Key Story (2) - Chapter 26
The sun is just dipping below the horizon, casting the street in the soft, fading light of early evening. The long school day has dragged on for Raxian—each class feeling like an eternity as his mind drifted back to Sable. He replayed their moment together from the night before over and over—the warmth of her body against his, the raw vulnerability they'd shared. It didn't feel real. The memory of their kiss is like a spark in the back of his mind, igniting a fierce determination to be by her side again.
But he couldn't skip school. Sable needed stability, and as much as it pained him to leave her, Raxian knew he had to keep up appearances—for both their sakes.
Throughout the day, he kept his emotions in check, maintaining a facade of normalcy in front of his classmates, laughing when he had to, and feigning interest in lessons he couldn't care less about. It felt hollow, and his friends sensed something off, but they didn't press. They chalked it up to exhaustion or one of his typical moods.
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After school, Raxian joined his friends at the basketball court, dribbling the ball with mechanical precision. His usual enthusiasm was replaced by a restless energy, his gaze drifting to the entrance of the court whenever he had a chance. He knew he couldn't stay long—just a few shots, enough to keep up appearances, then he'd go.
His mind kept wandering back to Sable. What if she needed him right now? What if she was struggling again? He could barely focus on the game. Every second felt like time wasted.
When the game finally ended, he grabbed his backpack and left, half-heartedly waving goodbye to his friends. He didn't want to linger. The court, the school—none of it mattered now. What mattered was getting back to Sable. He cut through the familiar streets, walking quickly, each step fueled by urgency and longing.
But then, halfway to Sable's place, he spotted a familiar figure leaning casually against a lamppost at the corner of the street—Raze. Raxian's steps slowed, and his heart skipped a beat. The last person he wanted to run into right now was Raze, not after the tension between them in the café with Solace.
Raze noticed him, his usual easy-going grin spreading across his face as he pushed off the lamppost. He looked like he'd been waiting for something, or maybe for someone. Raxian's brows furrowed, his hands tightening around the straps of his backpack.
"Yo, Rax," Raze called out, his voice light but with a hint of uncertainty. "You heading somewhere?"
Raxian hesitated for a split second before nodding. "Yeah, just... going to check on Sable," he said, his tone clipped, unable to hide the urgency in his voice. He didn't slow his pace, but Raze fell into step beside him easily.
"Oh, right," Raze said, his expression shifting slightly. "How's she doing?"
There was something about Raze's tone—something too casual, too indifferent—that struck a nerve. Raxian's jaw tightened. "She's… getting there," he said, his voice strained, the underlying protectiveness clear. "But it's been hard. You know that."
Raze nodded, but the ease with which he kept up felt off to Raxian—like he wasn't taking things seriously enough, like the weight that hung over Sable and him wasn't affecting Raze the same way.
"Yeah, I get it," Raze said, glancing away for a moment. "I've been trying to figure things out too, you know. There's a lot going on."
The words struck Raxian like a slap, his steps faltering. He stopped abruptly, turning to face Raze with narrowed eyes. "Yeah? Like what?" he asked, his voice laced with a sharp edge. "What's there to figure out, Raze? You seem to have everything handled."
The friendly mask Raze wore slipped for a second, replaced by a hint of frustration. He looked around, as if checking if anyone was listening, then let out a sigh. "Look, man… I know you're upset about Solace," he said, his tone growing defensive, "but it's not what you think. She's not the bad guy here."
The tension between them snapped like a tightly wound string. Raxian's eyes darkened, and he took a step closer to Raze, his voice low and cold. "You knew who she was, and you kept it from me. From us. After everything Sable's been through—how can you stand here and say that?"
Raze's frustration mirrored Raxian's. He stepped forward too, closing the gap between them, his eyes flashing with a mix of anger and something more vulnerable. "You don't get it," he shot back, his voice rising. "I know what she's involved in, but she's not like Lynx. Solace is trying to help, even if you can't see that."
Raxian's fists clenched at his sides, his breath coming faster as his anger boiled over. "And how would you know that? How can you be so sure when you kept everything a secret—when you left us out of the loop?" He felt his voice shake, and the raw emotion behind it surprised even him. "I thought we were supposed to have each other's backs, Raze!"
Raze's face hardened, but there was a flicker of regret in his eyes. "We do have each other's backs, but you're not listening," he said, his tone urgent now, almost pleading. "I didn't tell you because I didn't want to throw everything into chaos before I knew what was really going on. Solace isn't who you think she is."
Raxian shook his head, his anger giving way to a wave of hurt that he couldn't hold back any longer. "Sable's barely hanging on, Raze. And you kept something this big from us. I can't just pretend that's okay!"
