glitch-but-ya

[glitch-but-ya]

One more song.

Xavier x Reader

Tags: Fluff, hurt/comfort. A/N: Thank you for requesting! As for the other request, it may take time as it was a bit vague but I will try my best. Although, next time, I recommend sending 1 request at a time!! It’s easier for me to fulfil requests that way. Word count: 0.7k

The weekend’s afternoon had been languid—drowned in your shared laughter echoing throughout a karaoke's private room.

Songs played on shuffle as two less-than-professional voices sang along with zeal. Xavier, whose initial coyness had made him unintentionally gravitate towards the snack rack, was now fully immersed in the experience with you. He sang louder than you, and often, it was solely to make you smile.

The day had been going perfectly. After all, there were a nonexistent number of places Xavier would rather be than by your side, admiring your giggles. But the first fracture in the mirth’s firmament surfaced when your oblivious boyfriend made an innocent suggestion—

“Why not play that one song you really liked?”

Almost immediately, your lips dropped into a neutral line, and the twinkle of glee began to dissipate from your eyes.

As if exhausted by an invisible battle, you kicked your feet and sank into the plush of the couch, arms folded over your chest.

A huff escaped your lips, and a frown took form.

Xavier dropped the mic onto the table and scurried to your side. “Baby?” he cooed, his voice stained with worry.

Your frown, however, did not loosen at his endearment. Instead, you turned your head away and muttered, “We should go home.”

Xavier’s brows furrowed. His lips parted in shock. Had he done something wrong? he wondered. His mind raced with a million thoughts.

“If that’s what you want... but could you talk to me? Please?” he pleaded softly, taking your palms into his own.

You hesitated at first. Your teeth sank into your bottom lip, and your fingers nervously toyed with the hem of your attire. You could feel the weight of Xavier’s droopy eyes fixated on your form, and you tried your best not to look at them.

Despite your efforts, you happened to catch a glimpse of them from the corner of your eye.

In an instant, your face crumbled, and you gave in.

“I just can’t bear to listen to their songs anymore,” you said, your voice quiet yet firm.

“But you loved them.”

“I know! But—” You bit your lip. “They don’t feel the same anymore.”

The gears turned in Xavier’s head, and realisation slowly dawned upon him. “Because one of the members left?”

Your throat tightened. You nodded.

Xavier didn’t ask why—he didn’t need to. He simply placed himself by your side and ran his fingers through your hair.

“You don’t have to force yourself to move on. You’re allowed to grieve it.”

“But it’s so silly! Crying over celebrities you barely know.”

“I may not be able to relate, but I understand. It’s a universal experience,” he said. “It marked an era in your life, and it was ruined just like that... it’s saccharine nostalgia turned sour.” His head drooped. Then, in a lower tone, he mumbled, “It must hurt.”

With great tenderness, he hooked a finger under your chin and turned your head towards him. “It’s a valid reason to be upset.”

Instinctively, you leant onto his shoulder, burying your face there. Xavier lifted his arm and curled it around your body, drawing you in closer. His hand patted reassurances onto your back.

“But... I hope that someday, you’ll be able to remember the joy they brought you. The nights you fell asleep with their music in your ears, and not the nights you lay awake, upset over their departure.”

Xavier retrieved a tablet from the table and clicked on a playlist you hadn’t seen for months. With a gentle smile on his face, he turned to you for permission.

“If you ever feel ready to enjoy these songs again, I’ll listen with you. We can rewrite the bad memories with good ones.”

You mimicked his smile and nuzzled his cheek. “Thank you, Xavier. But I need more time.”

His thumb brushed lovingly across your knuckles. “That’s okay. I’ll be there for you. Always.”

Xavier softened as you leant against his side. You snatched the tablet from his hands and surfed through the songs.

“How does one more song sound?”

He nodded. With a grin, he lifted the microphone to his lips. “One more, then. I’m not going to let you win anymore.”

[glitch-but-ya]

Hello, I was wondering if you could write a fanfic of zayne? In which where the femreader is shy in nature and has been quietly loving zayne for sometime. However, zayne was in love with the mc But mc was in love with caleb - probably caleb was confessing and mc accept (?) Then, zayne realised that and finally saw femreader in a new, sweet perspective. Requesting for a fluff and very2 happy ending!! hope you understand them, my fingers were shaking when I was typing them

Thank you! 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

Ps: both mc and reader are friends - so was hoping if their friendship aren't gonna break throughout :D

Hello!! Thank you so much for sending this request and being patient! I’m so sorry for the delay.

I’ve sat with this idea for a while and drafted a few versions, but I kept running into the same problem: I just couldn’t find a way to write Zayne’s emotional arc in a way that felt honest and satisfying within a shorter fic format. I’ve spent a long time mulling it over, and I just cannot find ideas to write this request without turning it into a 20k+ word fic!

This is mostly due to (according to my limited knowledge of Zayne’s character, at least) how I cannot envision anything other than a slow-burn romance with Zayne. It would feel odd for Zayne to immediately switch to the reader once MC breaks his heart (because a part of me wonders—are you truly in love with her, or are you with her only to forget the scar MC left on you?)

For Zayne, I feel as if it’d take at least a year or two to really come to terms with his feelings for the reader, and probably a few more months to accept them. In general, I think it would take a long time for him to be ready to love again, and although I have no doubt the reader can speed up the process by tending to his wounds, it would still take a long time.

I was thinking of doing a time skip—the fic would start a year or two after MC and Caleb get together, and this would take place when Zayne is coming to terms with his feelings. However, I couldn’t feel satisfied with my idea because placing a time skip would mean skipping through a lot of the crucial moments in their relationship where the threads of their bond really started to take shape. Of course, I could just mention or briefly explain those moments here and there, but that wouldn’t exactly pack the same emotional punch. I would just be telling the readers that their bond is deep—not showing them. And I wouldn’t want to dissatisfy anyone :(

If you’re okay with this idea, though, I’m happy to write it!! Or if there’s anything you would like to change that would make me more comfortable with writing this request, you are free to do so!! This is one of my first requests, so I really hate to end it like this!!

Thank you for your time! 🤍

[glitch-but-ya]

Hi, I just wanted to say that Xavier canonically enjoys watching horror movies so he's definitely the type to play horror games together with MC as well :))

Sorry for the late reply!! I somehow didn't notice this until now. Anyhow, thank you for letting me know! I fixed it somewhat. I hope I got it right this time! (Xavier is the LI I know least about so I messed him up :(( )

[glitch-but-ya]

Blooming Daturas.

PAIRING: Sylus x non-mc!Reader WORD COUNT: 1.3k CW: Implied pacifist reader, arguments, angst with comfort, descriptions of blood, mentions of death, murder (self-defence), kissing, alcohol usage, mildly drunk Sylus. SUMMARY: As gun meets flesh, what you had built crumbles in an instant. When the man you had hidden from the world cocks his gun to your head, what could your lover do but drill his skull before he drilled yours? But a pacifist’s heart is fragile. It cannot bear the burden of the loss of a life it had worked diligently to protect. And so, drowned in guilt, it gravitates towards its beloved’s warm embrace—for in this corrupt world, they only have each other left.

The memories of what had transpired merely days before had fragmented by now—hazy recollections of gunshots ripping through the heavy silence, of the empty thud of a familiar body echoing as it hit the mud, and of the indifferent look in your lover’s face as he clutched the gun a notch tighter than before were all that remained. 

Amongst it all, your face remained blurred. The observer outside your body could make out nothing but confusion etched into your eyes. You had halted as if every bodily function inside you had shut down at that moment. 

The sudden warm splash of scarlet that coated your cheeks did little to heave you back into reality. Your finger lazed in its path to your face. You stared at the blood you’d collected on your fingertips. A red quite like his eyes, you thought. 

And afterwards, it all went blank. 

You awoke amid the warmth of a familiar bed. A foreign numbness paralyzed your limbs. You had witnessed this scene many times before—awakening in the same bed, staring at the same ceiling, watching as the grand lighting above bounced off the walls. 

Except every time before, you found yourself tangled in the embrace of another. 

Today, though? You found the other side of your bed cold. 

Hours passed slowly and excruciatingly as you struggled to throw yourself off the bed. You tossed and turned, each contact between skin and bone causing dull aches to spread across your body. 

You wanted to sleep. But it couldn’t be helped that every time you closed your eyes, your mind filled the emptiness with scenes from that day. 

And thus, after another hour had passed, you had no choice but to face the world, and to face him. 

The house reeked of remnants of emptiness. Save for an abundance of soulless furniture and exquisite trinkets, the only sign of inhabitance permeated from the living room. 

The pungent stench of alcohol wafted through the air—light, but noticeable. Your nose scrunched; your senses must have been extra sensitive, but you trailed it nonetheless. It led you to who you’d hoped to avoid a minute longer—the bearer of the gun, and your fated lover, Sylus. 

Instinct led you to inch towards the partially intoxicated man sprawled across the couch, although it was in your best interest to stray from him for as long as you could. 

The man stirred, removing the glass from his hand. His crimson eyes blinked open, but they did not—could not—meet your gaze. 

Sylus scooted over. You swiftly slid into the space he’d made for you, even when only days before, he’d ripped from you a remnant of your goodwill. 

And then, like thick, taut ropes stretched endlessly across poles, there was silence. 

Your lips wobbled, and sometimes they parted, itching to utter a word, but none travelled up your throat. Sylus too was met with a decision he couldn’t make. His gaze flitted between the glass and your hand. His mouth opened once, closed, and eventually, he stuck to draining another glass. 

How long had passed? Neither of you knew. Envisioning the same loop of memories in your head, the two of you sat across from each other with half a metre of distance in the middle, unable to look, unable to speak, and unable to breathe as every breath sounded a little too deep. 

Until a voice echoed. 

“I’m sorry,” was all it said. Unwavering but stuffed with a subtle burst of emotion. 

Your shoulders slumped, and finally, the tears fell. 

A face surfaced in your mind. An old dwarf man with wrinkles encircling his large eyes. A sob rippled through you, and a warm hand encased your figure and lifted you close. 

“Why?” you choked. Sylus did not reply. You asked again. Firmer this time. And a disgruntled noise emerged. 

“I had to.” 

“You should’ve let me die.” 

“He was going to kill you.” 

“Maybe...” you stuttered, “Maybe he was just scared! I was too!” 

A short quietude ensued. His grip around you faltered. 

“Of me?” 

You pursed your lips. 

He did not pry. 

Another image flashed before your eyes. The old man, injured, lying atop the flimsy mattress of the place you’d hidden him as you tended to him with care. 

“I hid him from you.” 

Sylus did not reply. 

You continued. “I... snooped around in your study. I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry—but once I knew, I couldn’t let you have him.” 

“He was already in your care.” 

You lowered your head and nodded. 

“If you had simply told me,” his voice raised a notch, “I would have let it go. What was a couple extra bucks to me when I could’ve lost you?” 

And thus, it was your turn to remain silent. 

Sylus’s knuckles went white as his fingers tightened around the glass. Stiffly, he poured himself another drink, paying no mind to the contents that splashed onto the table and down its side, and downed it in two gulps. The glass hit the table with a loud clank. You almost jumped. 

“Ten days. I hid him for ten days.” 

“And you never once mentioned it to me.” 

“How could I? You would’ve killed him!” 

“You don’t trust me,” he interjected. It was a statement. Said like a cold, brutal fact. 

Your teeth sunk into the plush of your inner cheek. You rolled your head back and slumped into the couch. 

“Maybe,” you whispered, “I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d side with me.” 

The hand that had aimed toward another glass halted in its path. And finally, his dreary eyes met yours. 

“I read the details. And although most of it seemed like gibberish, I could make out that if you hadn’t eliminated him, you would have suffered a substantial loss.” 

From the corner of your eye, you saw his jaw tense. 

“I’m sorry. I thought he was different. I thought he was liable for change.” 

Until he pointed that gun at you. 

But you couldn’t bring yourself to say that. 

“Sweetie,” his voice softened, “I’ve told you before, haven’t I? In the N109 zone, there are few capable of change. You can’t trust them.” 

“But I trusted you, didn’t I? And it was the greatest decision of my life. What nominates you for special treatment? Are you morally above them?” 

Sylus’s jaw tightened, and his mouth flung open to retaliate. But as the weight of your words sunk in, his jaw clicked shut, and he could bring himself to do nothing but pour himself another drink. 

“You said it yourself,” he half-slurred, “Love is nothing but discrimination.” 

You hunched over and lightly tugged at your hair, feet drumming against the carpeted floor with fervour. “I don’t know anymore. If killing him was the only way to save my life, why do I feel so guilty?” 

Sylus’s hand ghosted over yours. “Because I destroyed something you worked restlessly to build with a click of a gun.” 

You leaned into his touch, letting your body slump against his own. Paying no mind to the stench of alcohol radiating off him, you buried your soul within him. 

“It wasn’t your fault. I’m sorry,” you sniffled, interlocking your fingers with his. 

Sylus tightened his hold around your palm and brought it to his lips. “It’s not yours either. But there’s little I can do to bring a dead man back.” 

“Am I just naive, Sylus? For... dreaming to bring peace upon this broken land?” 

Sylus in turn placed a tender kiss on the apex of your head. 

“I don’t know if it’s possible, but it’s a noble thing to look forward to.” 

You cracked a smile. 

“And if you are ever able to craft such a haven,” he lifted your head and searched your eyes for consent, “I will stand firm at its door, vowing to guard it with my soul.” Your lips met. 

“Come on,” you tugged at his sleeve, “Let’s get you sobered up.” 

The drunken man obliged, and with his arm draped around your shoulder, the two of you headed to bed. 

[glitch-but-ya]

I know I haven’t posted for like almost a month but I promise I’m not dead. Just got finals to worry about. I was working on two long Sylus and Caleb fics so I’ll probably find time to work on those after finals!! In the mean time, I really hope my account doesn’t die😭😭.

[glitch-but-ya]

THE HEART OF A CHILD.

CW: Angst, use of alcohol, mention of blood, descriptions of rot and decay. spoilers for his myth. SUMMARY: A Caleb drabble; the aftermath of one's hurtful words. WORD COUNT: 1,233 words. A/N: A lazily written (and decorated) work written for the sake of not ‘loosing my hand’ in writing as I struggle with exams.

On the day of the explosion, Caleb had died. A string of bitter, blazing liquid burned down his throat. An unfamiliar taste—something he attempted wholeheartedly to rid his body of.

But that night, boundaries had been broken. Both of the body and of the words you spoke to him earlier that night. “My Caleb is dead.” you had blurted out in a fit of fury.

Another glass of alcohol surged past his lips. The liquid spread through his body, and like tendrils of irrepressible growth, it coiled around his mind and restricted his logical thinking.

Even then, your face emerged in his mind. Puffy, tear-stricken eyes staring up at him with horror.

Another gale of tears rushed forth, threatening to collapse the dam he’d worked tirelessly to build. Caleb choked back a sob. His shoulders slumped, and his head landed on the hard marble of his kitchen counter with a dull thud.

Tears flowed gracefully from the corners of his sealed eyes. His lips quivered—a form of restraint. His fingers tightened around the glass.

And he poured himself another.

With great hesitation, the rim of the glass inched towards his lips. The first drop of liquid spilled onto his lower lip. And in moments, the entire glass had emptied into his heart.

Caleb’s mouth opened. A hand shot out to cover it as he began to gag. He wouldn’t let himself crumble. He swallowed back the bile.

He’d sworn to be your protector—your sole pillar of support. No matter how many times you shattered him, ripped him apart, or set his corpse ablaze, he would stand strong and proud and pull you into his arms afterwards. All the while, he ensured not a single drop of the blood you’d drenched him in stained your perfect form.

But even then, it was Caleb’s first time on this world. An inexperienced soul attempted to bear the burden of everything. A child forced to carry his world.

Could the universe not have been any kinder to him?

He rose to his feet abruptly, and as he stood, his body swayed. The pillar you’d always seen stand upright without a hitch swayed. It was a state far too embarrassing for the Farspace Fleet’s colonel to be in—and one he’d never let you witness.

Because it was your first time on Earth as well, and even if you’d lived a thousand lives before, you remembered only one. If Caleb wasn’t there to guide you through the way, who would volunteer in his stead?

He’d rather drop dead than watch you succumb to the darkness that was out to get you.

When Caleb had died in your arms in his last life, for the first time, he had prayed to a god he wasn’t sure existed. And to them, he beseeched that if he were to be reunited with you in his next life, you would pull him into your arms all over again—and that time, neither of you would ever have to flee from a corporation’s unrelenting greed.

He must have committed a horrendous act in his past life, Caleb mused, to have been granted only half his original request and bestowed grievances of the same extent once more.

Again, you had to flee. But he promised you he wouldn’t.

And so, Caleb forsook his future. Without a second thought, he donned the heavy cap of the colonel and abided by the adversaries’ wills. And initially, he’d also forsaken his chances of a future with you.

He froze his radiant heart and welcomed the ill-intended researchers with his skull pried open, allowing them to plant the chip that would alter him forever—deform him into the man you so passionately loathed.

Someone who wasn’t your Caleb. A man so foreign, it frightened even himself.

With a lifeless firearm clutched in his hands, he doomed lives like his own. People like him—humans who had loved and bled like he did.

But for you, he endured.

And a lot more than he would’ve liked to admit, Caleb was rotting inside.

A foul stench had emerged from where his heart would be. And when his eyes landed upon you once more, he feared the possibility that you’d smell it as well.

You’d notice the mould growing from his peeling skin, and you’d be repulsed at how his bones withered inside. You’d run away, and just like that, he would have lost you once more.

But as you’d sat atop the hardness of the interrogation room’s metal chair, you’d looked up at him with nothing but adoration and glimpses of a bond that once was.

You were seeing him. You were truly looking at him, acknowledging the flaws and still finding it in your heart to love him.

And Caleb swears, at that moment, he’d fallen for you again.

But what is fate if not a deity of trickery? Although he tried to mask the stench of his decaying heart, inevitably, you noticed.

And when you did, your eyes flared. The light in them dimmed, and fear replaced where love once stood. “My Caleb is dead.”

Caleb dragged himself off to the bedroom which was yours just moments ago. He settled into the sheets and buried himself deeper within the remnants of your scent. His heart throbbed violently in his chest.

Much to Caleb’s dismay, the scent of alcohol began to overwhelm your own, and with a whine, he brought the sheets closer to himself.

What was he without you? Mere pulses of light. A lifeless robot bending to a corporation’s will.

Tears stained the fabric that was once wrapped around you.

Beyond the colonel’s mask lay a heart so vulnerable it would shatter at the weakest of pressures.

Imprisoned within his ribs was the heart of a child—pure and bruised. Because in truth, Caleb had never truly grown up.

He was merely a boy who yearned for a life shrouded by the sun’s brightest beams.

Ever since he was a child, Caleb envisioned a future with you.

He would soar the skies with you in his embrace, landing in a home you shared. The two of you would bicker endlessly over everything—what to eat, what to watch. And it would end with the two of you collapsing into each other’s arms and bursting into a fit of giggles.

You would drag him into stores, cafés, arcades, and malls. And in turn, he would take you to witness the sunrise from above the clouds.

If exhaustion weighed your limbs, he would carry you on his back through the darkness of the night. If you fell ill, he would pamper you with his love. He would shield you from the cackles of thunder and hold your quivering form in his arms. And when the storm passed, he would lull you into a tranquil slumber.

In every step of the way, he would be there, and so would you.

Caleb’s love was only akin to that of a child. Even after having bloomed before his time, his heart retained its juvenile gleam.

And bearing the immaturity and naïveté of a child, he envisioned a future where you’d never leave his side.

Amid mirth and joy, in times of hardship and sorrow, and in times of death and illness, neither of you would find your home cold.

In Caleb’s youthful heart, the two of you would remain children for a hundred years and onwards.

[glitch-but-ya]

off guard on duty

— the big twins watch the little twins for a day and long for what they think they'll never have.

ʕ ꈍᴥꈍʔ: my babies my angels my loves ｡°(°.◜ᯅ◝°)°｡ sylus is just a dad of 4. here's a silly little fic about the big twins watching the little twins. they have a great time. let me know what you think of this one lol, it was super fun to make! enjoy! ❀-urs important heads up for context of this story: kyros and lucian are (my headcanon) sylus's twin boys. around 3 years old at this time.

kieran, luke, lucian and kyros highlight!! | sylus x reader | fluff, angst, softbabysitter!twins, mom!reader, sufferingdad!sylus, bigtwins are also sylus's sons change my mind?? tw: separation anxiety/tantrums, past abuse mentioned (pls let me know if I missed any!)

Don’t drop them.

Don’t lose them.

Dinner is at six.

Easy enough. They’ve gone through more difficult missions before. Covert ones, requiring meticulous planning and great improvisation. 

Kieran prides himself in being able to execute seventeen different kinds of strategies to take down a group of thirty men within 5 minutes. Luke can persuade anyone into doing anything, and eliminate them— without a trace—if they don’t comply. Exceptional mercenaries. Isolated ghosts. Nothing is impossible.

Perfectly capable babysitters, if you ask them. 

How they made the silent twin wail like a siren and the rambunctious one sit still was beyond them.

“Papa!” Kyros screams, blotchy red cheeks puffed and damp bangs stuck to his sweaty forehead. He presses himself against the heavy main door, as if forcing himself to walk through, stretching his little limbs and straining his ankles to reach the knob. “Papa! Papa!” 

“Keero mad.” Lucian blinks, staring at his brother across the room, snuggled against his mama’s blanket. Your scent envelops him, helps him stay calm in your absence. You had left for your mission earlier that day, and Lucian has since finished his little tantrum, as evidenced by his own salt-crusted cheeks.

Luke and Kieran are a mess, to put it mildly. 

“It’s okay, little boss,” Luke tries to say, pulling the toddler away from the door where Sylus had just left from. Kyros gurgles a desperate sound as he weighs himself down to the floor in protest. “Big boss will be back.” 

“Papa!” Kyros cries, calming words falling on deaf ears.

“I don’t think he knows who ‘big boss’ is.” Kieran, equally panicked but hiding his racing heart behind calm breathing, offers. “Little boss, papa will be back.”

Kyros seems to scream louder at that, stomping his little feet and running off to the crevice by the door. He squeezes himself against the corner and sobs. Fat droplets of tears streaming down his swollen cheeks. Heartbreakingly resembling an abandoned hamster.

Kieran’s arms fall to his sides—how? How is this little one such an angel during play time and…? Have they done something to upset him? Does he not really like them? Is this how he finds out that a child can have preferences and can choose not to prefer them? 

Before Kieran can spiral deeper in self-pity and throw Luke off with the swelling emotion in his chest, in their periphery, they see movement from the couch. Lucian, wrapped in his mother’s blanket, waddles over to his brother and gives him a little hug. “Squeezy-squeeze, Keero. No cry.”

Luke blinks at the sight. The realization comes to him in the form of a distant sensation— freezing cold cells, the deafening bang of a metal door and him, anguished and ashamed, crowding Kieran close to the corner of their room where they held one another—high on sedatives— after they had just torn each other apart to survive another day. 

With that, he moves slowly, approaching the little twins with caution and then opens his arms. “Kyros?” 

Lucian makes way, and at the sight, Kyros scrambles over to Luke and buries his hiccups in his chest. He engulfs him in a hug, mindful of the pressure he applies with his arms and how that would translate to a little body like Kyros’s. Pressure, deep, deep pressure tethers him back to them. 

Kyros deflates, nuzzling his wet little face into the fabric of Luke’s turtleneck. He can’t be bothered by the snot, relieved that the boy has begun to stop crying. 

“Papa will be back.” Luke says quietly, making sure to press his lips into the baby’s head so he can feel the sound. Something he’d observed you and Sylus would do to him. “Kieran and I are here.” 

He exhales when he realizes Kyros doesn’t struggle. That he is allowed to comfort him like his parents do. 

“Be back now.” Kyros murmurs, genuinely thinking big, strong Luke and Kieran can do something about it. 

“Later.” Luke assures him. “Just out on a mission.” 

“No, ‘ishun.” he shakes his head, eyes glassy and pleading. “No, pease?” 

“Sorry, buddy, Papa’s work is important.”

“Maybe we can do something else? Like… hide & go boom?” Kieran offers, mirroring the quiet voice and lifting Lucian up into his arms as well. An effort to put them all on equal footing. 

Lucian nods. “Yes.” 

Kyros shakes his head. “Don’wanna.” 

“Okay, that’s fine.” Luke nods, rubbing soothing circles on his back. “How ‘bout the hammock?” 

Kyros shakes his head again, much to their disappointment. 

Kieran racks his brain for ideas. Were it not for the devastation on the little boy’s face, he would have found it funny that he gets to see how Sylus would cry, if he were a small toddler. Lucian and Kyros look so much like Sylus, they might as well be triplets. 

In the corner of his eye, he sees the coat closet open, and an idea is born. “Hey… wanna see papa?” 

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

“Get out.” Kieran rasps, pushing his voice deep into his chest. He stands in an imposing pose, chin jutted out to accentuate his jaw and squinting his eyes to be half-lidded and bored. 

On his shoulders was Sylus’s brown leather coat, on his feet were Sylus’s large shoes and on his head… was Lucian. Serving as a giggly white wig on his hair.

“Give us the brooch!” Luke demands, Kyros in a baby carrier strapped tightly to his chest. He wore your hunter gloves on his thumb and forefinger, far too small, and Kyros held an empty water gun. 

“I hid it, go find it.” rasps Keiran again. Poorly hiding the cough that rips through his chest. 

“Where, papa?” Kyros giggles as he’s swung around. Luke makes exaggerated movements of disbelief. 

“Here.” cough. “There.” cough, cough. He rubs his throat and swallows drily, brows knitting together as he breathes out with great difficulty, “Somewhere.” 

Lucian— a sentient wig, apparently— points to the playroom. Kyros nods in understanding.

“Fine’da boots!” Kyros wriggles, willing Luke to march forward. Luke hobbles into the playroom and puts Kyros down, who dives into his toy box. Kieran follows with Lucian.

“Keero, no there!” Lucian says, scrambling off of Kieran’s shoulders, hitting him in the eye— both big twins wince— and sliding down his leg. 

“Don’t tell him, Cian, we’re team papa.” Kieran chuckles, rubbing his eye as he sinks onto the floor to watch the little twins. Something swells in his chest as he watches the two executing his little mission— an affirmation that he’s done something worth their time.

Luke pauses from searching for a clue. He asks, because it matters to the story, “Wait. Does that mean we’re team mama?” 

“Boots?” Kyros asks, holding up a toy fork. 

Lucian swats it away, “No!” 

Kyros continues his search, asking everyone if whatever he was interacting with was a brooch. 

“Boots?” He asks, bouncing on the trampoline. 

“Boots?” As he slides down the playset.

“Boots?” As he carefully stacks the colored rings into a wobbly tower. 

 Boots? Boots? Boots?

“I don’t think he remembers what the brooch looks like.” Luke finally says, after minutes of watching Kyros turn the place upside down. 

Lucian has since joined, and the moment he pulls out the plastic bathtime boat and presents it to them with a hopeful, “Dis boats?”— Kieran is sure he has forgotten now too. 

“No… uh…” Kieran thinks, lips quirking to the side. He tries to explain what the small, metal pin looks like to the toddlers again. They stare at him with wide, clueless eyes, feigning comprehension. “It’s black and has a bird— a small black bird in the middle,” he says, motioning towards Luke who points at the drawer it was in.

Lucian nods first. “Ohh…” 

Kyros hops up with a newfound fervor. “Bird! Ya, bird!” 

“Yes! Bird! Do you remember n— HEY!” 

In a flash, Kyros has tugged his brother out the door and the pair sprint down the halls. Kieran scrambles to stand, feeling his knees pop at the quick motion while Luke slips and tumbles on the rug trying to get to the door. He blinks back the black and white dots from his vision as he runs.

“Wait, wait!” Kieran begs, listening to the echoes of laughter down the halls to follow. Luke is already swiping through the security camera feed to locate them.

The boss is going to kill them. You’re going to kill them dead. 

The giggles resonate throughout the halls until they are confusing. Kieran swears he hears Lucian down the left and Kyros down the right, but Luke just saw them together on Camera 8. 

“They’re—they’re teleporting!” 

“Do they have evol? I’ve never seen them—did you hear that?!”

“Part boss? Did you spot wings?!” 

“Quiet! Let’s…” 

They stop. An argument between them brews just in the horizon when the silence swallows them whole. 

“Where are they?” Kieran glances at Luke’s phone. His jaw sets. Swipe after swipe through the camera feeds, they finds no trace of them. Luke’s hand begins to shake.

Kieran’s comments don’t help. “… I don’t like that.” Camera 13— empty. “No, no, I hate that.” 

Luke shakes his head as helplessness consumes him. “They’re invisible.” 

“Stop it.” 

Chills trickle down Luke’s spine as he hears faint laughter echo down the halls that he fails to localize. “Were they even real?” 

Kieran shoves his brother. “Listen to yourself!”  

Don’t lose them. 

Before their hysteria escalates— praise be— they hear a very distressed squawking. With a look, they take off left. Boss’s office. 

There they find Lucian balanced on his father’s chair— round belly dented over the head rest, stretching to reach the charging perch, little hands grabbing the mechanical bird by the neck. Kyros stares up, holding the other boy’s legs as to not let him fall. 

“Kee-wan, bird!” Lucian says proudly, wiggling in his already precarious state. Kieran feels his life force in his throat as he rushes to get him down from the chair. Palms cold and clammy, fingers trembling and struggling to get a grip.

Don’t drop them.

“Boots!” Kyros proclaims in a shout. It still surprises them how loud Kyros can actually be. “Pisto boots!” 

“Mephisto was not the br—“ Kieran’s mouth is slapped shut as Luke cuts him off with cheers.

“Little bosses found the brooch!” Because he can’t have them running off to find any other thing they think is the brooch again. He can’t do it. His head is still spinning from his wipe out. He curses under his breath, silently checking— just in case— for little wings. 

The little boys scream in delight. Kieran softens at the sight, silently grateful his brother cut him off. Who would want to miss this? 

He pries Lucian’s fingers off of Mephisto gently and places the bird back on the perch. “Nice job, kids.” 

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

Dinner comes at six o’clock. Sylus had put his boys into a routine so well maintained that the sound of the clock striking six wasn’t a bell, but his son’s growling stomachs.

“Papa made you squash.” Luke says, taking it out the fridge and heating it. Meanwhile, Kieran buckles them in their ridiculously luxurious high-chairs. “And fish…” 

Luke pauses at the note written on top of the bigger container of meat and potatoes. Reads: Big Twins in handwriting they’ve only seen on under-the-table-offers, bidding slips and ledgers. He tries not to let it get to him, takes it out and heats it as well.

“Papa home?” Kyros asks, although this time with more curiosity than despair.

“Not yet.” Kieran tells him, giving his shoulders a grounding squeeze.

It doesn’t escape them how they’ve been calling Sylus “papa” all day too. How it came so easily when the adjustment was needed. Somehow they can’t seem to stop. 

Luke serves dinner. Two ceramic plates and two silicone-suction-cupped bowls. 

Lucian’s nose knocks into a palm as his path to his food is blocked. Kieran chides, “It’s hot.”

Lucian blinks at Kieran, who is still wearing Sylus’s coat and shoes, and tilts his head in amusement. Something connects in his head and he giggles. “Like papa.” 

Kieran’s face flushes, and Luke howls in laughter as he takes that in too. He hurls the silicone spoon at his brother like a javelin, and through his laughter, Luke catches it with ease. Straight to the sink it went and a new spoon is handed to Lucian. 

