Forget Xavier I Gonna Make Memes On Xavier Little Stars Instead ✨️

Caleb's new myth X-02 sketch

Vita Sackville-West, from Complete Works of Vita Sackville-West

Thinking about how soft Xavier is with MC...

MC: That movie was so good, and the hotpot was yummy. All in all I feel like it was a good day off!

Xavier: ✨️ Yes... it was a good date.

Xavier: *gently intertwines their fingers together and matches his pace with MC*

MC: ☺️ yes, a good date.

Xavier: *pulls MC close*

Xavier: But I still... want to show you something... is that alright?

MC: Sure, what is it? 😇

Xavier: Come with me.

Xavier: *leads MC to a small hilltop that over looks a cute park*

Xavier: Soon the fireflies will come, and this place will be filled with nature's light... but for tonight. Let's create our own.

*lights dance like stars in the trees below and in the sky above real stars twinkle, making it look like they are in space*

Xavier: I want... I want to give you this light tonight, will you accept?

MC: *stares at him and smiles*

MC: Of course, this light can be ours.

MC: *cups his cheek*

FADE TO BLACK 😈

Xavier – Six Days of Silence

Alright, guys! Your reaction to MC’s dramatic disappearance (and the even more dramatic meltdown from the LADs—especially Xavier 👀) has been absolutely wild! I can’t thank you enough! 💖

I couldn’t just ignore your cries of despair and leave you hanging, so... I wrote a continuation with Xavier. 😏🔥

If you didn’t suffer enough in the last part, well—buckle up. 😈 But seriously, I’m beyond grateful for all the love and engagement, and now I’ve got just one question... who’s next?! 👀💀

Previous Part

The door closes behind you with a quiet click.

Silence settles.

It doesn’t matter that the apartment is empty. Xavier is still here.

Not physically. But in the way the air still feels heavy with the weight of his words. In the way your phone stays too quiet, too still, despite how many times you check it. In the way his white hoodie—the one you never returned—hangs loosely around your shoulders, fabric slightly too big, smelling faintly of something cold, something distant, something unmistakably him.

You should take it off. 

You don’t.

Not even when you curl up on the couch, pressing your face into the collar, trying to pretend that it doesn’t ache.

Trying to pretend that you don’t miss him.

But you do.

And it’s only been one night.

Day One – The Silence

The apartment is too quiet. Too hollow. The kind of silence that isn’t empty, but suffocating—thick with the weight of something unspoken, something unfinished.

Xavier doesn’t message you.

Not in the morning. Not in the afternoon. Not even at night, when the absence of his voice becomes unbearable, pressing down on your chest like a phantom weight.

You tell yourself it’s fine. That this is what you wanted. That he deserved it.

And yet, every time you reach for your phone—every time your fingers hover over the screen, itching to type something—anything—you stop.

Because if you start, you might not be able to stop.

And if you see his name flash across the screen, if you hear his voice—cold, restrained, the way it was when he told you to ask him again in six days—you might break.

And you refuse to be the first to break.

You told yourself you wouldn't do this.

Wouldn't pace the apartment, wouldn't reach for the door only to stop before your fingers brush the handle, wouldn't let yourself hover by the window as if expecting to see him below, walking with that same unshakable stride, hands in his pockets, the night folding around him like a living shadow.

You bite the inside of your cheek and turn away. This is ridiculous.

But it doesn’t stop your mind from unraveling the last time you saw him, the words that still sit on your skin like a bruise, aching, pulsing.

Two Weeks Ago

"You did it again."

Your voice was tight, measured, but it carried that dangerous edge, the one that meant you weren’t just angry—you were done.

Xavier stood in the doorway, his coat draped loosely over his shoulders, blood darkening the sleeve where it stuck to his arm. His own.

And yet, his expression remained unchanged.

"I handled it."

Effortless. Dismissive. As if bleeding out in the doorway wasn’t a cause for concern.

Your hands curled into fists at your sides. "You went into the No-Hunt Zone alone."

He exhaled slowly, unbothered, unconcerned. "Yes."

You wanted to shake him. Wanted to rip through that maddening, unflinching calm that always seemed to turn every argument into a chess match—where he never lost control, never let emotion slip past the surface.

"You promised," you said, quieter now, not because the anger had left, but because it was worse—quieter meant sharper, meant it was sinking in.

His gaze flickered. Not quite hesitation, but something close. Something annoyingly unreadable.

"I never promised," he corrected. "I said I’d be careful."

"You almost died last time," you snapped. "Or did you forget?"

A slow blink. "I don’t forget anything."

The weight of that truth settled like ice in your stomach.

"Then remember this." Your voice wavered just slightly. "You’re not immortal, Xavier."

His lips twitched, a fraction of amusement in the gesture. "Debatable."

You took a step forward. "You think longevity makes you untouchable?"

"I think," he said, tilting his head slightly, "that I’ve survived worse."

You stared at him. At the blood drying against his skin. At the way he stood so still, so effortlessly unaffected.

And that’s when you understood.

He had already made peace with his own death. And he expected you to do the same.

The thought made something break inside you.

"You want me to be a widow before I even get to be a wife?"

It came out before you could stop it, before you could think.

A flicker of something crossed his face—not shock, not emotion, but stillness. A brief, split-second pause.

And then, he shut it down.

"You’re being dramatic."

You stepped back as if struck. You didn’t realize your hands were shaking until you curled them into fists.

And then you laughed—soft, hollow, bitter. "You’re unbelievable."

"I’m realistic," he corrected.

That was when you left. You turned on your heel and walked out, before the frustration, the helplessness, the aching, consuming anger could drag you under.

And he let you go.

***

Now, you’re the one left behind.

You should have told him then. Told him how much it terrified you, the thought of coming back one day only to find his body on a slab, cold, lifeless, just another statistic in the war against Wanderers.

But you didn’t. Instead, you left. And now you’re here.

Alone.

Your phone is still on the table.

You stare at it for too long, the words forming and dissolving in your mind. You should write to him. It’s always been easier to write than to say it out loud. Because words—especially the ones that matter—come with too much weight, too much risk of cracking, of unraveling.

You start to type.

📱 You: Xav, I—

Your fingers freeze. You stare at the unfinished message for too long.

Then you delete it.

You sigh, rubbing your hands over your face, trying to chase away the exhaustion clawing at your mind.

At some point, you fall onto the couch, curling into yourself. The hoodie is still wrapped around you, the fabric worn and familiar, carrying the last traces of him.

Your eyelids feel heavy. Just for a moment, you close them.

A sharp vibration against the glass table jolts you awake. For a brief, heart-stopping second, you think it’s him.

Your fingers scramble for the phone, your pulse hammering, already too desperate for his name to appear on the screen.

Instead—

A message from a random, meaningless system notification.

You let out a slow breath. Your hands are shaking.

Because you had been waiting for him. Because some part of you still hoped.

You curl deeper into the hoodie, pressing your face into the fabric. And finally—you let yourself admit that you miss him too much.

Day Two – What Remains

The knock is barely there. So soft, so hesitant, like a ghost of sound rather than something real.

For a fleeting second—your heart leaps.

You open the door. The hallway is empty.

A cold draft brushes against your skin, slipping under the fabric of his hoodie.

But there, at your feet—a small black bag.

You kneel. Fingers brush over the label.

Painkillers. Electrolyte supplements. Emergency field rations. The essentials.

Your phone vibrates.

📱 Xavier: Take these.

You stare at the message, breathing out slowly through your nose.

A moment. A hesitation. Then—you type.

📱 You: Didn’t realize you made house calls.

📱 Xavier: I don’t. But you looked like you were about to collapse.

The words sink in too fast. Too easily.

Because of course, he noticed. Because of course, he knew. Because even now—even after everything—he’s still watching.

Your grip tightens around the phone.

📱 You: So you’re keeping tabs on me now?

📱 Xavier: No need. I already know how reckless you are.

A pause.

Then—

📱 Xavier: Take the damn medicine.

You press your tongue against the raw sting of broken skin, the inside of your cheek already torn from the habit, fingers hovering over the screen.

You could ignore him. Could let the pills sit untouched, just to prove a point. Instead, you close your eyes. And swallow the first dose dry.

It’s not an apology. Not even close.

But it’s something.

And that’s why it hurts more.

***

The night stretches long and restless.

You wake in intervals—too hot, too cold, too aware of the ache in your chest that no amount of painkillers can dull.

Somewhere between sleep and waking, your fingers drift over the phone again.

You hesitate. Then type—

📱 You: You said six days.

A second passes. Another.

Then—

📱 Xavier: I did.

A breath catches in your throat.

He answered.

You don’t know why that surprises you. You don’t know why you expected silence.

📱 You: Then why are you here?

The response comes too quickly.

📱 Xavier: I’m not.

It shouldn’t sting.

It does.

***

Morning comes slow and suffocatingly heavy.

You don’t want to move. Don’t want to pull yourself from the warmth of the couch, the stale comfort of yesterday still clinging to the air.

But the world doesn’t stop just because your heart is cracked along the edges.

So you get up.

Force yourself into autopilot—shower, dress, coffee that you don’t even drink.

Your phone vibrates again.

📱 Xavier: Eat something real today.

You exhale sharply, tilting your head back against the kitchen counter.

Then—you type.

📱 You: Didn’t realize you were my dietitian now.

📱 Xavier: I’m not. But someone has to be.

Your jaw tightens.

📱 You: I’m fine, Xavier.

