THAT WAS TOO GOOD - Blog Posts

the softer side of life

pairing: lucifer x gn!reader

summary: reincarnation au, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending

1.

"What happens when we die?"

The question came unprompted. Lucifer's gaze flitted down to you. His hand hovered in the air, the pink petal sitting still between his fingers as a cloak of tension fell upon you. 

It was one of the rare weekends where his schedule was clear and he wasn't already worn out by the week's work, so an impromptu vacation was what you went for. It just so happened that the cherry blossoms were in full bloom. It had been a while since your last visit to the human world, so Lucifer figured that it would be the perfect trip.

And it was– the park was packed with families and friends, but you were lucky enough to have scored a spot right under a pink canopy. He could lean against the trunk and adorn your hair with petals, sake and bentos forgotten on the far side of the picnic mat, as the wind carried his troubles into the far far distance…

… where his brothers were loitering.

Of course they had to tag along. It wasn't like he had a choice. 

Whatever. He was determined not to let their intrusion ruin this perfectly serene date. 

And then you dropped the question. It was so sudden– there was nothing in this rosy paradise that could've provoked that kind of thought. It made him wonder whether death was a topic that constantly plagued your mind.

You stole a look at him. He was unmoored, to say the least. "There's no saying what happens. There's heaven and hell, but you could also get reincarnated or become a wandering soul."

"I see," you shuffled, shielding your true reaction behind closed lids. "Do I get to choose?"

"Would you like to?"

"Sure."

"Which one would you choose, then?"

"Mm… hell. Isn't that right below Devildom? You can come pick me up."

He scoffed, putting the petal down on the side. "Too bad you don't get to decide."

While Lilith was reincarnated as a human, it was through Diavolo's effort. Generally, souls, humans and non-humans alike, did not have a say in matters after death. They would simply be thrown into some divine judgment. And being a demon himself, death was still far away. It rarely crossed his mind what would happen after his end. Even when it did, he would just brush it off.

"Well, you can still find me if I get sent to heaven. And if I get reincarnated…" You trailed off, brows clenched in deep thought. "I'm going to be a whole different person, right?"

"Yes." 

A pause. You hesitated for a split second before you said, "I don't want to lose any of this."

Lucifer ran his fingers through your hair, sending the petals into disorder. He didn't want you to fear death and what came after. Humans had such a ridiculously short lifespan (again, a fact that he hated to linger on). It would be a waste to spend its entirety dreading the imminent end. 

"It's nothing to be afraid of," he said in the softest voice he could muster, "Though if you really do forget, I will just have to find you."

You hummed. "How are you going to do that?"

"With this." He took your hand and placed it above his heart. Your eyes flew open. He didn't have to say any more for you to understand– the pact, a bond that had woven itself into your very being, the very embodiment of the feelings you had for each other. Was it possible that it could transcend lifetimes as well?

A master at reading your expressions, he bent down to kiss your forehead, like a shot of sunlight piercing through and dispersing a storm. Your lips curved into a smile. "I still have a long way to go, my love. I will meet you and love you again and again. I promise."

Mammon's voice traveled from a distance, beckoning the both of you to join them. Lucifer pulled you onto your feet and grabbed your hand, giving it a brief squeeze. It was enough to chase the gloom out of your mind. 

–

Your death was instant. Lucifer felt it before he knew it– the jab in his heart. The twist. Then, the fall.

It was unlike anything he'd felt before. He rested his hand where the pain originated, feeling for the magic flowing in the pact, but it was gone now, slipping through his fingers into nothingness. It felt as though his heart had been torn apart, half of it bitten off by some brutal abomination. All that was left was the ache. It overcame him, so much that he couldn't see anything in front of him despite his eyes being wide open. He didn't flinch when he felt the spilled tea pooling around his trembling hand. 

Your death didn't just happen to you, it happened to him as well. The moment your heart stopped beating, the pact broke apart, and his end of it took the brunt. 

The rest was a blur of memories. Memory of your cold skin, the funeral, carving your name onto the gravestone. Memory of standing in front of it, a bouquet of white flowers in hand, and the fragility of a human's life.

The first few years were bleak. The house was so much quieter without you, and so much darker with seven demons in mourning. Lucifer would wake up in the dead of the night just to find his hand outstretched at the cold side of his bed. He buried himself in toil, even openly asked for it. It worked, but only for a while, because for how long could one ignore their heart's longing? For him, there was always something amiss. In the scarce moments when he was happy, it was fleeting, and was never enough to be bliss.

