Archive of Our Own

Chapter 1

I liked growing older

I knew what to expect this year, the same people, the same teachers, the same classes. It was like clockwork. I settled into my usual spot at lunch, sitting with my large group of about twenty friends. A few boys, mostly girls, except this time, things felt subtly different.

Jayden, one of my friends from the group, had taken it upon himself to introduce some of the new students to the school. He was always considerate that way, making sure everyone had someone to sit with during those first few days, until they found their footing.

“Hey guys, this is Hylen Aeternus. He’s new, be nice,” Jayden said, gesturing as Hylen hesitated before taking a seat with us.

Hylen settled on the grass with us at the edge of the schoolyard, slightly outside our circle we formed. Most of my friends lounged in the sun, basking in the Australian summer heat, their skin tanned and glowing. I preferred sitting under the shade, craving the coolness, the wintery comfort of warm soups and hot chocolate.

Hylen, however, was striking, tall, probably just around six feet, maybe a little under. His build was toned but not bulky, and his presence was magnetic. His skin was a light olive, almost luminous in the sunlight, contrasting sharply with his light blonde hair, which was slightly wavy and tousled in a careless, effortless way. His eyes a mysterious blue, captivating, like they held stories he wasn’t quite ready to share. Every girl’s gaze immediately fixated on him, drawn in by his quiet allure.

He had that rare kind of attractiveness, mysterious yet polite, confident without arrogance. Hylen’s features were subtly refined: a straight nose, thinner lips but not paper thin, and a face that was defined by his sharp jawline, which caught the sunlight and cast shadows that made him look even more enigmatic. His tall frame and calm demeanor seemed to suggest he belonged to another place, Australia wasn’t that place.

He sat at the farthest end of the circle, still within reach but removed enough to seem distant. I watched as the sun fell onto his face, highlighting the chiseled angles and casting shadows that gave him an almost sculptural look. There was something about him, an aura of mystery, that made it impossible to look away.

“So, Hylen, where are you from originally?” Meg asked loudly, her tone flirtatious, as she often did to get attention.

Hylen tilted his head slightly, respectful but reserved. “I’m originally from Greece,” he replied softly, his voice smooth but with an undertone of quiet confidence.

“You don’t look Greek,” Meg said, laughing a little, trying to make her usual flirtation work.

Hylen’s eyes narrowed subtly, a flicker of something unreadable. “I’m from a certain part,” he said calmly.

“Oh yeah? Where?”

He hesitated, then replied, “It’s up higher. It’s hard to explain.”

Meg let out a forced laugh, the kind that didn’t quite reach her eyes, hoping he’d smile and maybe be drawn to her. But Hylen remained still, gazing down at his hand, which glowed faintly in the sunlight,an almost ethereal shimmer that caught my eye. He looked lost in thought, as if he carried secrets beneath that serene exterior.

While the others chatter amongst themselves, I kept my eyes on him, careful not to make it obvious. There was something about Hylen, his quiet intensity, his effortless grace that fascinated me.

“You like him, don’t you?” Marianne whispered in my ear, her voice tinged with gossip.

I stiffened slightly. Marianne was always tuned into everything, she noticed even the slightest detail about people, and I hated that she knew me so well. Once she caught onto something, the whole school seemed to follow suit.

“I don’t even know him,” I whispered back, hoping he wouldn’t hear.

She snickered, then returned to the loud, animated argument happening among our friends. It was typical,heated debates that never quite crossed the line, loud opinions flying, but all in good fun. As long as no one pushed too far, it stayed lively but harmless.

As the bell rang, I grabbed my bag and headed toward Ancient History. I entered the classroom like any other day and sat with a few friends, with an empty seat beside me. Marianne began asking questions to the teacher. “Will we be learning about Eros and Psyche today?” “Sure, we’ll go over them all throughout this term,” Ms. Larroway replied. Harriett sat quietly beside me. She was always so reserved. With the right company, she’d talk, but she was very selective. No one really knew her thoughts, unless it was about books.

As Ms. Larroway started speaking about the two destined lovers, the door opened. There was Hylen, his bag by his side, staring at the teacher. “Hello, is this ancient history?” he asked politely. “It sure is. I’m Ms. Larroway. Grab a seat wherever you’d like; we’re studying Greek gods this term.” He nodded and pulled out the seat beside me. I stared down at my paper, trying not to make things awkward. Suddenly, I cared about how I looked. My lips weren’t small, but not full; my nose wasn’t perfectly straight; my brown eyes were large, with long lashes; and my straight brown hair fell just right. My body stiffened slightly, just enough for him not to notice,as he sat down. He smelled of cedarwood. Any normal girl would be hypnotized by such a scent. It was subtle, not overpowering, but it crept into your lungs like a whisper.
“Eros fell deeply in love with Psyche,” Ms. Larroway continued. “Eros was the god of what?” she asked the class.

“Eros was the god of love, Psyche the goddess of the soul,” Hylen answered just loudly enough for everyone to hear. “Correct. Have you studied ancient history before, Hylen?” “Aeternus. Hylen Aeternus,” he replied. “You’ve got a familiar last name,” she muttered to herself. “I’ve taken ancient history classes,” he added. “You’re from Greece, aren’t you?” Marianne asked him. He turned slightly toward her and nodded. I looked up at him, noticing his blue eyes flickering between the whiteboard and the sunlight that gleamed on his face. He looked at the sun without even needing to squint. Hylen didn’t have a Greek accent, in fact, he barely had any accent at all. It was faintly British, but only if you paid close attention, which I was doing a little too much of.

I began taking notes as Ms. Larroway spoke, trying to distract myself from the boy sitting beside me. Eros was cupid, the god of love, who was completely in love with Psyche. I had always wondered if the Greek gods were real. I used to think they were just fables, each story holding a lesson. Somewhere inside me, I hoped that maybe, just maybe, they were real. “Psyche’s spelled with a ‘h,’ not an ‘i,’” a low voice interrupted me. My heart thudded in my chest. I looked up to see Hylen staring down at my notes. His gaze was focused and intense, as if analyzing every word I wrote. His arms were crossed, and he leaned back slightly in his seat; he didn’t have a book out. “Oh, yes, right,” I replied, feeling embarrassed. I quickly erased the mistake and corrected the spelling.

“Now class, this worksheet is to answer questions about the two. Join with the partner next to you and fill it in together.”Ms. Larroway walked over to our desk, her presence making my shoulders tense without reason. “Hylen and Colette, you two will be together for this one.” “Thank you,” I said softly as she handed me the sheet. I turned to him with quiet reluctance while the rest of the class dissolved into conversation. Up close, he seemed almost unreal, pale olive skin lit gently by the sun streaming through the window, clear blue eyes, and soft blond waves that fell perfectly without trying. The light rested on him as if it belonged there. He didn’t even squint. The first question read: Was Psyche born a goddess? I clicked my pen and glanced toward him. “She was born a mortal, wasn’t she?” I asked quietly, a little nervous of the silence between us.“Yes,” he replied calmly. “At first. Until she completed the difficult tasks that made her a goddess.” I began writing, trying to focus on the neatness of my handwriting instead of how aware I was of him sitting beside me. After a moment, he spoke again, his voice low and polite. “Your name is Colette, right?” “Yes… it is.” I could feel his eyes on me, steady but not unkind. “ I just wanted to make sure. My name is Hylen. Nice to meet you.”“Nice to meet you,” I said, looking back down at the page too quickly.
The next question read: Who was jealous of Psyche?

“Venus was jealous of Psyche,” I muttered half to myself, writing the answer before passing the paper to him. “Here.” I handed him my pen. “Thank you.” He barely seemed to read the last two questions before answering them, his movements calm and certain. When Ms. Larroway returned, I noticed the other groups were still stuck on the first question. “Finished already, are we?” “Yeah,” I said. “I did two and Hylen did two.” “Perfect.” She skimmed the page, eyebrows lifting slightly. “Wow, very good. We still have five minutes until class ends, so talk amongst yourselves.” As she walked away, I stared down at the desk and began absentmindedly drawing small flowers with my pen, unsure how to start a conversation with someone who felt both distant and impossible to ignore. “Have you always been interested in ancient history?” he asked. I set my pen down and turned to him. The sunlight caught in his blue eyes, bright and endless like the sky itself. “I’ve loved it for a while,” I said. “All the gods and old buildings and stories… I think I would’ve liked living in that time.” “What about now?” he asked gently. “Isn’t now a good time to live?” “I mean, it is. But humans rely so heavily on technology that we’re losing the thing we need most.” “And what’s that?” “Creativity. Imagination. Independent thought.” I hesitated, then added, “I think these old stories just prove that human nature never really changes.” He didn’t answer straight away, just watched me in that quiet, thoughtful way that made the air feel still. Then the bell rang. Everyone stood and hurried out, chairs scraping loudly against the floor. When I stepped into the hallway, he turned and walked the opposite direction without a word.
That night, I finished my homework, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d somehow made a bad impression. His silences left too much room for wondering, for replaying every word I’d said. So I tried not to think about him at all until I saw him again.

Chapter 2

The next day at lunch I sat down under the shaded tree, watching Hylen walking with Meg, she spoke, he answered, not a lot, or any more than he had to. Meg was pretty, she had long blonde hair and green eyes, she was tall and thin but she was loud and sometimes annoying. He sat down beside me, but in the sun. “So how do you like it here in Australia?” Jayden asked. Hylen glanced at me before answering. “It’s nice.” Jayden nodded and continued with the group argument. I sat and watched the group, sometimes laughing, trying to forget about the man beside me. “Colette, remember the time you fell over in sport and face planted!” Meg laughed, I knew what she was doing. “Thanks for reminding me Meg.” I said sarcastically. Hylen turned to me, it almost looked like he felt sorry for me.

The group kept pressing him with questions like if he had a girlfriend at his old school and if he missed where he used to live. But all he answered was "No" or “Sometimes.”. Our table was always louder than it needed to be, voices overlapping, someone always telling a story that required dramatic hand movements. Hylen didn’t interrupt or drift away. He simply listened, calm and respectful, replying softly when someone asked him a question, never saying more than necessary. It should have felt awkward. Instead, it felt… steady. Like the noise couldn’t quite reach him. When the bell rang for Ancient History, I stood and slipped away from the group, grateful for the quiet of the corridor. When I turned the corner I embarrassingly did a double take, making sure the person walking beside me was who I thought it was. Hylen walked with me, his dark blue eyes continued to take me by surprise. The sun's light always casting a spotlight on him, it’s almost like wherever he went, the sun light followed.

“How long have you been at this school for?” I turned to him, a little surprised by the sudden question.
“Since I was twelve. I’m turning seventeen this year.” He nodded once, like he was placing the information somewhere carefully in his mind. “That’s a long time to stay in one place,” he said quietly. “You must know it well.” “Yeah… I guess I do.” When we entered the classroom, my friends hadn’t arrived yet. I sat down, secretly hoping he would choose the seat beside me. Thankfully, he did. A moment later, Marianne and Harriet walked in. They paused when they saw us sitting together. “Oh—sorry,” Hylen said politely, already starting to stand. “You can have my seat.” He was halfway to moving across the room when Marianne shook her head. “No, stay. Harriet and I will sit over there.” Without another word, they crossed the classroom, leaving him beside me again. I tried to ignore the small, quiet relief settling in my chest. For most of the lesson, I focused on Ms. Larroway as she reviewed the different kinds of gods. “Now Apollo is the god of the sun—” Beside me, Hylen rolled his eyes softly and leaned back in his chair, letting out a quiet sigh. The movement tightened his jaw, a small muscle ticking like he was holding something in. I glanced at him. “What is it?” I whispered. “Helios is the sun god,” he murmured. “Not Apollo.” “How do you know all of this?” The question slipped out before I could stop it. “I’ve done lessons before.” “But you know way more than what the syllabus teaches.” For a moment, he didn’t answer. His gaze stayed forward, distant, like he was looking at something far beyond the classroom walls. “Some stories,” he said slowly, “are easier to understand when you’ve… spent time with them. Longer than most people do.” I frowned slightly. “I don’t really get what that means.” A faint, almost apologetic smile touched his lips.
“It’s hard to make sense of.” His words felt like a door closing gently, not locked, just waiting. And somehow, that made me want to understand even more.
We left the classroom together without planning to. The hallway was louder than usual, students pushing past in clusters of noise and movement, but somehow a quiet space seemed to settle around us as we walked side by side. For a few moments, neither of us spoke. Then, without warning, “Where do you live?” I looked up at him, surprised by how direct the question was. “Oh… um—just a few streets past the old bakery. Near the bus line.” He nodded slowly, like the answer mattered more than it should have.

