#She refuses to answer this IC | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

s1rawb3rry · 24 days ago

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Our Seashell Promises

Leave your vows… I’ll carry the ones you meant to say

synopsis: On the sun-drenched yacht, the newlyweds are on their honeymoon that’s anything but picture-perfect. Bound by family expectations and in silent frustrations, Y/N clings to her camera as a lifeline while her distant husband retreats further into his work. Until through her lens, she captures a candid moment of the yacht’s Captain...

word count: 15.8k

warnings: fluff fluff fluff, no smut, a lot of angst, toxic relationships / marriage (not between y/n and hee tho), a lot of touching and kissing, skinship

genres: rom-com (?), slow burn, mutual pining

pairing: captain!enhypen Heeseung x reader

a/n: AHHH ITS FINALLY HERE. i had this idea during winter, so i waited until summer if youre the type of reader to listen to music while reading, i suggest that you listen to lana del rey’s album “norman fucking rockwell!”. That album help and inspired me a lot during the long writing process

Taglist: @heestoleurgirl @stariekis @jaehoodies @morganaawriterr @luvashli@kireistrawberryjayla @annovaz @bambieheeseunglee @firstclassjaylee @flowerwinds @veilstqr @hoonslvr @cunty4hee @hazelira @sumsumtingz @bxcndd @sunnygirl-kait @amazzwon @hoonieyun @yeokii (comment if you want me to add / remove you from the list <3)

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The morning Marseille summer sun was shining down on us with seagulls cawing. We stood in line with our luggage to board the yacht, the one that my parents insisted we spend our honeymoon in. The wind blew a soft salty breeze, making me glance at my now husband, Jae.

“Can I see the tickets?” he asked, not looking up from his phone.

I hummed as a response, handing them over to him, without saying anything. He always was colder than most men, quieter than most men. But now, especially after the wedding, he’s like a block of ice. He has been glued to his phone, either typing, reading or on a call; always saying ‘it’s work’. It’s always work with him.

A part of me doesn’t push for any more answers, because it’s the same part of me that sees me as smaller than him. Jae being a lawyer and ambitious to the bone is exactly what my parents always wanted me to be. Yet, I broke their dream, making me feel like I dont have much say in whatever ‘work’ he’s doing.

Our relationship was a neat courtship my family practically orchestrated, especially after I refused to go to law school. If I don't want to go to law school and take over my father’s law firm, then my husband will. For them, it was a perfect plan: a year of dating, graduation, and then a wedding that was rushed by encouragement and subtle threats from my mother.

Now we're honeymooners, supposedly, with a trip across the Mediterranean. All paid by my parents; it’s either a grand gesture or a bribe. I can’t tell anymore. It gives me a headache each time I try to understand and anticipate their hidden schemes. I don’t even want to think about it, not right now.

Not when the gorgeous sea stretched across from me. My fingers wrap around my camera that’s strapped to my neck, itching to capture new photos. To capture the blues of the sea, the sharp contrast of sails against the sky, the worn wood of the dock.

Eventually, the queue started moving. As we were walking up the small stairs that led to the yacht, I was looking around, trying to find the fastest way that could lead me to the outer deck.

Once we were all on board and waiting for more instructions, I didn't want to waste any more time and turned to Jae, “I need to use the bathroom,” I mumbled an excuse before slipping away. It didn't matter what I said, it all fell to deaf ears anyways.

A buzz of excitement was rushing through me as I wandered the maze of the yacht’s corridors. It then occurred to me how the yacht seems much larger from the inside. Regardless, it was strangely silent for it’s size.

Eventually I found it, a wide doorway with a heavy door that led to the outer deck. A much more expansive view of the sea and the scent of salt hit me. The water sparked under the sun, soft waves could be heard with the seagulls, just much closer now. I took the opportunity immediately, pulling my camera to my face and started snapping pictures.

As I was turning around and taking pictures, my lens landed on someone. I idiotically froze, examining him from my camera. He was completely drenched, wearing nothing but swimming shorts that were hanging low on his narrow hips. His hair was pushed back with some of it sticking to his forehead in lazy waves, droplets of seawater dropping from his face and chest. He was standing above me, adjusting something on the mast.

My camera shutter clicked before I could control my finger on it, or before I could even think. The sound made him glance down, making us lock eyes. Great, not even five minutes on deck and I’m already the creep with a zoom lens. He was clearly amused, a smile on his face and a raised, questioning brow, waiting for an explanation.

“I’m so sorry — I didn't mean to — I was taking pictures of the sea and —” I stammered, trying to clear my bruised image. He started laughing, “It’s okay,” he called down, eyes twinkling. “If I’d known there was a photo shoot happening, I would’ve struck a better pose.” he teased, getting down.

Heat crept up my cheeks as I let out a shy chuckle out of embarrassment. Now he's much closer, “Name’s Heeseung,” he introduced himself, sticking out his hand, with the corners of his mouth still curved in the same playful smile. I hesitated for a beat, trying not to stare — trying being the key word — any lower than his face. I reached out and shook his calloused and slightly damp hand.

“Y/N,” I replied, returning his smile, though mine came with a side of flustered panic. The second he saw me smiling, his eyes softened, becoming warmer now.

My own eyes went down, noticing that he was now holding my hand. I cleared my throat, “I need to get back, the Captain will come any minute now.” I said, pointing to the door I just passed through. He nodded in acknowledgement, “right, right. He sounds important. Better not make him wait.” he chuckled, making his grip on my hand much looser.

He gave me one last smile before returning back to the ropes he’d been fixing. I went back through the maze of hallways, cheeks still burning, heart rattling like my camera in my carry-on.

By the time I found Jae again, he was still on his phone. Unbothered, of course. I sat next to him and started to gaze at him, in deep thought. The complete indifference is infuriating. I took a deep breath — probably out of annoyance — and looked down at my camera.

Moments later, the rest of the passengers had gathered for the Captain’s welcome announcement. As the applause started, I pulled my eyes from my camera’s small screen to look at my surroundings. There he was: Heeseung, but dressed sharply now. A crisp pearly uniform of a Captain with golden stripes stitched on his sleeves and a hat tucked under his arm.

The horror of my mistake started to dawn on me. That's definitely the same guy I accidentally photographed shirtless ten minutes ago. The fucking Captain of the yacht i will be on for months.

He moved confidently, pausing at the front of the crowd with a practiced smile. He greeted us, voice calm, deep, a little too charming for someone who commands a floating hotel. Our eyes landed on each other again, for a beat too long. He gave me a tiny, knowing smile. Like he was trying not to laugh at some inside joke only the two of us knew: the accidental playboy bunny photoshoot joke.

He dipped his head in a little bow. The kind that was half-respectful, half... teasing? In a blind panic, I smiled and awkwardly waved back.

I felt Jae’s eyes snapped at me, finally paying attention to me. However, it wasn’t affection — it was the kind of attention that prickled on my skin, cold and critical. He stayed silent, waiting until the announcement ended. When Heeseung said his final words, the yacht’s engines hummed beneath our feet, and we were off.

As the crowd dispersed, Jae’s head turned slightly toward me, jaw clenched. “So, you know the Captain now?” he accused, not really a question.

“Huh? I ran into him earlier on the deck. He startled me. That’s all.” I said, confused by his switch of moods. His eyes were drawing daggers at me, but didn’t argue. He just turned away with our luggage, “I'm going to find our room.” he said, not even giving me a glance.

What the fuck is up his ass? I stayed planted where I was, letting the sea air try to cool the heat that's rising to my face, this time however it’s from frustration and not embarrassment. I hated how quickly he could make me feel small, guilty about every ‘misstep’, forcing me to defend myself for things I shouldn't need to defend myself for. What a good note to start our honeymoon with.

I stood up and went closer to the sea, near the railing, hoping to drown out all other sounds. The blues of the sky and water were so clear, they did not seem real. But with every passing minute the tilting became stronger, longer, slower. Soft waves rolled beneath my feet, it's like the yacht was inhaling and exhaling.

Another deep lurch from the boat and suddenly, I felt like a human snow globe. My mouth went dry. My insides sloshed and my knees wobbled. I clutched the railing, my feet shifted to balance and my stomach responded with a gentle protest.

Gripping my camera, I adjusted the lens and started snapping pictures, trying to shake it off. I took a deep breath and focused on the horizon. Surprisingly the nausea went down, the camera’s viewfinder anchored me somehow.

An amused voice from behind broke me out of my own little bubble, “Didn’t expect to see you this soon. Or this pale."

I turned — a little too fast — and found Heeseung with his hands on his suit pockets. The wind tugged at his hair to free it from the tight, neat hairstyle that he had 10 minutes ago in front of the passagers.

The moment I was no longer looking into the camera, my stomach alarmed me again. “Oh god,” I whispered, holding my hand to my mouth, trying to fight the nausea again.

He stepped closer, “you get seasick?” he asked, much gentler now. I nodded miserably, “apparently,” I said from behind my hand, afraid to empty out what I ate for breakfast. He huffed a laugh, carefully reaching out for my hand to softly press his thumb against my wrist.

I gave him a look, “Unless you’re reading my palm to tell me I’m dying, what are you doing?” I asked, wary. My heart started, mortified at his closeness. I didn't know that my accidental boudoir, swimwear catalogue model would find me so quickly.

He laughed full heartedly now, “My sister used to get seasick all the time when I brought her with me. Pressing the sea sickness pressure point helps.”

“You’re weird.”

“Oh?” he tilted his head, amused that I’m arguing in this weak state of mine. “I can stop.” he jokingly threatened. I hesitated, it was actually working, “... keep pressing.”

He chuckled, putting a light hand on my shoulder, “Come on. I’ll make you some ginger tea.” he said reassuringly. I was becoming weaker because of the nausea and the embarrassment, making me just accept the idea of some tea.

He led me down a couple narrow hallways toward the galley, while the same creaking of the yacht continued beneath our feet in a steady rhythm. He was very familiar with the kitchen, putting stuff away to clear an area on the counter for me.

I dizzily watched him putting on the kettle, “I swear, if this tea actually helps, I’m going to start suspecting you’re some kind of sea witch,” I said, plopping down on a stool near the counter, surrendering to the misery of nausea to swallow me whole. I closed my eyes, trying and failing to stop the movement.

He laughed while finding a clean mug for me, “Sea witch is a new one. I usually get a pirate.” With my closed eyes, I tried to imagine him as a pirate then as a sea witch, making me fall in a fit of laughter and him joining.

Eventually the laughter died down and the kettle finished boiling. “I feel like I’ve been kidnapped and sentenced to a floating prison,” I muttered, watching him add the honey, the tea bag and then the water to the mug — each motion slow, deliberate. He moved like someone who wasn’t in a rush to be anywhere. Envy came through me, I was envious of that kind of ease. Compared to him, I was all sharp edges and a ball of nervous energy. Always bracing for the next comment, the next disappointment.

Two crewmates passing by overheard me, wearing similar uniforms to Heeseung but in navy and less golden stitched strips. “She’s not wrong,” one of them said, laughing. They started walking closer, seeing the one sided tea ceremony. “Oh, someone is seasick.” the other said, smiling. They were all clearly comfortable with each other, like a family.

“That reminds me, tell her about the time you threw up on the engine, Cap,” the other one added, smiling ear to ear. Without turning, Heeseung said calmly but with a warning tone, “Leave before I assign both of you dish duty for three days.”

They vanished with snickers echoing behind them. Heeseung finally placed a mug in front of me, steam curled into the air. “Drink slowly,” he said, “no eye contact with the ocean.” I smiled and mumbled a ‘thank you’.

I took a careful sip, “do you do this for all your seasick guests?” I pushed, flattered by the pampering.

He leaned against the counter, watching me and mirroring my amusement, “Only the ones who call my boat a prison.”

“Correction,” I said, mock-serious, “a very charming prison. With surprisingly good customer service.” I said, backing up my case. He snorted, shaking his head. He watched me take a couple of more sips, seeing the color back to my face with a smile. I guess the tea actually worked.

-⚓︎-

When I pulled my head from under the pool water, my eyes immediately found Jae. Lounging on the nearby chairs, fully clothed with a laptop open. It's been a couple of days into the trip, and it seems like the more time that passes, the more he closes into himself. Slowly becoming colder and colder to me.

I thought that rather than leaving him cooped up in our room, I could get us into the yacht’s pool. Maybe that could break the ice between us. But no, he found a chair with an umbrella and stayed far away from me.

I observed him for a moment, the frown on my face grew as I watched his rapid tapping on the keyboard. He's genuinely so engulfed in whatever he's looking at, and not our honeymoon, not me. I silently swam to the edge of the pool and hauled myself out.

I could see that he saw me walking towards me, even while he's wearing sunglasses, but he refused to acknowledge me. His lips tightened as I neared him. “Do you want a drink?” I asked, trying my hardest to put on a sweet voice.

“I'm good,” he replied harshly. Dick, if you could call that a reply. If he could, he would've spat on my face. I huffed, took my small towel and camera from beside him and walked away. Another failed attempt to save this rushed, half-assed relationship.

I started drying my hair as I walked barefoot across the teak deck to get to the outdoor bar. I smiled back at the bartender and scanned the menu quickly, “I will get a mint lemonade, please.” I finally picked. I sat on a stool chair, placing my camera in front of me. I stared at my turned off camera, letting my mind wander somewhere else while the bartender rummaged around in front of me making my drink.

What seemed like out of nowhere, Heeseung appeared next to me, cutting off my train of thoughts, “hey,” he greeted me, startling me a little. God, I was really in my mind today. He gave me that same easy smile before ordering a Coke. The bartender seemed flustered with Heeseung around. Her cheeks pink, nodding immediately at his words, her hands moving a little quicker, almost fumbling with the glassware.

“Didn't expect to see you in the pool.” he said, sitting on the stool next to me. I chuckled dryly, “didn't expect to get ignored in it either.” He raised a questioning brow at me, I shrugged in response, almost in defeat. He turned his head ever so slightly to also find Jae, still on the chair and on that damn laptop.

Silence settled between us as our drinks came. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence, just loaded. After a beat, he nodded at my camera, “any new ones? Or are you giving the camera a vacation too?”

I laughed, “not a chance, it's never on a break.” I said, pulling the camera to me and turning it on. He leaned in as I flipped through the photos I had on the memory card. He smelled like sun-bathed linen, clean and comforting. Our arms barely brushed against each other, his warmth much closer now, making my heart skip a beat.

My photos were very normal, at least in my eyes: shots of the sea at golden hour, a bird mid-flight, poolside shadows, drifting towels. Nevertheless, he was very intrigued, genuinely complimenting each one.

My fingers froze when a certain photo popped up. It’s blurry, but unmistakable: it was Jae hunched over his phone, jaw tight. I wanted to skip it, but Heeseung’s finger gently tapped the screen before I could do anything, “your boyfriend?” he asked, more like recognizing him.

“My husband.” I corrected, almost automatically. My eyes were glued to the camera’s little screen, but Heeseung's eyes scanned over to Jae again. Then it's like the puzzle pieces click together for Heeseung, “you're on your honeymoon?” he asked, softer now.

“Supposedly.” I whispered. He slowly nodded, didn't pry nor pity me, to which I'm grateful.

“Don’t worry, I have seen worse honeymoons while sailing.” he comforted, lighting the mood. I snorted, half of me believes him, the other half doesn’t. I want to push my newlywed husband into the ocean water with his laptop, how much worse can it get?

-*-

Later that evening, when I finally got into our room, Jae proved to me just how much worse he can make it. He was tense from the moment I walked in, “Where have you been?” he asked, his voice low, accusatory, again. I frowned at his clearly stupid question. Where else would I be when we’re both stuck on a floating log in the middle of the ocean?

I decided to keep that answer to myself to not make him angrier, I had enough of his bitching for today, “I don’t know… just checking out what they have on this yacht.” I responded, placing my carry on and camera on the small side table near the entry of the room.

“Dont fuck with me, Y/N. i know you were with him.” he started to raise his voice, getting closer to my face.

“Who are you talking about? I was just–”

“Don’t lie to me.” he yelled and got closer to my face, knocking over that small table in the process. His frustration boils over, raw and wild as he was fishing through his pockets for something. My eyes were glued to my belongings on the floor, to my camera on the floor.

My broken camera. The object that captured my world, now shattered and silent.

“I need a smoke,” he said before placing a cig between his lips, walking towards our room’s balcony. I sank to my knees, hands trembling as I started picking up the different pieces of my camera that were scattered across the broken glass of the lens. My eyes are glassy and unfocused from the tears, blurring the edges of everything I see.

I stepped outside of our room, feeling too suffocated inside. I needed fresh air, and if all I'm getting is salty fresh air, so be it. The narrow yacht hallways are dimly lit but the atmosphere was tense, I felt tense. I stared for a moment at the ocean, it’s not as glimmerly when the sun was shining above it. In fact, I can barely see anything in front of me.

With a heavy heart and a broken camera, I started aimlessly walking around the dock, between the quiet halls, looping back to familiar places multiple times. It was silent, not a soul in sight. Until I heard a hum of equipment above the hum of the yacht’s engine.

My eyes followed the buzz, landing on a well lit room, below the deck. The sound of tools being fiddled with was evident. This sounds exactly like a horror movie, but not a single bone in my body cares anymore. What is the point of this ‘trip’ without my camera?