Just like that, more years passed, paving way for decades. 

It would be a hundred years before his heart came alive again.

2.

Lucifer recalled vividly the day he felt it- no, you . It started as a spark that roused him from his slumber, which turned into a boulder dragging his heart down. He had almost forgotten how much a heart was supposed to weigh. 

In desperation, he reached out for the intangible magic— something that he hadn’t done in a long time in fear of disappointment— and felt it materializing into a golden thread. It wavered and shuddered, but it was there, an invitation, a promise that if he focused on it hard enough, it would bring him to you.

It took almost zero contemplation. Lucifer pulled out his clothes from the bottom of the wardrobe, left behind a hasty note, and stumbled into the human world. He reminded himself over and over again that a brief look would be enough. Just to know that you were doing well, wherever you were, whoever you were. He would be satisfied, and then he would move on.

The human world had made a few shifts during his absence. Skyscrapers shot even higher into the sky, like arrows aimed at the sun. Roads in the cities were wider now, but it was as congested as ever. Lucifer held onto the invisible thread tugging at his heartstrings and zig-zagged his way through the crowd. 

Searching for a single person in billions, it turned out, was arduous. He was constantly terrified that you might've walked past him without him realizing, carried away in the waves of people. It took him days to reach the quieter part of the city, where the pact showed him no more clues.

It was an overcast day with a storm brewing in the grey clouds above. The air was still with anticipation of rain. Lucifer spent some time sauntering around the local market before walking out onto the concrete roads, where the first raindrop hit his skin. It was a drizzle at first, but it got heavier by the second, and before he knew it, it'd turned into a downpour. Umbrellas bloomed around him, and the unprepared ones spread out to find cover. 

He found shelter under an awning outside a closed flower shop. The exotic flowers bloomed ever so brilliantly behind the thick glass wall. You would've loved them , he mused. You'd always had a soft spot for flowers. 

Hurried footsteps pattered closer. A figure rushed under the roof, panting slightly after all the running. Lucifer paid them no mind, still absorbed in his thoughts. It was only when they started mumbling that his attention was torn away.

"I can't believe I left my umbrella at home…"

He held his breath at the distinct voice. He could recognize it anywhere– amidst the noisiest party, on the other side of a blizzard, even decades and decades away. He turned.

There you were: untangling your damp hair, eyes darting out at the flooding roads with impatience, as though you were completely unaware of his presence. But you weren't, because you turned to him as soon as you felt his astonished stare.

Little had changed about you, which wasn't to say that you looked exactly the same, just that you were like a painting, a portrait. Though he could make out the slight changes in your features, you were just as radiant as he'd remembered you to be.

"Annoying, isn't it?" You jutted your jaw towards the rain, trying to strike a conversation with the stranger. (Right, a stranger. You bore no memory of him, which shouldn't have hurt as much as it did considering that he'd seen it coming miles away.)

"Yes," He said. The response was terse because he suddenly forgot how to speak. There was a racing heart stuck painfully in his tightened throat. "Yes, it is." He tried again.

You flashed him a tight-lipped smile before turning away. 

There it is, he told himself. The brief look you were looking for. You've got it now. You should go.  

"I know it sounds absurd," before he could move, you faced him again, a hesitant shine in your eyes. "But have we met before?"

In hindsight, if he were to pinpoint the exact moment he knew that he was doomed for eternity, it would be this. As the rain raged on and the world enclosed around you, he realized that maybe love wasn't a question after all.

–

It was easy falling in love with you. After all, your soul was one and the same. Little by little, his heart mended itself, and happiness seeped back into his life. He spent most of his time in the human world now, right where you were, and he had the impression that he was drunk, intoxicated by the new things he got to learn about you, by every unintended touch and all the passionate ones, by instants when your heart danced the same rhythm. 

He'd never thought he could have this again, but you managed to find your way back to each other. He would watch the moonlight spill onto your hair in the dark and feel invincible, like death had nothing on you. 

And death, lurking in the corner with an amused smirk, let him have his fun for a handful of years. When it decided that time was up, though, it wasn't so lenient.

It manifested as a reckless vehicle and trapped you unconscious on the hospital bed for days before finally releasing its chokehold. As the monitor beeped its flat tone, the doctor explained over and over again, they're gone, we're sorry, they're gone . Lucifer pushed them out of the way with his reckless strength and whisked you away. 