“Do you walk home from the stop?” “Sometimes. If it’s not too late.” I hesitated. “Why?” “Just wondering,” he said softly. But it didn’t feel like just wondering. It felt careful. Intentional. Like he was piecing together something invisible. I glanced at him. “What about you? Where do you live?” “Near the water.” That was all he offered, and somehow it felt unfair that he could ask so much while giving so little back. Still… I didn’t push. We reached the bus stop sooner than I wanted to. I turned toward the street, expecting him to stop walking. He didn’t. He stood there beside me, hands relaxed at his sides, like waiting with me was the most natural thing in the world. The quiet stretched, not awkward, just delicate. Like something important was deciding whether to be said. Then he spoke. “Would you want to… hang out sometime?” The question was simple, but it landed softly in my chest, warm and unexpected. I looked at him, trying to read his expression. He seemed calm as always, yet there was something quieter underneath.

Hopeful, maybe. Careful. “Yeah,” I said, before I could overthink it. “I’d like that.”Something in his shoulders eased, almost too small to notice. “Okay,” he said. My bus appeared at the school gate, loud and ordinary against the quiet moment. When it pulled up, I stepped toward the door, then paused. He was still standing there, watching, not intensely, not strangely, just… present. “Bye, Hylen.” “Goodbye, Colette.” I got on the bus and found a seat by the window. And even when the bus began to move, he was still there on the sidewalk, quiet, unmoving, watching until the distance carried me out of sight. For reasons I couldn’t explain, that mattered more than it should have.

A couple of days later, I had class with Meg, who leaned closer the moment the teacher turned to the board. “So… you’ve been talking to Hylen a lot, huh?” “Not really,” I said evenly. She lowered her voice. “You know he barely talks in most classes. Except he asked me last week what bus line you take. Didn’t explain why, just wanted to know.” My chest sank at the thought that she knew something about him I didn’t. “What? You’ve gone quiet,” she said, smiling with concern. “I’m just thinking,” I murmured, the safest answer when something mattered more than I wanted to show. At lunch, he sat in the sun, his hair catching the light until it looked almost gold, like it belonged there. I stayed in the shade, letting the cool air brush my arms, pretending to follow the group’s argument while carefully avoiding looking at him. When the bell rang, I thought about waiting, but I didn’t. I walked to class with Harriet and Marianne, eyes forward, and when I arrived, I sat between them. When Hylen entered, that quiet, searching awareness hit me immediately. There wasn’t a seat beside me, so he took one across the room, alone, already writing notes with calm certainty, as if the lesson had begun long before. “Didn’t save a seat for Hylen?” Marianne whispered. “Not today,” I said. “Why?” She always needed reasons. “I just felt like sitting with you.” She studied me a moment, then nodded. I hated explaining myself. Silence should exist without question. When class ended, a quiet voice called, “Colette.” I turned. He stood a few steps away, sunlight catching his pale skin and soft blond waves, his blue eyes careful, uncertain, like he wasn’t sure I wanted him there. “Do you have a favourite animal?” A small laugh escaped me. “I do. Why?” “What is it?” “Ladybugs. They’re pretty, and they’re supposed to mean good luck.” I looked at him. “What about you?” A short pause, as though he wasn’t used to questions in return. “Horses. They can carry you very far.” I studied his face, the seriousness in the way he said it. “What time period are you from where horses are still the main transport?” He stilled briefly, something unreadable flickering in his eyes before disappearing. “This one,” he said quietly. “I’m not sure I believe that,” I teased lightly. A soft laugh left him, brief but real. My bus pulled in, loud and ordinary. I stepped toward the door, then turned back. “See you… sometime.” His gaze held mine, steady, thoughtful, like he was trying to remember something important. “Sometime,” he said. Even as the bus moved, I felt him there, standing, waiting, watching until I disappeared from sight.

A few days passed without anything happening at all, the kind of quiet stretch where school felt ordinary again, like maybe I had imagined the strange, fragile awareness that kept forming whenever he was near. The air had started to change too, summer loosening its hold in ways most people wouldn’t notice, the mornings cooler, the light softer, the wind carrying something faintly unfamiliar that made me breathe a little deeper without knowing why. I liked it. The shade felt kinder, the sky less sharp. That afternoon, as I walked between buildings, the drizzle began so lightly it barely seemed real, just a thin mist drifting through the space above the pavement. Around me, everyone reacted at once, laughter, complaints, sudden running footsteps as bags lifted over heads and the moment turned loud and hurried. I stayed where I was, continuing at the same unbothered pace, letting the quiet sound of rain settle around me, cool against my skin. After a few seconds, I became aware of him beside me, not arriving with any announcement, just there, matching my direction as naturally as breathing. He didn’t rush ahead with the others, and he didn’t look at me straight away. Instead, he slowed, only slightly, enough that I wouldn’t be the only one walking instead of running, enough that the space between us felt chosen rather than accidental. The light caught in the damp strands of his hair, turning them softer, almost pale, and there was something calm in the way he moved through the rain, like this quieter world suited him less than the bright sun usually did, but he stayed anyway. We didn’t talk. The silence felt different from before, not fragile, not uncertain, just present, like it didn’t need to be filled to exist. By the time we reached the shelter of the next building, the drizzle was already fading, the noise of everyone else returning, lockers slamming, voices rising, the ordinary day closing back around us. Still, the smallness of the moment stayed with me as we stepped inside, something gentle and unnoticed that felt important for reasons I couldn’t explain.

A few afternoons later, the day of the walk arrived so quietly it almost felt accidental, like something small the world had decided not to make a big deal about. We left the school grounds without really planning to, just drifting in the same direction until the noise of everyone else faded behind us, replaced by the softer sounds of wind moving through the trees and distant traffic along the road toward the beach. The sun was still high, warm without being harsh, and he seemed more at ease in it, like the light belonged to him in some private way I didn’t understand. I stayed closer to the shaded side of the footpath, noticing how naturally he walked where the sunlight touched everything gold. For a while neither of us spoke, and the silence felt calm instead of awkward, like conversation wasn’t something we needed to prove. “Do you always avoid the sun?” he asked gently after a few minutes, not teasing, just curious. I shrugged, watching the ground as we walked. “I live in Australia. You learn pretty fast what too much sun does.” He nodded slowly, like he was turning the idea over in his mind. “I think it’s beautiful,” he said, almost to himself. I glanced at him then, the light resting across his hair, his eyes brighter than they ever looked inside a classroom. “You would,” I murmured. A small smile appeared, quiet and unoffended. “And you like the rain.” It wasn’t a question. “I do,” I admitted. “Everything feels calmer when it rains. Like the world softens a little.” He was quiet after that, thoughtful, and for a moment I wondered if I’d said something strange, but when I looked up he was watching the sky the way someone might watch something they loved but couldn’t keep. “I’ve never understood why people call cloudy days gloomy,” he said. “They’re just… different kinds of light.” Something in the way he said made my chest feel tight and warm at the same time, like there was more meaning in the words than he was letting me see. We kept walking, slower than before, neither of us mentioning turning back, the path opening toward the distant shimmer of water where the sun was beginning its slow fall toward the horizon. I realised, somewhere in the quiet between one step and the next, that I didn’t want the walk to end yet, and the thought settled softly inside me, gentle but impossible to ignore.

Chapter Three:
It was a few days after the walk, and the classroom felt quieter than usual, half-empty as some students drifted in late. Hylen slid into a seat near me, not beside me, but close enough that I could feel his presence without having to look. I tried to focus on my notes, but I couldn’t ignore the way he turned his head ever so slightly whenever someone spoke, the way his blue eyes flicked toward the new girl, Kailey, sitting a few rows over before settling on the page in front of him. She laughed at something, a light, careless sound, and my stomach twisted without permission. He didn’t smile, not really, just inclined his head, polite, almost automatic, and yet I felt it anyway, like the smallest acknowledgment had slipped past him for her instead of me. I reminded myself he wasn’t mine, that this quiet intensity belonged to him and he chose who to direct it toward, and still, the warmth in my chest tightened and spread to my hands, which had gone cold from gripping my pen too tightly. I watched him a moment longer, noting the slight golden sheen the afternoon sun lent to his hair, the way the light caught his jawline, and the impossibility of anyone else seeming to notice, or if they did, not caring in the way I did. The bell rang, snapping me out of the spiraling thoughts, and I shoved my notebook into my bag, heart still tugging in directions I didn’t want to admit, hoping that later, in another quiet moment, he would be only for me again. I stood when the bell rang, taking a little longer than I needed to pack my things, and when I glanced back he had turned toward me slightly, like he might say something if I waited. For a second it felt like everything had gone quiet, like the moment was holding its breath, but he didn’t speak, and I didn’t either. The silence stayed there between us as I turned away, heavier than it should have been, following me out into the hallway.
Jayden was halfway through unwrapping a muesli bar when I finally asked, trying to sound casual, like the question had only just crossed my mind instead of circling there all morning, quiet and persistent. “Do you know much about Hylen?” I kept my eyes on the courtyard as I said it, watching a group of younger students run past too loudly, hoping the noise would make the question feel smaller. Jayden shrugged almost immediately, the movement careless, already distracted by something else. “Not really. He’s just quiet, I guess.” Just quiet. The words landed strangely, too light for something that felt so much heavier to me, like trying to explain sunlight by calling it warm. I picked at the edge of my sleeve, pretending not to think about the way Hylen listened in class, or how he seemed to notice things no one else did, or how the air around him always felt a little more still. “He’s… different though,” I said, softer now, not even sure why I was still talking. Jayden looked at me properly then, eyebrows pulling together in a kind of confused curiosity that made heat creep slowly up my neck. “Why do you care?” The question was simple, but it opened something I didn’t know how to close. Because he looks at things like they matter. Because I keep noticing him even when I try not to. None of that sounded normal enough to say out loud, so I just shook my head and watched someone kick a ball across the grass instead. “I don’t. I was just asking.” Jayden already unwrapped the rest of his muesli bar. As he was just about to take a bite he slowly looked at me. “Wait, you like him?” “No.” “I’m not sure if he’s the best guy to go for.” “What do you mean?” My heart pounded at the thought of Hylen's eyes being drawn to someone else. “He’s just kind of cold. Respectful, polite, but cold. Wouldn’t you prefer to go out with someone like me?” I rolled my eyes remembering his crush on me. “Seriously?” I said sarcastically. “No but in all seriousness, I've seen him staring at Kailey from time to time. I think she might like him because of that. I wouldn’t worry about him, Colette. You’ll find someone, better.” I sighed, trying to cover up my jealousy. “I’m not worried about not finding someone, Jayden.” “Fine, he’s nice and all, but he doesn’t seem like the kind of guy you’d benefit from dating, or the type who wants a girlfriend.” My eyebrows creased for a moment before I walked ahead of him and found my classroom trying to shake the image of Kailey out of my head.