I approached the door frame, and I found him, but with his back turned to me and spare parts scattered around him like puzzle pieces. I raise my hand to knock on the door, not wanting to scare him at one in the morning.

Heeseung looked behind him, frowning in confusion on who would be here at this hour. He smiled for a moment when he saw it was me, but then frowned again when he looked at my completely heartbroken, tear stained face. His eyes fall to my camera — more like pieces of plastic and metal — in my hands.

“What happened?” he asked, worry on his face, gesturing to me to come in.

I paused for a moment, not wanting to tell him the truth, “I tripped and it fell from my hands,” I lied, showing him the chunks in my hands.

He nodded without asking any further questions. “Alright, let me see what I can do.“ he said, taking the parts from me. The stark difference between Jae's yelling voice and Heeseung’s comforting reassurance made the tears spill out even more. “Don’t cry,” he cooed, his voice was gentle as he slowly pushed my hair that was stuck to my face. I feel pathetic, probably look the part too…

“Oh love, I promise it’s not worth crying over.” he whispered, taking me into his arms. I wrap my arms around his chest, silently crying into his shirt, letting his smell of sea breeze consume me. He was like a warm exhale from whatever nightmare I was living.

-*-

It's been ten minutes since I have been sitting quietly next to him, watching him treat the camera as gently and as carefully as calloused hands can be. I anxiously stared back and forth between him and the camera. The echo tools clinking together echoed through the workshop.

Finally, he sighed, running his hand through his hair, “I'm sorry, pretty. It's too far gone to be fixed.” I let my shoulders slump down in disappointment, “I guess I have to only rely on your ginger tea and that magic ‘pressure point’ trick thing.” I said flatly, trying not to sound too sulky.

He chuckled softly at that, giving me a small, sympathetic smile. “I told you, I'm certified,” he said in a fake-serious tone.

“Oh, wow. A certified sea witch. You really are something.” I mocked further, making both of us laugh. The silence that followed didn’t weigh heavy, but it was peaceful. He started to put away some of the tools he pulled out and I looked over at the only porthole, spotting the stars in the sky and trying to make out the different shapes.

“Did they ever teach you about constellation names when you were becoming a Captain?” I asked before thinking twice.

He followed my gaze through the small window, “of course they did. We went through serious, rigorous training,” he said with a firm voice, “that one is the ‘Dancing Noodle’, very rare. And that one is the ‘Pizza Slice’, my personal favorite.” he continued, talking as if he’s actually teaching me something new.

I frown at the names, really letting them sink in for a moment. Then I blinked at him, “you're making those up.” I said, narrowing my eyes at him with a smile. He chuckled, “you believe me for a second there.”

We stayed like that for a while, side by side, our shoulders just barely touching as the made-up constellations drifted lazily above us. No pressure to talk, no weight in the quiet—just an easy, quiet kind of closeness that didn’t ask for anything more.

Without saying a word, he reached over to the broken camera pieces and started to put them in a small cotton bag. I slowly joined him, “next time I drop something, I hope it's Jae’s laptop.” I mumbled, laughing at my own joke. Heeseung let out a low whistle while chuckling, “make sure I'm nearby, i might actually help you pull it off.”

-⚓︎-

A few days slipped by in a blur of sunrises and restless nights. The yacht swayed in a slow, cradling rhythm, like it was trying to rock me to sleep, like it was begging me to sleep. The past few nights, sleep barely touched me — my mind kept dragging me through a maze of torturous memories, jumping from one thought to another, refusing to let me rest.

I sat on the edge of some stairs near the outer deck, staring out to the new sunrise that is marking a new day — wishing I could capture it on my camera. I could feel my heart beating in fury when I relive that moment with Jae. My fingers nervously twist at my wedding ring — out of habit now when I think of him, yet my eyes avoid looking at it. The ring was stunning, really. Nevertheless, it makes me tense up and shiver uncomfortably each time I glanced at it.

I avoided our room as much as possible.Not out of fear of running into Jae, but because the memory of that night clung to the walls, too rough to face. All I seemed capable of was replaying our vows in my head, over and over, trying to hear some truth in them. As if listening hard enough might reveal some hidden truth I missed the first time.

I should be asleep beside my husband right now. Instead, I’m lying here wide awake, trying to remember what exactly made me say ‘yes’.

Maybe it wasn’t about love — maybe it was about proving something. My mom smiled so wide at the wedding, like it meant everything had finally fallen into place. The wedding wasn’t anything like the one I’d pictured growing up. Maybe I said yes to Jae because I wanted to prove to my parents I could still be someone they’d be proud of. They already thought I gave up on my future when I didn't go to law school. What will they say when they find out this ‘perfect marriage’ is unraveling as well?

I inhaled deeply, and held that breath in my chest for a moment before pushing all these thoughts away. I allowed my feet to carry me forward, wandering aimlessly through the yacht’s quiet corridors, letting the hush of the sea fill the silence between my thoughts.

Until I stumbled into a small kitchen nook tucked into the side of the yacht. The soft clatter of a knife against the cutting board greets me, a little louder than the quiet hum of the sea outside. Heeseung was already there — barefoot, sleeves rolled to his elbows, hair still tousled from sleep. There’s a calm ease in the way he moves, like he belongs here, like the ocean is second nature to him. The morning golden light spills across his features.

For a moment, I just stood there, watching him and his smooth chopping — unsure if it’s the sway of the yacht or the sight of him that makes my heart flutter.

“You have a staring problem,” he teased but not once looking up.

I let out a breathy laugh, the humor catching me by surprise, a stark difference from the ruminating monologue that has been going off in my mind, “comes with being a photographer,” I said, trying to match his tone.

He looked up from the strawberries he was chopping, his small smile was warm as always. “Are you hungry? I can whip something up — personalized, gourmet, five-star level,” he said playfully, but the offer was genuine. “I thought you just drove the boat,” I said, stepping closer to lean against the counter.

He chuckled, “tour guide, chef, mechanist… comes with being a Captain.” he said, holding up a strawberry near my lips. I opened my mouth and took it without thinking. My lips brushed his fingertips for the briefest moment, sending a quick, unexpected rush through my chest. As I chewed, the sweetness burst on my tongue — and so did the realization of how close we were.

“You’d be surprised how many emergencies want to happen before 8 a.m.” he went on, like nothing had happened. So either meant he didn’t notice... or he was very, very good at pretending. Is an actor also on the list of required competence to be a Captain?

I gave him a look, one eyebrow raised. “Define emergency.”

With a grin, he leaned back slightly to get some other fruits from behind the counter, “once had a guest call the front desk at 5 a.m. screaming about a ‘hostile sea creature’ in her room.” I blinked, completely curious now.

He snorted, remembering the story, “it turns out a poor fish had launched through her window right at the crack of dawn. She locked herself in the bathroom and asked me to ‘evacuate the beast’.”

I nearly choked on my strawberry. “Evacuate the beast?”

“Oh, she wanted me to bring the radio back up like it was a hostage situation.”

I was laughing now. Really laughing, the first time in days it didn’t feel forced. “And did you save the day?”

“Of course, Captain of the year.” he said, placing a hand dramatically over his chest. He then looked at me with that calm glint in his eyes, “so, in comparison, you're a dream guest.”

I chuckled, “A dream guest who spends her days sulking around your yacht.” I admitted, guilt dug deep in my chest for always being the Debbie downer. He shrugged, “You laugh at my jokes. That buys you at least three stars.” he said, disappearing behind the counter.

“Oh yeah? out of how many?” I challenged, leaning my elbow on the counter, chin in my palm. “For you?” He called from down below, “three stars out of three stars.” playfulness in his voice being evident. Something about the way he said it, so light and easy, made my heart dance and lifted the heaviness from my mind.

The shine of the dawn sun came through the big windows near us, the ray of light hitting my face and my wedding band that is still circling my finger. My smile faltered just slightly. Before I could get lost in it again, Heeseung reappeared and tapped the cutting board with his knife. “Come on, helper. If you’re staying in my kitchen, you’re getting a task.”

I snapped out of my daydreaming and gave him a mock salute. “Yes, chef. I mean Captain, I mean chef.”

He rolled his eyes, laughing as he slid the cutting board my way. “Start with that before you get promoted to anything sharper.” he said before turning around to start something on the big stove.

I pondered on my ring for a minute. Without a word, I slipped it off my finger, the cool metal gilded against my skin. I tucked it into my pocket quietly, like I was setting down a weight no one else could see.

As I picked up a strawberry and began slicing, the warmth of the sun settled on my skin, grounding me. The gentle rhythm of the waves, the clink of utensils, and Heeseung humming some unrecognizable tune filled the silence between us.

-*-

By late morning, after breakfast service rush winded down, the weather starts to turn. I stood outside, a little away from the other passengers. The skies dimed the sun to a moody gray, and the once-gentle sway of the yacht grows slightly more forceful. With the wave rolling much harsher, my stomach twists sharply, warning me. I blinked hard, trying to breathe through it, steadying myself against the railing. If that dick didn't break my camera…

That's when my phone buzzes in my pockets with my ring still in there. I delved in my jean shorts, scrabbling and trying to focus my vision to see who it is.

"Your father and I were watching the wedding videos again. I hope you're remembering to smile more in your photos. you looked tired in the last ones.” - "mom <3", delivered 10 sec ago

I stared at it, the words tilting something loose inside me. Something about it… the timing, the usual perfectionism wrapped in love. It shouldn’t sting, but it does. It all makes my throat tighten and burn even more. The nausea surges like a tide. Eventually, it all came out. The motion of the sea and the weight of everything on my chest finally tipping over.

Then, footsteps.

Heeseung appears, calm but concerned. His brows furrowed as he spotted me hunched near the trash bin. Bless whoever designed this yacht for having a trash bin here.

He doesn’t say anything. Just kneels quietly and sits besides me with hesitation. One hand gently sweeped my hair away from my face and the other one held a small towel to my mouth to clean up. “How hot do I look right now?” I muttered with a voice hoarse, trying to muster a bit of humor through the haze of nausea.

He gave a crooked smile — soft, endeared, “If this is you at your worst, then I’m in trouble.” he said, still dabbing gently away at my chin.

A fragile pause stretched between us, he sat next to me while I clutched my stomach. I swallow hard, having everything hit me like a brick wall. Then, as if a switch had flipped, My eyes let quiet, inevitable tears slip down my cheeks. I didn’t bother wiping them away. They're not from sadness, but from exhaustion. I leaned into his shoulder, too tired to think twice about it. “I’m sorry…” my voice barely over a whisper.

He wraps an arm gently around me, and presses a soft kiss to the top of my head. “Shhh,” he murmured, his voice steady and low. “There is nothing to be sorry about.”

-⚓︎-

The clock ticks somewhere, soft and distant. I finally sunk into the sheets of our bed, the feeling of loneliness hit me — though fatigue was stronger. Heeseung pushed me to go to sleep many hours ago… maybe twelve hours? Or was it ten? I can't remember how long I was outside. All i do remember is him walking me to the room, brushing my hair and putting me to bed.

The sheets were cold, and still looked untouched on the other side, Jae’s side. There was a trace of him through a faint smell of his cologne and his cigs that was clinging to his pillow.

I slowly sat up with my head pounding, syncing with my heartbeat that I could feel behind my forehead. The soft glow of his phone screen barely illuminates the dark room, the time stares back at me: 3:11 a.m. I could see Jae’s silhouette out on the balcony, the tiny flare of his cigarette being the second source of light.

My eyes burn from exhaustion that I can't quite sleep off. So I just roll over, hugging my pillow for warmth and deliberately avoiding his. Avoiding him. His smell was repulsing enough for me now. I could hear his phone buzzing, altering him for a notification. Every ding felt like a punishment, a reminder of how easily he could stay connected to the world — just not to me.

The days started to officially blur together, two weeks of mindlessly walking around the yacht, quietly watching the sunrises and sunsets alone, picking at meals, my only source of conversation being the bartenders and servers. I started feeling like a host more than a guest on this yacht.

It was simple, really. I fell into a routine: during the day I'm alone on the deck, during the night I would pretend to sleep while he slips into the room late, smelling like salt and smoke. He’s like a stranger now — someone just passing through.

“You don’t even try to lie anymore.” I said before I could stop myself. Though it was barely above a whisper, it barely left my lips. He lets out a tired breath, annoyed more than anything else, “don’t start, Y/N. Not now.” he said before a click of a door, disappearing again.

He made clear, time and time again, that he’d already emotionally checked out. It felt like a punch to the chest, which was funny. I felt the same and did the same, but it still hurts. Being forgotten by someone you didn’t even want to marry should’ve been easier.

-*-

One early morning, I found myself curled up on one of the lounge chairs, knees pulled to my chest, barely awake. A half-full cup of cold coffee rested in my hands. The ocean stretched endlessly ahead, quiet and soft in the pale light of dawn. It looked exactly the same as it had yesterday… and the day before. And yet, I stared like it might eventually show me something new.

The yacht was docked near a quiet island. It was like a pause in the yacht’s slow route. The sea was clearer out here. Less churned up. Bluer, like it hadn’t been bothered in hours. It felt like the world had finally lowered its voice.

Footsteps padded softly across the deck, not rushed or hesitant. I didn’t have to look up to know it was Heeseung. He stopped beside me, “that coffee’s seen better hours,” he said softly. I turned my head and found him tilting his head a little, studying me. His hair damp and curling slightly at the ends, like he’d just come from a rinse or a swim, again. He wore a plain white T-shirt, a little too thin, already catching the breeze and clinging lightly to his skin.

“So have I,” I mumbled, giving him a small, tired smile. He returned it — gentle, not too wide. Just enough to let me feel it. He glanced toward the horizon and then back at me. “Come swim with me.” he said, quietly, like a suggestion, not a demand.

I blinked up at him. “Right now?”

He nodded. “There’s a spot I know here. It’s quiet. Clear water.”

I looked down at my coffee, at my bare feet curled against the chair and at the sky that hadn’t quite woken up. “I’m not exactly good company right now,” I admitted with that kind of honesty that slips out when you’re too tired to filter anything.

“That’s okay,” he said, his voice low and kind. “I figured misery loves company, and I’m excellent company.”

I let out a soft breath, almost a laugh. I nodded and then pointed toward the cabins. “Give me five minutes. Maybe six. I have to remember where I planted my bikini.”

He grinned, the expression soft and grateful, “I’ll start the boat.”

A couple minutes later, I found him standing outside and waiting for me. His arms crossed, pretending not to look impatient, but failing just a little. The morning light brushing against his profile like it had missed him too. As his eyes met mine, he gave me a once-over. Not in a way that made me shrink, just a quick scan to make sure I was awake enough, here enough. He stepped closer to the edge, making me take his warm, offered hand so I could step off onto a smaller boat.

As we pulled away from the yacht, the noise of the world seemed to fade even more. There was no harsh engine roaring, just the hum of the sea and the occasional creak of the boat shifting beneath us. The breeze brushed through my hair, letting me take a deep breath. We didn’t talk much, but it wasn’t silence I hated. I sat across from him, arms around my knees, watching the ripples we left behind.

“Are you always this mysterious?” he asked after a minute, his voice light but not mocking. He never took his eyes away from the steering wheel or the ocean, “waking up early, staring at the sea.” I glanced at him, the wind teasing a strand of hair into my mouth, “Only when I haven’t slept properly in two weeks.”

He made a face that was part wince, part sympathy, “insomnia is one hell of a bitch.” he said, much quieter. “What about you?” I asked, shifting to face him a little more, “haven’t seen you in a minute… “ I threw back the questions at him. Honestly, I miss his presence more than anything.

He smiled, a little sheepish while his eyes were still on the horizon. He gave a small shrug, “Had a few shifts, maintenance stuff…. steering that floating palace doesn’t come with an autopilot button.”

“Mm,” I said, “so you have been avoiding me.” I continued with a teasing voice. He looked at me, frowning, genuinely confused. “Now, why would I avoid you?” I smiled a smile that didn't reach my eyes, “I don’t know… maybe because I’m becoming annoying to be around.”

He tilted his head slightly, immediately shaking his head. “You’re not. You’re just full.”

“Full?”

“Of thoughts,” he said, nodding understandingly, “Stories. Feelings. Things you don’t say out loud.” I blinked, then grinned. “Okay, Dr. Freud. So you’re a captain, tour guide, chef, mechanist… and a psychoanalyst. How long is your resume?”

He laughed, head tipping back slightly, the sound carried off by the sea breeze. I laughed too, this time without holding anything back. The kind that came from somewhere small but real, somewhere I hadn’t reached in a while. We didn’t say much after that, the silence between us settled easily. Just the water lapping at the boat with both of us soaking in the sun.

Eventually, Heeseung slowed the boat with a practiced flick of his wrist, easing the throttle down until the engine softened to a low purr and then quieted altogether. The boat drifted for a moment, rocking gently in the clear water. He squinted slightly out at the horizon. “This is the spot,” he said quietly, as if he didn’t want to break the calm. The world around us felt hushed, just the endless blue and the faint call of seabirds somewhere far off.