He remembered bargaining with reapers, with angels, with Diavolo again (he'd done it once, he could do it again). He remembered the tremble possessing his body as he pleaded and pleaded until the words were only blood in his mouth. Diavolo tried to pry his hands away from you, but he wouldn't let go. "There's nothing I can do, Lucifer." Lucifer shook his head. "It's too late. They're already gone. I'm sorry." There must be some way. "Shouldn't you have known? "

Yes. He should've known, which was why his chest hurt twice as much. The room sank into silence as his cries subdued. Holding your icy hand, he swore that he would never love you again.

But we all know how the story goes.

3.

Twenty-nine thousand and two hundred days later, in front of two identical graves with different names, you tapped on the door of his heart. This time, he turned a blind eye, because the thought of losing you the third time was mortifying. Who in their right mind would sign up for that kind of pain?

That's the thing about grief. It messed with people's heads and made fools of them. Lucifer knew better than to make the same mistake, but his heart was constantly demanding its other half, and it would not rest. 

In his defense, he hadn't meant to fall in love again, but all his high walls crumbled at the mere sight of you– not as worn photos, not as gravestones, but as a living soul. You welcomed him into your life with open arms. Acquaintanceship grew into stolen glances, and before long, you were lovers again, pushing the rusty grief out and making space for happiness.

But it wasn't easy. He had no idea when you were going to leave him again, which led to protectiveness on his end. He was sure that, if he were around you at all times, he could prevent accidents from happening. It made him as sensitive as ever. That time he lost you in the crowd, he got so hysterical that he refused to let go of you for the rest of the day. It was only until you confessed that his grip around your hand was too firm that he resolved to stick by your side.

"Can I ask you something?" You asked from the other side of your studio apartment, stirring your mug of warm drink. It was a small flat, but it felt like home to him.

He hummed.

"Are you afraid that I'm going to leave you one day?" You refused to meet his eyes. "You can ignore it if you want to. I know it sounds dumb." 

The prolonged silence was what made you look up. Lucifer was so still that he might as well have been petrified. Finally, he parted his mouth. "Why do you ask?"

"You always act like I'm going to disappear. I'm not going anywhere. You know that, right?"

But you were. You didn't know it yet, but you were always going to leave. 

"Luci," you called. "You can tell me anything."

Sincerity welled up in your eyes. He wanted to tell you everything so badly, so that he could lift the weight of memories off his back, but would you even believe him? If he told you that you were lovers in past lives and that your souls were bound together, would you call him a lunatic?

His legs moved before he could make a decision. Lifting your hand to his heart and vice versa, he recounted fragments of your previous lifetimes: how you first met, how you stole his heart, and how he'd not known peace ever since. Unreadable emotions flashed across your face. He didn't stop until he'd got everything off his chest, throat parched as he waited for your response. 

"You can choose not to believe it," he said. "It must sound absurd."

"Then am I more absurd for thinking that it actually makes sense?" You laughed nervously. "I mean, the first time I saw you, I already found you familiar. I'd always had this impression that I've known you for a long, long time, I just never thought anything of it. I– I'm so sorry, Lucifer, for making you bear everything alone, but I'm here now."

Those single, simple words were full of an ocean's worth of comfort. The tears came in floods. Lucifer buried his face into your shoulder and dampened your shirt. Neither of you cared. In this moment, you were just two souls clinging onto each other in the vicious currents of life.

"I won't leave you behind again, I promise. I will remember you," you repeated it, desperate to make it true. "I will remember you. I will remember you. I will–"

4.

"Can I have your name?" You asked behind the counter.

"It's Lucifer."

The corner of your mouth quirked up. "Alright, one black coffee for Lucifer."

You'd taken the path of a barista in this life, and had opened a neat little coffee shop in the corner of this coastal town. 

Over the span of a hundred and three years, humans had made drastic changes to the landscape. He could scarcely see evidence of the old geography now, let alone get from place to place. Had he not had his heart as a compass, he never would've been able to find you.

Things were easier this time around. You got to know each other, you fell in love, you spent time together. He decided not to come clean like last time. It hadn’t gone the way he'd wanted. The knowledge had filled you with guilt, which, when mixed with affection, didn't feel so pleasant. He didn’t want you to love him out of obligation. 