As I sat down in my English class my eyes caught Kailey, laughing in the corner. Her soft, light brown hair and green eyes catching the light. I couldn’t compete with that. Before the English teacher spoke, I tried to hear what she was saying, staring down at my paper trying to not make it obvious. “He’s so handsome. And every time I look at him, he’s already looking at me.” “Have you spoken to him?” One of her friends asked. “No, not yet. I will next class. I have maths with him. He’s super good at it.” “What will you say?” Just as she was about to respond the teacher spoke up and the conversation died out. The feeling stayed there, small and sharp, no matter how hard I tried to ignore it. I had maths right next door to them, so I would maybe eavesdrop. If i could, i knew i shouldnt though. So as the maths class came to an end I saw them walking out together. His six foot stature made any person look small, especially her. I walked behind them, a person in between. “And then this weather has just completely changed.” “Yeah it has.” He spoke softly, staring ahead. “I miss summer already. I love the sun. Anyway, thanks for everything today.” What did he help her with? He nodded, not smiling, just acknowledging. “You’re welcome.” She gave him a warm smile. “Well, we should hang out sometime.” She said softly, half nervous. He turned to her, taking a deep breath in. “Yeah, maybe.” He said with a little hesitancy, or I wished it was. “Okay, well bye.” She waved at him, before walking to her friends who were waiting to hear. Then, unexpectedly he turned around, facing me. I quickly turned away and turned the corner, but as I did, I turned and saw his eyes dead on mine. I hoped in some miraculous way that he didn’t know what I was doing.

A couple of days later, the cool autumn breeze grew stronger, and I found myself pulling extra layers over my arms as the group sat on the now chilled grass, soaking in the small piece of sunlight that slipped through the clouds. “Okay guys, who can come to my party this weekend?” Jayden asked, and a few of us answered at once just as Hylen arrived, quietly lowering himself onto the grass beside the group. “What about you, Hylen?” Jayden added. Hylen lifted his gaze from the ground, suddenly aware that everyone was looking at him. “Sorry, what have you planned?” “My party. This weekend. Oh, and it's a dress up, by the way.” “Oh. Sure,” he said softly. “Great. My place, seven till whenever. And there’ll be alcohol.” I had never really been someone who drank. I had once, and the night ended with my face over a toilet, everything leaving my system at once, and I hadn’t touched a bottle since. I wondered, briefly, if Hylen drank. When I checked the invite list, Kailey’s name sat there too, neat and ordinary, and something uncomfortable twisted in my chest. Stop it, Colette. Stop acting protective over someone you don’t even know. I pushed the thought away, pretending I didn’t care, pretending any of it meant nothing. The bell rang for the last class of the day, Ancient History, and while Harriet and Marianne talked excitedly about costume ideas, I walked beside them in silence, nodding at the right moments without really listening. When we reached the classroom, I sat down with them, expecting Hylen to cross the room and take his usual seat alone, but instead he chose the chair only one space away from me. Close enough to feel, far enough to pretend it didn’t matter. I turned toward Marianne, yet a quiet guilt settled over me for not even trying to speak to him. Every time I forced my attention back to Ms. Larroway, my thoughts drifted again, pulled toward the quiet presence beside me, toward the awareness of how near he was. After a while, the silence felt heavier than it should have, and before I could change my mind, I turned slightly in my chair. At the same moment, his eyes lifted from his notebook to mine, like he had felt it too. I gave a small, uncertain wave, and a soft rush of nervousness moved through me before I could stop it.

He didn’t look surprised when I waved, just watched me for a second like he was deciding whether to respond, then gave the smallest nod. I looked back down at my page quickly, pretending to read the same line I hadn’t understood for the past minute. The classroom was quiet except for pens moving and Ms. Larroway’s voice drifting from the front, and for a while neither of us spoke. Then he leaned a fraction closer, close enough that I could hear him without anyone else noticing. “Are you going to the party?” he asked softly. I turned my pen between my fingers. “Yeah… probably.” He nodded once and looked back at his notebook, his hand resting still on the page for a moment before he started writing again. “You don’t have to drink,” he said after a few seconds, just loud enough for me to hear. I glanced at him. “I wasn’t planning to.” Another small nod, his eyes still on the paper. “Okay.” Nothing else followed, but the space beside me didn’t feel as distant as it had before. We stayed like that for the rest of the lesson, not talking, just close enough that I kept noticing he was there.
Saturday came, and I got ready with Meg and the others, music blasting as we applied our makeup and dressed up. Meg was dressed as Rapunzel, in a tight purple corset that accentuated her figure, her long hair cascading over her shoulders. I, on the other hand, wore a simple short white flowy skirt, paired with a snug white singlet that hugged my body. My jewelry complemented the look—a gold headpiece sitting elegantly on my hair, golden arm cuffs, bangles, rings, and earrings—finishing my stereotypical Greek goddess costume. My hair was slightly curled at the ends, giving it a soft, goddess-like bounce. We were out the door, eager for the night. When we arrived, the music was deafening, and colorful flashing lights pulsed inside Jayden’s living room. Half the school was already there, mingling and laughing. “Good to see you guys!” Jayden yelled over the music, clearly already drunk, a wide grin plastered across his face. We each hugged him quickly before dispersing into the crowd. My eyes caught sight of Kailey, dressed as a Catwoman—tight leather shirt that showed off her cleavage, matching leather shorts, knee-high boots, and cat ears perched on her head. She looked confident and fierce, perfectly embodying her costume. I mingled with others for about an hour, chatting and laughing, until suddenly everyone’s attention shifted to the doorway. That’s when Hylen appeared, and all eyes were drawn to him.

Hylen stood beneath the low golden light like he belonged to it, his shoulders broad and steady, his bare skin catching the glow in a way that made everything around him seem dimmer. I didn’t mean to stare, but it was impossible not to notice the quiet strength in the way he carried himself, the smooth lines of muscle that moved easily when he shifted, effortless, unshowing, like power he had never needed to prove. Faint gold markings traced softly across his collarbones and shoulders, subtle enough that I almost thought I imagined them, and a thin chain rested against his chest, a small sun pendant glinting whenever he breathed. Gold cuffs circled his wrists, simple but unfamiliar, and above it all a crown of warm amber light sat in his hair, not heavy or dramatic, just certain, as though it had always been there. The loose white fabric at his waist moved gently in the night air, making him look less like someone dressed for a party and more like something stepped out of an older story, something bright and distant and quietly impossible to ignore, and I realised, a little too late, that I had forgotten how to look away.

He made his way across the room, walking with a confident, almost effortless swagger. Hylen approached Jayden, and Kailey quickly joined him, their chemistry palpable. That’s when I turned away, for my own sake knowing I shouldn’t let my gaze linger too long. I focused on the music instead, or at least I tried to, letting the noise and flashing lights blur everything into something easier not to feel. Someone handed me a drink and I took it without thinking, just to have something to do with my hands, just to look like I belonged there as much as everyone else did. I laughed when people laughed, nodded when they spoke, but my attention kept drifting back across the room against my own will, searching for him even when I told myself not to. Each time I caught a glimpse of gold or movement my chest tightened in that quiet, unreasonable way I was starting to hate. So I forced myself to look away again, to stay where I was, to prove to no one in particular that it didn’t matter. And maybe it would have worked, if I hadn’t felt it a few minutes later, that strange, familiar awareness settling softly over me, the feeling of being seen without needing to look up, the kind of quiet presence that made the noise around me fade without permission. I kept my eyes on the floor for a moment longer, pretending I didn’t notice, pretending I could ignore it, even as something in me already knew he was standing close enough to speak.

I didn’t look up until I heard my name, quiet enough that I almost thought I imagined it. “Colette.” His voice sat close to me, low beneath the music, and when I finally lifted my eyes he was standing there, the gold of his crown catching the dim light in a way that made everything else seem dull beside him. For a moment neither of us spoke. His gaze moved briefly to the cup in my hand, then back to my face, not accusing, not surprised, just noticing in that careful way he seemed to notice everything. “Are you alright?” he asked softly. The question was simple, but something in his tone made it feel like he was asking more than that, like he could see past the noise, past the pretending. I gave a small shrug, trying to smile like it didn’t matter. “I’m fine.” He didn’t argue, but he didn’t look convinced either, and the quiet between us felt different from before, steadier, like the rest of the room had fallen away without either of us meaning it to. After a second he held out his hand, not demanding, just offering. “Do you want some air?” The words were gentle, almost careful, and for reasons I couldn’t explain, saying no suddenly felt impossible.

Chapter Four:

I stepped outside, the night air sharp against my skin, carrying the thrum of the music from inside and the occasional sharp laugh or groan that suggested the party had escalated well beyond politeness. Somewhere, someone retched into a trash bin, and I had to hide a small shiver. Lights strung across the patio flickered over the scattered plastic cups and paper plates, painting the ground in uneven gold and shadow. I’d wanted to leave earlier, to slip home quietly, but hadn’t said anything. Hylen appeared at my side, moving as if the world had narrowed to just the space between us. He didn’t speak at first, just glanced toward the chaos inside the dancing, the shouting, someone almost toppling over in a glittery costume, and then back at me. His presence was calm, contained, a quiet gravity that made the frantic noise behind us feel even further away. Harriett leaned against the doorframe, brow furrowed. “Meg’s staying for a couple more hours,” she said softly, eyes flicking to me. “You okay?” I forced a nod, wishing I could just step away, disappear into the night, but somehow not wanting to move too far from him. Hylen’s gaze flicked down at me, catching the subtle hesitation in my stance, the way I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, like I was ready to leave but waiting for someone to notice. “You were going to leave with Meg,” he added after a moment. I nodded. “Yeah.” Another pause stretched, gentle instead of awkward, and when I looked up, his eyes were already on me, steady in a way that made everything else, the music, the shouting, the chaos of the party fade into a blur at the edges. “You don’t have to,” he said softly. The words were simple, but something in them felt protective without trying to be. My chest tightened, suddenly aware of the space between us, how quiet the world had become, and how his presence seemed to carve out a small pocket just for me. “How would I get home?” I asked, barely above a whisper. He glanced toward the street for a second, then back to me, like the answer had always been obvious. “I can take you.” I swallowed, heart hammering in my chest, and nodded, relief washing over me. The party raged on behind us, wild and careless, but here, in this moment, it was just him and the quiet, the night settling around us like a soft cloak.