He stood up then and tugged his shirt off in one motion, revealing a lean back scattered with faded freckles, the kind of tan that came from years at sea, not vacations. He tossed the shirt onto the bench behind him and stepped to the edge of the boat. Then, without a warning, he dove cleanly into the water, slicing through the surface with ease.

I followed to the edge, letting my feet slip into the water below. It was cool, sharp and soft all at once. My eyes trailed after Heeseung as he swam effortlessly through the glittering water. The sun caught his wet hair while he had an unguarded grin on his face. After diving back in the water, he resurfaced near my feet, shaking his head and splashing water onto me in the process. “You know these are trying to kill each other, right?” he asked, wadling closer.

“Huh?”

“Your anklets,” he said. “Here, hold still.”

Before I could argue, his hands were already gently at my ankle, fingers deftly working the knots apart. I quieted down and watched how gentle he was with me. My eyes fell to his face: the curve of his lashes, still damp from the water; the way his brows furrowed slightly in concentration. The sun made his skin glow warm and gold, and I could see the faint trail of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, like he was holding back a thought he wouldn’t say aloud.

I wasn’t used to this kind of attention — quiet, thoughtful, without expectation. I wasn’t used to someone looking after me in ways that didn’t have to be spoken. His fingers brushed against my skin as he finished undoing the knot, and I felt that touch everywhere.

“That's a cute one,” he said, holding one of my anklet’s charms between his fingers, “th little star… looks like it’s been with you a while.” I glanced down at the worn out charm, a bit dulled at the edges. “Yeah. My mom gave it to me when I was sixteen,” I said, the words coming easily, “she said I always had my head in the clouds, and this was supposed to keep a piece of the sky with me.”

He looked up at me then, his expression soft and focused, “she sounds like someone who paid attention.”

My next words sat heavy on my chest, “my parents did in their own way. Her and my dad…” I hesitated, “they both had their ways with everything. They were loud and messy. Nothing was ever quiet with them. Two lawyers being married isn’t easy…”

I laughed quietly, “but they love each other. A lot. there was never a moment where I doubted that they wanted each other.” I said, feeling the weight of the contrast between my situation and theirs press against my ribs. I looked away and then down at the water lapping against the side of the boat.

There was a pause. The kind that wasn’t awkward, just honest. He let the charm go gently, his fingers brushing against my skin one last time. “But not with Jae?” he whispered, almost afraid to bring up the topic.

“With him…” I said, taking a deep breath, “I think him and I are the opposite of my parents. Our relationship is quiet, we never really fought. He is the lawyer, I was the business student who really just wanted to take photos for a living.” I gave a half-laugh, mostly laughing at myself, “my parents run a firm together. Big, loud courtroom people. They wanted me to follow in their footsteps, take over one day. But I didn’t want that for me. Photography was the only thing that ever felt like mine.” I paused, eyes on the horizon, “we made a deal, a common ground for everyone: I go to business school and keep my cameras as a hobby.”

I glanced at Heeseung, then looked down again at my feet in the water, “I started dating Jae near the end of my days at uni. He didn’t even tell me he was studying law at first. I found out a couple months in. My parents found out too. They adored him — like finally, a win in their eyes. And when we were both close to graduating, they really pushed for this marriage. Told me it made sense. Said I was lucky and shouldn't throw this chance away.”

A beat passed. “And I guess I thought that agreeing to marry him would fix things with my parents, or at least keep things from breaking more. If I couldn’t give them the daughter they wanted, maybe I could give them the son-in-law they adored. So I said ‘yes’.”

I let the words settle between us. “I didn’t realize how much of myself I’d lose in the process.” I swallowed. “I liked him, I really did.” I said, much softer.

He was quiet for a long moment, I could feel that he was in deep thought. “You know…” he broke the silence before pushing himself up from the water to sit next to me on the edge of the boat, “there is a kind of grief from when you do everything right, but things still end up in the wrong place.” he said, his voice was low, intimate. I looked at him, but his gaze was on the water.

“My dad was in the navy,” he continued with a faint smile on his lips, “Whole family thought I’d follow. Even had a spot lined up in a maritime academy. But I hated those uniforms, the structure, being told how to breathe.” He chuckled, “so instead, I worked every odd job I could until I bought my first boat. Treated her like my first born.”

I snorted at that, making him shoot me a mock-offended look before laughing himself, “she broke down every third week and sank twice. But she was mine, so I pushed through,” He glanced over, meeting my eyes. “Until I figured out how to do this full-time. Climbed my way up to become a Captain of a yacht… but if I’m being honest, there are things I haven't mastered yet.”

I smiled, a little surprised. “That’s brave of you to drive the damn yacht then,”

He laughed, “maybe. Or maybe I was just stupid enough to not care and still did it.” he said before looking over at me. His voice softened again, “but you… you care. You tried to carry all of it: your parents’ hopes, Jae’s silence, even your own guilt. Like you’re sorry for not wanting the life they picked out for you.” My breath caught slightly in my chest. “But you don't owe them your whole self,” he added, “loving people doesn’t mean burying parts of yourself for them.”

I smiled, “that easy, huh?” playful sarcasm laced my voice, but his words rang in my head. He gave a shrug, eyes warm. “Worth a shot.”

I looked at him for a moment, “even when you say the opposite, you always sound like you’ve figured it all out,” I said. He laughed under his breath, shaking his head, “I’m winging it constantly. The only thing I’m halfway decent at is pretending I know what I’m doing.”

I smiled, “you fake it well.”

There was a pause, then he glanced toward the water, a softness settling into his expression, “there’s one person I try not to fake it with, though.”

“Oh yeah?” I asked, nudging him lightly with my knee. “Who’s that?”

“My little sister,” his voice dropped a little, like he was letting me in on something private. “She is living back home with my mom. I helped raise her for a bit.”

My smile faded into something gentler, “You don’t talk about her much.” I said. He nodded, “yeah, I don’t. She's too precious for that. She's smart, moody, sharp as hell. You know, the full teenage package.” He looked down at his hands, then grinned, “I keep writing to her about how many times i fuck up, but she also thinks I got it all figured out.”

“Writing?” I asked, blinking. He looked sheepish, “yeah. We write to each other, like actual letters.”

Seeing the Captain who gives orders to his crew being this sentimental was unexpectedly charming. I smiled softly, “that’s adorable.” He shrugged like it was nothing, but the way his fingers absently traced the edge of the boat said otherwise. “She tells me about her crushes. I tell her about the ‘hostile sea creatures’.”

We laughed together, the sound light between us. “I like that,” I said quietly, “you writing letters.” He turned to me again, this time with a small smile that reached all the way to his eyes, “you saying that makes me want to send one to you, just to prove I’ve got good stationery.”

I raised an eyebrow at him before giggling, “sounds like an excuse to get me as your pen pal.”

-*-

Spending the whole day with Heeseung hadn’t exactly been my plan. After sunset, the night wrapped around the island like a soft blanket while the sky was a vast canvas of twinkling stars. Hee had roped me into joining the crew’s beach bonfire with a very persuasive smile and arguments. The crew had gathered a fire pit on the beach near the edge of the sand, letting its flame start crackling. A handful of passengers lounged nearby, their laughter and chatter blending with the gentle sound of waves kissing the shore.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I glanced at it to find it to be a message from Jae.

“taking a call” - "J.", delivered 1 hour ago

Just those simple words and nothing else. No follow-up, no check-in, no ‘wish you were next to me’ messages like he used to when we first dated. I stared at the screen for a second longer than I should’ve, then tucked it back into my pocket without replying. I refused to think about him, tonight wasn’t for him.

Hee introduced me to the crew, it was with easy smiles and no formalities — just nicknames and laughter. One of the crew members leaned in to me once she saw that Heeseung had turned his back to us, “so you’re the one our Captain’s been all mysterious about,” she said with a genuine, excited smile while handing me a stick with a perfectly speared marshmallow.

Another crew member was sitting next to us chimed in, “Cap’s got a type.” he said, grinning over his beer bottle.

I chuckled, a little flustered, trying to come up with something to say but Heeseung beat me to it. “Keep talking,” he warned him with sharp eyes, but there was humor under them, “and I’ll have you scrubbing the deck until sunrise.” The group erupted into laughter, that same crewmate groaning dramatically.

The rhythm of the waves and firelight could be heard next to their teasing. I leaned back slightly, absorbing the setting. Maybe it was how no one here asked about my credentials, what I studied — or my complete lack of a job. Maybe it was how the air felt softer on this island, or how I hadn’t smiled this much in weeks. I'm not sure, but it allowed me to let myself just exist. Not as someone’s daughter, not as someone’s wife — just me.

The fire crackled loud and golden in the middle of our little circle on the beach, casting flickering shadows on everyone’s faces. I kicked off my sandals, feeling the cool, soft sand sift between my toes. I settled closer to the fire with my stick that had a slightly charred marshmallow. The sweetness melted in my mouth as laughter bubbled up from inside me — light, unexpected and utterly freeing.

For the first time in what felt like weeks, I wasn’t thinking about Jae, or my parents, or the ring still hidden in my drawer. All that mattered was the warmth of the fire, the softness of the night.

Hee was right in front of me, sitting casually on the made shift benches with his legs stretched out, his eyes never leaving me. There was something in the way he watched — quiet, steady, like he was memorizing me and the way the firelight flickered in my eyes. He was impossible to ignore. I caught him once, and he gave me a small, shy grin, the kind that made my heart skip just a little.

Eventually, someone from the crew jumped up. “Alright! I suggest a ten-minute crab hunt. Whoever brings back the biggest crab wins a ‘no cleanup duty’ pass for the next three nights.” Some people groaned and others laughed, but they all scattered into the darkness with makeshift flashlights and empty cups. Within seconds, the bonfire was mostly empty. I stayed seated, completely focused on making the perfect s’mores.

I caught him watching me again, “planning to write a letter about my marshmallow roasting skills?” I teased.

The fire crackled between us, casting gold along his jawline as he smirked. “I’m trying to infer how you like your s’mores,” he said. The fire rustled between us as I caught the sparkle in his eyes that made my heart race just a bit faster.

I glanced at the sad marshmallow bubbling on the end of my stick. “I don't like them burnt,” I explained, pointing to the stick. “They need to be in this ‘slightly touched’ zone, you know? Like golden. Perfectly golden.”

“Hm right, right.” he said, leaning in slightly to inspect, “but… I think you’re in the ‘charcoal’ zone.”

I gasped. “Oh, fuck off! Stop distracting me!” I said, taking off the fire as he tried to stifle a laugh. “You’re sabotaging,” I muttered, trying to take the marshmallow off the stick only for it to fall into the flames, catching on fire completely.

“Here,” he said, reaching over and offering his own — perfectly golden, like he’d been roasting it with a slow kind of intention. “Take mine.”

I smiled and took it slowly by sandwiching his marshmallow between graham crackers and chocolate squares. It melted slightly at the edges, giving it that gooey look. He watched me with that same quiet amusement, his chin resting on his hand like he had all the time in the world just to roast marshmallows for me.

I lifted it to my mouth and took the first bite. I couldn’t help the soft groan that escaped, “okay, wow,” I said, covering it with the back of my hand. “That’s actually stupid good.” Without thinking, I turned to him and lifted the s’more up. “Here. You have to try it,” I said, holding it out between us.

He hesitated for half a second, then leaned in, biting right next to my own bite. His hands closed gently around mine, steadying my grip on the s’more while his lips brushing just past my knuckles. He chewed thoughtfully, “Mm, you were right.” he said in between bites.

As I was beaming in pride at my s’mores, he reached up and flicked a tiny smudge of chocolate from the corner of my mouth, his fingers lingering. I caught his gaze with my cheeks heating up. Slowly, he slipped that chocolate trace into his own mouth, a satisfied smile was clear on his lips, “looks like you’ve got chocolate,” he teased softly.

I laughed, trying to calm down my fast heart beat, “guess I’ll have to keep you around to clean up my messes.”

He raised his brows, a slow, amused smile tugging at his lips. He definitely heard and understood something else. I realized the gravity of my word vomit, “oh my god, no! I mean—no, not like that! I just—" I said, digging myself deeper and stumbling over my words.

Mortified, I groaned and buried my face in my hands. “Oh my god,” I mumbled into my palms, “I’m never speaking again.” My skin burned, my shoulders curled inward like I could disappear right into the sand. All I could hear was his laughter as he wrapped an arm around me, pulling me gently into his side. I didn’t resist, I just let myself fall into the space he made for me. The sound of the fire clattering filled the night air, mingling with the steady rhythm of his heartbeat pressed softly against my shoulder.

-⚓︎-

The days are passing by more gently now. I found myself lingering near the crew more often, picking up the inside jokes from the kitchen staff, helping arrange coffee cups when I got bored. It was easier than being alone, easier than sitting in a room that still smelled like a stranger.

I would also helped Hee with breakfast… sometimes even lunch and dinner if I’m being honest. He started taking me around to the little shops and markets on every island we stopped at — weaving through narrow aisles of handmade jewelry, coconut soaps, woven sarongs, and sun-bleached postcards.

He never rushed me. Just watched me browse, fascinated, occasionally holding things up and asking my opinion on them. I didn’t mean to spend so much time with Heeseung. Our moments weren’t planned, they just… happened, like we were accidentally orbiting each other.

One night I sat outside on a bench of a quiet deck at the back of the yacht. The stars were soft above me, and the sea was unusually still, like it was holding its breath. I had my knees tucked up under me, a tiny bottle of nail polish — a soft, ocean-glass green that Hee picked out ‘because it reminded him of seafoam and me half-asleep’ — balanced on the wood between my ankles. I’d gotten two fingers done, smudged but salvageable, before things started going sideways.

“Is this a manicure or a wrestling match?” a voice called, warm and familiar. I looked up to find him walking over, arms crossed and grinning.

“I’m trying,” I sighed with a smile, holding up my left hand. He came closer and sat in front of me, settling down right in front of me, the bench wide enough so that my legs fit between his. The closeness was becoming natural, his knees lightly brushing mine. “Want me to help?”

I hesitated, only for a second, before nodding and handing over the tiny bottle. He took it gently, and then took my hand just as gently. The way he cradled my hand was tender yet deliberate. He fell into silence as he focused, I watched him more than I should have. “Are you good at this because you have a sister?” I asked, tilting my head slightly.

He glanced up, smirking, “keeping notes on me?”

“Maybe.”

When he finished, he didn’t move away. Instead, he leaned in a little, blowing softly over the fresh polish. As his fingers were still holding mine, I looked up where I met his eyes. Everything slows down, just enough to make a decision.

He was leaning in closer to my lips, I couldn't seem to pull away. So I lifted my index finger and pressed it gently against his soft lips, stopping him from getting closer. My heart practically sprinted in my chest at this point. “As much as I want to…” I said, voice barely above a whisper, “I’m still married.”

“I know…” his voice was quiet, carrying a weight that made the space between us feel fragile. His eyes held no anger or bitterness—just a quiet sadness, silently mourning a future that might never be.

With a small, almost apologetic smile, he added, “I’m not trying to be the reason you forget that,” he finally let go of my hand, the warmth slipping away. “But I can’t keep showing up like this, not when I’m starting to fall for you. And I think you already know that.” His words hit harder than I expected, my breath hitched again.

He reached into his pockets, “I brought you something,” he said, and pulled out a camera. It was older, not sleek or shiny, but clearly loved — scuffed around the edges, worn in a way that felt personal. “It’s not fancy,” he admitted, placing it gently in my hands. “But it’s mine. Thought maybe… you’d want to take pictures again.” I stared at it, speechless.

By the time I looked up, he was already walking away, the soft deck lights casting a shadow behind him. I stayed there, sitting in the quiet while the camera felt heavy in my lap. A lump formed in my throat, and I felt tears gathering at the edges of my eyes. Tears I didn’t know if I wanted to shed or hold back.

-⚓︎-

He’s been watching me from a distance for maybe a week — never close enough to speak, but always near enough that I can feel his eyes on me. He probably thinks I don’t notice, but once you’ve grown used to his attention, it’s hard to ignore it. I see it in the little things, like how he would leave the kettle of ginger tea waiting for me in the kitchen, my spot on the outer deck always arranged how I like.

However, the air between us stays heavy, thick with all the things we’re both too afraid to say aloud. Like we’re carrying a weight neither of us wants to name. Since that night — the night of ‘almost’, where we didn’t quite cross the line — there hasn’t been a single word exchanged. A silent barrier has settled between us.

One afternoon on the deck, while I’m adjusting the lens of his camera, trying to focus and stay focused, I catch movement in my periphery. I glance up, and there he is. Heeseung, standing on the upper deck, bathed in pale light like the day itself hasn’t quite decided whether it wants to be soft or sharp. His arms are crossed over the railing, eyes already on me. Our gazes collide — just for a second before I look away.

The silence between Jae and I had always felt empty. Like two people ignoring the fact that they’d built a life on top of separate islands. But the silence between Heeseung and I does not feel empty. It feels like questions and answers we are too afraid to ask and respond to.

Even from far away, even without a word, he sees me more clearly than Jae ever did.

I sat in my cabin alone that evening, the ocean murmuring just beyond the walls. The little camera sat warm in my hands, his camera. I had only meant to scroll through the shots I’d taken earlier that day: a dock at sunrise, a blur of passing sails.