They stood there, both of them breathing hard, the street around them empty and silent. For a long moment, neither of them spoke, the weight of everything unspoken pressing down on them both.
Finally, Raze looked away, his jaw clenched. "Fine. If you don't want to believe me, that's on you," he said, his voice tight, the anger simmering just beneath the surface. "But I'm not the enemy here, Rax."
Raxian's eyes narrowed, his shoulders tense with barely-contained fury. "Then start acting like it," he said sharply, his words cutting through the tension like a knife.
With that, he turned on his heel and stormed away, leaving Raze standing alone on the empty street. For a second, Raze looked like he might follow, his expression conflicted, but then he stopped, watching Raxian's retreating figure with a mixture of anger, guilt, and something else—something like sadness.
The confrontation had ended unresolved, both of them walking away with more questions than answers. Whatever trust they'd shared was fractured now, and the unspoken bond that had once held them together felt more fragile than ever.
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Raxian pushed the apartment door open with a heavy sigh, trying to keep his composure even as frustration twisted his insides. The dim light from the setting sun filtered into the small hallway, casting long shadows against the walls. He toed off his sneakers, almost too casually, as if he was returning to his own home. He hadn't even realized how familiar this place had become until he entered with a sense of exhaustion settling over him like a heavy cloak.
He ran a hand through his hair, trying to calm the racing thoughts that tangled in his mind—the argument with Raze, Solace's mysterious involvement, and, most of all, Sable's fragile state. Each thought jabbed at him, a reminder of how much things had shifted, how much he felt was slipping out of his control.
From upstairs, he heard a faint rustle, the soft creak of footsteps. He looked up to see Sable standing at the top of the staircase, her silhouette framed by the dim light filtering from her room. She looked hesitant, as if she wasn't sure whether to come down or retreat back into the safety of her bedroom.
Her eyes were on him—wide and cautious. She must have sensed it too—the frustration simmering beneath his calm facade, the tension he was struggling to bury. Raxian wanted to keep it from her, but his anger and confusion were too raw to hide completely.
He managed a tight smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Hey," he said softly, his voice strained, betraying the turmoil churning inside him. Sable hesitated, lingering for a moment longer before she began descending the stairs.
At first, he barely noticed anything beyond the anxiety tightening his chest. She moved slowly, almost cautiously, like she was approaching a skittish animal. Her fingers grazed the banister, and he could see the way her eyes never left him, searching his face as if trying to read his emotions. The weight of her gaze made him feel exposed, and he hated that she could see the cracks forming in his composure.
They stood there for a moment, facing each other, the silence stretching like a fragile thread between them. It was only when their eyes met that Raxian felt a flicker of guilt—a reminder that Sable had been through so much already, and here he was, bringing more of his frustration into her space. Her expression was wary, uncertain, as if she was afraid that whatever had shifted between them last night had vanished in the light of day.
"Rax?" Sable's voice was soft, almost a whisper, like she was afraid to disturb the delicate balance between them. He swallowed, forcing himself to relax, but the weight of the encounter with Raze still burned beneath his skin.
"Yeah, it's… it's nothing," he said, his voice uneven. He knew it was a lie, and he knew she could tell. Her eyes narrowed slightly, but she didn't press him—didn't ask for an explanation he wasn't ready to give. Instead, she moved closer, hesitantly closing the distance between them until they stood barely a foot apart.
It was then that he truly saw it. His eyes caught the soft, golden strands woven into her hair, half-hidden among the familiar black and blue. The blonde caught the last light of the sunset, casting a warm glow that seemed to soften her features. For a moment, he was struck by the change—subtle, yet significant. It was as if she'd reached back into her past, to the little girl she used to be, while also reaching toward him—toward the golden streaks in his own hair.
The sight took his breath away, the unexpected connection catching him off guard. A wave of warmth rose in his chest, mingling with the turmoil of his emotions. She'd changed her hair, dyed those strands blonde, and somehow it felt like a message—a quiet signal that things had shifted between them, that she wasn't the same as she had been before.
"I'm okay," she said quietly, and he realized she was trying to reassure him—trying to ease whatever burden she saw weighing him down. But all he could see were those golden strands, bright against the darker shades, and suddenly the frustration he'd been holding onto loosened its grip just a little.
He reached out, his fingers hovering just above the new strands, barely brushing them. "You… did something with your hair," he murmured, his voice catching, a hint of awe breaking through the strain.
Sable's breath hitched, and she reached up instinctively, her fingers tangling with his as they both touched the golden locks. Her eyes were wide, almost uncertain, and he could see the vulnerability there—the hope that he wouldn't reject this small change, this fragile step toward something brighter.