An unspoken truth passes between the big twins, a dawning that settles in them like warm milk on a sleepless night, as they feed their corresponding little twin. 

This is their life now— not just running errands, killing, and negotiating for Sylus, no matter how much they enjoyed that. How that put them into use. How that gave them purpose. A reason to exist in this world that hated them enough to maim them, and strip them of who they were only to throw them away. Because even then, they were still worth nothing. 

Now, in the soft glow of the kitchen light, eating the food Sylus had prepared them, feeding their charges. They see, they hope: this—this is who they are. Not machines, not weapons—boys, brothers, parts of this family. No matter how fleeting it may all be. 

They doubt it, but they feel it. In the way you check up on them when they come back from a mission, in Sylus’s silent but kind regard, in the little twins’ comfort and acceptance. Despite their shortcomings, their differences, they have found a place here. And maybe one day, the masks will come off and they will be nothing, thrown away once more— but what a wonder to have had this all the same.

“Kee-wan, Wook,” Lucian tells Kyros, pointing a chubby little finger at the wrong twin as he says it. Pulling the two out of their spiraling thoughts, different but grounded in the same soil. 

Kyros shakes his head calmly, chewing on the soft squash Luke fed him. He points correctly, “Wook. Keewi.” 

Seeking confirmation, Kieran gives Kyros a thumbs up. The little boy grins a proud orange smile, squash and all. Meanwhile, Luke teaches Lucian the differences— “Kieran’s head is this weird sha—ow!”

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

You’re still snickering at the video footage Mephisto sent you of Sylus lingering on the front door from earlier. Head devastatingly pressed to the wood, a white fist around the handle as his son screamed for him to come back on the other side. 

“It was terrible,” he tells you. His hand hovers on your lower back as you both ascend the pathway to the base. 

You offer him a sympathetic smile and squeeze his shoulder. “I know.” 

“We’re back!” You announce as the door is pushed open. Sylus slips in behind you.

It takes a moment for the footsteps to emerge, but they do. They always do. Only it wasn’t just the two light-footed ones’ you usually hear. Accompanying them was the sound of loud, bounding leather boots. 

“Mama!” Lucian screeches, little legs pumping to get to you. Leading the charge. Behind him, his brother— face scrunched in solemn determination, trying to catch up. Eyes zeroed in on his papa. And behind them…

“Stop! Ow, Mephisto! Kieran, get him!”

“I’m trying— He’s— OW!” 

The mechanical bird nosedives towards the two larger twins who struggle to catch their wards and fight off the bird at the same time. You giggle at the sight, and you hear Sylus chuckle the faintest bit too. 

Both on your knees, you each catch a twin, showering them with affection. Leaving the base for work has been harder than ever since these two gained the curse of existential dread and skill of object permanence. 

“Papa home!” you turn at your Kyros’s voice, who pats his father’s hollow cheeks softly. Meant as a happy report rather than a guilt-tripping accusation. Still, it prickles Sylus’s nose red as he tries to swallow the emotion that rises with the memory of his son’s cries. 

He presses his nose into his angel’s silver hair and breathes him in. “Brave boy.” 

“Mama!” Lucian says, both hands on your cheeks, turning your gaze towards the fumbling big twins. He points, correctly this time to each. “Kee-wan. Wook.”

You squint, taking note of the differences despite their movement and then beam. “You’re right!”

He giggles like a pebble skipped over a frozen lake when you pepper his face with kisses. 

“Mephisto.” At Sylus’s command, the bird ceases. It flutters to a nearby shelf and tilts its head as if nothing happened. 

“Were Kieran and Luke good babysitters?” Sylus asks. Even if he knows, Mephisto having sent automatic updates on his twins’ mishaps.

The little twins nod happily in response, then came the litany of warbles meant to be a retelling of their day. Two baby birds with their mouths wide open trying to string together something coherent. 

You and Sylus catch ‘keewi papa’, ‘boots’, ’boats’ and ‘pisto mad’. Understanding was half the battle when both your boys told stories with such vigor. You struggled to keep them in your arms as they ‘swoosh’ed and ‘fwish’ed, reenacting as if they could project their imaginations to the wall for mama and papa to see. 

Sylus turns to the big twins who listened proudly. Given they had context, they seemed to understand more than the parents did. He raises a brow, squinting slightly at Kieran to make sure, then asks, “Are those my clothes?” 

Kieran jumps, tongue in his throat. “I—“ 

“Looks good on you.” Sylus says so casually it was unbelievable. Lucian nods in agreement, “Like papa!” 

“Wook squeezies.” Kyros mentions as well, pointing at Luke, who had calmed him earlier. He nods in approval, swinging his feet. “Like Wook squeezies.” 

“Looks like you guys did really good,” you commend, walking over to the big twins. You brush a feather out of Luke’s hair, eyes sharp as you secretly check for scratches from their earlier bird-attack. Luke flinches at the contact, and you point at his forehead knowingly. “Ice.”

He hesitates, then gives a bashful smile. Rug. Right. “Oh, that’s… psh.” 

You promise to get him some. And before you forget, you add, “Thanks, guys.” 

“Faithful minions—“ 

“—at your service.” 

The tired grins on their faces make your heart clench. That… doesn’t feel right. The silence that follows is hollow as the weight of their own words settle into the space between them. Is it possible for them to believe that’s all they are? Help? Followers only good for their hands to take orders? The mere thought settles like bile on your tongue. 

You shake your head at the ridiculous notion and prop Lucian up on your hip. “Tell your brothers goodnight, Cian.” 

Lucian extends his arms and Luke plucks him from your hold. Easy and familiar, Lucian presses his forehead on each one’s like a lion cub. “Na-nite.” He whispers.

And just like that, they feel the warmth that radiates off of the little one so overwhelmingly. Just as they do pain, they feel this too— this thing that neither of them have the words for yet. But it is heavy as it is true. Lucian’s hands touching their faces, the gentle repose of your eyes work wonders to cast away old, haunting thoughts of being lesser than or temporary. 

Kieran holds him a little longer. Luke stares. For once, they have no strategy, no words, no logic or skill to make sense of the feeling. Standing there, in silence, they choke on something so difficult to swallow.

You make a mental note to treat them to something fun soon. Hang out with them like you did before the little twins came along. Maybe Luke would appreciate an opportunity to redeem himself in laser tag, or Kieran would like to play a video game again. You’ll make the time.

They freeze when you press a chaste kiss to each of their cheeks, then pass Lucian back into your arms. Without another word, you turn towards the kitchen to hunt for something frozen and something to eat. Nodding along and offering “ah-huh”s and “then what?”s as Lucian’s weaves a colorful, jargon-laced story. 

Sylus follows after you, Kyros already snuggled to his chest with half-lidded eyes and fingers clutching his shirt. He pauses, just as he walks past the twins. A heavy air hangs between them, but it isn’t suffocating. Not tense, or harrowing. Come to think of it, they haven’t felt that in ages. Not since Sylus. 

The air was just… firm. Stable and calm. 

“Thank you,” he says to them, holding their gaze with a reverence that they’ve never noticed before—one they had only ever mistaken for dismissal. But now, really looking, they see it. What Sylus truly feels for them— proven in the trust he had placed in them. Gratitude in the way they cared for his kin, just as he once cared for them; taking them in despite their troubled beginnings.

Pride, in its full glory. 

He is proud of them. 

And as if Sylus sees the gears turn and lock into place in their heads, as if he has been welcomed into their twin loop at last, he smiles—careful and sincere. “Get some rest.” 

Kyros waves a sleepy little hand at them as they go.

Alone, Luke and Keiran turn. Faces reflecting each other. Once never needing a mirror, now taking in the flustered, upside-down smiles pulling at the corners of their lips. They shake their heads at the impossibility of it all. And yet. 

A home, a family. Despite their past, their sins and their scars— 

They are enough. 

Finally, they belong. 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆ more sylus thoughts ⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆ ⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆ more little twins ⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

thank you for reading! 。゜゜(´ｏ`) ゜゜。

[glitch-but-ya]

🍞 again!!! (SORRY FOR CRASHING U LIKE A TRUCK W MY ASKS 😞😞)

ur plots are very good regardless of what others say (HEAVY REFERENCE TO THAT ANON THING...) & keep ur head high!!! ur feeding all of us like crazy 🩷🩷

You’re always welcome to spam my asks!! I actually enjoy asks like these. They keep me motivated to write <3

Honestly, I was a little upset at first, but kind comments and asks like these lifted my spirits up once more. So, thank you soo much for taking the time to be kind💕 I look forward to your asks in the future, 🍞 anon!!

[glitch-but-ya]

06| THE ECHO OF WHO I ONCE WAS

CW: Blood, injury, use of weaponry, nicknames such as "sweetie", "kitten", "pip-squeak", mental illness and insecurity, platonic Caleb, platonic Xavier TAG LIST: @withering-dream @moonlight-inthe-sea @tinyweebsstuff @vyntheria , @xxfaithlynxx , @just-a-shapeshifter08 , @stxrrielle , @napa-the-yappa , @mephisto-with-a-knife WORD COUNT: 8,553 words. A/N: Hii sorry for the delay! I just lost motivation and just couldn't figure out what happens next. I worked on the caleb fic to get out of writer's block and it worked!! After this, I'll work on revamping part 1 of this series. So, part 7 will be a bit delayed unfortunately :(! Thank you for your patience, though! I've received a lot of love these past few days and I am super grateful!

CHECK MY MASTERPOST FOR ALL PARTS!!

That night, under the cloak of the moonlight seeping in through the stormy clouds, you told Caleb everything.

From the beginning to the end, you poured your heart out onto his chest, pausing to weep momentarily, and oftentimes going on without as much as a hitch or a breath. Like a river surging on ceaselessly—lost, ravenous, and branching—you talked and talked. You kept no secrets from him. You told him about your first encounter with Sylus—the series of events that occurred during your stay at the N109 zone, how you slowly grew entranced by him, how the first boulders in your relationship arose with your returning memories, and how the two of you eventually parted ways.

You went on—talking about the mission, the aether core, and Xavier’s ‘betrayal’. You spilled everything knowing you should not have—knowing the feelings Caleb harboured for you were no less than complex.

It was wrong. Torture on both souls. But the torrent of emotions that overwhelmed you begged for release, and, unable to hold them in any longer, you divulged your soul sitting on the floor before the panoramic windows of his living room.

You knew he’d changed. But he still felt like home. A part of you—the one you were laying bare right now—believed it was still him in there. And so, you didn’t hold back.

Just like old times, you wailed, and he listened, rubbing soft circles over the expanse of your back.

That night, you passed out on him. And in your sleep, his warm embrace never strayed from your side. But it was only until the next morning that you realised what mistake you’d made.

“Stay today,” Caleb set a warm mug of coffee down on your nightstand, “You need a break.”

Wrapping your fingers deftly around the mug, you offered an evasive smile and waved your hand. “You’re probably busy. Best I go home.”

“Or,” he grinned at you, “You spend some time with me and help me out in the meantime.”

You cocked an eyebrow. “Help you out? Is it another one of your… favours?”

Some words remained bitterly in your mouth, but that didn’t stop Caleb from prising your teeth open and peeking inside.

With a sigh, the man set aside his own mug and seated himself on the spot beside you. “All right, you’re all grown up now. You won’t fall for my tricks anymore. Is that right?”

A dearth of emotion emerged in his eyes. “Miss Hunter, what is it you want? You can tell me.”

A series of unpleasant flashbacks rolled through your head, playing like a film locked on repeat. Without you realising, your heart began to beat with fervour, overpowering the resonance of your heavy breaths spilling into the open air. For a moment, your true emotions threatened to unravel themselves before him.

“I don’t know what I want,” you replied truthfully with nothing in your gaze. “I suppose I just… I want my best friend back.”

Silence.

When Caleb spoke, there was something dark laced within his tone.

“More than you want to find the aether core?”

You clenched your jaw subconsciously, but covered it up with a smile.

“I dunno. Right now, I’m insistent on the philosophy that friends and people in general are far more significant than the truth of my past. I mean,” you took a sip from the mug, “If I were to find out the truth… then what? I can’t remove the aether core from my heart. I can’t take back the childhood I’ve lost, the memories that were snatched from me. I’ll know the truth, but then what? What will I do?”

Your talk seemed to calm Caleb’s nerves. Almost immediately, his once-taut shoulders slackened, and his focus shifted to your words.

“Will I quit being a Hunter? Will I pursue the dreams that I couldn’t chase? Or will I lie in my bed and await death, knowing I’ve wasted too much of my time searching for something that ultimately won’t matter? I can’t rewrite the past, no matter how much I want to.”

And again, you spoke too much. As if unable to control the trench of emotions surging out of your mouth at once, you spilled everything, allowing Caleb a peek into your deepest, softest parts—the fragments of you that you clutch closest to your chest at night. You knew you shouldn’t have, but you couldn’t stop. The tears from last night hadn’t dried up, it appeared. Scars sting for far longer than just one night.

Your train of thought is disrupted by the warmth of a large palm dwarfing your own.

You lift your head. Caleb stares back at you with newfound softness. The previous darkness from before—the tension, the fury bubbling beneath the surface—dissipates at once, nowhere to be seen. Was it another act of his, or was he being sincere?

Your eyes met his.

At the very least, his eyes never spoke lies. No matter how insignificant the emotion stashed away is, it always found a way to pen rescue signals into his eyes. And when the emotions were dense—like how you expect them to be right now—they would bang against his irises with so much force, you’d almost think they’d burst out with blood.

Surprisingly, what met you there was not trickery or suppression, but true, unriddled devotion and sincerity.

Perhaps, you could trust him. Just this once. Just one last time before fate inevitably tore you apart.

“I agree. There’s nothing more important than the ones you cherish,” his thumb brushed over yours. And after the brief moment of acceptance, his usual playfulness returned.

“Tell ya what, pip-squeak? I happen to have a way of my own. Buuut… it ain’t coming for free.”

“Does the favour include someone’s death, perchance?”

Caleb bit down on his lower lip. “All right. Can’t hide anything from ya nowadays, can I?”

You gulped your drink before folding your arms over your chest. “So, it’s a mission from the fleet?”

“Yes,” he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Who will you be going as?”

He tilted his head.

You continued. “Caleb, or the Farspace Fleet colonel? Never mind. Your frown told me already.”

“Listen,” you let out a shaky breath, “I don’t care which one. Not anymore. But if you try to rope me up in any of your filthy businesses—” there it was; filthy, the word you’d been itching to describe him with, “—I swear, I will never forgive you.”

Caleb’s gaze hardened, along with the dips of his face. “Pip-squeak,” he stuttered, “I’d never let you come face to face with them. Trust me.”

You hated to admit it, but you did trust him. Logically, he had no reason to expose you to the people he despised, and nothing to gain from revealing to the world his one and only weakness.

And so, you nodded, but not without a demand of your own.

“I have a condition.”

“Pinky promise, cross my heart, 100 years and no take-backs—I swear to tell you everything and I mean everything regarding this mission.” Caleb held out his pinky.

You smiled at his juvenile gestures. Sometimes, your mind coerced you into believing he was still the witty young adult you’d sent off to the DAA.

Looking down at his outstretched hand, you interlocked your pinky with his.

The all-too-familiar modest chatter of a convention hall was drowned within your thoughts. Although you hadn’t arrived yet, and were still seated within the quiet hum of Caleb’s car, the noises rang in your head, looping like a strange mantra. You’d just escaped the clutches of a densely packed auction, only to jump straight into the jaws of a more spacious yet equally irritating banquet.

Each time you shut your eyes, a familiar image swirled amid the darkness—elegant, well-defined women draped in heaps of emerald, burgundy, and black. Some twiddled a ring that was, mind you, probably worth more than ten of you on the black market, between their slender fingers, and others clutched a glass of God-knows-what drinks and sipped gracefully as they talked. You envisioned the way their lips would wrap around the cone-shaped glasses, how their elongated eyelashes would flutter at passers-by, not out of sick obsession or twisted pleasure, but simply out of envy.

If you’d been born amongst them, or if you’d brought yourself up to be a little less like you and a lot more like them, then maybe…

The woman dressed in emerald transformed. Her face contorted to a countenance resembling your own, but not quite. The softness of your cheeks, the pull of your eyebrows, and the shape of your bones had hardened. Nonetheless, you couldn’t shake off how, instead of resembling your own face, it ended up looking a lot like her.

A face seasoned with greed and unfiltered desire, hardened by the mercilessness of her greatsword, fuelled by her lover’s erratic whims and instincts. Surely, you were mistaken. Surely, your mind was merely attempting to hastily sketch an image of yourself in the former lady’s place?

But then, her eyes opened.

Empty, soulless eyes.

A smirk graced her lips as she turned to you. She knew you were there. She knew of the tears you spilled over her each night, of how her mere existence had robbed you of your only chance at love. And she was mocking you—batting her long lashes as if she’d already won the game she was not even alive to witness.

And she was correct. She had won. By a long mile. It was almost as if you didn’t stand a chance.

And she knew. Her grin deepened. Her eyes lingered on yours for a minute longer before she returned to her alcohol.

“I know,” you wanted to say, “I know you’ve suffered a lot, and that he was your only salvation. But please,” you sniffled, “I’ve suffered as well. Let me have him just this one life.”

Although what lingered of your pride would not let you stoop so low, for this chance, you felt compelled to.

But that was of no use, was it?

The cruel sorceress cared little for what you felt. She’d been punishing you for not letting her overpower you—like a parasite and a host engaged in a heated battle for dominance, the two of you fought for dominion. And when you were born, you happened to pull through and topple her. And for that, you would be burned at the stake. By her, by Sylus, and by fate itself. It was the universe’s way of saying—“You dared to overstep your authority, and now you pay the price. Why couldn’t you just sit and endure?”

And yet, the parasite never died. You couldn’t bear to land the finishing blow. After all, she was a part of you—a lost shard brighter than the rest. So, she lingered somewhere within you. Perhaps in your brain, maybe in your heart, or she could have been residing within your gut, eating away at your inner walls, making you rot from the inside out.

How cruel could one be to their own other half?

The wheels of the car skidded soundlessly along the gravel. Dim street lights passed by you in a flash, each brighter than the last. Your eyes skipped between the lone moon that seemed to be trailing you and the gown you’d adorned.

The same gown you wore to the auction.

The luxury of owning multiple opulent gowns was beyond the salary of a hunter. Quite frankly, this was the only real dress you owned that was appropriate for today’s event. But having worn this dress already, you felt suffocated by its fabric. If anyone from the previous auction were to attend—which you were sure at least a couple would—you would be exposed devastatingly.

It was a good thing Caleb was unaware of that fact. But you did feel a little bad for concealing the truth from him.

He was already doing himself great displeasure by allowing a nobody like you to attend such a high-class banquet as his plus-one.

If you were to sum it all up in one word, you’d choose insecurity.

The dress that had sparkled dazzlingly on your form before the store’s mirror now wrapped around you awkwardly, bunching at places it had not before.

Had you gained weight? Wasn’t the stress supposed to make you lose some?

Or perhaps, it was your incompetence—your lack of knowledge regarding how expensive dresses should be handled. Maybe you’d seated yourself in a position you shouldn’t have, bent down when it risked ripping your gown apart, or got it snagged by a nail and twisted awkwardly.

Now more than ever, you wished to be born rich.

At the very least, you’d have the experience everybody other than you happened to have.

You shifted in your seat uncomfortably, gripping a little too tightly at the sides of your dress. You began fixing yourself into a proper posture. Practice, you thought. You needed it tonight.

Your lip crinkled at how awkward you looked. No matter how accurately you attempted to mimic the movements of the women you’d seen, your body remained unnaturally stiff. It looked forced. And it was. Your shoulders were taut, jaw locked, arms rigid—you looked awful. One look at you, and your status as a commoner would be revealed before the masses.

A tear of frustration threatened to fall, but you lifted your head. You couldn’t afford to ruin the makeup you’d worked so diligently on. And even then, it looked nothing like the products that adorned the faces of wealthy women. You’d scoured through endless tutorials, videos, and so on, and hoarded a whole basket full of new beauty products. You’d made sure to snag at least four shades of foundation you’d thought would fit your skin, and yet none seemed to highlight your face in the ways commercials had promised you it would.

Makeup on a pig. After all, that was all it would be.

Maybe your horrendous face was the culprit.

You flinched at the feeling of a hand over yours. You turned to look at Caleb, who had his gaze fixed upon the road ahead. Contrary to you, he looked stunning, even more so in what you believed was a more elegantly rendered version of his original uniform, complete with the cap and everything.

He seemed important. And you could barely pass as his servant.

“You’re tense,” he murmured. “Still afraid of crowds?”

“It’s just…” you sighed. It was better to tell him the truth so he could stop the car and drop you at the side of the road before things got humiliating for him.

“I’ve no idea how to act there. It’d be a shame if my existence burdened you more today. Everybody attending will be… important.”

“You are important.” The words escaped his lips without reluctance, as if it were the most obvious statement in the world. Or had he expected your insecurity to boil over, and his automated response was only a result of hours of practice before a mirror?

“I don’t know, Caleb. Maybe I should lurk in the shadows and break in instead…”

His fingers tightened around yours. “And get caught? You’re a hunter, pip-squeak, not a thief.”

“I sure dress like the latter.”

The car screeched to a halt at the side of the road. A couple of cars fleeted past you as you stared at Caleb, dumbfounded.

“Come on. Let’s talk.” He took your hand in his, and your body immediately tensed.

“There’s nothing to talk about, really?”

“Do you feel unattractive?”

Your teeth sank into the plush of your lower lip. “Yes.”

“And you believe you’ll embarrass me by coming along?”

“…Yes.”

He laughed, almost mockingly.

“Have you ever seen yourself through my eyes?”

You cocked your head.

“To me, you’re…” a sigh of hesitation left his throat. Yearning flickered in his voice, but his brain began suppressing itself once more, discarding every reassuring word that was to escape his lips.

“You’re one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen,” he concluded, but it looked as if there had been more he wished to say that had been filtered by an unknown force.

“I mean it. Even in school, when the boys would talk about who the prettiest girl in school was,” his eyes skimmed over your visage, “the only name that would come to my lips was yours.”

“You…” you smiled. “You’re such a flirt. I bet girls loved you.”

His smile mirrored your own, and he shook his head modestly. “I don’t have as much experience as you make me out to have.”

“But, even then,” your grin faltered, only to be replaced by that same, self-deprecating frown, “I pretty much got dumped for being me. So it’s hard to say that to me, isn’t it? Even if that’s how you view me, to the general public, I’m just…” You pursed your lips. “Never mind. Move the car. You’ll get a ticket otherwise.”

The car moved against the gravel for another 10 minutes before coming to a final halt before the gates of a looming convention hall. Large, grand lights illuminated the building as it stood proudly like a fortress. The place carried a sense of grandeur with it—something that was overlooked by you thanks to your mounting dread.

Before you could step out of the car, the door swung open, revealing a violet-eyed man offering a palm extended towards yourself. Right, you thought, etiquette.

You rested your own clammy hand atop his and allowed yourself to be hoisted up. After nearly tripping over yourself, your hand tightened against his, much to his pleasure.

Caleb offered you his arm, and on cue, you hooked yourself around it.

And together, you stepped through the gates.

“Remember not to stray from my side, yeah?”

You nodded. “And when it happens, stay calm and trust in your judgement.”

The two of you travelled up the stairs, and all along, you calculated your every step. You ensured to lift up your dress just the right amount—not too much, for that would appear immodest, and not too little, or you’d trip and make a mess of yourself.

As more time passed, you found yourself weary of the smaller, more insignificant things—the way your hair bobbed as you walked, how your eyes remained closed for a millisecond too long, how the pull of your smile caused your lips to tighten awkwardly, or how you landed your feet on the floor with too much force.

You were being paranoid, you tried to convince yourself. But it didn’t stop your brain from nitpicking at the slightest things that felt off. Was that poorly applied flick of eyeshadow too prominent? Had you outlined your lips too heavily?

Nonetheless, you made sure to have a coy smile fixed on your face at all times. You spoke softly to Caleb, nodded gracefully, avoided listing your discomfort, and adorned a front far more perfect than the dress you’d picked for yourself. Pretending was a part of grace. A fact you uncovered after befriending Xavier was that nobody was as perfect as they made themselves out to be on professional occasions. But still, appearing as such was almost mandatory. Those with foul mouths did not spare the slightest blunders.

And you had Caleb’s reputation to guard, considering he was so unbothered about it himself. If he wasn’t going to ensure you acted accordingly, you would take up that responsibility with(out) pride.

Before long, a group of people donning attire similar to Caleb’s began to approach. Your gaze frantically met his.

“Oof. Can’t dodge this one,” he whispered. “Act cool. You’re my partner.”

“Wait, wha—”

Before you could retaliate, Caleb nudged you and straightened his posture.

With a slight tilt of his head, he extended his hand to the guests.

“Lieutenant, and ma’am.”

“Colonel,” the grey-haired man offered you both an enthusiastic grin. “She’s new. Your uh… girlfriend?” he cocked his eyebrow before breaking into a fit of merry laughter. Caleb smiled curtly.

“Hey,” the man turned to you, his grin unwavering, “if you can thaw the ice out of that man’s heart, our lives would be at peace.” He laughed. “Hope he’s treating you right.” The man reached out to pat your back before turning back to him. Who you assumed was his equally aged wife smiled at you knowingly.

“Oh, um, thank you, sir.” You let out a dry laugh. Subconsciously, you clung tighter to Caleb’s arm. Ten minutes in, and your social battery had already hit a devastating 0%.

You zoned off to the side as the two chatted a while. The conversation was dominated by the Lieutenant’s jolly ramblings, his humorous guffaws, and his occasional pat—sometimes on the shoulder, sometimes on the back.

His wife shot you a few glances, as if rolling her eyes and snickering, “I know, he’s a chatty husband.” But your eyes lingered more on how stunning she appeared—old, yes, with parts of her skin drooping into heavy wrinkles, and her hair painted entirely white. Nonetheless, the heavy earrings hanging from her ears, the purple dress that shimmered just the right amount under the sheets of light, and the delicate fur coat draped loosely around her shoulders rendered her a beauty to be reckoned with.

You bit the inside of your cheek. Caleb must have looked like a fool. A well man who’d slept with the poor whom he’d in turn gotten himself stuck with. You wished to vanish under their gazes. The woman was nothing but kind to you—at least, in the way her eyes skimmed over your form. And still, you could not bring yourself to be happy for her.

If you wished so dearly to retain your original self, why not be more like her? Hot, beautiful, yet serene and humble.

The dream of being born a certain way in a particular environment weighed heavily on you.

Eventually, the men concluded their conversation with a firm shake of the hand, and the old Lieutenant retreated with his wife around his arm. You breathed a sigh of relief—a sound Caleb caught onto.

“Were you scared?”

“Sort of.” You huffed. “The man seems nice, but he’s a real talker.”

“Nice?” A humourless laugh escaped his lips. “He works at the fleet.”

“So do you. Are you implying you’re gallantly above the rest, colonel?”

Caleb pursed his lips.

The hungry growl of your stomach served as the perfect excuse for him to change the subject. Without wasting a moment, he took the chance and dragged your body to the food aisles.

“Hungry?”

You smiled. “You’re not giving me much of a choice.”

“That ain’t what your stomach just said.”

“Yep. I’m starving.”

Challenge 1: wine

Amid all the things Caleb expected to see that night (explosions, murder, war, etc.), you begrudgingly eyeing down a half-empty glass of cherry wine as he scooped up the remains on his plate was not amongst them. He watched, almost amused, as your hand inched towards the stem of the glass, before retracting almost immediately as soon as it was about to make contact. Your movements looped for a moment longer. You reached towards the glass a couple more times, pulled back, until eventually, you’d mustered enough courage to lift it to your lips.

Your fingers shook. You constantly readjusted their position—switching from holding the glass with three fingers, then mounting the bowl atop them as you let the stem hang, and lastly, the old-fashioned full-hand grip. Ultimately, you stuck with the first position.

Your head whipped around the room, eyeing down every other attendant as they mindlessly mouthed their drinks as calmly as they would with water.

And afterwards, your gaze returned to the liquid in the glass. Two shrunken balls of ice floated within the sea of blood. A single sip, you told yourself, won’t kill ya.

Hesitantly, your lips met the cold liquid, and a string of it galloped down your throat.

Your nose wrinkled unpleasantly. A hand wrapped around your mouth. You nearly gagged. It tasted just as bad as it smelled. You couldn’t bring yourself to down this. In every universe—in even your past life, you bet—you would harbour a hatred towards alcohol that could never be erased. Not by time, and certainly not by the cycles of reincarnation.

Caleb cocked an eyebrow and leaned back on his chair. His hat tilted slightly on his head. “Still the same, pip-squeak. You haven’t matured.” “Are you implying that bearing a love for alcohol makes one mature? According to—” “Forget I said anything.”

Challenge 2: Food You eyed the cutlery oddly. Your fork-and-knife skills weren’t the greatest. But if you were to rip the meat apart with your hands, you would have the whole hall eyeing you with nasty looks.

With a defeated sigh, you picked up the fork and knife (probably in the wrong hands) and began poking away at the meat. At one point, it had slipped straight onto Caleb’s plate! A blasphemous act on the meat’s part. Your eyes darted about the room. Thanks to the music, nobody had quite noticed.

“You can always ask me for help, you know?” Caleb slid the meat closer to himself and began tearing it into little chunks. You slumped against the chair with a frown. “I know. It’s just… practice.” “So ya plan on tagging along and pretending to be my girlfriend in the future?” He grinned. “No—I…” “For him?”

A shiver ran down your spine at how his smile tightened at his own words. He’d picked you apart so easily, it was a little scary. “You don’t have to change yourself. Just find people who accept you for who you are.”

You lowered your head and laughed. “You know very well that there are few willing to do that.” But still, your heart clenched. “I’m stubborn,” you reiterated. “I don’t want anybody else.”

Caleb poured the neatly sliced pieces of meat onto your plate, ensuring to take a bite of it himself to assure you it wasn’t drugged. Quite mindful of him, you’d say. You picked up your spoon and began feasting on the dish. “You are,” he sighed, “and I wish you weren’t.” “See?” You pointed your spoon at him. Your stuffed cheeks puffed as you spoke. “You don’t accept me for who I am.” “Rejecting flaws is natural.”

You sealed your lips. You’d done the same to him. “Okay, but still. I’m a certain… type of undesirable.”

You wiped the remnants of food from your mouth. “I have a personality so… weird that I’m almost entirely unlikeable. Everybody gets tired of it after a while. Even the ones I thought were like me…” Memories of Xavier flashed past. “All right. Enough reminiscing. I’m eating that if you don’t start chewin’.”

You gobbled the dish up swiftly, occasionally reaching out to drop bits of what you disliked onto Caleb’s plate, which he happily ate in response.

Challenge 3: Survive In spite of your desperate attempts at persuading Caleb to leave right after wrapping up dinner at the table, he pleaded otherwise. And thus, you were drowned in a sea abundant with unfamiliar, possibly even dangerous people all bearing intellect superior to yours.

It was almost like being stuck in a classroom full of the school’s top students, all while they stared you down like an experimental pig.

Just like at the auction, the walls began closing in. The once-incomprehensible chatter morphed into cruel snickers remarking you. It felt as if every person’s conversation in the banquet revolved around you—mocking you, taunting your incompetence.

You could swear you heard your name be muttered by one of the guests. How would they know? Logically, you knew it was just a trick of words. Nonetheless, your brain failed in commanding your heartbeat to lessen.