📱 Xavier: You’re lying, but okay.

The breath punches out of you before you even realize you’ve been holding it. Because he sees through you. He always does.

And you hate him for it.

You want to be angry. Want to tell him to back off. Want to remind him that he left first.

But instead—

📱 You: Did you eat?

A pause.

📱 Xavier: Of course.

You don’t believe him. But you let it go.

***

The day drags forward, sluggish and unforgiving.

By the time night falls again, you’ve checked your phone at least twenty times. You tell yourself it’s just habit.

It’s not.

You curl back into the couch, fingers ghosting over the hem of his hoodie, feeling the fabric twist between your hands.

You don’t know what you’re waiting for. 

You don’t want to know.

Day Three – Ghosts in the Rain

The rain is relentless.

It starts while you're still at work—a slow, heavy downpour that turns the streets into rivers, neon lights smearing across the wet pavement. You watch it for a moment through the glass, jaw tightening when you realize you left your umbrella at home.

Perfect.

By the time you finally step outside, the water is already pooling at your feet, seeping into your boots, soaking through the edges of your sleeves. You shove your hands deeper into your pockets, hunching your shoulders against the cold, and walk.

It isn’t far. Just a few blocks. Just enough time for the silence to creep in again.

Your phone stays still. Xavier doesn’t message you. You don’t message him.

You’re not even sure what you would say.

The air in the apartment is thick with dampness when you finally push open the door, shaking the water from your fingers. You toe off your boots, leaving a faint trail of wet footprints across the floor.

You reach for a towel—and stop.

Because there, just by the door, is a folded dry sweatshirt.

Not yours.

A white hoodie. 

His.

And next to it, a small, neatly sealed packet. Heat packs.

Your stomach twists.

Your hands tremble as you reach for your phone, wiping away the water still clinging to the screen.

📱 You: You’ve got to stop breaking into my apartment.

A pause.

Then—

📱 Xavier: I didn’t. But you always forget an umbrella when it rains.

You exhale sharply, pressing your tongue against the sting of broken skin inside your cheek.

📱 You: Right. You’re psychic now?

📱 Xavier: No. Just observant.

You hesitate, running your fingers over the fabric of the hoodie before pulling it over your head. It’s warm, slightly oversized, carrying the scent of him beneath the clean detergent—something golden, like sunlight caught in the fabric, soft and caramel-sweet at the edges, but beneath it, barely there, something sharper, something darker, like the last trace of dusk before night takes over. Unmistakably Xavier.

📱 You: You’re really committing to this whole passive-aggressive monitoring thing, huh?

📱 Xavier: Aggressive. There’s nothing passive about it.

The response is instant. Too quick. As if he’s been waiting.

Your chest tightens.

📱 You: And yet, for all your keen observation, you still don’t seem to notice when you do the exact same thing.

A longer pause this time.

📱 Xavier: Clarify.

You roll your eyes. Of course, he’s going to make you spell it out.

📱 You: No-Hunt Zone. 

📱 Xavier: That’s different.

📱 You: Oh? Because it’s you?

📱 Xavier: Because it was necessary.

You let out a bitter breath, pressing the phone against your forehead for a moment, closing your eyes.

📱 You: Right. That word again.

📱 You: I suppose me being gone was necessary too, then?

📱 Xavier: That was a choice.

📱 You: So was yours.

Another long pause.

For a second, you think that’s the end of it. That he’s not going to reply.

Then—

📱 Xavier: You’re still wet. Change before you get sick.

A sharp inhale.

📱 You: That’s all you have to say?

📱 Xavier: For now.

You stare at the screen.

For now.

It isn’t an admission. It isn’t anything close to forgiveness. But it’s not a dismissal, either.

It’s an opening. A crack in the wall.

You exhale, curl deeper into the hoodie, and let your eyes slip shut.

For the first time in days, the silence doesn’t feel quite as heavy.

Day Four – Running in Circles

You don’t sleep.

You try. You close your eyes, shift positions, breathe slow and deep, count the seconds, then minutes, then hours. But your mind refuses to settle. The silence is unbearable, pressing into your skin, sinking into your bones.

By the time the sky begins to pale, the city just beginning to stir beyond your window, you give up.

The clock reads 6:04 AM when you lace up your running shoes.

The air is sharp, crisp with the last bite of night still lingering in the wind. The streets are nearly empty, save for the occasional early commuter, their footsteps swallowed by the sound of your own—steady, rhythmic, a heartbeat against the pavement.

You push yourself hard. Harder than you should.

It’s reckless, this need to move, to exhaust your body so completely that your mind has no room left to think.

Because when you think, you remember.

You remember the way Xavier looked at you that night. How his voice never wavered, how he turned away before you could say anything at all.

"Ask me again in six days."

You push faster.

Your breath burns in your throat. The ache in your legs spreads, deep and insistent, but you don’t stop. You can’t.

You run until the edges of your vision blur.

Until the exhaustion feels like something you can hold, something real, something that drowns out the ache in your chest.

Until the smell of coffee pulls you to a stop.

You’re standing in front of the café before you even realize it.

Your fingers curl against your palms, your breath still uneven. The air inside is warm, rich with the scent of espresso, cinnamon, something familiar.

Habit. Instinct. A mistake.

But still—you go inside. Still—you stand at the counter, order without thinking. Still—you reach for the cup, staring down at the neat label printed on the side.

Cappuccino. No sugar. Just how he likes it.

Your fingers tighten around the cup. You don’t hesitate. You walk straight back to his apartment, jaw clenched, pulse hammering in your ears.

And without a second thought—you leave the cup by his door.

You don’t knock. You don’t wait. You just leave.

Your hands still tremble when you reach your own door. You exhale, rubbing at your face, trying to push down the erratic rhythm of your pulse.

Then—you see it.

A second cup. Sitting neatly on your doorstep.

Your breath catches.

Fingers shake as you reach down, pressing against the warmth of the cup, the familiar weight of it. The label stares back at you, bold and unmistakable.

Latte. Just how you like it. From the same café.

The realization slams into you like a fist to the ribs. You were thinking of him. He was thinking of you.

At the same damn time.

Something twists, raw and sharp, in your chest. Then, as if he feels it—your phone buzzes.

📱 Xavier: Pushing yourself that hard after days of poor recovery is reckless.

Your fingers clench.

📱 Xavier: I suggest reading this.

A link. An article. Something about the dangers of sudden overexertion without proper conditioning.

A laugh bubbles up, breathless, bitter.

Of course. Of course he would turn this into a lecture.

📱 You: You’re unbelievable.

📱 Xavier: Clarify.

You wipe at your face, not even realizing your skin is damp, whether from sweat or something else.

📱 You: I’m not a civilian. I’m a Hunter. A trained fighter, just like you.

📱 You: I might not have your experience, but I’m not fragile. I don’t need a babysitter.

The response takes longer this time. A long, stretching pause.

Then—

📱 Xavier: Noted.

The words are too even. Too carefully chosen.

You see it immediately. He’s upset. But instead of fighting back, instead of defending himself, he just—withdraws.

It infuriates you.

📱 You: That’s it?

📱 Xavier: Would you prefer I argue?

Your teeth sink into your bottom lip, hard enough to sting.

📱 You: Maybe.

📱 Xavier: Why?

Because at least then it would feel like something. Because at least then he wouldn’t be slipping away from you, wouldn’t be treating you like you weren’t worth the effort.

You suck in a breath, trying to calm the wild, uneven rhythm of your heart. Then you do something stupid.

Something reckless. Something you’ll regret the second you hit send.

📱 You: Funny how you only care about my recklessness when it’s convenient for you.

Silence.

One second.

Two.

Then—

📱 Xavier: Understood.

Just that. No defense. No cold, razor-sharp argument. No more words at all.

You stare at the screen. Then you hurl the phone at the wall.

The crack is instant, the screen splintering on impact. It falls to the floor, dark, dead, useless.

Something burns behind your eyes, frustration, exhaustion, anger collapsing into something too heavy, too unbearable to name.

Your hands quiver. You press them to your face, breathe through the ache blooming in your chest.

Then—

You stand. You grab your coat. You don’t stop to think.

You need a new phone.

Because what if he messages you?

Because even now—after everything—you still want him to.

Day Five – The Breaking Point

Silence should be a relief.

After four days of his constant, cold precision—the quiet should feel like a gift.

But it doesn’t.

It’s suffocating.

For the first time since he left you standing in that room, there’s nothing.

No message. No sarcastic remark. No quiet proof that, despite everything, he still gives a damn.

The absence cuts deeper than you expect.

You go to work anyway. Because you have to. Because stopping means thinking, and thinking means tearing yourself apart with what-ifs.

***

"Our agent successfully retrieved the Aethor Core." Captain Jenna’s voice carries through the room, steady, matter-of-fact.

A holographic map flickers to life above the conference table, casting shifting blue light against the faces of those seated around it. 

Your mission. Your work. Your risk.

You keep your expression neutral, spine straight, hands folded in front of you.

"Undercover infiltration into the Vasquez Syndicate was a success."

Murmurs spread across the table. You don’t move. You feel him before you see him.

Xavier.

Seated across from you, back straight, jaw locked, completely, unnervingly still.

You make the mistake of looking up. And that’s when you see it.

Not his usual sharp, quiet calculation. Not cold detachment.

No.

This is something else. This is contained rage.

It sits just beneath the surface—controlled, measured, but undeniably lethal.

Your stomach twists.