"Yeah," she whispered, her voice soft and hesitant. "I wanted to try something different. Just… a little." She bit her lip, her gaze shifting away, embarrassed and unsure. "It's… it's not a big deal."
But it was. To him, it was. It felt like a quiet acknowledgment of what they'd shared, a symbol of something deeper between them. He let out a slow breath, the tightness in his chest easing as he gave her a small, genuine smile. "I like it," he said, his voice gentle, sincere. He gave her fingers a soft squeeze before letting his hand fall away. "It suits you."
Sable blinked, her eyes flicking back to his with something like relief, a soft smile tugging at the corners of her lips. It was hesitant, almost shy, but it was there, and it warmed him in a way he hadn't expected.
"Thanks," she murmured, her voice barely audible, but he could hear the meaning behind the words. It wasn't just about her hair—it was about everything they'd shared, everything they hadn't said. It was about the hope that maybe, just maybe, they could move forward together, even if the path was still uncertain.
For a long moment, they stood there in the quiet, the weight of the day's events slipping away, leaving only the soft, unspoken understanding between them. He wanted to tell her everything—the confrontation with Raze, the anger, the confusion—but he couldn't bring himself to burden her with more. Not yet. Not now.
Instead, he pulled her into a gentle hug, feeling the way she relaxed against him, her forehead pressing lightly against his shoulder. He closed his eyes, holding her close, breathing in the faint scent of her hair, a mix of the familiar and the new. The golden strands brushed against his cheek, a soft reminder of the change that had already begun.
They stayed like that, wrapped in the quiet warmth of each other's presence, until the shadows in the room grew longer and the last traces of daylight faded away.
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Later, after a quiet dinner where the tension never quite lifted, Raxian slipped out of the apartment. He told Sable he'd be back soon—just needed some air, needed to clear his head. She hadn't questioned him, but he could feel the sadness in her gaze as she watched him go.
He found himself back at the basketball court, alone this time. The evening had grown darker, and the court was bathed in the dim orange glow of the streetlights, casting long shadows on the cracked pavement. The air was cool, and the distant sounds of the city seemed muted, like the world had shrunk to just him and the empty court.
Raxian picked up a basketball that had been left behind, rolling it between his fingers. He dribbled it once, twice, the rhythmic sound echoing in the quiet. But he couldn't get into it, couldn't find the release he was searching for. His anger, his frustration—it was still there, simmering beneath the surface.
He threw the ball at the hoop, watching as it bounced off the rim and rolled away. It felt like everything else in his life right now—out of reach, slipping away no matter how hard he tried.
"Damn it," he muttered under his breath, raking his fingers through his hair. He wanted to scream, to punch something, to make sense of the tangled mess inside his head. But he didn't. Instead, he sank down on the bench at the edge of the court, his hands clenched into fists, his breathing shallow and ragged.
How had it come to this? How had his friendship with Raze unraveled so quickly, so painfully? The thought of Sable upstairs, waiting for him, made his chest tighten. He didn't want her to see him like this—angry and lost. She'd been through enough, and he didn't want to add to her burden.
But he couldn't shake the feeling of betrayal that twisted in his gut. Raze's secrecy cut deeper than he'd expected—because Raze was supposed to be the one he could trust, the one who'd always had his back. Now, Raxian felt like he was standing on shaky ground, unsure who to trust, unsure what to believe.
He sat there for what felt like hours, staring up at the empty hoop, the weight of everything pressing down on his shoulders. The world had grown colder, darker, and Raxian knew that when he went back to Sable's apartment, he'd have to leave this anger behind. He'd have to pretend that he was okay—that he could handle whatever came next.
But for now, in the solitude of the empty court, he allowed himself to feel the weight of it all. The pain. The anger. The sense of betrayal. He allowed himself to be lost, if only for a little while longer.
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The night had settled deep by the time Raxian slipped back into the apartment. He was quiet, careful not to make a sound as he closed the door behind him, the soft click echoing in the stillness. The air was cool and carried the familiar scent of the apartment—faint hints of Sable's shampoo and the comforting warmth that seemed to fill the space whenever he was here.
He moved cautiously, feeling the heaviness of the late hour pressing down on him. A quick glance down the hallway told him Sable's dad was asleep, the muffled sounds of soft snoring confirming his presence in the downstairs room. Raxian hesitated at the bottom of the stairs, wondering if Sable would still be awake or if she'd retreated into the fragile safety of sleep.
He placed one foot on the first step, the wood creaking under his weight. He winced but kept moving, his movements slow and deliberate. As he reached the top, he noticed the faint flicker of light spilling out from under her bedroom door, the soft glow casting a dim halo in the hallway. She was still awake.