I nodded shyly, barely above a whisper. “Okay… yeah.” He gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, like he’d expected nothing less. “Then we should go now,” he said softly. For a moment we both stood there, glancing back at the party, the flashing lights, the dancing bodies, the loud music and laughter mixing with the occasional groan or crash. It felt sudden, absurd even, realizing there was no point in staying, that the chaos wasn’t ours. His presence beside me radiated heat, a quiet warmth that made my chest tighten, and I stayed a step behind, watching as he moved with that effortless confidence through the crowd. Each step was deliberate, like the bodies parted naturally, his gaze focused ahead, nothing brushing him, nothing slowing him down. He paused by Jayden, leaning in to explain that he was taking me home. I caught Kailey’s gaze for a brief second, her lips pressed into a tight line, eyes flicking to me with a shadow of disappointment, but he didn’t look at her. Not once. Not even a flicker. Hylen’s next stop was Meg and Harriet. He inclined his head politely. “I’m taking her home,” he said, soft but certain. They exchanged surprised looks, but nodded without protest, stepping aside. I stayed a few paces back, heart thudding, as he walked through the remaining crowd. The dim party lights hit the planes of his face, his golden hair, the broad shoulders, the quiet strength in every line of him. He moved like a model, untouchable yet magnetic, and a soft, private smile curved his lips as he finally reached the door and closed it behind us.
The noise of the party vanished instantly, leaving only the cool night air, the quiet street, and the tense, electric space between us.
He walked to the curb, the streetlight catching the edges of his hair, his broad shoulders, the calm confidence in the way he moved. I stayed behind for a moment, taking in the quiet night, the way the air smelled faintly of rain and exhaust and something sharp that reminded me of the beach. Then he turned, holding the car door open for me. I hesitated, suddenly aware of how small I felt beside him, how ordinary the world seemed compared to the way he carried himself. “After you,” he said softly, his voice low, careful, and I felt heat rise to my cheeks as I slid into the passenger seat. The interior smelled faintly of leather and something clean, expensive but subtle, and I couldn’t stop noticing the way the soft light from the dash brushed across his face as he leaned back behind the wheel. He tugged on a crisp white shirt he’d brought along, sliding it over his shoulders and buttoning it up in that effortless way that made him seem untouchably perfect, even in something so ordinary as getting dressed. The fabric clung just enough to hint at the shape beneath, softening the sharp angles of his muscles without taking away from the quiet strength he carried. He started the car, the engine purring smoothly, and I watched his hands on the wheel, long fingers curled around it, his posture relaxed but alert. The party felt impossibly far away now, the flashing lights and noise reduced to a dull memory, like it had never touched us at all. “So…” I said quietly, my voice small in the silence, “it’s really… nice in here.” He glanced at me from the corner of his eye, a flicker of something teasing but restrained. “I like it,” he said simply. Then his focus returned to the road, the faint hum of the engine filling the space between us. We drove a few streets in silence, the city quiet around us, and I felt it, the careful space he gave me, the way he didn’t push, didn’t crowd, but somehow every glance, every movement, made me more aware of him. I found myself stealing little looks at him, the light catching his hair, the curve of his jaw, the way his shoulders flexed as he shifted, like he belonged to a world I didn’t, yet somehow, he let me see it. The quiet stretched, comfortable, charged in a way I couldn’t name, and I realized the moment wasn’t about words. It was about being here, together, moving slowly through the streets, the soft hum of the car, and the knowledge that nothing in that moment could be hurried, not even the thoughts racing through my head.

The car hummed along the quiet streets, headlights cutting through the dark. I twisted my fingers in my lap, finally blurting out, “So… Kailey. She seemed really… close to you back at the party.” My voice wavered just slightly, like I was dipping a toe into cold water. He glanced at me from the corner of his eye, a shadow of surprise flickering across his face before it hardened. “There’s nothing there, Colette,” he said, firm but not unkind, the words carrying a precision that left no room for doubt. My stomach did a small flip,I hadn’t expected him to shut it down so completely,but I couldn’t help pushing a little. “Nothing at all? Not even a little bit?” I asked, trying to keep the teasing edge out of my voice, though I felt it creeping in. He shook his head slightly, eyes returning to the road, the faintest smirk tugging at one corner of his mouth, like he knew exactly what I was thinking. “Not a thing. Believe me.” His voice was steady, calm, but I could feel the careful weight behind it, the way he wanted me to understand without having to explain more. I exhaled softly, a mix of relief and lingering curiosity, and ventured another step. “You’re not… even a little tempted to lie?” I teased, leaning slightly toward him in the seat, watching for any reaction. His smirk deepened just enough to make my heart do a quick skip. “I don’t lie about things like that,” he said, and for a split second, his gaze flicked toward mine, holding, daring me to test him further. I smiled, a little shyly, feeling heat creep up my neck. “Good. I like that,” I whispered, and the quiet between us stretched, soft and loaded with something unspoken, a small current of something electric weaving through the stillness of the car.

I shifted in the seat, trying not to stare at his profile too much, but it was impossible, the way the light from the streetlamps caught his hair, the slight curve of his jaw, even the steady set of his shoulders. “So, do you always shut down anyone who asks about you?” I asked softly, teasing, though my stomach tightened with nerves. He glanced at me, the corner of his mouth tilting upward, subtle but noticeable. “Only when it matters,” he said quietly, tone calm but carrying an edge that made me lean in just a little, wanting to hear more. “And when does it matter?” I whispered, careful to make it sound casual, though I wasn’t sure I believed my own voice. “Depends on who’s asking,” he murmured, eyes flicking back to the road, but I caught that brief spark, like a dare hiding in his gaze. “You seem… unusually interested,” he added, and I felt my face heat. “Am I not allowed to be?” I teased back, though my voice faltered slightly at the last word. He let out a low, soft sound, half a laugh, half an exhale. “I’m not saying you’re not allowed,” he said. “I’m saying you might be wasting your curiosity on the wrong things.” His tone was gentle, but the words carried weight, like he was hinting at something I didn’t fully understand yet. I chewed my lip, glancing out the window, then back at him. “And what should I be curious about, then?” My voice was quiet, but my heart jumped at the closeness, the way the car felt small and private, like the rest of the world didn’t exist for this moment. His eyes softened briefly in the rearview mirror, and his hand tapped the wheel in a slow, steady rhythm. “You,” he said simply. Just like that, two syllables, quiet but heavy with something unspoken. My breath hitched, and I had to look away, pretending the streetlights were more interesting than the heat radiating from him beside me.

I stole a glance at him, trying to catch any hint of what he was thinking, but his expression stayed smooth, calm, unreadable. “So… you really don’t care about Kailey, huh?” I asked, the words slipping out before I could stop myself. My stomach flipped at the tiny edge in my own voice. He shot me a quick look in the rearview mirror, eyes narrowing just slightly, not angry but sharp, attentive. “There’s nothing there,” he said, firm, almost dismissive. “Not a thing. So you can stop worrying about it.” His tone had that quiet authority he carried so well, but underneath, there was a flicker, like he was interested in seeing my reaction. I laughed softly, a little breathless. “I wasn’t worrying,” I said, though the teasing in my voice betrayed me. “I was… observing.” “Observing,” he repeated, the word low and playful, rolling off his tongue like he was savoring it. “And what did you learn?” “That I’m still more interesting than her,” I murmured, the corners of my mouth twitching as I tried not to sound too bold. He glanced at me again, just a flicker of a smile, that quiet curve that made my chest tighten. “Careful,” he said softly, voice teasing now, “you might be right… but I’m not so easily swayed.” I leaned back slightly, letting my gaze wander just enough to make him notice, then back to the road. “Maybe I like a challenge,” I murmured. The way he looked at me then, it wasn’t quite a surprise, not exactly amusement, was like he was measuring, testing, and enjoying the game. “You do, don’t you?” he said, voice quieter, almost reflective. “I can see it in the way you look at me, the questions you ask.” His hands moved easily on the wheel, relaxed, but his eyes never left the road, or me. “But I’m… complicated,” he added, and the single word held more weight than I expected. I bit my lip, heart skipping. “I like complicated,” I whispered, quieter this time, almost to myself, but loud enough for him to catch. His eyes flicked toward me, and there it was again, the faintest curve of a smile, something private, shared, that made the car feel smaller, closer, like we were the only two people in the world.

I leaned back against the seat, suddenly realizing I had never actually told him my address. How had he known where to go? My chest tightened for a second, heart skipping, but I shook it off. It didn’t matter. He was here, we were here, and somehow it had all worked out. I couldn’t dwell on the details. The car rolled along quietly, the soft hum of the engine filling the space between us. Lights from the streetlamps cast a gentle glow across his face, highlighting the curve of his jaw and the calm focus in his eyes. I felt my fingers tangle together nervously in my lap, aware of the small distance between us, the way the air seemed to thicken in anticipation. When we reached my gate, he slowed, the car coming to a smooth stop. He didn’t speak at first, just turned toward me, his gaze steady, patient. Then, without a word, he reached over and opened the door, the gesture simple but precise, like it had always been meant to happen this way. I hesitated for a heartbeat before sliding out, the cool evening air brushing my skin, the quiet of the street wrapping around us. He walked beside me toward the gate, every step deliberate, careful, almost protective without saying it out loud. My thoughts were scattered, heart still pounding, and I kept glancing at him, realizing again how impossibly present he felt, how natural it seemed that he was here, walking me home.The gate loomed ahead, quiet and familiar, and I felt that small, strange mix of comfort and tension, like something unspoken was waiting, just for us, in the space between the driveway and the night.
We paused at the gate, both of us hesitant, the silence stretching longer than it should. I could feel the weight of his gaze, intense and unwavering, as if he was searching my face for something, maybe permission, maybe reassurance. My breath hitched, my heart pounding louder in my chest. He tilted his head slightly, eyes flickering down to my lips, then back up to meet mine. A slow, deliberate pause. The quiet stretched between us, electric and heavy, as if the world had narrowed down to just this moment. Neither of us spoke, but I could swear I saw a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes, soft, almost unsure. I licked my lips, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks. "Um," I whispered softly, my voice trembling just a little. It was a fragile invitation, an unspoken question. Hylen’s gaze flickered with something unreadable, and then he gave a small, slow nod. Without a word, he leaned in, closing the tiny distance between us. His face was close enough that I could see the faint shimmer in his eyes, the faintest breath of heat against my skin. I didn’t move immediately, but my eyes fluttered shut as I felt the faintest brush of his lips, soft, tentative, like he was testing the waters. I responded instinctively, leaning into him, our lips meeting in a gentle, lingering kiss. His hand moved slightly, almost unconsciously, to rest lightly on my waist, grounding us both in the stillness. I felt the faintest tremor in his body, a mixture of nerves and longing, and I knew in that instant I wasn’t alone in feeling this, this rush of heat, this ache of wanting. It was slow, electric, full of unspoken promises and quiet longing.

I pulled back just enough to catch my breath, heart thudding so loud I was sure he could hear it. “I… I didn’t expect that,” I whispered, voice barely louder than the night air. He exhaled slowly, a little stiff, and ran a hand through his hair. “Neither… I mean, I didn’t either,” he murmured, almost to himself, then glanced up at me, eyes flicking away quickly. I laughed nervously, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?” “Ridiculous?” His voice was softer, hesitant, like he was testing the word. “I… maybe,” he admitted, shoulders tensing slightly. “Are you okay?” I asked, noticing how tense he still was, like he wasn’t sure if he should be here. He nodded slowly, then looked away toward the street, voice low. “I am… just didn’t think I’d…” He trailed off, as if the words themselves scared him, then added, almost in a whisper, “I shouldn’t be… doing this.” I tilted my head, trying not to smile too much. “Doing this?” “The… kissing. Being here.” His blue eyes found mine again, intense but uncertain. “It… it’s…” He shook his head lightly, like trying to undo a thought. “I don’t… I don’t usually…” I stepped a little closer, not wanting to break the moment but wanting him to know I wasn’t scared. “It’s okay,” I said softly. “I wanted it too.” He exhaled, a shiver running through him, and for the first time he smiled—small, almost guilty. “You’re reckless,” he muttered under his breath. “Maybe,” I teased, letting my gaze linger. “But you’re… figuring it out.” He looked away again, half-smiling, half-scared. “Yeah… figuring it out.” His voice was almost a whisper, like he didn’t want anyone to hear, not even himself. The quiet stretched, full of everything neither of us said. Then, after a pause, he added, a little teasing but still careful: “Next time… maybe I should just… drive you home more often.” I laughed softly, my chest still tight. “You might get in trouble if you keep doing that.” He shrugged, a little clumsy, a little deliberate, and that quiet intensity was back, the kind that made everything else fade. “I could…” I stayed silent, letting him breathe, letting the night hold us in that quiet space. The car hummed softly beneath us, the air thick with the unspoken, and for the first time, I realized how much he was carrying—how much more there was to him than I could see, and how slowly, carefully, he was letting me in.