The Vasquez Syndicate. A name that sends ripples of unease through even the most hardened Hunters.

And you had gone there alone.

Undercover.

Without telling him. Without telling anyone.

You lower your gaze back to the table. Captain Jenna continues.

"Their leader was eliminated. Aethor Core secured. Minimal collateral damage."

The words should be a victory. You should feel something. Instead, your phone vibrates against your leg.

Once.

Then again.

Then again.

A steady onslaught of incoming messages.

Your fingers tighten against your thigh. You don’t have to check. You already know.

📱 Xavier: You have a death wish, then?

📱 Xavier: That’s what this is?

📱 Xavier: Of course. That makes sense. Why else would you walk into Vasquez’s den ALONE?

📱 Xavier: Did you think you were being clever?

📱 Xavier: Or was it a game? A test to see how close you could get before you were skinned alive like his last five victims?

📱 Xavier: Tell me, did you at least get a look at the furniture?

📱 Xavier: I hear human leather is in this season.

The blood drains from your face. You type quickly.

📱 You: Xav, I—

More messages slam into your screen before you can hit send.

📱 Xavier: Or wait—

📱 Xavier: Was it worth it?

📱 Xavier: Was the thrill of playing martyr that exhilarating?

📱 Xavier: You must have loved the dramatics of it. Walking through their front door, knowing exactly what would happen if they figured you out. How noble. How self-sacrificing.

📱 Xavier: I’m sure they would’ve written songs about you.

📱 Xavier: Would you like me to start composing one now?

Your stomach twists into knots.

📱 You: Xavier, stop.

📱 Xavier: Why? Does it make you uncomfortable?

📱 Xavier: Wouldn’t want that. Not after you’ve made me spend the last six days believing you were DEAD.

The breath catches in your throat.

📱 You: I wasn’t—

📱 Xavier: No? You weren’t?

📱 Xavier: Oh, forgive me. I must have been mistaken. You must have sent me a message before walking into the hands of a man who decapitates people for sport.

📱 Xavier: Oh, wait. You didn’t.

📱 Xavier: Because you didn’t tell anyone.

📱 Xavier: Because you thought you could handle it.

📱 Xavier: Because you think you’re invincible.

📱 Xavier: Because you learned absolutely nothing.

📱 Xavier: Because you’re a fucking idiot.

Your chest tightens, fingers shaking as you try to respond.

📱 You: I retrieved the Core, didn’t I?

The moment you send it, you regret it. The reply is instant.

📱 Xavier: Ah.

📱 Xavier: So that’s how little your life is worth?

📱 Xavier: A glorified rock?

📱 Xavier: Good to know.

You glance up, breath unsteady, and realize your mistake.

Because Xavier is looking at you. And his expression is unreadable.

No sarcasm now. No amusement. Just something flat and cold, buried beneath something much darker.

Your fingers tighten around the edge of the table.

You stand.

Move toward him, as if closing the space between you will break whatever this is, will fix whatever new fracture you’ve carved into the already fragile thing between you.

But the moment you take a step closer—he moves. A single flick of his fingers. A gesture.

Dismissal.

Like you are nothing. Like you aren’t even worth the fight.

And in his eyes—that unreadable fire.

You open your mouth. Try to speak. He beats you to it.

"You think I’m mad?" His voice is low, quiet, lethal. "You think this is anger?"

A slow, sharp inhale. Then—he stands. Looks at you like you’re a stranger.

"If you ever do something that fucking stupid again—"

A pause. A razor-thin breath.

"Don’t come back."

Silence.

It lands like a blow. It shatters something you don’t even have a name for.

And then—he walks away.

And for the first time, you wonder if six days was a mercy.

Because now—

You’re not sure this will ever end.

Day Six – Between Love and War

The knock against his door is sharp, deliberate.

No answer.

Your fingers tighten, knuckles aching as you knock again, harder this time.

Still nothing.

The realization sinks in slow, cold. You know where he is.

No-Hunt Zone.

Of course. Of course.

The hypocrisy of it claws at your ribs, burns hot behind your eyes.

He spent days throwing your choices back in your face, dismantling them with surgical precision, making sure you felt every ounce of his anger. And yet—he’s doing the exact same thing.

Alone. Again.

Without backup. Without you.

The fury in your chest solidifies into something unshakable.

You don’t think. You move.

You tear off your civilian clothes, slip into the gear that feels like a second skin, strapping on your weapons with methodical ease. Your mind is calm. Your body is not.

This isn’t just anger.

This is something raw, something bitter, something that coils too tight in your chest.

Because what if this is the time he doesn’t make it back?

What if he never even planned to?

***

You move fast, weaving through the crumbling skeletons of abandoned buildings, the faint blue pulse of your Hunter’s bracelet flickering at your wrist.

The fluctuations come sharp and erratic.

A Wanderer is near.

And so is Xavier.

The realization barely has time to settle before a hand clamps over your mouth, an arm hooking around your waist, dragging you back into the shadows of a half-collapsed structure.

You react instantly, twisting in his grip, but his hold is unbreakable. His breath is warm against your ear. Too steady. Too controlled.

"Tell me—" His voice is low, measured, lethal in its restraint. "Are you trying to get yourself killed?"

You rip his hand away, shove him back, your pulse hammering against your ribs.

"Shouldn’t I be asking you the same damn thing?"

His expression flickers—something sharp, something dangerously close to breaking—before it smooths out again.

"You shouldn’t be here."

You let out a hollow laugh, shaking your head. "And you should?"

His fingers twitch at his sides, but he doesn’t argue.

The air crackles.

A pulse of energy shudders through the ruined cityscape, sending vibrations through your bracelet.

You both freeze.

The Wanderer is close. Too close.

And you were too distracted to notice.

A deafening shriek splits the air.

You barely have time to react before something massive crashes into view, sending debris flying, the force of it shaking the ground beneath you.

It’s huge.

Bigger than any you’ve ever seen. Darker. Hungrier.

And something is wrong.

Your Evol pulses—but weakly, like something is suppressing it.

You glance at Xavier, see the same realization in his eyes.

The Wanderer lunges.

You move at the same time.

Dodge. Shoot. Pivot. Strike.

Your movements are precise. Automatic. Perfectly in sync.

But something is missing.

Resonance.

You grit your teeth, adjusting your aim, but the energy won’t connect.

Because you’re too angry. Too furious with him to let yourself fall into sync.

And so is he.

Your focus wavers—just for a second, just long enough to throw your balance.

You stumble.

A mistake. A fraction of hesitation.

The Wanderer seizes it.

It moves faster than you expect, faster than anything that massive should be able to.

A pulse of energy collides against your chest, sending you sprawling.

A second strike is coming—you see it, but you’re too slow, your body still recovering from the impact—

And then Xavier is there. Between you and death.

His sword clashes against the incoming blow, deflecting it just enough to send the Wanderer skidding back.

His breathing is uneven. Not from exertion, but from something else.

Something like rage.

"Are you hurt?" His voice is taut, dangerous.

You shake your head, pushing yourself back up.

"I’m fine."

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t look away from you. Like he doesn’t quite believe you. Like he’s assessing whether he just almost lost you.

You don’t have time for this.

"You really think you would’ve made it out of this alive?" You fire, voice shaking with frustration. "Look at it. Look at the size of that thing. And you came here alone."

Xavier exhales slowly through his nose. Controlled. Restrained.

"You came after me," he says, voice like a blade, slicing through the tension.

You shake your head, jaw tight.

"Of course I did. That’s what you do when you—"

The words catch.

His eyes are on you. Steady. Unwavering.

The air between you is thick, charged, buzzing with everything unspoken, everything you haven’t let yourself say.

Your fingers tremble around the grip of your gun.

"I—"

The Wanderer screeches.

The ground shudders.

You don’t think. You react.

Your hand snaps forward, closing over Xavier’s.

The second you touch him—

Resonance explodes.

A flash of light. A rush of energy so intense it steals the breath from your lungs.

The Wanderer staggers. Its movements falter.

You see the opening. So does he.

Two strikes. One shot. One kill.

The Wanderer dissolves. The air stills. The only thing left is a single Protocore, pulsing softly in the dust.

You’re both breathing hard, hands still locked together, neither of you moving.

And then—

His fingers tighten.

The world tilts, just slightly.

Xavier doesn’t look at the Protocore. He looks at you.

And when he steps forward, you step back, heat creeping up your neck.

But he doesn’t let you run. He cups your face, tilting it up until you have no choice but to meet his gaze.

"Say it."

Your pulse pounds.

"Xav—"

"Say it." His voice is low, demanding.

You swallow hard. You already said it once.

But now—he’s listening.

Now, there’s nothing between you but everything you’ve been holding back.

Your throat tightens. And then—you break.

"I love you," you whisper.

His breath stutters, caught between control and something raw. His hands slide lower, fingers gripping your waist, pulling you in.

And then—he’s kissing you.

Hard. Desperate. Unforgiving.

Your weapons hit the ground. His sword, your guns—forgotten.

The only thing left is this. The only thing left is him.

His breath is ragged against your lips, his hands urgent, searching.

"What good are my eyes if they can't see you?" he murmurs against your mouth.

"What use are my hands if they can't touch you?"

"Why do I need lips if not to kiss you?"

His forehead presses against yours. His voice is steady. Unshaking.

"And if you don’t let me love you the way I do—what’s the point of living at all?"