But somewhere along the way, I must’ve flicked too far, because suddenly I was looking at photos I didn’t take. They were older ones, tucked into the memory card.

The first was a blurry photo of a girl standing on a rocky shoreline, maybe his sister? or someone close? She’s caught mid-laugh, hair tangled by the wind, the kind of candid photo that feels like a stolen moment. Then a handful of quiet landscapes with the soft curves of a dock.It all felt like a time capsule that I had no clue what was inside. I kept clicking, slowly, as if each image might say something he never told me out loud.

And then, a self-timer shot. Young Heeseung, covered in sand, smiling crookedly and sitting beside a half-repaired boat engine. He looks lighter there, like the weight he carries now wasn’t on his shoulders yet. Something tugged in my chest, sharp and strange. I stare at that photo for longer than I should. It feels like a glimpse of someone I’m only just beginning to understand.

My thumb hovered over the button to keep scrolling, but I stopped — feeling like I cracked open his diary without meaning to. This feels too private for me to continue looking at. So I just turned the camera off and didn't dare delete a single photo.

-⚓︎-

Another evening, we were back in our cabin after dinner. The kind of dinner where we barely spoke and I just pushed food around my plate. Jae had excused himself to take a shower. I nodded, barely looking up from my phone, though I hadn’t really been looking at anything, my thumb kept scrolling through nothing. The silence between us stayed in that familiar state.

He left his phone on the nightstand, as usual. Face up with the screen black. I didn’t look at first. But the moment the bathroom door clicked shut behind him, a notification popped up. I don’t know why I froze and just�� stared at it. but something in me stirred, low and uneasy. My heart thumped, like a quiet knock against a door I didn’t want to open.

Curiosity isn’t always innocent. Sometimes, it’s instinct. Sometimes, it’s the body begging the heart to wake up and listen.

My fingers moved before I could reason with them. Just check, prove yourself wrong. That’s what I told myself as I picked it up. It was completely unlocked. I have never checked his phone before during college. Not even once. I never had a reason to, he never gave me a reason to.

But I wasn’t wrong. Her name was saved so neatly under ‘Coworker’. Of course, what a dumbass move. The messages were all there, unfolded one by one. They were scattered, careless.

“Had fun last night.” - "me", delivered 2 weeks ago

“Wish I was waking up next to you.” - "me", delivered 1 month ago

“Can’t wait for when she’s not around.” - "Coworker", delivered 1 week ago

I sat there frozen and reading them. Message after message. Pet names. Late-night plans. My eyes burned before the tears even started. Then came the photos, from him and her. Her body posed, shared like a secret. The kind of photos you send when you're sure someone wants you. He did, he wanted her.

My chest cracked open. I didn’t cry, not yet, but I could feel something inside me crumble. My breath hitched, sharp and involuntary, and I swallowed down a sob — not loud, but it cracked through me like a branch snapping under pressure. Just enough that if he was listening from behind the door, he would’ve heard.

The shower turned on a second later. Loud and unbothered.

I stood, slowly, wiping at my face with the back of my hand. “I’m going out for air.” I called out, my voice came out small and shaky. Nothing from him, just the sound of the water. I'm not even sure if he heard me, I don't even care anymore.

The door clicked shut behind me with a softness that didn’t match the way my heart was breaking. I stepped out into the open night, barefoot and numb, the hum of the yacht beneath me like a ghost’s heartbeat. The deck was quiet, empty. Everyone else was tucked away in their cabins, blissfully unaware.

The air was thick with salt and warmth, a strange mix for this late in the evening. The breeze was gentle, brushing past me like it already knew I was fragile tonight. He really fucked me over once i was finally feeling somewhat okay.

I walked until I reached the railing, curling my fingers around the cool metal. The sea stretched out in front of me — black, endless, glittered faintly with starlight. It felt like looking into something eternal, something that swallowed secrets for a living.

My chest ached in that dull, splintering way. The tears didn’t fall yet, they just sat there heavy. I didn’t know how long I stood there like that — body still, soul unraveling — until I heard footsteps behind me.

“I figured I’d find you out here,” Heeseung said, his voice as gentle as I remember it. didn’t turn around. I couldn’t. My glassy eyes were glued to the water like it might pull me in and keep me.

My voice barely came out when I whispered, “He’s cheating.”

Heeseung didn’t move at first. Just stood there, jaw set, his hands curling slightly at his sides like he didn’t trust them not to do something reckless. He walked toward me slowly, carefully, like I might shatter if he moved too fast. He looked at me like he wanted to say a hundred things but wasn’t sure where to start.

Then, without a word, he reached up and cradled my face gently between his calloused hands. His thumbs brushed beneath my eyes, catching the tears I didn’t have the energy to hide. “Oh, sweetheart…” he murmured, “you didn’t deserve this.”

And God, the way he said it. Like it physically hurt him to witness it. Like if he could’ve taken even a fraction of it off my shoulders, he would’ve done it without thinking.

My throat tightened then my knees nearly buckled. He pulled me into him before I could fall apart completely, his arms wrapping around me. Like he’d been waiting to hold me long before he was ever allowed to. I buried my face in his chest and cried — really cried. I feel like nothing could’ve prepared me for that. The beteral was a sharp stab into my heart, my lungs, my stomach, everywhere.

Eventually my sobs calmed down, but my tears didn’t stop. He continued to hold me, not saying anything and just brushing my hair with his hand.

In the quiet that followed, a soft melody floated through the air from afar. Faint romantic jazz tune started playing, reminding me of warm candlelight and open windows. Probably leftover from the dinner service playlist.

He shifted slightly, just enough to speak into my hair, “wanna dance?” he asked. I blinked up at him through tears, half-laughing, half-sniffling. “You’re joking.”

But he wasn’t, he gave me that little crooked smile of his. “Completely serious.” I stared at him… this man with the softest eyes, the worst timing and maybe the best heart.

“You do realize I have the coordination of a baby giraffe, right?” I said, raising a brow. “That’s okay,” he murmured, already taking my hand. “I’ve always wanted to dance with a giraffe.” A laugh bubbled out of me before I could stop it.

We swayed gently and stupidly on the deck, offbeat. The music was too slow for how fast my heart was racing. The moon hung low, silver and swollen above us, like even it had paused to watch. His hand fit so easily against my waist, like it belonged there.

I tripped over his foot once and laughed, heat rushing to my cheeks. “You’re doing perfect,” he said softly before spinning me, making my stomach flip. I landed back in his arms and looked up, he was already watching me.

“Can I kiss you now?” His voice was low, careful but honest. I giggled, breathless. Like I was a teenager again, falling for someone for the very first time. I nodded.

When he kissed me, all the tangled knots of doubt and guilt that had been twisting inside me suddenly loosened. In that moment, nothing else existed — just the softness of his lips and the quiet promise that I deserve this kind of gentle kindness.

-⚓︎-

The hallway outside the cabins carried that familiar, soothing scent: a mix of saltwater and aged teakwood. I had just stepped out from the crew’s rec room, the faint echo of laughter still on my lips. It wasn’t loud laughter — just the kind that slips out when you finally forget how heavy you’ve been feeling.

I started turning a corner completely forgetting that it led to our shared room, making me almost crash right into someone. Into him, Jae. I stumbled back a step, startled. His body was rigid, blocking the hallway like a wall I hadn’t prepared to face. His eyes locked onto mine instantly — sharp, burning, already full of accusation. He didn’t even blink.

“Where the hell were you?” he snapped, the words had been sitting on his tongue all night, waiting to bite.

“I was — just talking to —”

“With who?” he cut me off, his words lashed out like a whip. “That Captain again? You think this is funny? Are you trying to humiliate me in front of everyone?” His voice was low to not cause a scene but it was still cruel, laced with something uglier than anger.

I flinched, stepping back as my heart began pounding in my chest. The corridor suddenly felt too narrow, too quiet. “We’re married, Y/N, remember that?”

“I haven’t done anything wrong,” I whispered. He scoffed, eyes narrowing. He subtly shifted in his posture, his hand wanting to reach and grab my arm.

“That’s enough.” said a voice from behind me — calm, but with a cold edge that sent a shiver down my spine. I turned and saw Heeseung standing there, his eyes locked onto Jae with an intensity that didn’t scream anger, but radiated quiet control.

Jae’s sneer deepened as he met Heeseung’s gaze. “Oh, you again,” he spat, voice thick with disdain. “This is between my wife and I.”

“Not when it happens on my boat.” Heeseung stepped forward, his tone sharp as a knife. “You’re not raising your voice at anyone here. So either you leave now, or I’ll personally escort you back to your room.” Heeseung took another step closer, creating space between Jae and I, voice dropping even further into an absolute command. “And it’s ‘Captain’ to you.”

The air thickened with silence, heavy and suffocating. Jae’s jaw clenched tightly, his eyes flicking between Heeseung and me, weighing his options. I drifted a little closer to Heeseung’s side, like my body already knew where safety was. After a long beat, Jae spun on his heel, muttering a curse under his breath as he stalked away, the echo of his footsteps fading down the hall.

Heeseung turned toward me, the hardness in his gaze softened immediately, “are you okay?” he asked as his hands found my shoulders, firm but gentle — grounding me back into my body. I nodded, exhaling a breath I didn't know I was holding.

His eyes searched mine for a long patient moment, before he ran a hand through his hair in that restless way he had when something was bothering him. “You’re not staying in that room anymore,” he said at last. His voice was calm, but the edge of resolve in it left no room for argument. It was not a suggestion nor a question.

I furrowed my brows, confusion blooming. “What do you mean?”

He gave me a small, almost shy smile. “I’ve arranged a bigger, nicer suite for you. Portside. The windows are bigger — should help with the nausea.” His gaze flicked down to the camera strap resting lightly against my neck, and he added, “Better light, too.”

I opened my mouth to protest, “You didn’t have to —”

But he cut me off gently, shaking his head. “I know. But I wanted to.”

-*-

Later that night, I found Heeseung sitting quietly in the corner of the lounge, the soft glow of a single lamp casting gentle shadows across his face. He was writing a letter, his pen moving steadily over the paper as if each word mattered more than the last. The calmness in his posture made the restless sea outside feel even louder in comparison.

I settled a little ways off, careful not to disturb him. The soft hum of the yacht and the gentle rocking beneath us filled the quiet space between. Quietly, I lifted my camera and began snapping photos — the dark, endless ocean stretching beyond the windows, the way the moonlight danced on the water’s surface.

Then, I turned my lens toward Heeseung. There he was, sitting still and lost in deep thought. The soft glow of the cabin lights tracing the lines of his face, the subtle tension in his jaw, the way his eyes seemed to hold intimate secrets. There was something tender and almost vulnerable about him in that dim light, so different from the strong, commanding Captain others usually saw.

After a while, I lowered the camera and glanced over at him. The soft click of the shutter had stopped. “Do you think your sister would like me?” I asked, barely above a whisper, my voice daring to break the moment.

He paused mid-sentence, pen hovering above the page and looked up at me. A small smile tugging at his lips, “I think,” he said, eyes holding mine, “she’d love you.” I blinked, caught off guard by how certain he sounded.

“She’d ask a million questions about your camera,” he chuckled, eyes crinkling, “she’d probably beg you to teach her everything. And she’d keep every single photo you give her.” The image he’d painted lingered in my mind — vivid and stubborn in the best way. I couldn’t help the small giggle that slipped out, “she sounds amazing.”

From his smile, I could see how deeply he missed her — how much space she took up in his heart even from far away.

When he finished the letter, I stayed quiet, watching the gentle curl of his handwriting dry against the paper. Then, without saying much, I moved to the little corner printer and pulled up the shots I’d taken. The little frozen pieces of our quiet world. I printed them slowly, one by one, letting the ink set before I tucked them into the envelope beside his letter. It's like adding pieces of this quiet, shared world I wanted his sister to know about.

I wanted her to see this version of him. I wanted her to see what I saw.

-⚓︎-

A couple of months slipped through my fingers. Slowly at first, then all at once. The days stretched with ease, filled with quiet days and evenings, wandering island towns, and a sense of freedom I hadn’t realized I’d been craving. I would wake up with sea salt in my hair, my camera tucked somewhere beside me while I'm tucked in Heeseung’s arms.

Some nights, I’d quietly slip into his captain’s cabin, and other times, he’d be the one falling asleep in mine — as if drawn by some invisible thread. We’d lie there in the low lamplight, tangled under the soft blankets and sharing soft laughter. Hours would stretch and blur, until sleep pulled us under. I’d rest my head against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart as we drifted off, wrapped in the quiet intimacy of those stolen moments.

I’d fallen into a daily rhythm, one that didn’t revolve around Jae anymore. He stopped being the center of my orbit. His absence didn’t echo as loudly as I thought it would. In fact, he’d gotten off the yacht a few stops ago, saying something vague about needing to ‘handle things back home’. I just nodded, like I always had, and let him go.

I tried, for a while, to come up with reasons for why he cheated. Maybeitwas to comfort myself, maybe to make sense of why someone who promised forever could turn around and betray it so carelessly. But all it did was make me more confused and frustrated. So I let that go as well, making me able to breathe again.

I was waiting at a small day bar for my two drink orders — one for me, one for Hee — until my phone buzzed with a new message in the pocket of my shorts.

“I’ll have the divorce papers sent.” - "J.", delivered 30 sec ago

That was it, one line with no apologies or explanations. Just a clean, clinical statement like we were parting ways on a business deal. I stared at the message for a long time, rereading it once… then twice. I didn’t reply. Instead, I slipped my phone back into the pocket of my jean shorts, feeling strangely detached. The tears I expected never came; instead, an unexpected, hollow laugh bubbled up.

When I found Heeseung, he was in the middle of a story on the lower deck, surrounded by a few of the younger crew members. Their laughter filled the air, warm and unguarded, spilling out in waves as they doubled over with amusement. I waited patiently for the moment to settle before stepping closer, sliding the cool drink into his hand. Our fingers brushed briefly — a light, familiar touch that had become comforting over time. Without hesitation, he draped an arm around my shoulders, the gesture so natural it felt like second skin.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low, meant for me and only me. I nodded, “yeah.” And before I could think too much about it, before doubt had any time to creep in, he leaned down and caught my lips in a kiss. Soft, unrushed, honest. I smiled against his lips, making him kiss the edge of it.

Somehow, this made me feel more like forever than anything I had before. It hit me, somewhere between the warmth of his arm around my shoulders and the echo of laughter still hanging in the air — this was it. This was my real honeymoon.

-*-

Later, when it was just us sitting near the bow, he had his feet propped up and my thighs rested on his lap. The sea reflects burnt orange from the sun’s descent. He nudged my side with his shoulder, “be honest… was it really an accident when you started taking photos of me in the beginning?”

I blinked, caught off guard by the shift, then laughed lightly. “Are you fishing for compliments now, Captain?”

He sipped his drink, playing innocent. “I just remember you were supposed to be taking shots of the shoreline, and somehow I ended up as the main subject.”

“You looked ridiculous,” I laughed. “That was not an accident. I needed proof.”

He leaned in again, close enough that his hair brushed my temple. “So you admit it.”

I shook my head and rested back against his shoulder, “you’re impossible.”

-⚓︎-

The sun was high, the yacht gliding slow along a stretch of endless blue. Hee had been tied up with boat maintenance and supply runs the past couple days, leaving me to drift through the hours on my own and to organise our photos on my laptop.

I was curled on one of the deck chairs with his T-shirt over my shoulders and my camera on my side when an email popped up on my screen, interrupting the peace. I read the email’s subject: ‘Photography Assistant Position – Offer Letter Attached’.

I remembered applying to the job months ago — just one of many desperate clicks late at night, back when I still thought distraction might save me. I never expected a reply. Definitely not now. Not when everything had finally started to feel real.

It was nothing prestigious or glossy. But it was something tangible, mine. I read the whole email many times, and my heart twisted at each word in the way it only does when something good and something hard arrive at the exact same time.

I found Heeseung later that night, sitting alone near the back of the yacht, humming quietly to himself as he watched the waves roll and break beneath the silver wash of moonlight. I sat beside him, reached for his hands, and told him everything — about the email, about the job, about how long I’d wanted it, about how I couldn’t afford to miss this opportunity.

He listened without interrupting, his thumb tracing quiet circles over my knuckles. When I finally stopped talking, he let go of my hands only to cup my face, his palms warm and steady against my cheeks. He kissed them both — soft, slow — before resting his forehead against mine. “I’m so happy for you, my love,” he said.

And he meant it. I could hear it in his voice. Even as his words cracked slightly at the edges, caught somewhere deeper than his throat.

We didn’t really talk about what it meant. We didn’t ask the hard questions like ‘what now?’ or ‘what if…’. Instead, we promised to just enjoy the time we had left. Like it wouldn’t hurt later, like it wasn’t already starting to.

-*-

A couple of days later, we arrived at a tiny island with a quiet beach stop. The village was small, almost forgotten — no paved roads, just soft sand paths. Kids ran barefoot, their laughter bubbling through the warm air like music. I wandered alongside Heeseung, completely absorbed in the peaceful simplicity of it all. So absorbed, in fact, that I forgot to put on sunscreen.

