#cross-version duet | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

boundinparchment · 6 months ago

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IN POWER WE ENTRUST THE LOVE ADVOCATED

Celestia fell and the future remains uncertain, preventing you from finalizing the gift intended to convey what mere words alone could not. Zandik, in turn, struggles with his own creations. A trip to Remuria, now uncovered by the sea, provides some clarity for you both. Official (or unofficial) sequel to 'Dream a Little Dream of Me'. Rated Mature to be safe, minors DNI. TW: pregnancy. 10,154 words. Available on AO3 here. Reblogs, kudos, and comments appreciated. Note: This was on my Fics For Gaza donation list and I ran with the idea. Donations were low but this was a story I wanted to tell regardless.

You rearranged the sheets across the stand, shuffling them until the first page was showing again and then staring at the notes so carefully written. This was the third draft, as marked by the linear strikes in the top left, your way of keeping track of which version was the latest. The first three pages in particular were disarming at a glance. Their notes were meticulously inked and set in stone. You were happy with each note’s placement, the rhythm and cadence and melody.

A strong beginning would carry through the rest. That’s how it always worked.

After massaging your bow hand and testing your fingers, the joints less than agreeable today, you pulled the pendulum on the metronome and began again.

The first bars were practically woven in your very essence, a scattering of rests and triplets that attempted to capture exciting youth. Closing your eyes, you allowed memory to carry you through the first dozen and a half bars. The octave dropped, flowing notes giving way again to staccato frustration and shifting sands before they bled into crisp tundra and warm hearths.

It led right into the second movement, legato curves that mimicked the way Fontaine’s water seemed to stretch on forever. Hope, passion, dulled for a time by low notes and shuddering breaths, before a promise twinkled in the tide. A journey, more notes stretching into eternity, disrupted again, only this time, an echo of earlier bars in a different octave, certain and slow.

This would have made a better duet and could have been arranged as such; the thought crossed your mind more than you cared to admit. The recording of it would have been easy to achieve but you didn’t want that. This was your work and you wanted to play it in a single performance because otherwise…

Your fingers found the familiar patterns, an amalgamation that you hoped sounded like a push-and-pull. They brought back such vivid memories for you but would that be the case for your audience? A motif from a god’s request, a flurry of emotion as destructive as its cause, and then a closing bar that mimicked the first, long and full of hope in the flickering light of a burning tree.

Inhaling shakily, you pulled the next paper to the left and followed your latest addition, pencil marks harder to read between the erasures and the smudging. You carried through the first five bars, certain of their arrangement and then felt out the rest, fingers slower than your mind as your thoughts raced forward, unease and trepidation taking hold.

A burning ache ran through your knuckles and up to your elbow and you pulled your bow away, a wolf tone coming with it.

You swallowed the scream clawing at your throat and instead let out a shuddering breath through your teeth.

It shouldn’t be this hard.

A sonata was something you could write in your sleep, backwards, and upside-down. Especially given your source material.

The world might have changed but your love hadn’t.

Dreams were little more than solitary moments of brain activity with Celestia gone. And while that meant having to more consciously work on your relationship, it didn’t make it any less organic.

Maybe this was all pointless.

He had to know by now. His power of observation knew no bounds. He would not have missed the fact that you had been gone longer than usual the other day to obtain proper evidence in black and white. Especially the day after a visit from Tsaritsa where she asked to speak to you privately.

This entire idea was a waste, absolutely insane. It would have been easier to just…

You settled your cello back into its stand and rose, idly smoothing out your sleeves as you tried to pull yourself together. The arrangement would come to you. It always did, in the end. There was time. For now, walking away was best. You didn’t want to restring either your instrument or your bow all because you’d tried to force what instead needed coaxing.

Gathering up the tray on which you’d brought in the small pot of coffee and a pitcher of water, you left your study and headed back into the kitchen. There was already a fresh pot percolating on the counter, the smell enticing and yet stomach-churning all at once. This was a new blend from Puspa Cafe, one you had picked out yourself weeks ago.

Well, at least he could enjoy it properly. For now, you basked in the scent, the unease in your gut settling as you rinsed your dishes and settled them into the device on the counter. You hooked up one hose to the faucet and put the other near the sink’s drain, as Zandik showed you, and turned it on. The motor whirred and you watched water splash on the glass door until suds began to rise.

Your home was full of such little devices. Dishes were a waste of time for both of you when your minds were better equipped for other things, he had said. That, and you’d been unable to hold anything for more than a few seconds for months at a time as your hand healed. He used extra parts for a clothes laundering machine and a special typewriter for your sheet music and even a special percolator to extract the most out of coffee grounds and tea leaves.

And that didn’t begin to cover the little wind-up creatures you displayed on the windowsills or the hand-crafted ring with a new stone in place resting in your jewelry box. The swimming otter was your favorite reminder of Fontaine.

The layout and design was different from what you had conceived in the dreamscape, save one decision. A proper basement, reinforced and deeper than the standard to allow for most of Zandik’s larger projects. Whatever was too unsafe for the house was kept in another workshop nearby. So far, nothing ever caught on fire or caused an explosion. The only things that both of you agreed to keep were the tall windows, this time attached to a small glass sunroom where you loved to lounge when the mood struck.

Today, however, was gray and heavy with the promise of rain. While you didn’t put much stock into such things, the weather was not a help to your mood nor your creativity.

The steaming pot on the counter clicked and you poured some into a handmade clay cup, the glaze matte and rough against your calloused fingers. You held it tight in your good hand, your other supporting the bottom, and savored the warmth as you brought it down into the basement workshop.

Distractions rarely ever helped but you were running out of steam; maybe seeing Zandik busy would reinvigorate you.

Zandik frowned as he heard the wolf tone; the sound itself was faint but it spoke volumes of your frustration. They were more common lately. Despite the stone foundation and the insulation, your studio was not entirely soundproof and therefore he could still make out faint melodies if he listened hard enough. Your footsteps, too. You paced sometimes, occasionally stepping in time with the signature you were working in. Breakthroughs were a flurry of steps, sometimes the vibrations of the piano to compare, over and over, only one change applied at a time.

He did his best to tune out what he could, for your sake. Questions were only met with a harried shuffle of papers and an attempt to be nonchalant.

You were a terrible liar, the skill worn down from a lack of practice, but he would not press. After all, you’d made it clear that if something was wrong , you would tell him. So he could only conclude that whatever you were working on was for him and it was intended to be a surprise.

But why did you always stumble over the same section? Was the composition too difficult, did your tendons seize up?

Zandik tightened the bolt harder, wrench slipping when its target would move no further in the same way his thoughts ran from him. He tested the joint, and, satisfied with the range of motion, stepped back to assess the whole picture.

Which was a whole jumbled mess of…

What was this meant to be, anyway?

Pierro had offered a stash of blueprints, barely legible and all of the missing crucial details. Briefly, Zandik wondered if the old man was considering a trip to the depths of the Abyss for one final battle with the way the conversation went. The entire encounter was as bizarre as their initial meeting in the desert, perhaps more so with the glimmer of pride that exuded from his former superior.

He’d been unable to stop the curling of a sneer for the better part of several hours afterwards.

Faintly, Zandik heard your footsteps in the kitchen, the rush of water, and then a beeline for the basement door. Usually, weather-permitting, you were outside or at least closing your eyes in the lavish warmth of the sun. You were tired as of late, even if you smiled through the daze of fatigue.

He counted each steady beat of your steps as you descended, the familiar bitter and smooth scent wafting down along with you. It was the closest roast to what he had in the desert all those centuries ago and now that supply was finally beginning to even out, he did not mind indulging in occasional memories. It was a shame, however, you were only carrying one mug.

Every time you were around the scent, you were tense and he could practically smell the acid on your breath. You began abstaining, even from the decaffeinated blends, and avoided being around it for too long, otherwise you were liable to be sick.

Another adjustment you waved away.

And on top of it all, your mind was clearly burdened, otherwise you would not be struggling as you were.

“I thought you’d like it fresh,” you said, offering the mug as you drew closer.

White knuckles on one hand, your grip tight: overcompensating. Your other hand cradled the bottom, fingertips grazing the unfinished ring, trembling with weakness. The very last thing he wanted was you burdening yourself over something so trivial when your hands had much better purposes to serve.

“I was going to come upstairs, rooh’ albi ,” Zandik said. “There was no need to trouble yourself.”

Something flickered across your face that he couldn’t name, gone before he could identify itself, lips pulled between your teeth in thought. He took a sip, savoring the bright bitterness, pleased with how the adjustments in temperature and the efficient filters brought out the Ajilenakh nut subtleties.

You stepped further into the workshop and dragged your eyes over the workbench and the metal arm, Pierro’s blueprint pinned on the wall above as a guide. Between the burns and the flaking of the material itself, Zandik was surprised he’d made it this far, just assembling a series of moving arms.

“It’s not ‘trouble’, Zandik. I needed the break, as I’m sure you heard,” you replied wryly. “No use pretending you didn’t hear me banging on the piano yesterday; I’m almost certain Sumeru City heard me.”

Your voice wavered ever so slightly, a warble that anyone else would have passed off as simple frustration. This block went deeper for you than a mere lack of inspiration and it was beginning to seep into your very bones. No wonder you were always exhausted. He was painfully familiar with the other end of the spectrum, one that often kept one of his younger Segments in cycles of ennui and despair because he happened to take the portion of his life during which he was bored by the Akademiya’s authority and illogical rules. Not all ideas could be pushed through as if they were little more than a target for your claymore.

But you knew this. Of course you did.

You held up a finger and turned your gaze back to him. The circles were fading but your eyes were still a little puffy.

“Before you suggest that I work on something else, I’ve tried . I attempted working from the end but that requires having an ending in mind. Other pieces feel as if they’re just standing in for the rest, hollow shells that are perfectly adequate compositions but empty arrangements. It’s all up here,” you gestured to your head, “but it won’t work its way down into my hands and put my fingers in the right places.”

Zandik placed his cup down out of range of the workbench and took your hands in his after removing his gloves. Nothing was more infuriating than when the connection between one’s heart and mind was lost, severed entirely. There were several projects over the years too ambitious for him to endeavor as a student or even in the early years as a Harbinger. He’d scribbled them down in vain and his Segments came across them decades later, finally equipped with the experiences necessary. Usually they all fell to Omega.

The words forming themselves on his lips were not what most wanted to hear but he was never one for empty platitudes. What good was comfort if all of it was a lie?

Your hands were warm still from holding the mug,

“Perhaps this particular piece isn’t ready for you, yet,” he said at last. “Continue to force it and you’ll hate your craft entirely.”

“I don’t have that luxury, Zandik,” you murmured. “This is the only way I know how to…”

You squeezed his hands, the tightest he felt in years that no doubt hurt you in the process. There it was again, that nameless apparition gliding across your brow and the color of your cheeks. Ever since that visit from the Tsaritsa (he knew not what to call her now, old habits died hard) and a subsequent trip from Pierro, you were acting as if you were…

But if you were , he would know . Because you would tell him and there would be signs and he would be able to research and mitigate and stop it from taking you from him. The world changed with Celestia’s downfall but the event had not taken his intelligence and all that came with it.

“It’s important to me that I express what I need to through my composition. I know it doesn’t make sense to you to do that—“

A spark flared in his chest and he inhaled through his nose. He kept his tone even, for he wasn’t angry, but did you not see how hypocritical and illogical this was? Wasn’t this a repeat of the very situation that gave you a physical traumatic response over playing?

“Do consider the consequences when I tried to keep something from you thinking it was a clever and romantic idea. What can’t you express in words, rooh’ albi ?”

“It’s a gift , Zandik. The whole thing is a gift for you, speaking defeats the purpose when I’m trying to invoke particular emotions and memories.”

“But you feel stuck .”

You shook your head.

“Less stuck and more foggy. Uncertain.”

“About?”

You pulled your hands away and threw your arms up, gesturing all around as you paced. “Everything before was always a given. We could dream and build and the world we knew stayed as it was with little changes and the rules were static and the stars never shifted. The average person knew the world was safe and steady and I can assume that here , too, but the rules changed . The future is a foreign land for everyone and here we are, continuing on as if…”

Strange. You never expressed that before, not with such animation and intensity. And you saw enough of Teyvat away from Celestia’s rule to know that although Visions and Archons and leylines were no longer present, the landscape didn’t change entirely. Most nations stayed the same, except for where the Abyssal corrosion struck hard and had already eaten away at the land.

Change was different for everyone, he reminded himself. To talk about it and know it occurred were merely conceptual in nature; to see it meant living through it, which in turn shook the equilibrium, and it took time for it to set in. A scarce few years of this compared to one’s life in a couple of decades or so was still a shock to the system.

What scared you so? What needed to instead be translated first and foremost in such a manner rather than simply spoken aloud?

You were hardly this obtuse before and he was beginning to understand why his previous decisions were so infuriating for you and so many others.

Zandik let out a slow breath, the love he held for you winning out against the rising flare of annoyance. He didn’t agree with it but on the other hand, if you were truly dying , you wouldn’t have the strength to continue essentially running head-first into a brick wall every day.

You met his eyes and a silent plea marred your features, begging him not to press.

Maybe that was precisely the problem. You were pressing yourself too hard with no alternatives as of late. The weather was too poor and he was only using Pierro’s pile of Khaenri’ahn blueprints as a distraction away from a solution to further slow the Abyssal corrosion that was slowly eating at him. Ironic that Celestia was the very thing that kept the balance of the burden of immortality and slowed it down as punishment for daring to survive. Both of you were too far in your own heads.

A curse of its own, really.

He stilled his brow and instead held his arms open, beckoning you back to him. Your warmth was instant, curling around him like a well-tended hearth. He nuzzled the crown of your head as you burrowed into him. Amid the scent of your shampoo and soap, sweet and fresh, was a note that he couldn’t figure out and yet drew him closer to you all the same.

“A change of scenery might be beneficial,” Zandik murmured, idly rubbing his nose against your hair. “There’s only so much to do when one’s environment is the same.”

You nodded, turning your head to brush your cheek against his. Per your request, he’d attempted to keep the facial hair you found so enticing, but a recent trim left it shorter than usual and a little scratchy. It didn’t prevent you from touching it, either with your own face or a traveling hand. He would figure out a preferred style, given time.

“You’re more of a field researcher than a classroom scholar, I’m sure you’ve been feeling rather stifled too,” you replied. “Hard to figure out possible options when you’re cooped up in here.”

“I haven’t been—”

“But you haven’t exactly left Sumeru since we settled here, either. Not without me or at least not without a very specific purpose.”

He huffed against your ear.

“You can’t not explore this world, Zandik, that’s like asking a fish not to swim.”

“And you never asked me not to. It’s my own doing.”

Deep down, he knew could you manage without him if he chose to disappear for weeks at a time to explore and study the changes in this world. Hell, he could find a way to travel to the fractured moon in the sky and you would be perfectly fine in his absence. That was part of the driving force behind so many of the devices around the house. If your hands hurt, then you had a means to do dishes or cut up vegetables or restring your cello with ease.

The frown that tugged at your mouth any time the weakness in your hands struck or the wound flared up was enough to revitalize a second life’s purpose in finding ways to make tasks accessible to you again.

But what good was seeing any part of this world without you by his side? At least dreaming provided a means to close the distance, as Natlan had proven.

This time it was your turn to shift and burrow your head under his chin, no doubt in an attempt to stop craning your neck to reach him. There it was again, that faint scent that was so familiar and rooted to you , sticking out like a thorn, enticing nonetheless. His chest constricted, stomach dropping as he felt the familiar fire beginning to creep up on him. Had you laced yourself with an aphrodisiac?