Raxian's heart pounded a little faster as he stepped closer, his breath catching when he saw her sitting cross-legged on her bed, surrounded by the soft, warm light of her bedside lamp. She was hunched over a sketchbook, the pencil in her hand moving with quiet focus. Her hair was a mess of tangled black, blue, and the newly added blonde strands—loose around her shoulders, making her look both older and more vulnerable at the same time.
She didn't notice him right away, too absorbed in whatever she was drawing, and he paused in the doorway, not wanting to intrude. He felt the weight of the empty court still heavy on his shoulders, the remnants of his frustration lingering like a dull ache in his chest. But seeing her there, so peaceful and lost in her own world, eased some of the tension knotting his insides.
Then, as if sensing his presence, Sable looked up. Their eyes met, and she blinked, surprise flickering across her face before she quickly closed the sketchbook, her movements guarded. He wanted to apologize for startling her, for slipping in so late, but the words stuck in his throat. Instead, he offered a tentative smile, and to his relief, she gave him a small, almost shy nod—an unspoken invitation to come closer.
He stepped into the room, the floorboards creaking softly beneath his feet. Raxian hesitated at the edge of her bed, his gaze flicking to the sketchbook she now held protectively in her lap. He hadn't known she liked to draw, and the sight of it made him realize just how much he still didn't know about her—how much of her was still hidden behind walls he was only beginning to see.
"Hey," he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper as he lowered himself onto the bed beside her. He kept a respectful distance, not wanting to crowd her, but the warmth of her presence was enough to calm the last fraying edges of his nerves.
"Hey," she echoed, her voice hesitant, eyes flickering to the sketchbook she held. She didn't make a move to hide it further, but she didn't offer to show him either. They sat in the soft light, the quiet of the room settling over them like a blanket, and for a moment, neither of them spoke.
Raxian's eyes drifted to her sketchbook, curiosity mingling with a hesitant sense of caution. "I didn't know you liked to draw," he said gently, trying to keep his tone light, casual. He didn't want to push, but he couldn't deny the interest tugging at him.
Sable's expression softened just a fraction, her fingers loosening around the edges of the sketchbook. "I don't draw much," she admitted, her voice barely above a murmur. She looked down at the closed cover, her shoulders hunching slightly. "It's just… something I do when I need to clear my head."
Raxian nodded, understanding more than he could put into words. He knew that feeling—the need to focus on something small, something that kept the world at bay when everything felt like it was spinning out of control. "Can I…?" He hesitated, not sure if he should ask, but the question slipped out before he could stop himself. "Can I see what you were drawing?"
For a heartbeat, he thought she might refuse. Her eyes darted to his, wide and uncertain, and he could see the hesitation, the vulnerability in her gaze. Then, slowly, she nodded, her grip on the sketchbook relaxing. She opened it to the page she'd been working on, holding it out to him with a quiet sort of bravery that made his chest tighten.
He leaned closer, careful not to touch her, his eyes scanning the page. It was a pencil sketch—rough, unfinished, but beautiful in its simplicity. The figure on the paper was unmistakable: Akali, her signature champion from League of Legends. The outline was fluid yet precise, capturing Akali's fierce, confident stance with strands of hair swaying as if caught in a breeze. But there was something softer in the way Sable had drawn her—something almost wistful, with the light sketching of blonde streaks weaving through Akali's dark hair. It was as if she had given Akali a piece of herself, infusing the drawing with a vulnerability the champion didn't usually possess.
Raxian's breath caught, the ache in his chest softening into something warm and bittersweet. He swallowed, not sure what to say, not sure if he could find the right words to express what he was feeling. "It's… really good," he said quietly, his gaze lingering on the delicate lines of the sketch, the way the strands of hair seemed to move, almost alive on the page.
Sable's cheeks flushed, and she ducked her head, closing the sketchbook with a soft, embarrassed smile. "It's not finished," she said, almost defensively, but there was a hint of pride in her tone—pride that he'd seen it, that he hadn't dismissed this small, fragile piece of her. "I just… I guess I wanted to draw her differently. The way I see her."
Raxian felt his heart twist, a flicker of understanding passing between them. He knew what Akali represented to Sable—strength, resilience, and a way to keep fighting even when everything felt like it was falling apart. But there was more to this sketch than that; the added softness, the careful detail, the hint of blonde—it was almost like she was drawing herself, or at least a part of herself she wished she could be.
He couldn't help but feel moved by it, this quiet reflection of who she was and who she was becoming. "I'd like to see it when it's done," Raxian said softly, his voice warm and sincere. He reached out and, without thinking, tucked a stray strand of her real blonde hair behind her ear. The movement was gentle, almost unconscious, but it felt like a promise—a promise that he was here, that he wasn't going anywhere.