Chapter Five:
The morning felt too quiet. I lay awake long before my alarm, staring at the pale light stretching across my ceiling, replaying every second from the night before like my mind refused to let it fade. The walk to the gate. The way he looked at me. The pause that felt like the whole world holding its breath. The kiss. My chest tightened just thinking about it, a soft warmth spreading through me that was equal parts comfort and disbelief. It had been real. I knew it had. I could still feel the faint echo of his hand at my waist, the careful hesitation in the way he had leaned closer, like he was afraid of the moment even while he was inside it. And then the way he looked afterward. Not regret exactly. But something close enough to make my stomach twist. I rolled onto my side, pulling the blanket closer even though I was already warm.What if today was different? What if he acted like nothing had happened? The thought settled heavy in my chest, and I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to push it away. He had kissed me. He had stayed. He had looked at me like I mattered. That had to mean something. It had to. School felt louder than usual, like every locker slam and burst of laughter was happening too close to my head. I kept scanning the hallway without meaning to, my eyes searching automatically, even while I told myself not to. Then I saw him. Across the courtyard. Talking to Jayden. Sunlight caught in his hair like nothing in the world had changed. My breath caught, that familiar pull settling low in my chest, warm and nervous all at once. For a second I thought he might look up, might feel me watching the way he always seemed to. He didn’t. He just kept talking, calm and distant, like last night belonged to someone else. Something small and sharp pressed behind my ribs. I told myself I was overthinking. Maybe he just hadn’t seen me yet. Maybe he was tired. Maybe. He laughed softly at something Jayden said. And still didn’t look at me. The sharp feeling spread. Ancient history felt endless. I sat in my usual seat, pretending to read over my notes while every sound in the room pulled my attention sideways. The scrape of a chair. A page turning. Footsteps near the door. Then the quiet shift in the air that always seemed to happen when he walked in. I didn’t look up right away. I told myself I wouldn’t. But my eyes betrayed me. He was there. A chair away. Close enough that I could see the slow rise and fall of his shoulders as he sat down. Close enough to remember exactly how it felt to stand beside him in the dark. My pulse started to climb. Just look, I thought. Just once. So I did. His gaze was already forward, fixed on the front of the room, expression calm and unreadable. No hesitation. No flicker of recognition. Nothing that belonged to last night. Like the kiss had never happened. The air in my lungs felt suddenly too thin. I looked down at my notebook, blinking hard, willing the tight feeling in my throat to disappear before anyone noticed. Maybe this was normal. Maybe this was just… him. But the silence between us felt wrong now. Heavier. Deliberate. And that hurt more than I expected. Class ended in a blur. Chairs scraped back, voices rose, bodies moved toward the door in a slow wave of noise and motion. I packed my bag carefully, giving myself time, even though I wasn’t sure what I was waiting for. For him to say something. For him to look at me. For anything that proved last night had been real. When I finally stood, he was already near the door. For a second I thought he might just leave. Then he paused. Not turning fully. Just enough. “Colette,” he said quietly. My name in his voice was enough to make my heart stumble. I stepped closer before I could think better of it, the hallway noise fading into something distant and blurred. He still wasn’t looking directly at me. His jaw was tight, like the words sitting there were difficult to let out. “Last night…” he started, then stopped. The silence stretched thin between us. My chest felt fragile. Hopeful and scared at the same time. “It shouldn’t have happened,” he said softly. The words landed like cold air. But before the hurt could fully settle, he added, quieter, “I don’t regret it.” My breath caught. Finally he looked at me, and the conflict in his eyes was impossible to miss. Not distance. Not indifference. Something closer to fear. “You need to stay away from me today,” he said, voice low, careful, almost protective. “Just… for today.” I stared at him, confusion and something sharper twisting together inside my chest. “Why?” I whispered. His gaze flickered like he wanted to answer. Like he almost would. But then he stepped back. “Please,” he said. And that was worse than any explanation. He turned before I could say anything else, disappearing into the moving crowd, leaving the space beside me suddenly empty and cold. I stood there long after he was gone, heart still racing, one question echoing louder than all the hallway noise combined. What was he trying to protect me from?

I tried to tell myself it didn’t matter. People asked me questions in my next class and I answered them.
I wrote things down when the teacher spoke. I even laughed once, soft and automatic, at something Harriet whispered beside me. From the outside, nothing looked different. Inside, everything felt tilted. The words kept circling. Stay away from me today. Not forever. Not goodbye. Just… today. That should have been comforting. It wasn’t.Because the way he’d said it hadn’t sounded casual. It hadn’t sounded like space or confusion or regret. It sounded like a warning. And the worst part was the look in his eyes when he said please. Like distance was the only way he knew how to keep something safe. Or someone. My pen slowed against the page until it stopped completely. What could possibly be so bad that one day mattered? I stared at the same line of notes without seeing it. A strange thought slipped in, quiet and unwelcome. What if this wasn’t about feelings at all? What if it was something else? Something he wasn’t telling me. The bell rang, sharp and sudden, pulling me back into the noise of the room. Chairs scraped. Bags zipped. Voices rose all at once. I packed slowly again, though this time I knew exactly what I was waiting for. Nothing. He wouldn’t come. He’d made that clear. Still, when I stepped into the hallway, my eyes searched automatically, drawn by something I couldn’t control. Crowds moved around me in shifting waves of colour and sound. Lockers slammed. Someone called my name from far away. A group of younger students rushed past, laughing too loudly. Normal. Everything was normal. Except for the hollow space sitting just under my ribs. I made it halfway across the courtyard before I saw him. Not close. Not even near enough to pretend we might accidentally cross paths. He was standing at the far edge, near the science building, talking to Jayden again. Sunlight fell across his shoulders, bright and ordinary, like the morning hadn’t changed anything at all. For a moment I just watched. Waiting. Hoping, even though I told myself not to. Maybe he’d feel it. Maybe he’d look up the way he sometimes did, like he could sense when I was there. Seconds passed. He didn’t. Jayden said something and he nodded, expression distant, attention fixed completely on the conversation in front of him. Not once did his gaze drift toward me. The hollow feeling deepened, slow and quiet. So this was what staying away looked like. Not dramatic.

Not cruel. Just… absence. I forced myself to keep walking. Each step felt heavier than it should have, like I was leaving something important behind without understanding why. By lunch, the quiet ache had settled into something dull and constant. Not sharp enough to break me. Just enough to make everything feel slightly dim. Harriet talked about a test. Meg complained about homework. Someone nearby dropped a drink and everyone laughed. I nodded at the right moments. Smiled when I was supposed to. All while one part of my mind stayed somewhere else entirely. With him. With that hallway. With the way fear had flickered through his eyes like he was standing too close to something dangerous. I pushed my food around the container without eating much. “Are you okay?” Harriet asked suddenly, her voice softer than usual. I looked up too quickly. “Yeah. Why?” “You’re just… quiet.” “I’m always quiet.” She gave me a look that said she didn’t believe that, but she didn’t push. I was grateful for that. Because I didn’t even know how to explain it to myself, let alone anyone else. How do you tell someone the person who kissed you like it meant everything is now acting like distance is the only way to keep you safe? You don’t.
You just say you’re tired and hope the conversation moves on. It did. But the feeling didn’t. The rest of the afternoon stretched long and slow, every minute noticeable. Every hallway crosses another chance to accidentally see him. Every time I didn’t. Until the final bell rang. Relief should have come with it. Instead, a strange nervous energy settled in my chest, restless and uncertain. Because the day was over. And I still didn’t understand anything. Students poured out through the front gates in loud clusters of movement and sound. Cars pulled up along the curb. Someone shouted goodbye across the street. I stepped through the crowd more slowly than usual, not hurrying, not really sure where the hesitation was coming from. Maybe part of me still expected him to appear. To explain.

To fix the quiet ache he’d left behind.
That part of me was getting smaller by the minute. I reached the edge of the sidewalk. And then, a feeling. Soft. Sudden. Certain. The strange awareness I’d only noticed a few times before. Like being watched, but not in a way that felt wrong. In a way that felt… familiar. My breath caught before I even turned. Slowly, carefully, I looked back toward the school. For a second I saw nothing but moving students and late afternoon light. Then, There. Across the street. Half hidden by the shadow of a tall tree. Him. Not talking. Not distracted. Just standing there. Watching me. And the look on his face wasn’t distant anymore. It wasn’t calm. It wasn’t unreadable. It was the same look from last night. The one that felt too honest. Too unguarded. Like staying away was hurting him too. My heart stuttered, hope and confusion colliding all at once. If he was supposed to stay away…Why was he here?
The next morning felt heavier, not quiet like the day before and not hopeful either, just heavy. I didn’t replay the kiss this time. I replayed the way he avoided me, the way he kept his eyes forward, the way he said please like it cost him something. I told myself today would be easier, that distance only hurts the first day, but that was a lie. School buzzed around me, loud and careless, and I moved through it like I was underwater. I saw him before he saw me, leaning against the low stone wall near the entrance with sunlight catching one side of his face while Jayden talked beside him. He looked calm. Too calm. For one second I thought he might look up, but he didn’t. He stayed exactly where he was, focused on Jayden, deliberate in his control. In Ancient History he was already seated, three rows ahead this time, and the space between us felt intentional. I told myself it didn’t matter, but every small movement of his hands across the page, every shift in his shoulders, pulled at me. By lunch the dull ache had sharpened into frustration. If he was going to push me away, he could at least look at me while he did it. I was crossing the courtyard, not even searching for him, when someone stepped into my path and I nearly walked straight into him. I froze. Up close he didn’t look calm. He looked tired in a way that had nothing to do with sleep. “I said one day,” he said quietly, and my heart skipped. “So?” I shot back before I could stop myself. His eyes flicked around the courtyard as if checking something unseen before settling on me. “You didn’t stay away.” I stared at him. “You were the one pretending I didn’t exist.” Something almost like a smile touched his mouth. “I was trying,” he said, and the word settled between us. “Trying what?” I whispered. For the first time since the kiss, he held my gaze without walls. “To make this easier.” The air felt thinner. “Did it work?” I asked. There was a pause before he answered, softer than before, “No.” The confession hit harder than the kiss. For a second everything else disappeared. Then something shifted in his expression, subtle but alert, and he stepped back just enough to rebuild the distance. “I can’t do this right now,” he said, voice tight again, controlled again, before moving past me. This time it didn’t feel like abandonment. It felt like restraint. And for the first time since yesterday, I understood that he wasn’t staying away because he didn’t want me. He was staying away because he did.
I didn’t turn around. I didn’t call after him. I just stood there, watching the place he’d been, replaying the way his eyes had scanned the courtyard before settling on me. The way he’d stepped back not because he wanted to, but because something in him insisted on it. It wasn’t random. I was careful.

