

!!! 💖💞