Sable's eyes flicked up to meet his, and for a moment, the distance between them seemed to disappear, replaced by a quiet understanding that didn't need words. She nodded, her fingers curling around the edges of the sketchbook, and the soft light of the room seemed to wrap around them, enclosing them in a bubble of warmth and safety.
"Akali's your favorite," he said softly, the corners of his lips curling into a gentle smile. "But… I think you've captured more than just her. It's like she's… you."
Sable's flush deepened, and she bit her lip, caught off guard by his observation. "Maybe," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "I think… I just needed to draw something familiar. Something strong, but not… not invincible."
Raxian's chest tightened with a wave of emotion he couldn't quite name. "It's perfect," he said quietly, meaning every word. He could see the careful lines, the way her hand had moved across the page, and he knew that this sketch was more than just a pastime—it was a piece of her heart, captured in pencil strokes.
They didn't speak for a long time after that. They just sat together, side by side on the edge of the bed, the unspoken bond between them growing stronger in the silence. Raxian's hand remained close to hers, not quite touching, but close enough that he could feel the warmth of her presence. And as the hours slipped by, the world outside seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them in the stillness of the night.
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Eventually, he rose to leave, giving her a gentle smile as he moved toward the doorway. But before he stepped out, he paused, glancing back at her one last time. "I'm glad you showed me," he said softly, his voice filled with a quiet gratitude.
Sable's smile was small, almost hesitant, but it was real. "Goodnight, Raxian," she said, her voice soft and genuine, and he could see the warmth in her eyes—the same warmth that he felt spreading through his own chest.
"Goodnight, Sable," he replied, his tone gentle, before he slipped out of the room, closing the door halfway behind him. He was halfway down the hall when he heard her voice, quiet and almost hesitant.
"Rax?"
He stopped, turning back to look at her. She was sitting up on the bed, her fingers nervously twisting a corner of the blanket. There was something vulnerable in her expression, something that tugged at his heart.
"Yeah?" he asked, his voice softer now, holding his breath without realizing it.
For a long moment, she didn't speak, and he wondered if she was about to change her mind, if she would pull back and retreat behind the walls she'd built around herself for so long. But then she glanced at the empty space beside her on the bed, the movement almost imperceptible, and he understood what she was asking without her needing to say it.
"Do you… want to stay?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, but the words hung heavy in the air between them. Her cheeks flushed, and she looked down quickly, her vulnerability clear in the way her hands fidgeted with the fabric.
Raxian's chest tightened, his heart hammering as he took in the meaning behind her invitation. They'd shared the same space before, but this was different—this was her asking him to stay, to share the safety of her room, not just as a comfort but as someone she trusted enough to let inside her world. It was a fragile, tentative step forward, and he knew how much it must have cost her to ask.
"If you want me to," he said quietly, his voice almost catching in his throat. He stayed in the doorway, not wanting to assume, not wanting to take a step she wasn't ready for.
Sable nodded, still not meeting his gaze. "I… I don't want to be alone," she admitted, her voice shaky and uncertain. "Not tonight."
He felt his heart break a little at her words, the weight of what she was saying settling over him. There was a vulnerability in her that he had never seen before, a quiet plea for comfort that he would never turn away from.
"Okay," he said softly, stepping back into the room and closing the door behind him. His movements were slow, careful, as if he was afraid to break the fragile moment they'd found themselves in. He approached the bed, his eyes never leaving hers, and saw the nervous flicker in her gaze as he got closer.
She shifted, pulling back the blankets just enough for him to slide in beside her. It was a small gesture, but it felt monumental—like she was opening a door to something she wasn't even sure she was ready to face. Raxian hesitated only for a moment before he slipped under the covers, lying on his side with a respectful distance between them.
The bed felt warm, safe, and he could feel the heat radiating from her even though they weren't touching. He turned his head to look at her, and she mirrored the movement, her eyes locking onto his with a mixture of uncertainty and relief. The room was dim, illuminated only by the soft glow of the bedside lamp, casting gentle shadows across her face.
"Is this okay?" he asked, his voice a quiet murmur, not wanting to push her further than she was ready to go.
She nodded, the tension in her shoulders easing just a little as she settled against the pillow. "Yeah," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "It's… it's nice."
They lay there in the quiet, the distance between them feeling both close and impossibly vast. Raxian didn't move, didn't push for anything more, content to just be there with her, sharing the same space, feeling the unspoken trust that seemed to wrap around them like a warm blanket.
Minutes passed, and then, almost hesitantly, Sable shifted closer, her fingers brushing against his under the blankets. It was a tentative touch, a soft reaching out that made his breath catch. He responded without hesitation, entwining his fingers with hers in a gentle, reassuring hold. The warmth of her hand seeped into his, and he felt the tension drain out of him, replaced by a quiet, steady sense of peace.