Unable to bear the weight of it all, you excused yourself to the bathroom and plopped down helplessly. You brought your hands to your face and imagined yourself screaming into them—the second-best thing to actually performing the action shamelessly.

Although you did feel a little guilty for abandoning Caleb right in the midst of the dance, you required a minute of tranquillity before his real intentions unravelled before you.

You didn’t expect him to confess the full truth. According to him, the host of the banquet was to be arrested by the fleet tonight. The perfect moment to capture him, you supposed, was in the heat of his son’s 21st birthday. You didn’t buy it. The fleet wouldn’t be so secretive over an arrest, nor would they make this public if it were in fact merely a simple arrest.

The man had received the fleet’s protection for over 25 years after having been chased out by Linkon officials due to charges of illegal protocore smuggling. And according to the half-arsed colonel, the fleet had simply no use for him any longer. A solid excuse, but his eyes gave it away.

But nonetheless, the reasons didn’t concern you. He—Caleb—could lie if he wished to, as long as it didn’t involve you.

What mattered most to you was the man’s extensive knowledge of protocores. If he truly was as adept at his work as they say he was, he would certainly have caught wind of information revolving around aether cores. No matter whether he’d ever seen one or not, he surely knew of a person or two within his vast network of connections who did.

And so, although your mouth had expressed the mental need to leave as soon as possible, your resolve remained firm. You would stay, and you would get through with this.

You would receive the answers you were looking for, no matter who or what stepped in.

Even if it physically hurt to be here. Even if it chipped away at your conscience like a starved glutton.

At the very least, you would discover the answer to the long-awaited query—“What am I?”

Buzz… Buzz… Your phone vibrated in your purse.

You glanced at the watch strapped around your wrist and scrambled for the phone. The display flashed with Caleb’s name in bold, a red apple emoji following afterwards.

You answered the call and brought the phone to your ear. “Hello?” “Pip-squeak,” he said, “The fleet’s borrowing me for a while. Everything okay in there?” “Mhm. Just touching up my make-up.” He let out a sigh. “Thought you’d gotten a bad tummy.” “I’m stronger than that.”

You hummed quietly. A meeting with the fleet? Perhaps it was time. “Will you be long?” “Hopefully not. I’ll try to wrap it up ASAP. Stay safe, okay?” “Okay.”

The line went dead.

You gathered your belongings into the purse before exiting the stall. You made sure to touch up some of your make-up—partly to make your lie seem believable, and mostly to mask your insecurities. With a final swipe of your lipstick, you picked yourself up and stepped out of the bathroom.

A loud, simple tune bounced off the walls. Classical music. A tune you recalled hearing Sylus hum. You recognised it instantly, although his rendition had always been slightly off-key. You once adored his voice, no matter how tone-deaf it may have been. It was a part of him, among many, in which you found solace.

“Sing me a lullaby, Sy,” you used to say. And despite his annoyed demeanour, he would happily sing to you as you curled up against his chest and dozed off peacefully into the land of slumber.

Looking back now, you wonder whether his eyes had observed you or the echo of who you once were.

Whatever it was, the joy you experienced listening to him sing was undeniable. It still lingered within you as a warmth you cherished dearly.

You spotted a cosy corner to immerse yourself in—a perfectly dark, secluded area, far from the haunting melody and unwelcome guests. With haste, you stole away, seating yourself atop a plush red chair whilst facing the dancing pairs.

Although the world of luxuries was alien to you, one thing you and the wealthy shared was your ability to dance. Not that you would’ve known had Sylus not offered his hand to you one evening as one of his many vinyls unravelled a song suitable for a slow dance.

Lifting you from the comfort of the couch, he guided you into gentle strides. He supported you as you twirled, caught you as you threatened to fall, and all the while, his serene eyes never left yours.

That night was a first for many things—your first indoor date, your first dance, and your first kiss, shared under the dim glow of the yellow chandelier overhead.

Your eyes were fixated on a particularly experienced couple’s waltz. Albeit a tad young, both pulled off each move flawlessly, all whilst gazing into each other’s souls—looking, truly looking, at one another as they swayed to the beat.

You didn’t know what drew you in. Perhaps it was the youthful passion ignited within their eyes, or the way the man’s hand coiled around the woman’s waist tenderly. You felt a pang of envy stir within your heart.

You shut your eyes and did what you did best. You imagined.

Pictured yourself swaying along. The fireplace crackled gently, and suddenly, you returned to the room of your firsts. The chandelier hung proud and low, casting an orange glow across the room. A circular table sat abandoned in the corner, alongside a plate of chips, soda, and an iced wine resting atop it.

You and your lover moved before the fireplace. Your dress puffed, spinning with you gracefully as you turned on your heels. A gentle hand grasped yours. His other hovered above your waist.

Joyous giggles filled the room. Your cheeks flushed red with laughter. A smile graced your lover’s lips as well. And for a moment, it felt as if your life over the past few months had been nothing but a silly fantasy your mind had made up in that merry moment—a vision into what could’ve been if everything had miraculously gone right.

A glimpse into an alternate reality born from the curiosity of what could have happened. Now, it seemed nothing more than a trick of your brain. A silly fantasy.

You looked up at your lover with a bright beam. “Sy?” “Hm?” His hand caressed yours. “What if, in another universe, we were doomed lovers?”

He laughed. “Daydreaming again?” Gentle fingers raked through your hair. “I promise you—in every universe, in every possibility, I will love you again.”

You smiled. Truly.

But of course, in this reality, none of that had happened.

As you opened your eyes, a pale hand came into view. Not yours.

Your eyes trailed up to meet the man’s face. “A dance,” red eyes gleamed under the cloak of darkness, “my lady?”

Contrary to Sylus’s expectation, no hint of surprise flickered across your face. “You did come.” “So, we were expecting each other.” “Hm.”

Your hand rested atop his, and he clasped it to pull you to your feet.

You attempted not to look at him, keeping your eyes focused everywhere but on his visage. Even then, you couldn’t help but notice his attire. An outfit he’d worn in the past. Odd, considering it was Sylus.

You did not protest as he guided you to the centre. Once positioned, he offered his hand once more. “I accept,” you muttered.

And with that, the two of you broke into a steady waltz.

A string of familiar movements ensued. The two of you performed the steps Sylus had taught you that evening. But this time, an unspoken tension lingered between the touch. Your body was stiff, muscles taut. Even the ever-calm and composed Sylus seemed to falter. His movements were delayed, his jaw clenched. His hand never explicitly touched your waist, nor did his fingers slip into yours. Throughout it all, there remained a distance between you—an invisible wall neither of you could break.

Summoning the courage, you opened your mouth and initiated the conversation.

“How much do you know?”

“Not more than you.” A smug smirk graced his lips, albeit a little tight. “You’ve been doing your homework on me, sweetie?”

You winced at the nickname but said nothing. “I’ve been looking into the host. Apparently, most of his deliveries were made to the N109 zone.”

Sylus pushed your body down with his, and finally, his hand landed on you for support.

“Who do you think exposed him?”

“So,” you whispered, “you’re here for his life?”

“Luckily, someone else has volunteered to get their hands dirty in my stead.” His gaze flicked to the side. Your eyes followed, landing on the unreadable expression of the fleet’s infamous colonel.

Even from afar, you could sense the fury radiating off his body. His hands were clenched, and you could make out his blurred face—a mess of emotions. Your heart ached with a sliver of guilt for betraying him. But that was all it was. A mere sliver. A significant part of you believed it to be well-deserved karma.

“So it is a public execution.”

“Indeed, it is.”

“Then why are you here?”

He chuckled, as if the answer was right before your eyes and you had missed it.

“To ensure his babbling mouth doesn’t spill too many of my secrets. You could say I’m here to burn some evidence.”

You scoffed. “Is it so important that the oh-so-omnipotent leader of Onychinus himself had to step in? Are you growing weak, or are you toying with me?”

With Sylus’s aid, you whirled across the floor. The man himself only smiled, unbothered by your affront. Perhaps he too was aware that you were all bark and no bite.

“My purpose doesn’t concern yours. But you know what? I’m bored.”

You cocked an eyebrow, awaiting his words. He was finally revealing his cards after a long few minutes of toying around.

“Out of the kindness of my heart, I’ve decided to tell you where he is.”

Your gaze snapped to his. The dance ended with your neck rolled back, your body nearly kissing the ground, prevented from falling only by Sylus’s arm coiled beneath you.

Slowly, he leaned into your ear and whispered a location.

Your eyes widened. He pulled back slightly before whispering his last words.

“The clock is ticking, sweetie, and I’m not so sure that childhood friend of yours can keep the fleet waiting much longer.”

You bolted past the throngs of people shifting to the soothing melody. Music swelled in the air, blocking out the frantic thump-thump of your feet smacking against the ground. Your heels buckled under the force, threatening to snap.

The crowd blurred into a dense set of fleeting lines. Among them, you could make out the brief expressions of the guests—they turned, their mouths hanging open, and without a moment’s notice, they braced themselves for an imminent collision.

The couple you once admired sneered at you. Others gasped and yelled profanities. You didn’t pay mind to their protests. You couldn’t.

You were already too late.

As you pushed past him, Caleb’s hand latched onto your wrist and hoisted you to his chest. “You—”

“Let me go.” You snarled. Caleb’s grip faltered, shock flickering across his face, but not enough for you to break free.

With heavy pants, you whispered again. “Let me go, Caleb.” Your gaze hardened.

His hand curled around your wrist. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Reclaiming what was promised to me.”

His lips dropped into a deep, enraged frown. “So, you think you’re so smart, huh? Our little hero?”

“If you don’t let me go, I swear…” A breathless gasp escaped your throat. Words hung in the air—unspoken, but present. And they had taken effect.

Caleb’s eyelids flickered. He turned his head away, using his free hand to grip a sizable portion of his hair. His body convulsed, thrashing about as if at war with himself. But his grip didn’t loosen. Even at the brink of death, he would refuse to let you go.

“Go,” his voice lowered to something akin to a whimper and a cry. Finally, he uncoiled his hand and you burst free.

You ascended the monstrously colossal flight of stairs. The elevator would only delay you. There was no time.

You lifted your dress an immodest amount above your knees and bunched the fabric at your waist. Easier mobility. No matter how unsightly it looked, it was necessary.

At the apex of the building, you encountered a large, metal door. You wrestled with the knob—kicking, pulling, pushing.

Locked.

Equipping your firearm from the strap on your thigh, you aimed at the doorknob and fired a few shots. The metal flew off its pivot. With one last heated kick, you swung the door open.

A cloak of cool air enveloped you as you entered. As your vision adjusted, you could make out the blurred silhouettes of two men rushing towards you. Within seconds, their arms wrapped around your shoulders. You thrashed around within their grip and dug your heel into one of the men’s legs. He stumbled backwards with a groan.

Your chance.

You rotated your arm out of the other man’s grip and knocked them both unconscious with the barrel of your gun.

Something flashed in the corner of your eye.

A woman lurched at you, baton in hand. You raised your forearm and braced yourself for the impact.

CRACK.

Your bones rattled. A deafening cry escaped your throat. The cold sting of the metal baton splitting your skin lingered. Blood oozed down your arm, staining the once-gorgeous clothes that had now been ripped apart by your own unbridled movements.

Your teeth sunk into the plush of your lips. The woman smirked at you, twirling the baton in her hands.

A horde of militants surrounded you at once, pointing their lasers at your chest.

You spun around frantically, eyeing your surroundings for an escape route—something you should’ve done beforehand.

Finally, your gaze met the sky. You glared at the stars twinkling carelessly overhead. Mocking you. Taunting your weakness. You shut your eyes and prayed to whatever God may have been listening to your pleas.

You lifted your arms into a half-hearted surrender. The weapon remained nestled comfortably within your uninjured hand.

The two you’d knocked out lay helplessly on the ground, moaning, desperately inching to capture your feet. You kicked them off swiftly, but your heart raced at the sheer density of uniformed militants surrounding you.

Shit.

You were outnumbered.

Badly.

“On your knees!” The red dot of the laser moved to your forehead.

There was nowhere to run.

Surrender was the only option.

The man’s scowl deepened—a hint for you to obey immediately or suffer a bullet to your skull.

Your knees buckled, and you hit the ground with a thud. Liquid pain trickled down your arm in long, thick strings of blood. You reached up to clutch the ache, but recoiled immediately at the sensation of broken bones digging into your skin. Eventually, you just let your shattered arm dangle numbly from your shoulder.

The man motioned to the weapon clutched in your hand. Just as you were about to let it fall from your grasp, a firm voice echoed from behind.

“Retreat,” he ordered. Heavy footsteps approached from behind.

Your shoulders slumped momentarily before hoisting themselves up the same second. Caleb.

You couldn’t face him anymore.

Although he was the one at fault for betraying the vow he’d made to you, he always found a way to paint you as the culprit—the emotionally immature child who had committed a horrid act. Even though he was partially to blame for urging you into this behaviour, you still felt as if it were entirely your fault—your shortcomings that led to the situation taking a turn the way it did.

And so, you glued your gaze to the ground.

The militants shuffled away, lining themselves up at the sides to allow their leader to pass through.

You didn’t dare to look up, but you could decipher Caleb’s position as a sudden burst of warmth emerged behind you.

His elongated shadow raised an arm, gesturing forward.

“Fine. I will uphold my promise. Go.”

You lifted your head to where he pointed. Your eyes landed on a dwarf—a grey-haired old man gagged and restrained on the ground. Unscathed, but delirious with fear.

Using your feet to manoeuvre your throbbing body up, you limped forward and fell to your knees once again before the man.

You clutched the gun close to your form, but you didn’t aim at him.

Unlike the fleet, you were against using fear as a method of coercion.

“All right, Edward,” you smiled bitterly, “You owe me a few answers.”

It cost you 30 minutes of prodding before Edward opened his mouth. And once he did, he blabbered all that he knew. Beginning from his connections to his scarce aether core dealings, and up to the rumours he’d caught wind of regarding the treasure.

Unsurprisingly, all that he spoke of shared a common subject. Ever.

A bitterness laced your mouth. Ever was the one corporation you’d vowed to avoid. If worst came to worst, you still wouldn’t step foot in Ever’s territory.

Not out of fear, but pure disgust. Ever was a corporation drenched in blood. Of course, most corporations were cruel. Not many rose to power via charity. Onychinus was no exception.

But to be perfectly honest with yourself, you’d rather endure a bullet to the head rather than a slow, prolonged death where your consciousness lingers only to wither away painfully over the span of decades.

In that aspect, Onychinus was far kinder.

The man wasn’t aware of much more than what you already knew. But he could tell you one thing with confidence—the only people that bore the answers you sought were Xander Sciences and Ever.

Considering Xander Sciences were practically run by them, your ultimate target would be Ever.

“Thank you, Edward.” You shot the man a reassuring smile, although you weren’t sure why you did so.

“You’ve been helpful.”

“Done, pip? Now—”

Without turning your head, you whipped your hand and aimed your firearm at Caleb as he approached. His feet came to an abrupt halt with an audible screech.

You gestured to his arm with the barrel.

“You thought I didn’t hear you, huh? You loading the gun.”

Slowly, you rose to your feet and turned fully to face him. The neatly uniformed colonel stared back at you with nothing surging from his eyes.

You tilted your head and took a step closer.

“After all this, you still want to kill him?”

Caleb addressed your name with a firm, unrelenting tone. “Move.”

“I won’t let you take his life.”

“He’s ruined many lives. He built his empire on the bones of the innocent. Why would you defend him?” His hands clenched around his firearm.

You mouthed a dry laugh. “He doesn’t get the easy way out. He has to live, and suffer.”

Caleb’s head lowered. His eyes glinted dangerously underneath the darkness.

“You really believe that he won’t find his way to the top again?”

“Then imprison him. You have the authority to make his life hell.”

“Why would you care whether he lives or dies?”

“He…” You bit your lip. “He has a son.”

“As with many criminals.”

“He is loved.”

“And?” Caleb smirked cruelly. “That doesn’t erase his sins.”

“I don’t care what you say.” You adopted a protective stance before Edward, spreading your legs and throwing your arms out in defence.

“If you’ve truly lost your humanity, then kill me. And then do as you wish.”

Caleb’s eyes travelled to the taller man looming behind you.

“You heard her. Leave.”

“You too,” you snarled. “I don’t want to see either of you.”

“I’m not staying for you, sweetie. I have a man to collect.”

Irritated, you whipped around and stepped up to Sylus.

“What makes you think I’ll let you kill him?”

“What made you think I’d kill him?”

“Take a wild guess.”

He tapped a finger against his forehead, immersed in mock thought. His shoulders raised to a shrug.

You hated to admit that his nonchalance was one of the many things you once admired about him. But right now?

It was driving you insane.

“I don’t trust you.”

“Then what will you do? Take him under your wing?”

You opened your mouth to retaliate, but found yourself speechless at his remark. You’d been so consumed by emotions you’d forgotten to think things through.

With a smirk, Sylus offered you his hand. “How about this? I’ll swear to bring him the hell he deserves all whilst ensuring his survival.”

The man whimpered in retaliation, much to no avail.

“And what does it cost me?”

“Simple,” he folded his arms over his chest, “Pursue Ever with me.”

Your jaw fell. A thousand queries raced through your mind.

You stared at him in disbelief, your mouth agape. You used your unscathed hand to pull at your hair.

“Are you downright insane or insanely smart to the point where I can’t fathom the logic behind your request?”

“I’d like to say it’s the latter.”

You wanted to punch him, embrace him, and walk out on him all at once.

At first glance, it was a ridiculous offer with nothing to gain on his side.

At second glance, it was a ridiculously profitable offer but only on your side.

At third glance, well, that was when everything spiralled into incomprehensible chaos.

You had quite literally been rendered speechless.

Sylus covered his mouth as he let out a bored yawn. “If you have questions, just ask me.”

“Okay. Why me?”

“We’re bound to meet again anyway. Even if we leave to pursue our own goals, fate will find a way to throw us in the same pit once more. Our goals align, and we need to find a way to sever this meaningless bond between our souls anyway. Besides,” his eyes moved to a spot behind you.

“Your friend agreed in advance.”

You snapped your head to the sound of quiet footsteps approaching.

A meek, white-haired man stood beneath the dim light of the rooftop’s destroyed entrance, evasive of your gaze.

Xavier.

At that moment, you wanted to rip all the hair off your head and throw yourself off the roof.

“You—what?” You laughed breathlessly. “You’re here too? And you’re working with him?” Your glare returned to Sylus. “Are you trying to strip me of all my friends?”

He chuckled, but you weren’t making jokes.

“Take your time, kitten. We have all day.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Fine. But you still haven’t stated what you gain from this.”

“Maybe I’ll tell you, maybe not. Anyway, I think your arm’s about to rip off.”

 Your attention diverted to your arm, which had begun bleeding once more.

“Let’s get that fixed,” Xavier gently squeezed your shoulder from behind, “And afterwards, we can talk.”

“Again,” you sighed, “I don’t have a choice.”

[glitch-but-ya]

Echo of who I was is such a brainrot from pt2 how is yn still a hunter??? shes clearly dealing with issues and a poor mind no one in the right mind would want a girl wishing for death to kill wanderers make it make sense

Yeah I know how would people know shes depressed and what not but theres a thing called psych evaluation she wont be on field if hers is poor and begging for death but i guess everyone likes imagining a mary sue in this random as the heroine

Hi I would prefer it if this sounded more like a valid, respectful, mature criticism rather than just hating on things that clearly may have answers.

Reminder that although I’m open to criticism and queries regarding my work, I do NOT tolerate disrespect. If you want to laugh about my work, do so behind closed doors. I’m still a human being with feelings.

This will be my last response to these types of comments. Further hate will result in a simple block. I’m writing this as I feel this needs to be clarified— I am not your friend and you have no right to speak to me like that.

Reader has been masking her depression and will to never have been born from part 1. The only person who knows about it is Sylus, and he only figured it out thanks to his evol.

Masking is extremely common amongst patients struggling with mental health issues and it can often bypass psych evaluations. (It’s much more common than you think). A simple psych evaluation cannot poke at and reveal her core issues. Perhaps if she was put on professional counselling, the problems would unravel, but as she us great as masking, her peers don’t have the slightest clue on her deteriorating mental health and thus brushed it off.

The first day of the breakup hit hard— that’s the only reason why Tara and Xavier noticed that reader isn’t okay.

Plus, it’s a breakup. It’s not so severe and unpredictable that she has to be laid off from her work.

I don’t get how a deeply flawed character can be a ‘mary sue’. Maybe it’s just me.

But honestly, if a depressed character is a ‘mary sue’ to you, then I don’t think you’re ready for the real world.

[glitch-but-ya]

i lub ur silken chains fic soso much its making me go FERAL GRR im such a sucker for dark psychological fics:( & ur writing in general is just so WOWOEUGEJWGSJWGWJGWJW thank u for listening to my ted talk!

: 🍞

thank youu 🍞 anon!! 🥺💕

I’m glad people are enjoying it!

I’m obsessed with psychological horrors as well. Thus why I wrote it :3

I’m so happy you consider my writing style good. I gen thought it was unnecessarily sophisticated and bland. Comments like these boosts my confidence a bit hehe 🤍

[glitch-but-ya]

TO BE LOVED LIKE THIS😭😭😭

Sleepy confessions

SFW - The Softest Sylus I could write.

I was feeling far too many feelings today.

I wrote this because I really needed to feel a little loved today and if a man isn’t going to do it, I’ll write it for myself. It’s deeply self-indulgent but this is the kind of love I want. Not just any love, but the kind that is all-consuming and unwavering. I’ve never been in love, nor have I ever truly felt loved and as I approach my 30s, I’m feeling it! Maybe this kind of love is unrealistic, maybe I’ve read too many stories that paint devotion in impossible hues. But if I were to be loved, this is how I would want it.

Sylus had always found the quiet unsettling. 

His life had always been loud and chaotic, dangerous even. His past life, too, had been filled with sound, of dragon wings beating through the skies and fire roaring over cities. When those cities came for him, their shouts resonated through the air, filling his days with a cacophony that became his white noise, his comfort.

Now, the sounds of guns blazing and motorcycles purring were his norm. Days were his nights and his nights were chaos, loud chaos. He was used to it, thrived in it even.

Silence usually meant that something was wrong. That something was building and chaos would erupt soon. Silence was deadly. 

But right now, in this moment, with you curled up against him, chest rising and falling, he thought maybe he could learn to love the quiet too. This moment of peace was far too precious, too perfect that he’d be willing to wage war on anything that dared to break the stillness.  

Poor thing.

You’d fallen asleep so quickly, curled on his lap. Your body warm and trusting, your cheek pressed against his chest. He could feel the soft puffs of your breath against the skin bared beneath his robe, the way your fingers had instinctively curled around the fabric at his waist before going slack. 

It was too much. Too tender. Too perfect. 

His heart squeezed dangerously, threatening to burst with emotions he hadn’t allowed himself to feel for milenia. Still, he couldn’t take his eyes off you. 

His hand moved on its own, trailing down your spine, smoothing over the curve of your back, fingers brushing lightly over your hair. 

Each tiny shift came with the softest little noises of contentment, sounds he wanted to bottle up and keep forever. 

This is what love feels like.

He’d experienced it before, with you. Love that was shouted from rooftops, that set cities aflame and was declared loudly, passionately. 

But this was something else. Quieter. Deeper. Unassuming. An entirely different kind of love to the ones he'd experienced before. 

It crept up on him in the silence and wrapped itself around his heart, squeezing tightly, narrowing its focus to only you. 

It wasn’t a sudden, violent force, like a city razed to the ground. 

No, this was entirely different. It was the moment that lobster realised that the pot was too hot to survive, the only choice was to surrender. 

And in the end, wasn’t that feeling of giving in a relief? 

His throat tightened. His eyes stung.

Sylus exhaled softly, shaking his head gently. “You really do trust me, don’t you?”

The words were barely more than a breath, a desperate attempt to preserve the quiet of the room, but they made that grip on his chest tighten imperceptibly harder.

You had no idea what it meant, how it affected him, to have you like this. Warm and safe in his arms. Completely unguarded. 

Completely his.

He scoffed lightly, remembering the way you had first met in this life. The fear, the hatred in your eyes, the anguish in his. 

“You're impossible,” he murmured, his voice even quieter now, almost reverent. “You know that?”

You stirred slightly, nuzzling into his warmth, but didn’t wake. 

“Of course you don’t. You have no idea.” 

Another sleepy noise escaped past the pout of your lips, and he smiled, warm and soft. 

A little while ago, Luke and Keiran had knocked on the door, the soft sound enough to make a frown crease between your brows. They’d entered to find a glare fixed on them, red piercing eyes telling them that whatever they had to say could wait. 

They left quickly, smart enough to forget the sight before them. 

Sylus’ fingers traced idle patterns along your arm, his touch featherlight. 

You’d tell him off, if you were awake. Tell him to start his day. Order him to tend to Onychinus. You were so selfless, so giving. You’d put anything and anyone else before yourself.

Luckily, he had no such ideals.

Somewhere, far away, the world still existed. There were people waiting for him, needing him. Things that needed his attention, his approval. None of it mattered. 

There was no past. No future. Just this.

Just the steady rhythm of your breathing. Just this moment, stretching infinitely, like a dream he never wanted to wake from.

He was selfish when it came to everything but you. And even then, he was still a little selfish. 

He would keep anyone waiting, if it meant he got to hold you, like this. He’d run his business into the ground for the taste of your lips. 

He had, and would again, raise entire continents to the ground to ensure your safety, uncaring of anyone that resided there. 

Yes, he was selfish.

And he didn’t care. 

A quiet sigh left him. He didn’t deserve any of this. Did he? He had ruined too much, burned too many things and left too many ghosts in his wake. Yet, here you were. Pressed against him, completely at ease. 

His throat constricted. How? How could something as good as you ever belong in the arms of someone like him? 

No he didn’t deserve it, but he would keep it anyway. A dragon’s nature was to hoard. 

His eyes roamed your face, memorising everything. Each freckle. Each eyelash. The soft curve of your lips, parted just slightly with sleep. He reasoned that you had to have been made by some higher force. That somewhere, there was a god that claimed you proudly as their creation. 

He was torn by that. By the idea that there was something or someone else out there that had a right to you. But you were a masterpiece and it was the only way you made sense. 

So if there was a god, let them bear witness. Let them take notes. That his devotion, his heart was offered in quiet surrender to that creation. To you. 

Slowl, with infinite care, he raised a hand to cup your cheek, brushing his thumb over your lips in a barely-there touch. Soft. Delicate. Sacred. He wanted to kiss you, but he wouldn’t. Not yet. He wouldn’t wake you. 

Instead, he leaned in and pressed his forehead against yours, your breaths’ mingling, breathing you in. You smelled warm, like sleep and something sweet, something inherently you. He shut his eyes, just for a moment, letting the sensation settle in his bones.

And when he pulled back he just stared.

Memorising you. Worshipping you.

It had been a long time since he said those words to you.

Reluctant to break the sanctity of the precarious relationship the two of you had, he’d kept them inside. But here, in the hush of the night, with you deep in sleep, he could be honest in ways he never could before. 

“You have no idea how much I…” He swallowed, tilting his head back against the couch, staring up at the ceiling, willing away the fullness that threatened to spill from his eyes. “How much I love you.”

A single tear dripped down his cheek, tracing a glistening path, evidence of his quiet confession. 

His heartbeat increased, loud and strong in the quiet of the room. He willed it to still, wished he could make it stop beating lest it wake you from your slumber. 

And then-

A sleepy hum. 

A shift of your body. 

And a murmured, drowsy, “Luh you too.”

His breath stopped.

You were barely conscious, probably didn’t even know what you were saying, but his chest ached all the same. A deep overwhelming ache.

He looked down to see your bleary, unfocused eyes gazing back at his. Heavy with lingering sleepiness and slow blinks. 

Your hand cupped his face and swept away more tears that had fallen from his eyes. 

Hands wrapped around his shoulders, holding him tightly, like you were afraid he would let you go. 

Silly thing, he would never let you go. 

Your head nestled into his neck and you pressed a soft kiss to his racing pulse. 

“Love you, Sylus.” 

His arms tightened around you in response, pulling you closer, needing the physical closeness to ground himself, to remind himself that this was real. 

Your breathing deepened again, soft breaths tickling the skin of his neck in a way that promised he’d have a patch of condensation there in a little while. 

He didn’t care. 

“I love you too,” he whispered into the silence of the room. 

His arms flexed around you slightly. His heart, beating a pattern just for you. A silent vow.

This, the two of you, would never be a fleeting moment. It wasn’t something he would allow to slip through his fingers like smoke, something he would lose in the chaos of the life he led. 

No. 

This was eternal.

He would build up a world from dust to ensure your place by his side. To keep you safe, protected, his. 

No matter what happened, he would never let this go.

Never let you go. 

And just like that, he let the silence have him.

➽──────────────────────────────────❥

Well, that was a diary entry disguised as a fanfiction. Enjoy 🥺

[glitch-but-ya]

Horror games with them.

CW: None. Pairings: Xavier, Zayne, Rafayel, Sylus, Caleb x Reader (seperate) A/N: Another HC because I hit a writing slump and I simply don't know what happens next in my Sylus fic series. So, uh, yeah. A hiatus for that specifically. But I'm working on other fics.

XAVIER:

[Corrected] Most likely the one recommending the horror games in the first place. Has them saved up in a private list but never got the courage to ask you until now.

The moment a jumpscare appears, he flinches, stares at the screen for a hot minute, and then pretends like it never happened. (Will act all confused when you tease him about it later.)

Needs to be carried sometimes, especially in hardcore parts like chase sequences and boss fights.

He’d probably mess up every single puzzle and objective there is INTENTIONALLY. Can you blame him, though? He just wants to spend more time fussing about confusing mechanics with you :(.

Gets HELPLESSLY lost in mazes. You rest your eyes for a minute and he's suddenly on the opposite side of the map.

He is somehow astronomically good at navigating a maze when he's actually properly reading the map and not just rushing in.

ZAYNE:

The HARDEST to scare. Period.

Is so nonchalant and unfazed that his indifference becomes scarier than the monsters.

Extremely cautious and unwilling to take unnecessary risks. Would take his time navigating the map and finding clues.

Puzzle master. Solves each puzzle with unnerving precision and focus. Really serious about the whole thing.

Unfortunately, he ends up solving the whole game in just 30 minutes so you end up missing on the actual thrill of horror games.

If he notices your pout, he might actually indulge in the game and let you take the lead.

RAFAYEL:

Oh, playing a horror game with this man is pure comedy.

He begins all smug and confident, with his head raised high and chest puffed out, saying things like, "If you're scared, just hold on to me, cutie." But the moment the game starts, he clings to you like a koala (fishie) with attachment issues.

Screeching at the top of his lungs every 2 seconds. Screams at the slightest noise or flicker of a light. Probably one of those guys who whimpers playing horror games.

If a monster is approaching, he’ll die heroically for you. But it’s useless because in the end, you both end up dying.

HORRIBLE at puzzles and mazes. He types in the code confidently and then gets offended when it’s wrong. Glares at the code input area like it's the one that messed up.

Has a death rate of 3 per second. It’s so bad that you either carry him the whole way or give up.

SYLUS:

Smug and unfazed at first. Lets you take the lead to watch as you solve the puzzles and jump occasionally. And he is NOT fun in that regard. If you ask him for help, he’d reply, "I don't know, sweetie. Maybe it's correct, maybe not?" (He, in fact, DOES know).

Master maze navigator. One look at the map and he’s already memorised all the paths, shortcuts, and safe houses. But if you’re leading in the maze, he’d just play along with a smirk as you start walking towards the wrong direction.

