🤣🤣🤣

I wish you can write me a comforting Xavier fluff? I felt emotionally tired in the past few days of moments of things don't go well or as originally well planned. 😞

Hii you!

As a devoted Caleb stan, I may or may not have briefly short-circuited when I got your request for Xav fluff. But I’m also deeply honored you trust me with this mission. So here you go: 300ish words of Xav being sooooft. I tried to give you what your heart desires—with love, from a Caleb girl doing her best.

Hope you feel better soon,

Maps 🫶🏻

——————————————————————————

🩷 His light (Xavier)

The apartment is quiet when you come in, your body heavy from the day. You don’t say anything—and you don’t need to.

Xavier’s already on the couch, his book resting unread in his hand. The soft golden glow of his Evol begins to light the room, warm and gentle, like it’s reaching out to you. “The lamp’s too harsh,” he says simply. “This is softer.”

You nod, too tired to speak, and sink down beside him. He shifts wordlessly, letting you curl into his side. His arm comes to rest behind you, not quite a hug, but close enough that you feel the intent.

His light wraps around you both, dim and steady. It doesn’t buzz or flicker—it hums quietly, like it knows this is what you need.

The weight of the day starts to fade. You feel his hand gently brush your hair back, the touch warm and unhurried, as if he’s afraid to disturb you. Then it lingers—his fingers moving slowly, drawing quiet circles against your back in a rhythm that calms your heart more than any words could.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he murmurs quietly. “Just rest. I’m here.”

You breathe in the warmth of him, the soft scent of clean cotton and something faintly sunlit. His hoodie brushes against your cheek, worn and familiar, and you sink into it like a sigh.

“You’re safe now,” he adds, his voice even softer than before. “You’ve done enough for today. You don’t have to carry it alone.”

Then, you feel it.

A soft kiss pressed to your forehead—slow and grounding. He lingers there, just long enough to make your chest ache.

“You can fall apart with me, if you need to,” he says, barely above a whisper. “I’ll hold the pieces.”

You drift.

And when you stir again, just for a moment, his head is leaning against yours. His Evol is still glowing softly, casting lazy golden patterns on the walls. His hand has never stopped moving—still tracing those gentle circles against your back.

He never moved. He stayed.

And somehow, that says everything.

——————————————————————————

You know what's better than fluff? Dark fluff.

The kind where devotion borders on obsession, where love isn't just tender—it's consuming.

"I'd do anything for you, love," he murmurs, voice smooth, unwavering. "Anything you desire, and it's yours."

And the other doesn't hesitate, voice laced with something raw, something desperate.

"I want her to split me open—dig her fingers into my ribs and pry them apart. To hold my heart in her hands, feel the pulse of it against her palms, my blood staining her skin. I want her to pick my bones clean, crack them open, suck the marrow dry. I want to be ruined by her, consumed until there's nothing left of me but the taste of her name on what's left of my tongue."

Because love, when it’s deep enough, is a hunger—one that begs to be fed.

Sorry, I Hurt You: Zayne Edition

Premise: You hurt him with your words and instantly regretted it, tearing up for the things you said, things you could not take back. But in that moment, all he sees is the love you have for him. Inspired by this request. Pairing:Reader x Zayne Note: Reader and the men are in a relationship for this fic. If you would react to this situation differently by saying you would not hurt him, you would not argue, then please know that this fic may not be for you. Life happens and different people react differently. A reader tag isnt a generalisation for this fic. Let me know if you want to be a part of my taglist. Content warning: Angst, arguments, hurt/comfort, tears.

Zayne Edition | Caleb Edition | Xavier Edition | Sylus Edition | Rafayel Edition

 Zayne had promised to meet you at 7 p.m., a rare evening carved out of his relentless schedule. But, as always, the world seemed to conspire against you.

At 6:34 p.m., your phone buzzed.

Zayne: Emergency surgery. I’ll be late. I am sorry.

The message was short and direct, like every other text you’d received when he was busy. Not that you minded, because you knew he would be indulgent when he had the time with his gifs and emoji.

You sighed, staring at the glowing screen. Of course, it wasn’t his fault—his job was important, lives depended on him. You knew that. You always knew that. But knowing didn’t make it hurt any less.

You: How late?

You waited, watching the little "typing…" bubble appear and disappear a few times before his reply came in.

Zayne: I’m not sure.

You: Ill wait for you, Dr. Zayne 😉

The knot in your chest tightened. You tossed your phone onto the coffee table and leaned back against the couch, staring at the clock on the wall. 7:00 p.m. came and went. By 8:30, the sun had dipped below the horizon, painting the room in shades of blue and gray. By 10:00, your patience was fraying.

Your thoughts spiraled. You couldn’t even remember the last time the two of you spent more than a few uninterrupted hours together. If it wasn’t the hospital, it was a conference, or research, or some far-flung medical camp in the middle of nowhere.  You understood—he wasn’t just a doctor, he was the doctor, the youngest cardiologist in Linkon City, and his work saved lives. But no amount of understanding could temper the weight of the empty hours that stretched between you tonight.  It wasn’t just tonight. This was a pattern, a cycle you’d grown used to but never quite accepted.

But waiting was a lonely affair. Life had been stressful for you, too. Work, finances, personal struggles—everything felt like it was crashing down. And now, the one person you longed to lean on, to feel close to, seemed so far away. Was it selfish to want his presence? To crave a moment of his time? You didn’t know anymore. All you knew was that you missed him. Missed you both.

By midnight, the frustration was a storm you couldn’t contain. You told yourself you’d wait but every tick of the analog clock that Zayne liked was like chalk grating against the blackboard. :00 a.m. The city outside your window was quiet, the only sound the faint hum of passing cars. 1:45 a.m. The words you wanted to say twisted in your chest, growing heavier. 2:23 a.m. The lock turned.

The sound of the lock turning startled you. Zayne stepped inside, his movements deliberate and quiet as he placed his bag down and shrugged off his coat.

“You’re awake…” he said softly, his sharp eyes flicking to you as you sat up on the couch.

“Yeah,” you replied, your voice flat. “I’ve been waiting. I wanted to see you. How was the surgery?”

“It went well,” he said simply. “Complicated, but the patient stabilized.”

“That’s good,” you said, your voice tight. “Have you eaten anything?”

He shook his head. “I grabbed something at the hospital earlier. I’m fine.”

Fine. He always said that. No matter how long the day, no matter how much he’d pushed himself, it was always, I’m fine.

“Zayne…” you began, your tone already edged with the frustration simmering beneath the surface. “You’ve been on your feet for hours. You need to take care of yourself too, you know.”

“I do,” he replied, his tone even, almost dismissive. “We can talk about it tomorrow. You should get some rest.”

And there it was—the spark that lit the fire.

“Rest?” You repeated the word, your voice incredulous. “You think I can just ‘rest’ after sitting here for hours waiting for you? Do you even realize what this feels like, Zayne? It’s like I don’t even exist in your life anymore!”

His brows furrowed at your outburst, a hint of confusion on his face.

“I know your job is important,” you continued, your voice shaking. “I know what you do saves lives, and I’ve tried so hard to be understanding. But do you have any idea what it’s like to feel like you’re always second? To feel like you’re not even a priority?”

“Wait.” he interjected, his tone calm but firm. “I didn’t say you weren’t a priority—”

“No, you didn’t say it,” you interrupted, your anger flaring hotter now. “But it feels that way, Zayne. Every time you miss a dinner, every time you come home at some ungodly hour, it feels like I’m just… here. Waiting. Always waiting. Do you even realize how long it’s been since we’ve had a real conversation? Since we’ve actually spent time together?”

His brows furrowed deeper. “You know my job doesn’t exactly allow for flexibility.”