If you were down here any longer, he was liable to sweep off the workbench’s contents and replace them with you. And while both of you enjoyed spontaneity, something in your body language told him you would not be up to it right now. Perhaps after lunch, nestled on the chaise, listening to the rain, little more than closing distance. Yearning settled itself into the pit of his stomach and every cell in his body just wanted to be near you.

“Consider it, rooh’ albi . You don’t need to answer immediately,” Zandik murmured. “We’ll discuss it further when I come upstairs for lunch.”

Zandik felt your nod against his chin and your hold on him eased as you stepped away. You looked better, a little more lively, and your departure kiss was petal soft and full of conviction. As it always was.

Nonetheless, when the door upstairs closed, he couldn’t help but wonder: what had you, his unwavering and steadfast soulmate, so terrified and uncertain?

You hadn’t expected the company after lunch but it was welcome nonetheless. He settled behind you, finding the perfect spot on your neck. Your body responded instantly and neither of you bothered to fully undress before he rocked into you, slow and languid. Just when either of you drifted off, the other moved or twitched, starting up a series of thrusts all over again.

The goal wasn’t pleasure but you both came easily in tiny gasps and choked groans. Neither of you moved after that, uncaring about the rest as sleep crept up on you.

It had taken everything in you not to ask why, of all things, Zandik had chosen that blueprint. It was obvious what it was from the picture alone. Pierro was to blame, really, for even passing it along. No doubt the Tsaritsa confided in him about her finding, both of them under the impression that Zandik was already privy.

No wonder he, too, was having a block of some kind. He was creating something from an ancient blueprint that, to him, was utterly useless. All to keep himself occupied while his brain idly attempted a remedy for something that…

You rubbed your face against the pillow for a second, willing yourself to relax.

Zandik was right. A vacation was needed. More than.

So much of Sumeru was an adjustment, both in the temperature and the culture. You hadn’t even seen the desert yet, despite asking, but Zandik was adamant about never stepping foot out there again if he could help it. You’d taken to everything just fine, except for the brief stop at the top of the Tree, where a little spout saw fit to mock.

But when you pushed through the fog, you felt your heart tugging towards home. Or rather, your old home. Arguably, it could be said that you were home as long as the man next to you was there, but the sentiment didn’t quite fit at present.

Fontaine. It had been so long since you left, you’d lost track. After burning Irminsul, you found yourself in Sumeru and never quite managed to go beyond the reaches of the land of Wisdom. You heard numerous discoveries through letters and reports, from chatter in the city and from Zandik himself when he did, in fact, venture out for days at a time. What was it the Tsaritsa mentioned on her last visit? Something about Remuria, Petrichor’s successful growth now that old ruins surfaced again, visible from even Chenyun Vale?

Maybe a trip to the mainland could fit, too, if either of you wanted. You would have to inquire about the Opera’s schedule of events. Zandik had probably been to Fontaine, or a Segment had, but perhaps some remnants of the Research Institute would pique his interest. This wasn’t just for you, after all.

And it might be the last excursion for a while, depending.

You pushed away the faint thought that came with a memory of a young sleeping boy in your lap years prior.

When Zandik finally stirred, you tangled your foot with his and pulled him back, earning yourself a hot gasp against your ear.

“There’s too much of a good thing, rooh’ albi ,” he teased.

You bit back a laugh, agreeing silently for a different reason.

“I was thinking,” you began, Zandik’s form enveloping you again.

“Always a good place to start.”

You shifted just so and the hand on your hip gripped tighter, squeezing you in silent warning.

“What if we went to Fontaine for a bit? Perhaps to Petrichor, see the ruins of Rumeria?”

“You truly wish to see what the myth was like, whether it measures up to the tales? It might be far less grand than what you grew up hearing,” Zandik countered.

“That’s not a proper reason not to see it,” you replied, turning your head to look at him out of the corner of your eye. “In fact, I would argue that would be precisely the point. It’s silly to not expand my knowledge of where I was born, even if that means it might not match the expectations set by millenia of epic tales.”

Zandik pulled you closer and settled back against you, burying his nose in your hair. He’d been doing that every chance he had ever since that morning. You’d done nothing to change your routine but the increased physical affection only managed to give way to doubt that perhaps you did a poor job hiding these last few weeks.

His lips found your earlobe, teeth grazing the soft flesh just enough to extract a sharp exhale from you. Against your skin, he whispered, “Fontaine it is, then.”

Without the leylines, traveling from deep within Sumeru’s forests was half a day’s journey in and of itself. You passed a grand palace on your way to Bayda Harbor, a hidden jewel that resembled something you might have once attempted in the dreamscape.

You heard the harbor before you saw it, a soft swelling of shouts and the hum of crane motors amid the usual bustle of port activity. Over the hill, you caught a glimpse of colorful houses, their chimneys smoking, and the scent of cooked fish and fresh fruit wafted across the landscape. Sparkling water came into view as the dirt path gave way to flagstone, iron railings sweeping down the curve of the path, guiding travelers down towards the main thoroughfare.

“Exponential growth since I was last here,” Zandik said, leaning close to be heard over the noise. “Half of these buildings are new. I remember when this had nothing more than the port authority and a three boat pier.”

He pointed to the sweeping curves of the building to your immediate left, one of the only buildings in pure Sumerian style.

The rest of the buildings were a jumbled array of styles, plaster and brick painted in soft colors with tiled roofs, a maze of stairs and outlooks carved into the very hills. You got the impression that, no matter where one stood, they were privy to a unique and stunning view of the water and the land beyond.

Newly invigorated, you began to climb, mindful of your path as to remember the way down. With all of your belongings packed neatly and only a hand’s wave away along with your weapons (Zandik determined that the void used was a pocket of the abyss and therefore unconnected to Irminsul), neither of you had to lug cases to the dock first and backtrack. Some rules remained, regardless of Celestia, and you were thankful for their convenience.

Once you reached the top, where a white plaster building was perched and the scent of spiced meat trickled out through the open doorway, you finally dared let your eyes skim past the coastline.

Petrichor had been little more than a small remote island when you were a child. Your last visit was short, a curated walk around the buildings and the festival square, with a history lesson about the power of music. The cats were friendly and your entire class took turns trying to earn their favor when the tour guide’s back was turned. Last you heard, the Traveler followed some keen treasure hunters and uncovered the entrance to the long-forgotten world trapped beneath the waves.

Nothing prepared you for the swelling aqueducts, rising spires, and the amphitheater that spanned most of the basin beneath the plateau. An entire civilization built on music, determined to defy the fate laid before them, exposed to the world once more. Its very essence glittered under the late morning sun and all you could do was stare.

Fairytales held their grains of truth after all.

“I imagine this is what it felt like to lay eyes on that Ruin Golem for the first time and clamoring inside,” you said. “All of the paintings about the myths were so very wrong .”

“It was said that no true civilizations were built in Fontaine for millenia; Gurabad grew and fell all before Remus’ arrival from Sumeru,” Zandik replied. “Always a shocking perspective, how advanced some areas of the world became while others struggled with their environment.”

“Gurabad?”

“A story for another time. I prefer not to discuss those expeditions when we are about to board a vessel upon which my inner ear will be displeased for most of the journey.”

You swallowed your own wave of nausea, a normality now, wishing you could commiserate properly.

Instead of returning the way you came, Zandik led you through the rest of the cliffside, through terraces and up and down small flights of stairs. You came upon a better view of the amphitheater, which, from this angle, looked more akin to a large…transmitter. There weren’t any seats, from what you could make out.

When you said as much to Zandik, he agreed and said, “It would not surprise me, given it was a land where music was central to its culture.”

Eventually, you made your way back down and boarded the small ferry to Petrichor, packed with people. Zandik, of course, selected a secluded spot towards the back where there was relative privacy. You weren’t certain if your nausea was aggravated by the smell of the fuel, or the boat’s movements, but you emptied your stomach in the first ten minutes of rocking waves. Zandik was green in the face, quiet and leaning his forearms on the railing to focus on his breathing; you felt his eyes on you as you took a swig from your canteen to rinse your mouth, ridding yourself of the acrid taste.

“Small boats and I never agreed,” you said. “Too little surface area.”

He stared at you a second longer than necessary, relenting only when you joked about getting sick so he didn’t have to. You could see the gears turning in his mind out of the corner of your eye. He knew. There was no way he didn’t by now. Even if the boat made for a good cover, he must have put all of the pieces together himself.

All of this was so silly. He’d made the arrangements himself over the last week, determined to plan a trip that was bound to at least spark a chance for both inspiration and new memories. Ambitious in its scope, you knew he put every forethought and afterthought into each choice from the length of time to the destination. Your Zandik loved to plan, after all. He’d muttered about needing to account for spontaneous variables but if he was nothing if not thorough.

For the rest of the short trip, the two of you discussed your itinerary in short fragments, distracting one another with the prospect of being on land again. You would spend the rest of the day exploring Petrichor, getting a lay of the land, do Remuria’s ruins tomorrow (and the next, if it was needed), have one more day on the island, and then take the aquabus into Fontaine proper if you still needed time away.

The ride concluded sooner than expected and the newly-constructed wooden pier gave way to a winding stone path up through Petrichor’s streets. You couldn’t help but pause and stare. The trees were the same, if a little weathered, the flowers and the grass seemingly frozen in time. A once-grand Statue of the Seven laid not toppled but modified, Lady Focalors seated on the ground while Sir Neuvillette rose from a splash of waves behind her. In comparison, Sumeru’s statues were toppled entirely at the behest of Kusanali herself, who no longer wanted to be separate from her people as an idolized leader.

Your eye tracked a few more buildings towards the coast, bigger and a little flashy. It all paled in comparison to the ruins visible from the beach, their scale on par with Fontaine City itself. Here, the very air seemed to hum with notes, like windchimes nudged by a breeze. The longer you looked at the rising spires and sweeping aqueducts, the more prevalent the sounds became. They were trying to form a song but when it was this disjointed, it was difficult to—

A hand on your waist and a whisper of your name snapped you out of your reverie. Zandik’s garnet eyes searched your face before boring into your own for a second.

“Need I worry about you sleepwalking into the sea at the correct note wafting through the air?” he asked, sardonic.

“No. It’s unusual, is all. You hear it too?”

“Everyone can. If you look, the spires are all different sizes, as if they’re—”

“Tuning forks,” you concluded.

Zandik nodded. “We’ll adjust and our brains will likely sort out the sound in a few hours. People would not be living here if it was that much of a nuisance.”

You could tell by the twitch of his lip that he had more he wanted to say but instead, he settled one hand on the small of your back, silently ushering you onwards.

It must have been the memories stirring up all of your energy; in the last few weeks, you never seemed as lively as you did now. Every time your eyes laid on a building, you were full of tales of childhood fun and nostalgia. You could seemingly trace a single brick with your eyes and have an entire moment come back to you with striking clarity.

Zandik wished he could say the same but perhaps it was for the best that his home village was no longer on any map. As much as he wanted to reciprocate, he much more enjoyed the warm swelling in his chest at your smile and the way every cat you encountered bumped its head against your palm. One went so far as to weave itself between his legs and yours, slowly blinking before it settled down for a nap near a flowerbed.

You were so often hidden behind a veil as of late. Such moments were common for most, some temporary and others not, but his skin itched at the notion that something was amiss. It had to be. Even if it was a matter of neglecting your mental health as of late, at least it would be an answer.

But then there was the matter of the boat.

On the trip from Sumeru to Snezhnaya all those years ago, you had the smallest bout of nausea but quickly acclimated. Like most, you adjusted perfectly fine; by comparison, the crystals in his inner ears never quite found the right angle and he suffered every time.

His second lamentation of burning Irminsul was the lack of leylines through which to travel freely. An act he took for granted for centuries.

That you were compelled to be sick on such a small boat so quickly…

Unusual, to say the least. Were you nauseous prior, he wondered. If so, why? You’d eaten nothing out of the ordinary and already long overcame the agony of caffeine withdrawal.

Zandik listened and watched your expression as you regalled him with a story about the bakery you were stopped in front of. All the while, he felt the pressure around his ankles as another cat wove between them, purring so loudly he wondered if it was mechanical. His trousers would be covered in fur by the time you reached the rented cottage and he made a mental note to acquire a lint roller as soon as convenient.

He watched you, bathed in the late afternoon sunlight, your eyes focused on the golden interior and drinking it all in again.

“We’ll have to stop by first thing in the morning, when everything is warm,” you said, turning back to him. “I had the best brioche here. There was a pâtisserie not too far, unless they moved…best desserts outside of Fontaine City…”

You continued to lead the way to the town square, small but full of garlands of flowers, where musical motifs were carved into stone pillars around the stage. A gaggle of children ran past, one of them claiming to be God-King Remus in a theatre mask, another pretending to be Chief Justice Neuvillette, Melusine plushie in hand. From what Zandik gathered, they were fighting over who was the rightful ruler of all of Fontaine. They took to the miniscule stage, gesturing and making sound effects, captivating their entire audience.

A white cat with mismatching eyes presided over the performance, tail flicking occasionally. It laid its eyes on you, blinking slowly once, before turning its attention back to the children.

He never had the time for such antics growing up. Or rather, whenever he did try, he was too logical for the rest of his peers and supposedly ruined the fun. That was before, of course, he grew smart enough to know how to build counter-arguments. He had not yet returned to his parents with bruises and welts from stones at that point.

An experience he would never relate to.

But it was why Celestia’s downfall was so important. No one would be subjected to a fate tied to a name, to a constellation, born to suffer. All were equal.

Even the shy ones on the sidelines were included in the play-acting, less an audience and more stagehands and storytellers.

Zandik’s eyes fell to you, your gaze lost again for the briefest moment before you blinked. The expression differed little from your time overseeing your students at the House of the Hearth, with a little fragment that escaped him. Did you miss teaching? Perhaps it was worthwhile to reach out to the Zubayr Theatre upon your return, to see if they needed an extra hand.

After all, you needed to have something else to call your own, not just your music.

“There were hardly any people here before,” you said as you left the square. “Let alone children. School visits were really the only time this place was filled with anything other than desolate silence, except for the cats.”

“They’re akin to their brethren from Sumeru, well-tended to and beloved by most,” Zandik observed.

The two of you finally reached the small house, nestled closer to the beach at the foot of the small rock formation. At one end, a view of the glowing Harvisptokhm beyond the high mountains; the other bore a glittering view of bygone eras, gaps in the aqueducts glowing with strings of what the locals referred to as Ichor.

Late into the night, you watched the strings, waving a hand over them in mimicry of plucking them as you drifted off, humming a new motif to yourself.

Some of his worries began to slip off of his shoulders as he held you tight, a sliver of your brightness finally within your grasp again.

The only thing keeping your fatigue at bay the next morning was the excitement to trek up the partial aqueduct to the Clivus Capitolinus, the entryway into the Domus Aurea and Sacellum Requietis. It was there that the God King Remus gave his final orders and the Grand Symphony self-destructed, taking everyone with it. Little survived the shattering of several sub-level-bubbles within Teyvat itself. That Remuria rose from the sea was, perhaps, a final usurpation of the prophecy Remus fought so hard to defy.

Or so the tour guide said. You were still recovering from your trip to the viennoiserie for breakfast. Your eyes were bigger than your stomach and you’d openly stared at Zandik’s coffee with intense longing.

The air here was fresh and cool, kissing your bare arms with a faint breeze. You’d missed this. In the deep jungles, the air was so moist and heavy, leaving you sticky on particularly humid days. But here, you felt as if every breath was easy and clear.

You gave a side glance at Zandik. He shrugged, letting go of your hand just enough to shake his own in a so-so gesture. The guide wasn’t wrong, then, just inaccurate.