The rest of the afternoon, I started noticing things I hadn’t before. He never stood with his back to an open space. In class, he chose seats near windows or doors. At lunch, he positioned himself where he could see the entire courtyard without turning his head. It was subtle, almost invisible unless you were looking for it. And now I was. Even the way he walked felt calculated. Not tense. Just aware. Like he was always expecting something. Or someone. “Are you writing a thesis on him or something?” I flinched. Jayden had appeared beside me, following my line of sight across the quad. Hylen was leaning against a tree this time, sunlight filtering through the leaves and catching in his hair. “I’m not staring,” I muttered. Jayden smirked. “You kind of are.” Heat crept up my neck, but I didn’t look away. “He’s different lately.” Jayden’s expression flickered. Not amused anymore. Just thoughtful. “Yeah,” he said slowly. “He does that sometimes.” “What?” “Gets… distant.” The word felt too simple. Across the courtyard, a teacher dropped a stack of metal chairs. The crash split through the air, sharp and sudden. I jumped. Everyone jumped. Everyone except him. Hylen moved before the sound fully landed. Not dramatically. Not in a way anyone else would notice unless they were watching closely. But I was. His head snapped toward the source before the chairs even hit the ground. His body shifted like he was about to move, muscles tightening, eyes locked. And then he stopped. A beat too late. Like he’d remembered where he was. Jayden didn’t seem to notice. He was already laughing about the noise with someone else. But I couldn’t stop staring. Because that wasn’t a normal reaction. It wasn’t the reflex of someone startled. It was the reflex of someone prepared. Hylen slowly relaxed, dragging a hand through his hair as if nothing had happened. But for a split second, his gaze lifted. And this time, he didn’t miss me watching. Something unreadable passed
across his face. Something closer to realization. He knew I’d seen it. The distance between us felt different now. Less about emotion. More about secrecy. What, exactly, was he preparing for?

The bell rang, and the courtyard began to thin. Jayden drifted away, pulled into another conversation, leaving me standing there with too many thoughts and not enough answers. Hylen didn’t move right away. He stayed where he was, gaze tilted slightly upward now, like he was listening for something only he could hear. The afternoon sun had been steady all day. Warm, predictable. Normal. Until it wasn’t. It started subtly. A brightness that didn’t match the hour. Shadows shifted strangely across the pavement, stretching in the wrong direction before snapping back into place. A few students squinted, shielding their eyes. “Is it just me, or did it get hotter?” someone muttered nearby. I felt it too. Not summer heat. Sharper. Closer. My skin prickled. Across the courtyard, Hylen went very still. His jaw tightened. The light around him intensified first. It wasn’t obvious, not unless you were looking directly at him, but the air near his shoulders seemed to shimmer, like heat rising off asphalt. His hand clenched at his side. And then he looked at me. Not casually. Not controlled. Alarmed. The brightness surged. For one impossible second, it felt like the entire courtyard was holding its breath. The sun flared so fiercely I had to raise my hand to block it, white spots bursting across my vision. A car alarm went off somewhere down the street. A window cracked with a sharp pop. A teacher shouted for everyone to get inside. And then—It stopped. The light settled. The heat eased. The world snapped back into place like nothing had happened. Murmurs spread through the courtyard. Confused laughter. Someone blaming climate change. Someone else was joking about solar flares. Hylen wasn’t joking. He was staring at his own hands. Like they had betrayed him. Slowly, deliberately, he lifted his gaze to mine again. This time there was no distance. No restraint. Just one clear, unguarded emotion. Fear. And then he turned and walked away.
The hallway smelled faintly of eucalyptus and cold air drifting in from the oval. Autumn had settled properly now, the kind that turned the trees along Queen Street gold and copper, the kind that made the mornings bite just enough to wake you fully. The brightness from the courtyard still felt wrong against that coolness.I had barely stepped inside when a hand closed around my wrist.
Not painfully. Just enough to stop me. I turned, already knowing. His expression wasn’t calm anymore. Whatever control he’d been holding onto outside had thinned. “Why were you watching me?” he asked quietly. I pulled my hand back, heart still racing from the heat outside. “Because something just happened.” His gaze flicked down the corridor, then back to me. Always scanning. Always measuring. “You’re reading into it.” “The sun doesn’t spike like that in the middle of April,” I said. “It’s autumn. It was freezing this morning.” “It was nothing,” he insisted. I stared at him. “A window cracked.” His jaw shifted, like he was biting back a response he couldn’t afford to give. “You shouldn’t be paying attention to things like that,” he said. The phrasing caught me. Things like that. “Like what?” I asked quietly. “Like you?” His eyes sharpened at that. “You don’t understand what you’re looking at.” “Then explain it.” Students brushed past us, lockers slamming, laughter echoing, but it felt distant. Like the two of us were standing in a pocket of still air while the rest of Berry High carried on around us. “I can’t,” he said. “You won’t.” Something flickered across his face. Not irritation. Not quite. Strain. “Stop,” he murmured. “Stop what?” “Looking at me like you’re trying to solve something.” “Maybe I am.” The honesty of it seemed to unsettle him more than the flare had. He ran a hand through his hair, gaze dropping briefly to the tiled floor before lifting again. “This is what I was trying to prevent,” he said. “By acting like I wasn’t there?” “Yes.” The answer came without hesitation. That was the first time he hadn’t softened it. The corridor thinned as the late bell rang. The air felt colder now, or maybe that was just the distance returning between us. He glanced toward the glass doors leading outside, where the autumn light had settled back into something normal. Too normal. Then he looked at me again, and something in him shifted. Not panic this time. Decision. “If you want answers,” he said quietly, “you won’t get them here.” My pulse stuttered. “Then where?” He hesitated, like even the next sentence carried weight. “My place,” he said at last. “After school.” It didn’t sound like an invitation. It sounded like inevitability.

The weekend came and with it a rare stretch of quiet. I found myself walking toward the small cove near the edge of town, the one where the autumn sun draped the sand in pale gold, and he was already there. Leaning casually against a driftwood log, hair catching the light in soft, luminous streaks, he looked entirely unbothered, like the world had no claim on him at all. “About time,” he said, his voice calm but carrying that subtle edge that always made my chest tighten. “I thought you’d never show,” I teased, stepping closer, feeling the crisp wind tangle my hair. “You’re impatient,” he said, but there was a hint of amusement in the corner of his mouth. “Noted.” We walked along the shoreline, the sand cold under my sneakers, the waves a low hum against the rocks. The sun was just starting its descent, painting the sky in burnt oranges and muted pinks. I noticed the way he moved, calm, deliberate, but also like he was reading everything in the space around him. Every bird, every drift of the tide, every shadow from the rocks seemed to flicker across his awareness. “So,” I said, glancing at him, “are you going to tell me why you talk like… like code?” He chuckled softly, a warm, low sound that made the hair on my arms stand up. “Depends on what you mean by code.” I rolled my eyes. “You know what I mean. Half the time I feel like I need a translator just to know if you’re joking or serious.” “Fair,” he said, his gaze settling on me, calm but unreadable. “It’s… easier this way. People notice less when you speak carefully. And sometimes, it’s safer.” “Safer?” I repeated, teasing but curious. “Are you always this mysterious, or is it just me?” “Only when it matters,” he said, eyes flicking to mine with a spark of something daring. I swallowed, suddenly aware of how close we had drifted together on the sand, how the air between us seemed to thicken with every word. “And when does it matter?” I asked quietly, letting my voice drop so that only he could hear. “Depends on who’s listening,” he murmured. Then he smiled faintly, almost imperceptibly, and I felt a shiver run down my spine. We fell into a slower rhythm, walking side by side as the tide slipped in and out. I kept trying to read him, catch a sign of what he really thought, what he really felt. But he was always just out of reach. And then, like a small spark igniting, he started pointing out little patterns in the way the sun hit the water, the way the birds moved overhead. Each observation was layered, subtle, almost code itself, and I felt my mind flicker with recognition. “You do this on purpose,” I said softly, catching on. “You make everything seem normal, but I can feel there’s more.” He stopped walking, turning to look at me fully for the first time in a long moment. “You’re observant,” he said simply. “Too observant sometimes.” “Or maybe not enough,” I replied, daring a grin. A pause. The wind tugged at our clothes, the waves whispered along the shore, and he looked at me, quiet, deliberate, like he was weighing something that could change everything. “I could explain,” he said finally, voice low, almost conspiratorial, “but it wouldn’t sound the way it should to anyone who isn’t paying attention. Not yet.” “So I have to pay attention,” I said, a little teasing, a little serious. “Guess that makes me part of your… club?” He tilted his head, that faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Maybe.” The sun slipped lower behind us, and for the first time in a while, I felt a sense of permission to just be here, with him, in the quiet fall light. Nothing rushed. Nothing forced. Just the two of us and the slow, electric hum of something that was only ours.

Chapter Six
The sun dipped lower, slow and unhurried, bleeding orange into the horizon. The water caught the light and fractured it into a thousand trembling pieces. For a while we didn’t talk. We just watched. “It’s different at this hour,” he said quietly. “The beach?” I asked. “The light.” I glanced at him. The sunset washed over his face in soft gold, and for a second it almost felt like the world was arranging itself around him. “It’s beautiful,” I said. He nodded, but the way he looked at it was not casual admiration. It was recognition. Familiarity. Like he was watching something personal. “It’s calmer here,” he murmured. “Here as in Berry?” “Here as in… this side of it.” I frowned slightly. “This side of what?” He just smiled, small and private, and looked back at the horizon. The sun slipped lower. The air cooled. A breeze rolled in from the water, tugging at my sleeves. “We should head back,” he said after a while. Reluctantly, I stood, brushing sand from my jeans. We walked off the beach and onto the narrow path that curved along the dunes toward the houses facing the water. The sky deepened into amber and rose behind us. His house came into view gradually. It sat slightly elevated above the shoreline, all wide glass panels and open balconies, facing directly west. Even in the fading light it seemed brighter than the others. “You live here?” I asked. He followed my gaze. “Yes.” “It must be so sunny.” A real smile spread across his face at that. Not guarded. Not careful. “It is,” he said, almost happily. We stepped onto the wooden deck. The windows were open, letting the salt air drift through the house. Inside, everything felt light. Pale walls. Warm timber floors. Nothing heavy or dark. Even now, with the sun nearly gone, the place held onto brightness. I hesitated at the doorway. “Your couch looks like it belongs in a display home. Am I allowed to sit on it?” He huffed a soft laugh. “You can risk it.” “I feel underdressed for this level of architecture,” I said, kicking off my shoes anyway.“That is not a sentence I expected from you.”

“Oh, I have layers,” I replied, dropping onto the couch dramatically. “You just have to unlock them.” He laughed. Fully. The sound filled the open room and for a second he looked younger. Lighter. I liked that version of him. I looked around again, taking in the open windows that framed the horizon. Even with the sun gone, the sky still glowed faintly. “Where are your parents?” I asked. As if timed, the front door opened. Two figures stepped inside, carrying travel bags and a faint rush of cool evening air with them. They did not look tired from traveling. They looked composed. Effortless. His father carried a bundle of flowers. Not store bought roses, but bright yellow blooms wrapped loosely in brown paper. “For you,” he said warmly to his wife, handing them over like it was a ritual. She accepted them with a smile that felt practiced and sincere at the same time. Hylen glanced at me. “He does that a lot.” “They’re beautiful,” I said, standing. Both of them looked at me then. Not startled. Just… attentive. “And who is this?” his mother asked, voice smooth and curious. “Colette,” he said. They exchanged a brief glance before stepping further inside. “We just returned from Europe,” his father added. “We enjoy observing different cultures.” “Observing?” I echoed lightly. His mother smiled. “People are fascinating.”
“I agree,” I said without thinking. “Humans can be so dull, but have little moments that make them so amusing.” Something flickered in their expressions at that. Subtle. Almost amused. “And how old are you, Colette?” his mother asked. “Seventeen.” They both studied me for a fraction too long, like they were assessing something beyond the number. “Hylen is the best in Ancient History,” I added suddenly, nodding toward Hylen. “Honestly, he could teach the class.” His parents’ eyes shifted to him. The look they gave him was quiet but loaded. Careful. He noticed. I noticed him noticing. “Well,” his father said lightly, “he has always had an interest in the past.” “That’s one way to put it,” I muttered under my breath. Hylen shot me a warning look, but there was no real bite behind it. The house felt warm. The windows framed the darkening horizon. The last line of sunlight faded beneath the ocean. And for the first time, sitting there in that open, glowing space, I felt like I had stepped into something much bigger than I understood. But it did not feel frightening. Not yet.