You exhale, shuddering. A quiet, breathless sound escapes you—half a sob, half a laugh, because of course he would say something like this, because of course it would be him. Your hands tighten against his shirt, gripping hard enough to ground yourself, to keep yourself from falling apart. 

And finally—you let yourself hold him back.

***

The Morning After – Promises in the Sunlight

The world is quiet.

Not the heavy, suffocating kind of silence that has weighed on you for days, but something else. Something warm.

Your body feels boneless, satiated, exhausted in the best possible way. The bruises on your skin tell a story—some earned in battle, others left by a different kind of war, one fought in the dark, in whispers, in hands that refused to let go.

And then—you feel it. Eyes on you.

You blink against the soft golden light spilling through the curtains, twisting slightly to find him.

Xavier is propped up on his elbow beside you, one arm tucked beneath his head. His gaze is unreadable, too intense in the quiet morning light.

But he isn’t watching you. Not exactly.

His fingers trail absently over your skin, following the paths where the sunlight dances along your shoulder, your collarbone, the curve of your wrist. Mapping you.

The way his fingers move—it’s almost reverent. Like he’s committing this moment to memory, like he’s terrified it might slip through his grasp if he blinks.

You reach for his hand. But he beats you to it.

His fingers curl around yours, guiding your hand to his lips, pressing the softest, most devastatingly tender kiss to your fingertips.

It nearly steals the breath from your lungs.

You swallow hard, your voice coming out quieter than intended.

"Xav…"

His grip tightens, just slightly.

"When we met," he murmurs, voice low, steady, unshaking, "you promised me something."

Your brow furrows. You don’t move.

"You said I would be your partner," he continues, thumb brushing absently over your knuckles. "In everything. In battle. In your reckless plans. In life."

His eyes lift to yours, and the weight of his words settles deep into your chest.

You can’t look away. Not now. Not from this.

Your throat tightens. "Xavier—"

"Don’t apologize," he says smoothly, shaking his head before you can even start.

But you need to. Because you hurt him. Because you left.

Because even though you both made mistakes, you forced his hand.

He sees it in your eyes before you can say anything, and his fingers tighten just slightly around yours.

"This isn’t about apologies," he murmurs.

His other hand comes up, brushing along the curve of your cheek, pushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

"This is about what happens next."

You blink.

"I won’t force you to promise me anything," he continues, watching your reaction closely. "Not unless you mean it."

The warmth of his touch lingers against your skin, steady, grounding, heartbreakingly gentle.

"But I need you to understand something."

You hold your breath.

"I won’t make you worry again." His voice is softer now, more certain. More dangerous in its quiet conviction. "I won’t make you question whether I’ll come back. Because now I know how it feels."

Your eyes sting.

"Does that mean…" You hesitate, voice barely above a whisper. "No more No-Hunt Zone?"

The corner of his mouth twitches.

"Not exactly."

You open your mouth to argue, but he stops you with a single look. Before you can push him away, before you can get worked up, he leans in—pressing his forehead to yours.

His breath is warm against your lips.

"If I go," he murmurs, slow, careful, a promise wrapped in steel, "I take my partner with me."

Your chest tightens.

He’s serious.

This is his way of saying it.

His way of meeting you halfway.

His way of telling you that he’s not going anywhere without you.

You exhale slowly, pressing your forehead harder against his, letting the moment settle between you.

"...Okay."

The word is soft. Tentative.

But you mean it.

His fingers thread through yours, squeezing gently. The smallest, barest hint of a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

"Good."

He kisses you once, slow and deep, searing the moment into your skin.

And for the first time in six days—you let yourself believe it.

caleb | 1:22 am

Your pillow is buzzing. Why is it buzzing? You groan and reach underneath your pillow, grasping at your phone. You pull it out, sit up in bed and blink at it. Caleb's name flashes across the screen. You swipe your finger across it.

"Caleb?"

There's a pause before the voice on the other end coughs awkwardly.

"Uh... is this... Pipsqueak?"

You're immediately alert. The voice doesn't belong to Caleb.

"Who is this?" you demand, your voice still thick with sleep.

"You were listed as this guy, Caleb's, emergency contact," the voice explains. "He's at the bar. We've had to cut him off. Can you come get him? We close in, like, half an hour."

You're immediately out of bed, pulling sweatpants and a hoodie on. "Oh my god, of course, I'm on my way."

You're stuffing your feet into shoes when you hear someone slurring his words in the background. "Hey, that's my phone, gi-gi-give it back!"

---

"You're too nice to him, my wife would have made me sleep and sober up outside."

You chuckle at the taxi driver's remark. You were lucky to flag down a cab at this time in the night. The driver had asked you were you were going so late, and you had explained everything to him. You and Caleb had been giving each other the silent treatment for two days now. It was over something stupid. He had left one of his unfinished models lying around on the floor in your apartment and you hadn't seen it - you had ended up stepping on it - on accident, of course - but you had never seen Caleb so upset. It ended with him storming out of your apartment and no calls or texts from him for the last couple of days. You had thought about apologizing first, but had decided he was being childish and that he would approach you when he was ready. But it turns out that he had decided to drown his sorrows in alcohol. You had known that he likes to drink socially once in a while, but he's never been totally wasted before - not like this. You wanted to seem calm and collected, but inside, your anxiety is tearing you up. Is Caleb okay?

The driver slows down and pulls up to the bar. He meets your eyes in the rearview mirror.

"Go get him, I'll wait here."

You thank him, and head inside the bar. The glass door is already locked, but you knock a couple of times, and a staff member appears from behind the bar and lets you in.

"Sorry," he apologizes, scratching the back of his head. "We would have sent him home in a cab but he wouldn't tell us his address. He kept saying he wanted 'Pipsqueak'. He's a regular here so we really didn't want to let him wander home by himself."

You nod at the bartender. "Thank you. Where is he?"

He points at one of the corner booths with his thumb. You make a beeline for it, and see Caleb, lying across the booth's cushion. His cheeks are flushed red and he's snoring lightly, his hand gripping his phone.

You shake him gently to wake him. "Caleb, let's go home."

He groans and lifts his head slowly. "Please, leave me alone. I have... I have a..." His eyes open and they widen when they meet yours. "Pipsqueak," he whispers.

You place a hand on his cheek. "Let's get you home, okay?"

---

It was a mission to get Caleb in the cab, even with the help of the bartender. It's an even bigger mission to get him into your apartment building and up the stairs. But you manage to do it, and get him inside the apartment without incident.

Almost there!

You practically haul him to your room, and push him onto the bed. He flops onto it like a ragdoll, one arm and both his legs hanging off the sides.

You stare at him, hands on your hips, panting quietly. "Well, that can't be too comfortable."

You take a few moments to catch your breath before you decide to tackle his jeans and shoes - they come off easily enough, and then you get to work on his shirt. His eyes are still closed and he's muttering something softly, but you can't take the time to figure out what he's saying. You start to put on some shorts for him, but it's awkward and you only manage to get one leg in.

"Caleb, Caleb." You squeeze one of his knees to wake him again. "I need your help, sit up for a little bit."

This seems to rouse him and Caleb lets out a low groan and rises slowly.

"Okay, let's just get these shorts on."

Caleb is still for a few moments, and you think he's fallen asleep again while sitting up. But he mumbles something almost imperceptible, and you almost miss it. He's saying your name.

You look up at him from where you're crouching next to the bed, and meet his bloodshot eyes. There are tears forming at their corners.

You're startled - you're not used to seeing him cry. "Caleb? What's wrong?"

"I'm so sorry," he whispers. You can smell the alcohol in his breath. "I was so stupid. I'm sorry."

A lump in your throat forms and you have to turn away before he can see the tears in your own eyes. You clear your throat before speaking again. "Let's talk about it in the morning, okay? Just get in the shorts and then we can go to bed."

Caleb nods, and pulls his shorts up so that they're on properly. You breathe a sigh of relief, and help him get under the covers of the bed.

You go about settling down for the night again, making sure the front door is locked, all lights are off, and placing a packet of headache medication and a glass of water on the nightstand next to Caleb's side of the bed.

You slide in under the covers next to him, and notice that he's still awake, his eyes struggling to focus on you.

"Pipsqueak," he mutters, his eyelids fluttering. "Please, don't be mad at me any more."

You smile at him, amused at the fact that he fought to stay awake to tell you that. You brush the hair away from his forehead with your hand and plant a small kiss on it. Caleb sighs, and he closes his eyes, surrendering to sleep.

"You're the one who didn't call or text for two days, dumbass," you mumble, knowing that you'll go unheard. You don't care. You continue raking your hands through his hair as he snores softly.

I turn to Ares.

Thanks to Tyler Miles Lockett who allowed me to draw inspiration from his ARES piece for page 2! Look at his etsy page it's SICK

⚔️ If you want to read some queer retelling of arturian legends have a look at my webtoon

Peppermint Mocha Scones & A Solitude with You (Xavier x reader Christmas fanfic) Love and Deepspace

genre: Rom-com, Fluff

Follow me and my work on AO3, I will update there soon! And pls recommend what I should write if you have any ideas THANK YOU!: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sanniepanini/pseuds/Sanniepanini

***

Xavier was like a mystery wrapped in a layer of indifference. It had been two years since I had first met him on the school grounds. Back then, he’d been a quiet, almost aloof presence in the hallways, always on the fringes of every conversation but never quite part of any.

Christmas was coming around, and I'd spent countless hours at the bakery, experimenting with flavors, tweaking the recipe until it felt just right. 