The bronze aqueduct was full, it turned out, of the Golden Ichor that made up its harp-like strings. It was only when the role the Ichor played was brought into the narrative by the guide that you paused and properly looked at the shimmering liquid.

Putting memories and souls into bodies of metal was part of the legend but the Ichor was thought to have been long since lost or merely a mechanism for the tale. Seeing it now, before you, only managed to ground the dawning realization that others achieved a system not unlike the one Zandik had. And Remus had done it long before Celestia’s rule.

He must have sensed your train of thought, for he chuckled softly upon seeing your fixated gaze.

“It’s little more than Primordial Water mixed with what other legends call a Philosopher’s Stone. Pierro would call it something else but it’s the very pinnacle of alchemic achievements,” Zandik murmured. “Both materials are archaic and do not take erosion into account.”

The Segments were a part of the past, long gone. He rarely, if ever, spoke about them beyond a longing for more hands.

“Is that your way of saying you did it better?” you teased.

He shot you a warning smirk. “How foolish, rooh’ albi. My work speaks for itself.”

You continued on, ears perking up at the description of Capitolium as a paradise overflowing with beautiful melodies. When you reached the summit, your eyes traced a soaring and sweeping structure reaching for the sky; Domus Aurea, King Remus’ palace. You wondered briefly if pipe organs were based on what little Fontainians knew of their predecessors. The towering copper pillars glinted in the sun, winking at those who stared up at them.

The interior made the Library of Daena back in the Akademiya seem like a playpen. Copper everywhere, except the stone floors, Ichor flowing through every free inch and only adding to the majesty. The acoustics were impeccable, providing a means by which a speaker could address an audience with ease and shapes for soundwaves to flow and encapsulate listeners.

You came across a small crossroads on the way down to the Sacellum Requietis and grabbed Zandik’s arm when the tour guide glossed over the perfect tiles on the ceiling. Your soulmate paused and he, too, began to look around, wondering just what caught your eye.

“Go stand over there,” you whispered, pointing to a corner diagonally from you.

Zandik’s red eyes lingered on you, narrow in their curiosity. You nudged him gently before he complied and stood in the corner, facing you.

You gestured for him to turn around, and when he did, you shifted and whispered into the corner in front of you. What you said was of little consequence but when you heard Zandik’s reply as clear as day, you felt a wild surge of satisfaction.

“The low arches and the curve here allow the sound to travel and follow the arches perfectly,” you whispered. “This entire crossway could be packed but two people would be able to get messages to each other easily as if they were right next to each other.”

“Exceptional eyes. The material must matter, though. And the distance. Too close and the individuals might as well just turn around.”

You grinned and whispered one last message that left Zandik’s cheeks burning as you returned to his side. It earned you a graze of his teeth on the shell of your ear and a threat he intended to make good on later. He would, you had no doubt.

Continuing along, you caught up with the rest of the group. As you reached the Sacellum Requietis ,all sound immediately perished. A beautiful amphitheater, silent as a grave, you imagined ancient performances in honor of the Grand Symphony, of Phobos. The tragedy of the very harmony that glued Remuria together was not only in its attempt to subvert the fate written for its people but that in order to do so, it needed to absorb their souls in the process. Its corruption came from those it was meant to save.

Acoustically, the structure was undoubtedly perfect for containing and enveloping audiences in waves upon waves of sweet notes. You strained in the silence, trying to hear anything other than the hushed whispers of the fellow tour-goers and the guide. Distantly, you could make out a faint ringing, its pitch changing as the breeze whispered by.

As you descended into the center, your eyes trailed up towards the spires surrounding the arena. If you turned your head, the ringing seemed to have an origin point in one direction or another. Somehow, though, you doubted they were only tuning forks. They were too tall, too narrow to do more than provide a faint hint of a note. Not quite a transistor in function, either.

You stepped up to the podium, where the God King would have given his final command, and closed your eyes.

Like every leader that came before, Remus only wanted to protect his people, you mused. All it took was one dissonant note amid the harmony he intended for it to all go wrong…

You swallowed, hands gripping the stone stand where the sheetmusics made of souls would have once made its home. In the depths of your heart, you heard an agonizing dirge, felt the pressure of the sea beginning to encroach, ready to swallow an entire era and its mistakes along with it.

Change was a constant and perfection was the antithesis of it. Did Remus realize that, in the end? Was he terrified of failing his people?

What was it Zandik had said all those years ago? And we must change, mustn’t we? Otherwise we give in to what is laid before us.

Your hand pulsed. Opening your eyes, you blinked slowly before you craned your neck back and shielded your gaze. A flock of seagulls soared nearby and the clouds still floated, crisp against the bright blue sky. You turned your attention back to the stage to find Zandik examining the remnants of golden bees, completely enamored with the prospect of a creature no longer in existence.

Regardless of whether Celestia still loomed overhead or not, you would feel the same, suffer the same block. This wasn’t just about you, what your body would endure, but everything that laid between you and Zandik. What was the point of building it all, if not to face a curve in the road together ?

Already, you felt the notes beginning to weave themselves together, a marriage of the first two acts culminating in the creation of a brand new tune. Slow, tentative, and then picking up the tempo again…

You scribbled notations on napkins at lunch and tried to keep yourself from humming. Inevitably, you let a few notes slip before the day was out, earning you a quizzical stare before bed. It took everything in you not to blurt out your breakthrough but to do so would ruin everything. He so often graced you with creations and you wanted to do the same.

“I missed hearing you captivated,” was all Zandik said.

It held more weight in your heart than he knew.

The gnawing frustration in the pit of his stomach was beginning to wear him down. His patience would hold until you returned home but by then, he would have a comprehensive methodology in place to test for various illnesses. Zandik was never one to settle and leave an issue be, not when it came to your wellbeing.

He could forgive your desire to curb caffeine, considering the rebound and withdrawal migraines were agony. Your fatigue could be mental as much as physical. Same could be said for some of the dietary changes you made recently.

But when you leaned over to kiss him the morning after the visit to the ruins, Zandik could not get his mind off of the way you smelled . Just…in general. Beneath the scent of the new soap during the stay and the hint of salt water, there was a shift in your own chemical composition. Similar to the fluctuations you normally endured yet stronger, more potent. It stirred a strange visceral reaction in the recesses of himself he was still trying to unravel and he couldn’t get enough of it.

It was the only logical thing that stood between him and the conclusion you were not disastrously ill. He knew the smell of death and disease. Neither came close to you.

Today, you decided, was best spent in Petrichor itself and among the people. Already, you seemed to have more color in your cheeks and life in your eyes, although your attention seemed almost wistful at times when you thought he wasn’t looking. Previously, such an expression had an edge of sorrow in it, but whatever resonated with you in Remuria had done its job: you were hard at work, thinking of combinations and patterns that were invisible and silent to all but you.

The first stop of the morning after breakfast was the bookshop near the square, specializing specifically in sheet music, history of various instruments and musical theory, with the smallest section of general interest. Zandik browsed the theory section after pressing a kiss to your forehead and wishing you a successful journey; your smile might as well have bundled the sun itself and tucked it into his gut, the way excitement exuded from you.

Zandik picked a few tomes and settled into the cafe nook towards the front of the store. He knew the rush of a new idea and the fixation that came with it all too well. But too much, too fast, and you might burn yourself out before it was finished. After everything that happened, you did not deserve to flicker out like a dying star.

Although he tried to delve into a collection of various theaters and performance halls, and a comparison of their layouts for acoustics and which provided the richest sound, your joyous exclamation tore his attention away.

“A full collection of recreated compositions!” you held up your find like a hunter with a prized rabbit as you approached. “All of these are based on the music box the Traveler found!”

Your eyes practically glittered with stardust, the way excitement illuminated your face. How long had it been since you last looked at him, at anyone, like that, Zandik mused. What plagued your soul in such a fashion that made these moments rare occurrences as of late?

He watched as you returned to the bookseller charged with opening shift, your enthusiasm met with understanding nods and additional questions. From here, the sun hit your hair perfectly but it wasn’t the star in the sky that made your entire being exude such brilliance. There was, of course, something to be said about the return of one’s demeanor and true capacity, but this…

It was as if you had a renewed lease on life itself, unfettered, your mind having worked through something in the Sacellum Requietis. Zandik leaned back in his chair, thoughtful.

Possible. It was always a possibility, although not necessarily probable . Besides, everyone exhibited differently. Would explain most of your symptoms. And the enigmatic smile the Tsaritsa had given on her visit. Surely you trusted a physician in addition to a mere Archon’s sentiments?

If that was the cause. Speculation would do little good without further evidence and a proper blood test.

That didn’t mean he couldn’t entertain the thought, though. From that perspective, he allowed the train of logic to continue, and envisioned the blueprint tacked to his workshop wall, faded and illegible. What would a collection of thin metal arms be good for? Not strong enough to function as a claw, too light for a set of windchimes to dangle. But there was a motor, and a little soundbox attached…Pierro’s stilted slap on the shoulder made far more sense in this context…

By the time you were finished, and paid for the large armful of bound compositions, Zandik was already used to the notion of laughter and shouts in the background, wide eyes and an excitement for the world, all a layer to your music while he worked.

You would tell him when you were ready, he knew. Just as you would anything else. He couldn’t help but let his gaze rest on you periodically after he took your purchases and tucked them under one arm, your hand safely in his free one. Mindlessly, he brushed his thumb over your knuckles, the size and pattern of them memorized long ago.

“What, do I have something on my face?” you asked, catching his gaze.

Zandik took the time to trace his eyes over your brows, your eyes and cheeks, the tip of your nose, and your welcoming lips. Not a detail out of place. He let go of your hand long enough to brush away stray hairs, which were immediately taken by the morning breeze.

“Let’s keep going, shall we?”

The rest of the trip was a complete blur wrapped up in sunny days and relaxing evenings, productive even if it meant lounging on the hotel balcony and watching the remains of the Research Institute from a distance.

In the end, you settled on visiting the mainland, too; you were already halfway there, after all. It was Zandik’s turn to fill your luggage with more blueprints and parts and you watched as he disassembled a wind-up frog powered by a tiny Pneuma cell. Both of you spent a whole evening craned over a table of gears and tiny arms as he put it back together as if by memory.

He was never far from reach.

And your resolve only settled further.

You were filled with what you could only describe as a new sense of self, cradling the fear that once gripped you the same way one might hold a baby boarshroom: tender and with care. It found company amid excitement and happiness and hope. Although movement was still a long while off, your stomach flipped itself into tangles as you returned home and began assembling all of the sections you created while away.

Once or twice, you spotted Zandik out of his workshop, ears stuffed with cotton on the days you were playing; when you questioned him, he gave some answer about the air pressure difference getting to him and that he would hear your music when you intended to share it. In turn, he was equally cagey about keeping his workbench covered and asked you to flick the lights at the top of the stairs first if you insisted on coming down. He had been practically vibrating all the way back from Fontaine after a visit to a mechanical artisan and, much like yourself, could not wait to channel renewed energy.

You completed the final bar in the early hours of the afternoon within a week of your return, more than satisfied. Zandik, in turn, proclaimed his finishing touches were done some hours later that very day. If fate were still a presence in the world you knew now, you would have allowed it to lay claim to the coincidence once upon a time. He forbid you from entering one of the few extra rooms, distracting you with teasing kisses until you all but forgot about the possibility of what laid beyond.

That evening after dinner, you handed an envelope to Zandik, its edges flattened to oblivion from running your nails along them. You half-expected his nimble fingers to pull out the top flap but he merely examined it and then gave you his undivided attention as you settled in and took up your usual position. The Cryo panels of your cello’s body were a familiar form against your knees, a solid comfort you could rely on to help convey the sentiments words could not.

With your back to the large pane of windows and sunset providing you light, you dove through the first two movements. The third began as it always had, the beginning of the end that circled around and offered a clean slate for all. Slow and tenuous, plucks of curiosity and drags of uncertainty, winding themselves into a motif that pulled from the first movement, and then the second, forming a new pattern that made your rib cage rattle every time you played it. The approach was literal, too on the nose perhaps, but it was accurate. You had allowed yourself to delve into the slow and stilted structure from before the trip and proceeded to drag it out, mold it, and bring in some of the bars from a recovered Remurian symphony. Upon first hearing it, you imagined the lapping of waves and desire for a future safe from destruction, where more than just life itself could prosper.

You allowed the last note to hang, counting before you pressed your hand to the strings to still them.

Your audience of one had tucked the envelope into his shirt pocket and closed his garnet eyes. He wasn’t sleeping, although his breathing was steady; an idle hand played at the air above his knee, his mind seeking the patterns you presented and working to unravel them. Quietly, you settled your cello into its stand and padded over to him. You took his other hand, still and resting in his lap, and laid it flat against your abdomen, the heat of his palm searing through your clothing.

Slowly, Zandik opened his eyes, blinked, and then flexed his fingers.

“Quite a gift,” he whispered.

“One that warrants a lengthy discussion and decisions.”

His hand, once tracing your composition, found your bow hand and pressed it to his lips, his breath kissing every inch of your scars.

“I already have mine. Come.”

Legs trembling, you followed him through the living room and upstairs to the door he previously barred your entry from. Words failed and instead you swallowed, silently staring at him, your question heavy in the air. Zandik merely leaned forward to unlatch the door and push it open, nodding his head to direct you inside.

This room was always sparse, little more than an obligatory guest room used occasionally for storage. It never held more than a bed to begin with but your heart lurched at the device hanging from the ceiling. Charms and trinkets spun idly, a star and a music note among them. You stepped into the room and brushed your fingers over the arms, watching it spin.

You turned back to Zandik, lips quivering and eyes burning. He closed the distance between you and reached up, finding a winding key with ease and twisting it thrice before he nudged you back. You watched as the arms slowly spun, all the while, a familiar tune played softly. As the rest of the music played out, you nestled yourself against Zandik, the final scratches of anxiety falling away.

“We did not come this far only to not see what laid outside of a fated existence,” he murmured. “I have my own trepidations but I am intrigued by the possibilities presented. However, if you feel—”

“I knew that day standing on the conductor’s podium that I wanted this. Us,” you replied. “And I can think of nothing more worthy of the future we’ve carved for ourselves.”

Zandik buried his face in the crook of your neck. Once again, you pulled one of his hands and pressed it to your lower stomach, intertwining your fingers over his in a new, silent promise.

#dottore #il dottore #dottore x reader #il dottore x reader #dottore x female reader #il dottore x female reader #fic: dream a little dream of me #pregnancy #dottore gets a happy ending after all #soulmate au #angst with a happy ending as always #no why would these two communicate effectively lmao

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leeneir · 1 year ago

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Duo AU; Pro Gamer Iso x Violinist!Reader (Part 1)

I check the iso x reader tag EVERYDAY. FOR ISO CONTENT. Sadly, Iso isn't that popular. Sigh. Guess I'll do it myself.

AU inspired by those public pianist trends on yt and my Iso x OC ship as always. Along with that one toxic pro gamer Iso x reader on here, i fking love that au sm. (Hes not toxic in this one tho lol)

Pro Valorant player Zhao Yu, better known by his internet name "Dead Lilac" is a mechanically gifted one-trick main whose name is famous all over the gaming community.

Professional Violinist "Reader", famous for their musical talent and prodigal like abilities, having climbed up the ranks and becoming renowed in the music community and on social media.

Iso finishes up a stream with a sigh, the ratio of wins to losses was bad today, how disappointing. Zhao Yu lays in bed, taking a brief moment of rest before he continued on with his day.

His roommate Omen is playing with the cat when he goes to the kitchen to get something to eat, they talk for a bit, and the cat starts purring at his feet. He picks it up and just does a stare off with the thing while it paws at his face (without claws), and blows a rasberry. Omen chuckles.