“Hey,” Heeseung’s voice caught up to me as we passed a fruit stall bursting with ripe mangoes. He glanced at my shoulders, concern flickering in his eyes. “Your shoulders are turning red.”

I gave him a distracted smile, my eyes lingering on the vibrant baskets overflowing with ripe fruit. The colors and scents pulled me in, and I barely registered his words. Without missing a beat, he reached into my small backpack and carefully pulled out my sunscreen tube, already warmed from sitting in the sun.

He squeezed some into his hands and reached out gently, “hold still.” His fingers moved slow, soft against my skin, trailing cool across my slightly sunburnt shoulders. I closed my eyes for a moment, letting myself memorize the way he touched me.

After a few seconds, I whispered, “You missed a spot.”

Without looking up, he grinned. “You’re just saying that to make me nervous.” We laughed quietly, like we always did.

-⚓︎-

The last day stretched long and slow, the sun dipping low. The sky melted into soft pinks and yellow, casting a quiet glow across the beach. We found ourselves sitting on the warm sand, the sea whispering gently beside us. It felt like one of those perfect, quiet moments that I never wanted to end.

He turned a small seashell over in his hand, brushing off a bit of sand before holding it out between us. “Whisper a promise into this,” he said, that familiar playful smile tugging at his lips.

I raised a brow, amused. “Promise, huh? What kind of promise?”

“Anything,” he shrugged. “Just something you want the ocean to keep safe.”

I leaned in, brought my lips closer to the curve of the seashell in his hand, “I promise to never tell anyone you cried during that dolphin documentary.” He laughed, nudging my shoulder, the sound soft against the hush of the waves.

Then he took his own shell, leaned in, “I promise not to make fun of your flip-flop tan lines.” he whispered. “Oh my god,” I groaned, laughing. “They’re not that bad.”

Our laughter trailed behind us as we tossed our shells into the tide. After a couple silly promises, his expression shifted — his smile became something quieter. He picked up another shell, held it for a beat. “Promise me you’ll come back.” His voice dropped, serious but gentle.

I stared at him, heart stumbling in my chest. Without answering, I reached for a shell of my own, pressed it to my lips, and whispered just loud enough for the wind to hear, “I promise.”

He kissed me, slow and certain, like he meant to leave the shape of his lips behind for when I was gone. His hand curled gently around my cheek, thumb brushing just beneath my eye like he was memorizing me, again, for what it seemed like for the Nth time ever since I told him about me leaving.

When we pulled apart, we dug a shallow hollow in the warm sand. Carefully, we placed the two shells in the little nest we’d made — his and mine. A small, secret vow tucked into the earth. And as the waves crept closer and the sky deepened into dusk, I found myself hoping, truly hoping, that the ocean knew how to keep that promise.

-⚓︎-

The port looked softer in the morning light. Everything was bathed in that delicate, yellow hush that only early hours seem to know. As if the world was holding its breath for just a little longer. Heeseung had already helped load my duffel and suitcase into the back of the taxi with a thud from the trunk. Behind him, the yacht swayed gently with the tide, quiet and steady — like it knew it was time to let go as well.

He stood a few feet away, hands tucked in his pockets, his expression unreadable. Not quite smiling, not quite sad. When he finally stepped forward and pulled me into a hug, he held me a little too tightly — the same way he had last night as we fell asleep. His arm wrapped around me like he was afraid I might vanish in the dark, unsure when he’d be allowed to do so again.

Right against my ear, he whispered, “If I said ‘I love you’, would it make this harder?”

I swallowed hard, the words catching somewhere in my throat. My fingers clutched at the fabric of his uniform — the pearly white collar warm beneath my hands, familiar now. Safe. I blinked fast, the world blurring at the edges. He pulled back just enough to look at me, eyes searching, flicking between mine.

“We will say it next time we see each other. And we will mean it then, too.” I said, trying my best not to cry. I refused to let his last memory of me be of me crying. My breath left me in a quiet, aching rush. I reached for him as his lips found mine, before I could fall apart completely. This kiss was wrapped in promise, gratitude and love that arrived too late, but still managed to bloom anyway.

It took everything in me to step back. My arms felt heavy, like they didn’t want to leave the space. He didn’t try to stop me. Just reached for my hand one last time, the way he always did, and pressed his lips to the back of it, soft and lingering. When he pulled away, I felt the slip of paper between my fingers.

A folded letter. “Read it later,” he said quietly. His smile wavered — still tender, but this time, it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

I started to reach into my pocket, fingertips brushing against the familiar shape of his camera. “I should give this back—” I began, but before I could finish, he gently covered my hand with his. He didn’t say anything right away, just shook his head. “Don’t,” he said softly. “It’s yours now.” His thumb brushed over my knuckles.

He opened the taxi door for me, his fingertips grazing my back as I slid into the seat. The door closed with a click that felt too final, echoing. The engine hummed to life beneath me as I saw his face one last time. Through the glass, I saw him step back. One hand raised, a small wave. Just before I turned the corner, he brought his fingers to his lips and kissed them, then blew the kiss toward me.

A few minutes into the drive, I couldn’t wait any longer. With trembling fingers, I unfolded the letter he’d slipped into my hand — the paper soft and slightly creased, like it had been held, rewritten, maybe even second-guessed a few times. His handwriting stared back at me.

The tears came fast, just quietly streaking down my cheeks. I pressed the letter to my chest when I finished, as if holding it close could keep something from slipping away.

My dearest and only love, I told myself I wouldn’t write anything. That I’d let you go silently. I’ve always been terrible at goodbyes, and worse at holding back when my heart's already made up. You changed me more than I thought was possible. Gently at first, then all-consuming. I know you're leaving for something you've always wanted, and there's nothing about that I can ever hold against you. Still. It doesn't make it any easier. No words could ever fully hold how much I’ll miss you. I’ll be right where you left me. With all that I am, — Your Captain.

Some promises don’t need vows. Just the right words at the right time — and someone willing to wait.

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othernightslikethis · 3 months ago

Text

HEARTBEAT

Male Reader x Wife Sana Minatozaki

Smut

Word count: 9k

Sana Minatozaki. The most beautiful woman to ever cross your path, the first face that made your heart race, the first in everything. Your first friend, your first crush, your first kiss, your first love—and, later, your first time. She took your heart in her delicate hands and locked it away with a key only she possessed, as if life itself had decreed she alone would guard it forever. You were happy together—so incredibly happy—for so many years. Love blossomed early, in the innocence of eight years old—a childish romance, one your parents dismissed as fleeting, a tender phase destined to fade with time.

But it didn’t fade.

Now, both twenty-eight, you celebrate two decades of an unbroken relationship, five of them under the sacrament of marriage. With her, you’ve had two children—living jewels who carry traces of you both. Your daughter, just six years old, mirrors your soul but is painted with her mother’s hues—gentle, sweet, kind, as if she inherited only the purest parts of you. Your son, younger, is Sana’s spitting image—energetic, untamed, a flickering flame dashing through the house, yet his tender gaze and soft voice are unmistakably hers, the woman for whom you once would have moved mountains.

With all this, anyone would assume your life was perfect… right?

But they couldn’t have been more wrong. Over the past six months, everything has been falling apart—slowly, almost imperceptibly, like a house being eaten by termites. You've been arriving home from work later and later, more exhausted, more withdrawn. The days became a succession of silences; routine swallowed tenderness. Time, once so generous, now seems scarce—scarce for children, scarce for her, scarce even for you. The kisses became rare, then stopped altogether. You no longer hold hands like you used to on spring afternoons. You no longer pull her close at night or reach for her in your sleep. And then come the arguments—at first subtle, then heated, and finally shamefully unavoidable— all witnessed by the frightened eyes of their children, who no longer understand why the laughter has disappeared from the house.

When did you become this?

At what exact moment did you decide that you no longer needed the woman who gave you everything?

When in the name of all that is holy did you decide you no longer loved her?

Perhaps there is no answer. Or perhaps it’s buried beneath the weariness of daily life, the frustrations you refused to share, the fears you never confessed. The truth, however, is simple: something precious has been lost. And while Sana still walks through the house with that same smile—though now a little wearier, a little sadder—you feel the key in your hands, cold and rusted, wondering if there’s still time to unlock what was once your greatest treasure.

The living room was bathed in dim light, illuminated only by the soft glow of the television, where cartoons played at a near-inaudible volume. Toys lay scattered across the polished wooden floor, and the children—your three-year-old son curled on the sofa with a cushion bigger than himself, and your six-year-old daughter sitting with a tablet on her lap—seemed oblivious yet tense, waiting in uneasy silence.

It was a Friday. The clock neared nine in the evening when the front door creaked open, announcing your late arrival. The cold night air followed you in, along with the exhaustion etched on your face. Sana stood in the kitchen, arms crossed, expression stern, her gaze burning behind the fringe that fell just so over her eyes.

— Late again — she said, her voice calm but sharp as thin ice.

— Had to stay late at work — you replied, not even looking at her, shrugging off your coat like someone repeating a worn-out routine.

— You always have to stay late, don’t you? Of course… Better than coming home.

The cupboard door slammed shut behind her—a crack that made both children flinch, as if the wood had screamed for them.

— Sana, please… not now.

— Now? When then, Y/N? When the kids are asleep? When I’m asleep? When our marriage is already dead and buried?

You turned on your heel, finally facing her. Your tired eyes now burned with restrained irritation.— It’s not always about you, Sana. I work. I kill myself out there!

— And I kill myself in here! Here, there, everywhere! — she shouted, stepping forward, her voice thick with anger. I take care of the kids, the house, the meals, the routine —everything! And still, you barely look at me! Barely touch me! What have I become to you, Y/N? A shadow? A piece of furniture?

— That’s not fair…

— Fair? — She laughed bitterly. — Do you think it’s fair not to kiss me for what, three months? Four? Six? Avoiding me like I’m invisible? Coming home like you’re doing me a favour?

— I’m tired, Sana! Tired of the fights, the demands, feeling like nothing I do is ever enough!

— Then tell me why we’re still together, Y/N! Because I don’t know anymore! All I see are two strangers under the same roof, trying to hold up a castle made of ashes!

— Mummy… are you going to split up?

Both of you turned sharply. Sana pressed a hand to her mouth, as if she’d forgotten the children were there—tiny witnesses to the collapse of what was once love. You looked away, eyes brimming, unsure how to answer. And the silence that followed was crueller than any words spoken.

The silence that settled after your daughter’s question was unbearable. Your son shrank further into the sofa, and your daughter lowered her gaze, clutching the tablet to her chest. Sana, tears welling, tried to steady herself, but the tremor in her voice betrayed her:

— Look what you’re doing to them…

— Me? — you exploded, voice rough with frustration. — You want to blame me for everything? Like you’re some saint? Like you don’t take your frustrations out on me, on the world? You play the victim so well you’ve started believing it!Sana’s eyes widened, her face flushed with anger and pain.

— I fight for us every single day, while you run away! You don’t have the courage to face reality, Y/N!

You stepped forward, fists clenched, eyes blazing.

— The reality is I can’t stand living with you anymore! With this bitter, suffocating woman who only complains, only demands, who’s lost herself in this martyr act! Want to know why I don’t touch you anymore? Because I barely recognise you! Because being with you has become a burden!

The words landed like shrapnel. Sana staggered back as if struck. Her breath hitched, and the tears finally spilled over.

— Get out… — she whispered, voice barely audible. — If that’s how you feel, then go. Just leave.

You snatched your keys with a sharp motion, ignoring the children’s stunned, tearful stares, and stormed out, slamming the door behind you like an escape from hell itself.

The sound echoed through the house like thunder. Your daughter ran to Sana, clinging to her legs with muffled sobs.

Sana stood motionless, eyes fixed on the door, body trembling. All that remained was the sound of your children’s crying… and the slow, cruel emptiness spreading through what was once your home.

That was a week ago. Now, for the seventh night in a row, you were in a pub. With mates. Drinking yourself into oblivion. Ranting and snarling about Sana as if she were a monster. The air was thick with the smell of alcohol, smoke, and stale grease. Soft rock played in the background, drowned out by scattered chatter and laughter.

You were slumped in a worn leather chair, surrounded by two or three long-time friends, each with a drink in hand. Half-empty bottles littered the table, marking the time spent there. You raised your glass mechanically, the drink more anaesthetic than pleasure.

— You alright, bro? one asked, eyeing the hollow look in your eyes.You let out a short, bitter laugh.

— Course I’m not. I’m married to someone who looks at me like I’m a mistake she can’t erase.You took another long swig, then set the glass down hard.

— I come home, and it’s like walking into a courtroom. Everything I say gets judged, every silence is an accusation. And I’m tired… tired of trying to be the man she expects. Because I don’t even know who she is anymore, you get me?

— You two always seemed solid, man — another friend said carefully. Two kids, twenty years together…

— We were, you muttered, staring into your glass. But now… she just nags. Love turned into debt. And honestly? I’m exhausted. Home stopped being home. It’s a prison.The friend beside you signalled the bartender for another round, while another clapped you on the back.

— Don’t lose yourself too deep, brother. Arguments are one thing… but sometimes we say things that can’t be taken back.

You nodded silently. Your bloodshot eyes—from drink, exhaustion, or guilt—fixed on some distant point, where maybe a shred of what you and Sana once were still existed. But right now, all you wanted was to forget. And for that, the glass was still half-full.

The quietest one finally spoke up. He crossed his arms and looked at you.

— Whenever I row with my wife, I ask myself three questions. Who’s the first person I think of when I wake up? Who do I tell my secrets to? Who do I trust most in the world? If the answer’s the same for all three… then I still love her. The day it’s not… then it’s over. Why don’t you try that?

You fell silent for a long moment. The glass paused halfway to your lips, suspended as if time had faltered. Your eyes, once hazy and lost, slowly shifted to your friend.

The words had been simple—but they hit like a punch to the chest, harder than any lecture or reprimand.

You leaned back, shoulders sagging as if an invisible weight had suddenly become real. Your fingers tightened around the glass, knuckles whitening. Then, in a rough, low voice, you spoke, almost to yourself:

— When I wake up… I wonder if she’ll still be angry. If she’ll ignore me. If her eyes will cut through me like a knife or if she’ll pretend nothing happened.A brief silence.

— But I also remember how she sings the kids to sleep… how she smells on the pillow… how she used to laugh with me before all this. And maybe… maybe I still tell her my secrets… even when she doesn’t listen anymore.You looked away, blinking fast, as if the words had made your eyes heavier.

— Bloody hell… I love her. I just don’t know how to love her right anymore.You dropped your elbows to your knees, head in your hands. A deep sigh escaped through your fingers, carrying everything you couldn’t say aloud.

— I… I don’t think it’s over. But maybe I’m letting it end.The glass remained untouched from then on.

— Then go after her, brother, your friend said firmly.You stood like someone waking from a bad dream, pulled out your wallet, and tossed a wad of notes onto the table.

— This one’s on me. Cheers, lads.And you left, running home. Maybe to try and salvage what wasn’t yet completely lost.

----

The key turned slowly in the lock. The house, submerged in the thick silence of the early hours, felt colder, vaster—as if the emptiness within stretched beyond the walls, an echo of prolonged absence, a silent frame of solitude. You stepped inside without a sound, your footsteps restrained, almost furtive, as though wary of disturbing the ghosts of what once had been. You dropped the keys onto the kitchen counter, removed your shoes with slow, automatic movements, and made your way to the bedroom, your shoulders hunched under the oppressive weight of exhaustion and regret.

In the bathroom, the yellowish light flickered as it came on, gradually revealing the steam that soon fogged the mirror. The hot water ran over your skin, washing away the sweat, the acrid scent of alcohol, and the weight of the harsh words spoken hours before. You dragged your hands over your face slowly, as if wishing to tear something out from within yourself—to empty yourself of everything gnawing at your peace.

When you emerged, dressed in an old T-shirt and a pair of worn-out joggers, everything around you was bathed in gloom. The bedside lamp remained unlit. Sana lay on her side, her back turned, the covers pulled up to her shoulders, motionless as a fragile statue of silence.

You walked to the opposite side of the bed, sat down carefully on the mattress, and sighed before lying down. But then you heard it.A low, muffled sound—yet unmistakable.

Stifled sobs.

Small hiccups escaped like cracks in a once-solid wall, now fissured by time and pain. Sana was crying, her face buried in the pillow, trying to make herself inaudible.

And you remained still.

That sound was like a dagger plunged into the silence, wounding it irreversibly. You looked at her—at the fragile outline of her back, at the almost imperceptible tremor in her shoulders. Your throat tightened, a bitter knot forming in your chest—but you didn’t move. You didn’t speak.

You turned onto your back, staring at the dark, motionless ceiling.

And in those few inches between your bodies, an insurmountable chasm opened.

----

The next morning, sunlight filtered timidly through the gaps in the curtains, casting golden stripes over the crumpled sheets. The distant chirping of birds mingled with the oppressive silence of the bedroom, broken only by the faint creaking of the old wooden floor, warmed by the sun.

Sana woke slowly, her eyes still heavy, her throat dry from a restless night. She blinked a few times before moving. As she turned, the gesture was almost instinctive—her hand reached for the warmth of the other side of the bed, the space that had so often been refuge, comfort, shelter.

But all she found was cold sheets.

Empty.