Basically, he knows how to do literally EVERYTHING, but chooses not to.

Will flinch a little at jumpscares, but will NEVER admit it. “It was Mephisto,” he’d claim.

Leads you to the monster on purpose.

Once, he tried chasing the monster but somehow went unnoticed.

In general, he is a menace.

Also, a God at boss fights.

CALEB:

Screams like Rafayel. Sometimes, he even screams solely to make you laugh.

Gets extremely defensive. Following you around everywhere and refusing to split up.

Amazing at timing when to make a run for the exit. Memorises the monster’s patrol patterns and manages to avoid it entirely. You don’t get chased at all when with him.

Really good at critical thinking puzzles but a bit lost in mazes. He sticks to following your lead in them.

LOVES scaring you. He’d tell you that the monster is right behind you and then burst out laughing as soon as you started running away. Would change his avatar to something scary and then pop out from random corners.

Avid lore enjoyer. If the lore is cliche or badly written, he’d complain and lose interest. He’d play nonetheless for your sake.

[glitch-but-ya]

Just finished reading your Caleb one shot, silken chains and I just wanna rant a bit bc of how good it is (pls feel free to ignore me if u don't feel comfy to answer. Trumblr being annoying bc I can't message or even reply to a post anymore sobs)

Man at first I was doubting my eyes cause 31k one shot in Tumblr isn't quite something you'd find easily. Saw the yandere warning but think to myself, "I mean what's the worse it can be?"

AND I AM?? GRIPPING ON MY CHAIR. I literally have no words– just speechless over the way you have written him, written the mc.

Coming from a psychology student myself, I just enjoyed sooo much how you explain the way mc brain works. How it feels we're one step further trying to cover this mystery while Caleb isn't even there, like of course he isn't?? It's still a part of his plan somehow, and I just??

10/10 gonna follow you and probably reread it just for trying to dissect every words there cause legit think mc can outsmart him but nah ahaha.

ANYWY THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THIS FOOD WHOOO, haven't find much really dark psychological story about his brain (I wanna open his head and study it I swear to God). So I'm just 🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️

- 🐰

THANK YOU ANON!! I appreciate it sm😭

I really enjoy asks like these so don’t worry!!

(Brace yourself for a long yap session)

I’m so glad a psychology student enjoyed my work. Honestly, while writing this, I was so afraid that a psychology student may read this and wheeze at how inaccurate everything is😭 I did some research to ensure I get things right (for the most part) because I was afraid I’d end up writing something corny instead of an actual ‘psychological thriller/horror’. I’m very interested in psychology myself. I have been ever since I was a teen. I love writing psychological thrillers as much as I enjoy penning philosophical stories (two very differing topics to be interested in, I know, but to me, they’re very similar). And that’s technically what prompted me to write this fic!! :3

I feel like tumblr has a lack of good, long Caleb fics and just long fics in general, so I wanted to be (or at least, I attempted to be) the one to write it!! I also think tumblr has a lack of genuine psychological thrillers which aren’t just romanticism of yandere/dark romance tropes (nothing wrong with enjoying those types of content, it’s just that the romanticism often throws away the fear of it all— the dread of being wanted obsessively by a mentally unstable individual, and instead focus on romance. It’s just a personal criticism of mine which may not align with others).

Writing Reader was incredibly tough. There were so many unwanted variables at play that just curating her personality was an arduous task that made me want to delete the whole fic and rewrite it (I didn’t, thank God). Your usual criminologist would be completely objective and unfazed and to a certain extent, reader is exactly that, but she’s also soft at heart and she is especially emotional regarding this case with Caleb due to her suppressed feelings for him and the importance he has in her life. That conflicts greatly with her professional side and was just, in general, really tough to write.

(I sent like a 20 minute yap to my friend just crying over this problem😭)

But I’m glad I managed to write her in a way that pleases you all! And yeah, in general, I’m really grateful people like my fic enough to leave asks, replies, and comments on reblogs! I’ve been having a horrible time the past few days, and one of the only things keeping me afloat are these kind comments💕

Thank you, 🐰 anon!

(SORRY FOR YAPPING)

[glitch-but-ya]

SILKEN CHAINS.

| AO3 | PAIRING: Yandere!Caleb x Psychotherapist!Reader CW: SFW but MATURE, manipulation, yandere, obsessive/possessive/controlling behaviour, grotesque descriptions, descriptions of gore, suicide, implied murder, stalking, trauma, mental illness, just a heavy fic in general, mild swearing, Fem!Reader. SUMMARY: When her childhood friend spirals into a paradox of obsession and madness, who could mend his fractured mind better than her? Utilizing her years of expertise, she is determined to bring him back. But can one play with fire without scorching their skin? Can she unravel his mind before he devours hers? WORD COUNT: 31k words. DISCLAIMER: Although you are free to view this as dead dove or dark romance, I am not romanticising such behaviour. I'm simply telling a dark story for the sake of telling a dark story. This is merely a psychological thriller written for the fun of it. Heavy content ahead, be warned. A/N: Helloo!! Sorry for being super inactive!! I hit a writing slump and when I’d recovered from it, I started this fic (or, more accurately, I started writing this fic in order to flee from writer’s block.) I wanted to work on my other sylus fic but I kept mixing the character’s personalities up. I’m usually great at multitasking but not when it comes to writing it seems. I had exams, my mother got sick halfway through ramadan, I was fasting and constantly exhausted, and yeah. (Yes, I am Muslim!) Anyways, the idea for this fic was something akin to a shower thought. I changed my writing style a bit. Basically went from uhh poetic(?) to more mordern. So I don’t know how I did. Any criticism or feedback is appreciated!!

He was always like this, wasn’t he?

You twirled your pen between your fingers as you glared out the open window into the faces of buildings looming high. A warm westerly breeze wafted through the opening, swirling the bittersweet scent of coffee throughout the room. A long, white couch sat at the other end of yours, bearing a small, fresh dent on its right corner—left by the last patient of the day. That decade-old piece of furniture had been in your office for as long as you could recall. It had shouldered the weight of various troubled souls who would rush to you at the first hint of distress. They would barge in, plop themselves down on the exact same side of the sofa, and pour their worries out.

For hours, you would sit still with a notebook in your hands, gazing out that very same window as if your ears had not caught a word. And once they’d stop, you would turn to them with a smile.

“I see. Well, let’s start from the beginning.”

Many came with a burdened frown, and all left with their heads lifted high. That was the quality of your service—the merit of having abandoned the role of a renowned criminologist to settle for a mere clinical psychotherapist. It was a far more peaceful life, where you only needed to contend with the usual afflictions of mental health. You’d say it suited you better. It was far kinder to your body and soul to study the boundaries of the mind rather than the savagery of crime. Because if you were truly competent enough to retain your position as a criminologist, you would have noticed sooner, wouldn’t you?

Your pen stilled in your hand.

You had studied the faces of many. Cheaters, narcissists, the apathetic, the antisocial—you had seen it all and more. During your brief tenure as a criminologist, you had worked with the most wretched criminals. A deranged, delusional son who had donned the skin of his mother shortly after gutting her alive, a schizophrenic woman who had splattered her husband’s brains across her grotesque painting, and countless men and women who displayed heightened symptoms of obsessive and abusive behaviour towards their partners.

And yet, you missed it.

There was a saying that we normalise the odd behaviour of those closest to us to such an extent that their misdoings and concerning actions fly off our radar without a hitch. Our paths were so intertwined with theirs that we saw no reason to stop and ponder—Hey, could this be a sign of mental illness?

You supposed you had fallen into the same dilemma. He had sat before you your entire life—from adolescence to the moment higher education set you apart, he had always been there. Even as you pursued your double majors, Caleb’s botched mental evaluation exam had not raised any red flags in your mind.

“Oh, it’s a flawed test. You of all people should know that someone’s mental health can’t be determined by a simple questionnaire.”

And regrettably, you believed him. He made a good point, after all. A simple questionnaire said nothing about someone’s true psyche.

But still, you regretted not questioning—Is it even possible to fail so miserably?

You should have checked his answers. Such an oversight had cost you the surprise of finding out in... such a way. And now that you looked back and reevaluated your interactions with him, the markers became clear.

“The people that want to hurt you? They should all just—” his gaze burned through your skull, “—disappear.”

“I don’t need your protection. I’m fine on my own.”

He scoffed, eyes brimming with betrayal.

“You don’t need me? Is that what you think?”

Your lips trembled as you sank deeper into the plush of the couch, forced down by his presence. With one arm, he caged you between his body and the cushions.

“Alright, what do you want? You can tell me.”

You knocked his forearm weakly. “Caleb, calm down—”

“We can return to Linkon if that’s what you want. We’ll rebuild our old house. And if one house isn’t enough, I’ll build you a whole maze.”

Like a fish out of water, you thrashed about, only to still once realisation dawned on you—

He was speaking to you with unfiltered, bare words. There would not be another chance like this. Now was the perfect time to capitalise on his raw and vulnerable state.

You pursed your lips. Caleb’s finger trailed across your jaw.

“I’ll decorate it with whatever you want. It will be the most stunning garden you’ve ever seen.”

You emptied your gaze, donning the familiar facade of a professional, objective psychotherapist. You scrutinised him as he spoke. You picked up on the subtle crack of his voice, the tears threatening to form, the gentle firmness of his grip. This was him—the true, raw him. How could you not have noticed sooner?

In hindsight, the signs were present. Possessiveness, obsession, strategic control—traits you would have easily identified in a client. He thought of himself as clever. And he was right. To the general public, Caleb was beyond cunning. A force to be reckoned with.

But you had seen worse. You had dissected minds far more twisted than his. You were confident in your abilities—you could unravel him, strip him bare once more, and deliver the final blow with cautious precision. Patients often believed themselves to be indecipherable, an enigma buried in the sands of time.

Yet they forgot that doctors such as yourself had wasted half their lives preparing for them. No matter how savage or twisted one may be, you were trained to make people collapse at the slightest pull of their heartstrings.

The only reason behind your incompetence had been simple—familiarity breeds blind spots, and Caleb was all too familiar to you. You regretted not having picked up on it sooner. Now, all your analyses pointed to the same result. He was severely disturbed and in urgent need of therapeutic intervention.

And who was more qualified to deliver just that than you?

This was what you had studied for, was it not? With your combined expertise in both psychology and criminology, you could corner Caleb into spilling his woes. You could fix him. He thought himself untouchable, but you had spent years preparing for men like him.

You tilted your head and glanced at the brightly coloured strip of paper sitting atop your desk. Tickets. To Skyhaven. You could finally see him.

You smiled. How long had it been? A couple of months, perhaps? Since your last visit to Skyhaven, Caleb had not hesitated to check up on you daily. As if unbothered by your reluctance to respond, he left small texts floating in your inbox. Simple formalities—How are you feeling? Have you eaten well?—all left on read. You could practically see the fireworks erupt in his violet eyes the moment you finally responded—

“I’m coming over tomorrow. Do you mind?”

Like an overjoyed pup granted his favourite treat, he swarmed your chat with various emoticons. ‘Are you on vacation? :0’ ‘When are you coming?’ ‘Should I make dinner?’

Despite your best efforts at denial, you couldn’t shake the flutter in your chest at his care and enthusiasm.

If only he had remained the same.

If only he were the boy you once knew, you wouldn’t have to resort to such measures.

Your pulse quickened as your fingers brushed across the ticket’s surface.

You were really doing this, weren’t you? Playing with fire, confident in your eventual triumph. In your field, patience was key.

You would untangle him thread by thread. And when he collapsed, you could embrace him once more. Not as a cruel, restrictive monster, but as the warm boy you had always known.

It was only a matter of time.

“Please stand clear of the doors,” a robotic female voice buzzed. “Next stop, Skyhaven.”

You planted yourself against the hard plastic chairs, clutching a phone that idled on a conversation.

“I’m on the train.” “I’ll be there to pick you up :D”

You stuffed your phone back into your bag. With a loud whir, the train began to move. Your body swayed to the side as it accelerated, pressing you against a metal pole. In just a few hours, you would reach Skyhaven. And he would be there, waiting for you with that big grin plastered across his face—the grin that once lifted you off your feet, whose irony you had now begun to despise. It was the very same expression that would trick the masses.

Girls lined up against high school lockers would swoon over it. But what they didn’t know was that his radiant smile was merely a distraction meant to deter them from the way his eyes, no matter what obstruction emerged before him, would always be locked on you. His warm violet hues would burn through your skull as you led him through the hallways, chatting away obliviously. Back then, you had shrugged it off. He was just expressing care, you thought. You were afraid of crowds back then. He was just looking out for you. It was in your best interest, right? If only you had known.

You should have questioned. You should have known better.

But your high school days were well behind you. What stood now were two matured adults with a strained relationship, engaged in a ruthless game of chess—a game he did not yet realise he was a participant in.

But that only gave you the upper hand. When dealing with patients who would exploit your vulnerability and love for them, having a head start was almost a necessity. Sure, you were certain you’d come out on top eventually. But your work had taught you to tread gingerly nonetheless. When navigating the confines of a person’s mind, every micromovement of yours could cause the whole structure to crumble. No matter how accomplished a psychotherapist is, they are bound to experience massive turbulence in the field of their work.

And you had come prepared accordingly.

You reached into your bag to retrieve a worn, leather-backed journal. It had no labels. Only a brown, thick covering with a matching strap. A blue strip with a metal piece on its end hung loosely from the bottom. It was a bookmark. Old, worn—the fabric of the strip had gone dirty. It was stained with splotches of brown, with an array of torn threads poking out from a corner.

You turned to the first page. It was dated three years ago.

You swiftly flipped through the rest of the pages until you landed on nothing. Somewhere around the middle of the journal, there was a cluster of blank pages stapled together. With a moment of reconciliation, you thumbed through the stapled pages.

Harrison Roan.

A small smile graced your lips. You had, in fact, snatched the correct one before departing.

You traced your hurried handwriting, skimming over the words. You stopped at the small paragraph below the margin—the ‘final comment’.

Patient remains evasive and reluctant to engage in cooperative dialogue. He exhibits obsessive tendencies when discussing his partner, demonstrating patterns of control consistent with Machiavellian protection. His behaviour suggests a state of limerence, accompanied by coercive control over his loved ones. Obsessive-compulsive personality traits are observed, raising suspicion of OCPD. Therapy is recommended for further evaluation and intervention.

Back during your time at the Linkon Criminal Psychiatric Facility, you were assigned as Harrison’s primary psychotherapist. He was accused of abducting and imprisoning his lover, Anne Lotte. Anne underwent severe emotional abuse and manipulation. For a short period of three months, you were assigned to her as well. But before you could make any progress, she had thrown herself off the facility’s roof.

It was devastating, the state you found her in. Anne’s mind was completely mangled. There was a dark fog clouding her conscience. You doubted even a piercing sharp beam of light could pass through to her. She was unresponsive, silent, rendered dead; almost as if her mind had gone senile. Her situation filled you with revulsion. Ten years of imprisonment and psychological torture could destroy one’s psyche so brutally that even after they had regained their freedom, the light of hope would fail to reach their eyes.

You refused to be a victim of the same tragedy, and you refused to let Caleb walk the same path of insanity. Beyond all, you loved him. You wouldn’t leave him be and watch as he slowly abolished himself. You would not let the same tragedy occur once more. And perhaps Harrison’s case was the key. Maybe you could learn a thing or two from here.

“Skyhaven. Doors will open from the left.”

You shut your journal and lazily shoved it back into the depths of your bag. A flock of passengers stood, ready to hurl themselves out the moment the door slid open. You recoiled in your seat with a sigh. You’d just go once the crowd had dimmed.

Placing your chin in your hand, you looked out the window and peered through the crowds, fishing for Caleb. Your pulse fluttered as you saw him stare back at you with that signature smile of his—boyish, handsome… eerie. A chill shot up your spine. There was something about this ‘new’ him you could not explain. Something you couldn’t wrap your head around.

Something that frightened you.

You beamed through the glass, the brightest smile you could muster, and raised your palm to wave at him feverishly. Collecting your belongings in a frenzy, you rushed out the door, only to be met by the solid wall of his chest.

“Oof—” You rubbed your forehead. The man before you broke into a fit of gentle laughter and ruffled the top of your head. “Were you that excited to see me?”

You shot him a sheepish smile. He returned your gesture.

“Here, let me help with those.” He hoisted one of your bags over his shoulder and beckoned for you to follow. You took after him shortly after, skipping over to him with glee.

“Soo… why the sudden visit?” Caleb mused. You raised your head to look him in the eye. “I got a vacation, and…”

He cocked an eyebrow. “And?”

“There are… never mind. Can I tell you once we’re alone?” You could feel the way his heartbeat hastened without needing to touch him. It made your stomach knot in retaliation.

“Alright. Sounds good.”

The two of you hauled your way to the car. Before you could nestle yourself in the spacious backseat, he rushed in front of you to swing open the door to the passenger seat. He gestured for you.

Your eyes glinted with mischief. “Oh?”

“The finest service from yours truly.”

Damnit, that smooth imbecile.

Defeated (yet not yielding), you slid into the passenger seat and waited as he loaded your luggage into the trunk of the car. Once sure nobody was looking, you pried open your bag and inspected the journal inside. Phew. You hadn’t abandoned it on the train.

“Forget something?” You jumped. Your head whipped to the head peeking in from the crack of the car door. A shudder crept up your spine at the empty expression plastered on his face and the way his eyes gave away nothing. The grin was absent from his lips. With lingering unease, you forced your muscles to relax. “I just thought I left my phone behind.”

The warmth returned to his gaze. “Sorry for scarin’ ya.” He ruffled your hair affectionately. You shook your head. “No, it’s fine.”

The drive was quiet, with you engulfed in your paranoia regarding whether or not you should say what you’d sworn to tell Caleb, and him consumed by God-knows-what. The way he fixed his gaze on the road up ahead, not once looking back or giving you a sliver of his attention, perplexed you. What was he so invested in?

“So,” Caleb started, snapping you out of your domain of thought, “What were you gonna say?”

You bit the inside of your cheek and forced yourself to don a neutral tone. “I wanted to…” Fingers deftly played with the hem of your shirt. “Fix things.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Between us. Because, you know.”

The world stilled. You subconsciously hugged your bag tighter against yourself, anticipating all sorts of responses he could give. Would he stay silent? No. Not his style. He would…

Caleb smiled. “So, you want to start over?” He glanced at you from the corner of his eye. “Can’t say for sure whether I can be the Caleb you want.”

An opening.

You mustered the kindest simper you could and shook your head. “I was thinking… rather than rebuilding our past, we try and make peace with the new versions of each other.”

There was silence. And then, a glint in his eye. His shoulders slumped against the leather seat. The weight dimmed from the air, leaving only a soothing quietude—the calm after the storm had passed. It was almost like the old days.

Almost.

“Sounds good to me.” His mask returned. Contrary to his words, this version of Caleb was unfeeling. Even now, he refused to let you in. He blocked you out with that fire—that crackling lukewarm grin, that blazing radiance he bore. Warm like the sun, and just as deadly as it, and almost impenetrable.

But you could see the cracks that ran through that frigid surface. Earth crumbles fast. And no matter how sturdy the soil, the right amount of water could dampen it just enough for you to dig through.

You would reach him. You were sure. And you would save him just as you should’ve saved yourself.

Caleb helped you unload in front of his house, reaching the bags faster than you could and hauling them over his shoulder before you could protest. Admittedly, it was these small gestures of fondness that allured you to him in the first place. A trap, you thought. Only a front to mask his true twisted nature.

“Are you gonna conquer my room again?” he teased. You stopped in your tracks, turning to scrutinize all the barren rooms. A thought arose, one you desperately tried to shove to the back of your brain. Had you let your fear of him affect you so much that you would begin to lose your mind over the simple choice of rooms?

You took a deep breath and raised your finger, pointing at his room. You looked at him and grinned. “Why not? Your bed is the comfiest.”

Caleb would fall for it, wouldn’t he? The thought of you inhaling his scent, residing where he did—it was far too intimate for his mind to fathom. And the privilege of having your scent rubbed all across his bedsheets, in his balcony, in the mugs you used and the plates you discarded; you were making an offer a lovesick mind like his could not refuse.

You rejoiced internally at the sight of his face. The widening of his eyes, the contraction of his pupils, the subtle twitch of his lips—something awoke in him. Something fearful—a horned monster with gleaming red eyes clutched his heart. It was your indication that you’d won.

“Alright, alright,” Caleb mused. “Whatever the lady wants, she shall get.”

And with that, you successfully seized his room.

They say that one’s room is a reflection of one’s mind. They being you, of course, alongside a few other studies that emerged following the publication of your own. A great deal can be discerned from the mere face of a room—the way its occupant arranges their bedsheets, the colours they favour, the state everything is in, the organisation of furniture and possessions, the things they treasure enough to keep within these walls. From mental state to relationship status, all could be dissected from a single glance at a room and its arrangement.

You didn’t believe Caleb foolish enough to leave incriminating evidence strewn about. If anything had been there, he would have tidied up days before you set foot in Skyhaven. He preferred to keep details of his field of work discreet. You assumed it stemmed from an unwillingness to "corrupt" what he held sacred—sacralisation, perhaps? Disturbing when done to a human, yet not uncommon. You had encountered such cases before, and no matter how many you worked on, each left a familiar sinking feeling in your gut.

Knowing that, you never expected to find anything concrete in his room. But that wasn’t your intention.

You unpacked, arranging your belongings on the bed. Your journal rested on his desk. Of course, there was a risk in choosing to stay here. If you left your journal lying about and he happened to enter on a whim (which he had every right to; it was his room, after all), you would be exposed almost instantly. What excuse could you offer for analysing patients from three years ago, especially while on holiday? Worse, if his eyes caught the blue thread marking the pages where you had written about Harrison, he would connect the dots at once. What would he do then? Banish you? Grow cold? Or something worse?

You didn’t want to think about it.

Regardless, it was a risk you were willing to take. Consequences only existed if you faltered first. You were far more interested in what his room revealed about his mental state. Was it irrefutable evidence? No. But you weren’t on duty. This was a personal investigation—here, proof could be as subjective as you pleased. The only jury was yourself.

The bed was impeccably made, yet a thin layer of dust coated the duvet—a symptom of neglect. Still, there were signs that he had attempted to prepare. The neatly arranged cosmetics on the vanity, the dusted balcony with its watered plants, the stocked bird feeder swaying gently from the ceiling, the polished bathroom with its dry, tiled floors. They spoke of the care he had taken to render the space habitable for you.

It was your belief that people tidied before the arrival of guests to mask the unguarded fragments of themselves, those revealed in the dim solitude of their rooms. You could sense the effort he had poured into creating an illusion of warmth. His room practically welcomed you. Little hints of life were scattered throughout, almost as if to weave a mirage of normalcy.

"When we move in together in the future, what kind of room do you want?"

You lifted your chin, humming in thought. "Oh! I know! I want a lively room!"

"You mean colourful and vibrant?"

You shook your head. "No, dummy. A warm room! One that looks lived in."

Had he remembered your words? Back then, you had merely been a child. You had no true grasp of what you were saying, lacked the linguistic skills to articulate your thoughts. And yet, he remembered. Or perhaps it was simply instinct—after all, any normal person would feel more comfortable in a space that had been occupied before.

Despite his meticulous efforts, something betrayed it all.

You ran a fingertip across the duvet, picking up dirt. He had forgotten to tend to the bed. You could see it now—the bed, untouched for so long, had appeared so pristine that it had entirely slipped his notice. That very perfection had made him overlook it. And you might have as well, had it not been for the red welts that bloomed upon contact.

That told you more than you had expected. So consumed with work, he had dehumanised himself. Yet, instead of confronting it, instead of seeking help, he had merely painted over the cracks and prayed you would not notice.

Caleb was underestimating you. And that would be his undoing.

As both a therapist and a friend, it was your duty to halt his descent before it could begin.

Breakfast was served a bit late, around the time you’d usually make it for yourself back at home. Flatbread stuffed with meat and cheese—slightly indulgent, you’d say, but filling and undeniably delicious. Especially when put together by his hands. The savoury aroma wafted through the kitchen. You sat near the counter, devouring the bread in bites that left your mouth stuffed and puffy. Caleb laughed at the sight. But what could you do? After all, you were obsessed with his culinary prowess.

Although, you would admit, it was hard to focus on the food when his eyes were practically glued to you, unmoving and unwavering. A chill crept through your limbs but was quickly swallowed by the sudden burst of flavour in your mouth.

“How is it?”

You mumbled incoherent words through your full cheeks.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

No matter how vastly he changed, one thing remained constant—his food. It hadn’t changed a bit. The taste carried the same warmth it once had, the same lingering aftertaste of his signature seasoning. A silly thought popped into your mind—what if that were to change as well? A ridiculous notion. But then again, art changes as the artist does.

“Do you eat well while you’re on duty?”

Caleb looked out the window and hummed. His gaze averted yours. “Does cafeteria food count as ‘eating well’?”

“…Not really.” You smiled. Why did he look away?

You pinched his arm. “Look at you—you’re going to grow frail and weak!”

Caleb flinched before wincing dramatically, forcing a chuckle. “Really? Guess I gotta start eating well, huh?” He paused, glancing at his arm. “Or else someone’s gonna be breathing down my neck even when we’re apart.”

With a tilt of your head, you nodded. “I’ll scold you every time I’m back.”

“If it means seeing you more ofte—ow!” You pinched a thin layer of his flesh and twisted it.

“I can see those evil schemes swirling around in your brain. Cut it out! Or do you want me to punch you?”

Caleb pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. “Oh, whatever am I to do?”

Despite the playful spark in his eyes, you couldn’t ignore the way his gaze flickered toward the compartment beneath the counter. He shifted, positioning his body over the gap so you were unable to steal a glance even if you tried.

You tilted your head and hummed. Interesting. It was best not to let him know you’d caught on.

You swallowed the last bits of your food with a mug of icy water. “Once you’re weak, I’ll craft a ploy to seize your position. The fleet’s going to have a new Colonel soon!” Smirking slyly, you puffed out your chest with mock confidence.

An unexpected tension settled in the air. You noted the way his shoulders tensed, the way his jaw clenched at the word Colonel. A fleeting, alien emotion flickered behind his violet eyes, only to be swiftly dimmed by his sudden grin. That same, insufferable grin that guarded the entrance before you could step into his mind. His way of shutting you out.

He poked your arm and chuckled. “I’ll be looking forward to it, Colonel.” A palm rose to his head in an exaggerated salute.

Why was he so jumpy today?

Later, sometime during the afternoon, you dragged Caleb out for a casual tour of Skyhaven. “Show me your favourite places to relax!” you’d said with a beam. That was all it took for him to crumble to his knees.

He led you to a sky-based retreat (well, you were already in the sky, but still) situated atop a towering skyscraper that dwarfed all others of its kind. It was a behemoth of a building—a monolithic structure plated with heavily tinted, floor-to-ceiling windows on all four faces. The epitome of a modern yet intimidating corporate monolith. A lake surrounded it on three sides, and the only way in was via a vast bridge, sturdy enough to withstand the heaviest of cargo-bearing trucks, looping around the entire strip of land.

The apex was swallowed by cotton-white clouds. The last few floors vanished into the fog, dissolving from view. Despite the presence of splendid and meticulously maintained gardens throughout, only a few workers strolled about. Even with the meticulously architected bridges, barely any cars were to be seen. Only the distant rattle of golf buggies echoed in the air. Save for the occasional chirps and the gentle woosh of water below, it was eerily quiet.

You contemplated asking Caleb about it, but for some reason, your inability to piece it together on your own gnawed at you, filling you with a bitter pride. It should be easier than a murder case. Why were you fumbling? This was supposed to be your first real move. How could you falter before even setting your plan into motion?

None of the workers paid any real attention to the two of you as you stepped through the main entrance. Only a few odd glances followed. Caleb seemed to be a regular here. They all seemed at ease with his presence.

The elevator ride was a gruelling one. You could swear it took five whole minutes just to exceed the twentieth floor. Caleb argued it had only been forty seconds. It felt longer, nonetheless. Normally, a crowded elevator would have preoccupied you. You would have found yourself enthralled by the faces and mannerisms of the passers-by—the twenty-something man in a black suit, the unusually silent boy with bruises on his arms, the seemingly unfazed elderly woman with a deep-set frown. Insignificant to most, yet to you, endlessly fascinating.

For instance, the furrow on the businessman’s brow suggested he was late for work. The bruises on the boy’s body spoke of a heartwarming heroism, evident in the little girl beside him who thanked him ceaselessly (though, judging by his expression, he had definitely received an earful from his guardian). And the irritable old woman—well, she was quite clearly the one who had placed a zipper on the boy’s mouth.

What seemed forgettable to others was precious to you, and as long as there was company, you found solace.

But here, there wasn’t. Other than Caleb, of course. And unfortunately, you couldn’t exactly stare at him for the entire ride. You’d rather not resemble a mad doctor dissecting a newly discovered organism. Still, you couldn’t deny it—he was far more interesting than any stranger.

So, you stared at him anyway. Luckily for you, he didn’t seem to mind. Perhaps because he was too preoccupied, gazing out the transparent sheet of glass with a small smile on his lips. He seemed to be in a good state of mind. That was good. Otherwise, things had a slim chance of escalating into an argument. Nothing you couldn’t handle, just something you’d rather avoid. Or else, he’d pierce through your façade faster than you intended.

The doors slid open with a hiss. Beams of warm light spilled through, hitting your face and causing you to squint. The entryway, constructed of flimsy straw structures, was adorned with threads of vines creeping up and down the walls. Sunlight dripped through the holes in the patchwork roof, glinting cruelly beyond the tapestry, shining down with all its might—an act of savagery against your poor eyes. Thankfully, the vines shielded you from its full assault.

You tilted your head. A woman—uniformed, with a strict look on her face—stood beside the entrance with an immaculate posture. A familiar hat sat low on her head, guarding her eyes from both the intense heat and light. The utter lack of emotion in her gaze sent an involuntary shiver down your spine.

You glanced up at Caleb. He was unfazed by her presence, as if she were a mere colleague or a guard standing by. But she wasn’t the latter. You could tell by the uniform.

With your hand in his, he strode up to the woman. She offered a curt salute in response. “Colonel.”

“We would like to enter.” His voice was cold, a stark contrast to the way his thumb tenderly grazed over yours.

The woman turned to you. Her head tilted as she scrutinised you with a wary gaze. Then, she nodded. “Right this way.”

You were sure of it now. This was a private building, accessible only to high-ranking members of the Farspace fleet. You supposed such an arduous job had its benefits. Well, this was the least they could offer to those who put their lives on the line each day, fighting for yet more senseless bloodshed. This place was built upon a mixture of blood and sweat.

You grimaced. It felt wrong to stand upon this ground. If you squinted, you could see them—corpses strewn across the floor, brain matter splattered across the walls. Your stomach coiled. What a pathetic way to live—to be crowned in blood and sit upon a throne of bloodied cash, chest brimming with pride, belly full of greed, smirking down upon the famished.

You turned to face Caleb. You supposed he wasn’t too different from those people. And yet, you had forgotten all about it until now. He was truly a master at forging a harmless appearance, a welcoming front. Even now, a part of you refused to see him that way.

You supposed you were guilty as well. You had accepted your position as his plus-one without hesitation and accompanied him to such a place. It was hypocritical to persecute him while standing upon the faces of corpses, declaring yourself the selfless hero.

Such was the nature of humans.

The woman led you through the delicate gate. Caleb dragged you along. The first time you laid your eyes on the garden, your world stilled.