“Your job,” you spat, the words laced with bitterness. “It’s always about your job. And I get it, okay? I do. You’re saving lives, and that’s incredible. But when was the last time you asked about mine?”

He opened his mouth to respond, but you didn’t give him the chance. The words poured out, sharp and unrelenting.

“Do you have any idea how lonely it’s been? I’m not even sure I’m a part of your life anymore!”

The moment the words left your mouth, you saw the shock flicker across his face. His usually stoic expression cracked, his eyes widening in disbelief.

Your heart thudded painfully as the weight of what you’d said sank in. “Zayne, I—” Your voice faltered, tears welling up. “I didn’t mean that. I swear I didn’t mean that.”

He didn’t say anything, just stood there, his silence somehow heavier than any words he could’ve spoken.

The room fell silent except for the quiet hitch of your breath. You pressed your palms to your eyes, trying to stem the tears, but they came anyway, hot and unstoppable.

Your chest tightened as the tears spilled over. “I’m sorry…” you choked out, the apology tumbling from your lips. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it. I just… I don’t know. Everything’s been so overwhelming, and I didn’t mean to take it out on you. I know how much your work means to you, I really do. I’m just… I’m tired, Zayne.”

ZAYNE’S POV

Her words hung in the air, each one slicing deeper than the last. I’m not even sure I’m a part of your life anymore.

Was that really how she felt? Had he really been so consumed by his work that he’d made her feel this way?

He swallowed hard, guilt tightening in his chest. Of course, she was right. He’d assumed her silence meant she understood, that she was okay with the late nights and missed dates. But now, looking at her, he realized just how deeply he’d been wrong.

And then came her tears.

He’d seen people cry before—patients, families, even his colleagues. But her tears were different. They weren’t just borne of hurt; they carried guilt, love, and something raw and unfiltered. She wasn’t angry at him. She was hurting for him, even as she blamed herself. “I’m not making excuses. I just... I’ve been trying to be strong for so long, trying to understand, but tonight... I just felt... alone. I didn’t mean it. I swear. You don’t deserve to hear that from me. I love you so much, and I feel terrible for even saying something so awful.”

The anger in her voice born from exhaustion, frustration, a sense of abandonment, had shocked him, yes. But now, as her words turned to apologies, all he could see was how deeply she cared for him. Through the raw tears, through the pain and self-accusation in her voice, all he could see was how much she loved him. It was clear as day, even when she couldn’t bring herself to look at him, even as she buried her face in her hands.

Her words tumbled out in a rush, desperate, as though she needed to undo everything with an apology. She wasn’t angry anymore, no. She was so sorry, and it hurt him more than anything else could. He felt his heart crack, the guilt swirling like a blizzard, and without thinking, he moved toward her, instinct pulling him into action.

“Don’t cry...” he murmured, stepping closer. His voice was softer now, tinged with something almost fragile.

“I’m sorry,” she choked out, her words tumbling over each other. “I didn’t mean it, Zayne. I swear, I didn’t mean it. I just—tonight was hard, and I—”

“Stop.” His hands came up to gently frame her face, his thumbs brushing away the tears that refused to stop. “You don’t have to apologize.” The way her shoulders shook with each sob, the desperation in her voice—it all spoke of someone who loved so fiercely that even the slightest hint of causing harm to the one she loved shattered her entirely.

“But I do,” she insisted, her voice cracking. “I was upset, but that doesn’t make it okay for me to say something like that to you. You didn’t deserve it. I’m so sorry, Zayne. I didn’t mean it. I swear, I didn’t mean it. I’m just… so tired, and everything feels so heavy. I know how much your work means to you. I know it’s important, but… but I said those things, and that’s not okay.”

Her voice cracked on the last word, and it cut through him like a scalpel. The rawness of her pain, the way her hands shook as she tried to wipe away her tears—it gutted him. He stepped closer and gently took her hands, stilling their movement. “Stop,” he murmured, his voice low and steady. “Please, stop apologizing.”

But she didn’t. She kept going, as if she needed him to hear every ounce of her sorrow, every misplaced thought born from exhaustion and frustration. “Just because I’m in a bad place doesn’t mean I can take it out on you. It doesn’t make it okay to hurt you. I’m so, so sorry—”

“Enough,” Zayne said, firmer this time, his hands tightening around hers. He closed the distance between them, his forehead resting against hers. His eyes searched hers, even as his own unshed tears blurred his vision. “I hear you. And I forgive you. You don’t need to say another word. You are important to me. Do you hear me? You always have been.”

He pulled her into his arms, and for a moment, the world outside disappeared. The tension in her body melted into his embrace as he cradled her close. He felt her sobs against his chest, the dampness of her tears seeping through his shirt, and his heart ached in a way that no medical textbook could ever describe. It was a mix of regret, love, and an overwhelming need to protect the person in his arms.

When he tilted her face up to his, his thumb brushing tenderly over her cheek to catch the fresh tears, his lips found hers in a kiss that spoke the words he couldn’t say. It wasn’t rushed or hurried, but deep and deliberate—a melding of emotions. He tasted the salt of her tears, felt the softness of her lips trembling against his. His hand cupped the back of her head, holding her there as if letting go might shatter everything. It wasn’t about passion, not this time. It was a deep, desperate need to remind her, remind himself, that she was still here. That no matter how far he had drifted, they were still together.

This is how much she loves me, Zayne thought, as her lips pressed harder against his, the urgency building. This is how much she needs me. Even when she’s hurting, even when she’s angry, she still reaches for me, still tries to make things right.

In that moment, everything was stripped bare. There were no walls, no facades. Just him and her. His kiss was a vow, an apology, and a promise all at once. When he finally pulled back, his lips still ghosting over hers, he murmured, “I’ve been a fool. I am sorry too. I should have been here, with you. I should have made time for you.”

Her eyes widened slightly, confusion flickering through the tears. “Zayne—”

“All these days, I thought I was going home after work,” he continued, his voice low and weighted with emotion. “But it wasn’t home. It was just a house. This… this is home. You’re my home.”

The words hung in the air between them, raw and unfiltered. He pressed another kiss to her forehead, his hands still framing her face. “I’m taking the weekend off. No conferences, no surgeries, no calls. Just us.”

A small, shaky laugh escaped her. “You mean it?”

“I do,” he said, his lips curving into the faintest of smiles. “Even if I have to tie myself to this couch to prove it.”

She chuckled softly, and he felt the tension in her body begin to ease.

“I miss you,” he said finally, his voice breaking the stillness. “I miss us. And I’m sorry I made you feel like you weren’t important. You are. You’re everything.” And that was the truth. All that mattered now was her. She was his home, his heart, his everything. And he would make sure she knew that every single day.

A soft sigh of relief escaped her, and she relaxed into him, the tension in her body finally easing. And Zayne, for the first time in a long while, allowed himself to rest. He closed his eyes, listening to her heartbeat against his chest, and he knew that no matter what else life brought him, this was all he needed. This was home.

And he was never going to let her feel unimportant again.

AN: reblogs, feedback and opinions are appreciated!

Zayne Edition | Caleb Edition | Xavier Edition | Sylus Edition | Rafayel Edition

Taglist: @cordidy

Polites and Ody ♡✨

LADS men when you are on your period — short drabbles 🍎⭐️

tags: fluff, comfort, there isn’t much to tag

CALEB

You were in the bathroom, brushing your teeth with Caleb when you found out you were on your period.

You kicked him out of the bathroom to fetch some pads. The moment you reopened the bathroom door, Caleb scooped you up in his arms and carried you to the bedroom, bridal-style.

“Caleb,” you whined, leaning and stretching against his solid chest like a cat. “It’s okay, I can still walk. And my project…”

“It can wait, okay honey? I’ll help you with it tomorrow,” he said, touching your hair gently. He set you down onto the bed and began to wrap you up in layers of soft thick bedsheets.