No scent, no trace of a recent presence.

The pillow slightly arranged. The mattress undisturbed.

She lay still for a moment, her eyes fixed on that absent space as if trying to decipher the mute language of abandonment. Then she sighed—long and silent—and turned onto her back, staring at the ceiling with eyes that had once brimmed with tears but were now dry from too much crying.

— He’s gone again… Why do I still hope he’ll change? — she whispered to herself, her voice hoarse, exhausted, devoid of strength

There was no surprise left. Only the familiar weight of abandonment, that old acquaintance who insisted on returning.

Another day had begun. And within her grew, irreversibly, the certainty that though he was sometimes there, he no longer truly remained.

A sudden noise disrupted the quiet of the bedroom—children’s laughter, hurried footsteps, the scrape of a chair being dragged across the kitchen floor. Sana frowned, confused, still wrapped in the haze of sleep and sorrow.

She sat up slowly, her feet touching the cold floor, and took a deep breath.

Then the scent reached her—unmistakable, warm, comforting. Toast, freshly brewed coffee, scrambled eggs… an aroma that hadn’t filled that house in mornings long past.

She rose, wrapped in her thin nightdress and the perplexed silence of doubt, and made her way down the hallway, the sounds growing clearer with each step: the laughter of her youngest, her daughter’s gentle voice correcting her brother, plates being set, cutlery clinking like tiny bells.And then she saw.

In the kitchen, you stood, awkward but determined. You wore the same crumpled shirt from the night before, the dark circles under your eyes betraying a sleepless night. Your back was turned as you scrambled eggs in the pan while the children set the table under your watchful gaze.

Your daughter, spotting her in the doorway, ran to Sana with a radiant smile:

— Mummy! Daddy’s making breakfast! He said today’s the day we take care of you.

You turned at that moment. Your eyes met hers. There was hesitation, guilt—but also something else. Something faint. A silent plea to stay.Sana stood frozen, her lips slightly parted, her heart suspended in her chest.

— Good morning… — you said softly, almost timidly. — The plan was to bring it to you in bed, but… I miscalculated when you’d wake up.

She didn’t answer immediately. She simply looked at the scene before her—so simple, so improbable—and felt something tremble inside her chest. Something she had thought dead. Something small.

But alive.

Sana remained there, motionless in the doorway, as if afraid that any movement might shatter the delicate tapestry of that moment. The silence between you, heavy with all that had been left unsaid, felt different this time—no longer a chasm, but perhaps a fragile bridge, stretching between two still-wounded hearts.

You averted your gaze for a moment, returning to the frying pan as if seeking refuge in the mundane. But soon you looked back, steadier this time.

— I know… — you began, your voice thick, — that I’ve been the worst of husbands.

The children lingered, wide-eyed, sensing something important was happening, even if they didn’t fully understand.

— I don’t want them growing up hating me… or seeing me the way I’ve treated you — you said, plating the eggs. — And you don’t deserve that.

Sana said nothing. A conflict raged within her—between the desire to believe and the fear of being hurt again.

— Let me try to fix this.

you whispered.

— Because I still love you… the way I did five years ago. The way I did ten. The way I did twenty.

She looked at the children, who smiled hopefully. Then at the table—clumsy but full of care. And finally at you—weary, broken, but there.She took a deep breath.

And walked, slowly, to the table.

— Scrambled eggs? — she asked softly, pulling out a chair.

You nodded, a small smile breaking through the tension.

— A bit too salty… but made with heart.

She sat, tucking her hair behind her ear, and looked at you—not as one who forgives, but as one offering another chance to what still pulses.

— Then let’s see if that heart knows how to cook.

The children clapped and giggled. And for a brief moment, the house seemed to breathe again.

----

The rest of the day passed with an unusual lightness, as if the air inside the house—once thick with unspoken grievances—had been swept away by a warm, fragile, yet real breeze.After breakfast, the four of you settled in the lounge. You suggested a film—a cartoon the children adored and which you pretended not to know, though you could recite every line. Sana, hesitant, relented. She lay on the sofa, the youngest nestled in her lap, your daughter in your arms. The glances between you were rare, but when they happened, they carried the discomfort of those who still don’t know where to step—but at least are trying not to retreat.

Later, you went to the park, without grand plans. The children ran across the damp grass, laughed on the swings, and occasionally called their parents over to show trivial discoveries—a pretty stone, an anthill, a heart-shaped leaf.

Sana watched in silence. Sometimes her gaze rested on you, who also looked back. But she didn’t press. She simply let time work, respecting the spaces and the silences.Upon returning, you prepared a light supper together. This time, she chopped the vegetables. You buttered the toast. No words were spoken of forgiveness or promises. Only gestures—human, small, real.That evening, the children went to their grandmother’s—your mother.

Because, away from innocent eyes, you would prepare what you had secretly planned with your friends during the day, while Sana hadn’t noticed.What would come, no one could yet foresee. But at last, there was a beginning.

---

The house was silent, except for the soft tick-tock of the clock on the wall and the muffled sound of instrumental music drifting from the living room. The dining table was set simply, yet with care—two pristine glasses, a wine left to breathe, plates warmed in the oven, and a lit candle at the centre, its flame flickering as if sensing that this moment carried something delicate, rare, and unrepeatable.

You paced back and forth, adjusting already-perfect details, just to contain the anxiety simmering beneath your skin. Damp palms, a dark dress shirt with sleeves rolled up to the forearms, hair meticulously styled, a subtle cologne—everything had been chosen with intent. But nothing, absolutely nothing, could have prepared you for what came next.

The sound of heels touching the first step made you look up at the staircase.

And then, she appeared.

Sana descended with the quiet grace of someone who, though hesitant, had decided to surrender to the attempt. Each step was firm, even if her heart might have faltered. She wore a long wine-red satin dress that cascaded like water over her body, hugging her curves with the delicacy of a whisper. The fabric shimmered under the soft light, shifting between shadow and gleam with every slight movement.

The neckline was modest yet suggestive. The thin straps revealed bare shoulders, her pale skin glowing with a natural, serene radiance. Her hair was pulled into a low bun, with a few loose strands softening her face. On her lips, a deep ruby-red lipstick; on her eyes, subtle but precise eyeliner that accentuated the intensity of her gaze. A pair of discreet earrings dangled lightly from her ears—small pearls, elegant, almost shy.

You stopped. Literally. And time seemed to stop with you.

It was like seeing her for the first time. But at the same time, it was seeing her as never before. As if all the pain, all the distance, all the waiting had shaped a new way of loving her—more mature, more conscious, more reverent.

—Wow...— escaped your lips in a hoarse whisper, almost unrecognisable.

Sana noticed your gaze and hesitated on the last step. Her hands clutched the hem of her dress as if fearing she was too much. Or not enough.

—I think I overdid it. — she said, with a shy, restrained smile, her voice quiet, unsure where to rest her eyes.

You walked towards her slowly, as if afraid the enchantment would dissolve if you rushed. Stopped just a few steps away. Your eyes flickered, torn between hers, her lips, or every meticulous detail of the dress.

—You look... unbelievable, — you said, with raw sincerity, stripped of embellishments. —As if you stepped out of a dream I didn’t even know I was still dreaming.

She blushed. Laughed, lowering her gaze for a moment. And in that laugh was something unseen for so long—a flash of the woman she’d been before the weariness, and also the woman she still was, despite it.

— I hope dinner lives up to this. — you said, offering your arm with an almost ceremonial gesture.

Sana accepted, linking her arm with yours, like someone still testing the ground beneath her feet but allowing herself to walk.

—I hope the wine is good, — she said, casting a sidelong glance, light and teasing.— Only if it’s you who toasts with me. — you replied.

They both sat. The candle flickered between them, casting a golden glow over the white tablecloth and the steaming plates. The aroma of mushroom and parmesan risotto rose in subtle spirals, mingling with the woody spice of the freshly poured wine. You pulled out her chair with a simple, almost automatic gesture—yet laden with meaning. Sana smiled in thanks, that restrained smile, as if still remembering the hurts but choosing to make room for tenderness.

— Did you actually cook? — she asked, arching a brow with mild irony.

— With my own hands. — you replied, feigning pride. — And perhaps a little help from YouTube.

She laughed, a brief, genuine sound, and raised the glass to her lips with the elegance of someone who knows she’s being watched. You looked at her as if time had finally slowed. For the first time in so long, there was no urgency. Only presence.

The conversation began timidly, as if it were a literal first date. They spoke of safe things: a new film, the traffic, how the neighbour’s cats still climbed onto the roof. But little by little, the topics gained layers. An old memory. A phrase she’d said months ago that you’d never forgotten. A gaze that lasted longer than it should have.

— I thought a lot about whether I should accept. — she said, looking down at her plate. The candlelight gilded her lashes as if they were moulded from gold.

You nodded slowly, setting your fork aside.

— I thought a lot about whether I should try. — you replied. — But... I had to. Not out of vanity. Or loneliness. But because... I hurt you. And that doesn’t leave me.

Sana lifted her eyes, silent. You took a deep breath.

— I was a coward. I shut down when you were trying hardest to open paths. I thought I was protecting myself, but... I was just running. And by the time I realised, it was too late. You were exhausted from trying alone.

She didn’t answer immediately. Ran her fingers lightly along the stem of her glass, thoughtful.

—Sometimes, I wondered if it was all in my head. If I was expecting too much. Asking for too much.

—You weren’t. — Your voice was low, firm. — You deserved presence. Attentive eyes. Hands that held yours. Not flimsy excuses and uncomfortable silences.

A pause followed. The sound of instrumental music filled the space between words.

—I just wanted to know if you still saw me, you know? — she said, with a fragile smile. —If I still mattered

—You always did.— You reached your hand across the table, hesitant but firm. — And if I can see that clearly now... it’s because you had the courage to walk away. I don’t blame you for anything. And... I’m sorry. For everything.

Sana looked at your hand, then into your eyes. Then, with a small gesture, rested her fingers over yours. The touch was light, but weighted.

— Thank you for saying that, — she murmured. —I don’t know what happens from here. But... hearing that changes a lot.

You finished dinner slowly, between comfortable silences and new smiles. Sometimes, your gazes met and lingered, as if you were relearning each other. At one point, you stood, picked up the wine, and invited her to the sofa. She accepted. You sat side by side, not touching. But there were no more barriers. Just a strange, sweet calm, like after a storm.

—I missed you.

— I missed you too. — she replied.

The silence stretched, and then Sana broke it with the same softness as blowing out a candle.

—Can I ask for something?

— Hm? Of course. What?

— Call me 'my love'.

You blinked, confused, slow, not understanding at first.

—My love?

She smiled and leaned closer.

— Again.

—My love.

She was nearer now, and you could smell the perfume that had always driven you mad. Twenty years ago, it was the same, and even now, it intoxicated you.

— Again...

And before you realised, you pulled her onto your lap, enveloping that small body with yours. Your hands intertwined; you noticed how small hers were compared to yours. How small she was... and how that still sent you into rapture. The mere fact that her body barely covered yours set you alight.

—My love... may I?

Your voice was almost a whisper, thick with restrained desire.

Sana nodded with a movement so subtle it seemed more like a sigh. You leaned in, and the world seemed to shrink until it fit between your faces.

The first touch was almost nothing—a hesitant brush of lips, as if neither of you could believe this was happening. But then she responded. With a slight tilt of her head, she deepened the kiss, and you felt your heart stutter. It was a kiss of reunion, but also of confession. There was sweetness, yes—the taste of wine still on her lips—but also urgency. Your fingers tangled in her hair, and her hand rested on your nape, pulling you with gentle firmness, as if to say, "don’t go." Breaths mingled. Eyes closed. And for an eternal moment, there were no hurts, no doubts, no past. There was only the certainty of that kiss—warm, deep, full of unspoken stories.

When your lips parted, your eyes opened slowly. And in her gaze was something new. A soft peace. A glimmer of hope.

—I missed this, — she murmured.

—I missed you. — you replied, not removing your hand from her face. And then, without needing permission, she leaned in again. And the kiss resumed. Firmer. More certain. As if, finally, you’d found your way back.

Gradually, you felt Sana grinding against your lap, the friction between your bodies increasing steadily amidst the heat and fire of your kisses. She let out a soft moan; if you hadn’t known her for years, you might’ve even thought the movement was innocent. But it wasn’t. Summoning all your strength to pull away, you bit your lip, your eyes clouded with lust.

She was about to open her mouth—probably to apologise or suggest you both slow down. But you didn’t want any of that. Finally, your body remembered it had been nearly a year since you’d last felt her tight little cunt wrapped around your cock, and it drove you mad. Leaning in, you gave her no time to think, marking her neck with a strong, possessive love bite.Sana swallowed her words and choked back a loud moan. She gripped your shoulders tightly, pressing herself even closer, her eyes shut, her body trembling with need.

— Baby, please… I need you so much. So much…

Sana didn’t like being degraded. She was a princess, a queen who wanted to be spoiled even during sex, and you still remembered that—how she writhed under your praise, how every sweet word made her more sensitive, more vulnerable.

— I’ve been so awful to you, love… So cruel… — you murmured, your voice rough, alternating between kisses and bites along her neck. — And you’ve been such a good girl, waiting for me… So perfect. My princess.

You felt her stiffen in your lap, her entire body trembling. The kisses, the praise, and the constant friction were driving her to the edge. It seemed she might come without you even needing to touch her—just from your words, the way your hands traced her body, how your mouth explored every inch of her skin.And then, you decided to go further. Sliding a hand between her legs, you found the damp heat waiting for you, your fingers gliding effortlessly through her desire.

— All this time without me... and you’re still this wet just from kisses? — you growled, fingers circling her clit with firm pressure. — You really are my obedient little girl, aren’t you?

Sana arched her back, a strangled moan escaping her lips as her thighs tightened around your hand, trying to control the sensations overwhelming her.

— Don’t hold back, princess... Let me watch you come.

And she gave in, her entire body convulsing in an intense orgasm, Sana’s fingers digging into your shoulders as she screamed your name.It was only the beginning.

— Please, love, I need... I need to feel you.

Sana’s voice was whiny, drawn-out, so sweet that if you hadn’t already been fully hard, those words alone would have done it. But now? You were so turned on it ached, the pent-up tension making every movement torture. You could barely speak, just nodded, and Sana immediately dropped to her knees before you, eyes gleaming with desire and submission.

She was shaking—maybe from the earlier orgasm, maybe from the anticipation of finally having you again. Her hands fumbled slightly as she undid your belt, fingers nimble but impatient, until she finally managed to open it. You didn’t wait any longer, pulling your trousers and pants down in one go, freeing your cock, which throbbed with need.

— Fuck, it’s the same smell... — She grinned, nostrils flared, inhaling deeply. — You still use the same soap?

Her eyes met yours, mischievous.

— You’ve wanted this since the start of dinner, haven’t you, baby? Naughty boy...

Her laugh was a mix of provocation and triumph before wrapping her hands around your length, fingers firm yet soft, rotating slowly as if savouring the mere sensation of touching you. She knew the power she held over you in this position, every movement calculated to drive you mad.

When she finally tired of just stroking, her tongue slipped out in a deliberately slow motion, dragging a long lick from base to tip as if you were a lollipop—and to her, you were. Her favourite lollipop, and hers alone. Woe betide anyone who tried to take it from her.

Sana made sure to maintain eye contact with every filthy movement, her dark eyes full of forbidden promises. One hand tugged at the strap of her dress, pulling it deliberately over her shoulder but not removing it entirely. She knew you loved fucking her while she was still dressed, that thin fabric sliding against her skin as you pinned her to the wall or pulled her closer.

— You’re so fucking beautiful... So good at sucking my cock like this, baby...

Your voice was rough, the words almost a growl as you tangled your fingers in her hair, guiding her down. She didn’t resist, opening her mouth to take you fully, her tongue massaging the underside as she descended until the head hit the back of her throat. A muffled moan escaped her, tears welling in the corners of her eyes, but she didn’t stop—she never stopped.

— Almost came from that mouth... How daft was I to stay away from you so long?

Your voice was hoarse, fingers gripping the sofa as pleasure clouded your mind. Six months. Six months without that hot mouth, that wicked tongue, those lust-darkened eyes staring up as she devoured you. You only snapped back when Sana gave two light taps on your thigh, her signal for air.

When she pulled away, she was perfect—hair dishevelled, drool dripping from her swollen lips, your cock still glistening with spit. She laughed, breathless, but her eyes burned with challenge.

— I swear to God, I’ll kill you if you don’t fuck my throat like it’s a cunt. — Her voice was hoarse but firm. — Fuck, I’ve waited so long, missed you so much, and all you do is squirm like a kitten in heat?

You knew that tone. It was the one she used when she wanted to provoke you, to piss you off, to make you lose control. And it would’ve worked—if you didn’t know exactly what she really wanted.

She wasn’t joking.

She wanted you to use her.

Without a second thought, you pushed yourself off the sofa, grabbing your own shirt and tearing it off in one rough motion. You didn’t want anything blocking your view or your movement. With a firm hand on the back of her neck, you guided the swollen, flushed tip of your cock back to those plush lips, which parted immediately, taking you in with a muffled moan.

And then you thrust.