Working part time to support my college lifestyle was hard, but I was happy that I was able to manage it. The radiant smiles from people as they received their purchases, the smell of chocolate and the soft hum of holiday music in the background—it was the perfect setting for a little holiday magic. 

It was late, so late that the bakery was starting to empty out, and the streets outside were quieting down too. People were leaving in a trickle along with the fading chatter and laughter as the door chimed behind them.

   I smiled as I said  “Happy Holidays!” or “Merry Christmas!” to the last few customers who were heading out, my voice was warm and genuine despite the exhaustion that was starting to settle into my bones. The thought of not spending Christmas in silence, alone, was reason enough to stay.

 I stood there for a moment, the quiet stretching between like a thin, fragile thread. I didn’t crave the crowd, the loud noises, the stress…but more the presence of somebody else…to not face the solitude of the holidays all alone. 

As I went over to pack the last order, the doorbell chimed once again. The soft hum of Winter Christmas by Dean Martin floated through the speakers, wrapping the moment in something that felt almost cinematic. 

   “You’re still open?” said a soft voice and I froze, turning around and I saw a familiar face.

   “Xavier?”

He was practically a bundled up human gift by all of the clothes and his scarf had the fun print of reindeers⎯ his nose was red. 

   “I had an order…”

I nodded, caught off guard I looked at the order receipts on the wall. “Right. Yeah. Of course—you’re the peppermint mocha scones and the cinnamon loaf?”

   “Guilty,” he quipped, moving his gloved hands together.

I turned back to grab the box I had just finished tying with a gold ribbon, placing it gently on the counter between us. “Didn’t think you’d come this late.”

   “Me neither…until I remembered I had made an order a few days ago.” He sighed. “I didn’t know you’d stay here on Christmas Eve.” 

  “We are the only bakery open in town today, and someone has to stay…” I felt awkward, almost embarrassed as I told him that I was all alone today. Looking away I pretended to fuss with the ribbon on the box like it mattered more than it did.

Xavier’s eyes locked with mine and I didn’t move my gaze. I couldn’t. “So you’re spending it alone?”

I swallowed. “Well…I am spending it by myself.”

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. It was quiet in the way snowfall is—gentle, expectant. Like something was about to land. 

Xavier smiled. “It doesn’t have to stay that way.”

I glanced up at him. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that we could celebrate together⎯ if you don’t have anyone else for that matter.”

Someone else for that matter…The butter smooth light of the bakery seemed even softer and I felt hesitant to answer right away. My fingers curled loosely around the ribbon on the pastry box as I felt my heart warmed at the thought. 

  “No,” I said finally, quietly. “There’s no one else.”

Xavier exhaled like he’d been holding his breath. “Good,” he said, then added quickly, “I mean—not good that you’re alone. Just—good that... I asked.”

I laughed under my breath and saw his shoulder ease.

  “Would it be weird if I stayed for a bit? Just… here. With you.” He finally asked.

  “Depends…will you help me clean up?” I quipped and he cracked a smile. A smile so genuine and different from the Xavier I knew.

   “A condition for your company?”

   “Non-negotiable.”

To my surprise he didn’t hesitate to take off his jacket and scarf, discarding them neatly by a chair. Xavier by far wasn’t the most graceful about anything, especially when it came to stacking trays and I had to catch one before it nearly fell on the floor.

   “I am not bakery material, am I?” he rubbed the back of his neck and I had to smile at the sheepish look on his face. 

   “It’s not like you’re getting paid,” I teased and handed him a washcloth. 

Working with Xavier was the most comfortable thing I had ever experienced. The rhythm fell into place—it didn’t matter, the clatter, the noise, the laughter. We moved without pressure

The snow had started to whip even faster towards the ground. Like shooting stars.

   “Can I ask you something?” Xavier threw a washcloth in the basket.

His movement was not as casual as his voice.

I nodded and he took a breath.

“Why do you do it?” he said. “Why stay here at night like this? When the trains stop running, when everyone’s gone home for the holidays... when you could be with your family. Or just... home.”He looked at the floor, and I shrugged. “I guess here…” I thought for a bit, motioning toward the bakery, “makes more sense to me. It’s warm. Familiar. People come in happy, and they leave happier. I like being part of that.” “Even on the holidays?” “Yes, especially on holidays. When people come in and get their order, I feel like I’m a part of their life for a bit. I get to give them that joy,” I said, the words feeling more real than I expected. “Don’t you want someone else to want that for you?” His voice was quiet. I shifted a little, trying to find the right words. “W-well, people do that for me,” I stammered, but the words came out sounding less convincing than I meant. Xavier looked at me with a raised brow, like he didn’t quite buy it. “Really? So you’re telling me that people just... show up at your door with a hot drink, or insist on spending time with you when you’re working?” I felt my cheeks warm, and I glanced away, suddenly self-conscious. “Well... no. I mean, I don’t need that,” I added quickly, as if to justify myself. “Do you want that?” I swallowed and shrugged. “Maybe, if it’s not too much of a fuss…” Xavier thought for a while. “Scared that asking for anything will be a burden, even when it’s the season of giving?” His words caught me off guard, and I froze for a moment. It was like he’d reached into my mind and pulled out something I’d never fully said out loud. I didn’t answer right away, feeling the weight of his question settle heavily between us. “I never took you for the guy who’d have that view,” I almost whispered, and he unloaded the dishwasher. “Really?” I nodded. “You’ve always been so quiet… I sometimes thought you didn’t like me.” The hum of the dishwasher filled the silence, and he burst out laughing. Openly, like I’d just told a big joke. Though his laughter died, his smiling eyes looked into mine. “Forgive me, I didn’t know I came off that way.” “Well, you do.” I mockingly accused him, and his grin didn’t vanish. I glanced around the bakery, the counters wiped down, chairs stacked, the faint scent of sugar and cinnamon still lingering in the warm air. “It seems finished. Thank you for helping.” Xavier shrugged, walking over to set the last dish towel on the rack. “Wasn’t really planning on doing dishes on Christmas Eve, but I gotta say, not the worst way to spend the night.” For a moment, his face lit up, and he looked at his order. “If it isn’t weird,” he said, glancing back up at me, “want to eat this with me?” I blinked, surprised—not at the question, but how easy it felt. Like he wasn’t asking out of pity or politeness, but because he wanted to. Because he stayed longer than he planned for a reason. “Yeah… I’d love to.” I finally said.

"Hey, I can't sleep..."

Xavier mumbles something in reply, totally incoherent to you. He reaches for the lamp on the nightstand next to his side of the bed, and a warm glow fills the room. He yawns, and he sits up in bed, leaning against the headboard, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

"Okay, come here, then."

He pats his lap twice. You stare at him, and then at where he was patting.

"You want me to sit on you?"

He raises an eyebrow. "No. Come put your head here."

You oblige and lie down with your head in his lap. He reaches for something else on the nightstand - it's a book. He flips open to a page and clears his throat.

"Once upon a time–"

You can't help but laugh out loud, and you end up shaking the whole bed. Xavier clicks his tongue and shushes you.

"I'm trying to read you a bedtime story, if you don't mind."

"Okay, okay," you concede. "I'll be quiet. So quiet."

Xavier continues, putting on a storyteller voice. "There was a young girl whose mother had sadly died, and she lived with her father whom she loved dearly..."

He continues with the story of Cinderella, and you're enthralled by all the voices he puts on for the different characters. They sound ridiculous and ill-fitting, but you're entertained nonetheless. All the while, one of his hands is in your hair, gently brushing his fingers through it. The other holds the book, and in the moments where he takes the hand in your hair to flip a page, you instantly miss it - you would be happy for him to read a page over and over again if it meant keeping his hand right where it is. There are a couple of times where he yawns, and it's contagious - you yawn along with him.

"... and they all lived happily ever after. The end."

Xavier closes the book, but you turn over in his lap to look up at him. You push your bottom lip out in what you hope is a cute pout. "Can you read me another one, please?"

He rolls his eyes, but obliges, and opens the book again. He flips around for a little bit before clearing his throat again. "This is the story of Sleeping Beauty..."

You're not sure when it is that you doze off, but the next time you wake, sunlight is streaming through the gaps in the curtains. Your head is still in Xavier's lap, his hand still resting in your hair. The book he was holding is next to him on the bed, opened to a random page, and you can hear him snoring lightly. You turn, just a little bit, to take a look at him. His eyelids are twitching just so slightly, his mouth moving as if in conversation with someone in a dream. You feel a warmth spread across your chest, your heart beating just a little faster. Sleeping Beauty indeed.

𝔹𝕖𝕤𝕥 𝕠𝕗 𝕎𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕟

Pairing: LADS Men (All 5) x Fem!Reader Prompt: The moment they realise they want to spend their whole life with you Words: ~1.3k || 200-300 per LI Genre: Fluff, Comfort, Established relationship A/N: Highly recommend giving Urban Zakapa's "Nearness is to love" a listen to capture the mood! I need to be love like this smh

[ᝰ.ᐟ MASTERLIST]

⊱ 𝕏𝕒𝕧𝕚𝕖𝕣

Xavier has always wondered why he willingly abandons a good slumber and ignores the sting and soreness in his body just to see your face after every challenging mission.

“𝐷𝘰 𝑦𝘰𝑢 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝘵 𝑚𝑒 𝘵𝘰 𝑐𝘰𝘰𝑘 𝑦𝘰𝑢 𝑠𝘰𝑚𝑒𝘵ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑒𝑙𝑠𝑒?”