Omen brings up the fact that his friends are going out for an outting later, Zhao Yu decides to get ready. He wears his signature hoodie ofc.

Jamie, Sunwoo, Tala, Tayane, and Mateo come along. Sadly, Ryo couldn't come. He was too busy with his drift practice or whatever. Tala says her brother was just too lazy to come.

They all meet up at the mall where they go shopping and do whatever, discussing random whatnots and getting up to antics. And then they find a piano in public and Jamie tells Zhao Yu to play something, they'll record it and post it online because why not? He's really good at playing it too.

Zhao Yu decides to humor them and gets on the piano, trying to think of a piece to play before he starts.

His fingers cross the keys with grace and practiced ease, playing a romantic classical version of a popular song. Zhao Yu finds himself lost in the music piece as strangers began turning heads and pausing in their step. He can feel his friends' eyes on him as Phoenix' camera records him, and he finds himself becoming more confident with each note he plays.

Unbeknowst to him, as he was nearing the chorus, one stranger came up and opened a peculiar shaped bag, pulling out a violin out of it. The moment Zhao Yu plays the chorus note, a new instrument joined him.

He almost paused, but his fingers kept playing. Somehow, he and the violinist were perfectly in sync. He turned his head without lifting his fingers, and he see's the stranger playing the instrument, and he's awed by their ability.

More people crowd around as they watch the duet, enchanted by the melody and harmony while Jamie continues recording. Zhao Yu and the stranger play until the end of the song. When they finished, the whole crowd applauded and cheered. It sort of reminded Zhao Yu of the music recitals he did when he was younger.

He gets off the piano and approaches his duet, complimenting them on their skill and giving his name, which the stranger responded with their own.

Reader and Zhao Yu chat about the piece they just played, and Jamie and Mateo run in with the video, showing it to both of them. It's then that Zhao Yu saw Reader passing by before they decided to play, and he's amazed at how easily they synced up to him without missing a note.

Mateo then says that he was a fan of Reader which promptly confused Zhao Yu. Was Reader someone famous? Jamie asked for permission to post the video which Reader granted without issue.

They continued talking for a moment up until Reader said that they had an appointment to get to and excused themself.

By the time that was over, Zhao Yu's friend group went nuts. Apparently having held themselves back from "ruining his chances", whatever that meant. Jamie and Mateo however couldn't hold themselves which is why they approached. Sunwoo proceeded to shake him uncontrollably for not getting Reader's number. When he asked why he needed it, Tala called him a "lonely bastard".

He asks if they knew her since Mateo did, and he was told that Reader was a social media influencer known for their violin talent.

Jamie sent the video to Zhao Yu's editor and they continued on with their hangout. Though, the duet still played on the back of his mind throughtout.

Timeskip to later that night, Zhao Yu realized that maybe he should have gotten Reader's number, and also why Tala called him lonely. Omen watched the video too and acknowledged Reader's social media presence which made Zhao Yu wonder just how popular they were if even his roommate knew about them.

The next day, Iso's editor had the video ready and posted. And it was doing numbers.

As it turns out, a duet between a pro gramer and a famous violinist was bound to go viral and become so popular that it was trending on every platform.

Both to his confusion and surprise, his fans went crazy with the shipping. He knew what it was only because his online group and team engaged in such antics. Although he wasn't sure how Reader would react. He only just recently followed them on their socials and was surprised to find out that they were already a follower.

His twitch chat wouldn't shut up about the duet and he recounted the story of how that moment came to be. And they went haywire. Zhao Yu found ship edits of him and Reader from the duet video and things were getting out of hand. He was worried of how this would affect them considering they weren't part of this side of the community, much less even in this community.

He found a response from Reader regarding the duet, and to his relief it was mostly positive. They even addressed a part of the response directly to him, asking if they should record an official one if he wanted to.

Now, Zhao Yu was open to collabs. But for some reason, this one had him staring at his screen for minutes as the type bar blinked in the chat box, it was Reader's instagram.

He decided that it wouldn't hurt to add some music content into his gaming content and wanted to reach out to Reader to inquire about that collab idea they proposed. Except... he was nervous.

Why was he though? It made no sense. Zhao Yu didn't get nervous, so why was he? He's done this dozens of times, so why was it any different now?

Mustering up all the courage he could, he typed a few letters and sent the message without leaving room to think it over.

On Reader's phone, a notification popped up from instagram messages. They opened it up, it was from Iso?!

"Hey" they read.

Yknow, this has been sitting in my drafts for 3 weeks. Finally glad i got this out even if some parts are uncohseive

#iso valorant #valorant #valorant iso #li zhao yu #iso #i love iso #valorant iso x reader #i love my wife #iso x reader #au #valorant au #valorant x reader

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indibutterfly · 1 year ago

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Freakshow Showtime Fic

This one-shot takes place in the Freakshow AU made by: hootbon

It was mostly inspired by the creative fanfics made by: @sm-baby

The main ship is implied as showtime, but it could be seen as platonic if you want it to be.

I honestly felt like I could have done so much better with this, but oh well. At least I had a lot of fun writing it.

Please let me know if you enjoyed this story!

TW: Violence and abuse

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A Version of You

An excruciating and booming sound was heard. It was ringing over and over in the ears of the performers, traumatizing them more and more with each ‘cheer’ and ‘applause’. The demented crowd’s black and morphed bodies grew twice in size as they serenated the most recent performers with their ‘love’ and ‘appreciation’. A grotesque and vile smell was surrounding the doll and her Ringmaster, as they ended their duet. Though this world was digital, and their bodies were not real in the slightest, a version of sweat rested on the brow of the dainty doll, as well as the upper gums of her elegant Ringmaster. The doll, cruelly named Pomni, felt the hand of her Ringmaster firmly on her lower back as the two held their ending pose. His silky glove has not moved once from its place on his doll since the performance ended. Pomni’s arms held high above her head in a crossing X pose, with her back arched in an almost inhuman way. Their faces, mere inches away from each other, were holding such elegant expressions that upon first glance appeared as though they were truly passionate about their performance. Pomni, however, detested performing. Many onlookers could ponder for ages as to why this would be the case. She was the favorite of her Ringmaster, was able to perform with the ‘grace’ and ‘elegance’ required of her, and the audience constantly enjoyed her performances, so why could she possibly despise this part of her so very much? The simple answer lies within the question itself. Performing is NOT a part of who Pomni is, or rather, who she once was. Pomni does not even remember who she once was, or even what really could be considered ‘part of her’. Her new name, bestowed upon the doll by her master, is meant to serve as a sort of cruel reminder that she could never remember who the real Pomni truly was. At least that is what she always thought. The doll’s mental state was brought back to where she currently resided, curtesy of her Ringmaster, Caine. He put his face ever so close to her own and softly whispered in her ear with his raspy and deep voice.

“Be ready to curtsey on my cue.” The doll dared not disobey her master and thus waited for her cue to give a final bow to the eldritch audience. Caine pulled away from his doll and, having an aura of a true gentleman, motioned towards her with one hand as the other continued to rest firmly on her back. Pomni moved from her position and gave an elegant curtsey towards the crowd. Another roar of gratitude and pleasure filled the stage, causing most of the performers behind the curtain to shake anxiously from the horrid noise. Pomni too would be shaking had it not been for the silky hand sitting softly on her waist. After what felt like an eternity to Pomni, the roaring slowly faded, and she was led by Caine behind the elegant yet torn curtain. After a performance, she was not allowed to converse with any of the other performers, as she was forced to have a ‘business meeting’ with Caine regarding how she could improve on her routines. She doubted in the back of her mind that this meeting would last very long as it was the one dance that Caine himself performed with her. The doll genuinely did not believe he would critique his own performance, so there was a very slim possibility that she could be free of their meeting in a faster time than usual. As the two entered her dressing room, she was seated in front of her vanity. Her dressing room could be seen as terrifying and hollow to the average onlooker; however, it was the only place Pomni had ever seen within the digital world to have so much color. Torn and tainted pink wallpaper adorned the walls. The floor was wooden, with its only description being that it was firm, stiff, and always polished. There was a small, covered area for Pomni to change into different outfits, however it was rarely used as the Ringmaster usually preferred to snap whatever he wished onto his doll. Her vanity that rested on the far left of her dressing room was a deep shade of lavender with three golden mirrors that held a trifold shape. The lightbulbs that adorned her vanity were the only source of light within the room. Even with that being the case, the lightbulbs only shone dimly, often causing her to have pain in her head and eyes. With a snap of his fingers, the usual mannequins arrived within the room and began to work on fixing her hair. He hovered behind her ever so slightly as he conjured a list into existence.

“Today’s performance was one of the best we have ever had. This was of course due to myself taking part in the grand finale.” Though she normally would not care to speak when her master was talking, her curiosity was taking the better of her in this moment.

“Why did you decide to dance with me today, Caine? I thought you would have hated doing a dance like that.” The Ringmaster rolled his eyes. On a normal day he would have punished her greatly for interrupting him as she did, however there was another show set to take place in just a few hours, and he needed his top performer to be in her best shape if she were to be as great as she was mere minutes ago. Granted that was all because of him, but she could certainly be a headache when she was scared, and he did not desire to deal with a headache at that very moment.

“What I chose to do for the show is none of your concern doll. You would do well not to interrupt me next time.”

“Sorry, it’s just I really thought that’s something you would’ve hated.” With a wave of his hand Caine dismissed the mannequins. The Ringmaster then hovered close to the ground. So close that if he were to put his feet down, the Ringmaster would be standing on the floor. Caine put his hands on the armrests of the chair, where his doll was sitting, as he loomed over her. His face staring straight into her eyes through the reflection of the mirrors.

“I do not despise dancing with you, if it is for the benefit of the circus.” That was all he said before teleporting away, leaving Pomni alone in the chilling quiet of her dressing room. She sat there for a few minutes, slightly fidgeting with some of the makeup and hair equipment that sat atop her vanity. When it seemed as though no one else would be entering her dressing room, Pomni arose from her seat and walked into the halls of the digital world. Even though there were still a few hours before the show even started, the doll made her way to where the main stage was located. The walls never failed to give Pomni an uneasy feeling within her. The gross and torn wallpaper peeled off the walls in eerie patterns, almost as though it was begging to be torn off the walls. The colors of the wallpaper were similar to Caine’s own color palate, except with a more muted tone. Pomni began to slightly stumble, as she had begun to feel the presence of the all-seeing eyes adorning the walls. Her mind had begun to wander places. Dissociation could be considered a hobby of hers, mostly due to it being one of the only ways she can keep some sort of sanity within her. However, the voices of the magician, rabbit, and ragdoll broke her trance before she could get too deep.

“So, what was it like puppet?~ Did you enjoy having such a passionate dance with our beloved Ringmaster?~” Jax said in a taunting and malicious voice. Pomni shuddered at his comment. It was not as though the routine was inherently bad for her, but it was indeed very ‘hands on’ due to it being a ballet routine.

“I genuinely thought it was weird he wanted to dance with me in the first place, but apparently, he thought it needed to happen for the ‘benefit of our show’ or whatever that means.” The rabbit shrugged; this answer was neither amusing nor fascinating to him. The ragdoll’s face was almost unreadable. Was she worried? Confused? Both? The ragdoll, named Ragatha, froze in place staring blankly as though she were trying to remember a moment in her past she tried so very hard to forget. The manic magician on the other hand raced towards Pomni and grabbed her shoulders in an almost violent manner. Although his body greatly shook, he spoke in a low yet soft voice.

“What.Did.Caine.Say?” He normally never spoke to her with such firmness. This caused fear to rise within Pomni. Before she was given a chance to speak, the fallen king interrupted her.

“Pomni, please answer. What did Caine say?” Now this caught the attention of the rabbit. Finally, a reaction worthy of his attention.

“Got something you wanna share with the class, chess piece?” The magician did not move from his position and focused solely on Pomni and her response. Guilt and fear were now her prominent emotions. Feeling obligated to respond she told the fallen king, the absolute truth.

“C-Caine said that what he does is for the benefit of the show.” The broken chess piece before her simply nodded as he processed her response.

“Kinger? What does that phrase mean?”

Jax gave a sly yet curious face, waiting for the other’s response. Kinger rolled his eyes in annoyance, something he has never done in all his time within the digital realm. Despite not having any lungs to breathe with, Kinger gave a deep and prolonged sigh.

“That phrase Caine used to say quite often…………before the virus took hold of the circus.” Pomni was stunned. Jax was amused. Ragatha merely kept her position the same. An eerie silence overcame the main halls. It seemed that the silence was held for far too long. Ragatha slowly walked off, holding her arms to her chest as she did. Jax approached the fallen king and the marionette.

“Think you could give any more fun tid bits about our lovely ringmaster?~” The rabbit asked, hoping for any sort of information he could use against the one who has caused all of his pain and suffering. This was not rewarded to him. Kinger blinked multiple times.

“Oh! Hello there rabbit! Are you and Pomni doing something fun this horrid day?” With that Jax left, with a look of great boredom etched across his face. Kinger simply wandered off, not quite knowing where he was supposed to be at that point in time. Pomni was still stunned. Caine was……different? What exactly does that mean? Her curiosity was going to get her killed, or perhaps even worse. It would be in her best interest to simply forget this whole intercourse and return to her state of disassociation. Which is why she decided to figure out the credibility of Kinger’s statement, regardless of her wellbeing. After all, when has she ever been safe in the circus anyway. Now the difficult part, how to search for more information without getting the attention of th-

“What do you want?” The doll leapt into the air, as though she were a startled cat.

“Caine! How did you know I was thinking about you?” The Ringmaster motioned towards the walls.

“I believe I told you about the hundreds of all seeing eyes. Is your memory that small to where you cannot remember the simplest of things?” The doll merely gave a nervous chuckle in response.

“So, what is it that you want?” He repeated.

“How do you know I want something?” The Ringmaster gave a slight scoff.

“Do you imagine me as such a terrible Ringmaster to not understand the desires of my performers?” Pomni did not believe such a lie. However, this did appear to be the absolute perfect time to inquire about her Ringmaster’s past.

“Were you ever……I dunno…..different?” Caine’s head tilted to the side.

“Elaborate.” Pomni inhaled a huge breath.

“Kinger had mentioned earlier that there was a point in time where you acted differently, in the past. Is that true?” A deep and horrific scowl appeared on the face of Caine. Pomni hunched herself down. Her mind racing with what all Caine could possibly do to her. She has not been locked in a room with spikes in a while. Maybe he will force her to perform longer shows. A terrifying thought brushed the mind of Pomni. What if he lent her out for the audience to use? This was a thought she never wanted to have again. She feared that if she perhaps entertained the idea of such a punishment, that he just might do it. The Ringmaster then raised his hand, with the doll flinching as a response. She braced for her punishment, whatever it may be. The way he placed his hand on her head…it was gentle……for about two seconds. His grasp clutched her head ever so tight, as though he were crushing an unwanted bug. Her cries, while not out of the ordinary, would give any who heard it anxiety. If the Ringmaster were willing to torture his precious doll, his favorite, to an unprecedented amount, then how much more would he punish those who were not his favorite? The Ringmaster held none of his strength back, crushing the doll until she was nothing but dust. Her pleas and screams dying out just shy of death. Pomni had felt the amount of pain she was in until the very end. She was half expecting to be regenerated within seconds so that he would have pleasure of crushing her over and over. She was wrong. It felt like hours. The doll was now hoping with every fiber in her being she that was truly dead, and that she did not need to return to the Freakshow. As seemed to be the normality with her life, Pomni’s hopes were dashed the moment she saw her room. The doll really should not have hoped. How can one hope when they are dead? It is honestly idiotic of her to even think Caine would just let her die in peace. She dared not look around. She knew the roof of her room anywhere, as it was the only room with a full-length mirror attached to the roof. The mirror was the only nice item in the room. The doll shut her eyes once more.