Words could not describe how breathtaking yet melancholic the sight before you was. If you were to attempt to jot it down on a piece of paper, you would be stuck on the first word. Unlike your initial beliefs, the botanical garden was not encased in glass. It should’ve been obvious from the torture you’d endured—the perpetrator being the sadistic, open sun. Maybe it was the awe of it all that heightened your perplexity.

The flowering meadows, the perfectly trimmed patches of fresh, green grass, the symmetrical, square-shaped ponds, the pair of birds feeding from the birdbath, the cascading artificial waterfalls—you didn’t know which one of them struck you the deepest. Or maybe it was the overly maintained religious sculptures—the one depicting a winged woman, angel or devil, with a honeycomb for her face—or the concerningly clean walkways, or the flawlessly aligned roses in the rose gardens that seemed a little too well-kept, stealing away the ‘wild’ and ‘natural’ vibe of your typical botanical garden.

The sky above was a whirlwind of blues, whites, subtle purples, and a dominant yellow-white. A soft breeze cascaded past, threading through the strands of your hair and dancing along your skin. It was cool and pleasant—perfectly so. Like the soft spring breeze that blows in February, or the afternoon wind at the shore of a river. It was just right. The perfect temperature to lull you to sleep.

Your mind winded back to the afternoons you spent with Caleb under your backyard’s willow tree. The breeze there would blow just as strikingly as it did here. Leaves would flutter down onto your face, only to be brushed aside by Caleb’s warm fingers. You would spend several hours lying there with him. Whether it was to complete your homework (of course, you slacked off and lured him into an endless chat instead) or flip through a book, he would always be there, brimming with that brotherly tenderness of his. It made up for your lack of a father figure in your life—Grandma Josephine being your only guardian.

Your heart ached at the memory. Maybe he hadn’t changed at all. Even then, Caleb harboured one major purpose—to protect what he loved, you, and to cherish it to the fullest. You had a hunch—what if that mysterious chip in his brain did not alter him entirely, but only heightened his preexisting instincts? But still. You found it hard to believe that the chip could truly rewire his brain so severely. You refused to believe such contraband existed. The mind is a fragile thing. It’s not so easy to suppress its power. Although all factual data pointed towards only a little portion of his brain remaining untouched, you firmly believed it was a front.

Maybe, among his emotions lay one that would be easy to utilise, to take control of and provoke so that he abided by their rules. And the only emotion so easy to manoeuvre—his only weakness—was his love for you. If you hadn’t been born…

“It’s… wow,” you let out an audible gasp. Your eyes twinkled with stars. On your heels, you spun around, imprinting every inch of the garden in your memory. Caleb didn’t need to be a genius to know that bringing you here was the best choice he had made in a long time. His grin mimicked yours. There was no use in asking whether you were enjoying the view or not—the way you frantically hopped about the place, skipping from pond to pond and observing the exotic birds from afar, told him everything.

With small, unhurried steps, Caleb approached you as you peeked at the pair of colourful birds drinking from the birdbath. “They’re raised here. I feed ’em sometimes.” He tucked a strand of loose hair behind your ear. “They’re friendly towards humans. Watch.”

He held out his right hand and approached the birds gingerly. The blue jay tilted its head to scan Caleb as he neared. As if recognising him immediately, it leapt onto his arm.

Using his other hand, he gestured for you to come. You approached with silent and hesitant steps. Once close enough, you reached up to touch the blue jay perched on his arm. You nearly jumped into a pond when the bird took off. Your cheeks flushed red, to which Caleb burst out guffawing.

“I forgot to mention—they don’t like being touched. Sorry, Pip!” he uttered between chuckles.

You gave him the meanest glare you could muster. “How very forgetful of you.” You brought an accusatory finger to point at his chest. “You did that on purpose, didn’t you?”

“Did I?”

“Yes, you did!”

The woman watching from afar could not help but smile at your meaningless banter.

You and Caleb lingered until the sun began to dip below the horizon, until the once-blue skies were replaced with a bright orange-red and purple. The clouds began to darken—the battle cry of an impending tempest. Or was it the coming of night? You didn’t know. Nonetheless, both of you refused to leave.

“The world looks so tiny from here.” You compared the size of the structures afar with your fingers. Your other hand gripped the railing for support. “I’m almost jealous. You get to come here every day.”

You mumbled, turning to face Caleb, who appeared entranced by the hues of the setting sun. A smile adorned your face. He looked so peaceful, so content. As if nothing had occurred in the past few months, as if it was still the two of you against the world. You yearned to breathe in his embrace once more, just like old times. You swallowed. You couldn’t afford that. The past was gone. Now, only the future awaited—a future that depended on your actions, your choices, and your diligence. You couldn’t back out now. You were too far in.

“Don’t you miss that Willow tree?” you started. “The big one in our backyard. We used to rest against the trunk on the grass.”

“Once, I had to save you from a grasshopper. It lunged at you from the grass, and you screamed like a child,” he laughed. “And afterwards, you ended up avoiding that place for two weeks.”

“I only went after you got rid of them.”

He nodded. “I sprayed the whole area with bug repellent—it killed some of the vegetation as well.”

You smiled at the memory. “Grandma was so mad at us.”

A comfortable quietude ensued, submerging you both into a peaceful state of mind. Then, Caleb spoke solemnly.

“I have patrol tomorrow.” The sun began to disappear below the horizon, leaving swipes of purple behind on the sky. Dark clouds converged. “I won’t be there for you, pip.”

“Truth be told…” You gazed up at the vanishing sun. “I have some work to do. I came here for a more peaceful and friendly working environment.”

“Then you can busy yourself with that. Just… don’t burn down my kitchen, yeah?”

You shot him a scheming grin, yet it held no bite. “When will you be back?”

“The day after. Not too long.”

You bit your lip. Couldn’t he have stayed for a day longer? You had to be quick on your feet, then.

“Did you think about it?” Caleb suddenly interrupted. The gears turned in your head. Your mind was brought back to the offer he’d made before you departed from Skyhaven the last time—“Why not live here? You have nothing left in Linkon city to return to. I can get you a position somewhere as a criminologist. You can return to doing what you loved.”

Your gaze returned to him. You hadn’t decided yet. Sure, it gave you quite a handful of opportunities to inspect his brain a little closer. But if your plan failed? You’d be stuck in Skyhaven. You were sure it wouldn’t, but…

You took the flesh of your mouth into your teeth. It wasn’t the time to doubt yourself. But that wasn’t the only concern in your mind. The thought of him bearing so much power over your life and your job put you at unease. It was risky. Terribly so. It made your advantages over him feel insignificant. No matter how passionate you were about your work, and no matter your love for him, you preferred your sanity and wellbeing over all.

You turned to Caleb with an apologetic smile. His eyebrows furrowed, and a flicker of disappointment crossed his face. “Sorry, Caleb. I’ve made some friends, and I’m happy with the quiet life I’ve managed to build for myself.”

You could sense his thoughts—“What life? That poor, miserable one devoid of my presence and protection?”—you were sure that was what’d crossed his mind at that moment. You could tell by the way his jaw was clenched and his muscles tightened. But at once, the solicitous façade returned, washing away every hint of dissatisfaction that’d dared to cross his face. “That’s all right. You’re free to change your mind whenever you wish.” You forced your lips into a tight smile in return. “I appreciate it.” A part of you winced at the sudden formality in your tones. For some reason, you loathed whenever he got serious. It frightened you somewhat.

“You know, pip-squeak,” Caleb mused, his voice light, casual. Unnervingly so. Something in your stomach coiled—that familiar feeling of dread and anticipation. “Something tells me you’re not here for relaxation.”

You stilled, only for a little while. But it was enough. His gaze sharpened. “Tell me.” His eyes bore into yours—calculating, scrutinising, leaving no stone unturned. As if you were the experiment, and he, the mad scientist. Something venomous swirled in his violet hues. Like a dagger, or like the teeth of a snake—sharp, ready to pierce skin, waiting.

Unreadable.

Bolts of lightning ripped through the skies, illuminating a part of Caleb’s face to highlight the utter insanity brewing beneath his irises. A strong, dusty wind blew, sending shivers down your spine—though, you were unaware whether they were from fear or the cold. So, it was an oncoming storm.

Your fingers curled against the railing. Your sweat seeped onto its surface. You hesitated.

“Caleb, that’s—” A soft voice murmured. You let out a breathless laugh, flustered. “You’re not wrong.”

The air between you stretched taut. He remained silent, unmoving. Once again, silence had engulfed you, but this time, it wasn’t pleasant. Like a watchful eagle, Caleb waited.

You brushed strands of hair away from your eyes and glued your eyes to the birds instead. “You know, lately, I’ve just—I’ve been thinking,” you let your words tremble, “I—I’m sorry…” You gripped your chest. “I’ve been thinking that, maybe…” You swallowed, lowering your gaze. Perfect.

You inhaled sharply. “You were right.”

His brow raised. He seemed hooked.

“I thought about what you said—about my security. And you’re right. Although I’ve trained in the police, my combat knowledge is minimal. Linkon city is becoming less safe by the second, especially for me.” You closed your eyes. “Assuming what you said was true, about several corporations being after my head—well, my heart, I just can’t help but feel unsafe. Even when surrounded by my friends, even in my own home.” Your lips quivered. He listened with immaculate patience, as if he were picking apart your words, searching for a hidden subtext. “And now, everybody seems like hollow, empty beings. I can’t resonate with my patients; I can’t have fun with my friends. I feel so… isolated. So alone. And I realised,” you continued, “that despite all, you on the other hand? You were always there for me. In my heart, by my side. I could truly only be safe and happy when with you.”

Silence. The only sound in the air was the crackling of thunder.

You chanced a glance at him, watching how his eye twitched. Had he caught on? Were you in trouble? Was he mad? Your anxiety peaked at the slow inhale as he prepared to speak.

But then, his eyes softened.

“You should’ve just said so.” His voice was gentle, lacking the malice it once had. “You know you can always turn to me for help, right?”

Bingo.

Inside, you smirked. It worked. He fell for it. How could he not? You had been preparing for ages.

You’d won your first challenge. Arguably, it was the toughest one. If you’d failed—if he’d caught on, or noticed even the smallest hint of it having been a lie, your entire world would’ve crumbled. All that you’d worked for, gone. Rendered meaningless by your incompetence. You didn’t know what you would do afterward if that were to happen.

You let yourself appear small and vulnerable when you looked back at Caleb, attempting to highlight the anxiety in your eyes. “I know. I was planning to say it, but a perfect moment never came. Until now, that is.”

Caleb brought his palm to your cheek and cradled your face in his arms. “You don’t need an excuse to be honest with me. Whenever you feel like it, just lay your heart bare.”

“But you seemed so happy. Like you were enjoying yourself. I didn’t want to ruin it with my embarrassing thoughts.” You argued, forcing a frown on your face. He shook his head. “Once you’re done, we can go straight back to having fun if that’s what you want. Besides,” he averted his gaze, “It’s been on my mind all day—why you could be pretendin’ when you could’ve just told me. I was wondering how bad it was for you to be hidin’ it from me so desperately.”

You assumed as much. Explains why he seemed so jumpy earlier during breakfast, and why he kept zoning out the entire way here. It was what gave you the idea of using such deceit in the first place. You were sure if there was a perfect place to confront you about it, it would be here; under the witness of the setting sun, in a place you were bound to feel sentimental and thus, vulnerable and ready to spill it all out.

Unfortunately, you were not willing to fall for such a clear trap.

By the time you had left, the downpour had begun. Weighted beads of water stormed down on you viciously. The two of you rushed out before the storm could catch you. Well, one of you did. Caleb, who so valiantly used himself to shield you against the relentless tempest, had been completely drenched. Blobs of water dragged along the floor as he walked. You swore, if you squeezed him then, a whole waterfall would erupt. It was almost sweet—the way he so earnestly utilised his behemoth of a body to block out the storm’s ceaseless assault. It was something straight out of a romantic drama, or some sort of cliché film. But for some reason, you couldn’t cringe. You only laughed it off, paying no mind to the gentle flutter in your stomach.

The drive home was thrilling—abundant with giggles and snarky remarks thrown around. Perhaps you were in a better mood because your stomach was full—Caleb had been kind enough to treat you to supper in a small café situated on the middlemost floor of that building. The chef’s culinary expertise overflowed from the arrangement of exquisitely prepared Skyhaven delicacies. And the best part? They were quite cheap. Had you received a discount in honour of his presence? You didn’t know. But at the very least, you didn’t go broke after insisting that you split the bill 50/50. Despite having dried off, however, Caleb somehow wetted the seats.

Once home, both of you almost immediately collapsed onto the couch (you threw him off, of course, for soaking the furniture with the remnants of his heroism). He scrambled out of his clothes and cooked you both a warm plate of braised chicken wings shortly after. Dinner ensued normally this time, with a dearth of odd flinches or averted gazes. The two of you simply chatted to your heart’s content, both putting in equal effort to make it seem as if old times had returned.

Of course, it hadn’t. You were thrust back into reality when Caleb’s phone began to ring.

With a sidelong glance, he excused himself, making haste to his room and shutting the door behind him. You eyed the door, moving only when you were sure it’d clicked shut. Tip-toeing over to the kitchen, you bent down to eye the compartments underneath. There it was. Unmistakable, concrete—a file of unknown origin adorned with a sleek grey cover. You glanced over the counter. He wasn’t done yet. Your attention travelled back to the file.

But you paused. Tremors rippled through you as you slipped the ring off your finger and dropped it to the floor. With a measured kick, you pushed it further beneath the counter. Just to be safe. In case you were caught.

You reached into the compartment. Your entire arm was swallowed by darkness before finally, your fingers met the file. Cautiously, you pulled it out. The layer of dust coating its surface sprang up to your face as you dusted it. You made an effort not to cough.

The file’s edges were worn. Yet the pages inside appeared to be relatively new and untouched, perhaps even well-kept. A plastic sleeve shielded the grey manila folder from all sorts of debris. The pages inside were laminated and contained bundles of new words and information foreign to you. The file’s contents overwhelmed you. They appeared to be gibberish, nonsensical.

You deftly skimmed through the first few pages. None of the information contained within them seemed worthy of noting. Not to you, at least. There didn’t appear to be anything you didn’t know and was not known by the public. Then why was he reacting so oddly back then? Why had he flinched? Why had his gaze travelled back to his lap—or more specifically, to this file, as he anxiously fiddled with his fingers? You’d lured him away on purpose—dragging him outside the moment he could’ve gotten a chance to remove the file before you could grasp it. Was it all for nothing, then? Were you mistaken?

You stilled.

You weren’t mistaken after all.

Your fingers hovered over the fifth page.

There, in big, bold letters, was your name.

Inscribed upon the laminated page. And beside that lay your picture, alongside a list of unremarkable data, such as your date of birth, full name, affiliation, and so on.

Before you could investigate further, a voice called out your name. You hadn’t heard the door creak open.

You peered up from beneath the counter. Caleb’s face was contorted with horror—his pupils contracted; his body frozen. The hand holding his phone to his ear dropped to his side. He began to stride toward you.

You shoved the folder lazily into the compartment once more, ensuring no sound was emitted in the process. Adopting the most nonchalant expression you could, you lifted your head to face him. “Caleb,” you called out, a small pout gracing your lips, “I can’t reach the ring.”

He stopped. The act seemed to have taken effect. He cocked his head, eyes bearing into yours, as if ripping apart your soul itself for a trace of a lie. But you weren’t intimidated by his silent interrogation. You held your resolve, maintaining the façade with determined accuracy. Gradually, Caleb’s impishness returned.

“Dropped it?”

He fell for it so flawlessly, it almost irked you that he hadn’t put up a bigger fight. You pouted internally. Could he not have pretended not to buy it? For the sake of the thrill? Oh, well. A win’s a win.

You nodded. “I can’t reach it. Can you help me?”

He hurried to your side and hunched over. You noted the way his eyes skimmed over the document tucked away in the depths of the compartment, right where he’d left it, before it went to the gap underneath the counter. The subtle glint of your ring confirmed your honesty. He raised his hand and twirled his fingers in the air. As if a gust of wind had carried it here, the ring smoothly levitated out of the darkness and onto the countertop. You shot him a sheepish smile before returning to your feet to collect the ring.

Just as you slipped it onto your finger, Caleb grasped your chin between his fingers and turned you to face him. His eyes bore an unnerving intensity as they skimmed over your face. Were you busted? Had he caught on? You didn’t let the quiver reach your lips. Instead, you donned a perplexed complexion as he whisked your head around.

Once satisfied, he released you from his grip and ruffled your hair. “Just checking if you’d gotten dust on you.” You rolled your eyes in response. “I’m not a child anymore!”

“Anyway, anything wrong? That call seemed important.” You caught him zoning out, staring into the distance. You waved your hand before his face. “Earth to Caleb?”

He straightened himself. “Not really. I just… might return home a little late tomorrow. And I gotta leave tonight.”

You frowned. He had the audacity to lie to your face, knowing you were skilled enough to penetrate through whatever front he puts up. Pushing it would only add to the uncomfortableness of it all, so you sealed your lips instead.

You whined, although it came out a bit prolonged, before swatting his arm weakly. “But you said…”

“I know,” he sighed, “But duty calls.”

“Tell you what?” He brushed a stray strand away and cradled your cheek. For a moment, he glanced to the side, lost in thought, before he looked back at you and continued, “I’ll make it up to ya once I’m back. But with that being said, don’t stay up too late tomorrow, yeah?” You pretended to be unmoved, but a part of you jumped at the mention of recuperation. You wondered what it would be. Food, perhaps? Or maybe tickets to that movie you’d been dying to watch? Whatever it was, you couldn’t deny it enlivened you.

Caleb seemed to have noticed the somersaults you did, and the way you skipped around with joy behind those eyes. He smirked. “I’ll be leaving now. Get some rest. I’m sure you’re tire—achoo!” He hastily covered his mouth with his arm. Another sneeze. And another.

You narrowed your eyes and folded your arms over your chest. “Are you sure you won’t catch a cold? Although you probably already have…” you muttered the last part under your breath.

Caleb waved his arm dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll be—” And another. “Yeah. Anyways, as I was saying, go to bed on time, alright?”

You shook your head, as if disheartened by his juvenile behaviour. “Alright. But, at least take some medicine or something. It’ll probably be one long night.”

When Caleb had left, the tempest roared at its prime. Despite having handed him two umbrellas, a string of worry coiled in your chest. Could he fend off against the raging winds that thumped against the sliding glass doors of the balcony and threatened to knock them over? No matter how strong a man, he was deemed fragile and brittle against the forces of nature. What if an uninvited bolt of electricity had happened to fall upon him as he walked? Was he even walking? You hoped not. At least vehicles were designed to protect people from lightning.

In the end, the quietude proved to be quite pleasant. You could immerse yourself in re-studying Harrison’s case without the fear of Caleb barging in and catching you red-handed.

You managed to skim over quite a lot of pages before hunger struck. Glancing up at the clock, the realisation dawned upon you that you had been at it for more than two hours. But it was a productive two-hour session with yourself, you’d say. But there were obstacles, nonetheless. As you’d suspected, Roan’s problematic behaviour had a completely different source from what you’d suspected Caleb’s to be. He acted on paranoia and insecurity, whereas Caleb seemed more insistent on the idea of protection. Roan’s obsession blinded his wit and caused him to act on impulse.

The kidnapping of Anne Lotte, although seemingly flawless, was conducted on a whim. Harrison executed his plan with merely a gun, a bundle of ropes, and some chloroform to sedate her. The alley Anne happened to be crossing through had no cameras, and as it was a secluded shortcut few were aware of, there were no passers-by to witness the crime. Nobody had gotten injured, thanks to Harrison’s prior police training, so there was no blood or evidence to be picked up. All other proof happened to be washed away by the rain shortly after.

From this timeline of events, it was clear that Harrison had gotten away with Anne’s kidnapping simply because of luck. If the stars hadn’t aligned during his sudden state of paranoia, Anne would be alive and well now. What an unlucky girl she was. It was almost as if fate had abandoned her.

Harrison had strength, but he was dim. That was what caused the inevitable discovery of Anne stashed away in his basement. Caleb, on the other hand, possessed both. Throughout high school, he had topped you almost constantly. No matter how hard you studied, no matter how many all-nighters you’d pulled, he would somehow manage to top you with a mere four or five hours of study before an examination.

You admit, you were envious of him throughout most of your teenage years, and you were appalled when he’d decided to tread a completely different academic path from yours. But nowadays, looking back, you realise that the only reason he’d made such an effort to conquer you was to be a reliable pillar of support if you were to falter. Which, inevitably due to the gallons of caffeine and hours’ worth of lost sleep, you did. Another irksome consequence of his undying affection that you had to suffer.

Even now, his wits and manipulation are clear. You were sure nobody rose to the rank of Colonel so swiftly without possessing immense intelligence. Caleb’s puppy eyes weren’t going to fool anyone. Not you, at least. They couldn’t hide the terrifyingly adept brain that lay beyond them.

Anne’s decline in mental well-being was predetermined. It was part of Harrison’s flawed plan all along. His insecurity left little room for actual care and affection to be expressed towards her, and as a result, he determined that breaking her resolve would be the surest way of ensuring submission. Of course, that did backfire for him. It led to her malnutrition, forecasted miscarriages, and her eventual suicide. Although you had no sure way of knowing what Caleb would’ve done, you were sure it wasn’t this.

Someone like him could predict such an outcome from a mile away. Breaking somebody’s mind, in this case, would be a reckless decision. And most importantly, his fatal flaw is that he loves too dearly and cares too much to be able to leave someone he admires to fend for themselves as he relentlessly shatters their psyche. He is too infatuated for that. His obsession stemmed from a desire to protect, not meaningless paranoia like Harrison’s. That explains why he would be unwilling to lay a finger on them.

And, of course, Caleb was a “manipulation>direct action” type of man. He had expressed his twisted desires to keep you confined and unable to flee once before, as he had been bandaging up your injured leg. But you were confident that his idea of confinement exists in a psychological state. He would bind your mind and heart to him, maneuver you to fall deeper into a psychical trap you could not escape. He would never directly imprison or confine. He would rewire your brain so that you willingly stuck yourself to him. It was a legal way to get what he wanted. And you didn’t doubt he could pull it off.

However, one thing to note was that he needed motive—proof that you were slipping from his grasp. As long as you remained on good terms, or pretended to, he would not need to resort to such methods.

Maybe.

Despite the dissimilarities, you were sure you could learn more to be able to counter his blows if he were to ever make some. But your main priority was still to cleanse his mind, to provide him with an opening to redeem himself and return to his normal life once more. Never mind your intentions. The contrast between their insanities led you to notice some peculiar things.

You turned to one of the back pages of your book and began scribbling down your thoughts.

Harrison and Caleb were merely two sides of the same coin. A cerberus with two heads. One who is impulsive, led on by rage and desire, and the other that is intelligent, driven by his loyalty to his master. But in the end, the cerberus is one complete being. If you split it in half, it will not regenerate like dividing cells. It will simply perish together. After all, both are two extremes.

Meaning if a lack of foresight could tackle one, then the other would fall for his over-calculation of things. They were both arrogant and full of themselves, believing only themselves and their strategies to be correct. In the end, they couldn’t see the 48 other heads lodged between the two—48 other ways to be “correct”.

The impulsive head aches to swallow his prey, to make incisions within his heart and stash them away in one of its chambers. And the cunning head too cuts, not his heart, but his lover’s brain, and detangles the strands only to twist them again, only this time in a way that would make them willing to stay. Resorting to such cruel yet more humane tactics implies that the fear of losing their treasure was rooted far more deeply in the intelligent cerberus rather than the dim one.

And what if fear is not another vulnerability to control?

Whereas Harrison is abundant in paranoia and insecurity, Caleb is almost wholly dominated by the extremity of positive emotions like love, care, and an overwhelming desire to protect. His unwillingness to hurt means that if you were to show even a single crack in your mind, the fear of you crumbling would force him to loosen his grip almost entirely, given that his side of the mind games had already begun. That would create the perfect opening for you to slip past and dash out to meet your freedom.

All you had to do was put on one more act.

Harrison’s impulsiveness, contrasting Caleb’s preparedness, also let you peer into another opening. If you continued to think of them as two sides of the same coin, then you could come upon this conclusion—if Harrison had a breaking point, so did he.

Harrison’s inevitable downfall and his psychological abuse of Anne was set into motion when the thought bit into his brain, whispering—“If you don’t tighten the leash, she will run away.” It was safe to assume that Caleb too had a breaking point. It was simply harder to reach. One side of the coin was made of bronze, whereas the other was constructed of tungsten. Both could melt, just at different speeds.

If you could provoke him up to that point, Caleb would be forced to reveal his hand. But, admittedly, picturing what could happen if he snapped was… unsettling. Precisely because you couldn’t picture it at all.

And thus, that would remain something you would try if you couldn’t get him to falter at all. A last resort, to be more specific.

And now, with your acquired information, you could weave your final plan: if he tried something anyway, you could paint a front of danger, as if his ‘advances’ and whatnot had thrown you into a state of endangerment, and if he didn’t back away immediately, it may cost him (and you) something precious. Whether it be your life, blood, or sanity, he cared too much not to abort instantaneously. Unlike Harrison, he wouldn’t act blindly—he’d justify his actions. If you could provide real consequences (consequences that mattered to him), you could alter his idea of justifications and compel him to rationalise his actions differently.

And how, exactly, would you achieve that? Well, that was something to figure out along the way. That was your motto—have a vague, surface-level plan, and build upon it as you go. If you had a solid, fool-proof plan, you wouldn’t have searched for information after arriving in Skyhaven.

To be honest with yourself, your knowledge on Caleb’s behaviour and your predictions on what may have happened next were minimal; certainly not enough to conclude that you were in any real danger, and certainly not enough to deduce that your initial assumptions could be utilised to orchestrate a surefire way of taking him down. You suppose you had to spend more time with him to come to a real conclusion. Of course, that wouldn’t be too easy, considering that you’d purposefully invaded at a time where he’d be busy juggling you and his duties simultaneously. You had your reasons. The perfect time to strike was when a man’s back was faced to you, and he was too busy with the happenings before him to notice the footsteps creeping up on him from behind. In short, right now, he was vulnerable. If he found out you were up to something, he would be too exhausted to think straight and thus he would falter. If you face an enemy far stronger than you, wear them down first, and then strike when they are on the verge of tears.

The real problem right now was how you could feign being endangered. For now, you’d come up with a few ways. Perhaps a more logical approach would be best for a start.

Skyhaven’s weather seemed mostly untouched. Save for yesterday’s storm, it remained relatively stable. With clear, cloudless skies, splashed with a unique blue, it was perfect weather—perfect air. Too perfect. Maybe the storm from yesterday lingered somewhere beneath the blues. It had to be. Nothing is truly calm—especially not here.

“Beautiful, isn’t it, Rhys?” you hummed. A flock of black ravens flitted past your window. The bitter scent of unbrewed coffee beans drifted in the café’s air. It was a scent you’d grown to admire. The perfect place to work, really. It opened your mind (and mouth) wide enough to effectively scribble away at one of your flimsy journals, analysing some patients’ consciousnesses or just gathering your thoughts. But today, you weren’t here for work.

“Probably because we’re so high up,” Rhys grinned, flashing his braced teeth. He was a tall man of dark complexion with thin brown hair kissing his shoulders. Rhys Vaughn—one of the few patients you’d reviewed in Skyhaven, involved with your limited history here. He used to be a drug addict and had nearly run over a child while stoned. To his luck, the child managed to escape mostly unscathed save for a broken limb, and thus, he got off with a relatively lighter charge. He was placed under your care while serving time in prison. Eventually, after a period of two years, you’d managed to lure him into making a full recovery. Now, he appeared before you, a new, clean man with a loving wife. But, above all, working with Rhys had one sure advantage—he was quite talented in the art of gathering information.

In his line of work as a technician, Rhys was required to have some basic computing skills. As a result, he’d undergone several computer science courses online, and he completely aced them. The coding shenanigans that couldn’t penetrate through your thick skull passed through his as if tearing through paper. He was skilled in what you were not; practical work. If there was anyone to call for some ethical hacking and information digging, it would be him. To Rhys, asking him to dig up information was the same as asking him to pass you the remote from across the room. You could put those skills to use.

“How’s your wife?” you gingerly sipped your coffee.

“She’s good. Hit a milestone in her art.”

“And you? How are you feeling?”

Rhys chuckled. “Still playing psychotherapist, miss?”

You shook your head with a sheepish smile. “Force of habit, you know? Can’t take my mind off work.” You waved your hand dismissively. “Really, though, how are you? Answer the question viewing me as… a friend.”

“I’m doin’ great!” He raised his hands dramatically in a gesture of joy. “Not delirious all day, actually sane and stable, able to keep relationships and eat something other than scrawny prison food. Yeah, couldn’t have been better.”

You smiled. Genuinely. “Good to know.”

Knowing your patient had achieved happiness fulfilled your purpose as both a psychotherapist and a human. Your mind recalled a skinnier Rhys sitting across from you on a long, white couch, lacking the sun in his eyes, which he now had multiple of, swirling about in his pools of bronze. His eyes back then; they were empty. He appeared a lifeless man with mould growing out of the pores of his skin. And now, he was here, sitting across from you, helping you just as you had helped him two years ago. It was a motherly pride that filled your chest, cascading through your nerves like a warm, sweet liquid. You couldn’t be happier.

“Anyway, what ya here for?”

You placed your hand under your chin and turned to look out the window.

“I remembered what you said, Rhys.”

He cocked an eyebrow and peered at you from over his cup as he sipped. You took it as a sign to continue. “You mentioned once that you owe me one, and that if I ever find myself in a stump in Skyhaven, I could call for you.”

“So,” he added a packet of sweetener into his coffee, “You want to take me up on that offer now? I thought you’d forgotten about me.” His countenance twisted to display mock hurt. “All right. I’m just playing. What’s it about?”

“I recently managed to earn myself a boyfriend,” you started, although cringing internally, “And I happen to doubt his mental well-being.”

Rhys kicked back on the plush of the chair. He’d figured it out already, you were sure, but you went on anyway.

“We just got together about 6 months ago. So, it’ll be hard to know enough to be able to help him.”

“So you want me to dig up some information about him?” He leaned closer. “What kind?”

“He’s an orphan. Doesn’t have family, pretends with his friends. But there are a few people he seemed close to. Some workers, mailmen, plumbers, you know. Those types of people I can never seem to get a hold of.”

“Should I fetch their contacts?”

“No.” You winced at the finality of your words. “I mean, yes, but not just that.”

Rhys cocked an eyebrow. An amused smirk crossed his face. Had he caught your lies?

“It’d be convenient if you could search for his transactions with them. Their backgrounds, history, et cetera. I have some… other doubts as well.”

With a large gulp, Rhys slurped up his coffee and wiped his face with a napkin. Only silence swayed between you two as he took his time to reply. He wasn’t thinking. Certainly not. But he lingered, nonetheless.

He knew, for sure.

“You know, little miss, I don’t know why you feel the need to fabricate when you know I don’t hesitate to dirty my hands.”

You glued your eyes to your lap.

“I owe you. And even if you asked me to kill a man, I’d do it.”

You let out a shaky exhale. “If I were still your therapist, I’d be scribbling on my notebook right now. But, considering I’m in a pinch, I’ll let it slide.” You smiled. “I appreciate your help, Rhys, and your respect for my privacy. I will forever be indebted to you.”

He swatted his hand about mindlessly. “Yeah, yeah. A name, please.” He slid you a slip of paper.