Another reason was that he didn’t want to tell you that you were always going to die regretfully young. No one could live with that kind of knowledge. 

So he settled for simplicity. You, a coffee shop, the warm sun. He did his best to leave no regrets, to live everyday as if it was your last. When you died, it hurt just as much, but he took to the pain like fish to water. 

During his years of waiting, as he stood before the three graves, he wondered for how long this could go on for. There was only so much breaking and healing a heart could handle before it would come apart at the seams. The possibility of a never-ending cycle was ghastly. He distracted himself by thinking about all the sweet moments you would share together in the next life.

5.

While the landscapes might change, nature never lost its colors. Lucifer rested his head against the bumpy window and looked out at the flashing scenery. Scarce houses were distributed on the green land. Behind the green was a lake, then mountains that went as far as his eyes could see. It was a sight he could never get bored of.

The train came to a stop. Passengers came and went. He hadn't the slightest idea where it was bringing him, but it didn't matter. His heart had led him here after incessant searching, and it had always been right.

Someone moved into the seat opposite him. He could tell it was you without looking. 

You were typing on your phone with one hand, the other hidden inside the pocket of your jacket. Little had changed about you, though even if you were to don a completely different appearance, he could still recognize you. 

You grinned at your screen. He hadn’t heard your laugh for so long that the simplest hint was enough to send his stomach into a whirlwind. 

The view outside started moving again. As sufficient as it was to simply be in your presence, he still wished to strike a conversation with you. Then the rest would come together by itself, just like how it’d been all those times before.

At least that was what he expected. You never addressed him. Whatever was on your phone seemed to be hogging all your attention. Time passed on. At some point, just as he was about to say something to you, you pulled out your other hand. Sunlight caught on something wrapped around your ring finger. 

The world froze.

–

Lucifer had thought that there would be nothing worse than your deaths. He was wrong.

It turned out that he was two years late. By the time he made it, you already had eyes for someone else. 

He hadn’t planned to linger, but he did— as a passing stranger, as the customer in the far corner of the restaurant, as a shopper looking at fruits he knew nothing of. To keep an eye out for you, that was the excuse he used. It worked for the first few months. A full year later, not so much.

There were a few things going on in his mind :

Disbelief. Anger. Betrayal. For almost four centuries he had devoted himself to finding you in every lifetime despite knowing that there would be no happily ever after. He let the grief drag his heart through jagged rocks. Why couldn’t you have waited for him the way he did you for so many years?

Underneath gritted teeth, jealousy. Because it wasn’t him whom you’re smiling up at. It wasn’t him who got to hold you in his arms, who got to taste your mediocre yet homely cooking (did your dishes still taste the same? He wouldn’t know). You wouldn’t even see him in this crowded world. Maybe he should hate you, maybe he would feel better that way. Yet the idea was like a match thrown into gunpowder. It only burnt him more.

He only got to talk to you once. You were browsing flowers with your partner as he stood on the other side, fingers rubbing soft, heart-shaped petals absent-mindedly.

“…I don’t want to pick a random one,” you said to them in a low voice. “I need something more meaningful.”

“Yea,” they looked at the empty counter. The shop owner had gone into the back of the shop. “Maybe we should wait for a bit.”

Lucifer heaved a deep breath and picked up the vase he had been toying with. One step. Two steps. Three steps. He came up to you, tucking his closer arm behind his back to keep the want to touch you at bay.

“How about this?” He started. You turned to him, and for the first time, truly registered him. “Hollyhock. Fairly easy to grow, just make sure it gets enough sun.”

“What does it represent?” 

“Epiphany, nostalgia, ‘remember me’.” He pushed the words out. In his throat was a silent pleading : here is my bare heart. Please tell me you recognize it. 

You took the plant from him and observed it. He noticed the twitch in your brows, a sign that you were in deep thought. Did they know this about you? He spared them a glance. They were leaning into your space. He hated every single thing about this. His heart was beating out of his chest.

“It’s a nice message, promising to remember each other and all,” you turned your back to him, completely and utterly ignorant. “What do you think?”

“I think it’s perfect,” they smiled, disgustingly sweet, and left a kiss on your temple. “I’ll go pay for it.”

By the time you remembered to give your thanks, Lucifer was already nowhere to be seen.

Outside, as he shot through the crowd in haste, he caught a glimpse of his reflection glaring at him, eyes shining and mouth trembling. 