“How are your cramps? The water’s still boiling. And I need to get the chocolates, how am I supposed to do that without letting you out of my sight?” he fretted, fussing over you like a protective mother hen. He was so cute like this, you thought, and you reached out and planted a kiss on his cheek. His face reddened up instantly.

“Caleb, it’s okay. I’m not a fragile vase,” you wriggled your arms out from the bedsheets and wrapped them around Caleb. He shook his head fervently.

“No, this won’t do…” With that, he picked you up once more, this time with one arm, and headed towards the kitchen. With his other arm, he busied around the kitchen, preparing a mug of piping hot cocoa and picking out a box of chocolates from the candy stash.

—

XAVIER

Xavier could sense that you were in pain. You had been limping around the house all day like a zombie, mumbling tiredly and curling up at a corner of the couch whilst clutching your pillow.

Warm, strong arms suddenly wrapped around you. Xavier pulled you onto his lap, his breath heavy and warm, he planted soft kisses on your neck as he lifted the pillow out from your grasp and tossed it aside.

“Why are you hugging your pillow instead of me?” Xavier pouted, giving you that puppy look that you loved. “Baby, you’re all tensed up. You’re on your period, aren’t you?”

You nodded, and he continued snuggling into your neck, his grip on you firm and his touches reassuring.

“Tell me next time right away…”

Gently, he set you onto the couch and climbed on top of you. He started kissing you, starting from your lips and making his way down your neck, chest, and stomach.

“Xavier,” you giggled, as he gripped the sides of your waist and playfully pressed kisses onto your abdomen. “It tickles.” But even as you said it, you could feel the painful pressure in your stomach easing up a little. Xavier’s eyes twinkled.

He curled up with you on the couch after making you wear his hoodie. You two watched a movie together before you eventually fell asleep in his arms, feeling significantly better than you were feeling in the morning.

I wonder if even after Odysseus returns, Telemachus still wakes up in a cold sweat some nights and goes to pace in front of his mother’s door. There’s light and loud talking and laughing and Telemachus grips his sword tightly, tense as he knows he can’t let anyone near.

The door opens and Telemachus jolts, turning to see a man standing in the doorway behind him. He lunges forward, but the man grabs his wrist and shoulder, disarming him and bringing him to the ground. He closes his eyes, bracing himself and feeling a burn in his throat. He failed. He can’t protect her. He-

Suddenly there are gentle hands on his face. A soothing voice replacing the cacophony that the prince realizes had never existed. He looks into his father’s eyes with shame, blinking back tears as the king gently takes him into his arms. Odysseus promises his son that he’s safe, brings him back to rest beside him and Penelope, and lets him have just a few hours of peace before it happens again.

Just thoughts.

How to take care of your on-period girlfriend

During that time of the month, you receive special treatment from him.

ಇ. Character x Female Reader

with Rafayel, Xavier, Zayne and Caleb.

ಇ. Tags: fluff, domestic fluff, established relationship, pain & comfort

ಇ. Word count: 3k4

ಇ. Note: Some details in this fic are inspired by in game Tender Moments.

ಇ. Requested by Mỗi ngày nhặt một anh làm chồng and an anonymous reader on my ask box.

ಇ. Masterlist ♡ Request a fic ♡

𝑹𝒂𝒇𝒂𝒚𝒆𝒍

In the middle of the night, you awoke with such discomfort in your lower belly and an aching feeling throughout your body. You knew it was that time of the month; in fact, it was a few days late due to recent work-related stress. You didn't expect to have your period today, so waking up at this hour with discomfort all over your body was quite uncomfortable to you.

Your hand found the phone on the nightstand beside the bed. Rafayel has left you several messages and missed calls. Perhaps you fell asleep without realizing it due to fatigue. You decided to get up and use the bathroom for a while. That's when you discovered you were missing what you needed most at home.

You grumbled and switched the phone screen back on. You were reluctant to disturb him at this time, especially because he was attending an exhibition in another city and you were not sure if he had returned yet. But you were upset and missed the times like this when he took care of you. Just before dialing his number, your phone rang.

"I've seen you online for a while. What's up? Can't sleep?"

Rafayel's voice rang out from the other end of the line, full of energy still. You just answered with a few short phrases, summarizing the current situation for him and told him that you were about to go out and get the necessary supplies.

"Just stay there." Rafayel stopped you. "Do not go anywhere. Wait for me."

You were a little confused why he had told you to stay home. But just now, you were too tired to have the strength to ask. Besides, you could not go out in this state, when you just wanted to faint on the floor.

You washed and changed into a new set of pajamas. Luckily, you found a spare sanitary pad left over in the closet that was sufficient for your needs. As soon as you got out of the bathroom, you heard the front door open. Rafayel appeared there, with a bunch of bags wrapped in both hands.

“How are you now? Does it still hurt?"

You shook your head, primarily to reassure him. But glancing at your pallid face, he knew you were lying. And you were taken aback when he arrived here, at this hour.

“Didn't you leave Linkon for the exhibition a few days ago?”

“That event was nothing special. I was on my way home when you called. I stopped to get you a few things before coming here.”

"Just a few things?" You gazed at the mound of items Rafayel had just purchased and set on the floor. "Why does it look like you bought everything in the store?"

Rafayel grinned at you. He softly aided you in getting down, leaning your back against the cushion and placing your feet on the couch. After that, he began taking out everything from those bags, which startled you a lot.

He had purchased you sanitary products in the form of pads, panties, tampons and even menstrual cups. One of each type and brand. There were also several pain relievers, vitamins and more. When he noticed your amazement, he said:

“Since I don't know which type you usually use, I bought one of each.”

Rafayel laughed. And you, even though your face was pale, felt so content due to his silliness.

“You could have just asked me.” You responded.

“I won't be able to see your surprised smile then. Since I've made you laugh, I must be a fantastic boyfriend, right?”

You slumped entirely back on the couch, still laughing but murmuring: "You must be a fantastic fool."

Lemurians' bodies are not like humans, you appreciated Rafayel's efforts to learn about your cycle and care for you in this manner. He plopped down on the couch next to you, lifted your legs and placed them on his lap. His slender hands rubbed them gently.

“Does it hurt a lot?”

You shook your head. “It doesn't hurt much. Just mild cramps.”

Rafayel nodded. He still remembered you often got cramps in your legs every time your period came. He continued massaging your legs before moving on to your tummy.

“What about this place?”

When your lower abdominal contractions resumed, you let out a tiny cry. Rafayel immediately withdrew his hand. “Sorry… Did I hurt you?”

“I-It's okay…” You tried to smile. “I'll probably feel better after a good rest.”

Rafayel's expression shifted slightly. His hand returned to your lower abdomen, continuing to gently rub it. “There you go again. Just say you're hurt when you're in pain. No need to try to act strong in front of me. Did you forget about our agreement last month? Whenever you have your period and are so weak like this, I will become your bodyguard.”

In the lying position, you could see half of Rafayel's face illuminated in the warm glow of the nightlight. His eyes were both concentrated and kind as he continued to ease the pain in your stomach. Suddenly, you couldn't help but jab your finger into his face. He pouted and puffed out both cheeks. Just like a puffer fish.

“Okay, it's all my fault. Now I will let Rafayel take care of me without worrying that I'd bother you.”

"Good. Even though I don't know how to take care of humans, I guarantee you'll be satisfied!”

Rafayel joyfully grasped your hand and kissed the palm to make it less cold. He continued rubbing your abdomen, singing a melody that put you at peace.

“Get some sleep. When you wake up tomorrow, I will still be here, right next to you.”