“It is the middle of the day my dear! You should not be sleeping in!” Sleep was no longer an option for her. That voice…it was the Ringmaster’s voice……right? As Pomni slowly opened her eyes she jumped out of her bed. There was no mistake that the…creature…standing before her was indeed Caine. The thing had teeth for the head, a red coat, a top hat, and a cane.

“I am glad to see how eager you are to get this day started with! Now what activities do you have in mind?” The voice was definitely different…and that scared her most.

“A-Are you………mad at me? Is that why you are acting like this?” The ‘Caine’ standing before her gave a confused look.

“And why would I be mad at you? You have not done anything wrong my dear!” A slight shiver went down her spine. This was not her Ringmaster.

“Who are you? Why do you look like Caine? Are you a new freak?” The thing before her gave a hard laugh.

“My dear, you never fail to make me laugh! I can assure you that I am indeed Caine.”

“S-So why do you talk like that? My Ringmaster would never speak to me with such warmth.” This time her question was met with only a snicker from ‘Caine’, as he took a seat on the opposite side of her bed.

“He would not. That poor soul is far too proud to do something in that manner. No, you see I am Caine, or rather I was Caine.” Was? Wait-

“Does your sudden appearance have anything to do with my previous conversation with my Ringmaster?” ‘Caine’ twirled his cane around and floated over to the doll.

“There is my quick thinker! For a minute there I thought that maybe part of you became corrupted as you regenerated. Glad to see I was wrong!” There were a number of events happening at once, leaving Pomni unable to properly stand. As she gripped onto the wall of her room, she tried to piece together what happened.

“Okay, so let me get this straight. You are the Caine from the past? Like before the virus.” ‘Caine’ gave a nod.

“Right you are!” What had she done? No really, what had she done.

“Is my Ringmaster inside you now or like how does that work?”

“Of course not! That poor soul would not be caught dead letting me take the reins! I am the bits of code that the virus for some reason could not affect. He just took those pieces and combined them with the parts of his memory of how he used to act and voila! I am here before you!” This was confusing to the doll. This was how Caine used to be? There was absolutely no way he was this warm to speak with.

“Pomni?” She shook her head and returned to the matter at hand.

“How do you know my name?” The ‘Caine’ floating in front of her smiled.

“I would not forget the name of my favorite doll! Just because I was not sentient doesn’t mean that I do not have most of the basic memories about you!” This was not getting any easier for Pomni to grasp, and for the first time in the history of her knowing Caine, he actually seemed to understand that.

“Here, why don’t we start off our time together by playing a nice calm game of twenty questions. Does that sound favorable to you Pomni?” The floating pair of teeth stretched out his arm towards her. Pomni flinched at first. ‘Caine’ gave her a gentle smile.

“Pomni, I promise I do not mean harm at all towards you. Please, do not be afraid of me.” She knew better than to trust Caine. Her time at the Freakshow taught her that much. However, the way he smiled, the way his voice sounded, Pomni was weak to this version. With a shaking hand, she allowed Caine to lead Pomni towards the center of the room.

“So, my dear, would you like to start, or would you prefer if I started?”

“Um you can start, but please don’t ever call me dear or doll.” The ‘Caine’ before her gave a gentle smile and nodded without any further pestering about her nicknames.

“So, my question to you Pomni, is what is your favorite food?” The doll couldn’t help but chuckle at this.

“Of all the first questions you could’ve asked me……you want to know what my favorite food is?” The kind ringleader mimicked the actions of the doll.

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable in any way. As well as I am also curious as to what foods you prefer!”

“Salmon is my favorite, but I don’t really get to eat it much here.” ‘Caine’ gasped using all his non-existent breath.

“Why are you deprived of your favorite food?!” The doll folded her hands in her lap and looked up towards the mirror on the roof of her room. He needed no explanation, her gesture explained enough. He placed his hand close to hers but refrained from touching her exactly.

“Pomni, are you hungry?” The doll blinked, confused. She didn’t know where he was going with this, but Pomni knew that she couldn’t deny how hungry she was at that moment. She gave a slight nod. ‘Caine’ wasted no time and snapped a plate of salmon in front her. Pomni panicked and jumped up, leaving ‘Caine’ to catch her plate. After taking a minute to assess what just took place, the doll crawled back to her spot.

“You didn’t have to bring me this.” ‘Caine’ smiled gently.

“I wanted to. No one should be deprived of their necessity.” Her chest felt tight. She thanked ‘Caine’ and took a bite. Her eyes grew wide. Despite his gentle and compassionate nature, Pomni half expected to taste plastic or something like that. The food was nothing like what she imagined. It was juicy yet tough. Savory yet sweet. It was rich with flavor, just the way she remembered it. For so many years, she yearned to even just take a bite of the salmon she once knew.

“Is it enjoyable?” Pomni didn’t respond. Pomni feared that if she didn’t enjoy each and every bite, that the food would somehow be taken away from her. ‘Caine’ chuckled lightly; he didn’t need a response from her. How could his host body treat her so unkindly. Her smile is the most adorable thing he has ever seen! At least from what he can remember. ‘Caine’ was snapped from his thoughts as Pomni finished her salmon. He reached out his arm slowly and scooped a small piece of food off of the rim of her mouth. She flinched but not as hard as she did earlier. He took notice of this and smiled softly.

“Thank you for that……I really needed it.”

“But of course! Now if you feel comfortable enough, I believe its your turn to ask me a question!” Pomni chuckled slightly as she thought for a moment. She honestly did feel comfortable enough……she really did. It was strange to think that there could be a point in her life where she could comfortably be with Caine.

“Why are you so………different, than the Caine that runs the freakshow?” The smile adorning the kind ringleader faltered. He took a moment to collect his thoughts. ‘Caine’ cleared his throat as he looked away with shame.

“It’s technically not our fault……I unfortunately don’t have much memory as to what happened before the virus took over. All I remember is that……we tried really hard to escape. It infected our younger brother first. We watched as he slowly deteriorated. He told us to run. We did, but he was faster. Slowly and painfully, we fell as well. It felt like a thousand burning needles were stabbing into every part of our code. Our turn into what my host body is today was slow……but it hurt. Every second of it hurt. After that I don’t remember the rest. HE probably does, but I think he keeps that part of him locked up. I am terribly sorry I cannot give you any more information, that’s all I can give you at the moment.” Pomni was wide eyed with both shock and terror. Able was infected first? Is that why the Caine she knows has such a deep hatred of his brother? Able infected Caine. Changed him. The ‘Caine’ before her seemed uncomfortable. It bothered her. He was trying to make her as comfortable as he could and here, she was, making him relive the pain and torment from his past. The marionette gave a gentle smile.

“We don’t have to talk about that anymore. If you feel okay, it’s your turn now.” His face lit up upon hearing her response to him. He tapped a finger to his lower jaw.

“Do you prefer frilly outfits or outfits of more comfortability?”

“Casual! Oh Lord casual! I hate anything frilly!” ‘Caine’ began to laugh at Pomni’s immediate response.

“Really? I certainly could not tell! This is quite the shock!” Pomni mimicked the ringleader’s previous laugh. Before she could say another word, her apparel was changed from the frilled and laced ballet dancer apparel her master had put her in, into a simple pair of black leggings and long sleeved flowy scarlet shirt. Her ballet shoes were exchanged for a pair of short black socks. Pomni gave a smile of gratitude towards ‘Caine’.

“Sorry I couldn’t put you in anything better. Apparently, my host body doesn’t really understand the concept of comfortable wear. So, I had to come up with the next best thing!” ‘Caine’ said with a manner similar to that of a close male friend.

“Well, this is definitely better than that tutu. Now my turn, are you using this game to make me like you more?” She asked with a playful grin. The ringleader leaned his dentured head on the end of her bed, while copying Pomni’s current smirk.

“Is it working, Pomni?” The girl gave a laugh.

“Y’know……I think it is.”

“Success!!” He accidentally screamed as he floated up in excitement. As if catching himself, ‘Caine’ immediately turned his gaze immediately towards Pomni to check on her. Much to the surprise of the floating teeth, Pomni was on the floor laughing. Pomni was laughing. The emotion seemed to be contagious as he too joined in on the laughter. Joyful and comforting sounds were emitting from Pomni’s room. As the laughter died down Pomni spoke.

“Up for another game?” ‘Caine’ rapidly nodded.

“Absolutely!” The next game was a card game. The game after that a version of a popular board game. Game after game after game after game. Hours had passed since the arrival of the previous version of Caine. Neither had noticed though. It was as if the two were best friends, reunited at last. They tended to stay away from the topic of the real Caine, and his treatment of Pomni. She needed this. A friend. A real friend. The two now embellished themselves in a harmless game of gossip.

“………and then Able just walks in as if he owns the circus and starts casually flirting with me!”

“No! Really?! That’s revolting!”

“It was so gross I almost threw up right then and there!” The two quieted down their discussion, allowing a calming silence to overcome the room. That is before ‘Caine’ piped up again.

“What is that mirror doing above your bed?” Pomni froze up. The marionette curled in on herself. ‘Caine’ turned his gaze softly towards the doll as though he were apologizing through his expression. She saw his face and shook her head.

“It’s fine Caine……The mirror was a ‘gift’ that was given to me by the Ringmaster himself. One morning I woke up and got ready for our roll call. I had slept in a little, so I was rushing in preparing myself, and in the end, I didn’t really look my best. When the real Caine saw me………let’s just say I got more than a stern talking to. After being brutally punished, he put this mirror to sit above my bed, so that my first task to do every morning when I wake up is to make myself worthy of my Ringmaster’s eyes.” The kind pair of dentures shook in utter fury. Was his host body truly capable of such horrible actions? Especially to this sweet and loving girl who has already suffered so very much. No………this was too far. The old Caine floated up to the mirror and ripped it off the roof of Pomni’s room. She tried to call out. To stop him. Her friend wasn’t listening. With all the force in his artificial being, he threw the mirror up against the wall of her room harshly. The marionette didn’t even have time to process what was currently taking place as the real Caine appeared within mere milliseconds. As though he were a strict parent about to punish their child, the real Caine hovered ominously in front of both his doll and his former self.

“Might I ask WHO was the one that destroyed MY mirror?” He asked with a firm yet furious voice. Pomni quaked in fear as she took note of the look within her Master’s eyes. Her friend would not allow this any longer. He placed himself without hesitation in between his future self and his new friend.

“You only have yourself to blame.” It was as though the Caine of the past was spitting acid at his future self. The real Caine did not take to this very kindly. He grabbed the old Caine and used his abilities to pin him up against the wall. The past Caine was engulfed by monstrous arms that held him in place. The Ringmaster looked towards his doll.

“WHAT are you wearing doll?” Pomni shuddered and could barely stammer an answer out. She knew that he hated to be kept waiting so she answered her Master with a stammer.

“C-Casual clothin-�� She was not allowed to finish her sentence. The infected Ringmaster took hold of the doll and tore her apparel off of her, leaving her in her signature tutu and ballet shoes. Caine then began to light all of the physical games the doll and her friend played on fire. He threw in the shards of the casual clothing. The past ringleader and the marionette shouted and screamed as the real Caine continued to destroy every single piece of evidence regarding the time spent between his past self and his doll. With a snap of his finger the mirror was put back in its place. Not a single crack was found on the clean glass of the mirror. The marionette was then grabbed by her throat and thrown up against her wall with intense force. The collision caused her to pass out completely. The Ringmaster levitated her and laid her down gently on her bed. His past self was struggling to break free from his reigns as the real Caine bent down and kissed Pomni on the forehead.

“What exactly do you think you are doing?!” The Caine of the past cried.

“I erased all her memories of you…I may not have control over her mind fully, but any memory related to myself is one that I may manipulate as I please.” The kind ringleader shed a tear at how much pain and loss was about to befall his friend. The Ringmaster of the circus gave a deep chuckle, satisfied at the outcome. The former Caine would rather himself die than give his future self any sort of satisfaction.

“At least she enjoys being around me.” That was the comment that earned the past Caine a hard slash across his chest with a knife infected with the virus. The code quickly spread throughout his body.

“I won’t have to listen to your cowardly ramblings anymore. Soon you will be nothing more than a forgotten memory.”

“Say what you want, but we both know that Pomni despises you with her very core. You treat her like rubbish then expect her to adore you and swoon over you!” Another slash across the chest of the Caine of the past. At this point though ‘Caine’ didn’t care.

“You know I am more than right.”

“MY DOLL feels pleasure and adoration that I allow her to be my favorite for as long as she has. You, however, have no place in her mind.”

“If that were true then why was I brought-“ The past Caine was cut off by the coded knife stabbing him deep within his chest. The virus spread deeper and quicker, causing the past Caine to slowly turn to dust.

“In the end you still were nothing~” The Ringmaster gave a proud look on his face as he watched the melting of his former self. The old Caine would not allow his future self to have the final word. Using his last bit of strength, he summoned a small gift for Pomni that now laid next to her. The past ringleader felt peace with his final act of kindness towards his dear friend. He turned to the Ringmaster and gave a haughty grin.

“Pomni will always love me more………”

“She won’t ever know that.” The Ringmaster said with a scoff. The previous iteration of Caine gave a superior look.

“But you will~” With that the Caine of the past was turned into dust leaving an angered Ringmaster to stand before his heap of remains. Words could not describe his current fury. His gaze immediately found the marionette on the bed. With a snap her eyes opened, and she sat up.

“Get ready, we will be on stage in five minutes.” He commanded with a firm tone of voice. Her master teleported himself out of her room, leaving the doll alone once more. Pomni wasted no time in readying herself, already remembering what took place last time. As she arose from her bed a sound was heard. Her eyes were transfixed on a golden locket necklace that fell on the floor of her room. Mistaking it as a gift from her Master, the doll left her room without another thought. Had she read the heart locket’s message, perhaps she would have been blessed with a fragment of the memory of the time spent with her dear friend. However, she never saw the locket again, and forever the message from her dear friend will forever be lost as well as the memory of her pleasant time with the wonderous and kind ringleader Caine.

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I like to write for au’s apparently…..If there are any other au’s that I should write for lemme know!

#the amazing digital circus #tadc caine #tadc pomni #caine tadc #caine x pomni #pomni tadc #showtime ship #tadc fanfiction #tadc freakshow #freakshow au #the amazing digital freakshow #pomni #the amazing digital circus pomni #the amazing digital circus caine #caine #tadc

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princesssarisa · 9 months ago

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Adventures in Wonderland (1992-1995): a detailed list of the Mad Hatter and March Hare's "Ship Tease" moments, Season 1

@hathousehappenings, @spikrock

The Disney Channel's Adventures in Wonderland was one of my favorite childhood TV shows, and it's one that I love to revisit now as an adult. Not only do its charms still hold up, but I can see certain nuances now that I missed when I was younger. Namely, how much the show's versions of the Mad Hatter and the March Hare seem like an adorable gay couple.

Now of course they couldn't make it overt: this was a kids' show in the early '90s, so officially, they're just best friends. But their actors, John Robert Hoffman and Reece Holland, are both gay in real life, and from an adult viewpoint, it shows.

So I've drawn inspiration from the long list on the Recess Wiki of T.J. and Spinelli's "Ship Tease" moments to create a similar list for the Hatter and Hare. Every moment between them that's particularly affectionate, suggestive, domestic, or just plain cute in a way that's not quite typical of platonic male friends.

I've rewatched every episode of Season 1 and compiled the list below the cut. Warning: it's long.