At the core of all the things he was feeling (rage and jealousy and all that came between) was fear, because for the first time, he learnt that his heart could be wrong.

His return to Devildom was immediate. There was no place for him in this world.

—

When his heart told him you’d died, he showed up at your funeral only after the guests had left. He peeked inside the casket and felt sourness in his nose. Even if he could kill his desires, he couldn’t kill the ache in his chest or the tears streaming down his face at the sight of your lifeless body.

“Here. Just let it out,” your partner walked up to him and patted his shoulder. After he’d calmed down, they chewed on the inside of their cheek, “I don’t think I’ve met you before. Were you friends?”

So much more.  

“Something like that.” He said and tore himself away.

6.

Your life was largely occupied by two things, one during the day and another during the night.

In your waking moments, it was the feeling that you'd lost something, much like how people would forget their earphones in their back pockets, only that you had no idea what you were missing, and thus had no way of finding it.

You'd tried searching under the bed, in the library, even online where no one treated you seriously, but nothing turned up. As you grew up, you came to understand that it wasn't an object at all, but something deep within.

A part of yourself had been erased, leaving a gaping hole in its wake.

This kind of longing changed you in more than one way. You would be walking on the street and feel the need to turn back, only to see nothing in the crowd. You would look into the mirror and find yourself unrecognizable. Being cut in half meant that you saw the world in half too– all its beauty and all its ugliness. Movies that made your friends weep couldn't force a tear out of you. Jokes that had the whole audience chortling only elicited a chuckle from you. 

"You're pretty cold-hearted, aren't you?" Someone (you couldn't remember who. It would seem that even your memories were fragmented.) said once, to which you responded with an uncaring shrug. In retrospect, you should've corrected them like this, "I'm not cold-hearted. I'm missing part of it."

The only way to escape the brokenness of your being was to fall asleep, but even in the land of nod peace was scarce. You dreamed way too much. At night, in the early morning, even during the twenty-minutes nap you took on Saturdays. They were mostly pleasant: a grotesque mansion perched on a small hill where the sun never shined on, comforting laughter echoing down hallways, the warmth of a fireplace. A city drenched in afternoon rain, the starry canvas above a green field. For the less pleasant ones : a wild beast hurtling at you at full speed, disease crawling under your skin, being chased by something less than human.

Mostly they didn't bother you, despite how familiar they felt. No, what really bothered you was this: the man who was always present in all these dreams, the man whose face was always obscured. You dreamed of the way sunset caught in his hair, as if he was consuming a star. You dreamed of him, the way he walked and the way he talked. You dreamed of him, yet you couldn't recall his name.

And the most nightmarish of them all: Under a shower of pink petals, he was making you a promise, and you knew that this promise was the key to all your questions, so you made sure to memorize it. But as soon as you woke up, the words quickly ebbed away from you until there was nothing left on your tongue. You were back to knowing nothing.

That was to say, your life was largely occupied by two things, one being the haunted house that was yourself, and the other being the ghost that did the haunting.

–

"I have to say, I expected you to seek my help a long, long time ago," was what Solomon had said when Lucifer asked him for a way out. Naturally, as a sorcerer who had made pacts with more demons than stars in the sky, he must’ve had to cut ties with a few, or at least knew how to. He wasted no time bringing out a flask of mauve potion. It was as if he had been waiting for it.

Lucifer had to agree with him. He should’ve let you go instead of letting himself drown in centuries of grief. It had manipulated him for too long, this good-for-nothing heart of his that tethered you to him.

Which was why he was going to end it once and for all.

Back at the house, he poured the potion into a glass and grimaced at the pungent smell. Solomon had warned him that the taste would be more than unsavory. All the more reason to mix it with demonus. 

Even as he was dissolving the potion, the small voice in the back of his head was still protesting. Don’t do it, it’s begging. You’ll regret it. 

He wouldn’t. He raised the glass and held his breath.

The liquid reflected his furrowed brows. Instead of emptying it, his arm stayed in place, and started to grow sore from the angle. Huffing, he placed the drink down and opted for a stroll around his room instead.

Once he’d gathered enough determination again, he sat himself in front of the desk and glared at the glass like it was a villain with a shit-eating grin. He could do it. He should do it, for everyone’s sake. Just one gulp and he would be free of torment. He would no longer know when you’ve returned to life. He would no longer be tempted to meet you. He would no longer be tricked into playing another inevitable tragedy.