𝑿𝒂𝒗𝒊𝒆𝒓 

As a child, you imagined your knight arriving in shining armor on a white horse.

It turned out that your knight did not have a horse, but rather a white Hunter's uniform and a coat that he had just removed to wrap around your waist.

It happened when Xavier and you had just finished dealing with the Wanderers on the outskirts of Linkon City. Late at night, an unusual incident occurred. You hurriedly arrived to take on the task, unaware as that time of the month had come.

Perhaps you were too preoccupied with work to remember when your period would start. After finishing the task, you were dismayed to realize that the blood on your dress was not the blood of the Wanderers at all.

Xavier discovered it through your frightened eyes and trembling body. Immediately, he took off his coat, wrapped it around your waist to cover the blood stains, and even carried you a long way home on his back.

Your arms were wrapped around Xavier's neck, your face completely hidden in his shoulder. You felt so embarrassed to let him catch you in such a messy state. However, Xavier continued to soothe and console you. He said:

"It's not a problem at all. You don't need to be embarrassed about this very normal thing."

Even though it still did not feel right, you said nothing more. You were exhausted enough, and your aching body was screaming for a rest.

Xavier took you back to your apartment. You thanked him profusely and quickly went to take a shower. After that, sensing the silence outside, you assumed that Xavier had returned to his home. Unexpectedly, you caught a pack of painkillers on the table. Next to it was his phone.

You did not intend to peek, but because the phone screen was still on, you accidentally saw the content that Xavier was reading: How to take care of your girlfriend during her periods.

You chuckled to yourself. It turned out Xavier was learning how to take care of you. Then, his hand appeared out of nowhere to take the phone back.

“Are you done? Take your pill now."

Xavier gave you a cup of warm water. You smiled: "I thought you went home."

He slowly dropped himself into the seat next to you. “You are so hurt. How can I go home?”

"I'm alright. I'm going to sleep soon, tomorrow I'll feel better.”

Xavier did not seem to take your word for it. He grasped your hands.

“Aren't you going to be in pain for two or three days to a week?”

“Did you just read that on the internet?”

Xavier pondered for a time before nodding: “I... am not very familiar with these things. But I'll stay here until you feel better. Is that okay?"

You gave him a nod and a smile. Xavier got you a painkiller. After taking it he let you lean on the sofa, held your hands tightly, rubbed and breathed on them to bring some warmth.

After a while, your lower abdomen started to hurt. Xavier expressed concern as he noticed your expression:

“It hurts a lot, doesn't it? May I give you a massage?”

He waited for your approval with a nod before placing his hand on your tummy. He gently stroked it clockwise and inquired: "Is this better?"

You shook your head. One hand pointed to the lower abdomen, somewhat below where Xavier's hand was lying. “Here.”

“I see.”

Xavier's fingers went lower, causing you to flush slightly. Xavier said again:

“I only have two hands. One is warming your right hand, the other is massaging your belly. What should I do with your left hand?"

You gazed down at your hand. It wasn't chilly enough to warrant staying warm, but Xavier insisted on it. He also came up with a new idea:

“How about you put your left hand on me.”

You were astonished for a second. "Put it… on you?"

"Yes. Here..." Xavier raised his shirt slightly, showing his abdomen, and glanced at you with anticipation. You sheepishly placed your hand there, and he pulled his shirt down again. “Is it warm?”

You nodded, not sure what else to say. The warmth from his body made you feel heated within. Xavier proceeded to rub your hand and belly. Your hand, which had been put on his body for a short period of time, now became restless. It crept gently upward, to where you could feel his heartbeat quickening.

Xavier stared at you, considered for a time, then said nothing. Since he had let it slide, your hand glided down, past a layer of firm muscles, and then a bit further…

“If you continue to be so naughty, I'll get angry.”

Xavier leaned close to your ear and murmured, his tone irritated, but his gestures seemed to lean heavily on you.

Your fingers twitched slightly as you attentively watched Xavier's slightly furrowed expression. He went on to say: "When I'm angry, it will be quite terrifying. So be a good girl for me.”

Your hand, which was resting in Xavier's, was drawn to his lips as he pressed gentle kisses against it with heated breath. His eyes darkened somewhat; perhaps it was simply the light. You whispered an apology and returned your hand to its previous position. Xavier gazed at you with a small smile.

"If you're sleepy, just lean on me."

"Yes." You responded gently, placing your head on his shoulder and yawning loudly. No matter what the situation was, with him by your side, you would always be safe.

𝒁𝒂𝒚𝒏𝒆 

You were astonished when Zayne showed up at your door late at night after his shift. Seeing your pale and fragile appearance, he asked you to go to the bedroom for some rest. After faltering a few steps, you nearly collapsed to the floor.

Fortunately, Zayne's dominant arms caught you in time. With one quick movement, he lifted you up with ease.

“Put your arms around my neck.”

Zayne said, and you obediently followed. He carried you to your room, put you on the bed, and drew the blanket over you.

"Give me your hands." You placed your hands on his. Zayne stroked your hands briefly to warm them up before placing them beneath the blanket. "I will make you some tea. Remember to keep yourself warm."

You nodded sheepishly. Your eyes followed Zayne's wide back as it vanished beyond the bedroom door, and you wondered how he knew you were on your period.

You were not convinced this was a coincidence since Zayne prepared you a cup of jujube tea that he had brought with him. He used to give you that drink on days like this. He said it would make the pain less severe. And it was true.

"Drink this. Then eat the red dates, too."

Zayne handed you a cup of tea that he had just blown to cool down the heat. He sat down next to you on the bed. You ate a jujube, turned to look at him, and noticed his palm was already open in front of you.

“Spill it out here.” He said. You looked at him for a moment and then did what you were told. Zayne smiled with satisfaction, patted on your head, then took back the almost empty cup of tea from your hand to it on the night table.

“Feeling better?” Zayne inquired pleasantly as he assisted you in lying back on the bed. 

You smiled faintly and said:

“Just a liiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiittle bit better.”

He laughed at your childish behavior. “If it hurts too much, you'll have to go to the hospital.”

You frowned and shook your head vigorously.

“Don't want to? If so, you need to get a good night's sleep. When you wake up, you will definitely be better.”

You gently tugged on Zayne's arm, whispering: "So... Can I get special care from Dr. Zayne? That way I'll get better faster..."

He looked at you with smiling eyes then nodded. You shifted slightly to the opposite side of the bed, making room for him to lie next to you. He instructed. He said:

“Turn around. Then slightly bend your knees closer to your stomach.”

You did what he told you. Your back turned to him, and very soon, you felt the warmth from his body enveloping you.

Zayne embraced you from behind. One of his hands went under the pillow to lift your head up a bit, the other was placed on your stomach. His hand appeared to be large enough to cover your entire stomach. With a delicate touch, his hand began to travel in a circular rhythm on your lower belly.

At first, you felt ticklish and heated given the embarrassment caused by his touch. In addition, Zayne's steady breath was blowing on your hair from behind. He asked:

“Feeling better yet?”

"Yes." You replied softly. “Doctor Zayne's hand is so warm…”

You caught his quiet laughter. He pressed his body closer to you, while you just wanted to hide your face in the pillow. Then, you suddenly remembered what you had wanted to ask him just now:

“How did you know my period would start tonight? You even brought me tea.”

“Can you guess how?”

“Hmm… Let's see. You knew the exact date last month even though I didn't tell you about it... And the month before that too..."

Doctor Zayne allowed you to think about it for a minute. Zayne's knowledge of the days your menstrual cycle would start was most likely due to his perfect memory. Thinking about this, you turned around and his lips brushed your forehead.

"Eh…"

You froze for a second. Doctor Zayne gazed at you. He was so near that you forgot what you were about to say.