The lines of concern etched on your forehead deepen when he hasn't touched the porridge, all while swiftly checking to ensure you haven’t missed tending to any of his injuries.

He realises then, that you opening the door after the first knock, with a home-cooked meal waiting for him even before the first rays of dawn, is why he always seeks you out first.

This is the person he wants to witness a lifetime of sunrises with, the one he never wants to see weighed down by worry due to his line of work.

Words fail him, so he gathers you in his arms. Revelling in the way your body moulds perfectly against his.

“𝐼 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝘵 𝑛𝑒𝑒𝑑 𝑦𝘰𝑢 𝑐𝑙𝘰𝑠𝑒.”

“𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑛𝑒𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑓𝑢𝑙,” you chide softly, eyes flicking up to meet his.

The concern in your gaze tugs at something deep within him.

Xavier now understands what it is to be unconditionally loved—to be so genuinely cared for that someone would worry about his well-being above all else.

“𝐼 𝑝𝑟𝘰𝑚𝑖𝑠𝑒 𝘵𝘰 𝑏𝑒 𝑚𝘰𝑟𝑒 𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑓𝑢𝑙 𝑖𝑓 𝑖𝘵 𝑚𝑒𝑎𝑛𝑠 𝐼 𝑐𝑎𝑛 ℎ𝘰𝑙𝑑 𝑦𝘰𝑢 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝘵ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑒𝜈𝑒𝑟𝑦𝘵𝑖𝑚𝑒.”

Your eyes soften. “𝑌𝘰𝑢 𝑠𝑖𝑙𝑙𝑦, 𝑦𝘰𝑢 𝑑𝘰𝑛'𝘵 𝑛𝑒𝑒𝑑 𝑎𝑛𝑦 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑠𝘰𝑛 𝘵𝘰 ℎ𝘰𝑙𝑑 𝑚𝑒.”

The sensation of your fingers threading through his hair is pure heaven, and as you hold him tighter, you express that this embrace requires no further validation.

⊱ ℝ𝕒𝕗𝕒𝕪𝕖𝕝

Bathed in hues of molten gold and fiery amber, Rafayel watches you set up the dining table with his aunt and Thomas, a scene he will cherish until his very last breath.

The laughter of his favourite people mingling with the rhythmic crash of waves is music to his ears.

“𝑅𝑎𝑓, 𝑑𝘰𝑛'𝘵 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝘵 𝑠𝘵𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝘵ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒,” you call out. Tucking your hair behind your ear as the salty breeze whips strands across your face.

If only he could immortalise this scene on canvas, Rafayel muses.

But he knows that a painting would never do justice to fully conveying the true essence of this beauty.

“𝛭𝑦 𝑏𝑒𝑙𝘰𝜈𝑒𝑑, 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝐼 𝑠𝘵𝑒𝑎𝑙 𝑦𝘰𝑢 𝑓𝘰𝑟 𝑎 𝑚𝘰𝑚𝑒𝑛𝘵?” The quiver in his voice doesn’t go amiss by anyone’s notice as he approaches.

Thomas quirks a questioning brow, while his aunt's gaze softens, her smile somehow knowing as she glances between the two of you.

Normally, he would have a response ready as Thomas quips about the champagne warming, but not this time. 

Not when everything else other than you fades into insignificance.

Overwhelmed with emotion, he pulls you in a tight hug as soon as you both are away from prying eyes, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

“𝑇𝑒𝑙𝑙 𝑚𝑒,” his voice barely above a whisper, “ℎ𝘰𝑤 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝐼 𝑘𝑒𝑒𝑝 𝑦𝘰𝑢 𝑓𝘰𝑟 𝑚𝑦𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑓, 𝑓𝘰𝑟𝑒𝜈𝑒𝑟?”

You gently draw back and hold his cheeks, adoring the crimson spreading onto his face and ears, before murmuring tenderly against his lips, “𝑌𝘰𝑢 𝑎𝑙𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑦 ℎ𝑎𝜈𝑒.”

At that very moment, it feels as though his heart might combust.

As if every whispered longing he's ever had has come true.

⊱ ℤ𝕒𝕪𝕟𝕖

Perplexed is what Zayne always imagined he would feel—wishing to spend the rest of his life with someone is a huge commitment after all.

But now, his heart overflows with nothing but contentment and peace.

With his glasses and book perch on his lap, he attentively listens as you animatedly vent about one of your coworkers, sitting cross-legged beside him on the bed.

“...𝐼'𝑚 𝑠𝘰𝑟𝑟𝑦, 𝐼 𝑠ℎ𝘰𝑢𝑙𝑑𝑛'𝘵 ℎ𝑎𝜈𝑒 𝑟𝑎𝑚𝑏𝑙𝑒𝑑 𝘰𝑛. 𝑌𝘰𝑢 𝑚𝑢𝑠𝘵 𝑏𝑒 𝘵𝑖𝑟𝑒𝑑 𝘵𝘰𝑑𝑎𝑦.”

Zayne frowns, cursing himself as you mistaken his prolonged silence and composed demeanour for indifference.

Setting his stuff aside, he draws you closer, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead as your arms circle around him.

“𝐿𝘰𝜈𝑒, 𝐼 𝑎𝑙𝑤𝑎𝑦𝑠 𝑒𝑛𝑗𝘰𝑦 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑦𝘰𝑢 𝘵𝑎𝑙𝑘. 𝑃𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒 𝑛𝑒𝜈𝑒𝑟 𝑠𝘵𝘰𝑝 𝑠ℎ𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑦𝘰𝑢𝑟 𝘵ℎ𝘰𝑢𝑔ℎ𝘵𝑠 𝑤𝑖𝘵ℎ 𝑚𝑒.” 

A small content sigh leaves his lips as you nestle closer to him, the warmth of your embrace seeping into his very soul.

Long fingers gently stroke your hair as you voice out concern about adding to his mounting stress with your words.

“𝑌𝘰𝑢 𝑐𝘰𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑛𝑒𝜈𝑒𝑟 𝑏𝑒 𝑎 𝑏𝑢𝑟𝑑𝑒𝑛,” he murmurs, lips brushing your temple. “𝑌𝘰𝑢𝑟 𝜈𝘰𝑖𝑐𝑒 𝑖𝑠 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝘵 𝑚𝑎𝑘𝑒𝑠 𝑚𝑒 𝑓𝑒𝑒𝑙 𝑎𝘵 ℎ𝘰𝑚𝑒. 𝑌𝘰𝑢 𝑚𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑒𝜈𝑒𝑟𝑦𝘵ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑏𝑒𝘵𝘵𝑒𝑟, 𝑑𝘰𝑛'𝘵 𝑒𝜈𝑒𝑟 𝘵ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑘 𝘰𝘵ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑤𝑖𝑠𝑒.”

Sometimes he wonders if he truly deserves the depth of love and understanding you provide, a treasure more valuable than any he has ever known.

He is not an easy man to love, yet you wholeheartedly embrace his complexities.

In that quiet moment, with the soft glow of moonlight filtering through the curtain, he knows with certainty that you occupy a space in his life that no one else can fill.

⊱ 𝕊𝕪𝕝𝕦𝕤

“𝑌𝘰𝑢 𝑎𝑏𝑠𝘰𝑙𝑢𝘵𝑒 𝑏𝑢𝑓𝑓𝘰𝘰𝑛!” your voice trembles with fury as you cock your gun at him. “𝑊ℎ𝘰 𝑖𝑛 𝘵ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟 𝑟𝑖𝑔ℎ𝘵 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝑤𝘰𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑤𝑎𝑙𝑘 𝑖𝑛𝘵𝘰 𝑎 𝘵𝑟𝑎𝑝 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑙𝑦? 𝑌𝘰𝑢 𝑐𝘰𝑢𝑙𝑑 ℎ𝑎𝜈𝑒 𝑑𝑖𝑒𝑑!”

Despite having just slain dozens of degenerates and currently staring down the barrel of your gun, Sylus’s head is oddly silent.

The sight of his enemies’ blood staining your clothes, your hair tousling messily from its ponytail, and the blazing intensity in your eyes—every detail captivates him completely.

Fuck him, you’re perfect.

Exasperated by his grin, you continue calling him all the names in the book: reckless idiot, brainless fool, dumbass…

But he’s your idiot.

Sylus watches your eyes widen as he closes the distance between you, your mouth opening to protest, “𝐷𝘰𝑛’𝘵 𝑦𝘰𝑢 𝑑𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑘𝑖—” but before you can finish, he discards your gun aside with alarming speed, lips crashing against yours with a fervour that matches your fury.

It’s not a gentle kiss, it’s an explosion of emotions; a release of all the anger, fear, and love that has been building up.

“𝐼’𝑚 𝑠𝘰𝑟𝑟𝑦 𝑓𝘰𝑟 𝑠𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑦𝘰𝑢,” he says breathlessly, resting his forehead against yours.

Strong hands pull you closer, and he smiles, sensing your fury starting to dissipate as you melt into his cocoon. “𝛢𝑠 𝑙𝘰𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑠 𝐼 ℎ𝑎𝜈𝑒 𝑦𝘰𝑢, 𝑠𝑤𝑒𝑒𝘵ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝘵, 𝑛𝘰 𝘰𝑛𝑒 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝘵𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑚𝑒—𝑢𝑠—𝑑𝘰𝑤𝑛 𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑖𝑙𝑦.”

When you respond to him with another creative jibe, calling him a “𝘵ℎ𝑖𝑐𝑘-ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑑 𝘰𝑎𝑓”, his deep laughter booms through the room.