She moved closer, a fraction at a time, until her forehead rested against his shoulder, her breath warm against the fabric of his shirt. He didn't dare move, didn't want to break whatever fragile bond they'd created in that moment. He wrapped an arm around her, holding her close but not too tight, just enough to let her know he was there.
"Thank you," she whispered, her voice so soft he barely caught it.
He pressed his lips to the top of her head, a gentle, lingering kiss that felt like a promise—a promise to stay, to be there, no matter how long it took for her to find her way back to herself. "Anytime," he murmured, his voice filled with all the emotions he couldn't quite put into words.
They stayed like that, wrapped up in each other's warmth, the room settling into a peaceful silence that felt sacred. The weight of the day slipped away, leaving only the quiet reassurance that they were no longer alone in their struggles.
Raxian listened to her breathing slow, felt her body relax against his as she drifted closer to sleep. He closed his eyes, letting the comfort of her presence wash over him, and for the first time in a long while, he felt like maybe—just maybe—they were both going to be okay.
And as the night deepened, with the sound of their soft, steady breaths mingling in the quiet room, he knew he wasn't going anywhere.
For now, being here—being together—was enough.
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The soft, early light of morning filters through the curtains, casting a gentle glow over the room. Everything is quiet—just the distant hum of the outside world waking up. Inside, the only sound is the slow, steady rhythm of their breathing, and the faint rustle of sheets as they stir.
Raxian is the first to wake, his eyes blinking open slowly, adjusting to the soft light. He's lying on his side, facing Sable, with one arm loosely draped around her waist, as if even in sleep he was afraid to let her go. He's careful not to move too quickly, not wanting to disturb her, but he can't help the way his gaze settles on her peaceful face—softer, more vulnerable in the light of dawn.
She's curled toward him, her body tucked close, her forehead resting gently against his chest. Her dark hair is a mess of tangled strands, with those new hints of blonde peeking out, catching the morning light. Her fingers are loosely resting against his side, as if she's holding onto him without even realizing it. There's a softness to her expression, a kind of quiet that he rarely gets to see when she's awake.
He feels his heart tighten with a mix of emotions he can't quite name—relief that she's still here, warmth at the way she's settled so close, and a fragile sense of peace that he hasn't felt in so long. He stays still, barely daring to breathe, just watching her, absorbing the way her eyelashes flutter slightly as she sleeps, the way her face relaxes in a way he knows it never does during the day.
Then, slowly, she begins to wake. He can feel her breathing shift, the soft hitch in her breath as she stirs. Her fingers flex against his side, as if checking to make sure he's still there, and he instinctively tightens his hold on her, his thumb brushing gently against the fabric of her shirt in a silent reassurance.
Sable's eyes flutter open, unfocused at first, then slowly sharpening as she blinks up at him. There's a moment—a split second of confusion, like she's not quite sure where she is—before she remembers, and her body relaxes against his with a soft exhale. She doesn't pull away, doesn't retreat back into herself like he half-expected, and it fills him with a warmth so deep it almost aches.
"Morning," he murmurs, his voice low and rough with sleep, but gentle.
She blinks at him, her eyes still heavy with sleep, and she shifts closer, her forehead brushing against his collarbone. "Morning," she whispers back, her voice soft and unguarded, like she's letting him see a part of her that she usually keeps hidden. There's a moment of vulnerability in her gaze—like she's not sure if it's okay to be this close, this open—but she doesn't pull away.
Raxian smiles, his expression soft and almost shy, and he shifts his hand slightly, his fingers lightly tracing the curve of her waist. "Did you sleep okay?" he asks, genuinely curious, knowing how hard it's been for her to find rest, to feel safe.
She hesitates, her gaze dropping to the small space between them, then nods slowly. "Yeah," she says, her voice barely a breath. "Better than I have in a long time."
He can't help the way his smile widens, his chest tightening with a mix of relief and something warmer, something deeper. "Good," he says simply, and he means it.
For a moment, they just lie there, the silence between them comfortable and warm. The sunlight grows stronger, casting soft, golden rays across the bed, and they stay close, wrapped in the shared quiet that feels almost sacred. Neither of them moves, neither of them rushes to fill the silence with words, and it's enough—just being there, together.
Slowly, Sable's hand moves, sliding up to rest lightly against his chest, her fingers barely touching him. It's a hesitant gesture, almost like she's testing the waters, and he feels the way her breath catches as she waits for his reaction. He responds by bringing his own hand up to cover hers, his fingers lacing gently with hers in a silent reassurance.