That was all it was, tragedy. Everything had been a mistake from the start. From meeting you to subjecting himself to loving you. A slight miscalculation, a tiny indulgence was all it took for everything to spiral down.

Yet the small voice didn’t agree. It can’t all be bad, it argued. There were good memories. Priceless ones. Don’t you remember any of them? 

Of course he remembered. He twirled the glass absent-mindedly as he recounted the days spent with contentment and nights in each other’s presence. Sitting at the dining table with food just enough for two. Feeling your arms around him on the sofa, solid and warm. The tears that he shed in front of you were never those of sorrow, but those of joy. More precisely, the joy of being able to meet you again.

It was only when he was alone that he could be honest. He still missed you. He missed you like hell . And it wasn’t fair because whenever you died, you took away so much of his happiness. He only ever had a few years (decades, if he was lucky) before everything was ripped away from him again. 

The funny part was that he just kept going for it. Every single time, he ran into the fire. Maybe it was his heart that took the wheel and made the decision. Maybe the pact was the only reason he managed to find you— so that the pain would go. But he wasn’t so blind that he would blame it entirely on magic. Was it not also him who made the choice to see you? Somewhere along the way, was it not his belief that, even just for a short while, your tenderness would make all the pain worthwhile?

This must not go unsaid— it was love through and through. Love was the only trap he would dive into head first, reason and pride abandoned. He would be nothing without it.

The concoction looked to him like a stupid mistake now. After all, did he not promise to find you no matter what? He had to keep his words so that when you finally broke free of this laborious cycle, he would be able to face you with pride.

As if on cue, he heard a ring in his heart, much like a doorbell, and with it the door opened and sunlight spilled in.

—

It was drizzling the day you got onto the express. Despite the rain, the summer air was still ruthless, clinging to your skin like a layer of mist. You cupped the iced coffee for some much needed relief.

This wasn’t how you’d planned to spend your weekend. You were supposed to stay in, pull up some movies, and waste the time away, but after another night of dreams filled with deja vu, you decided to put the day off to good use.

After some research, the pink tree— cherry blossoms, to be exact— turned out to be more than just your rich imagination. While such species did exist, they were facing the dire threat of extinction. Among the few that survived in the world, one was just a few stops away from you. There was no reason not to go, if just for the peace of mind. Even if you didn’t get anything out of it, it would still be a nice trip.

The train came to a stop. You were flooded out onto the platform, but the group dwindled as you made your way towards your destination until you were the only one mounting the cobblestone path. 

To say you weren’t disappointed would be a lie. Sure, the sight was out of this world. The cherry tree was massive and rich with flowers, and with every hint of breeze petals fell and pooled around the trunk. No, the disappointment came from the lack of spectators. It was just you and the tree on this dry, unplanted soil. 

The flowers provided shelter from the rain. You lay down directly underneath and watched the sun filter in through the gaps, dappling all over you. The summer heat left you gradually, courtesy of the occassional wind.

Any other human, upon being in your shoes, would probably find themselves in solace, but all you felt was melancholy. As always, it wasn’t enough. 

You didn’t know how much time had passed, but you started slipping in and out of consciousness. You were still under the blossoms, but there was something else now— distant voices, sake in the air, fingers running through your hair. The brief pressure on your forehead felt so real that there was no way it could've been an illusion. 

In anticipation, you opened your eyes.

Of course, no one was there. 

Shaking your head, you got on your feet and spared the tree one last glance before turning away. Before you could take another step though, you stopped in your tracks. 

Your eyes landed on a figure, frozen in his movement as if you’d caught him off guard. He hesitated, then continued walking closer.

A flurry of petals blocked your view, but then he was still there, hair windblown and tousled. 

At that moment, you knew that you knew him.

There were no doubts. Every atom that made you up had him memorized. The clarity was throbbing in your heart, restricting your throat. His name slipped your mind, but you were certain, because despite the fact that his expression was unreadable, you could picture his grin. You were out of earshot, yet his voice fluttered in the air. You could trace the size of his hand, accurate down to the very inch.

For the first time in your life, you felt it all— things that were powerful and magnificent enough to conquer you and render you speechless. He came to a stop a few feet away, and, recognizing your expression, his shoulders relaxed.

“You found me,” the words came naturally, despite the fact that it didn't make sense.

A smile fought its way to his lips, as if saying, I kept my promise.

---