No one else can and will challenge him like you do, and he lives for it.

Caught in the back-and-forth of your wit and spirit, craving the spark you kindle within him with every word.

⊱ ℂ𝕒𝕝𝕖𝕓

“𝐶𝑎𝑙𝑒𝑏!”

The moment your wide smile graces your features upon spotting him down the store aisle, it robs out all the oxygen in his lungs.

Caleb has always known that this relationship is different from his past ones—the thought of seeing you in his future teasing his brain occasionally.

But when you skip to him, with excitement dancing in your eyes, it hits him that he will give everything just to witness that radiance again.

Every day for the rest of his life.

“𝑇ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑦𝘰𝑢 𝑎𝑟𝑒!” You slip your hand into his and intertwine your fingers together. “𝐼 𝑛𝑒𝑒𝑑 𝑦𝘰𝑢𝑟 ℎ𝑒𝑙𝑝 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑐ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝘵ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑖𝘵𝑒𝑚 𝘵ℎ𝑒𝑦’𝜈𝑒 𝑝𝑢𝘵 𝑢𝑝 𝑠𝘰 ℎ𝑖𝑔ℎ.”

He’ll let you lead him to whichever section of the market, and he'll damn well help you get whatever you want, even if it’s questionable whether you need it or not.

Another mini planter for your succulents? Sure, he’ll even buy all of the different designs for you.

When you ask him if he’s alright, noticing his dazed expression, he straight up pulls you into his embrace and kisses the top of your head, murmuring, “𝐼 ℎ𝘰𝑝𝑒 𝑦𝘰𝑢’𝑙𝑙 𝑘𝑒𝑒𝑝 𝑎𝑠𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑚𝑒 𝘵𝘰 𝑔𝑒𝘵 𝘵ℎ𝘰𝑠𝑒 𝑢𝑛𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑏𝑙𝑒 𝑖𝘵𝑒𝑚𝑠.”

If he is misty-eyed amidst the bustling grocery store, it doesn’t concern him in the least.

You smile up at him in confusion, noticing the sentimental mood in his eyes. Standing on tiptoes, you give him a quick peck and melt in the warmth of his arms, feeling the beat of his heart against your cheek.

No other place feels as secure and comforting as being in each other’s arms.

⤷ ᝰ.ᐟ MASTERLIST

ℂ𝕚𝕔𝕒𝕥𝕣𝕚𝕫𝕖

Pairing: Xavier x Fem!Reader Words: ~3.2k Genre: Angst, Hurt/No Comfort Notice: Mentions of infidelity, blood, and wound, Y/N is not MC A/N: @brailsthesmolgurl requested angst, I hope this one is painful enough 💔 May or may not consider writing a part 2

[ᝰ.ᐟ MASTERLIST]

Clang!

The sound of the thrown stick echoed across the training room. A pair of cerulean orbs locked with yours, amazement reflected in their depths.

“That’s a lot of pent-up…energy,” your partner—professionally and romantically—fixed his attention on the wooden stick grazing his Adam's apple as he spoke.

If it was your hunter scythe, his skin would be sliced open.

You lowered it down, the adrenaline rush fading as the throbbing sensation in your knee took over. A sharp stab of pain that left your whole leg numb.

Ungracefully, you collapsed to the floor. Xavier’s hand was on your side in an instant, seeing how your face had crumpled in agony.

“You have a lot on your mind.” He felt you tensed, yet didn’t stop massaging your knee. His touch continued to work its magic, sending ripples of relief through you.

“I’m losing my touch, this desk duty is weakening me.”

“You just literally disarmed me,” he reminded, “Does this have to do with the team assignment?”

Whenever a new batch arrived, they were divided into groups with senior hunters overseeing their missions initially.

Xavier's involvement was to be expected, much like your own participation before the injury.

“Do you have anything against a particular recruit?” he treaded carefully.

You had nothing against the woman—whom you later discovered was Dr. Zayne's childhood friend and suspected the stoic doctor had a soft spot for—when you saw them together in a café a few times. In fact, she was quite a lovely woman.

What unsettled you was Xavier's uncharacteristic ease in opening up to her, despite his usual reservations with strangers.

“No,” you answered genuinely, “but do you have anything you’d like to tell me?”

Xavier’s fingers paused. “What do you mean by that?”

“I don’t know, Xav, you seem distracted lately.”

How could you miss the way his eyes sought out the junior hunter every morning when she arrived, even when you both were engaged in a conversation?

Or how could you miss his unmistakable comfortable stance as he interacted with the hunter, when the ring of her laughter filled up the bullpen?

His eyes slid sideways. “I need to focus on supervising the recruits, Captain Jenna's counting on me.”

Drawing closer, Xavier reached out, hand tenderly cupping your cheek. “I’m sorry if I’ve been distant.”

He noticed you biting down on your lips, wearing them out. It was the first time he had seen you visibly unsettled.

“If this is truly affecting you, I can ask someone else to take over my place.”

“No, it’s fine.”

You wouldn't allow yourself to be the reason he stepped back from his responsibilities, even if it meant sacrificing your own peace of mind.

“Just... please, talk to me if there's ever something on your mind,” you urged softly.

Xavier pressed his lips gently against your forehead. Even as the warmth of his kiss enveloped you, it couldn't dispel the pang of unease gnawing at the edges of your thoughts like it normally did.

The gnawing uneasiness, though, was justified.

With each passing day, his subtle mentions and veiled references of her painted your conversations.

It became even more apparent as your keen eyes caught glimpses of the growing sparkle in his gaze, the way his eyes slightly lingered on her, speaking volumes.

It might have gone unnoticed by others, but not you.

Not when you had once recognised the same tender looks directed towards you, before the two of you became a couple.

“Will you, for once, stop bringing her up?”

The room plunged into a tense silence, even the rhythmic tick-tick-tick of Jeremiah's fingers typing came to a sudden halt.

“Uh I’ll step out—”

“Jeremiah, sit down,” your tone was firm, leaving no room for refusal.

Jeremiah, halfway rising from his seat, abruptly sat back down with a plop! onto the chair beneath him.

Perched at the edge of Jeremiah's desk, you faced Xavier across the wooden table, the recent activity on the No-Hunt Zone forgotten as he got startled by your harsh remarks. Mouth slightly hanging open as he didn’t get the chance to finish his sentence.

“Tell me, Jeremiah, did he or did he not have been casually mentioning her for the past fifteen minutes?”

The poor guy had his eyes ping-ponged between the two of you. Torn between defending his longtime friend or you—the second person he would trust his life with.

“He did,” Jeremiah eventually admitted in a tiny voice, sinking even lower into his seat upon receiving a look of exasperation from Xavier.

In a way, you felt relieved knowing that the creeping vines of jealousy within your heart didn't merely blind you to making things up.

Grateful, that someone else had also come to realise it, validating your feelings.

You watched as Xavier's eyes finally bore into yours, uncertainty swimming in their depths.

Whatever emotion reflected in your eyes caused his breath to falter, finally making him aware of the jagged rift that had gradually formed between you.

“It’s been a couple of months now. You sure there’s nothing you’d like to tell me?”

Despite the cool front, you were aware of the pain piercing your heart.

The weight of embarrassment from having Jeremiah witness the unraveling of something that had once felt solid, so unbreakable.

Xavier took a daring step, as if to bridge the gap. “Y/N, I—”

Before he could finish, yours and his hunter watches lit up red, signaling an urgent notification. A warning voice thundered not a second later.

「All available senior hunters are to report back to UNICORNS Massive Metaflux fluctuations detected at Stormcrown Summit」

With a quick “Catch you later” tossed back to Jeremiah, you were already on the move the moment the first words reached your ears.

Xavier stepped in front of your 310HM, a dangerous move as you were mere seconds away from twisting the throttle. “Please, your knee can't handle it. You'll only end up hurting yourself.”

“Now is not the time to suddenly show concern for me again,” you retorted sharply.

As you revved up the engine, he stepped back, his face troubled. And you left him behind, knowing fully well he would make it back before you either way.

The bustling HQ buzzed with urgency as hunters within a 25km radius received the emergency alert. Frantic voices and swift footsteps filling up the walls.

Walking straight to Captain Jenna, you were greeted with an all-too-familiar grimace; the same expression she had worn when she caught you in the training room instead of attending physical therapy for your injury.

“Senior hunter Y/N, reporting for duty.” Your gaze met hers head-on.

The captain sighed, slightly shaking her head as if to clear the mounting stress. “We are in dire need of all hands on deck. Some senior hunters are away on missions far from Linkon, and we’ve resorted to sending some of the best recruits.”

Despite having earned her approval, she still gave you a warning look.

“You head back when your knee starts hurting, and”—her stern gaze warned you that there would be consequences if you ever considered defying her command—“you are not to wander alone without a partner.”

Your hand instantly reached out to one of the passing hunters, luckily snatching someone you had worked together with in previous missions occasionally, noting their above-average skills.

The fluttered brows of Captain Jenna didn’t go amiss. A look of confusion passed between her and the hunter, questioning your choice of a different partner than the usual one.

Towering trees at the Stormcrown Summit were shrouded in mist, casting an aura of unpredictability over the landscape. The occasional rustle of leaves heightened your senses further, escalating the tension of the unknown lurking within.

A very much missed surge of adrenaline fueled your body as you ventured deeper into the dense forest.

“I’m surprised that you did not choose Xavier as your partner,” your companion—Adrian—initiated a conversation after the two of you eliminated some roaming Mist Knaves.