She relaxes at the touch, her eyes drifting shut again, her body settling even closer to his. It's such a small thing—just the way she melts into him, the way her fingers curl around his with the faintest hint of trust—but it feels like a victory, a step forward that he hadn't even dared to hope for.
They stay like that for a long time, their breathing slow and steady, the warmth of their bodies mingling beneath the blankets. There's no rush, no urgency to move or speak. It's a quiet, fragile moment of peace, and they both know that outside this room, reality will come crashing back with all its uncertainties and fears. But for now, they're here, wrapped up in each other, and it's enough.
Eventually, Sable shifts, her head resting against the curve of his shoulder, and he presses a gentle kiss to her hair without thinking—just a soft, lingering touch that feels like a promise, like a vow to stay by her side no matter what. She doesn't flinch, doesn't pull away. Instead, she lets out a slow, contented sigh, her fingers tightening briefly around his.
Neither of them knows what comes next, or how long this fragile peace will last. But for now, they're together, and in the early light of morning, that's all that matters.
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They lay there in the soft morning light, their bodies close but not tangled, wrapped in a quiet intimacy that neither of them wanted to break. Raxian's hand still rested lightly over Sable's, his thumb tracing gentle patterns against her fingers. The warmth between them felt like a fragile, precious thing—something they'd built together, piece by piece, in the dark and in the quiet, when the rest of the world seemed far away.
Sable shifted slightly, her gaze drifting up to meet his. Her eyes were still soft with sleep, but there was something else there now—something vulnerable and hopeful, a warmth that made his heart skip a beat. He could feel her breath against his skin, warm and even, and he knew he should get up, should let the moment end before it got too heavy, too complicated.
But he didn't move. He stayed, his fingers curling just a little tighter around hers, and he saw the flicker of uncertainty in her gaze—the unspoken question hanging between them, trembling in the space that felt both too close and not close enough.
"Rax," she whispered, his name barely a breath on her lips. There was a tremor there, a mix of nervousness and trust, and he felt it echo in his chest like a pulse. She didn't pull away; instead, she stayed close, her forehead resting gently against his, and he could feel the warmth of her skin, the way her breathing hitched ever so slightly.
He swallowed, his heart pounding in his chest, and for a moment, he thought about retreating—about pulling back and giving her space. But then she tilted her head, just a fraction, her gaze flicking down to his lips, and the decision was made for him.
Slowly, almost hesitantly, he leaned in, closing the small distance between them. He could feel the slight tremor in her fingers as he cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against her skin. Her eyes fluttered shut, and he hesitated, giving her a moment to pull away, to change her mind.
But she didn't. Instead, she leaned into his touch, her breath catching as he closed the gap between them. Their lips met—soft, tentative, a gentle brush that felt like the answer to every unspoken question between them. It was a kiss filled with all the things they hadn't said, the fears and hopes and quiet moments they'd shared. It was warm, slow, and infinitely tender, a promise that neither of them had to face the darkness alone.
Sable's hand tightened around his, and she kissed him back—softly, sweetly, like she was afraid that if she pushed too hard, the moment would shatter. There was a fragility in the way she moved, but there was also strength—a quiet determination that made his heart ache with how much he cared for her.
They stayed like that, lips barely moving, as if they were trying to memorize the shape of each other's presence, the feel of the warmth they'd found in each other. The kiss wasn't about passion or desperation; it was about comfort, about knowing they were safe, about finding solace in a world that had been so unforgiving.
When they finally pulled back, it was slow, almost reluctant, and their foreheads remained pressed together, their breaths mingling in the small space between them. Raxian's thumb brushed against her cheek, tracing the faint curve of her smile, and he felt a warmth spread through his chest—a sense of peace he hadn't felt in a long time.
Sable's eyes opened, and she looked at him with a quiet, steady gaze—so much trust and hope in her expression that it almost took his breath away. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice barely a breath, and he knew she wasn't just thanking him for the kiss. She was thanking him for staying, for being there, for not running away when things got hard.
He pressed another soft kiss to her forehead, lingering there for a moment before he pulled back completely, his heart still racing but his mind clearer than it had been in days. "I'm not going anywhere," he said softly, his voice full of warmth and sincerity.
Sable's smile was small but real, and it made his chest swell with a quiet, steady joy. "I know," she said, her fingers slipping from his as he began to sit up.
He didn't want to leave the warmth of the bed, didn't want to break the fragile peace they'd found, but he knew he had to get up, had to face the world outside that room. With a soft sigh, he rose, the morning light casting long shadows across the bed as he pulled away. He looked back at her one last time, the way she lay there, wrapped in the blankets with a soft, sleepy smile on her lips, and he felt the weight of everything they'd shared settle into his heart.
"Good morning, Sab," he said softly, his voice carrying a warmth that was just for her.