"You've got the answer yet?"

Your face became as crimson as the jujube tea. His breath danced over your cheeks as you responded:

“Um… I already knew the answer… Dr. Zayne is so busy, yet he still remembers my cycle?”

“I remember everything related to you.” Zayne spoke, his expression very serious and full of concern. You reluctantly turned aside.

"T-Thank you…"

You noticed Zayne's body pressing closer to yours. He buried his face in your hair and the nape of your neck, his hand continuing to rub your lower abdomen. He whispered:

“Get well soon. Although I hope that what makes you better is not painkillers or tea… but me…”

The corners of your mouth stretched out, smiling so widely that you could not close it. You grabbed his rough hand that was placed on your stomach and replied:

“Doctor Zayne has always been my elixir!”

𝑪𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒃

The door to your room opened in the middle of the night, and Caleb emerged, blocking the entire entrance. He was holding a hot compress bag, a glass of milk, and sanitary pads.

"I'm here to rescue you, Pipsqueak."

Caleb turned on the nightlight to see your pale face and unkempt hair. You were writhing on the bed, in anguish from your period. You could only send him a text message with the strawberry emoji and a sobbing expression. He arrived at your bedside about five minutes later.

He assisted you up, gave you some painkillers, and then pressed the hot compress bag on your stomach. You frowned.

"Do you need to be so harsh with someone who is sick?"

"It's on you for not listening to me. Even though you knew you were about to start your period, you still had the urge to drink lots of cold drinks. You only listen to me when you're in pain?"

You grimaced and rolled over on the bed. Due to your sudden movement, you got cramps in your shoulder blades. You cried loudly for help. Caleb just sighed in helplessness. He helped you lie upright again and rubbed your shoulders.

“If I'm not here, who would you whine to?”

Since you knew Caleb was home, you texted him. However, you did not say anything after that. The anguish had utterly drained you. Caleb couldn't stand to torment you any longer after knowing about your situation. He leaned you on his lap and helped you sip your pain reliever and warm milk. The hand on your back kept rubbing you.

"Is it so painful? "Can you try to get some sleep?"

You replied by shaking your head. Caleb patted you some more. "Then I will stay here with you. Okay?"

This time you nodded. Caleb drew you closer. He removed the hot compress bag from your tummy and began rubbing it with his hand. All of a sudden, your childhood came back, when you had your period for the first time and Grandma was not home; there was only Caleb. Even though you had learnt in advance that all girls would have to go through her period every month, you were nevertheless terrified when it arrived. Fortunately, Caleb was by your side. He raced to get sanitary pads for you, poured hot tea, and helped you warm your hands and feet.

At that time, you were really timid. And perhaps from there you saw the differences between you and Caleb. Both of you were no longer innocent children. This unusual feeling also steadily grew since. 

"Lucky you're here…" You whispered, a hand softly tapped on Caleb's.

"Of course. I'm always by your side, pipsqueak." He responded, then lavished you with several delicate kisses on your hair.

"Caleb… Don't disappear, okay?"

Surprised, he said, "Where can I disappear to?I still have to comfort you with your favorite meals tomorrow."

"Tomorrow…" You instantly recalled having a date with Caleb at the amusement park. But this unexpected menstrual cycle ruined that plan. "I'm sorry…"

"No problem." Caleb stroked you on the head. “You can compensate me another day. For now, you just need to rest well.”

“But I still feel like it's my fault… It's been a while since you could have a day off, yet we can't go out…”

Caleb smiled gently. He tucked your loose hair behind your ear. When he looked into your eyes, he said:

“If you're bored, we can watch the series you like together tomorrow. Or play some games.”

Upon hearing that, your mood brightened a little. You loved spending with Caleb, whether it was a date outside or just hanging out at home. They all brought joy to you.

Caleb placed a kiss on your forehead. He went on:

“Don't think too much about it. Go to sleep now so you'll have the strength to bother me again tomorrow."

You laughed. Caleb was always such a teaser, but that was the reason why you were so happy around him.

Coaxing you for a while, when you started to fall into a deep sleep, Caleb whispered softly in your ear:

“Being able to come home and be with my pipsqueak, that's the best kind of vacation for me.”

PLEASE PART 2 ON THE SELF DOUBT ANGEST PUHHHLEEEEEEASE

SELF-DOUBT │ PART 2

Pt.1

PAIRING: Love and Deepspace men x reader (reader is implied to be the MC in Caleb's part)

SYNOPSIS: Part 2 of "Self-doubt" - comfort!!

A/N: Finally, it's here. Hope you enjoy!

Xavier

Finally deciding to go home and drown your sorrows in sleep, you stood, your limbs heavy, your breath unsteady. But before you could take a step, the sound of approaching footsteps stopped you in your tracks.

Soft at first, deliberate, hesitant—yet steady. Familiar.

You didn't have to look up to know who it was.

A quiet sigh left your lips. "Xavier."

He didn’t speak right away, but you could feel him watching you. There was no judgment in his gaze, no demand for explanation. Just patience. A patience that made something fragile inside you crack even more.

Wordlessly, he sat beside you, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him, even in the biting chill of the night. Neither of you spoke, and for once, the silence wasn't unbearable. It was different. Softer.

"You scared me," he finally admitted, his voice quieter than usual, as if he was afraid that speaking too loud would shatter whatever fragile state you were in.

You swallowed, your fingers curling into the fabric of your sleeves. "I’m fine."

Xavier hummed, unconvinced. "You’re not. But I’m not here to force you to talk. I just... didn’t want you to be alone."

Something thick lodged itself in your throat at his words. The lump of emotions you'd tried so hard to suppress threatened to spill over.

"Why?" Your voice was barely above a whisper, so raw it almost hurt to speak. "Why do you always—"

"Care?" he finished for you, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips, though his eyes remained serious. "Because you matter to me. You always have. And I don’t know what’s going on in that head of yours, but I know one thing for certain—you are not some afterthought. You are not unworthy. You are not less."

Your breath hitched, eyes burning. "You don’t understand."

Xavier exhaled, running a hand through his hair, frustrated but not with you—with whatever had made you feel like this. "Then make me understand. If you don’t want to talk, I’ll sit here with you until you do. If you want to pretend everything is fine, I’ll let you. But I’m not leaving."

You turned to him then, really looked at him. At the certainty in his expression, the unwavering belief in his eyes. It was so infuriatingly Xavier—so effortlessly kind, so utterly steadfast—that it made your heart ache in ways you couldn’t put into words.

You opened your mouth, but no excuses came. No lies. No ways to push him away.

Instead, your voice cracked, and before you could stop yourself, you whispered, "I don’t know how to stop feeling like this."

Xavier didn’t hesitate. He reached out, hesitantly at first, as if giving you the choice to pull away. But you didn’t. You let him take your hand, let his warmth seep into your cold fingers, grounding you.

"You don’t have to do it alone," he murmured. "I don’t care how long it takes. Just… don’t shut me out."

The dam inside you broke.

A choked sob tore through you, your body shaking under the weight of everything you had been holding in for far too long. And Xavier—he didn’t flinch, didn’t let go. He simply pulled you close, wrapping you in the kind of embrace that felt less like comfort and more like something solid. Something safe.

You clung to him, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe—just maybe—you weren’t as alone as you thought.

And maybe, just maybe, you didn’t have to be.

His fingers traced slow, soothing circles against your back, his breath warm against your temple. "I don't want you to disappear into the dark. If you let me, I'll stay."

The words, so simple yet so profound, settled into your chest like an ember, slow-burning and tender. You lifted your head, meeting his gaze, and in the hush of the night, something unspoken passed between you—something delicate, something inevitable.

Xavier’s thumb brushed the damp trail of a tear from your cheek, his touch unbearably gentle. "I see you," he murmured, and before you could think, before you could hesitate, he was leaning in.