Sana swallowed you down to the hilt, her eyes watering, but not pulling back. You tightened your grip on her hair, starting with slow, deliberate rolls of your hips, savouring every contraction of her throat, every scrape of her tongue. But patience quickly burned away, and you sped up, slamming into the back of her throat with force, the wet, filthy sound filling the room.When she needed air, you pulled out—but didn’t let her rest. As she coughed, gasping, her hand was already wrapped around your cock, stroking firmly while her mouth attended to your bollocks—sucking, licking, devouring as if they were the only sustenance she needed.

— Is this what you wanted, princess? — you growled, dragging her back onto your cock. — Wanted me to use you until you forgot how to fucking breathe?

She didn’t answer with words.Just swallowed you deeper.

— You gonna come, love?

Sana was on her knees before you, lips swollen from sucking, her smudged lipstick and lust-glazed eyes a mess. Your cock was dripping, throbbing with need, and she knew exactly what she was doing to you.

— Yeah, princess... you rasped, fingers tangled in her hair. — You’re doing so fucking good... Why stop now? You’re perfect.

She shuddered at her own touch, a whimper escaping her. Calling her perfect always got to her—like flipping a switch, bringing her to the edge with just a word. This time, though, she resisted, biting her lip as she pulled off, letting your cock slip from her mouth with a wet pop.

— If you’re gonna cum... make it inside me.

Your eyes met, and you didn’t hesitate. You immediately sat down on the sofa, watching as she rose with feline grace, her fingers hooking under the straps of her dress and letting the fabric slip down her body until it pooled on the floor.

Even though you adored fucking her while she was still clothed, seeing her completely naked was a spectacle all its own.

— Seriously, love? — you questioned, and Sana blinked, feigning surprise, before simply shrugging and climbing onto your lap, aligning herself perfectly over your cock. — You know you could still get pregnant, right?

— Yes, I know, — she replied. — It’s happened twice already, remember?

She laughed, low and teasing, before rubbing the tip of your length against her swollen lips, leaving it slick with her own desire.

— You’re the first man in the universe who argues about being allowed to come inside his own wife.

You were about to respond, but the words died in your throat when she finally gave in, sinking onto you all at once. Both of you moaned in unison, bodies trembling with pleasure.

— Fuck! Your cock is so good! — Sana arched her back, nails digging into your shoulders. — Christ, I’ve missed this monster splitting me wide open...

You didn’t answer with words. Instead, you gave her arse a firm slap, making her shudder, before gripping her hips tightly and starting to move her in your lap, each thrust deeper than the last.

— All mine... — she whispered, lips pressed to your ear. — Only mine.

And you couldn’t disagree.

Sana began to ride you with a slow, calculated rhythm, each roll of her hips making your cock twitch inside her. She leaned back, bracing her hands on your thighs as her tits swayed temptingly with every movement. Her inner muscles clenched in perfect waves, as if trying to suck every inch of you deeper into her.

— That’s it... just like that, princess... — you growled, hands squeezing her waist.She smirked, mischief in her eyes, before picking up the pace, riding you harder. The wet sound of your bodies meeting filled the room, mingling with the muffled moans escaping her lips between gasps. Suddenly, she stopped, leaving only the tip of your cock inside her, then sank back down with agonising slowness, making your eyes roll back in pleasure.

— You want to watch me come, don’t you? — she whispered, voice thick with want. — Want to feel me squeezing tight around you...

Before you could respond, she quickened her pace again—short, rapid strokes now, hitting that spot that made her body tremble. You felt her grow hotter, tighter—a sure sign she was close.

—Don’t stop… don’t stop, please… she moaned, her fingers gripping you tightly.

And you had no intention of stopping. With a rough movement, you flipped her onto her hands and knees, taking her from behind with full force. Each thrust was deeper than the last, and Sana’s cries filled the room—unashamed, unrestrained.

—Yes! Just like that! Just like that! — she screamed, her entire body shuddering as the first wave of her climax hit.

Sana was completely lost in it, her back arching in pleasure as you dominated her from behind. Every snap of your hips was wilder than the one before, your thighs slapping against her arse with a lewd, wet sound. You could feel how hot she was, how her inner walls fluttered and clenched around your cock, trying to pull you even deeper.

—Don’t stop… don’t stop, love… feels so good…

She whimpered between ragged breaths, her voice thick with pleasure. Your fingers dug into her hips hard enough to leave marks as you dragged her back onto you with every thrust. The heat in your belly coiled tighter—a delicious tension building with every movement. You knew you wouldn’t last much longer—she was too tight, too hot, too perfect.

—I’m gonna come, princess… — you warned, your voice rough with need.

Sana clenched around you even tighter, as if trying to milk every drop.

—Inside, please! I want to feel you spilling all inside me!

she begged, tossing her head back. That was enough to undo you. With one last deep thrust, you buried yourself to the hilt as pleasure erupted down your spine. Your cock pulsed violently inside her, each hot spurt met by her eager contractions. You nearly saw stars, the intensity of your orgasm leaving you dizzy as you kept spilling into her.

Sana moaned loudly as she felt your cum filling her, her own climax prolonged by the sensation.

—That’s it… just like that… fill your wife up… — she murmured breathlessly while you both trembled in the aftershocks.

You collapsed over her back, still buried deep inside, panting as you tried to catch your breath. Your entire body tingled, every muscle slack with deep satisfaction. Sana was utterly soaked—a mix of her pleasure and yours—and the scent of sex hung heavy in the air.

— Holy shit ...

You muttered, unable to form anything more elaborate as you gently sank your fingers into her hair. She just laughed—a satisfied, tired sound—before rolling onto her side and pulling you with her, still unwilling to let go.

— I love you, — Sana said suddenly. — So much. Don’t ever stay distant again.

— Never. I love you too.

#smut #male reader #x male reader #sana minatozaki #sana x reader #sana x male reader

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electricgg · 5 days ago

Text

Ancient Dreams In A Modern Land

Chapter 12: Don’t Wanna Drive Another Mile Without Knowin’ You’re Breathin’

Masterlist

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7 / Chapter 8 / Chapter 9 / Chapter 10 / Chapter 11 / Chapter 12 (Here!)

Twins are two halves of the same whole.

In many mythologies, twins are said to share a bond deeper than that of ordinary siblings.

The bond between twins is often described as unique and incredibly strong, starting even before birth and potentially lasting a lifetime. This bond is frequently characterized by a deep connection, a sense of oneness, and a high degree of nonverbal communication.

Never one without the other.

Not even in death.

Pietro had never known life without Wanda.

The thought had never crossed his mind; it simply wasn’t a possibility to him. The sky was blue. The grass is green. Ice is cold. Fire is hot.

Pietro and Wanda, never one without the other.

Pietro and Wanda, always beside each other.

Pietro and Wanda, never far away from one another.

Pietro and Wanda, against the world and never away from each other.

Pietro didn’t exist without Wanda, and Wanda didn’t exist without Pietro. Sounded simple and logical, right?

It sucks that the universe seemed to have a vendetta against the Maximoff family and loved to see them act as it’s puppets in the scenario of it’s favorite dramatic tragedy play.

Pietro had never known life without Wanda, and he refused to do so.

Three years. Three years since he last saw her. Three years since The Hex. Three years looking for her across the globe. Three years of dead ends and false alarms. Three years of nonstop searches. Three years without Wanda.

Three long years, feeling incomplete.

He could describe it as phantom pain. A missing limb, or more exactly, missing half of his body. There had been countless times when he had turned his head to cross looks with eyes that were no longer there. Times when he had talked to the empty air, expecting a voice to answer back. So many times, his fingers tried to grasp thin, long, gloved fingers just to curl them into tight fists or pull at the seams of his clothes until the fabric tore off.

Erik (whom Pietro had slowly warmed up to call Pops, especially after Wanda had gone… after he started to search for her) had made it his mission to get Pietro out of his spiraling thoughts whenever this would happen.

Pietro had rejected his efforts at first, snapping at him and telling him to mind his own business. Hurling insults and harsh words at him, or speeding away from the man as soon as he felt his stare on him.

But Erik didn’t let his attitude affect him. He was a patient man, and though Pietro was the opposite of patient, he knew his son was bound to crumble at some point from pushing himself so hard.

Erik would be there, waiting with open arms to catch his son when he wouldn’t be able to hold himself together any longer.

And he did.

──── ∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗ ────

Genosha was always open to the X-Men, despite their history with Magneto and the Brotherhood of Mutants.

Pietro had gone a few times with the team. But most of the visits were with Wanda at his side, trying to get him and their father to bond with each other despite his obvious animosity towards the older man.

He knew what she was trying to do. Pietro had always known that Wanda wanted a family.

Their story was complicated, to say the least. The two of them had been raised by their maternal uncles, their mother having passed away a few months after giving birth to them. Not a single clue of who their father was until they reached the age of nineteen.

Back then, Pietro had been ecstatic to know about him. Even convincing Wanda to find him and finally meet him face to face.

Of course, that all went to hell when the twins had an encounter with Magneto, trying to destroy governments with his group of loyal mutants in the name of getting justice and rights for their people.

It wasn’t the best introduction, obviously.

Especially when the twins joined the brotherhood without telling the man of their blood relation.

For multiple years, Pietro and Erik’s relationship became a lot more complicated. He grew tired very quickly of his father’s constant need to ‘destroy humankind’, and spiteful of his lack of acknowledgment for his efforts to get him noticed by Erik.

Which led to him quitting the Brotherhood with Wanda and joining the X-Men… after doing a very dramatic reveal that resembled that Star Wars movie, but with switched roles.

As said before, a very complicated relationship.

Nonetheless, Pietro’s instincts led him to the only place his subconsciousness currently recognized as ‘home’.

Why was it Genosha, or more specifically, his father’s house, that he recognized as home? Who knows.

Was it just the place that resembled his childhood home uncannily?

Or was it the person who instantly walked out of the door to take him into his arms and shove him against his chest, consoling him while his limbs trembled out of exhaustion, adrenaline, and hopelessness as he wailed loud enough to make glass shatter?

Was home a place or a person? Pietro knew the answer.

Wanda was his home.

His home was gone.

But his father was here. Muttering to him in his mother tongue, words that Pietro did not understand, but judging by the soft tone and gentle, jagged hands going up and down his back and through his hair, he knew what Erik was doing.

“I-I can’t-,” His voice sounded strained and rough, words spilling too fast between sobs. “I don’t feel her. I can’t see her. I can’t find her. She won’t let me find her-”

“She is not ready,” Erik muttered. “She’ll come to us when she is ready.”

“I need her.” He sobbed, fingers clutching at his father’s shirt. “I can’t go on like this. I’m lost. I’m so fucking lost- and I just need to know if she is alive-”

“She is,” the older man declared. “You know that she is stronger than us. She is in pain, Pietro. Give her time.”

“Her pain is my pain!” He screams. “ She doesn’t have to do it alone! She mourns, and I mourn with her! It’s always been like this!”

His body slumps down, the adrenaline shutdown hitting way too fast. If it weren’t for the fact that Erik was already holding him, he would have eaten the dirt. The man didn’t even make a sound when the white headed boy stopped holding his body weight back.

They stayed outside until the next morning. Erik never moved him away, didn’t even complain about kneeling for those long hours or the shattered windows. Pietro only cried until he passed out in his father’s arms, and even then, tears still spilled out of his eyes.

That day, it had marked a year since Wanda’s disappearance.

That day, Pietro and Erik’s relationship became less complicated.

──── ∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗ ────

It was a very rocky start, but it had turned out alright in Pietro’s opinion.

“What has you so deep in your thoughts, my son?”

Erik seemed to have been watching him this whole time. He stood by the door of his room, looking at him with clear concern on his face.

Pietro had a bedroom at Erik’s house. Apparently, his old man had been more sentimental than he gave him credit for. From the moment Genosha was established as an official country, Erik added numerous rooms to his house, two of which were located directly next to his own room. One for Pietro and another for Wanda, who had stayed there a couple of times when she came to visit Erik by herself. Both Erik and Pietro would sit for hours on her bed in silence, simply letting time pass by.

“Nothin’,” He muttered, sighing deeply as he leaned back against the headboard of his bed. “Just got off a call with Hank.”

“That sounds like there’s more to that call.” His father approached a chair by his desk, which was filled with intricate LEGO figures. Both unfinished and finished.

…So what if he was a full-grown man who liked to build Legos as a pastime? He has already broken plenty of Rubik's cubes and fidget toys. He needed to keep his hands busy, and Legos worked, so sue him for finding a coping mechanism.

And it wasn’t like his dad judged him for it. All those boxes he finds weekly on the dinner table are answer enough.

Pietro shrugged, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth as he scratched his head. “Just- I’m just helping him out with someone.”

That made Erik lift an eyebrow. “Someone?”

“Yeah, a kid,” his voice softened. “She has been melting off her shoes because of her mutation, so I let Hank look into my stats so he could make her something more resistant.”

“Ah, so she has super speed.”

The younger man smiled to himself, “Looks like it. Logan is keeping an eye on her and a couple of more kids. Something about a case, I think?”

“And why is this keeping you so deep in your thoughts?” His father asked slowly, as if hesitating to pry too much.

Probably because he already knew the answer.

Pietro went silent for a few moments, eyes wandering to the window showcasing the orange evening sky. A suncatcher was hanging from the top corner, letting the light reflect through the crystal.

Wanda had made it for him a few years back.

“Twins sometimes represent opposites. Like the Sun and the Moon,” she had said while handing him the gift. “You are my Sun, Piet. The Moon can’t shine without it.”

“Wanda’s oldest was just like me,” He said. “Same mutation. Same attitude.”

‘Same personality, too,’ his mind supplied, which got a wet chuckle from him.

He rubbed his nose quickly, gaze lowering down as he shrugged. “Guess it hit a bit too close, y’know?”

Erik’s eyes crinkled, a rare smile pulling at his lips.

Pietro didn’t speak a lot about what happened inside The Hex. Neither of them did, the subject still too sore despite having happened three years ago.

“I know it’s way off base, but,” Pietro hesitated, palms rubbing against the fabric of his pants up and down. “Somewhere, in the back of my head, there’s this annoying pull that has me believing those kids are still alive. Still out there.”

“Pietro, you know that-”

“I know, I know!” he rose from his spot and started to pace around the room. “But something is telling me that they’re still alive, and I can’t help it! I mean, c’mon, Wanda’s powers are just-”

He groaned, slamming his hands on the desk and rattling the LEGO pieces and figurines, some of them falling on the carpet. Pietro closed his eyes and took several deep breaths, head hanging low.

“Maybe I’m just reaching out too much.” He uttered.

His father stayed quiet for a moment before standing up and reaching for his shoulder. Slowly turning him so they could see face to face.

Erik’s chest churned deep inside as he noticed the redness on the corners of Pietro’s eyes. His thumb gently rubbed the tender skin, gaining a murmur of complaint from his son.

“You could be right,” Pietro’s eyes perked up. “Wanda’s powers are beyond our comprehension, and there’s a chance the twins could have survived. They’re hers after all.”

Pietro took a deep breath. “So you believe me?”

“Of course I do,” Erik sighed. “But there’s also the chance that we could be wrong, and I don’t want you to jump to conclusions without taking this carefully and slowly.”

The younger man gave him a deadpan stare, clearly letting him know that does last words were somewhat ironic and a bit too much to ask of him.

But his dad was right, they needed to know more information. And thread with it carefully.

“Where exactly is this girl?” the older man asked. “Is she at the institute? Perhaps we can ask Charles for some insight.”

Pietro shook his head. “No, she isn’t there. Logan is still waiting to finish the mission, then he’ll move the kids to the institute.”

Erik frowned at that, his hands gently squeezing Pietro’s shoulders. “And where are they?”

With a roll of his eyes and a scowl, Pietro spat out the name of the city.

“Gotham."

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

Damian didn’t remember when it was the last time he walked through this specific hallway.

Back in the early days when he moved into the manor, he had taken it upon himself to explore the grounds. Get familiar with the new environment, or something like that. Probably his training pushing him to just know all the exits and entrances around the big building.

But this hallway, he avoided it as if it were the plague.

Especially after he found out who exactly resided in one of the farther rooms.

At some point, he stopped actively avoiding it and just forgot about it. There was nothing in there that could need his attention or concern him.

Out of sight, out of mind, right?

He would probably choke the air out of his past self for thinking like that. For not being more willing to look past the whole ‘firstborn’ jealousy that burned through his blood when he met his sister.

Damian’s mind was a mess. Too many questions. Too much anger. Too much guilt.

The guilt had caught him off guard.

One of the things that stood out about Damian was that he was prideful. He held honor and pride above anything else. He was proud of being the son of the bat. It was his greatest honor and goal to take on the mantle once his father retired. He never apologized for being blunt. Never regretted it or felt guilty about it .

But as he stood before the door of her bedroom, all he could recognize was that bothersome feeling panging against his chest.

Finding out about her relation to Harvey Dent had put many things into perspective.

Did she actively hide it from everyone? How did he never notice? Was she also ashamed of being related to a villain? Why did she never say anything about it? Why didn’t she come to him?

It would have been logical. He also had a direct relation to a villain: his grandfather and his mother. And while he no longer related to their views, he grew up around them. He had to leave his old home behind and embrace this new way of living. He had to adapt. He had to fit in.