You plucked a pen from your coat and jotted down Caleb’s name before passing it across the table. Taking it between his fingers, Rhys eyed the name. He lingered there for a beat too long. Something was up. Your suspicions only spiked with the subtle twitch of his finger. A light of recognition crossed his bronze irises before fading just as swiftly. In a flash, his grin returned, and he pocketed the slip of paper before springing to his feet. “All right. Tomorrow, I’ll text you with whatever I find.”

You lowered your head. “Again, thank you.”

That night, Caleb returned late. Uninjured, thankfully, but acting odd nonetheless. In his hands, a small bag was clutched. You recalled his words—“I’ll make it up to you.”—and it took a lot for you to resist leaping from the couch and snatching the bag from his hands. What stopped you, aside from the fear of appearing awfully juvenile, was the exhaustion etched into his face.

When his eyes met yours, however, his complexion brightened immediately. Still clad in his uniform, Caleb kicked off his boots and strode towards you. A weariness weighed his movements. The strongest man you’d ever seen, both physically and mentally—your pillar of strength—stumbled across the room like a golden puppy dragging its injured leg along the floor, wagging its tail and paying no mind to its pain. You felt stabbed in the chest. For a man of such power, he could be absolutely endearing at times.

“Miss me, pip?” Caleb leaned down to ruffle your hair affectionately. You shut off your phone to smile at him. Your eyes enlarged as his familiar face appeared before you, but a frown tugged at your lips at the dark stains under his eyes. You reached your hand out to caress the blackened bags of flesh.

“You didn’t sleep.”

He cradled your face in turn. “Neither did you.” A flick to your forehead caused a pout to form on your face.

“I wasn’t working my ass off.”

“And I was. I know. I’m sorry.” He set his colonel cap on your head. The accessory dwarfed your skull, sinking down until it obscured your vision. Caleb stifled a laugh at the sight.

He noted the way your eyes drifted to the bag in his hand—the bag that was coated with crimson and shiny gold accents, which gave away very little about its contents. Sensing your curiosity, he handed the bag to you.

“The lady asks, and I deliver.” He bowed curtly. You both broke into merry laughter.

Stashed away in the depths of the tiny bag was a rectangular velvety jewellery case, coloured similarly to the bag, down to the gold accents. The mere surface of the case seemed extravagant enough to satisfy your greed even in the absence of the jewellery itself. You stared in awe. Were you truly deserving of the real gem hidden inside? Your fingers traced the engraving on the case’s surface. A remarkable brand. There was a lump gathering in your throat. It felt sacred to hold something so precious, so expensive. You were no high priestess or beloved queen—not worthy enough to clutch a revered artifact. And yet, Caleb’s eyes bore into yours with a gentleness that could bring you to tears. And it did. You felt tears threatening to form. You were sure he noticed.

A sudden wave of guilt knocked the wind out of your lungs. Just hours before, you’d been conspiring against him, digging up information that could potentially be labelled as an invasion of one’s privacy, and threading together a plan that was catered to go against him, to take him down. You knew you weren’t doing anything wrong. You were helping him. Guiding him to a path of happiness, just as you did with your patients, just as you did with Rhys.

Just as you would have with Harrison and Anne.

If only your incompetence hadn’t gotten them killed, they could walk their own paths today. You closed your eyes. An image flashed before you. A flimsy blonde girl with scars littering her arms, crossing a bridge, heading towards a field of flowers with her dead child clutching her hand. And a battered older man going the opposite way—a path towards a blinding light, the path to redemption.

You wouldn’t let it happen again.

There was nothing to be guilty of. Your fingers curled tighter against the fabric of your pants. There was nothing to be guilty of. You weren’t in the wrong. This was for the greater good. They’d understand. They surely would, once they realised that the path you chose for them was a more tranquil one.

But did you risk losing yourself in the process?

“Not going to open it? Your head’s been stuck in the clouds for about thirty seconds now.” Caleb loosened his tie before seating himself next to you. “Something on your mind? Is the casing not to your liking?”

You shook your head. “I’m just… you’re exhausted beyond belief right now, and you went through all that trouble… I don’t deserve this.” You frowned. “I’m so sorry for making you ‘make up’ to me. I didn’t know you’d go that far, I—”

Strong arms coiled around you, drawing you in. You felt the steady, yet surprisingly slow beats of his heart from where you were nestled against his chest. Fingers wove through your hair, offering a sense of solace you hadn’t felt in a while. With a low, careful tone, he whispered. His lips brushed against your ear. “Don’t say anything.”

And you obeyed.

For a moment, you remained steady. Silent. Your lips were pursed, and your heart beat fast—a stark contrast to his. You sank deeper into his embrace. Your grip faltered, and you eventually gave in to his presence entirely. Your body slumped against his, but he seemed to have no trouble bearing your weight. For a moment, you considered letting the tears flow. But a part of you clawed against the muscular wall of your heart in retaliation, screeching in protest. Something screamed danger, despite you being the safest you’d ever been right now.

With steady arms, Caleb brought your palm, which was weakly clutching the jewellery case, to your chest. “I had this ordered for months. I was just waiting for the right moment to pick it up. So,” with his other hand, he tousled your hair, “Don’t think you were a bother. And honestly? I can’t name a single woman more deserving of this than you.”

A faint blush coated your cheeks. But you shook it off before he could see. Renewed courage surged through you, and your fingers made their way to the hook of the case.

Carefully, you slid it open.

A white gleam.

There, perched amidst the plush, was a delicate, thin bracelet made of what appeared to be sterling silver. The chain itself was of a unique geometric design consisting of circles, ovals, and a myriad of shapes you couldn’t name. The expert craftsmanship showed in the presence of the bracelet’s seamless links and its shiny, polished clasp. You ran your fingers over the chain. The material was smooth, devoid of bumps or rough edges—things you’d usually find in low-quality bracelets.

You remembered complaining to him once how half of your bracelets used to dig into your skin, to which he’d reply with a smile, “One day, you won’t have to wear uncomfortable jewellery.” Back then, you’d brush it off with a “Oh, that day better come soon!”. But now, considering the significant amount of effort put into smoothing the surface, you wondered if this was what he truly meant.

The primary point of attraction, however, lay not in the bracelet’s gleam or smoothness, but in the moderately sized white gemstone hanging from it—a gorgeous pendant.

You opened your mouth, but no words came. Caleb chuckled. “White sapphire.”

You pressed your lips into a thin line. What could you say? You were surprised your jaw wasn’t kissing the floor by now.

Speechless, you ran your fingers along the gemstone. It weighed a bit more than you’d expected—an insignificant difference, really, but notable nonetheless. Perhaps it was pure. If that was the case, then it didn’t help with your simmering guilt.

“Here,” Caleb snatched the jewellery from your fingers, “Let me help you with that.”

Deftly, he slid the bracelet down your wrist and clasped the hook. You raised your arm, watching as the white sapphire that dangled from the thin chain glittered beneath the pencils of light. Your lips parted in awe.

“Promise me,” your attention shifted to Caleb as he brought your jewelled wrist to his chest, “That you won’t take this off.”

“Like how you’re glued to that dog tag I gave you?” You giggled. His lips curled into a soft smile. “If that’s how you want to put it.”

“Okay.” You placed your free palm atop his. “I promise, I’ll cherish this forever.”

“If you don’t, I’ll be really hurt.” He feigned a pout. But the yearning in his eyes was real.

You shook your head. “You’re impossible.”

“I know.” Caleb brought your palm against his face, sinking into your warmth. You stilled for a moment. This was way too intimate. But the guilt glued you in place, restricting you from moving away. Or was it his endearing affection? Nonetheless, pulling away felt like a crime. He’d handed you such a priceless treasure; could you not indulge him for a moment and let him bask in your radiance?

You choked back the sinking feeling in your gut to let him have his way with your arm. He was acting like a starved puppy. Cute, yes, but a little overbearing and unsettling. Almost as if the puppy brushing up against you had blood smearing its teeth. Of course, it was just your paranoia, and nothing was really there.

Nothing visible, at least.

In spite of your passionate protests, Caleb insisted on whipping up a late-night snack for you. And so, you were practically forced into your seat on the counter as you were made to watch him scurry through the kitchen. The heated pot sizzled in objection to the cold oil poured onto it. You’d made up your mind to just observe as he worked, in case you could find an opening or an excuse to help, but you were distracted by a notification on your phone.

Rhys.

You looked up at Caleb. He appeared too deeply immersed in his cooking to notice the small ding of your phone. Bringing the device under the shade of the counter, you opened your chat with Rhys.

“Miss, this is important.”

Your brow furrowed. “Found anything?”

“Well, yes. A few things. But first, I think I really gotta come clean with this.”

You silently typed out a reply. “Go on.”

“That guy? Caleb Xia? I know him.”

You froze, fingers hovering over your keyboard. Rhys continued typing.

“I worked for him in the past. He needed something installed in his home. I was the one who took up the job.”

“Install what?”

“Cameras.”

A void formed in your stomach. A sudden chill enveloped the air. You shivered involuntarily. Cameras. He had cameras in his house. Your head whipped about the room, scouring every wall and every corner for a hint of something that could be labelled as a camera. Something prickled the skin on the back of your neck. Caleb’s back was turned to you. But still, you felt something watching you from the shadows.

Paranoia. You couldn’t let it consume you.

“I found it odd back then,” Rhys continued, “He had it installed in his rooms. The bedrooms,” You studied Harrison’s case in one of them, “The living room, the hallways.” Dread crippled into your being. It was as if someone had thrown a pebble across a calm pond, causing violent ripples to tear through the once-steady surface.

“And also,”

He paused.

“The kitchen.”

A clot. In your throat. Your lungs constricted.

He knew.

Caleb knew.

That you’d stumbled across that document.

Images of a collected Caleb smiling down at you as you knelt against the counter resurfaced in your brain. The way he so nonchalantly fetched the ring for you, the act he’d put on just now. The act you’d believed.

You gazed down at the white bracelet clasped around your wrist. What used to be a remarkable work of superior craftsmanship transformed into a heavy chain made to tether you to him. ”I promise, I will cherish this forever.” You really were going to throw up.

With shaky hands, you shut your phone. Your eyes returned to the bracelet.

It wasn’t a gift. It was an anchor to bind you to him. To trick you into forming a vow you couldn’t break.

Shit.

You walked right into a trap.

Blind and oblivious. A moth to a flame.

The circular kitchen lights buzzed overhead. A flicker of light flashed past the window—a ghastly apparition, watching. You whipped your head towards it in an attempt to catch it before it fled. There was nothing. Were you seeing things? Paranoia. It was simply your fear—your body preparing itself to become hyper-aware of its surroundings. A consequence of the natural fight or flight response. You were paranoid. You were aware. But that didn’t help how every shadow felt darker, how every corner untouched by the kitchen’s dim light seemed to host an entity.

Your whole time here, you were being watched. How much had he seen?

“You seen a ghost?”

It took every bit of your strength to not leap off your seat. You looked up at him, then eyed the plate nestled in his palm. It was hard to trust him right now.

Under the faint light, half of Caleb’s face remained shrouded in an ominous shadow. His violet hues gleamed from beneath the darkness menacingly as they peered down at you. Beyond the cloak of darkness, however, his countenance seemed normal.

But you couldn’t shake the dread off.

An invisible shiver tiptoed down your spine. You forced a smile. “I got startled by the flash of lightning.”

“It’s stormin’?”, he placed the plate down on the counter before turning to the large windows. “Again?” A bolt of electricity ripped through the sky. Caleb turned to you with a smirk. “Still afraid of thunder, pip-squeak?”

Afraid of you., you wanted to say, but you bit your lip. It was best you avoid giving him reasons to put a collar on you. For now, you had to stay low.

“I’m not.” You huffed, folding your arms over your chest. A forced blush crept up your neck. “I’m just… anyway, the food looks amazing!” You swiftly snatched the dish from his hands, leaving him slightly dumfounded as he lingered where the dish once was. With the help of his evol, Caleb pushed a pair of utensils your way. You were glad you suppressed the flinch that threatened to ripple through you. For the first time in your life, his evol terrified you.

The bed groaned under your weight as you suspended yourself entirely onto it. The mattress dipped beneath you. Even his bed, which, to you, had once been the comfiest bed in the anthropology of beds, felt like a cage. You could feel metallic tendrils crawling from beneath it, wrapping over your form as you slept, encasing you like a cocoon would. Perhaps that’s all you were to Caleb. A butterfly, useful only for its grace and the tranquility it brought. Meant to be wrapped away in a cocoon and let out only when it bloomed. The part of you bound to your profession begged to differ—clearly, that was not the case. Clearly, his feelings ran deeper than that. A complex tapestry of twisted adoration, infatuation, and perhaps even hatred or rage.

But that didn’t stop your feelings from thrashing about in a frenzy, did it?

It’s a simple truth. Many, if not all, of the patients you reviewed struggled with something similar to it. Their brains were aware of the truth, but their hearts refused to comply. It was a plague, killing them from the inside. Their loved ones resorted to presenting the truth before them. And their brains knew, lodging the processed data as it normally did. But the heart is a stubborn thing. Some things it refuses to accept.

At this point, you would become the patient.

A part of you urged yourself to bash your head against the wall for not predicting such a bold move on his end sooner. You were close to figuring it out. A part of the reason why you’d always gone to the bathroom to change included this subtle feeling of being watched. So, with your hands still gripping the ends of your shirt, you kicked open the bathroom door and changed there instead. You were glad you’d done that, of course, but you couldn’t hate yourself more for not pondering a second longer on the feeling of being watched. If you had, you were confident you’d have figured it out before he could notice. You were supposed to be ahead of him.

You were about to reopen the chat, but the sensation of a chilling pair of eyes drilling into your head halted your decision. The bedrooms also had cameras. But where? And how good was their image quality? Could he have read the contents of your journal, perchance? Could he see your chat even from up there? Your initial thought was to position yourself away from the camera. Find a blind spot, maybe. But all those ideas were rendered useless considering you were unaware of its position.

You could open your phone and check for any flashes of red or purple from infrared LEDs, which would most definitely be present assuming the cameras were equipped with night vision. But committing to such a dumb move would expose your knowledge of his ‘control’. You were sure twirling about the room in the dark with your phone’s camera on would leave no room for assumptions. What excuse would you bring? That you were so awe-struck by the lack of artistic interior design in Caleb’s room that you felt tempted to record it all and store it on your ‘top-10 things to not do while constructing a home’ list? Yeah, no. He would figure you out faster than Rhys had in the café.

You didn’t want to imagine what would happen next.

So, you resorted to the last thing you could think of.

You reached for a thin blanket and threw it over yourself. Protection. He couldn’t see what you were up to, even if he tried. And what excuse did one need to huddle up under a blanket?

You switched your phone open and scrolled through the messages you couldn’t read.

“I’d gotten it done a few days ago.” Right before your arrival at Skyhaven. He gauged your intentions so swiftly. A chill ran down your spine. You couldn’t tell whether it was from the storm’s frosty wind.

“Pretty high-tech stuff. With night vision and all. It was odd. I should’ve questioned it. But it wasn’t any of my business. So I left it.”

“I did some digging on his background. And, miss, I have to ask you—are you aware of his profession?”

You sighed, threading your hair through your fingers. You hadn’t asked him to dig up dirt on that matter.

“I’m not sure if I should be telling you, but—”

“I know,” you typed back. “I know about it very well.”

“I’m not sure if I should be getting involved in this. Surely, you understand?”

He knew too much. And for that, you had to let him go. Even if he hadn’t approached you first. You’d have to. Because honestly, you were scared of what that man could do. Scouring any further would prove risky for him. The last thing you wanted to do was put a man happily living his married life in inconceivable danger for the sake of your selfish desires. It was a cruel thing to do. Although you’d technically used him, it was your last wish to be selfish.

“I understand. I’m sorry for getting you caught up in this. Should I pay you for your troubles?”

“No need for that. I barely did anything. But, I will tell you this.”

You watched as the three small dots enlarged and shrank as he typed.

“Recently, some personnel were recruited under his command to be appointed to more general tasks. That’s the most I can tell you. Searching any further’s gonna cost me my head.”

You didn’t push Rhys any further. You thanked him for his service and were about to log off when he sent one last text message.

“Little miss, I know you’re determined in whatever you’re tryna do. But please. For your sake, leave Skyhaven and forget about this.” You gripped your phone a little tighter. Exhaling shaky breaths, you shuffled under the blanket. You knew Rhys was right, and that he only spoke from a place of genuine care and respect. You knew you should’ve taken his advice and ended your vacation here. But you couldn’t. Not when you’d gotten so far. You were too deep into this. You were sure that Caleb wouldn’t let you leave either—he was (most likely) aware that you’d stumbled upon that document. Whatever it was, it wasn’t something he wanted you to see. And he wasn’t going to let you flee so easily after unearthing such a disastrous secret of his.

But you had to say, he needed to practice being discreet more often.

“Protect yourself. If things go south, you can’t escape. The whole of Skyhaven is controlled by his fleet.”

You sighed. There was nothing to say to that. But you were sure it wouldn’t come to you having to physically run from the authorities and escape the land in secrecy. Physical restriction was something Caleb couldn’t bring himself to do, even if he was injected with all the liquid courage in the world. His care for you ran too deep, even if he had mentioned it in a fit of rage. You’d defend that belief with your life.

Why were you defending him again? Oh, well.

But if it came to mentally detaching yourself from him, well, that… you weren’t so sure. It just so happened that you’d been so full of yourself before arriving here that you’d completely forgotten to ponder the possibility of having to flee on short notice. Simply put, if worst came to worst, you had no plan to save yourself.

You agreed that Caleb did have influence. And, unfortunately, that could often overpower the authority over one’s mind and heart. After all, the realm we truly resided in was the physical realm, not the psychical one. If anything were to bind you in the physical world, you couldn’t escape from it even in your mind. In other words, you’d be trapped here, body and soul.

“Don’t worry,” you lied, “I have it under control.”

And with that, you ended your conversation with Rhys.

It was only a matter of awaiting the occurrences of tomorrow now. You wondered what the weather would be like the next day. Would it storm again? Or would Skyhaven finally see an endless period swarmed by the warm west breeze? The only thing you could do was close your eyes and wait and see.

Except, you couldn’t sleep.

Three hours had passed as you rolled about on the large contemporary bed, making a sleepless mess of yourself. You winced at the way your hair clung to your head, warm and sticky. Like lukewarm goo. You twirled a lock on your index, only to be surprised at the absence of the goo you were picturing. Were you imagining things? Nonetheless, your body ached for a good, cold shower. You switched your phone open to check the time. 4 AM. Oh, well. What better place was there to collect your thoughts than under the sprinkle of an artificial shower?

You hugged yourself a little tighter as the cold beads of water commenced their assault on your head and dripped down your sides. You trembled heavily, but you let yourself do so. It was the collection of your fear from the past few days bolting out of your body at once. Finally, you could let out the shaky breaths you’d been withholding. It was only within the confines of enclosed foggy glass and under a gentle spray that you could truly let yourself loose and breathe freely once more.

People underestimate how arduous it is to put up fronts. Acting wasn’t easy. Especially when your life practically depended on it. It was like waltzing through a stage, but instead of expectant guests and observers anticipating your fall, there were 500 archers and the world’s best snipers aiming for your head, all while you were bound not to break your dance. Put on a show and attempt to please your pursuers. The chance of failure was almost certain. Even the best of dancers and actors fail to escape such a scenario.

And that was the gamble you were willing to take—fighting; no, dancing for the nonexistent chance that you may save your head, all in the sake of helping somebody you found yourself caring for a lot more than you were willing to.

Your eyes trailed to the bracelet resting near the sink. When he had handed you that gift, you felt… truly happy. A feeling you hadn’t felt before. Like your heart had burst open, and a myriad of colours had strewn out in a frenzy. Like your skeleton had been immersed in warm pond water, and a flock of underwater lilies caressed your skin.

For the first time in a long while, you felt as if you were needed for a cause beyond that of your profession.

That you mattered to him as much as your patients did to you, or perhaps even more. In his eyes, you could see a care that extended beyond what you could comprehend. A desire to keep you close and by his side, basking in your warmth forever.

A long time ago, you’d frozen your heart.

All because you believed there was no place in this world for your emotions.

To be someone else’s haven, you had to forsake your own.

The moment Caleb had handed you that bag, you felt as if your life had gained a new meaning. In the end, you were just a girl like all others, and he had made you embrace that.

For a moment. Only for a moment.

Because now, the silver you once admired reminds you of the silver of a chain. The chain was thin and fine, for it was not made to restrain you, but to help you grow accustomed to the existence of a shackle on your mind. It was suffocating to wear it. But a part of you wondered—what if his affection is genuine? Then, would it be so bad to give in? Well, he was the only one who made you feel alive. Perhaps, if you just stayed…

No. You shook your head. Strings of water flew off your hair and hit the glass walls. This was exactly what he wanted, wasn’t it? To make you accustomed to his control. To silently persuade you into giving in out of your own volition.

Caleb wanted a reaction. Any hints that you were being sucked and molded in the black hole he set up for you. If that’s what he wanted, all you had to do was withhold it from him, no? Just stop reacting. Act normal, put some subtle distance between you two, and watch as he crumbled beneath your finger.

You shut off the shower and rolled your hair back on your head. That’s right. You had to submerge yourself back into your monochromatic world. Only then would he falter, knowing all his advances had failed.

You stepped out of the shower, bringing with you a trail of water as you walked. A small white towel was wrapped around your head, and a bigger one coiled around your torso. You snatched the bracelet off the sink after changing into your new clothes. No matter how you felt about it, you made a vow. And for the sake of your ideals, you would not stray from it.

The hardest part about experiencing your first loss was that you had to regain control afterwards. Fail this step, and watch as the spear cuts through your stomach inch by inch. And if you cannot truly regain control, form the illusion of it.

You eyed yourself in the mirror. A crease was present between your brows. Taking the cream off the vanity, you began applying it in long swipes across your skin. Caleb still used the same cream as before, huh?

Act as if nothing had happened. That was the best you could do for now. And to form a plan to actually reclaim your throne, you needed some alone time. Away from this house. Away from the prying eyes perched in every corner of every room, and away from him.

The cream melted into your skin.

It was about time you began searching for an excuse to get out of the house and stray from him. Perhaps you could look for work. A new patient. Something that came up urgently? Or was it better for you to be more subtle? Just whip up an excuse to go hang out with friends? Not that you had any friends in Skyhaven. And if he asked to tag along? What then?

You released yourself from the towel and reached for your shirt.

A sigh passed your lips. Seems it would just be best to find some work. But save for Rhys and a few others, barely any of your patients lived in Skyhaven. And even if they did, would you just go knocking on their doors and creating a new mental issue in their stead that somehow needed urgent fixing? That wouldn’t do. You required real work.

Perhaps it was a problem best saved for tomorrow. Right now, your starving stomach demanded some attention.

The kitchen lights flickered on with a buzz. One of them didn’t light. You’d better tell Caleb about it tomorrow.

The hum of the fridge increased in volume as you strode towards it with heavy steps. Inside, an arrangement of food lay: some in boxes, some bare, some bottled. Your eyes narrowed. They seemed to have been recently stocked. You bet his fridge had been empty up until your visit.

You snatched a plate of dinner’s leftovers and gathered a few utensils to accompany you. And with that, you plopped down on the couch, not bothering to turn on the lights. It risked waking him up, after all. You wouldn’t want that. Especially now.

Shuffle shuffle.

Something stirred beside you—a figure shrouded in darkness. You nearly launched your fork into its heart when a familiar arm reached out to wrap around your wrist. “It’s just me,” a groggy voice responded. You threw yourself off the couch and rushed to turn on the lights.

Caleb. It was just him.

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “You—” Your accusing finger pointed in his direction. “Why are you awake?”

His violet eyes skimmed over your form, stopping at your toweled hair. “Likewise.”

Sluggishly, you returned to your plate and picked up the fork. Caleb nestled himself by your side. “You took a shower? At 4:30 in the mornin’?”

“Why are you here? On the couch? I don’t recall seizing every single one of your rooms.”

He breathed a sigh. “I’ve made an enemy of insomnia, and it’s been chasin’ me ever since.” He turned to you. “Maybe you can help with that.”

“I don’t know what you take me for, but,” you stuffed a portion of food into your mouth, “I’m half-dead right now. Therapists are humans too.”

“But,” you wiped the corner of your mouth and finished up, “Still, I’m ready to listen.”

Caleb shook his head. “I was messin’ around, pip.”

“Such a tease, even when sleep-deprived.”

You pressed your fingers into his temple and soothed the area. Your fingers moved gingerly, as if the slightest slip-up could cost you one of them. The man under you gradually relaxed. His body sank deeper into the couch.

“Come on, Caleb. What’s the hold-up? I know you’re hiding something,” you cooed. His sealed eyes didn’t help with trying to see through him. But you pressed on nonetheless.

You leaned forward slightly, pinching his forehead a little harsher than you would have. Finally, he opened his eyes, only to glue them to the ceiling instead.

“I’m not going to force you into a 12-step rehabilitation programme.”

“I know, it’s just…” his eyes never left the ceiling, “You’re tired. I’m tired. We all need a break. You’re not entitled to help me.”

You hummed. “You’re right. I’m not.”

Caleb let out a small sigh of relief as you pressed down on that one spot on his forehead. You continued to massage the area for a while before moving on to the next.

“I’m doing this out of my own volition. I want to listen to you. And whether I’ll help, well, that depends on what it is.”

Picking up on the slightest droop of his lips, you continued, “But, unless it’s a tedious task like climbing a skyscraper with nothing but my bare hands, I won’t refuse you.”

Caleb’s eyes didn’t move from the ceiling lights as he contemplated. You could see the weight of decisions bearing down on his mind, and you worked your fingers accordingly to soothe him whenever he faced a mental obstruction. Your smile widened.

With one finger, you moved his gaze to you instead. “All right, mister. I know the ceiling’s looking quite lavish today, but I’m sitting right here, fighting for your attention.”

Caleb grinned. Subconsciously, his eyes travelled to your lips. You found yourself tensing up for a moment, but you swallowed it. Just how you were trained. But uneasiness overtook your nerves. Why was he looking at them like that? As if he yearned to devour them whole?

“You can’t outsmart me at this hour, Caleb. See?” You lifted your arms before placing them back on his temple. “I’m not writing any notes or anything.”

“It’s not that.”

“You make it seem like it is.” You sighed. “You don’t need to use big words. Just tell me what you need.”

“All right, then. Can I ask you for a favour?”

You hummed. “Depends on what it is.”

His eyes fluttered. You tensed as they lingered on your lips once more before they moved to meet your eyes. He seemed incredibly exhausted. “I have a friend,” he began, “And she’s been… off.”

“A fleet member?”

“Yes.” He let out a soft groan as your fingers continued to massage his temple. “You met her. She’s the guard at the garden we visited.”

Your mind recalled her stature. Tall, brooding, albeit intimidatingly, with curly ginger locks and tan skin. You remembered her.

“I’ve been worried about her mental well-being. She experienced a devastating divorce lately. And ever since, she’s been acting… you know. Distant. Violent. Is a little rougher with her underlings. I gave her a break, demoted her temporarily to the position of a guard. But she isn’t improving.”

Your brow furrowed. The behaviour he described seemed like the usual displays of pent-up anger and resentment following a horrid event. But what bothered you wasn’t the normalcy of her situation.

It was the fact that you’d failed to pick up even a sliver of negative emotions from her as your eyes landed on her face.

A therapist’s eyes were made to penetrate flesh and scour the soul with ease. Especially yours—considering your previous position. How come Caleb just happened to notice, whereas you entirely missed it? You were unsure whether his eyes were better than yours, or you were simply dozing off at that moment and unable to catch a glimpse, or…

Was it a hole in his story?

Still, the kindness and concern Caleb had shown towards his fellow colleague filled you with a sense of warmth you loathed. It felt genuine. But you couldn’t feel like this. Not with somebody like him.

“So, I guess you figured it out by now.”

Your fingers halted. Your eyes drifted in thought. “When should I visit her?”

“Tomorrow. I’ll give you the address. Should I tag along?”

“No,” you winced at the severity of your tone. In a frenzy, you reiterated, “She might be unwilling to open up if you tag along.”

He nodded in understanding. “Tomorrow, then. For now, let’s get some sleep.” In a swift motion, he pulled you onto him and buried your head into the crook of his neck. A red tint coated your cheeks, but you didn’t protest. Act normal.

You’d called for work, and work came to you. Sometimes, fate (and perhaps your luck) left you awe-struck.

But, this time, for some reason, you weren’t sure whether this was God’s plan or the Cerberus’.

No storm crackled through the air that day. Only an endless mass of grey clouds hovered over Skyhaven’s sky, still brewing, lingering, as if the storm were awaiting the right moment to unleash its shower. The air was damp, humid, but stiflingly hot. In spite of the absence of the sun, the heat rendered you as disgraceful as a panting dog. The metro was stuffed to the brim. People squeezed against you as you struggled to grip onto something. The heat radiating off the enraged passengers did not help in cooling you down. Quite a contrast to your initial thoughts that you could find a moment of respite in the metro’s air conditioning. Unfortunately for you, you couldn’t even manage to find a seat.

Luckily, trains moved fast. It was only a matter of five minutes before you pushed your way through and out of the suffocating swarm of people. Perhaps, you should’ve taken up Caleb’s offer for the car. But who knew what trick he had installed in there? Another camera? Or even a tracker? You were better off walking.

You fidgeted with the pendant of your bracelet. Caroline’s house was eerily quiet. Not a single beam of light peered out of her curtained windows. Only darkness emerged from underneath the front door. She lived in an isolated villa, something akin to a bungalow. Red-bricked, with mould growing off the walls, the small garden before the house was overgrown with ferns and invasive plants. Mushrooms grew off one side of the house. A foul stench permeated through the air.

She had a pool as well, somewhere near the back of the house that you could only catch a glimpse of as you arrived at the front gate. But that small glimpse was enough to know the state it was in—the water was rotting. Fallen leaves decayed on its surface, turning the once-blue waters into a murky yellow-green. If you weren’t any smarter, and if the decay had been any faster, you’d think it was a pond, not a pool. It smelled like wildlife as well—the damp, fungal musk of rot.

It surprised you how bad the smell near the house had accumulated, considering how large the bungalow’s verandas were, how abundant the number of windows, and how open the air around it was. Her house was isolated from the main roads. Only strips of vibrant green land stretched around it for acres. And to add to the advantages of the location, you were standing atop the windiest parts of the land. Knowing this, you wondered—where was the ammonia-like stench coming from? It was as if an entire crowd had relieved themselves across the garden and into the pool. If you hadn’t known better, you’d have believed it, if not for the large iron gates that were padlocked shut.

You rang the doorbell. No response. Your head craned to the top floors. The sliding glass doors near the veranda were open. The white curtains drifted in the air. Somebody was home.

You pressed your finger against the doorbell again. Once more, only silence greeted you. Something felt wrong. You’d imagined it to be a result of depression at first, but now, something felt off. Something lurked beneath the waters, threatening to erupt.

After a few more tries, you stepped away from the door. If she wasn’t going to let you in, you’d just leave.

Walking across the pavement, you pulled out your phone to quickly type a short apology message to Caleb. But that was when something caught your eye.

The back gate. It was open.

Your feet came to an abrupt halt. To get a closer look, you maneuvered your body and took a few steps. You weren’t mistaken. Alongside the gate, the back door was pried open as well.

You strode past the black pool until you were directly facing the looming red door. The stench was only increasing in intensity. But this time, you could smell something else. Something you couldn’t catch before.

Old blood and flesh.

You opened your phone’s camera and aimed it at the door. Just in case, you thought. With your free hand, you pushed it open.