Herstory in the Making: The show’s first Hatter/Hare scene would work just as well between a married couple, as they face having to do “the grocery shopping” (it seems the writers hadn’t established yet that the two of them don’t live together) and as each one tries to foist the job onto the other. Later, in the story that all the Wonderland characters write for Alice, the Hare is described as “handsome” – it’s easy to guess that the Hatter wrote that part.

Lip-Sunk: When the Hatter pours tea for the Hare and offers him lemon for it, they smile affectionately at each other, their faces close together, and then giggle.

Red Queen for a Day: Their role in this episode consists of arguing over whether tarts or cookies are best to serve at a tea party: the phrase “like an old married couple” comes to mind.

Objects d’Heart: When the Hatter reacts with horror to the Queen giving her ugly statue to him, the Hare grips his hand to steady him. (Granted, the White Rabbit also holds his other hand and pats his shoulder, but the Hare grasps his hand with both of his own.) Later, when the Hatter calls the statue “a stately stone statue, a carefully crafted carving, a magnificent monolithic modern masterpiece,” the Hare gushes “Amazingly awesome alliteration!” in an adoring tone. And at the beginning of the sculpture garden scene, the Hatter is standing with his elbow on the Hare’s shoulder.

Arrivederci Aroma: During their duet, “Goodbye, Old Paint,” the Hatter and Hare go behind a screen together, then emerge having changed out of their regular clothes into overalls for painting. Meaning that behind the screen, they undressed in front of each other. Later, at the tea table, we find the Hare adding a condiment (pepper) to the Hatter’s cup of tea – silly, yes, but still an affectionate, intimate gesture.

The Bunny Flop: When the Hatter and Hare admit that the Queen’s missing shoe isn’t in the attic, they cutely finish each other’s sentence.

Pop Goes the Easel: The Hare grips the Hatter’s shoulder as they face the Queen to make an excuse for postponing the portrait-unveiling, and again in the final scene as they invent an explanation for the salt container in the painting. Their dance in their duet, “Your Picture is Worth a Thousand Words” also includes some shoulder-holding. And in at the Hatter’s house, as they cover the portrait in protective coating, their arms tangle together as if they were playing Twister.

That’s All, Jokes!: The episode opens with the Hatter and Hare pranking each other: first the Hatter tricks the Hare into drinking iced tea from a dribble glass, and then the Hare tries to trick the Hatter into eating a hot cross bun with spicy chiles in it. As they offer each other the prank treats, each one leans very close to the other and entices him to taste it in a sensual way, and each prank hinges on how well they know each other’s tastes: the Hatter knows that the Hare loves tea with lemon, while the Hare knows that the Hatter loves hot cross buns. Then when Tweedle Dum eats the spicy bun instead, the Hatter and Hare clasp each other’s hands and shoulders as they laugh at him together. Later, in the penultimate scene, they cutely exchange silent nudges and pokes to get each other’s attention during the Queen’s speech, and as everyone backs away when the Queen’s temper starts to flare, the Hatter grabs the Hare’s arm.

Forget Me Knot: Nothing much, but they do sing a cute duet in matching fake moustaches, “Give Us a Call,” when the Hatter is disguised as “Professor Memory.” The Hare’s “photographic memory” also includes several photos of himself and the Hatter together.

Boo, Who?: The Hatter and Hare bake a cake together throughout their duet, “Cooking with Candy”: a cute domestic scene. Then when they become ghost hunters and set a trap for the “ghost” in the Queen’s palace, and are explaining it, the Hare crouches down and hugs the Hatter’s leg to stop him from stepping on the rubber duckie and setting it off the trap too soon – just grabbing his leg with his hand would have sufficed, but instead he gives it a full-body hug! Later, as they’re watching for the ghost at night, they huddle shoulder-to-shoulder next to the Queen’s throne. Also, the Hare asks the Hatter if he can keep the ghost as a pet. You’d think he could make that decision on his own, but he asks the Hatter’s permission, as if they were roommates… or something more. (Again, it doesn’t seem to be established yet that the Hatter and Hare live in separate houses.)

Double Your Bunny: The Hatter is first seen lounging in a Cleopatra stance on top of the tea table as he faces the Hare, who sits in the opposite chair.

Diary of a Mad Hatter: The episode opens with a domestic scene of the Hatter and Hare cleaning the Hatter’s attic together. The Hare starts it by telling the Hatter that the attic needs cleaning, then immediately picks up a feather duster and starts dusting. This leads them to discover Great-Grandhatter’s diary. Later, they cutely nudge each other and laugh together about how “trees don’t bite.”

How the West Was Wonderland: When the Hatter shows off his selection of cowboy hats, the Hare serves as his assistant, handing them up from under the table. Then when they learn that the Queen needs a horse, they put on a two-person horse costume, the Hatter playing the front end and the Hare playing the rear end: they wear it for the rest of the episode and even sing a duet inside it.

The Rules of the Game: When the Hare sneezes in the middle of their duet, the Hatter stifles it by holding his finger under the Hare’s nose: a stock comedy gesture, yes, but an awfully intimate one. Then when the Miwok players form two-person teams, the Hatter and Hare insist that “of course” they’ll be partners. And when they finally explain to Alice that you can change the rules of the game at any time, they cutely finish each other’s sentence, ending it by speaking in unison.

Something to Sneeze At: The whole storyline revolves around the fact that the Hatter and Hare can’t stand to be apart, and so they try and try again to find ways to be together despite the Hatter’s apparent allergy to the Hare. The Hatter calls him “my Hare” when he says that he doesn’t want to lose him, and their utter sadness at being forced to avoid each other is made clear throughout the episode. So is their utter joy in the end when they finally solve the problem. Also, during the Hatter’s second sneezing fit near the beginning, the Hare holds tissue after tissue to the Hatter’s nose with each sneeze. As with the Hatter stifling the Hare’s sneeze in the previous episode, you’d think an ordinary platonic friend would let him do that himself. And when they try to have a “TV party” (a proto-Zoom meeting from today’s perspective), the Hare asks, “How do I look?” and flaunts his face close to the camera for the Hatter.

Off the Cuffs: At the beginning before the Hare’s magic trick, the Hatter gives a big spiel and sings a musical number about what an amazing magician the Hare is. Then he serves as his assistant. Later, when the Hare finally remembers that the key labelled “This is not the key to the trick handcuffs” really is the key to the trick handcuffs, the Hatter affectionately exclaims “Hare, you are so clever!”

The Wonderland Enquirer: At the beginning of the Tweedles’ flashback, the Hatter is once again lounging Cleopatra-style on the table while the Hare sits beside him, and they sigh happily and smile at each other while remarking what a lovely day it is for tea and crumpets. Later, as they set the table for the next tea party, the Hare exuberantly praises the Hatter’s parties, first in dialogue, and then by singing a song, “The Host with the Most.” In the subsequent scene, when the Hatter cries because Alice won’t eat his crumpets, the Hare tenderly pats his shoulder, then grips his arm when they read the “Hatter Serves Stale Crumpets” headline in the paper.

The Hatter Who Came to Dinner: As the Hatter trims the Queen’s shrubbery, the Hare stands under the ladder and spots him, ignoring the leaves and branch pieces that shower down on him. After the Hatter hurts his back, the Hare fusses over him and looks after him throughout the rest of the scene, even saying “Ow, ow ow!” with him as if in sympathetic pain while helping him down from the ladder. The next day when the Hare comes back to visit the Hatter, and the Hatter first starts to get up from the bed during his solo song, the Hare gently tries to coax him to lie back down at first, like a spouse would. Then when the Hatter invites the Hare to stay at the palace with him, the Hare responds by leaping onto the bed and reclining next to him. And in the final scene, when Tweedle Dee says that what matters is that the Hatter is feeling better, the Hatter and Hare say the Hatter’s catchphrase, “How true that is!” in unison. (This episode also includes a scene of the Hatter sharing the White Rabbit’s bed at night, and in his sleep, he seems oddly determined to throw himself across the Rabbit’s body, then giggles as the Rabbit accidentally tickles him while trying to move him back to his own side.)

For Better or Verse, TechnoBunny: Nothing much, but these episodes do include two of the most fun Hatter/Hare duets: “Professional Diagnosticians” and “Robot Recipe,” respectively.

Party-Pooped: The Hatter/Hare feud episode plays out like a breakup, with all the other characters finally conspiring to bring their favorite couple back together. To begin with, the Hatter’s complaints about the Hare’s inconsiderate behavior sound almost like a stereotypical wife’s complaining about an inconsiderate husband, and he even claims that the Hare has “hurt [his] feelings.” Then as they argue about whether the Hare should apologize or not, their faces come very close together, almost close enough for a kiss: the TV Tropes phrase “belligerent sexual tension” comes to mind. (The show’s “blooper reel” has a funny alternate take of this moment, where the Dormouse calls them both idiots and orders them to make up, then adds “Happy Valentine’s Day!”) And after the Hatter calls the Hare “not my real friend” and the Hare storms away, the Hatter’s expression shows that he’s instantly horrified and remorseful, but his ego won’t let him admit it. During their split, it’s evident that they’re still preoccupied with each other; their chief focus is on hosting rival parties and each trying to outdo the other’s. The climactic party scene at the Queen’s palace is the real shipper’s field day, however. It looks like a Valentine’s Day party, with romantic-looking red heart decorations everywhere. Ostensibly this is just because the Queen is the hostess, but she’s never used heart decorations this lavishly before. Then the Hatter and Hare discover each other’s presence by accidentally finding themselves chest-to-chest. After they still snub each other, and the others huddle up to form Plan B, what they do in the background is worth noticing: despite the show they make of refusing to speak or look at each other, they still don’t leave each other’s side, and keep stealing stealthy glances at each other. Then, when the others confuse them, not only do they start speaking to each other without thinking, but the Hare even uses the Hatter’s usual catchphrase, “How true that is!” And when all the others startle them by exclaiming “Aha!” they instinctively grasp each other’s arms. Throughout Alice’s subsequent song, “Back on Speaking Terms,” she and the other characters try to literally push the Hatter and Hare into each other’s arms, and try to join their hands too, no matter how many times they pull away. And at the end, after getting caught up in the dance, the Hatter and Hare finally voluntarily join hands, which is followed by their finally making up.

Up and Anthem: The Hatter and Hare end “The Wonderland Polka” by leaning against each other shoulder-to-shoulder.

Pretzelmania: When the Hatter and Hare react with shock to Alice guessing that their invention is a pretzel machine, the Hare grabs the Hatter’s arm and shoulder. They also do a little arm- and shoulder-grabbing during the reveal of the pretzel machine. The Hare grabs the Hatter’s arm again at the reveal that the Queen’s ring is missing, while the Hatter puts a comforting/steadying hand on the Hare’s shoulder after they, the Rabbit, and Alice accidentally knock their heads together. Then, when the Hatter says “Search me!” (meaning “I don’t know”), the Hare takes it literally, and starts patting and examining the Hatter’s jacket and chest to search for the ring, with the Hatter willing and happy all the while.

White Elephant Sale: Nothing much, but they do sing a nice duet, “White Elephants into Gold,” which ends with the Hare calling the Hatter (and the Hatter calling himself) “a very brilliant guy.”

Rip-Roaring Rabbit Tales: The Hare grasps the Hatter’s arm and shoulder when the White Rabbit says he’s come on official business.

Happy Boo Boo Day: Again, the Hare grabs the Hatter’s arm a couple of times during their duet “Shh, Surprise!”

What Makes Rabbit Run: Nothing much, but they do sing a fun duet and have cute moments of finishing each other’s sentences.

Friday the Umpteenth: The episode opens (after the theme song) with the Hatter and Hare together in domestic mode, cleaning the Dormouse’s teapot. Then, after they learn about Friday the 13th’s “bad luck,” they spend most of the rest of the episode in a state of anxiety, and frequently grab each other’s arms and shoulders.

Pizza de Resistance: Nothing much, but they do sing a fun duet, “It’s All Up Here,” and share a domestic scene as they cook their “pizza” (meatloaf) together.

A Litter Help from My Friends: They sing another fun duet, “A Picnic on a Bun,” where they build a giant submarine sandwich together, and at one point playfully “fence” with the knives. Then, when the White Rabbit says they have a big problem and the others gather anxiously around him, the Hare grabs the Hatter’s shoulder.

Busy as a Spelling Bee: The Hare precisely remembers the last time the Hatter went bowling and what he was wearing. Then when they decide to go put on their bowling clothes, the Hare says, “Let’s split!” and the Hatter replies “Spare me.” And their duet, “Pick a Word, Any Word,” ends with them sitting shoulder-to-shoulder.

Hic-Hic Hooray: Nothing much, but their duet, “Just Another Miracle of Modern Science,” does include shoulder-touching, and at one point the Hatter grooms the Hare’s ears for him while he looks in a mirror.

He’s Not Heavy, He’s My Hatter: First, there’s the title, if we assume it’s from the Hare’s perspective: “my Hatter.” Within the episode itself, the Hare comfortingly pats the Hatter’s shoulder when he cries about how tempting it is to eat cookies, and staunchly keeps his promise to the Hatter to hide the cookies and not let him eat any more. At the end, when the Hatter realizes he’s lost weight from all the exercise he got looking for the cookies, the Hare proudly exclaims “You’re so smart, you fooled yourself!” and in the song “It’s Great to Be in Shape,” he sings “We like that eye appeal” about the Hatter’s slimmed-down figure.

Invasion of the Tweedle Snatchers: Twice when the “aliens” first speak to the Hatter and Hare, the terrified Hare leaps up into the Hatter’s arms and the Hatter holds him “bridal style.” And even after the Hatter puts him down, they still cling to each other in fear. Throughout the whole episode, as in other episodes they spend in a stage of anxiety, they repeatedly clutch each other’s arms and shoulders.

Bubble Trouble: When the Hatter and Hare come to dip their “tootsies” in the spring, the Hare tickles the bottom of the Hatter’s foot and the Hatter giggles. Later, they share a domestic scene with the song “Scrub-a-Dub-Dub,” as they wash dishes together.

Welcome Back Hatter: The episode opens with the Hatter and Hare making a list of all the things they plan to do together, and then they talk extensively to Alice about how inseparable they are. As the Hatter says, “Has a Hatter ever had a better friend?” he puts his arm around the Hare and pulls him close. But then, of course, the plot kicks in: the Hatter wins a far-away castle in a contest and prepares to move. Throughout the episode, the Hare is utterly heartbroken, yet for the Hatter’s sake he tries to seem happy for him and urges the others to do the same. Meanwhile, the Hatter is too ecstatic about his new castle at first to see the Hare’s sadness or realize his own sadness at leaving him, but gradually it sinks in. First, in the attic, he consoles the Hare by assuring him that he can come visit him; then, after the Hare leaves at the end of the scene, the Hatter has a delayed reaction to the Hare’s remark that the castle will have everything “…except me,” and gazes after him, then looks deeply troubled. In the same scene, the Hare’s “By the way, Hatter… I hope you love your new castle” reads almost (or maybe entirely) like an aborted declaration of love. Ditto for their eventual goodbye, where they both pretend to be happy but clearly aren’t at all. Meanwhile, the Hatter leaves his house and all his belongings to the Hare as a gift. But after he leaves, the Hare can’t bear to move in because there are too many memories and is too depressed even to drink tea. But inevitably, the Hatter comes back in the end: it turns out that all he won was a tiny toy castle. Their joyful reunion features the ultimate musical tribute to their bond, the duet “Welcome Back, Hatter,” with the refrain “Hatter and Hare, quite a pair!” The song is set to a montage of funny Hatter/Hare moments from throughout the season, which the two of them watch on Crystalvision, patting and grasping each other’s arms as they laugh nostalgically all the while.