It was soft, barely there—a whisper of a kiss against your forehead, a silent promise. Not rushed, not demanding, just steady. Just real.

And for the first time, you let yourself believe it.

Zayne

The city had always been too loud, yet tonight, it felt impossibly quiet. The kind of quiet that pressed against your ribs, heavy and suffocating, filling the spaces between heartbeats with something unnamed and unrelenting. The café door had long since closed behind you, but the ghost of Zayne’s presence still lingered, his voice a phantom echo in your mind.

You walked without direction, only moving because stillness felt too much like surrender. The night air was crisp, laced with the scent of rain that hadn’t yet fallen, and you breathed it in as if it could cleanse the weight of everything left unsaid. But it didn’t. Of course it didn’t.

Your phone remained in your grasp, screen dark, thumb hovering over his name in your messages. A message unsent. A confession you didn’t dare put into words. You had told yourself you would let this go, let him go—but wasn’t that the cruelest kind of lie?

You stopped beneath the glow of a streetlamp, light spilling over you in fragile, golden threads. Your breath wavered, hands tightening around the fabric of your sleeves. And then, against every instinct screaming at you to forget, to move on—you typed.

“I’m sorry.”

It was inadequate. A pitiful offering for the storm that had brewed between you. But before you could backspace, before you could rethink, you pressed send.

The reply came faster than expected.

“I’m still here.”

Three words. Simple. Unwavering. And yet, they shattered something deep inside you.

You closed your eyes, letting the night swallow you whole. You should have walked away. You should have ignored him the way you had trained yourself to. But Zayne had never been someone you could ignore. And perhaps, just this once, you didn’t want to.

With unsteady fingers, you called him.

The line rang once.

Twice.

A third time.

And then—

“Come back inside.”

His voice was quiet, intimate in a way that sent a tremor through your chest. He wasn’t asking. He wasn’t demanding. Just offering. Leaving the choice in your hands, as he always did.

Your throat tightened. Your heart ached.

For a long moment, you said nothing. You listened to the silence stretching between you, to the quiet promise hidden in his words. And then, with a breath that felt too much like surrender, you turned on your heel, retracing your steps back to the light.

When you stepped back inside, the café was quieter than before. The world outside had not changed, and yet, everything within you had shifted. Zayne was still there, waiting, his gaze unreadable but warm. A cup of something hot sat across from his own, waiting for you, as if he had always known you would return.

You sat without a word, hands wrapping around the warmth of the cup. For a moment, there was only the quiet hum of the café, the soft clink of porcelain, the steady presence of him beside you. And then—

“I never wanted to be someone unreachable,” he murmured, his fingers resting just inches from yours on the table. “Not to you.”

Your breath hitched, something fragile pressing against your ribs. “Zayne—”

“I see you,” he said, voice as steady as the earth beneath you. “Not as an afterthought. Not as someone passing through my life.” His gaze flickered to yours, sharp and unwavering. “But as someone I want in it.”

Something deep inside you cracked wide open.

A shuddering exhale left your lips, and before you could stop yourself, your fingers brushed over his—hesitant, uncertain. But when he turned his palm upward, intertwining his fingers with yours, it was effortless. As if he had been waiting for this moment, just as much as you had.

For the first time in what felt like forever, the weight in your chest eased. The walls you had built so carefully, so stubbornly, faltered in the warmth of his touch.

And for once, you let them fall.

Rafayel

The world felt quieter without him in it.

You told yourself it was for the best, that you had made the right decision. And yet, as the days bled into nights, as the hours passed in dull monotony, you found yourself reaching—again and again—for something that was no longer there.

For him.

For the sound of his laughter, for the weight of his presence filling the spaces you hadn’t realized were empty. For the warmth he carried so effortlessly, the kind of warmth that lingered long after he was gone.

But you had done this to yourself.

And now, you had to live with it.

Or at least, you thought you did—until the knocking started.

Soft at first. A hesitant tap against the door, as though testing if you were even home. And then, more insistent. Steady. Patient. Unyielding.

You ignored it, at first. Pressed your hands against your ears and willed it to stop, to go away. But the universe was never that kind.

“Cutie.”

Your breath caught.

Muffled through the door, but unmistakable. His voice—soft, coaxing, laced with something raw beneath the teasing lilt. A plea hidden in a single word.

You curled deeper into yourself, fingers tightening around the blanket you had wrapped around your frame. If you stayed silent, he’d leave. If you waited long enough, he’d realize you weren’t worth it. That you were doing him a favor.

But he didn’t leave.

He sighed, the sound heavy, filled with something you couldn’t quite name. And then—

“I’m not mad at you.”

The words struck harder than you expected. You squeezed your eyes shut, hating the way your heart clenched, the way your resolve wavered like sand beneath the tide.

“I just...” A pause. A shift, as though he had leaned against the door. “I don’t understand.”

You swallowed. You didn’t want him to understand. Didn’t want him to see the ugly, selfish parts of you, the ones that whispered that maybe—just maybe—you wanted him to fight for you. That you wanted to be more than just another passing moment in his life.

“I thought you knew by now.” His voice was quieter, words woven with something impossibly tender. “You don’t have to keep up with me, cutie. You were never supposed to.”

Your throat tightened.

“I just wanted you there.”

Your fingers twitched. Trembled. Your resolve, already fraying at the edges, threatened to unravel completely.

“I don’t care if you don’t want to see me right now,” he continued, and there was something steady in his voice now. Certain. “But don’t think for a second that I don’t see you.”

A shaky breath. Yours, not his. He was always so sure. So steady. A lighthouse in a storm you hadn’t even realized you were lost in.

The silence stretched between you, thick with everything left unsaid. And then, softer—

“I miss you.”

Your hands clenched into the fabric of your sleeves.

A choice.

A breath.

A surrender.

With trembling fingers, you unlocked the door.

The moment it cracked open, he was there.

Rafayel—bigger than life, impossibly beautiful in the dim light of the hallway. But his eyes, sharp as they were, softened the moment they met yours. He looked at you as if you were something precious. Something worth waiting for.

Something he would wait for, as long as it took.

You exhaled, the weight in your chest easing just slightly. And for the first time in days, you let yourself be selfish.

You stepped forward, barely a breath between you, and before you could think better of it, his arms were around you.

The embrace was immediate, crushing in its intensity. His hands found the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair as he held you tight, as if to assure himself you were real, here, not slipping through his fingers like a dream about to fade.

“Don’t do that again,” he murmured into your hair, voice uneven, raw in a way you had never heard before. “Don’t shut me out.”

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his jacket, knuckles white, grounding yourself in the warmth of him.

“Okay,” you whispered, breath hitching when he pulled back just enough to look at you. His hands cradled your face, touch achingly gentle, reverent, as if memorizing the details of you in case you disappeared again.

He searched your face, gaze flickering between your eyes, your lips, before he exhaled sharply, like he had just made a decision. And then—

Soft. Slow.

His lips brushed against yours, a question, a promise, a silent plea. You melted into him, sighing against his mouth, letting yourself be held, letting yourself be wanted.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, breath mingling with yours in the quiet of the night.

“Come inside,” you murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

He smiled, something warm, something yours, and just like that—the world wasn’t so quiet anymore.

Sylus

The hours slipped by in hazy disarray, the wine glass now empty, the room a blur of half-formed thoughts and aching silence. You could feel the chill of the night seeping deeper into your bones, but it wasn’t the cold air that made you shiver. It was the weight of your own thoughts—the gnawing self-doubt, the quiet loneliness that seemed to stretch out forever, wrapping itself around you like an unwanted lover.

You told yourself to be strong. You told yourself to forget. To move on.