“He is busy supervising the newer guys.”

"Seems to be warming up faster than he normally would, isn’t he?"

Damn it, you forgot how one of his best skills included perceptiveness. 

A short distance away, Xavier’s group made their way towards the clearing. The worried glances cast in your direction didn’t go unnoticed before the gigantic trees obscure your view.

“It’s very unexpected of him,” Adrian commented, watching the exchange between you both.

“People change,” you bit out, fully aware that you had fallen into the trap, indirectly confirming that something had indeed happened between you and Xavier.

The conversation was cut off when several Velox Venators leaped out from behind the thick foliage.

Their agility presented a challenge after spending time confined to the desk.

“As much as I love having you back on the team”—your partner’s voice rang out as he leaped back, avoiding the swing of your obsidian scythe cutting through the last beast’s tough silver hide—“it would be a shame to see you permanently sitting behind a desk after this.”

The sudden pouring thunderstorm had made the ground mushy, amplifying the pressure on your knee. Concealing the grimace of discomfort became futile at this point.

You followed his instruction to rest once the danger was cleared up, welcoming the temporary bliss of taking the pressure off your knee.

Just as you were about to truly relax, the urgent shouting of one of the hunters crackled through both of your hunter's watches, jolting you back to attention.

「Requesting backup at coordinates 45.6789° N, 87.6543° W 2 injured hunters, surrounded by Elite Wanderers, recruits extraction needed」

Profanities escaped Adrian’s mouth as he followed your leading figure closely behind, navigating through the woods with the programmed coordinates in the watch.

As you reached the clearing, you took in the scene before you. Several senior hunters had come to aid, engaged in a battle against a handful of Thunderoars.

That explained the abnormal thunderstorm.

However, a movement in your peripheral vision caught your attention, drawing your focus to a lone female hunter facing a feline predator. Its build was unusually large compared to the ones you typically encountered.

The beast had curled its tail, its sharp edge gleaming with an ominous sheen, poised to strike.

“Shit!” You sprinted forward as you watched her moment of hesitation. A hesitation that could kill her.

White, blinding pain shot up your leg as you lunged forward, pushing the recruit from the line of attack.

The searing pain in your abdomen came next, stealing the air from your lungs.

There wasn't enough time to dodge the razor-sharp tail as you staggered both from the momentum and the uneven, soft terrain.

The ground rumbled as thorny vines quickly encircled each of the Spurtail’s legs, ensnaring it in a tight grip. 

Even amidst the haze of agonizing pain, your Evol reacted, defending its owner.

You pushed through the pain, striking the Wanderer’s broken protocore shield as it trashed against the barbed tendrils that had nearly swallowed its form.

A wave of exhaustion washed over you as the Spurtail deteriorated. The earth tilted and your knees buckled, scythe slipping from your grasp, clattering to the ground.

When the tell-tale sign of darkness crept into your vision, a glimmer of light danced off a familiar light-ash blonde.

His long legs raced towards you. Running, running, and running…

Past you.

“Y/N, Y/N! Are you still with me?”

Captain Jenna’s face appeared in your line of vision, lips set into a grim line.

When was your back lowered to the ground?

The sky above had cleared up, you realised. A stark difference from the gloom descending upon your heart like a heavy rain.

“Come on, Y/N, you gotta stay with us. You're stronger than you thought.”

The agony intensified as you registered a pair of hands pressing down on your abdomen. A guttural groan ripping out of your throat.

Pearl-red blood, your blood, stained her hands as she tapped your cheeks, desperate to have your focus on her.

“Hey, you can’t leave us, do you hear me?!”

The darkness was almost overwhelming at this point, the words that Captain Jenna shouted becoming incoherent in your ears.

For the first time, you witnessed a look of terror overtaking her eyes as they briefly flickered down to your abdomen once again.

It was unsettling. The mature woman was not one to show such raw emotion frequently.

As your head drooped to the side, you caught a glimpse of his outline crouching beside the female hunter you had pushed away.

Close in proximity, yet intolerably distant.

There was a longing for those blue orbs to be the last thing you looked at before the darkness consumed everything. 

Even with the soothing hum of the medical equipment in the backdrop, a sense of alarm began to creep in as you felt the shift in the air.

“Didn’t the nurse say no visits?”

It only took one air evacuation, just like in those action movies and medical dramas, for people to flock to your bedside once you were out of the ICU.

On the third day, you asked the nurses to refuse any visitors, craving solitude.

“I… may have walked past them.”

By “walked”, it meant that he had teleported to the room. There wasn't a sound of the door opening and closing.

Adrian’s self-blame was predictable, given that he was supposed to stick with you during the mission.

Captain Jenna’s shift from relief to light scolding didn't come as a surprise either.

Even the junior hunter’s profuse apologies were manageable.

Seeing Xavier’s guilt-stricken face several steps away from your bed, however, unleashed a whirlwind of emotion you weren’t sure you were ready to cope with.

“I should have been the one in that bed, not you.”

Your laugh was devoid of humour. “Why? So you can be her hero instead?”

“No!” Distress was evident in his voice and posture as he rushed towards you. “You shouldn't have to endure this. You shouldn't even have joined the mission.”

“We get hurt, it’s part of the job.”

“You almost died!” voice cracking, he collapsed into the seat beside your bed, head buried in hands.

Years of knowing Xavier and that was the first time you had seen him crumble. Gone was his usual calm exterior, replaced by a broken man, drowning in regret.

Even then, your battered heart couldn’t stop the trembling remark, heavy with disappointment and anguish, from escaping your lips, “Yet you ran past me.”

Doe eyes, bright with unshed tears, snapped to yours.

People had said that traumatic events may lead to memory loss, but that day was etched vividly in your mind, each detail imprinted like a nightmare festering in your brain.

“Y/N—”

“Anything you say will not change the fact that things will never be the same between us.”

His face fell, mouth opening and closing, but no words came out.

Finally, he settled on a meek plea, “Please forgive me.”

You breathed out, slowly adjusting your position on the bed. Face laced in discomfort as you felt the stitches being tugged.

You were lucky, so to speak, as the Spurtail’s strike narrowly avoided any internal organs. But, the gash was pretty deep, resulting in a significant amount of blood loss.

“Did you know that you used to look at me the same way?” the words tumbled out, a rhetorical question that had been lingering on the tip of your tongue for far too long.

He couldn't refute anything.

A sad smile painted your lips. “That should’ve been my only warning, yet I still hopelessly had faith in you.”

If it was possible, the guilt etched on his face deepened. He couldn’t miss the shift to past tense in your words, a bold declaration of the trust he had shattered.

“Whether you realised it or not, you’ve made your choice, Xavier. It’s time to put an end to this—to us.”

The blooms that Jeremiah had placed on the windowsill the day before suddenly lost their luster, mirroring the drastic change in emotion happening within you.

Xavier’s eyes flickered to the pot, helplessly watching the wilted petals droop, surrendering to the vines creeping up from the soil and entangling them with their thorny embrace.

“I don’t deserve your forgiveness,” his words hang heavily in the air.

You didn’t tell him that he was wrong. No, the deep wound he had inflicted could never be healed by words alone.

Eyes fluttering closed, you were determined to keep the tears at bay. “Please close the door on your way out.”

After a few weeks that felt excessively long, you eventually received the green light to return to work.

The desk will be your friend longer, unfortunately, until you fully complete the knee therapy and succeed the reevaluation exam, as per Captain Jenna’s order.

Adrian, still feeling at fault, was determined to fill you in with what had happened while you were gone. Including the gossip.

You were the least surprised to hear about the relationship between Dr. Zayne and the recruit.

If the doctor’s visits during your hospital stay—expressing multiple gratitudes for saving his childhood friend and making sure you had the best care—weren’t any indicator, then you might as well be dense.

“He’s been very closed off,” Adrian remarked as your eyes strayed towards Xavier.

The lone hunter was back to distancing himself from everyone, taking solo missions and not talking unless prompted to.

He was just doing what he did best: tracking down Wanderers and not socializing.

But, you noticed the freshly brewed coffee every morning on your desk, made just the way you liked it.

You noticed the hot packs appearing whenever your face pulled in discomfort from the stiffness of your knee.

Noticed that he never left before you, even when he had the rest of the day off after returning early from a mission.

Noticed, the stolen glances he sent your way.

Was it because he felt consumed by guilt? Or was it because he had to swallow his own bitter pill, watching someone he cared about chose another person?

“They still have your favourite egg tarts.”

Startled, you looked up from the monitor to see Xavier setting two food bags on your desk.

It was the first time he had spoken directly since your return.

When you saw him leave earlier, you thought that he had finally given up and gone home, as you persisted in gathering information about the threatening Elite Wanderer well past working hours.

Even Captain Jenna left first, leaving you alone in the bullpen as the night shift went to grab dinner.

“Thank you,” you murmured gratefully. You opened the bags to reveal a sandwich in one and the egg tarts you used to enjoy together in the other.

Without hesitation, you handed him one of the pastries before he could step away. His eyes widened slightly before accepting it with a faint smile, a sight you hadn't seen in so long.

In the dimly lit room, Xavier’s eyes gleamed like the depths of the night sky, each gaze resembling a twinkling star in a vast galaxy.

It would have been easy to give in to those eyes, to his profound concerns.

But the scar left a permanent mark.

And you were still not able to distinguish whether its sight reopened an old wound or if it proved that you had truly healed.

⤷ ᝰ.ᐟ MASTERLIST