And so did she.

He could only imagine what her life was like before Father took her in. A mentally unstable mother, now interned in a psychiatric ward. Apparently hostile and willing to harm her while having manic episodes. An uncle who was a crime lord, who was not able to take the hint that she was better off with her true family. Sending endless letters and writing pretty words about changing and wanting to move away from Gotham, so that she could live a normal life.

Away from the media. Away from scandals. Away from them.

Damian could understand why his father hid the letters. He was still mad that he hid them from everyone on the team, of course. Knowing about this information would have prevented a lot of things, but Damian could see why he did it.

What he couldn’t understand was why his Father hadn’t killed the bastard already.

It would have made things so much easier in his opinion.

Shaking away his thoughts to the back of his mind, Damian opened the door to the bedroom quietly. The creaking wood made him look down the hall, hoping that nobody would come sniffing around.

He didn't need anyone else giving him a reprimand about privacy.

He had his father's perspective on this mess, now he need hers.

Only the curtains fluttered by the tall glass window, despite no wind blowing since it was closed.

Thinking nothing of it, he went inside the room, closing the door behind him.

The first thing he noticed was how cold and dark the room was. There was no light entering through the window, as if a dark cloud had blocked the sun outside the moment he made his way inside. He could feel the goosebumps breaking under his school uniform.

He could only see the outline of the furniture around the room. The bed, the bookshelf, the wardrobe, and the desk. All of them left a chilling sensation down his back.

But Damian simply walked deeper into the room, each step heavy against the hardwood floor, until he reached the bookshelf.

His gaze moved over the backs of the books, starting from the very top shelf. Most of them were different genres of literature. He noticed that a significant portion of them had Spanish titles and a consistent repetition of genre types that he could recognize from having read them in his private lessons back in the league.

He never imagined his sister was an avid reader of Magical Realism.

The room turned colder and colder with every moment he continued to stand there. He could dare to imagine that if he let out a breath, he would be able to see it, just like in the cold winter days. If it weren’t for the fact that they were just starting October, he would deem it a possibility.

Then, his eyes landed on a book right in the corner of the lower shelf, sticking out slightly from its spot. As he began to crouch down, he noticed some bookmarking post-its standing on the top of the pages. Its title was worn off by time, barely able to read what it said, until the words registered and translated in his head.

‘The House of the Spirits’ by Isabel Allende.

Before he could reach for the book, a freezing, wet hand grabbed his ankle and pulled hard. Making him stumble and hit his forehead on the edge of a shelf and fall to the ground with a surprised yell.

Damian quickly turned his body upwards, sliding back against the bookshelf as he looked around the now completely dark room.

He couldn’t see shit, but he could here something moving.

Or more like someone.

The creaks of the floor put him on the edge, way too slow and scattered all over the place for him to pinpoint where exactly they were coming from. Cold sweat goes down his temple, making his skin even colder.

Then, he gets pulled again. This time, he gets dragged through the room and underneath the bed.

He could feel his limbs hitting some plastic and the clattering of small boxes getting spread all over the floor. His nails scratched over the wood, grunting and struggling to kick off whoever was gripping his leg.

Hands wrapping around the neck of his shirt, and lifting him until his head hit the metal frame of the bed, got his attention. And he finally came face to face with it.

Its face was scrunched up in pure fury, pale skin with prominent black veins crawling up from the neck to the jaw. Hair drenched in water that left a heavy stench, making his stomach churn. Deep red blood dripping down a side of the head and mouth in a snarl that showed all of its teeth, deep gutural sounds coming from its throat.

“Mind your business, you brat.” Its voice clawing at his ears like sharp, shattered glass, making him shrivel in his skin.

Without thinking twice, Damian grabbed the nearest object at hand and hit the being on the side of the head with it.

It let out a distorted scream, throwing him far away and sliding his body once again across the floor. He quickly got up, eyes wide as stuff around the room began to rattle and fall to the ground, and covering his ears as the screams grew into a higher tone.

As soon as he saw its hands claw at the ground, its body sliding out from beneath the bed, Damian ran out of the room. Almost taking down the door with him as he took off through the hall, slamming against corners and walls until he reached his room.

Not far away from there, Maximoff stood by the stairs, looking confused as to why she had just seen the gremlin looking so pale and scared while running through the halls.

“Damn, what is his deal?” She muttered until the wails coming from her bedroom hallway entered her ears. Quickly, she ran to her room, cursing to herself.

Back in Damian’s room, he gripped with shaky fingers an old cassette. It was slightly busted, the tape torn and worn. And now, after hitting whatever that was with it, it looked even more broken.

With a deep sigh, he slid down against his door and passed out.

Meanwhile, Maximoff had to deal with pissed off, hurt ghost who refused to put some ice on her bruised forehead.

Neither of those three had a good night.

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

Warren rubbed his eyes, sighing deeply. “Never in my life did I think I would be doing some insane shit like this…” he looked to his right side, shaking his head from side to side. “I knew my life was gonna be fucked up from the moment I was born, but this takes the fucking-”

Bobby shushed him, waving his hand dismissively at him without lifting his gaze from the flashlight that was flickering slowly and writing the patterns in his notebook.

“Complain later.” He muttered, biting his lip while scribbling the translation from the Morse code in an unreadable handwriting.

The two boys had been sitting on the benches of the track field for quite a while now. Bobby was even wearing his baseball uniform, having come up to meet with his friends as soon as his practice was finished. The same with Warren, who had finished his debate practice early.

Usually, they wouldn’t be in such a hurry to meet up. But today was a little different compared to the other days.

After all, it wasn’t every day that you got the chance to meet a real ghost.

“She looks beyond pissed today…” Warren muttered, his gaze returning to the running track.

Maximoff was wearing headphones today, some old thing that was already falling apart, and had the leather cuffs flaking off. But she didn’t give it a single thought.

Her eyebrows had a prominent frown that could be seen from the distant spot where the guys were sitting. Hair pulled back in a tight ponytail that wasn’t budging, no matter how hard the tail was wiped around with wind as she ran with a scowl.

She had that expression the whole day.

And that’s without mentioning her snappish attitude. Even Mr. Logan seemed to take his distance from her, just handing her the keys to the field lock and letting her be by herself for today.

Wayne made the flashlight roll off the bench, making Bobby chuckle and put down his pencil.

“Who wouldn’t be? I don’t have siblings, but I would be ticked off if my little brother messed around in my room without permission.”

Warren gave him a quick look, grumbling between his teeth. “Not her brother, remember?”

“True,” Bobby sighed, his hand brushing his hair back and looking around him. “But still, bet you were also pissed?”

The flashlight spun on the ground and pointed directly at Bobby, making him groan when the light hit right in his eyes. Which made Warren laugh, along with an odd sound similar to a sharp whistle, letting them know that Wayne was also laughing at him.

Wayne had also fitted right in with them.

After what happened last night with Damian, Maximoff decided that Wayne needed to get out of the manor for the day. It didn’t take a lot of convincing from her part, since both of them, no matter how annoyed, didn’t want to actually kill the family from a heart attack.

It’s supposed to just make them suffer, nothing else. No need for murder.

No matter how tempting it seemed.

That’s how Wayne was officially introduced to the boys. Well, to Bobby at least.

Warren and her weren’t exactly close back when she was alive. They just found a middle ground where they could benefit from each other. Despite it being a bit embarrassing for both sides, since the two of them made that deal out of searching for approval from their families.

Two fucked up rich kids, with even more fucked up family dynamics, finding a bit of comfort with each other. Sounds about right.

Neither of them talked about what happened behind the walls of their manors. Didn’t need to. The comfortable silence between them on their daily rehearsals was enough, and that was it.

No matter the sinking hole in Warren’s stomach that had been bothering him since that day they went to the mall.

He couldn’t help but wonder if he could have done something to prevent her death. Maybe if he hadn’t canceled the rehearsal that day, she wouldn’t have been killed. Maybe if he hadn’t canceled their meeting just because his father was actually at home for once and reached out to have some dinner with him, she wouldn’t have suffered that fate.

He could have given her a ride home. Or maybe even walk her back. Anything to stop the tragedy from happening.

But that would have meant not having Maximoff with them.

And he liked Maximoff. Probably the first friend, along with Bobby, whom he had ever had that didn’t approach him for need of favors or fame. Just genuine friendship.

But what Warren had with her? With Wayne? It was something different.

Something he never dared to put a name on, and never will get the chance to do so.

Warren got startled out of his thoughts when he felt a cold sensation against his fingers, making him look down at his hand.

A pale, delicate hand brushed its pinky with his fingertips, but it was gone in the blink of an eye. He let himself smile for a moment, a warm light feeling against his shoulder when he drifted his gaze towards the jogging girl who started to approach them.

“Did you guys find anything?” She asked, pulling off the headphones and picking up the flashlight.

“Well, we got plenty of info on the meanings behind the cards,” Bobby said, flipping through the pages of his notebook. “But, it’s pretty confusing if we don’t know about the context behind the reading.”

Maximoff sat on the grass with a sigh. “It’s a start, though, right?”

“.-- . / -. . . -.. / ... --- -- . --- -. . / .-- .... --- / -.- -. --- .-- ... / .... --- .-- / -- --- -- .----. ... / ...- .. ... .. --- -. ... / .-- --- .-. -.- . -..”

We need someone who knows how Mom's visions worked

The speedster bit on the nail of her thumb, thinking to herself about who could probably be helpful.

Alfred was out of the question. He didn’t know Bianca enough to be considered an option.

Bruce? Hard no.

Rio? Yeah, not unless they wanted to get tangled even more in her little game.

“There’s just one person left…” She muttered, looking up at the guys and giving Wayne a lifted eyebrow from her place beside Warren.

“I don’t like that look,” Warren said, seeing right through her apologetic expression.

“.... . / -.-. --- ..- .-.. -.. / .... . .-.. .--.”

He could help.

“Yeah, I don’t like that either,” Bobby muttered, eyes staring wide at the flashlight.

Maximoff sighed, patting her legs as she got up from the grass and took a deep breath. “Look, you guys can take a step back this time. It could get messy, and I don’t want to get both of you into trouble.”

“Well, too bad for you,” Warren stated, getting up from his seat. “Because there’s no way I’m letting you get into trouble by yourself. We still got a deal, remember?”

“And,” Bobby added, also getting up. “I’m also way too invested in this. Like, really invested.”

She rolled her eyes and laughed, crossing her arms and nodding at them. “Alright, fine. What do we have this Friday?”

“It’s the recital,” Warren said, frowning. “You know? Part of the deal?”

“Well, the deal is changing now.” She chirped, tilting her head with a grin as Wayne gave a shrill laugh and made the light posts around the field flicker. The boy exchanged worried looks.

“I’m starting to regret agreeing to this…”

Warren sighed deeply. “So what now?”

Maximoff hummed, “Do any of you know how we can sneak into Arkham Asylum?”

Bobby and Warren tried not to scream when they finally saw Wayne, who squealed while floating around them in circles.

Maybe they should have sat this one out.

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

“Cass, I’m just worried. This is very confusing.”

Cassandra shook her head, hugging her legs to her chest while sitting on the sofa of Barbara’s living room.

She had come to the redhead’s apartment late in the night, looking over her shoulder every single time the tiniest noise was heard behind her. Frown deep between her eyebrows, and lips cracked by continuously biting on them with worry, on the whole way to Barbara’s home.

“Think about it.” The younger woman said. “You have noticed, too.”

“Of course I have noticed,” she acknowledged, moving her chair closer to the Cass. “But it’s probably just her being angry and hurt. She needs space.”

That got a sharp glare from Cassandra, taking Barbara off guard by how intensely the anger in her eyes was directed towards her. As if what she said was the greatest insult she had ever dared to say out loud.

It made her straighten up and clear her throat.

“What I mean is,” she started in a gentler tone. “She is a teen, and she is going through some harsh stuff. She needs time and understanding, not accusations of having an alter.”

Yeah, that was it.

After days of observing and analyzing the behavior of her sister, Cassandra came to this conclusion. Which was solidified when it was revealed that not only was the young girl related to a villain, but to Two-Face of all people.

It made complete sense to her.

The way of talking. Her manners. Her posture. The hostile attitude. The new clothes. The new everything.

Her dear sister had an alter, and it was all their fault.

She had done her research on the condition, the dissociative identity disorder, even going so far as to take Harvey’s file and compare any similarities between the two of them. It didn’t take long to figure out several common grounds amongst them.

Traumatic childhood? Check

Harsh upbringing? Check

Unstable relationship with family members? …sadly, also a check.

And the nail in the coffin. A traumatic event that could have started a new way of behavior or personality.

It was undeniable to her. There was no other explanation.

And it hurt. It hurt to know that she had a hand in this. That everyone had a hand in this. They all contributed. They all caused her harm. They all caused her pain. They all caused her suffering, and she didn’t know how to fix it. If there even was a way of fixing it. A way to atone for her mistakes and errors.

Was there a way to earn her forgiveness?

… Of course, there was. Her sister was a saint. Her main alter, at least. She was good, forgiving, and understanding. She would see right through her and understand that she regrets pushing her to the side for just a moment of silence. That Cass would never ask her to be quiet once again. That she needs her to be loud and please talk to her once MORE-

…Back on track.

This new side was just a protective alter. A way made by her mind to protect her fragile side and punish those who have wronged her.

All that Cassandra needed to do was show that she had changed, and everything would be fine. Everything would be way better than before, even!

But first, she needs the others to believe her. That there’s proof.

Which is why she went to Barbara, who is the only person she thought would be able to understand what she meant.

Sadly, Barbara was not getting it.

“Look,” Barbara sighed, touching Cass’s knee. “It’s been a rough week. For everyone. How about you stay the night here, and tomorrow we can talk about it more calmly. I can see that you haven’t been sleeping well.”

Of course, she was not sleeping well! Her sister was suffering in silence, and she didn’t know what to do about it!

Cassandra stood up from the sofa, harshly shoving Barbara’s hand away and picking up her stuff, slamming the door of the apartment behind her as she stormed off into the street. Leaving a very confused and concerned Barbara behind.

If Barb was not going to understand, then fine.

She was going to find someone who could.

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

“Did you brush your teeth?” Logan questioned with a raised eyebrow, staring down at the small screen of his phone. Where a little girl pouted back at him with a glare uncannily similar to his own.

“Hnn,” She muttered, nodding at him. He could also hear Hank’s deep chuckle somewhere in the background of the call.

Then, a black woman with striking white hair appeared behind the girl with a warm smile. Her hands gently, going over the girl’s shoulders and letting her snuggle up to her chest, all while still pouting at Logan.

“Laura is a big girl now, Logan,” Ororo said, making the girl hide her face away from the now smirking man. “She even helped out with the dishes today!”

“Did she now?” He said with a teasing tone. “Hopefully I’ll be able to see that when I get back.”

Laura then growled at the screen, nose scrunched up and glaring at her father. But to Logan, she just looked like an angry wet cat.

Just like a certain student today.

“Say goodnight, Laura. It’s quite late for your bedtime.” Ororo said, which Laura responded with a mumbled ‘night’ before she passed the phone to Hank, who also said his goodnights and waited until the two of them left to finally talk to Logan.

“How did the shoes work out? Any feedback?”

Logan groaned leaning back against the headboard of his bed. The professor had gone as far as to get him an apartment for his cover instead of sticking to a hotel and he was beyond grateful for it. Though, he currently preferred to wake up with Laura’s foot shoved against his face after she crawled up into his bed in the middle of the night.

He missed his kid. A lot.

“No complaints. The kid doesn’t look like she is afraid of melting soles anymore, so I guess that’s good enough.” He mentioned.

“I’ll take it, then.” Hank grinned, shuffling some stuff off camera. “How about the case? Any clues?”

“Not yet,” He muttered. “But I have the feeling that I’ll find something very soon. Especially with those three going rampant around the city.”

“Ah, yes,” Hank nodded. “The professor mentioned them yesterday during our meeting. I’m quite worried that such powerful mutants are going out all alone in Gotham of all places. The universe does have a strange sense of humor.”

More like a fucked up sense of humor.

“I’m guessing we will have to open four new rooms in the institute.”

Logan frowned at those words. He was watching three kids. Not four.

“Four?”

Hank looked at the camera and then let out a tiny gasp, quickly smiling while nodding. “Oh, I guess the professor hasn’t mentioned it yet. He detected a new mutant in New Jersey. A boy from Eastview.”

A boy from Eastview, huh?

“Did he sent Scott to pick him up?” Logan scoffed. He knew Scott wasn’t the best at handling breaking the news to families about their kid being a mutant.

“No, he didn’t”

“Huh, that’s good.”

“He did send Gambit and Rouge, though.”

“He sent who?!”

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

Author's note: Hello everyone, I have big news! I'll be taking a short writing break until the first week of July. My family will be traveling and I'll be facing finals from my summer class (And also working on a short film AS THE MAIN CHARACTER OMGGGGGG-). But, the asks will remain open and I'll answer as soon as possible, so don't hesitate to send asks or comments! Other than that, I hope you all enjoyed the new chapter and I can't wait to see what everyone thinks about it (YAYY, PIETRO IS HEREEEE-) Lots of love, GG✨

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