But it was impossible to ignore the echo of his name in your mind, the memory of his touch, the way his eyes had looked at you—so soft, so gentle, like you were something more than just a fleeting shadow in his world. You had convinced yourself that it didn’t matter, that you didn’t matter to him. But now, in the silence of your empty apartment, that lie was unraveling at the edges.

You were not enough for him, and yet you had never wanted anything more.

The sound of your phone vibrating again cut through the haze, and for a moment, you simply stared at the screen. The name flashed once more.

Sylus.

The familiar pang of longing twisted in your chest, a sharp, bitter ache. You didn’t want to open it. Didn’t want to be reminded of everything you couldn’t have. You had closed that door, hadn’t you?

But the phone buzzed again. And then again.

Without thinking, your thumb slid across the screen, the message lighting up the dim room.

"I’m outside."

Your heart stuttered in your chest.

You blinked, the words swimming before your eyes. Your pulse quickened. He was here. And for a moment, you almost convinced yourself to ignore him, to let him be just another chapter you could close. But that wasn’t you, was it? You were never one to run from what you felt, no matter how terrifying it seemed.

The sound of his footsteps echoed against the hallway, distant but unmistakable. The way his boots hit the ground with that gentle weight, as though each step was taken with purpose. You felt the air shift as he drew closer, your skin prickling with the intensity of his presence.

The door knocked softly, almost too softly, as though he was waiting for you to make the first move. And for the first time in what felt like forever, you hesitated.

“Please,” his voice reached you, quieter now, as if spoken through the layers of pain you had wrapped yourself in. “Let me in.”

Your breath caught, and without thinking, you turned the knob.

The door swung open, and there he was.

Sylus.

The light from the hallway cast him in a soft glow, outlining his silhouette in such stark contrast to the darkness behind you. His eyes—those eyes, the ones that could see straight through every defense you put up—were soft. Warm, even. There was an urgency to his gaze, but also a tenderness, as if he was afraid to touch you too suddenly, afraid to break the fragile moment that existed between you.

“I couldn’t leave,” he murmured, and his voice cracked just the slightest bit as he spoke, his own emotions laid bare.

Your heart ached at the sight of him, standing there, vulnerable in a way you hadn’t seen before. The man who had once seemed so untouchable, so unreachable, now seemed almost fragile in his need for you.

“You don’t have to do this,” you whispered, voice shaking.

But he stepped forward anyway, and in that moment, everything shifted. His hands were warm when they cupped your face, his thumb brushing away the traces of tears you hadn’t even realized you were still holding back.

“I do,” he said, his voice low and firm, yet undeniably soft. “I do, because I’ve never needed anyone the way I need you.”

And with those words, your world fell away.

Without another word, he pulled you into him, his embrace fierce yet gentle, as though he was afraid you would slip away if he didn’t hold on tight enough. His scent enveloped you, familiar and grounding, and for the first time in days, you allowed yourself to sink into it. You let yourself surrender to the warmth of his arms, the only place that felt like home anymore.

“I was so afraid,” you whispered, your voice muffled against his chest. “So afraid of being nothing to you.”

His fingers threaded through your hair, and he pressed his lips against the top of your head, the softest kiss, a promise more than a gesture.

“You were never nothing to me,” he whispered. “You were never a fleeting thing. I just... I didn’t know how to show you, not when I was so terrified of losing myself in you.”

You pulled back slightly, just enough to meet his gaze, the depth of his words reflected in the dark pools of his eyes. For the first time, you saw it—the same raw vulnerability, the same fear of not being enough that you had harbored so deep inside.

And in that moment, it no longer mattered who was enough or not enough. All that mattered was that he was here. And so were you.

You kissed him then—softly, slowly, as if testing whether the world would allow such a moment of peace to exist. But his lips were insistent, and soon enough, the kiss deepened, your worries melting away with each touch, each press of his body against yours. The weight of your doubts lifted, replaced by something far more comforting, far more real.

In his arms, you were not lost. You were not a fleeting moment. You were everything.

And as the night wrapped itself around you both, the air no longer felt cold. It felt warm. It felt like home.

Caleb

It was almost absurd, how you could feel so much for someone, and yet, never have them see it. Caleb, your constant. The one who would always be there to crack a joke, to make you laugh when the world felt heavy. But as time passed, it became harder to pretend. Pretend that the ache in your chest was just something you could ignore, pretend that you could be content with the role of the background character, the one who never got the spotlight.

You stared at the ceiling, the dim glow of your phone still lingering in the darkness, his name burning through the cold night. You were so tired of pretending, tired of holding everything inside, locking it away like some precious treasure only you could see. But it was suffocating you, this secret love, this thing you never asked for but couldn’t escape.

The steady buzz of your phone in your hand felt like a pulse, like a lifeline, but also like a reminder of everything you couldn’t have. It hurt too much to answer. It always did. Because with Caleb, every conversation felt like an act of theater, a performance where you smiled and pretended to be happy, to be fine, when the truth was you were drowning. Drowning in a love that never had a chance to be returned, that was never meant to be returned.

Another message lit up the screen, and your chest tightened. "Pipsqueak, please answer me. I’m worried."

Worried. His words rang in your ears, his concern always just enough to make you feel seen, but never enough to pull you from the depths of your own feelings. You wanted to scream at him. To ask him why, after all this time, he still didn’t see you. Why couldn’t he see what was right in front of him?

But you couldn’t. Because if you did, you would break. And breaking meant losing him entirely. It meant letting go of the one piece of your life that was still solid, the one thing that still anchored you to the world.

With a trembling hand, you turned the phone face down on your nightstand, the silence between you now absolute. The emptiness felt suffocating, but you couldn’t take back what you had already done. You had locked him out, not just from the room, but from your heart. And maybe that was the best thing for both of you.

But as the hours passed, the weight of that decision grew heavier, until it felt unbearable.

Your phone buzzed again. It was him, and this time, you didn’t hesitate.

You picked it up, feeling that familiar pang of hope and fear coil in your chest. There was no turning back now. He was calling, and you—well, you couldn’t run anymore.

“Hey,” you whispered, almost too quietly. The sound of your voice was fragile, like it might shatter if you said too much.

“Y/N, you okay?” Caleb’s voice came through, low and concerned, but there was something more to it this time. Something you hadn’t noticed before—the way his voice lingered, the way it softened when he spoke your name.

“Yeah, just tired,” you replied, forcing a smile into your tone. It wasn’t enough to mask the sadness, but it would have to do.

There was a pause on the other end, and then he sighed. “You’re lying.”

You let out a small, bitter laugh. "Am I?"

“Yes,” he said simply. “I know you better than that.”

And for the first time, you felt the walls you’d carefully built between you begin to crack. Caleb, as oblivious as he was, somehow always knew when you were hiding something. It was frustrating, maddening even, but in that moment, you couldn’t deny it. His understanding of you, his ability to see through your armor, made everything feel even more impossible.

“I’m fine,” you said again, but it was weaker this time. "I just… I need some space, Caleb. It’s nothing. Really."

His voice softened, as though he could sense the lie even through the phone. “I don’t believe you.”

You were silent for a long moment, the weight of the conversation pressing in on you. There was so much you wanted to say, so much you had to say, but the words felt tangled in your throat.

“Caleb,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, “I just—sometimes, I feel like I’m invisible to you. Like no matter how much I try to be there, it’s never enough.”

And there it was. The truth. The raw, aching truth that you had buried for so long.

You waited for him to speak, to laugh, to dismiss your feelings as something trivial. But instead, there was a silence so thick it felt suffocating.

And then, in the quiet, he finally spoke.