The room inside was dark. Pots and various random clutter were littered on the ground. You made an effort not to step on them, but you found yourself stumbling nonetheless. In a hurry, your fingers worked to pry the curtains apart and swing the windows open one by one. You subconsciously breathed a sigh of relief at the sudden gust of fresh air passing through the openings. Finally, some ventilation.

The phone’s recorder blinked.

The little light from outside illuminated the room just enough for you to be able to spot the light switch. Hurrying over, you flicked it.

The lights flickered on with a static buzz. The back door led to the kitchen. Or, well, you assumed it was one. You couldn’t tell because of the ruckus. It appeared as if a fight had occurred here. Either that, or Caroline was one messy individual. You doubted the latter.

The kitchen sink was clogged. A broth of mould, discarded food, and fish bones lay inside. You stopped yourself from gagging and throwing up your breakfast. The kitchen didn’t need another mess. It was suffering enough.

On the floor lay dirt tracks. Footprints—messily removed by rubbing more mud on top. Somebody was here. Could they still be here?

Dread finally seized you. Your foot stilled, and you found yourself unable to move any further. As if fate itself urged you to leave. To turn and leave out the back door as swiftly as you’d entered. But you couldn’t. Something was up, and a greater scandal could’ve been at play. You couldn’t leave. Not now. Not when you’d sunk one foot in already.

You dragged yourself along the battered tiles, entering room after room and flicking the lights on before swinging the windows open each time. Downstairs was empty. You’d checked everywhere—in the two living rooms, dining, and across all the hallways. You even made sure to check under the sofas. The static in your mind grew louder. It pierced through your ears painfully from the inside out, busting your eardrums until your head throbbed so violently you thought it would implode. The nothingness told you to not go.

You pushed yourself back onto your feet and bolted up the stairs. You searched all the rooms, throwing the doors open and spinning about the entire area before moving on to the next. Eventually, you’d scoured all the rooms. Save for one.

The demon gurgling inside you moved as your eyes landed on the door. The master bedroom door.

You held the camera up to your face and placed your hand on the doorknob.

With a sickening and loud creak, the door crept open.

You held your palm against your nose. The scent of ammonia was strong, paired with the decaying flesh you’d picked up from outside the bungalow. And to fuel the disgusting stench, your nose could also pick up the faint scent of bleach. Your face contorted. Bleach?

The bile rose, threatening to spill out of your throat. You swallowed it down. Bitter. You were really about to throw up. Everything inside was dark. But thanks to the light in the hallway, you could make out the debris scattered across the floors. Cigarette boxes, open and sealed, were present among most of the junk. Other than that, empty beer bottles and discarded laundry could be seen. From the ceiling, large decorations hung. Decorations or more clothing, you couldn’t tell. The scent of bleach engulfed your lungs.

Hesitantly, you reached for the lights.

Your phone fell to the floor with a thud. Your fingers curled into your palm. A tremble rippled through you. You couldn’t move.

They weren’t decorations at all.

A step.

Nor were they more ugly clothing.

Your hand met skin. Cold, lifeless skin.

There, from the ceiling, hung a ginger-haired woman, ghastly and pale.

A corpse.

Caroline.

Thunder drummed through the clouds. A flash illuminated behind you. But you were too still to be afraid. Your body shivered, even under the cloak of the warmest, fuzziest blanket Caleb owned. Your numb hands clutched a mug of hot cocoa. Its bittersweet aroma rose from the cup, entering your nostrils. But your mouth didn’t water at the scent. You only sat still, as lifeless as a corpse, as the wide-screen television played on, broadcasting the news of Caroline’s death.

Suddenly, a pair of strong arms wrapped around you from behind. “Drink up, pip. It’s going to get cold.”

He was right. The fingers curled around the mug only felt cold—a sign of the drink’s dissipating warmth. But how could you eat? Your teeth had tasted flesh not long ago.

The figure behind you sighed. “I shouldn’t have sent you there.”

“I went too late.” You curled against yourself. “If I had been faster, I—”

“She’s been dead ever since that day at the garden. It was inevitable. We didn’t know.”

Your body slumped in his embrace, threatening to give in.

“She was my patient. I’m still responsible.”

“I’m so stupid.” Caleb’s arms left your torso, leaving you cold once more. A part of you ached to reach out, to grab him and bury yourself into him and just—disappear. Vanish from existence. It was what you deserved. What you’d brought upon yourself. “I shouldn’t have sent you on a job. I ruined your vacation.”

“Caleb, I can’t.” You buried your face in your palms. “We were having fun. We were laughing, joking around, all while she…” You couldn’t finish the sentence. You didn’t have to. Caleb empathised, nonetheless.

Coming to your side, he gently pried the mug from your hands and cradled your face. “Let me warm it up for you.” He switched off the television and returned to the kitchen.

You curled up on the couch. This wasn’t meant to happen. Someone wasn’t supposed to die. Unrelated to your mission or not, experiencing a death head-on was not part of your predictions. This was supposed to be executed flawlessly. You were supposed to be in charge.

Nonetheless, you felt more of the control slipping from between your fingers with each passing second. You were losing. Devastatingly. You’d prepared for various outcomes—losing because of yourself, losing because of him, but you’d completely forgotten to consider that you could lose to independent external factors as well.

In short, you thought you were invincible.

You thought none grasped the situation better than yourself.

But alas, it was indeed the devil himself who’d intervened in your fate. The opening for a temporary escape from him was timed too perfectly. It was too good to be true.

And it wasn’t. What you’d thought would be a normal, perhaps exhausting, session with a new patient, morphed into a traumatic, arduous twist of fate that would throw you entirely off course, flicking you so far from your path that crawling back was rendered both physically and mentally impossible. How could this have happened? You just lost twice in a row. Fate had abandoned you, just how it had abandoned Anne.

You gritted your teeth.

None of this was fair. Caroline shouldn’t have had to die. Nobody deserved death. Images of her intimidating visage flashed across your mind. Just a few days ago, you heard her speak. Just a few days ago, she was blinking, moving, talking, eating, breathing. And now, she was off to God-knows-where. Perhaps her body was stored in some cold machine, or she was placed in a stretcher as the morgue worked with her body. In a blink, the life was sucked out of her. And she was rendered nothing.

You eyed your arm. Everything felt so surreal. What if this was all just a dream? An alternate reality, or a sick nightmare you couldn’t wake up from. You shut your eyes and attempted to drift off into another land. It was too taxing to process this overload. It was better just to sleep it off, or just disassociate so you didn’t have to make peace with the truth.

You pressed your lips into a thin line. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t get a moment of shut-eye. The sight of the corpse flashed before your eyes. A noose was tied around Caroline’s neck as she hung from the ceiling fan; dead, lifeless, gone. So close yet so out of your reach. Her once-vibrant ginger locks were tainted a sickly orange. Her once-intimidating eyes were sealed eternally shut. The lips she’d spoken with that day were dry, blue. Blood had stopped circulating inside them. Her heart had stopped beating long ago. You knew you couldn’t have saved her even if you’d tried.

Counterfactual thinking. You sighed. At this point, you really were turning into the patient.

You wrapped the blanket tighter around yourself, paying no mind to the way its soft edges cut into your skin. Countless what-ifs pried into your brain. You covered your ears with both hands, attempting to shut it off. If only your brain could shut up.

A familiar pang resonated in your temples. Your head began to throb violently—just as it had before you went up the stairs of Caroline’s bungalow. Those thoughts weren’t as evil as you’d made them up to be. If only you hadn’t looked. If only you’d stopped and messaged Caleb instead. Then, you wouldn’t have to be involved in such a complex scandal. Paired with the recent discovery—your recent loss—the whole situation, you were afraid, was going to render you completely mentally senile. Just like Anne.

Anne. The moment you’d gazed upon her—all shrivelled up and curled into a ball at the side of the black couch you’d owned in your previous office—you felt a sense of sympathy you’d never felt before. Something about her resonated with you. Her whimpering eyes, her clammy hands, her knitted brows, or the dimming fire that had blued years ago crackling in her eyes. You didn’t know which of those had piqued your curiosity. Something about that woman, so gorgeously broken, sparked something within you.

Perhaps, it was her eyes. Those dread-filled eyes that bore into yours. The spark that ignited when she saw you. The hope she’d regained upon your visage. Like she’d been starved of a true friend for millennia, and you were the one meant to be the ailment to her wounds. She’d looked at you like a newborn gazing upon its mother—its protector, saviour from the cruelty of the world. She looked at you with… hope. And in your heart, you swore to protect her. To be the one to show her the beauties of life, and to guide her onto a path of bliss and tranquility so she could return to the life she once had.

And what did you do?

You failed her.

The dread that tingled your limbs that day was the same one that numbed it now. That horrid purple, fanged beast. When the detective knocked on your office door in a delirious state, and had brought to you the news of Anne’s attempt, you couldn’t move. The air lumped in your trachea, refusing to release, as if your body itself had decided you were unworthy of life, and your fingers went cold. You almost fell to your knees, unable to rush to Anne’s side immediately. She was not dead yet. She was alive, blinking, here. And that only made it worse—how would you face her? You couldn’t bear to see the look in her eyes deform from hope to animosity as she looked at you one last time. You couldn’t let the one who abandoned her be the last person she saw, felt, and breathed.

So, you didn’t go.

Shortly after, a messenger knocked on your door. His knocks were calm, unhurried, as if the weight of everything had already settled into his heart. He brought the news, low and steady, that Anne Lotte had breathed her last.

The first tear fell from your eye. You’d cried for her before, and you would do it again. The first time, you wept silently because she couldn’t. And the next time, you wept out of your own free will. Because nobody was there to mourn her death.

Anne had an empty funeral. Abandoned by all, loved by none.

Caroline’s death was only a reminder of your past shortcomings, a visceral punch to the gut, the reality that life and death were beyond your control, and that even you couldn’t shoo the poison away from eating at your patient’s brain.

You couldn’t even save yourself.

You failed as a psychotherapist, as a human, as an organism.

A type of survivor’s guilt. You bit your bottom lip, tearing at the dry skin coating it. The migraines worsened. Drowning in your thoughts, you failed to process the shift in weight beside you as another figure seated himself on the couch.

“I re-heated the cocoa. Come. You have to eat.” With unnerving gentleness, Caleb lifted your body off the couch and brought the mug to your lips. Defeated, you gently sipped. You winced as the hot liquid seared your tongue. “Too hot?” he cooed before setting it down on the glass coffee table. Even then, his arms never left you. Cautiously, as if to not scare you away, he positioned you on his lap and began to run soft circles on your back. You melted into his touch. As much as you hated to admit, he knew exactly what to do to help you feel at ease and lift your mood just enough.

You rested your chin on his shoulder, and suddenly, the world reverted 15 years back. A young girl sat atop a boy’s lap, whimpering, sniffling as she rubbed her tears and snot onto the boy’s shirt. But he didn’t seem to mind. He only hummed a soothing tune and cradled her head tenderly. “They said the cat deserved to die,” the girl choked a sob, “Tell me it didn’t, Caleb, tell me!”

A small smile graced your lips at the memory. Back then, and even now, only to him could you lift the dam and let your tears flow free. Only in his embrace could you breathe once more, and only here did you truly feel at home.

If you’d lost your memories, you’d just want to stay here forever. By his side. In his arms.

But you couldn’t forget. A part of you wished you could.

Rain pattered against the windows—its sound being the only one besides your breaths intertwined with his. His fingers found their way to your wrist, pressing down gently on your pulse point and watching as the fragile vein beat. A content sigh passed his lips. But something about it irked you. How could he be so calm when the colleague he’d shown so much care for yesterday night wound up dead? You suppressed your anger. Blowing up on him wouldn’t fix anything. In fact, you’d only end up pushing away the ones who cared for you. You knew you couldn’t cope without him.

A warm, smooth object pressed against your lips. The scent of chocolate filled your senses, and for the first time, your mouth watered. Your stomach growled in response, as if it had awoken from a long slumber—empty and unfulfilled.

"Drink up," Caleb hummed. "And then, I'll tuck you in."

You opened your mouth and slowly sipped the hot cocoa. The warm, fudgy liquid enveloped your tongue. Saccharine bursts of flavour erupted in your mouth. Steadily, his hands guided you to slurp up the entire mug, granting you occasional breaks to collect yourself in between. His demeanour was gentle, unhurried.

The butterflies in your stomach stirred from their dormancy, flitting about once more. It was an odd sensation—the serenity of butterflies mingled with the bitterness of guilt, resentment, and anger. A combination never meant to exist.

The next thunderclap sent a jolt of pain through your skull. You gripped your head and winced. Taking note of your discomfort, Caleb pressed his fingers against your aching temples.

"You should really get some rest."

"I tried. I can't sleep."

"I'll get you a sleeping pill."

Your brows furrowed. How could you trust him with medicine after that? Nonetheless, he had a point—if you didn’t sleep now, the weight of your burden would end up crushing you into smithereens. Sighing, you nodded.

Caleb disappeared into the darkness before returning with a bottle of medicine. He scurried over to the kitchen to fetch a glass of water and was back at your side shortly after. You plucked the bottle from his hands and inspected the label. Ibuprofen. You eyed him warily.

"Your head’s killing you, right?"

"And the sleep medicine?"

He opened his palm to reveal a relatively large pill. You cocked an eyebrow. Since when were sleeping pills that large? Maybe it was a stronger dosage.

You swallowed the ibuprofen before turning to the pill resting in his palm. Your eyes narrowed. Carefully, as if handling a radioactive sample, you pinched the pill between your fingers and brought it to your nose. You sniffed. A strong medicinal scent.

This wasn’t a sleeping pill.

A sharp breath. Your shoulders slumped. Suddenly relaxed, you calmly returned the pill to Caleb’s hand. He stared at you with half-lidded eyes.

"A predetermined provocation. You knew I’d catch on." An empty smile graced your lips. A breathless laugh followed. "You know I know a lot about medicine. This was no attempt to drug me." Your sharp glare met his violet hues. "You deliberately planned this."

Caleb curled his fist and placed the pill on the glass table alongside the water. "I was tired," he mused, "of dancing along as we played this stupid game."

"Oh," you lifted your head and smirked. "No, you were enjoying every part of this. Playing with me, driving me to the edge."

"I had to." His fists curled. "You were being a brat. You thought I wouldn’t catch on, right? But your relaxed composure gave it away."

Crossing your arms, you let out a huff. "I—"

Before you could finish, Caleb pressed on. "You were conspiring against me. Treating me like some damn lab experiment. Is that all I am to you? A deranged patient in need of saving? Another victim of the fleet?" He looked up at you, genuine hurt lacing his eyes. You gulped.

"You were studying that case all day in my bedroom while I was away, you—"

"You spied on me," you retorted. "Twice. First, with my personal information, and again, with your damn cameras!"

Caleb’s teeth sank into the plush of his bottom lip.

With eyes blazing with unrestrained emotion, you went on. "Last time, you actually drugged me. Kept me captive for three days. Threatened me. Terrified me out of my mind! And you try to insist you're above a deranged patient? You’re delusional and in need of help. I wanted to help you. I wanted to bring you back."

If Caleb had ears, they’d be lying flat against his head right now.

Your heart withered with guilt. You knew you shouldn’t have called him a deranged patient. But even then, his reaction wasn’t a response to that insult—it was something deeper. It emerged from the darkest recesses of his mind, the parts even you could never access.

Had you gone too far?

"Was it," his lips trembled, "was it all a lie? What you said in the car? That you were willing to make peace with the new versions of ourselves?"

"You know that to be a lie very well."

"You’re wrong." He lifted himself onto his feet. "I trusted you. I trusted in us."

"There was no us!" You lashed out, overwhelmed by the sheer force of emotions that inevitably laced your tone. "I’ve been alone ever since you left me—us—for the DAA! Ever since you blew yourself up with Grandma!"

You watched as Caleb clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms. You’d struck a nerve. It was enough. You got the reaction you wanted, but you couldn’t stop. Not when he was finally listening to you, looking at you—truly looking. For the first time in years, you could tell him how you felt.

And so, the words kept tumbling out of your mouth like an unstoppable avalanche—cold, all-consuming, and doomed to self-annihilate.

"I didn’t talk to anyone. For years after you left, I shut myself off. I found solace in my patients’ despair because you were never there!"

You looked up. His eyes were glued to his feet, his clenched fists trembling. Darkness overcast his face. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking, much less how he felt. You searched his face for a sign—anything. Anger, resentment, agony, indifference, tears, or a smile. But you found nothing. It was all hidden away behind that invisible veil. Another mask.

You gritted your teeth. It only fuelled your rage further. At that moment, you wished you could tear open his skull and peer inside his mind.

"And you know what? I was such a fool. When I saw you again, I was willing to forgive your every flaw! I was willing to forget and move on with you. But guess what? The man I was madly in love with since high school had become so intoxicated by his newfound power and authority," you spat the last words with venom, "that he’d forgotten of my existence entirely! And still, I trusted you nonetheless! I thought it was my shortcomings when you were the insane one!"

"You…" Caleb lifted his head. The darkness dissipated from his face, only to be replaced with a flicker of hope. "You loved me?"

You slapped your palm against your face and threw yourself onto the couch, oblivious to how painfully you'd bumped your leg. You couldn’t believe you’d said that. Stupid, stupid.

"Why else would I be so obsessed with bringing you back?"

In a flash, Caleb was on his knees before you, bringing your palms together and pressing them against his chest. His heart pounded with fervour. His eyes gleamed with something raw, something terrifyingly close to unraveling. This was no act.

"Caleb…" You spoke his name with such softness, he gulped. "What are you doing? Get up—"

"You loved me." His grip tightened. "Do you still feel that way? Do we have a chance?"

The loudest bolt of lightning ripped through the stormy clouds. You turned your gaze to the tempest outside.

"I don’t think so, Caleb."

"I’ll make this right. Let’s live together."

"Caleb…"

"I’ll return your position as a criminologist. You can work under the fleet. You’ll have a better salary and a better working environment. And if you don’t want that, I’ll move the whole clinic here."

"Ca—"

"You like lively atmospheres, right? We’ll decorate this house. Or we can move to a new one. It’ll have the largest windows and the warmest winds. I’ll build you a garden full of your most treasured flowers, in a place far away where nobody will find us."

You tensed. A tremor rippled through you, but Caleb didn’t seem to notice. And if he did, he didn’t care. His eyes gleamed with desperation, restraint, and a love-fuelled mania that terrified you. Yearning. Could a mere emotion become so haunting? So intense?

"Let’s rebuild our life. We can be married. Have a bunch of kids, or not. If it’s what you want, we can take it slow. One step at a time. Just…" He nuzzled both your hands, his eyes lingering on the bracelet. "Just be by my side. You’ll never have to be alone again."

"Caleb."

You affirmed firmly, making him halt mid-sentence. His brows furrowed noticeably. A flicker of anger ignited in his eyes.

"You’ve gone too far. I can’t be with you."

You retracted your hands. The frown deepened on his lips as the absence of your warmth settled in. Gone was the adoration. Only wrath remained where it once was. He acted as if you’d stabbed him in the back, as if you’d plucked the feathers from his bionic wings and crushed them before his eyes. Faster than he’d knelt by your side, Caleb sprang to his feet and caged you within the couch. A familiar scenario. Your mind raced.

"You just don’t understand, do you?"

You averted your eyes. He forced your head parallel to his with a firm grip, ensuring your gaze remained locked onto his. You squirmed under the inferno alight within them. Whatever swirled inside was darker, crueler, and far more monstrous than anything you’d faced in the past few days. It was far more ruthless than what had lurked the last time you found yourself pinned to the couch. Honestly, it truly terrified you. Even in Harrison’s frantic eyes, you hadn’t spotted such ferocity.

"I’ve given up my life, my heart, and a limb for your sake. You breathe today because I sacrificed my breaths in your stead."

You thrashed against him, trying to pry your face from his grasp, but nothing worked. He loomed over you with monstrous strength.

"What? Weren’t you wondering what happened after the explosion? I’ll tell you, alright? If you give me something of yours."

Mustering all the strength you could, you barely managed to knock the behemoth of a man off you. As if regaining his self-control, Caleb eyed his hands before turning to you. The mania in his gaze dissipated, leaving only that desperate yearning.

But it was too late. The damage had been done.

"Pip—"

"I’m leaving Skyhaven." You picked yourself up and stormed off into your—well, his room. "Try to stop me, and I’ll show you hell."

And with that, you slammed the door shut.

That night, while Caleb had (not so) blissfully stashed himself away in his temporary room, you gathered your things and silently fled the estate.

Before walking out the front door, you spared one last glance at the empty house. You eyed the barren shelves, devoid of colour or antiques, the dim lights that were rarely granted the opportunity to welcome any host, and the uninspiring grey paint coating his solid walls.

Perhaps these walls were meant to imprison him, not you. Beyond any shadow of a doubt, Caleb had suffered—immensely. But you couldn’t let him drag you into the sizzling depths with him. He may have abandoned joy, but you would not. You would return to Linkon, maybe flee to another city nearby, and leave your past behind in pursuit of a joyous future—a future where, this time, you would be in control, not your listless feelings from decades ago.

You yearned to take another look, to glimpse his slumbering, pained face one more time before departing. But a saying from a precious individual circled in your mind: Don’t look back at me. If you do, it’ll be more difficult to leave.

Or, in other words, do not look back before leaving. If you do, you will be bound to them eternally—heart and soul. That was what he meant back then, wasn’t it?

With a relieved smile, you stepped out the door and into a new beginning.

“Goodbye, Caleb,” you murmured under your breath. “I love you.”

But in actions, I always look back.

There were only a few trains active at night. As a result, the station was relatively quiet, save for the occasional sweep sweep of the cleaning lady’s brush or the robotic echo of the AI announcing the next rides. The aged cleaning lady eyed you suspiciously. Perhaps you were suspicious—a woman sitting all by herself at a station at eleven at night, with barely any luggage to accompany her. You clearly weren’t mourning or panicked, so it likely wasn’t an emergency you had to return to.

Even then, the way her gaze kept returning to you was… odd.

Ding!

You fished through your pockets and retrieved your phone. Had Caleb caught wind of your absence? No. Odd. It wasn’t Caleb.

It was Rhys.

You quickly opened his chat and skimmed through his messages. A sinking feeling settled in your gut.

"Miss," he hastily followed, "you’re on the news."

You stilled. Why would you be on the news? Surely, a woman alone at a train station at night wasn’t such a revolutionary event that it had lured in the mass media?

"?" you typed back. "I’m famous now?"

"It’s no joke. Look."

A video file popped up. The thumbnail appeared to be Rhys’ TV. You could spot a snippet of his wife from one of the corners.

The throbbing ache in your head returned, begging you not to click on the file. Alas, your curiosity took hold of you, and your fingers hovered above the play button.

Hesitantly, it met the screen.

The woman announcing the news spoke your name. You immediately lowered the volume.

Your name. Your full name. Something was wrong.

"A suspect has been found." She said your name again. "Skyhaven authorities are actively searching for the suspect in connection with Caroline Mayday’s death. According to local reports, the individual was seen near the estate a day prior to the incident."

You slapped your clammy palm onto your mouth to silence the gasp that was about to escape your lips. The only person you had met that day was Rhys. Surely, there had been some sort of mistake. Surely, you hadn’t murdered a woman whose address you weren’t even aware of.

"Evidence, including fingerprint analysis and multiple witness testimonies, has linked the suspect to the scene."

Testimonies? Witnesses? Had people perceived a ghost? How could they have witnessed a woman who wasn’t even there?

Your hand stilled. Suddenly, the thoughts in your brain quieted, leaving nothing but unnerving, unmoving silence. The gears turned in your head. And then, it all made sense.

Caleb. Utilising his authority.

That bastard.

"A search warrant has been issued, and officials confirm that she will soon be taken in for questioning before the court of law."

Shit.

Shit.

You turned off the video and returned to the chat. Rhys had sent another message.

"Miss, you have to leave. I’ll get you tickets to Linkon."

"No need," you typed back. "I’m at the station. I was just about to leave anyway."

After a brief pause, you asked, "Rhys, do you believe I’m guilty?"

For a moment, he didn’t reply, leaving you on seen. Your body stiffened. If he didn’t believe you…

"No. We were at the café right about the time the witnesses claimed to have spotted you. And even if you weren’t, well, how do I put this nicely? Miss, you don’t have the balls."

Despite his half-insult, you couldn’t help but smile. At the very least, there was somebody who trusted you.

"I know it was that colonel’s doing. He isn’t to be trusted. Please, for your sake, never get involved with him ever again."

"I won’t."

And this time, you were being honest. You couldn’t return to him. Not after this.

"Stay safe, Rhys. If I’m not caught and executed, I promise you, we will meet again."

The train rolled into the station. Its wheels hissed against the cold metal rails.

You had to leave, now.

A handful of people lined up against the entrance. Some of them had their faces glued to their phones. Could they be watching the news? You hoped not. It was safer to go last.

You fished through your luggage and pulled out a cap you happened to bring along, placing it low on your head, shielding half your face from the gazes of passers-by.

Donning the calmest demeanour you could muster, you stepped into the train’s carriage and seated yourself far away from all. Sort of counterintuitive, now that you thought about it. Attempting to appear normal whilst actively isolating yourself from the crowd like a child who had shoplifted a candy bar. It made little sense. But how could you think logically when danger was quite literally breathing down your neck each second? Half of Skyhaven’s forces were after you, and you were practically tethered to a determined fate.

With a slow rattle and a monotonous announcement, the train began to move.

Your eyes trailed to the bracelet clasped around your wrist. Your promise to Caleb. But what did that matter now? It was merely a chain. A bad-luck charm, even. Ever since you had put it on, misfortunes followed close behind. You kept experiencing losses ceaselessly.

You contemplated tossing it away, but it would be such a waste of a valuable item.

You peered from below the cap’s shade to eye the modern tablet displaying the train’s destinations. The last stop wasn’t Linkon. It was a town two cities apart—Nimbura. The land of storms and tempests. Perhaps the storm that had been looming over Skyhaven for the past few days originated from there.

Nonetheless, Nimbura was a town of little population. Due to the never-ending downpour, most citizens had moved to greater cities. It was the perfect place for an escape. You could sell your bracelet to a local broker for a small fortune. You reckoned it would get you enough to kickstart your new life there. Perhaps open another clinic or begin to achieve the dreams you had long since abandoned.

This time, you would live your new life the way you wanted to.

With Caleb manipulating the press from behind the scenes, any chance of achieving justice and clearing your name was lost to the wind. Though a cowardly move, fleeing was your only choice.

You shut your eyes. Oh, Caroline. If only she knew how her death had been exploited by her higher-ups for such selfish purposes.

Of course, starting anew was easier said than done. You still had to fetch yourself a new identity, a house, and somehow evade the authorities for the rest of your life. It was fun to dream, but you knew you had to embrace reality soon.

Or else, you would be caught in the dumbest way.

At the very least, you could put up one hell of a fight before being whisked away in shackles. Enjoy your last remaining days of freedom before he caught up.

Your breath hitched. Caleb wouldn’t give up, would he? He’d comb through each city and town, overturning even the smallest villages in search of you.

You couldn’t picture what drastic measures he’d take.

Perhaps he’d even drain the oceans and pluck you from the seabed if you decided to live freely as a sea turtle.

Wherever you were, he would find you.

Some things were only possible in the presence of power. No matter how intelligent you were, your helplessness was undeniable. You bore not even a sliver of authority and thus were incapable of turning the tide against him. You could run from a man, but you couldn’t escape a whole fleet of deranged, cybernetic militants.

You chuckled at the inevitability of your fate. In time, he would find you. The government wouldn’t protect you. Not when you were a wanted criminal on the loose. If anything, they would hand you over—to him—on a silver platter. Nobody wanted to make an enemy of the farspace fleet. They were a ruthless bunch. What would one insignificant sacrifice mean when it had been made for the greater good? For eternal peace?

Just like Anne, the world had abandoned you as well.

And this time, you truly had no home to return to.

An unfamiliar feeling coiled in your chest—a yearning for home. A yearning to sit across the white couch of your clinic, listing away your patient’s traits on a clipboard as a frigid wind drifted in from the window. A coveting for the warmth of your bed, the bitterness of the coffee you brewed each morning, and the intimacy of your workspace.

This was all a mistake. You should never have embarked on this journey in the first place.

So much for bringing someone back. Someone who had lost their heart long ago.

If only you hadn’t let your emotions blind you. If only you had moved on from him.

You squeezed your eyes shut. A single tear slipped down your cheek. This was no place to cry. What you should have been focusing on was a plan—a means of saving yourself. You barely had any money. Would it even be enough to buy you transport to the nearest broker?

You didn’t have any weapons on you either. Nothing to defend yourself with. Just you, yourself, and a lightweight bag with nothing valuable inside.

You should have stolen a few bucks from Caleb. His position surely paid well, so what would a hundred dollars mean to him? You really should have. And the worst part was that you knew he would have handed it all to you without a second thought. Something churned in your chest.

"I don’t know what to be when I grow up, Caleb. What should I do?"

You kicked your feet on the bed, lying on your back as you watched Caleb’s attentive gaze remain glued to his homework.

"Why are you askin’ me?" A young voice replied. "It’ll come to ya, pip-squeak. You’re only ten."

"But," you pushed yourself off the bed and nudged his shoulder, "the teacher asked us to write an essay on our dream careers. Help me, please? You’re really smart!"

"Why worry about that? I’m here, aren’t I? I’m smart enough for us both."

"Really?" You grinned stupidly. "That means your money is my money?"

He reached over without averting his eyes from the textbook to flick your forehead softly. You whined in response.

"Hasn’t it always been like that? But still. You’re good with people, right?"

You hummed. "I don’t have many friends other than you."

"But you understand people."

You nodded.

"Then why don’t you become a psychologist?"

"A… what?"

He sighed. "Never mind. You’re too young to think about that." And with that, he ruffled your hair and sent you off.

Little did he know you would cling to that word for the rest of your life.

The train whirred along the tracks, speeding readily through the various stations. One by one, the passengers departed, until you and an old man were the only ones remaining.

Before long, the train passed by Linkon. You watched with a solemn gaze as the doors slid shut. A part of you imagined yourself stepping out—happy, grinning from ear to ear, returning home. This cap wouldn’t be on your head, and your face would be devoid of worries. You would be free. On your way to a new life in the absence of Caleb. Into a new normalcy—a reality you could embrace this time.

You shut your eyes and rested your head against the window. Two fresh tears slipped past your lashes. Home. The word called to you from amidst the darkness. You envisioned two gentle arms cradling your form. The ghosts in your bed would welcome you home. They’d open their arms and tuck you in.

Just yesterday, the ‘ghost’ would have been none other than Caleb. But now, you wanted nothing to do with him.

Now, they had become two fleeting, ghastly apparitions—echoes of the past, lingering somewhere in your psyche.

The flesh may forget the sting of steel, but our minds will know.

You didn’t recall where you had heard that line. Perhaps it was a lyric from a melodious choir, or maybe a fragment of dialogue from a show you once treasured. You couldn’t recall the exact words either. At first, you had only nodded at its proclamation. It was right. There was nothing to refute.

As the new you emerged from the epicentre of a vicious battle, wounded by the likes of steel, its choir rang within your heart.

The mind never forgets. It is a being of its own. A tranquil entity, a lifeless organism so equally abundant with life. It may not respire, but it bears the authority to decide whether you do so.

And sometimes, it chooses for you not to be able to breathe.

Caleb would never vanish. He might perish while executing his unethical duties, or he might fade from your life altogether. He might even heal and reform. But that wounded man lived in a hollow within your heart, a cavity carved out with a knife—an unhealing wound, a permanent abyss.