Up close, his parents looked even less ordinary. Not in an obvious way. Not glowing. Not dramatic. Just… precise. His mother’s skin held a kind of clarity that did not belong to someone who had just flown across continents. His father’s eyes were light but not pale, sharp in a way that felt observant rather than curious. There was something balanced about them, like they were never caught off guard. As I stepped further into the living room, I noticed the shelves. There were only a few decorations. The space was clean and open. But tucked between books and small ceramic bowls were tiny figurines. Not many. Just enough to notice. Small sculpted figures in stone and bronze. Winged forms. Sun disks. Laurel wreaths. A horse with flared nostrils carved in pale marble. They were subtle. Decorative. But intentional. “You collect mythology?” I asked lightly. His mother smiled. “We appreciate symbolism.” Hylen stepped slightly closer to me. “I can show you around,” he said to them. His father gave him a look that was calm but searching. “Of course.” His mother’s eyes lingered on me for a second longer than necessary. Not suspicious. Measuring. “Don’t stay up too late,” she said gently. There was something layered in it. He nodded once. We moved toward the staircase. The house was open plan downstairs, but upstairs felt quieter. The hall walls were soft white, no clutter, just long windows that caught the last of the sunset. His room was at the end. He pushed the door open. The first thing I noticed was the light. His bed faced directly toward the ocean, framed by wide glass panels. Even now, as the sun hovered at the horizon, the room was washed in gold. It would be blinding in the mornings. “It must be so bright in here,” I said. “It is,” he replied softly. Every wall was a muted white. Linen sheets. Light wood furniture. Nothing dark. Nothing heavy. The curtains moved gently in the breeze drifting in through the open windows. The air smelled faintly like salt and clean cotton. The last beams of sunlight streamed across his face, catching in his hair and reflecting faintly across the room. It felt calming. Almost unreal. Like one of those photos people stage but never actually live in. I hovered awkwardly for a second before sitting carefully on the edge of his bed. He stayed standing for a moment, watching the sky shift from gold to amber. Then he reached over and turned on a small lamp near his desk. The light was warm and orange, soft enough to melt the sharper shadows. The room changed instantly. Less bright. More intimate. He sat down beside me. Not too close. But close enough that I could feel the warmth of him through the space between us. My heart beat louder than I wanted it to. “I know something’s different about you,” I said quietly. He didn’t look at me. “I know,” he replied. “If you could just try to explain it,” I continued, “I’m sure I’d understand.” He turned then. There it was again. That defensive stillness. That careful pause before speaking. “You think that,” he said. “I do.” Silence settled between us. Then, slowly, he shifted back against the pillows and lay down, staring up at the ceiling. After a second, I mirrored him, leaving space between us. Not touching. Just parallel. The ceiling caught faint reflections from outside. Thin, translucent patterns moved across it, like light refracting through water. It was subtle. Almost impossible to notice unless you were watching carefully. “I’ll explain it in a way you can understand,” he said finally. His voice sounded calmer lying there, softer in the warm light. “My parents,” he began, “aren’t exactly… conventional. They met through work. Fell in love. And they were offered a position.” “What kind of position?” “A monitoring one.” I turned my head slightly toward him. “They observe humanity,” he continued. “Report to their superior. If something catastrophic begins to unfold, something that could wipe everything out, they intervene.” “Intervene how?” “When necessary.” “That sounds like a sci-fi corporation,” I said lightly. “It is,” he replied. “In a way.” He stared at the ceiling, watching the faint light shift. “If the world collapses,” he said quietly, “the organisation collapses with it. It depends on… engagement. Belief. Attention. Without that, it fades.” I swallowed. “And you’re part of this?” “I was meant to assist,” he said. “Temporary placement.” There was a pause. “And then there was someone else,” he added. I felt the shift in him. “A colleague,” he said carefully. “She became attached to me.” Attached. “She believed it was mutual.” “But it wasn’t.” “No.” His voice was firm there. Certain. “It complicated things,” he continued. “So when this position opened up, I took it. It was easier to leave.” “Leave her.” “Yes.” The room felt warmer suddenly. “And now?” I asked quietly. He didn’t answer that. The ceiling light shimmered faintly again, almost like something beyond the glass was reacting to his thoughts. I did not push. Eventually, the sky darkened fully. Reality crept back in. “I should go,” I said softly. He nodded once. We walked downstairs together. His parents were in the kitchen, speaking quietly in low tones that stopped when we entered. “It was lovely meeting you, Colette,” his mother said. “Very,” his father added. “Thank you for having me,” I replied. Their eyes lingered on me again. Not cold. Not warm. Evaluating. Hylen walked me to the door. The night air was cooler now, brushing against my skin as we stepped onto the deck. We stood there for a second too long. Awkward. Charged. “I had a good time,” I said. “So did I.” I nodded once, then turned to leave. I barely made it a step before he reached for me. His hand caught my wrist gently, pulling me back toward him. The movement was quick but not rough. And then he kissed me. Not hesitant. Not careful. His hand slid to the side of my face, warm against my cheek. The kiss was deeper than the first one. Slower. Certain. Like he had stopped fighting something. The world narrowed to warmth and breath and the faint sound of the ocean below us. When he pulled back, his forehead rested briefly against mine. Up close, he was unfairly handsome. The warm porch light caught in his eyes, turning them almost molten. His jaw sharp. His expression softer than I had ever seen it. “You better not ignore me again,” I murmured, trying to lighten the way my heart was racing. He laughed. It was a beautiful laugh. Open. Clear. The kind that made you want to hear it again just to be sure it was real. “I won’t,” he said. It sounded sincere.

But then he exhaled. A quiet sigh. And something in it felt heavier than the promise. I didn’t understand it yet. But I would.
That night I did not sleep. I told myself I would just look up one thing. Just one. By midnight I had twelve tabs open. My laptop screen glowed against the dark of my room, the only light besides the faint streetlamp leaking through my curtains. Words blurred together. Sun deities. Ancient belief systems. Civilisations that worshipped light. Myths about intervention. Stories about gods who needed devotion to survive. One story kept resurfacing. A sun god. A woman who loved him. A woman who watched him move across the sky and could not turn away. I stared at the image of a sunflower longer than I meant to. It felt ridiculous. And yet. The way he had described it. Monitoring. Belief. Fading without engagement. It sounded absurd when written plainly. But it did not sound absurd in his room. It sounded real. I shut my laptop around two in the morning, my head buzzing. I did not have answers. Not fully. But I had enough to know that whatever he was wrapped up in, it was bigger than school and bigger than Berry. And he had trusted me with part of it. That thought made my chest warm.

Monday morning arrived too quickly. The air was sharper now, properly autumn. The sky was pale and clear in that way that makes everything look overly defined. I felt alert. Awake. Focused. I spotted him near the lockers before he saw me. For a split second, I studied him the way I had studied my screen the night before. The way light caught on him first. The way he seemed to know where everyone was without turning his head. The way he held himself like he was listening to something beneath the noise. Then his eyes lifted. And he saw me. Something in his expression shifted instantly. Not fear. Not irritation. Sadness. Small. Controlled. But there. I walked toward him before I could second guess it. “Morning,” I said, trying to sound normal and failing slightly. “Morning,” he replied. His voice was steady. His posture was not. “I did some reading,” I admitted. Of course you did, his eyes seemed to say. He nodded once. “I assumed.” I hesitated, studying him. “I did not figure everything out,” I added quickly. “I just… I want to understand it properly. Whatever it is.” The hallway buzzed around us, lockers slamming, people laughing, the ordinary world continuing as if nothing had shifted. But he was looking at me like something had. “You should not,” he said quietly. “Why?” “Because curiosity has consequences.” “That sounds dramatic.” “It is.” There was no sarcasm in it. I searched his face. “You said you were temporary. That you were not meant to stay long.” He looked away for a second, toward the window where sunlight spilled across the corridor floor. “That is still true,” he said. The words landed heavier than I expected. “I am not trying to make this worse,” I said softly. “I just want to know you.” That was what did it. His jaw tightened. “You already do,” he replied. “No,” I said. “Not fully.” A long pause. He looked at me again, and this time the sadness was clearer. Not for himself. For me. “You are closer to the centre of this than you realise,” he said. “And the closer you get, the harder it becomes to protect you.” Protect me from what, I almost asked. But something in his face told me he would not answer that yet. “I am not afraid,” I said instead. He let out a breath that was almost a laugh. “I know,” he said. “That is part of the problem.” The bell rang. People moved around us in a rush of sound. He did not step away immediately. But when he did, it felt deliberate. Measured. And for the first time since that night in his room, I realised something quietly unsettling. I was eager. He was bracing.

It was raining hard enough to blur the street. The kind of steady autumn rain that turns everything grey and reflective. I stepped out onto the porch with my bag half over my shoulder and stopped. His car was parked at the curb. Engine running. Wipers moving in a slow rhythm. I frowned and hurried down the steps, rain soaking the edge of my blazer. He leaned over and pushed the passenger door open before I reached it. “Morning,” he said. “Thanks for picking me up,” I replied, confused but smiling as I slid into the seat and shut the door against the rain. He did not pull away. Instead he looked at me for a second, something unreadable in his expression. “We’re not going to school,” he said. I blinked. “What?” “We’re not going to school.” My stomach flipped. “Hylen. My parents will kill me.” “They won’t know.” “What do you mean they won’t know?”
“I sorted it.” “That’s not an explanation.” He shifted the car into drive. “Where are we going?” I demanded as we pulled away from my street. “Sydney.” My mouth fell open. “Sydney is two hours away.” “I’m aware.” Rain streaked across the windshield. The speakers hummed softly and then a familiar, hazy song filled the car. Cigarettes After Sex. Low. Dreamlike. “This is insane,” I said, half laughing, half panicking. “It’s raining. No one will even be out.” “Yes,” he replied calmly. “That’s the point.” I turned fully in my seat to face him. “Why are we doing this?” He kept his eyes on the road. “If you are going to find out who I am,” he said quietly, “I want you to find out the right way.” My pulse stuttered. “I’m already finding out,” I said. “Not like this.” “Like what?” He exhaled slowly. “Through search engines.” I sank back slightly. “I booked lunch,” he continued. “I’ll explain what I can.” I stared at him. “I’m in my school uniform.” “I’ll buy you something when we get there.” “You can’t just buy me clothes.” “I can.” “You are unbelievable.” He almost smiled. “You have to stop asking questions until then.” “That’s not fair.” “It’s necessary.” I crossed my arms dramatically and looked out at the rain. He glanced at me, waiting. For once, I stayed quiet. The car filled with the soft echo of the song and the steady rhythm of rain.After a few minutes, he spoke. “Tell me something about you,” he said. “What?” “You spend so much time trying to understand me. Tell me something about you.” I hesitated. Then, almost stubbornly, I did. I told him about how I hate waking up early but always do. About how I used to want to be an archaeologist when I was eight. About how I pretend I don’t care what people think but absolutely do. He listened like it mattered. He asked small questions. Why an archaeologist. Why not anymore. What scares you most. It was strange. He already knew so much about the world. But he listened to me like I was the rare thing.