“I never meant to make you feel that way,” Caleb said, his voice unusually quiet, the usual teasing lilt replaced by something softer, more vulnerable. “I… I never saw it like that. But I should have. I should’ve seen how much you’ve always been there. How much I’ve taken you for granted.”

You swallowed, blinking back the tears that threatened to spill. You didn’t know how to respond. You didn’t know if you even could.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he continued, and there was something in his voice now that made your heart ache. “You’re not invisible to me, pips. You’ve never been.”

And in that moment, you allowed yourself to believe him, just for a little while.

You didn’t know what would happen next, what this would all mean, but for once, it didn’t matter. Caleb had seen you. Really seen you. And that was enough to keep you holding on.

“I’m here,” you whispered. “Always.”

And in the space between those words, something shifted, like the universe itself exhaled, allowing you both to breathe again.

A Very Good Day🍃

Prompt : In a cozy mountain chalet, you and Xavier escapes the chaos of everyday life, enjoying lazy mornings and homemade breakfasts. Genre: Fluff Warnings: slight suggestive content Words count : 1506

The small things you notice when you wake up is the gentle warmth of the sun warming the white sheets, the sweet breeze slipping into the room through the French window making the curtains fly before settling into the crook of your neck, and the comforting smell of breakfast in the making.

It’s mainly this smell that pushes you to get out of this cozy bed, your appetite being stronger than your need for relaxation. You escape the covers, taking a moment to stretch before leaving the bedroom.

It was going to be a very good day; you were sure of it.

Your bare feet caress the wooden floor of the chalet you rented in the mountains at three hours from Linkon City, you were told it was the best spot to stargaze at this time of year. You wanted to spend time with your boyfriend without having to think about all the responsibilities you had back in Linkon, the last year had been hectic enough. Well, no use thinking about it for now, let's get back to your boyfriend.

As you step into the room, the smell you were following since you were awake washed over you, but now you could distinguish it more subtly, it was a mix of bread toasting, the smell of red beans and scrambled eggs. There was some jazz playing in the background, and you could also feel the heat of the sun reverberating through the windows of the living room, the kitchen of the rental being open, it opened directly onto this room with a cozy atmosphere.

Your eyes finally paused on the back of Xavier, and what a back, he was wearing a plain white t-shirt clinging to his skin in some place, probably because of the steam who had gradually settled in the room. Your eyes travelled down his body, his soft hair, his strong arms, those little shorts that highlighted his legs... and not only his legs. You approached him discreetly, before sneaking your arms around his back, nestling your face against him, smelling the perfume you bought him for the new year. His body tensed up a little before letting out a soft, husky laugh as he took one of your hands to kiss it. 

“Good morning, sleepyhead” he whispered before letting go of your hand.

“You’re the sleepyhead in the relationship” you teased, squeezing him a bit tighter. It was common knowledge that Xavier slept a lot, but you didn't hold it against him, he was one of the best, if not the best, Deepspace Hunter.

“Maybe but you’re the one waking up after me, so you’re the official sleepyhead today” he responded smiling before going back to his cooking. You stood on tiptoe to look at what he was doing, resting your head on his shoulders to find some balance, he was folding some dough.

"What are you doing?" you asked, trying to reach for the dough but unable to grab it as his body acted like a dam between you and the dough.

“Some Red Bean Buns, with some toasts and scrambled eggs… don’t touch” he said laughing, pushing gently your hand away.

“Please” you purred, pressing a kiss against his neck and sliding a hand under his shirt, caressing his belly and tracing his abs.

He melted against your touch, grabbing back your wrist and holding it against him. “No, you go back to bed, and I handle the breakfast, I promise I won’t burn anything this time.” He turned toward you, moving your hand to his upper back before crouching slightly, sliding his arms around you and kissing your lips softly.

 It was your turn to melt, you closed your eyes, losing yourself in the kiss before you felt a thick texture on the tip of your nose, you opened back your eyes in surprise, looking straight into the mischievous gaze of the culprit.

“What is it?” you asked, pouting before moving one of your hands from under Xavier’s shirt, touching the thing on your nose and looking at the reddish-brown paste on your finger.

“Red bean paste, I told you I was making buns, right?” he replied before licking the tip of your finger. You looked at him like he just killed someone. “Why do you look at me like that?” he smiled, pinching slightly your cheek.

“You just tricked me and then you steal my paste, who am I in love with ?!” you joked, taking a step back dramatically, clutching your imaginary pearls.

“A monster, now go back to bed” he said, rolling his eyes with an exasperated smile.

“I’m going back to bed because I decided to, not because you told me” You said with a face falsely annoyed, leaving the room before coming back a few seconds later, sticking your head out from behind the hallway wall. Xavier tilting his head back to look at you.

“I love you” you grinned before disappearing behind the wall, walking down the hallway you heard him replying to you. “I love you too!” he exclaimed loudly enough to make sure you heard him. Xavier usually had a soft-spoken tone, so as you let yourself fall on the fluffy bed, you can’t stop yourself from kicking your feet and giggling.

Ten minutes had passed since you went back to bed, you were scrolling on your phone while enjoying the sun. You heard the door opened, his back walking before the rest of his body as he walked into the room backward, turning around once the door was closed.

“Good morning, again, Miss” he walked toward the bed, holding the plate carefully, settling down on the cover, making sure not a thing spilled. You looked at the plate more closely, there were some of those delicious buns he was making,a few toasts, some with jam and butter and others with avocado and salmon, the scrambled eggs were in a big egg-shaped bowl.

“Look at this feast! You outdone yourself!” You grab his arm pulling him in bed, next to you, his weight making the glasses of juices almost spilling. “Oops, sorry” you said as he carefully leaned back against the headboard.

“But you didn’t even eat anything yet.” he grabbed one of the buns, splitting it in half and giving you a piece of it, the smell was divine.

“Mmmh, that’s so good!” you moaned as you took a bite, the soft dough and the red beans paste melting against your palate.

“If you continue to make those noises while we eat, I think we will have to postpone breakfast for a few hours.”

You almost choke as you looked back at him, he was innocently tilting his head before starting eating his bun.

“Xavier! You can’t say that while I’m eating!” you laughed, playfully hitting his arm.

“I did breakfast, I have all the right my dear.” He kissed your cheek before reaching for the juice.

You spend the rest of the morning eating those delicious delicacies, while speaking about everything and teasing each other, as always.

It was now the afternoon, a little rain was cooling the weather, the breeze still moving the curtains of the room. You and Xavier held each other close, your head resting on his shoulder, one of your legs wrapped around his, his arm around your shoulders while the other was holding a book. You were helping him, turning the pages when he needed to.

“And done.” He put the book on the bedside table, he had just finished the new book he bought at the library last week.

“So, was it as interesting as you thought?” you asked, hugging him tightly.

“Yeah, it was but I have a more interesting right…” he touched the tip of your nose “here.”

He turned toward you rapidly. You let out a yelp of surprise as he positioned himself in such a way that you ended up beneath him. He didn’t waste a second before trailing a series of soft kisses across your face. When he finally kissed your lips, you pulled him into a more languorous kiss, your legs wrapping around his waist pushing him into you.

His hands found his way under your shirt, while yours ended up on the back of his neck. His warm hands were a contrast with the coldness of your body, making you both shivered.

 You tried to pull back from the kiss to catch your breath, but he trapped you bottom lip between his teeth. “I guess” a kiss “the breakfast” a kiss “was not enough” another kiss “for you because I feel like you trying” an encore kiss “to devour me” you ended up saying breathlessly, a smile on your face.

“What can I say?” He nestled his face in the crook of your neck. “I’m an insatiable man’’ you felt him smirk against your skin as he said that before you felt his hands travel down your body.

It was going to be a very good day; you were sure of it. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ A/N : it was my first long fic i hope you all enjoyed it ! 💖

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.