"Good morning, Rax," she replied, her eyes still half-closed, but there was a lightness in her tone that hadn't been there before—a sense of hope that made him feel like maybe, just maybe, they were going to be okay.
He smiled, a real smile this time, and turned to go, feeling lighter than he had in weeks. Whatever came next, whatever challenges they faced, he knew they could handle it—together.
And as he left the room, closing the door quietly behind him, he couldn't help but think that this—waking up to her, sharing that quiet, vulnerable moment—was the start of something new, something he hadn't dared to hope for until now.
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The morning was dull, gray clouds hanging low in the sky, matching the heaviness that settled in Raxian's chest. The closer he got to school, the more the weight pressed down on him, as if every step was dragging him further away from the safe, warm bubble he'd shared with Sable. He didn't want to leave her—didn't want to face the mess that awaited him outside the sanctuary of her room—but he had no choice. School was a necessity he couldn't avoid, no matter how desperately he wanted to.
The walk was longer than usual, each stride feeling like a battle against the thoughts swirling in his mind. The fight with Raze, the anger he still couldn't shake, and the looming uncertainty of Solace's true intentions—all of it knotted together, tangled and impossible to unravel. He kept his gaze on the cracked pavement beneath his feet, not wanting to think, not wanting to feel the full weight of everything he was walking away from.
But as he neared the school's entrance, his steps slowed. A chill crept down his spine, a prickling sense of unease that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He looked up, squinting against the weak morning light, and froze.
A figure was standing in the distance, near the edge of the school courtyard, half-hidden in the shadows of the trees. For a moment, Raxian's heart stopped, his breath catching in his throat as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing. The shape, the stance—it was too familiar, too distinct to be a trick of the light.
No... it couldn't be.
His heart pounded against his ribs, the world narrowing to that single point in the distance. It was like he'd been plunged into ice-cold water, his entire body tensing as his eyes locked onto the figure. The black jacket, the way he moved, the flash of a familiar face—he couldn't look away, couldn't convince himself that it was just his mind playing tricks on him.
Lynx.
The name echoed in his mind, loud and relentless, as if speaking it would make the figure disappear. But he didn't disappear. He stood there, unmoving, watching. Raxian's fists clenched, his nails digging into his palms, and he took a step forward without thinking, his gaze never wavering. His breathing was shallow, his pulse a rapid, frantic beat in his ears.
"Lynx?" he whispered, barely audible, his voice lost in the early morning air. He took another step, then another, his entire body coiled with tension—ready to run, to fight, to do anything to make sense of what he was seeing.
But then the figure moved. Just a flicker of motion, a slight shift in the shadows—and in the next instant, he was gone. As if he'd never been there at all. Raxian stumbled, his breath hitching, and he looked around wildly, his eyes searching the empty courtyard for any sign that he hadn't imagined it.
Gone. Just... gone.
A hollow sense of dread settled in his stomach, twisting and churning as he stood frozen in place, the cold morning air biting at his skin. Had he seen him? Really seen him? Or was it just his mind playing tricks, feeding off his anxiety and the nightmares that still lingered after everything that had happened?
"Raxian!" A voice called out behind him, breaking through the fog of his confusion, and he spun around, his breath catching. It was one of his classmates, waving at him from the school steps, their face a mixture of concern and curiosity.
He forced himself to breathe, to focus on the present, and raised a hand in an absent wave. "Yeah... yeah, I'm coming," he called back, his voice strained and hollow. His gaze flicked back to the spot where the figure had been—where Lynx had been—but there was nothing there. No shadow, no sign of movement. Just the empty courtyard, bathed in the cold, gray light of morning.
With a slow, shaky breath, he forced his legs to move, his body feeling heavy and unsteady as he walked toward the school entrance. The anxiety buzzed in his chest, sharp and persistent, and he couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong—something was about to happen. The weight of it settled over him like a dark cloud, and he knew that whatever he'd seen, real or imagined, was only the beginning.
As he stepped through the school doors, the normalcy of the bustling hallway felt jarring, surreal, like he was moving through a dream he couldn't wake up from. But there was no time to think, no time to question what he'd seen. He had to keep moving, had to get through the day, even as the shadow of doubt lingered in the back of his mind—growing, darkening, tightening its grip around his thoughts.
And as he walked to class, the sense of unease never left him, like a cold hand pressing down on his shoulder, whispering that the world wasn't as safe as it seemed. He couldn't get the image out of his mind—the figure standing in the distance, watching him with those green eyes that he would never forget.
Was it Lynx?
He didn't know. But the fear that it might have been, the fear that he was being watched even now, gnawed at him with every step. And deep down, he knew that whatever was coming, he couldn't face it alone.