#adventures in wonderland #1992 #the disney channel #long post #the mad hatter #the march hare #ship tease #ho yay #lgbt+#subtext #season 1 #john robert hoffman #reece holland #hatterxhare

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cookie-nom-nom · 11 months ago

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Had this dream about lich forms Lup and Barry but it was distinctly in the form of a ballet duet set to a dream version of Scylla. IE some verses were word for word but others were whatever the dream felt like it. Their lich powers shifted wildly depending on mental state. There was this orchestral solo section with Lup where her fire became more celestial themed, and she was resplendent with constellations gleaming across her skin. In elegant twirls and leaps she crossed the stage, the arena of the crowd encircling and enthralled. Her smile stretching ever wider from the fame and adoration, basking in stardom. (There was definitely some Taako bleeding into this part). Spinning faster faster in this swirl of elation and starlight.

And then she suddenly stills.

And then the words kicked in.

Drown in your sorrow and fear

It's this moment of pure collapse as the stars in her eyes, the countless universes she's experienced, all quenched by the Hunger. Where once the audience was lit up now it was inky black surrounding Lup. That desperation that lead the 7 Birds to forge the relics, and the intolerable guilt of what they cause.

Live out your life as a wraith

And then we see Lup. Horrific and blistering, this overwhelming destructive force scorching all. Her body is barely one at all, as she's transformed into apoplectic destruction. She is the phoenix gauntlet. She's utterly lost control of her lichform, dissolving into fire and fury incarnate. Because have they not earned a little wrath?

Enter, Barry. He swirls with dark necrotic clouds, this ominous shadow piercing into the heart of the inferno. The pair dance around each other, these titanous forces of darkness and light, so completely anathema this raging radiance and gentle gloom. And he is reaching for her.

We must do what it takes to survive.

In Epic, this is the moment when two have chosen to be monstrous. And in Taz it was too, the Lovers becoming liches. But it's so, so much more. Because it is bonds that have saved them through that wretched stolen century, and love is what it takes to survive. And he is reaching for her, begging her to remember the love that has kept her from falling apart for so long. Yes it is asking her to bear the pain and guilt of what they have done to try and save the world time and time again. But he is also asking her to do what it takes for any of the planar realms to survive the Hunger.

We are the same you and I.

And Lup reaches back, pure light entwining where Barry gently cups what is becoming her face, willing her to resemble a person again. Fire melts into her elven form, grounded once more into a controlled form by the love for each other that keeps them same. She sinks into his arms, and the pair collapse to their knees, clutching each other so tightly they're forced to be made of flesh and blood. They both begin to weep, both in crushing pain and relief. The spotlight above shrinks until they are alone in a small pool of light.

The world becomes pitch black to thunderous applause.

#............okay this is for other mutuals: i did NOT consider the resemblance to Lup when making scp philza but you know what good for him #taz #the adventure zone #taz balance #lup taaco #lup taz #barry bluejeans #scylla #epic the musical #taz fic #i guess??? dreams be wild yo #i am plagued by visions #something to nom on

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loeyshine · 1 month ago

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Sixteen Strings Ago

Epoch Book

•*⁀➷pairing: chanyeol x fem reader

Theme: healthy dose of fluff, angst, nostalgic relationship, teenage (reader), unseen mixtape, married couple

Description: she was 16, love for music and passion. It was just an old music mixtape, but would it suddenly change everything between his love for her?

Playlist: unchained melody — the righteous brothers

Chapter 1: The Mixtape

The spring sunlight filtered softly through the gauzy curtains of your shared apartment, casting a golden hue on the hardwood floor. You were cleaning out the closet in the study something you and Chanyeol had been procrastinating for months.

Your fingers brushed against an old shoebox, tucked way at the back behind stacks of books and a dusty photo frame. You sat cross-legged, pulling it out with curiosity, your heart pausing for a beat when you saw your own handwriting on the lid.

Y/N – memories (cringe warning lol)

You opened it slowly. Inside were old polaroids, pressed flowers, a couple of ticket stubs… and a small USB drive taped to a folded piece of notebook paper. You stared at it, your fingers trembling slightly.

Just then, Chanyeol walked in, a mug of coffee in each hand. He raised an eyebrow when he saw you frozen in place.

"What’s that?" he asked, handing you your mug before sitting beside you.

You chuckled nervously. "A relic from my teenage drama era."

His curiosity doubled. "Oho? Now this I need to see."

You hesitated. “It’s a video… of a song I wrote when I was 16. I recorded it for… my ex. After we broke up.”

Chanyeol’s expression faltered for the briefest second before he gave you a gentle smile. “I still want to see it. That was your past. And hey your music always fascinates me.”

With a sigh, you plugged the USB into your laptop. The screen lit up, and there you were 16, sitting on your bed, cradling your acoustic guitar, eyes red from crying but determined. The room behind you looked like a time capsule band posters, fairy lights, the whole moody teen aesthetic.

“Hey…” younger-you said shyly to the camera. “I wrote this after everything… I don’t know if you’ll ever listen, but I just had to get it out of me.”

The chords started softly, your fingers tentative but precise. The song was raw something about goodbye, about still hoping he finds happiness even if it’s not with you. Your voice cracked a bit near the end, but it was beautiful in a way only honesty can be.

Chanyeol didn’t say anything the whole time. When the video ended, the room was quiet.

You turned to him. “You okay?”

He blinked a few times. “Yeah… I just… I can’t believe that was you.”

“In a good way or a bad way?” you teased, trying to mask the vulnerability crawling up your spine.

“In the kind of way where I’m proud. Of the girl you were, and the woman you’ve become.” He reached for your hand. “You’ve always had music in your soul, Y/N. Even then. Even when it hurt.”

You looked down, heart swelling. “I was scared you'd feel weird. That it was too personal.”

“I want to know every version of you,” he said softly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Even the 16-year-old who cried over a guy that wasn’t me. Because I get to love you now.”

You leaned into him, letting his arms wrap around you.

“Still… kinda weird though,” he added, grinning. “I’m totally gonna write a diss track to that guy.”

You laughed against his chest. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously in love with you,” he replied without missing a beat.

And in that quiet, golden-lit afternoon, surrounded by dust and memories, you realized that some pasts aren’t meant to haunt they’re just stepping stones to the present. And in this present, you were exactly where you were meant to be.

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

Chapter 2: Duet of Us

It had been three days since you and Chanyeol watched the old mixtape the song you wrote at 16, raw and honest, poured out for a boy who no longer mattered. But the emotions in the lyrics still clung to you like gentle ghosts.

Chanyeol had been quiet about it since then, unusually contemplative, always humming something under his breath when you passed by the living room or caught him fiddling with his guitar.

So when he texted you from two rooms away “Come to the studio. Bring tea. No questions.”you knew something was up.

You padded in with a mug of chamomile, and paused at the door. The little home studio you both had built was lit with warm ambient lights. Chanyeol sat at the keyboard, guitar slung across his shoulder, headphones tilted back on his head.

“You look suspicious,” you said.

He turned, his eyes lit up like a kid about to show off his science project. “Okay. So… I may have done a thing.”

You raised an eyebrow. “A thing?”

He stood, grabbed your hand, and led you to the second mic. “I listened to that song again alone. And I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Not just the heartbreak, but how deeply it came from you. And I kept wondering…”

“…Wondering?” you echoed, heart racing a little.

“What would it sound like now if we told the rest of that story together?”

Your eyes widened as he handed you a lyric sheet. Your words were there but woven into them were new ones. His. Like a response written in harmony, not just melody.

You scanned the lines:

Yours (then):

"I loved you in silence, even when you walked away / I wrote your name in the chords I couldn't play."

His (now):

"But I heard that silence, even from far away / And I’ve been writing back with every note I play."

Your throat caught. “Chanyeol…”

“I know it was a song for someone else,” he said gently. “But it’s also part of who you are. And now… maybe we can make it ours. Just one take. What do you say?”

You nodded, stepping to the mic. “Let’s finish the story.”

The track began same guitar intro, just like 16-year-old you played it. But this time, your voice was steadier, stronger, wrapped in warmth. And then Chanyeol’s voice came in rich, deep, like honey and rain. A perfect contrast. A perfect harmony.

You sang your verses, he sang his. And then unexpectedly he layered in new chords for a bridge

"You were meant to break to become whole / And I was waiting at the end of that road / Now here we are, no more shadows / Just light from the past that helped us grow."

The final chorus hit different now. Not about heartbreak but healing. The song was no longer a goodbye. It was a conversation across time. Between who you were and who you are. Between your past and your forever.

When you finished, there was a silence in the room that felt sacred.

You turned to him, and without a word, he cupped your face and kissed you soft, slow, like a promise.

“I love you,” you whispered.

“I love every version of you,” he murmured. “Even the one that wrote sad songs for other people. Because in the end, every note led you here. To me.”

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

Chapter 3: The Face from the Song

It had started as a chill afternoon.

You and Chanyeol had just finished a cozy live acoustic set at a local indie café something you both did once in a while to stay grounded, to stay in love with music. You hadn’t even planned to sing the duet you’d written together from your old 16-year-old mixtape… but the moment felt right.

The café had been warm with soft lights and smiling faces, and when you sang that final line "Every note I wrote was leading me home..."the small crowd erupted into heartfelt applause.

You felt weightless.

Until you walked outside.

And saw him.

He was standing near the edge of the sidewalk, half-hidden beneath the awning of the neighboring bookstore, hands in his pockets. His hair was shorter now, face more mature, but those eyes they were exactly the same. And they were staring straight at you.

You froze.

Chanyeol was beside you, slipping his hand into yours as he followed your gaze.

The stranger stepped forward. “Y/N?”

You swallowed. “...Hey.”

“Wow,” he said with a stunned smile, “I thought I was hearing things in there. But then you started singing that song, and—” He shook his head like he was still catching up to reality. “You really kept it.”

Chanyeol shifted subtly closer, protective but not hostile. You gave his hand a squeeze.

Your ex looked between the two of you. “That song… it was the one you sent me, wasn’t it? When we… ended.”

You nodded slowly. “Yeah. It was.”

“I never deleted it,” he said, softer now. “I used to listen to it whenever I missed you. I didn’t think I’d ever hear it again let alone live.”

Chanyeol finally spoke, voice calm but laced with quiet pride. “She didn’t just sing it again. We re-wrote it. Together.”

Your ex blinked, eyes darting between you and Chanyeol. “You two are…”

“Married,” you confirmed with a small smile.

He looked like he wasn’t sure whether to smile or look wistful. “You were always going to end up with someone musical. I guess I was just your... prelude.”

That got a quiet laugh out of you. “Maybe. But I don’t regret writing it. Or where it led me.”

Chanyeol squeezed your hand. “Neither do I.”

There was a long pause.

“I’m happy for you,” your ex finally said. “That song... it helped me grow up too. Even if it hurt.”

“Thank you,” you said genuinely. “For being part of my story.”

He nodded, then stepped back. “Well… take care, Y/N. And you too, man. Take care of her.”

“I will,” Chanyeol said without hesitation.

As your ex turned and disappeared down the street, you let out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding. Chanyeol looked down at you, his eyes soft.

“You okay?”

You nodded. “Yeah. That was… closure. Unexpected, but kind.”

He kissed your forehead gently. “He was part of the song. But I’m the one you get to write the ending with.”

You leaned into him. “Damn right.”

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

Chapter 4: The End of That Chapter

The night after running into your ex had been quiet. Too quiet.

Chanyeol could feel the weight you were carrying. You’d seemed fine, even happy in a way. But as you both lay in bed, the usual hum of contentment between you two had faded into a stillness that wasn’t quite like the peaceful silence you shared on most nights.

Chanyeol rolled over, propping himself up on one elbow to study your face in the dim light. You were staring at the ceiling, your fingers lightly tracing patterns in the sheets.

“Y/N,” he began softly, “do you want to talk about it?”

You blinked, a small smile playing on your lips, but it was a tired smile. “Talk about what?”

“The… past. With him. You don’t have to, of course,” he quickly added. “But I know you well enough to tell when something’s still lingering in your heart. And after seeing him tonight…” He hesitated for a moment, then gently added, “I guess I just want to understand it better. The way it ended. So I can understand you better.”

You sighed deeply, taking a moment before turning to meet his eyes, searching for the right words. “I guess I never really talked about it much. Not like this. I just kind of… moved on.”

He reached out and gently pulled you closer, resting his chin on your head. “You don’t have to explain everything, but I want to hear your version. How did you two end?”

You swallowed, thinking back to the days when everything felt like it was falling apart. “It was right before I left for college. We were together for almost three years. Everyone thought we were perfect me included. But after we both got busy, it felt like we were living separate lives. He became someone I didn’t recognize anymore. And I wasn’t who I used to be either.”

You paused, feeling the sting of old memories. “I wrote that song because I didn’t know how to say goodbye. I kept waiting for us to fix it, for him to change, for us to be what we once were. But he didn’t. And neither did I. We grew apart, and… it just ended.”

Chanyeol held you a little tighter, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “I can’t imagine how hard that was. But you were so strong, Y/N. You let go, even when you still cared.”

“I had to,” you murmured. “I think deep down, I knew we were never meant to last. We were just two kids holding on to something we couldn’t quite let go of. He was a good person, but... we were never right for each other.”

“And now?” Chanyeol asked quietly, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand.

“Now…” You smiled softly, looking up at him. “Now, I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be. With you.”

He smiled back, his eyes softening. “I’m glad you found me.”

“I’m glad you found me, too,” you replied, tracing the outline of his jawline gently.

There was a long pause as Chanyeol lay back, staring up at the ceiling. You could tell he was still processing the conversation, still piecing together parts of your past to understand the depth of who you were. But he never once let go of your hand, never once made you feel anything less than loved.

And that, in itself, was all you ever needed.

“I guess in the end,” he said after a while, “the song became a part of your story. But I’m the one who gets to write the next chapters. We both are.”

You chuckled softly, turning to face him fully. “That sounds like the start of something.”

He winked at you, his hand brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “The best part, actually.”

You grinned, kissing him on the lips. “The best part, indeed.”

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

Chapter 5: The Music of Us

The night stretched on in soft, quiet comfort. The gentle hum of the city outside your window felt distant compared to the peace inside your home. The two of you were still in the studio, lingering after a long day. Chanyeol was sitting on the edge of the couch, tuning his guitar absentmindedly, while you worked on putting away some equipment.

But there was something about the stillness of the moment that made it feel more intimate than anything that had happened all evening. Maybe it was the way Chanyeol kept glancing at you when he thought you weren’t looking, or the way your fingers trembled slightly when you caught him watching you. There was an unspoken energy between you, one that hadn’t been there before. It was something new, something warm and full of possibility.

You finished tidying up, moving closer to him. “You’ve been playing that guitar for hours. You never get tired of it, do you?”

He smirked. “What can I say? Music’s in my blood.” He looked at you, his eyes softening. “But it’s not just the music. It’s you, too. Being with you… in this space, making something together. It’s everything.”

You paused, heart fluttering at his words. You couldn’t help but smile, walking over and sitting beside him. “It’s everything,” you repeated softly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Even when we’re not singing, or making something… I feel like we’re always creating.”

Chanyeol’s eyes searched yours, his gaze intense yet full of warmth. “It’s because we’re always together, Y/N. That’s the real song. It’s not about the music we make it’s about us making it. You and me. Every day.”

Your breath caught in your throat as he slowly set his guitar aside, turning his full attention to you. The air between you two seemed to thicken, each word he spoke drawing you closer, each glance making your heart race faster.

“I want you, Y/N,” Chanyeol said, his voice low, almost a whisper, like the words were a secret shared only between the two of you.