A dark, bottomless pit you could never truly move on from.

No matter how achingly you worked to normalise his absence, his ghost would linger.

And so would the ghost of your former self.

For that wounded man didn’t just win,

He devoured you. He plucked your ribcage open and fused with your heart.

The burden of exhaustion weighed on your bones, dragging your body down against the train’s plastic seat. Your mind kept drifting home—to the warm lighting of your kitchen, the abomination stashed away under your bed, the mess coating your desk that you never quite found time to clean up. Their images flashed before your eyes, like a boat drifting back to the seas it had departed from, pushed there by a storm.

Now, it was up to you to decide what home meant.

You would make sure that this time, home wouldn’t be a place that breathed Caleb’s name.

“Nimbura. Doors will open from the right.”

You hauled your luggage alongside you as you exited with the old man. From beneath his drooping eyebrows, he shot you a wary glance before inching forward. A flimsy brown cane supported his weight as he walked. You hoped you would never again encounter a situation where you’d need to rely on someone else—not until you reached seventy, at least.

A cool gust of wind sent flyers fluttering through the air before your face. You shivered, hugging yourself a little tighter. An earthy scent lingered—damp soil, the kind you could always smell before an impending downpour.

Of course, the town hadn’t bought its name with cash.

It bought it with its perpetual rain.

“Excuse me,” you called out to the old man. “Do you know where the nearest broker’s is?”

“They’re all closed by now,” he croaked. “Get some sleep, girl. Go tomorrow.”

You let out an audible sigh before returning to your pocket to count your cash. Just enough for a night’s stay, but beyond that? You weren’t so sure.

To your surprise, the man turned back. “Need a place to stay, child?”

You eyed the money on your palm before returning to his face. He appeared wise. From the way his brows were furrowed, you could tell he had seen much in his long life. A part of you secretly loathed these types of people. Those who had seen it all were especially hard to deceive. They could spot any hint of trickery, no matter how ethical, from a mile away.

Your gut told you he probably knew you were on the run.

You needed a place to stay, but your instincts flared up. You didn’t know him. Anything could happen to you in a town this small, and it would go unreported for the most part. This was a matter of survival. Although your expertise insisted this man was no threat, your wariness begged to differ. So, with a polite smile, you turned down his offer.

Defeated, the man showed you the way to the nearest inn.

You followed his directions only to end up at a run-down inn around the corner. Its sign hung loosely, threatening to fall at any second. But clearly, the owner hadn’t cared enough to fix it. On top of that, the place stank. It reeked of alcohol, vomit, and cigars. You’d rather sleep out on the streets than stay here.

Thunder flashed in the sky behind you. You jumped.

Okay, maybe sleeping under a storm’s embrace wasn’t the best idea.

You were on the run, after all. Now wasn’t the time to be picky.

A short, blonde-haired woman sat on the other side of the counter, chewing gum as she scrolled mindlessly through her phone. The electric bell above the door chimed as you pushed it open. In a few swift movements, she spat out her gum and shoved the phone into the cavity under her desk.

“Hello, how may I help you?” She flashed the brightest grin she could muster.

She appeared young. Most likely still in high school. Your gaze travelled to the photo frame behind her—a clean picture of a family with a mix of blondes and brunettes. So, her parents owned the place, huh? A lucky child with a stable future. You envied her.

“How much for one night?”

“Oh, uhm—” She fished through something under her desk. You could hear the faint crumple of paper as she moved. That agility… was she in hunter’s school?

She named the price. You reopened your wallet and counted the bills. Just enough for one night, plus transportation.

“Is the food free?”

“No, ma’am. Only water.”

A deflated sigh passed your lips. You hadn’t eaten dinner, and you were practically starving. If you wasted money on food now, you doubted you’d make it through tomorrow.

Oh, well. A day’s fast wouldn’t kill you.

“All right. Can I have a room?” You smiled, placing the cash on the desk.

She opened her register and quickly handed you the change before fetching a pair of keys from the shelves behind her. Tossing you the keys, she showed you to your room. Despite her persistent offers, you ended up carrying your bags yourself.

Your room was relatively cleaner than expected. Initially, you’d envisioned a room as run-down as the front of the inn, with broken beds and a toilet that didn’t flush. Of course, the room was nothing like the average hotel rooms you could rent in Linkon, but it would do.

At least you discovered where most of the inn’s funds went.

You fetched one of the sealed bottles of water from the desk and buried yourself in bed. Having finally achieved a moment of respite, you whipped out your phone and began scrolling through your messages.

Oddly enough, there were no texts from Caleb. He was offline on all his socials.

Perhaps he hadn’t caught wind of your absence yet? That would suggest the idea of framing you for murder was something he had planned beforehand. Possibly after the argument.

You were about to head to bed when suddenly, your phone lit up with a notification.

You guessed it was Rhys again before even looking at the screen. He was the only one you’d been texting (or, more accurately, who’d been texting you) over the past few days.

If he was texting you, it could only mean trouble.

With numb fingers, you opened his chat.

“Miss, run.”

“You’re in Nimbura, right? They know your location.”

You froze as he kept bombarding you with short, panicked, back-to-back messages.

“He discovered our relationship. My wife’s dealing with the fleet.”

“They’re at our door.”

“Please, run.”

“Forget about us. Leave Nimbura. Immediately.”

“The police know where you are.”

The adrenaline was so deeply coded into your DNA that you’d gotten used to it by now. Only a deafening numbness lingered where anxiety once resided.

But, more importantly, how did he know where you were?

Your eyes trailed to the bracelet. The pendant gleamed under the light.

Now that you thought about it, the pendant’s size was oddly convenient, was it not?

And it was quite a bit heavier than you had expected.

Could it be…?

Caleb had revealed his final card. The ace up his sleeve.

Blood drained from your face. You paled.

A tracker.

You jolted up to the sound of police sirens slicing through the air. They were already here.

In a hurry, you snatched the bag you hadn’t yet opened and rushed to the door. Your other hand fidgeted with the bracelet coiled around your wrist. You hissed. Why were these things so hard to unclasp with one hand?

Pushing through your body’s sheer exhaustion and numbness, you bolted down the stairs, tripping over some of the steps. A knock resounded at the inn’s front gate.

“Skyhaven authorities. Open up.”

The perplexed blonde girl eyed you awkwardly. Tearing the bracelet forcefully off your wrist, you tossed the jewellery to her and muttered an apology.

“Gotta run. Take this as an apology.”

And with that, you stormed out the back door. Rain poured from above, thumping against your bare head relentlessly. No time to equip an umbrella. Just run.

With trembling legs, you skidded across the empty alleyways. Multiple pairs of footsteps slapped against the damp pavement close by. They were closing in. Fast. You had nowhere to go.

But perhaps you could make it to the train station before it closed. There was one last train heading to Linkon soon. If you could make it, maybe you could throw them off your trail for a while?

You bit your lip. You weren’t so sure. Chances were the authorities had already surrounded Linkon—your home and clinic were under their jurisdiction.

But that was a problem for future you. Right now, you had to run.

Mustering up all your strength, you pushed yourself forward, darting through the desolate streets. The commanding voices of the officers pierced through the rain, declaring how they would use force, how resisting would only worsen your case. You paid no mind to their warnings. Only the worst would happen if you were arrested—you’d be thrown into jail, executed by the fleet, or sent straight into Caleb’s arms. And he would definitely rather skin himself bit by bit than let you go once more.

How much worse could it get?

The walls of the world seemed to shrink in on you, confining you within Nimbura’s insignificantly sized territory. All sounds blurred together, contorting into one singular noise that thudded violently against your eardrums—the pulse of your own quickening heartbeat. The heart that once beat in love for a man now pounded in terror of the very same one. You no longer flinched at the bolts of lightning, no longer cared for the heavy droplets of rain smashing through your skull.

At that moment, you were reduced to a cowardly mess of a woman who knew only how to run. She ran from her life, her job, her stability, her friends, her problems, her mistakes. And now, that woman realised she had spent her entire existence fleeing. She buried her troubles in the desolation of her patients, abandoned the life that had given her everything, and flung herself into the arms of a stranger. A stranger who, due to her naïveté, received her love as she foolishly gave herself away.

Hot tears streamed down your cheeks. Or was it rain? You didn’t know. Didn’t care. And for the first time, you let the tears fall freely. You sobbed—your face contorted in despair. Your lips curled into an unsightly frown, your brows knitted dramatically. Vision blurred. Your pace faltered.

Your legs begged for respite. To stop, to collapse onto the wet asphalt, to simply wail to your heart’s content. But the footsteps behind you suddenly grew louder. Your brief moment of weakness had allowed them to close in. You were screwed.

Forcing yourself forward, you pushed through the pain. Your shoes stretched against your feet, groaning under the pressure. The soles were likely torn by now—perhaps even left behind a few metres ago. You didn’t know. There was no time to stop and check.

Then, through the curtain of rain, the silhouette of a tall stranger emerged. He walked parallel to you, treading calmly beneath the shelter of a large, black umbrella. Your heart lurched. You couldn’t stop now. You were bound to collide.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you braced for impact.

You crashed into a solid chest and, from the sheer force, went stumbling back. Before you could hit the ground, a firm hand seized your waist, steadying you.

“I’m sorry,” you gasped, lifting your head to catch a glimpse of his face. “I—”

Your body froze. As if your entire being had shut down, every gear in your mind clogged at once. The pitter-patter of rain and the approaching footsteps of the police faded, drowned by the roaring static in your head.

That long, black uniform. Those leather gloves. That sleek cap.

And, most importantly, those innocent violet hues scrutinising your face.

For a long while, there was only silence.

You parted your lips, but no words came. Finally, you choked out, “How—”

A chuckle. One you recognised all too well.

“Are you hurt?” A familiar voice cooed.

Caleb.

You turned on your heels and bolted in the opposite direction.

A flight of uniformed personnel obstructed your path, caging you in against Caleb’s form. In tiny, panicked steps, you inched backwards.

The leader announced your name. “You are under arrest on suspicion of the murder of Sergeant Caroline Mayday. You—”

“I’ll take it from here,” the figure behind you commanded firmly. “I’ll escort our criminal personally.”

Hesitantly, the officer backed away with a curt tilt of his head, signalling for his troop to stand down. You watched helplessly as they retreated.

A part of you wanted to reach out. To beg them to throw you into jail instead. An axe to your neck would be far kinder.

But no. They tossed you right into the vicious, merciless jaws of the beast, leaving you to a fate you couldn’t determine.

The world stilled. The patter of rain against the road was all you could hear, aside from his steady breathing contrasting with your short, quick spasms of breath. In that moment, it felt as if it were only the two of you in the world. As if only you both truly mattered.

But those weren’t your feelings, were they?

They were his.

You gulped. Unhurried footsteps inched from behind. “You look tired. Have you eaten?” Caleb’s fingers interlocked with yours. Gently, he spun you around. The cap hung low on his head, obscuring half of his eyes. If only you’d spotted it from afar. Maybe if you’d picked up on his presence earlier, you could bolt in the opposite direction and avoid clashing into him.

He appeared from seemingly nowhere. Perhaps his appearance was also a calculated move that slipped past your radar.

Your final, most fatal loss.

Your reckoning.

You snatched your hand away. “You,” you cocked your head to meet his gaze, “What did you do to Rhys?”

You endured a long, deafening silence. The weight of it all pressed against your chest, squashing you against the mud. Like an insignificant, pesky bug meeting its end under the sole of one’s shoe.

A cold, frosty wind wafted through the atmosphere. Goosebumps prickled as frostbitten air slipped beneath your skin. The chill gnawed deep within your bones, causing painful pangs to crackle through you. Your knees buckled, unable to bear your weight any longer.

Expectedly, an arm wrapped itself around your waist and hoisted you up, pressing your body against his own.

Strings of water slid down from leaves nearby, splashing onto the pavement. Your forehead pulsated—that familiar sensation of dread that emerged each time you found yourself caught up in a complex, seemingly inescapable web. Usually, you’d bear the scissors to free yourself. But this time?

The webs cut into your skin, threading through your nerves. Every fibre of your being was tangled. The slightest movement would cause the intertwined nerves to be ripped out of your skin. A violent flash of lightning illuminated half of Caleb’s face.

“Who?” He lifted his chin, gazing at the sky as if buried deep in thought. When he looked down at you, he did so with a familiar darkness in his eyes. Envy. “Oh. Him.” His frown curled deeper as he uttered the last word.

“Why would that matter? It’s about us now.”

You locked your jaw. “What did you do?” Tears threatened to fall from your eyes.

As if able to distinguish between the rain and the remnants of your despair, Caleb brought his gloved hand and cradled your face. His thumb brushed against the tears, tossing them away as though they didn’t belong on your cheeks, and didn’t deserve to be shed from your eyes.

Not regarding another man, that is.

You flinched at his touch. A new, unsettling calm dawned over his countenance. And in a flick, all emotion dissipated from his eyes. His lips relaxed into a neutral line.

“I got rid of him.”

Your lips parted, but no words were uttered. A lump of saliva knotted in your throat. Your tongue was overcome with foreign saltiness.

“What do you mean…?”

No response.

“Caleb…” you stuttered, placing your palm on his hand, more to comfort yourself than to coerce him, “What did you do?”

His fingers trailed over your own. A tremor ran down your spine at the sheer tenderness he displayed, treating you as if you were a precious glass ornament ready to shatter at the slightest prick. “You don’t have to worry about him anymore.”

Your arm dropped to your side. “You… did you hurt him?” Caleb didn’t reply. He only leered down at your trembling lips with an impenetrable mask. Or perhaps it seemed as such to you because you couldn’t be bothered enough to pick him apart.

You sucked in a breath and exhaled audibly. Your head lowered until you were staring at the surface of your mud-coated shoes. Think. What could get you out of this situation? Your eyes lingered on your feet for a while. The cogs whirred in your brain, working, but producing no reliable output.

A flock of thoughts flooded you—irrelevant, unimpressive, shrill, and horrid thoughts. What would he do to you once he’s got you in his grasp? You swallowed the saltiness, nearly gagging at the taste of your own bodily fluids.

But then, a thought emerged.

Bodily fluids. Bodily gases. You smelled ammonia—a common gas released upon the decay of a corpse. But amidst the urine-like stench, you smelled something else.

A strong stench of bleach—something you only picked up once you’d ventured inside the room. Meaning it was present nowhere else. The corpse crime scene hadn’t been cleaned. There was no need to tidy up after a corpse that hadn’t bled. And there was no residue of liquid bleach anywhere within the room. If there was, you certainly would’ve noticed.

“Chlorine.” You lifted your head to meet his gaze.

Finally, Caleb’s eyes flashed with a hint of emotion.

“I smelled chlorine in Caroline’s room.”

With an amused tilt of his head, Caleb wordlessly challenged your wits.

“She didn’t commit suicide. She was murdered with chlorine gas.” You glared up at him. “In gas form, chlorine is extremely noxious. Seventh grade chemistry stuff. You made it too easy.” You shook your head. “Once she expired, you didn’t hesitate to take her out.”

His lips curled to form a smirk you couldn’t shake off. It felt so out-of-place. So visceral. As if it didn’t belong on his pretty face.

It’s an expression he’d donned countless times in the past. But each time, it was a playful, giddy smirk. A boyish grin, more so. The one you’d flash before committing a silly act.

But this one conquered your nerves with an uneasy rattle.

Eyebrows slightly curved, his eyes subtly squinted, a feral glint alight in his gorgeous violets, and with his lips angled oddly. Your stomach churned. It felt as if you were being preyed upon and tested.

Nonetheless, you stood your ground. You ensured that every bit of you would exude defiance, from your visage to your body and to the hairs of your neck. But your insolence only seemed to rile him up. The lunatic look in his eyes deepened alongside his uncomfortable smirk. Your fire exhilarated him, as if watching you ablaze with passionate rebellion was the prettiest you could be.

Like it was one of the many things he absolutely adored about you.

In spite of his admiration, he wouldn’t let you have your way, though, would he?

“A harsh accusation. But,” his hand returned to your face, as if it was unable to keep itself from it, as if it belonged glued to its side, “The world knows you to be the killer.”

“You weren’t raised to be a monster.”

Caleb cocked his head to the side. He hummed.

“Sure it wasn’t you? Don’t worry, you can tell me.”

Your balled fists trembled. “So,” you drooped your head, letting your hair fall before your eyes, “I was right.”

“Then, tell me,” you continued, “How do you know the fleet won’t turn on you next?”

“Once you reach a certain rank, you’re free from those risks. She was merely a sergeant.” His shoulders jerked to a casual shrug. “The media needed a culprit. The law doesn’t care who it is, they just need a scapegoat. A person to throw into a cell.”

“Which was me.” You eyed him in disbelief.

In a sharp movement, Caleb squeezed your chin and brought your face to his, forcing you onto your tiptoes. “But,” an alien, hoarse voice rasped, “I wouldn’t let them have you. They wouldn’t take you from me. Not again. Not after…” You could see fragments of a memory flash in the reflection in his eyes—a memory you seemed to share with him, but one that wasn’t yours.

Normally, you’d pry further. Coerce him, utilise his vulnerable emotions to spill the truth from his lips without having to properly ask. But by now, you’d given up on his rehabilitation. Now, your most vital priority was survival.

“You put a tracker in that bracelet.” A proud grin spread across his face. He had the audacity to silently congratulate you after all that.

“This?” He held up something near his face. A shiny, silver chain with a sparkling white sapphire pendant dangled from his fingers. “You forgot it at the inn. Here.”

Gentle fingers grasped your arm. He slid the chain onto your wrist before hooking it shut. “You were made to be clad in jewels. A Goddess.” You shuddered at the abrupt softness of his voice. Sincerity was engraved into his movements.

For a moment, it felt as if he were simply a man in love, and nothing more. A man awarding his partner with a treasure purchased by hours of his hard work, made only for the one he loved so dearly. You yearned to close your eyes, to let your world sink into darkness so you could paint a picture of your own—one where the two of you were simply a happy, normal couple, living a humble, free life. But dreams were merely dreams. In the end, you had to wake up.

A frown graced your lips. Your bad luck charm had followed you into your doom. And once more, the shackle was clasped to your wrist.

“Did they touch you anywhere?” He gripped your arm. His eyes poured over your body.

“What?”

“The authorities.” He affirmed. “Did they—”

You pried your form away. A visible tick emerged in his forehead. “No, they didn’t.”

“Why…” his eyeballs quaked, rolling about in his head with fervour, “Why can’t you just…” His teeth sank into his bottom lip viciously, drawing blood. “Are you afraid of me? Of what I’ve become?”

If it were just this morning, when he’d sourced you with the warmest form of solace as he cradled you on his lap, you would’ve denied that claim. You would’ve fought back with all your heart, with passionate proclamations on how you feel the safest when with him, and how nobody feels like home other than him.

Just a few days ago, you’d approached him out of fascination. Love, yes. But above all things, you were intrigued. Lured by his mystical, webbed, and broken mind. Eager to pick apart the strands of his brain tissue and see for yourself how they operated.

But now?

You weren’t just afraid.

You were terrified of him. Of whom he had become. And who he could transform into in the near future.

So, you simply let your head hang as you pursed your lips into silence.

The man didn’t move. He didn’t shift, whimper, nor shout. He simply stood there with you. Beneath the cloak of the large, black umbrella. A gentle thunder ruptured the air. The gale softened. The tempest was nearing its end. The grey storm clouds were returning home.

“If you love something, you should work hard to earn it.” You wiped a few stray droplets off your eyes. “If you love me, you should work hard to be a better person for me. You can’t just… do this.”

With slow, sincere motions, Caleb lifted your arm and slotted it with his.

“Let’s go home, then. I’ll work hard for you this time. We can make things right.”

But you didn’t move. You simply stood, pulling back your arm ever so slightly. Not desperately, not angrily, just… subtly. As if your own games had tired you out. Because they had. What use was there in fighting back? You had already lost.

“There is no home to return to, Caleb.” A soft voice spoke. His lips twisted into a frown. Brief anger flashed in his eyes, but he didn’t speak. What was there to say? He knew you were right.

“Let’s go build one, then. We’ll begin from nothing.” His fingers tightened around yours. “One step at a time.”

“My home,” you averted your gaze, hesitant to continue, “doesn’t include you.”

The wrath returned, spreading through his visage like poison dipped onto a pond’s still surface. His grip tautened painfully. “What? Don’t you love me?” There was a scoff in his voice, a forced friendliness. “All right. I get it. You’re shy, is that it?” he grinned. But his smile didn’t reach his eyes. Much like a lot of his smiles nowadays.

You stared back at him with a worn countenance, unresponsive to his tease. But something subtly stirred in your chest. Nothing pleasant. Fear. He was at it again. He was walking a fine line between mania and sanity, and he threatened to topple over and fall into the clutches of psychosis at any moment.

Knowing what it was scared you more. Most would mistake it for hurt, for desperation or any other normal feeling in the book. But you knew all too well it wasn’t that.

He was losing himself. You were, both physically and psychically, driving him mad.

Caleb’s smile slackened. “Pip-squeak.” He shut his eyes in an attempt at self-restraint. When he opened them, your nerves screamed. “You don’t have a choice.”

“Either,” a step forward, “you come with me, help me fix what I broke, or…” he stopped. His lips neared yours. His hot breath fanned over your eyes. The knot in your stomach tightened. Tears rose to your eyes.

You should move away, display the last bits of your dimming defiance. But what was the point? It was all over. He’d caught you, and now, the victor would claim his prize. Your soaked clothes clung uncomfortably to your torso, moulding to your shape. It pressed against your chest. Suffocating, revealing, vulnerable—the words raced in your mind. Bile rose to your throat. The weight of the clothes dripping down irked you, but not more than how you felt practically revealed under his gaze.

You gulped.

“Ya know, killing an important member of the fleet is a serious offence.” His eyes skimmed over your body. You tensed right as he caught himself and deflected his gaze.

You understood what he implied. Granting you a swift, painless execution was the kindest decision the fleet could come upon.

“But,” the coldness in your eyes matched his, “you wouldn’t let that happen to me, would you?”

“Smart girl.” He ruffled your wet hair. “Either you come with me, or I drag you home kicking and screamin’.”

The lack of reluctance in his voice startled you, paired with the sheer casualness of his tone. You could tell he wasn’t lying.

“I don’t have a choice.”

“You don’t,” he confirmed. “So, shall we go home?”

You don’t respond. You only look at him. With empty, broken eyes, with a dimming spark of defiance still lingering in them.

And in his eyes, you spotted emotion. His brow furrowed, curled. His lips threatened to drag into a frown. He was recollecting. Zoning out on the image of your face, drifting away into the land of memories. Your patients often entered this semi-delirious state, so you’d naturally learned to pick up on it. During those times, you’d simply offer silence. Because for most, the memories they recalled whilst vulnerable and overwhelmed were the ones they hid from themselves the most. If you were to interrupt his thoughts, he’d never confront himself again.

You didn’t know what burdens his heart bore. You didn’t know how many times his flesh tasted the bite of steel. And you certainly didn’t know whether what he felt had justifications. But one thing you knew for sure was that Caleb had to confront his past soon. If he didn’t, he’d lose himself to his obsession.

But you knew it was a matter you couldn’t manipulate. It was not something you could push and pull behind the scenes to manoeuvre them the way they should be moved. There were parts of the human mind that even the most talented psychologists couldn’t access, and if they could, they were not to interfere.

And because of that, most patients embraced a similar decision each time.

He tilted his head. The onslaught of broken memories fragmented before disappearing entirely amidst the purple voids. Just like most, Caleb had chosen to run. And then, without hesitation, he took your arm and pulled.

“Atta girl,” he cooed.

The faltering rain drowned everything—the drum of your heartbeat softly thumping against your ribcage, slowed by the exhaustion biting your limbs. In the distance, the last train to Linkon rattled past.

With a crestfallen gaze, you stepped towards him. Caleb wrapped his arm around your waist and gently lugged you close. The cage you couldn’t see before clamped shut. And so did any possibility of his rehabilitation that you’d initially planned on.

And then, together, you stepped into a new beginning—a future that was no longer yours.

[glitch-but-ya]

You write fanfiction— The LADs men

A/N: Just a filler post. It’s kinda annoying to work on two fics where both readers have vastly different personalities. I keep mixing them up so I just gave up and stuck to working on the Caleb fic first. But, good news is, the fic is almost done! I’m at the last act :3

Xavier:

Your work is one of the few pieces of writing he doesn’t fall asleep while reading.

No matter how sleepy he was prior to this, he would be wide awake, pondering each poetic sentence and dissecting meanings behind them.

Would pay attention to every little detail hidden in your work, even when it’s something most overlook.

Asks you about your recent fanfics when he sees you.

If you write smut, he probably eats it up like a freak and tries to pick up on the things you desire.

Your biggest fan. Has a dedicated account (main or alt) to just liking and reblogging your work. Whatever you post. Even if it’s just a casual post or answering a fan’s questions.

Probably compliments your work in the tags.

Has multiple accounts just to like your work. Also has a secret account where he argues tooth and nail with every hater you encounter.

Bonus: Would secretly be jealous of the characters you admire a bit too much.

Rafayel:

The proudest man on earth.

Literally. He considers writing (even trivial things like fanfiction) a form of art so he is genuinely so happy you’re an artist like him.

Would bombard you with random new fanfiction ideas.

If you write for a new fandom, he would search it up and watch/read it the same day.

If you include poetic things into your writing, he would bring it up in a conversation and hold discussions on it, offering his thoughts and opinions and helping you both learn.

Would be more chill than Xavier, but he’d definitely be pouty if you favour a character too much.

Leaves dramatic comments. Like, “HOW DARE HE >:O” and such. His comments never fail to hype you up.

PUBLICLY argues with your haters.

Treasures your work as if it was the finest piece of literature ever penned. Wouldn’t be surprised if he rewrites it on a canvas with ink and frames it on his wall.

Bonus: Secretly is the one making 90% of the requests. And usually it’s those vulgar, insane ones. He’s just a girl 🎀

Zayne:

Subtle about his adoration. Would silently like every single one of your posts, but he wouldn’t really comment or reblog them.

With that being said, he will never forget to compliment your work when he sees you, though.

Would analyze every letter and syllable to the point where he can somehow decipher how or what you were feeling or thinking from your writing alone.

He would never admit it, though. He’d only silently know and if he thinks you need a hug, he will try and be there for you more often.

On top of compliments, he provides you with genuine constructive criticism without overwhelming you or making you feel insecure about your work.

But he’s not too good with parts of the writing that include emotions. I imagine it to go somewhat like… “But the phrasing is a little confusing. Could you explain the reasoning behind it?” “It’s for emotional depth, Zayne…” “Ah… I see.”

Don’t be mistaken!! Even though he is scare with his compliments, he doesn’t admire your work any less than the other LIs!

Believes that a person’s art is a reflection of their self, so he tries to see you in your work.

Sylus:

Like all, he is the biggest fan of your work.

Probably has a thousand secret accounts he uses to like and reblog your posts.

Spends alot of money (which is, of course, insignificant to him) blazing your posts and promoting them.

But, if you prefer a quieter fanbase, he would respect that as well.

Nonetheless, expect him to like your work on all his accounts the moment it’s released.

Suddenly you’re wondering how your post garnered 1000 likes in the first hour.

If you’re writing a series, he would ask you when the next chapter is coming out.

You won’t have a single hater as long as Sylus is around. If anyone does so much as dare to comment a single vulgar word aimed towards you or your work, they get a message in their inbox listing their address and personal info.

And then, the next day, their comment is gone. You wonder what could’ve happened.

Like Zayne, he’d give you his advice and some constructive criticism whilst somehow uplifting your work at the same time when asked.

If you include any philosophies in your work, he’d bring it up and discuss it with you. He loves hearing your thoughts, whether it be complex or casual.

Memorises the quotes he likes from your fanfics and actively uses them irl.

Your work would probably be the first and only one to elicit an emotional reaction from him.

If you have any dreams as an author, he would definitely offer to find you a publisher and pay for all costs. He just wants to see you fulfil your dreams, even if you’d abandoned them.

Caleb:

A LOUD fan of your work.

Probably sends it to all his friends (poor Gideon) and boasts about how his partner is such a talented writer.

Reblogs with captions and tags, comments on, and likes each one of your work.

Like Rafayel, his comments are dramatic and encouraging. He doesn’t just compliment your work. He SHOWS that he’s read it.

Avid, shameless smut reader. Would EAT those fics up. Especially if they were penned by you.

Probably sends those to his friends too (poor Gideon).

Blazes each of your posts. Even the stupid ones. Manages to increase your fanbase by a bunch. The month you revealed your acc to him, you suddenly gained a hundred new followers.

If you want a smaller fanbase, he’d be content with that as well. He loves the idea of being one of the few people to read such a masterpiece.

Definitely knew about your acc even before you revealed it to him. If you had previous accounts growing up on either tumblr or AO3, he’d be secretly reading your work via an alt account.

Don’t ask how he found your acc.

Would definitely engrave all the things you want in a partner into his brain and work on them secretly.

Probably has a diary dedicated to analyzing and complimenting your work.

[glitch-but-ya]

If you are a Caleb girlie, or somebody who enjoys LADs works or my work in general, please hear me out!!

THE FIC IS OUT!!!

Not sure how many people this might reach I want to say it anyway. I hope this reaches your feed. I have a slight issue I want to resolve through a vote!

As I’ve announced before in a casual post, I’m writing an moderately long Caleb fic. So far, I’m at 15k words, and I’m only halfway through the whole plot (of course, it was supposed to be longer buuut that’d stretch the whole thing to like— 30k+ words.). But, my writing speed for this is great and I anticipate getting it done before the month ends!! After that, I’ll take a few days for editing and then I’ll be done. (If you’re new and curious about what the plot is, please stick around to the end).

But my concern is: As I was writing this fic, I encountered a problem— would people really be willing to read a random, humongous fic from a lesser-known writer? I know that larger fics have their own audience, and I was aiming towards that audience at first, but now, a second possibility surfaced in my mind.

If I were to break this fic down into parts and schedule publishing the next parts as a series, would it be better? As I’m initially writing this as one fic, the schedules will be consistent (one week apart) since I already have everything written down. There will be very few delays (unless I encounter a major flaw that I missed or a plot hole, there will be none) and this may be easier for you guys to read!!

However, there are some issues. This was written as one fic, so it may feel a little choppy if I break it up forcefully. And the word counts between each part may be fluctuating. I can make some refinements, but to what degree?

My initial idea was to release this as one long fic, and it remains. It will always be my first choice. But my main concern is my readers. So, if it were up to you, what would you decide?

PS: If anyone wants to be added to the tag list (series or not), lmk!!!

Thank you for sticking till the end! Here is the general lore:

DISCLAIMER: Despite Caleb being technically a yandere in this fic, this is not exactly romanticising such relationships. If you want to view it as a dark romance or dead dove content, feel free to do so. But my intentions as an author was to tell a gruelling story for the sake of it. Not to romanticise or normalise anything. Also, the reader is female.

A Yandere!Caleb x Psychotherapist!Reader fic where reader is determined to ‘fix’ him. But she knows how cunning and manipulative he truly is, so she cannot treat him like any other patient. It soon turns into a back-and-forth between the two as they try and gain control over each other. Reader uses her intellect in psychology to weave plans and set up situations that force Caleb into a tight situation. In return, Caleb retaliates with his own attempts at establishing control. This results in a back-and-forth silent mental battle between the two as they fight for dominion. Who will pull through and top the other?

I’ll probably delete this once the fic is released (or if the post remains abandoned)!!