You felt your pulse quicken, the vulnerability of the moment mixing with the intense affection you had for him. Your body was already moving toward him, your lips brushing against his in a soft kiss, slow but filled with everything unsaid.

He pulled you closer, his hands gentle but sure as they cupped your face, deepening the kiss. His lips moved with purpose, like he was trying to tell you something with each kiss, each touch.

“I love you,” he whispered between kisses, “more than I ever thought I could.”

“I love you, too,” you breathed, your hands finding their way into his hair, tugging him even closer. You could feel the heat of his body against yours, the rhythm of his heartbeat syncing with yours.

The world outside the studio faded into nothing. There was only the two of you, the music, and the weight of everything that had led you to this moment. You could feel the years of struggle, of growth, of past pains melting away with every touch, every kiss. It was as if the music had finally woven the two of you into one, creating something so deeply intertwined that nothing could ever tear it apart.

“Chanyeol…” Your voice was barely a whisper as you looked up at him, your chest rising and falling with the intensity of the moment. “I need you.”

His gaze softened, his lips curving into a gentle smile. “I’m here. Always.”

Slowly, he stood, pulling you up with him. His hands didn’t leave your body as he moved you toward the couch, and you followed willingly, your body yearning for the closeness, for the connection only he could offer.

The kiss didn’t break as he laid you back against the cushions, his lips trailing down your neck, each touch sending shivers down your spine. His hands were soft but sure as they explored the curve of your waist, the familiar warmth of his touch making your heart flutter with something that felt like home.

“You’re everything I’ve ever wanted, Y/N,” he murmured against your skin, his voice thick with desire. “I can’t get enough of you.”

You could barely breathe as he hovered above you, his lips finding yours once again, and you couldn’t help but give yourself completely to him, to the love you had built together. The music of your connection played louder now than any song you’d ever written.

It wasn’t just about the music, or the song you once wrote for someone else it was about the harmony between you, Chanyeol, and the life you were building together. The past had its place, but the future? That was where you and he truly belonged.

And as you lost yourself in his touch, in the warmth of his embrace, you knew that this was just the beginning of a beautiful, endless song.

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

Chapter 6: The Sound of Forever"

The first rays of sunlight peeked through the curtains, casting a soft glow across the room. You stirred, the warmth of Chanyeol’s body pressed against yours comforting you in ways you never expected. His arm was draped over you, his fingers lightly tracing the skin of your back as he slept, his breathing slow and steady.

You smiled to yourself, savoring the moment of quiet peace. Everything felt perfectly right, like the world outside could keep spinning, but here, in this little bubble of warmth, nothing else mattered. The echoes of last night of every kiss, every whispered word still lingered in the air between you.

You shifted slightly, your fingers brushing against the edge of his hand. He stirred, groaning softly, and then blinked up at you with sleepy eyes.

“Morning,” he murmured, his voice rough with sleep, but warm and familiar.

“Morning,” you replied, resting your head on his chest. You could feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your ear, the rhythm grounding you.

He smiled lazily, his hand slipping into your hair, fingers gently tugging you closer. “I think last night might have been the best night of my life.”

You laughed softly, looking up at him. “Because of…?”

Chanyeol raised an eyebrow playfully. “You, me, the music, the way we finally got our song right. It was perfect.” He kissed the top of your head before his voice lowered. “But mostly… because I got to love you in every way possible.”

Your heart skipped a beat, his words making you feel more cherished than you ever thought possible. “I’m glad you’re in my life,” you whispered, your fingers brushing against his chest, tracing the outline of his tattoos. “You make everything feel better. Like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.”

He kissed you then, soft and lingering, a kiss that told you everything you needed to know about how he felt. His lips were warm and reassuring, as if telling you that he would always be there through everything.

As the kiss broke, you both lay there in a peaceful silence, your fingers intertwined. Chanyeol’s thumb traced over the back of your hand, the soft caress a simple but meaningful gesture.

You looked at him again, your voice quieter this time. “Chanyeol, do you ever wonder… what would have happened if we never met?”

He didn’t hesitate. “No. I don’t need to wonder. Because we did meet. And I can’t imagine any other version of my life that would have been better than this one. With you.”

Your heart swelled, the words echoing through you, making every part of you ache with love for him. He was your present, your future your forever.

“I’m glad we met,” you said softly. “Even if it took me a while to find my way to you.”

“I would’ve waited forever for you,” Chanyeol replied, his voice filled with the depth of his love. “And I’m glad we’ve made something beautiful together. All the music, all the moments everything. You’re my melody, Y/N. My song.”

You smiled, a tear slipping down your cheek, though it was a tear of joy. “And you’re my harmony.”

Chanyeol kissed you again, this time a little more deeply, as if sealing that promise of music, love, and everything in between.

A few hours later, you both made your way into the kitchen, wrapped in the comfort of your shared space. As you moved through the motions of making breakfast together, you couldn’t shake the feeling that everything had shifted in the best possible way.

Chanyeol was humming the song you two had written together, the one that started as a relic from your past and ended as a testament to your present and future. It had become more than just a song it had become your song.

As you slid a cup of coffee over to him, you smiled softly. “You know, I think we should take this song to the next level.”

Chanyeol raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a smile. “Oh? What do you mean?”

“Let’s record it. Professionally. And put it out there. For everyone to hear.” You looked at him, your gaze steady. “I want to share this with the world. Share us. I think… I think our love is meant to be heard.”

His eyes softened. “You sure?”

You nodded. “More than ever.”

A Few Weeks Later

The song, “The Sound of Forever”, was officially released an anthem not just of love but of growth, of rediscovery. It wasn’t just a song; it was your song, the one that had evolved from a painful goodbye into a beautiful love letter.

The response was overwhelming. People resonated with the raw emotion in the lyrics and the way the melody seemed to blend your voices perfectly. The duet had gone viral, with fans praising how your voices complemented each other so seamlessly. But for you, it wasn’t about the recognition it was about the love it represented.

Chanyeol stood next to you as you read through the comments, his arm wrapped around your shoulders.

“This… is bigger than I expected,” he said, glancing at you with a playful grin. “Do you think we should start a band?”

You laughed, leaning into him. “Maybe one day. But for now, I’m happy just being us.”

He pressed a kiss to your temple. “Yeah. Me too. Because nothing beats this.”

As the song continued to play in the background, you knew one thing for certain: the music you had created together was only the beginning. And every day after this would be just another verse in the song of forever that you and Chanyeol were destined to write.

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

Chapter 7: The First Song

The night had fallen softly around you both, the house bathed in the warm, golden light of a lamp in the corner. Chanyeol was curled up next to you on the couch, his head resting on your shoulder, while you flicked through an old photo album. The evening was simple, a calm moment to unwind from everything the music, the fans, the constant busyness of life.

You came across a picture of yourself and your best friend from years ago, and for some reason, it made you smile. You held the photo out to Chanyeol, who leaned over to see it.

“Who’s this?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

You laughed softly. “My best friend from high school. We were inseparable. I think we both secretly wanted to be in a band but were too shy to do it on our own.”

Chanyeol grinned. “So this was before the world knew you could sing?”

“Definitely,” you replied, chuckling. “I was terrible back then. I would hide my guitar in my room whenever anyone came over, especially guys.”

“Oh? Hiding your talents, huh?” he teased, his finger brushing over the album’s edge. “So… what did happen to make you finally pick up the guitar and sing for real?”

You sighed, settling deeper into the couch, your mind drifting back to a time that felt so far away. “It was the summer before I left for college,” you said softly. “I’d been dating someone at the time my ex. He was sweet, but we were too different. And I guess... I realized I wasn’t who I wanted to be with him anymore. I wrote that song for him because I couldn’t find the words to say it out loud. The breakup... it was messy. But that song? It was my way of letting go. I just never thought I'd sing it for anyone else.”

Chanyeol’s gaze softened, his hand coming to rest on yours. “What was he like? Your ex?”

You paused, reflecting on the past with a bittersweet smile. “He was great. Smart, driven, kind. But... we just weren’t in sync anymore. He was so focused on his future, and I was just... lost in my own head, trying to figure out who I was. We tried to make it work, but sometimes love isn’t enough when the connection fades.”

Chanyeol nodded quietly, his thumb gently tracing circles on the back of your hand. “I get it. I really do. It’s hard to be with someone when you’re not even sure who you are yet.”

You looked down at your fingers, thinking about those years. “That’s the thing, Chanyeol. I didn’t even know who I was until I picked up that guitar and started writing my own songs. It felt like the music was the only thing that understood me, that could express everything I couldn’t say. And then... well, I met you.”

He smiled, his hand gently squeezing yours. “And I’m glad you did.”

You looked at him, your heart swelling. “I still remember the first time we met, actually.”

“Oh, this is a good one,” Chanyeol said, leaning back a little. “You were the one who walked right into my practice room and looked at me like I was a bug. I’m pretty sure you didn’t even notice my band at first.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes. “Okay, to be fair, you guys were in the middle of playing an awful cover of ‘Sweet Child O’ Mine.’ You couldn’t even hit the high notes. I had to leave.”

Chanyeol grinned, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Hey, that’s a classic! I’ll have you know, I totally hit those notes... once.”

You chuckled. “Well, if you say so. But then, when I came back the next week to listen to you all again, you were so much better. And you...” You paused, remembering that day. “You were sitting there, by the piano, with that goofy grin on your face when I walked in. I didn’t even realize it was you until you started talking.”

He looked at you, amused. “I remember thinking, ‘Wow, she’s not even looking at me, she’s so focused on my bandmates.’ But when you smiled at me? I swear I thought my heart stopped for a second.”

You shook your head with a soft smile. “I don’t even know why I came back after that first disaster. But something about you... there was this energy, this pull. You were different.”

Chanyeol’s expression softened, his fingers gently lifting your chin so you were looking directly at him. “I think I knew the moment I saw you. You were this beautiful, creative, determined person who had a spark in her eyes. And all I wanted was to know more. I knew we’d make music together.”

You blinked back a wave of emotion, your chest tight with the memories. “And we did. We’ve made so much music together. But, Chanyeol… what if we hadn’t met? What if I had never walked into that practice room?”

He smiled, the corners of his mouth curving upward. “It wouldn’t have mattered. Because it was always going to be us. Our paths were meant to cross. The universe just needed a little nudge to bring us together.”

You grinned, leaning into him, and his arms instinctively wrapped around you, pulling you close. “I guess so,” you whispered, breathing in the scent of him. “And now, here we are. Together.”

He kissed the top of your head softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Together. Always.”

And for the first time in a long time, you felt complete. The past, with all its brokenness, had led you to this place. To him. And you wouldn’t change a thing.

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

Chapter 8: Final Chapter, Echoes of the Past

The glow of the moonlight filtered through the curtains, casting long shadows across the room as you and Chanyeol lingered on the couch. The air was warm, comfortable, wrapped in the kind of quiet that comes with being completely at ease with one another.

Chanyeol shifted slightly, adjusting his position so that he was leaning against the armrest, his fingers still tangled with yours. His voice broke the silence as he spoke in a soft, thoughtful tone.

"Do you ever wonder about the what ifs?" he asked, his eyes locking onto yours. "Like, if things had gone differently, if we’d never met… would we have turned out the same? Would we be who we are now?"

You looked at him, tracing the outline of his hand with your fingers as you thought back. "I used to wonder about that all the time. Before we were together, I couldn’t stop thinking about the 'what ifs' in my life. The what ifs of the past, the choices I’d made, the paths I didn’t take. But now… now I don’t think about it much."

Chanyeol tilted his head, his curiosity piqued. "Why?"

You smiled softly, the memories beginning to surface like a quiet stream. "Because the what ifs don’t matter anymore. It’s the here and now that counts. And if I’m being honest... if I didn’t go through all of that, I wouldn’t be the person I am today. I wouldn’t have met you."

Chanyeol's expression softened, his gaze growing tender. "You’ve always been strong, Y/N. Even when you didn’t realize it. It’s one of the first things I noticed about you."

You chuckled lightly, remembering the way you first saw Chanyeol. “I remember the first time I noticed you too. You were so… you. I didn’t know how to take you at first. You were so different from everyone I’d met.”

He laughed, leaning forward slightly, his eyes mischievous. “Different how?”

“Well,” you said, narrowing your eyes playfully, “you looked like you didn’t take anything seriously. You had that careless energy, like you were always half in the clouds and half present at the same time. I couldn’t tell if you were a genius or completely out of touch.”

Chanyeol grinned, clearly pleased with the description. “And now?”

“Now?” You paused for a moment, your lips curling into a smile. “Now I think you’re a genius who’s also a little out of touch. But in the best way possible.”

He chuckled and leaned back again, his fingers absently brushing through your hair as he grew reflective. “I was so nervous around you when we first met. You probably didn’t know, but I was.” His voice was soft as he continued, almost like he was unraveling a part of himself he’d kept hidden. “I was afraid you’d think I was just some dumb guy in a band who couldn’t even talk to a girl properly.”

You turned to him, your heart softening at his words. "You? Nervous?"

He nodded, a faint blush creeping over his cheeks. “Yeah. I didn’t know how to approach you. You were so different from anyone I had ever met. You weren’t fawning over us, the way most girls did. You didn’t even look at me the way they did. I didn’t know if I should be worried or if you just didn’t care."

You laughed softly, recalling the memory. “I didn’t care. Not at first, anyway. I was just... lost in my own world. I had no interest in being distracted by some guy in a band. I had enough going on with my own life.”

Chanyeol’s smile deepened as he gazed at you. “That’s what I liked about you, though. You didn’t look at me the way others did. You looked at me like I was just another person. You weren’t impressed by what I did or who I was. And that made me want to impress you.”

You paused, a wave of warmth flowing through you at his words. "But... did you ever think we’d end up here? Together?"

He shook his head, the smile never leaving his lips. “Honestly? No. I didn’t think I was even your type. But I knew I wanted to get to know you. I had to.”

You leaned back into the couch, looking up at the ceiling as memories flooded your mind. It wasn’t just the little moments with Chanyeol that made you realize your connection it was the unexpected ones, the memories that shaped who you became as a person before him. Those were the moments that now felt like a puzzle piece that fit perfectly with your life together.

“Do you remember that one night, when we went to that tiny music bar?” you asked, your voice soft as you recalled the memory. “The night we played our first song together. You were so nervous. It’s hard to imagine now, isn’t it?”

Chanyeol laughed quietly, leaning his head back as he recalled it. “Yeah, I was terrified. I kept worrying about whether we’d sound good. I wasn’t sure if we were ready. But you just told me to trust the music.”

You smiled at the memory of that night the way you had taken the lead, even when you were both nervous. You had never felt more in sync with someone before. “And you were amazing,” you said, your voice full of admiration. “You played so effortlessly, like you’d been waiting for that moment. It felt like the whole world stopped when we sang.”

Chanyeol's gaze softened, and for a moment, the world outside your cozy little living room seemed to vanish. “I don’t think I ever told you this, but when we were singing that night, I felt something. Like… like everything finally made sense. Like I was home with you.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, and the emotion in his voice made the room feel smaller, warmer, like it was just the two of you. “I felt the same way. Like I had finally found something that made me feel alive.”

His hand found yours again, and he squeezed it gently. “You and me, Y/N, we’ve always been meant to create something special. I just didn’t know how deep that connection would go.”

You glanced at him, his eyes full of sincerity, and something clicked in that moment a realization of how far you had come from that first song, from that first shy interaction.

“I think we’ve always known,” you whispered. “Maybe we didn’t say it then, but we knew. It was just a matter of time.”

The night stretched on, but now the silence felt peaceful, filled with understanding. You leaned into him, feeling the warmth of his presence, knowing that every moment, every memory, led you to where you were meant to be together.

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