Sydney was still raining when we arrived. The streets were quiet. Reflections shimmering across pavement. He stepped out first and opened an umbrella. When I got out, he held it over me. Rain hit his shoulders. But it did not soak him. I noticed. He did not. We stopped at a small, elegant clothing store tucked between two larger buildings. Inside, it smelled like new fabric and soft perfume. He told me to pick something. “You’re serious,” I said. “Very.” I chose something simple but elegant. A soft cream dress. When I stepped out of the fitting room, I looked at him. “Well?” He stared for half a second too long. “You look…” he paused, searching. “Exactly like yourself.” “That’s not helpful.” “It’s very helpful.” The cashier glanced between us as he paid. Her expression sharpened slightly. Jealousy flickering in her eyes. I tried not to smile. The restaurant was quiet. Dimly lit. Warm. A worker greeted him by name. That unsettled me more than anything else. We were led to a small booth in the far corner, partially hidden by a curved wall. We ordered. I chose something unnecessarily fancy and laughed at myself for it. When the food arrived, I took one bite and blinked. “This is ridiculous,” I said. “It’s so good.” He smiled. Watching me, not the food. Then his expression shifted. “Listen carefully,” he said softly. The restaurant hum faded into the background. “There are beings,” he began, “that have existed since the dawn of time. They observe. They influence when necessary. They report to a higher authority.” “Zeus,” I said quietly. He did not correct me. “If humanity approaches extinction, intervention happens. Because if humans cease to exist, belief ceases. And without belief…” “We fade,” I finished. “Yes.” I swallowed. “We live somewhere else,” he continued. “A place untouched by decay. White stone structures. Endless light. Air that feels… thinner but stronger. It is structured. Beautiful.” He looked away briefly. “I miss it more each day.” The admission was small but heavy. “I chose to take this form,” he said. “Seventeen. It makes observation easier.” “And your parents?” “They chose to come. They love each other. That part is real.” “And the girl?” A pause. “She believed we were inevitable,” he said. “We were not.” “And so you left.” “Yes.” “For Zeus.” He met my eyes. “For the mission.” Silence stretched between us. He had told me enough. Not everything. But enough. Although the conversation was little, it stretched over an hour. My mind is trying to understand the concept, to understand him.
When we pulled back into Berry, school was just ending. The sky had cleared slightly. We sat in silence outside my house. I turned to him slowly. “Your dad,” I said carefully, “he loves your mum. And your mum, she’s so in tune with herself. Almost like Psyche.” His expression sharpened. “And you,” I continued softly, “you love the sun. You knew too much about Helios.” He did not speak. “Because you are him.” The air shifted. He did not deny it. We sat in that truth. I opened the car door. Before I stepped out, he said quietly, “Please. Don’t tell anyone.” “I won’t.” He nodded. He had explained belief. He had explained fading. But he had not explained what happens if he stays too close to me. Not yet. And that silence would matter later.

Monday afternoon felt unreal. I walked into school the next morning expecting to see him near the lockers. Expecting that quiet, unreadable expression. Expecting some sign that yesterday had actually happened. He wasn’t there. I told myself he was late. First period had passed. Second. By lunch, I had checked my phone more times than I would ever admit. No message. No explanation. Jayden mentioned casually that Hylen had called in sick. Sick. The word felt wrong. He didn’t get sick. Tuesday was the same. The sky was clear again, painfully bright after the rain. Autumn sunlight poured across the oval in sheets of gold. The kind of day he would have loved. He wasn’t there to stand in it. I caught myself scanning for him anyway. By the canteen. Near the gum trees. At the far edge of the oval where the fence met the dirt path. Nothing. Wednesday. A substitute teacher mentioned his “extended absence.” Extended. My stomach tightened. Had I done this? Had Sydney done this? Thursday. I went to his house after school. The windows were closed. The house looked the same, bright and open, but there was something sealed about it. Like it was holding its breath. I did not knock. I wasn’t sure what I would say if his parents answered. Friday. The sun was stronger again. Too strong for autumn. A strange heat lingered in the air that made everyone complain. I stood at the edge of the oval alone during lunch, staring up at the sky. It felt closer. Brighter. Unsettling. “You’re going to burn holes into it,” Jayden said lightly, stepping beside me. I forced a smile. “Maybe it deserves it.” He glanced at me sideways. “You two fight or something?” “No.” It wasn’t a fight. It was silent. And silence felt worse. By the time the final bell rang that afternoon, something heavy had settled in my chest. He had taken me to Sydney. He had told me the truth. He had asked me not to tell anyone. And then he disappeared. As I walked toward the bus stop, the sun dipped lower behind the hills. For a brief second, the light flared. Not enough for anyone else to notice. But enough for me. And for the first time all week, I wondered if he was staying away to protect me. Or because something had already begun.

Chapter Seven:
Monday dragged on. By the time the final bell rang, I was exhausted from pretending I was not looking for him. I was halfway through the school gates when I saw them. His parents. They were standing just outside the entrance, slightly apart from the other parents and parked cars. Composed as always. But there was something different in the way they scanned the crowd. Hopeful. When they saw me, they approached. “Colette,” his mother said gently. “Have you seen Hylen?” The question landed wrong. “No,” I said quickly. “I thought he was with you.” They exchanged a glance. Subtle. Controlled. “He left home early last week,” his father said. “We assumed he was at school.” My stomach dropped. “I haven’t seen him since Friday,” I admitted. His mother studied my face carefully, as if measuring whether I was holding something back. “If he contacts you,” she said softly, “please let us know.” “I will.” They thanked me and stepped away, but something about the way they moved told me they were not simply concerned parents. They were searching. And for the first time, guilt wrapped around my ribs.
That night I cried quietly into my pillow. What if I had pushed too hard? Sydney had been a mistake. I had annoyed him. Any normal guy wouldn’t like me. But then again, he was anything but that. By two in the morning my thoughts were louder than the house. By three, I gave up. I slipped out of bed and padded quietly through the hallway, careful not to wake my parents. The back door creaked faintly as I stepped outside. The air was cold. Clouds covered the sky completely, thick and unmoving. No stars. No moon. I wrapped my arms around myself and stood in the middle of the backyard, breathing in the sharp autumn air until my tears slowed. It was too dark to see much beyond the fence line. After a few minutes, the cold began to bite properly. I wiped my face with the sleeve of my jumper and turned toward the house. “Can I show you something?” The voice came from the shadows near the back fence. My heart stopped. He stepped forward. Not glowing. Relief hit so fast it hurt. “Hylen,” I breathed. He looked tired. Not physically. Something deeper than that, almost human. He held out his hand. I did not hesitate. The second my fingers touched his, warmth surged through me. Not heat like the courtyard. Not blinding. Just powerful and encompassing. The backyard dissolved. Not spinning. Not falling. Just… gone.

The air shifted. Wind stronger. Salt heavier. When my vision cleared, we were standing on the edge of a cliff overlooking dark water far below. The ocean stretched endlessly into the horizon. The sky was still black. I stared at him, breath caught in my throat. “What did you do?” He did not answer immediately. Instead, he stepped forward and sat on the cliff’s edge, feet planted firmly against the stone. He looked out at the dark horizon i sat beside him, but keeping a fair distance. Then he lifted his hand slightly. The sky began to change. At first I thought it was imagination. Then a faint line of pale gold broke across the water. The horizon brightened. Slowly, impossibly, the sun began to rise. Not gradually like dawn. Deliberately. Under his control. The clouds parted in thin streaks as the light expanded, painting the ocean in molten orange. He was moving it. Not straining. Not forcing. Just guiding. The wind lifted my hair, warmth spilling across my skin. He turned to look at me. Waiting. Waiting for awe. For fear. For something. But all I felt was the ache that had been sitting in my chest all week. “You promised you wouldn’t disappear again,” I said quietly. The light faltered slightly. “Your parents are looking for you.” His hand lowered slowly. The sun froze just above the horizon, suspended unnaturally between night and morning. “I know,” he said. “I thought it was my fault.” The words broke before I could stop them. Tears blurred the rising light. “I thought I did something wrong.” He closed the distance between us. “I’m sorry,” he said. “It is my fault, isn’t it?” I choked. “I pushed you. I kept asking questions.” He gently held my face in his hands. His gaze had softened completely. No distance. No caution. “No,” he said firmly. “Of course not.” I shook my head, tears falling faster. “It’s my fault,” he repeated quietly. “Not yours.” I did not believe him. The guilt had rooted too deep. A sob broke from my chest before I could contain it. He pulled me into him instantly, one hand cradling the back of my head, the other wrapped around my shoulders. He held me tightly, rocking me gently against his chest like he could steady the storm inside me. “I know,” he murmured against my hair. Warmth radiated from him, soaking through my jumper, easing the cold from my skin. “I know.” The sun hovered behind us, frozen mid-rise. The ocean glowing beneath it. He pressed a soft kiss to my forehead. His arms tightened slightly as I cried into his chest, his warmth constant, protective. But even as he held me, even as he whispered reassurance, there was tension in him. Like holding the sun in place was costing something. And neither of us said it.

I don’t remember when the crying stopped. I just remember his hand. One at the back of my head. One around my shoulders. Moving slowly. Back and forth. Like he was trying to steady something fragile. Maybe me. Maybe himself. The sun was hovering behind us, frozen in that impossible half rise. Gold spilled across the ocean but nothing moved. Not properly. “I thought I ruined everything,” I whispered into his shirt. My voice sounded smaller than I meant it to. “You didn’t,” he said. His chest was warm under my cheek. Not hot. Just steady. Like leaning against something alive in a way that felt constant. I tried to keep talking. To explain myself. To apologise again. But I was so tired. The kind of tired that comes after you cry harder than you planned to. My fingers were still twisted in his shirt when sleep pulled me under.

When I woke up, it wasn’t cold. That was the first thing I noticed. No wind. No cliff. No salt air. Just warmth. Softness under my cheek. I blinked slowly. White ceiling. Curtains moving gently. The sound of waves, but distant now. Controlled. I pushed myself up too quickly and my head spun for a second. His room. The linen sheets. The wide windows facing the ocean. The soft white walls catching the morning light. My jumper was still on. Someone had taken my shoes off. A blanket had been pulled over me. For a split second I panicked. Then I saw him. He was sitting in the chair by the window, leaning forward slightly, elbows on his knees. Watching the horizon like it might move if he stopped looking at it. He turned the second I shifted. “You’re awake,” he said. His voice was quieter than usual. “You brought me here?” I asked, my voice still thick with sleep. “Yes.” “Not home?” There was the smallest pause before he answered. “I wanted you somewhere safe.” Something tightened in my chest at that. I glanced toward the window. The sun was fully risen now. Normal. Like nothing unnatural had happened a few hours ago. “Did I fall asleep on you?” I asked. “Yes.” I groaned softly and covered my face for a second. “That’s humiliating.” “It isn’t,” he said immediately. I dropped my hands and looked at him. He looked… different. Not glowing. Not distant. Just softer. Like whatever sharp edge he usually carried had been sanded down. “You stayed?” I asked quietly. He nodded once. “I stayed.” He didn’t say it dramatically. He didn’t frame it as a promise. Just a fact. And somehow that meant more. I looked down at my hands, then back at him. I could still feel the warmth from earlier. Like it had soaked into my skin. “Did I say anything else?” I asked cautiously. “You blamed yourself,” he said. My stomach sank. “I do that,” I muttered. “I know.” I looked up at him again. The light caught in his hair, turning parts of it almost gold. “You looked more… normal last night,” I said slowly. He tilted his head slightly. “Normal?” “More human.” He didn’t deny it. “That sounds about right,” he admitted. That word settled between us. The curtains lifted slightly with the breeze. Light shifted across the walls. I swung my legs gently over the side of his bed but didn’t stand. For once, I wasn’t in a rush to leave. For once, he hadn’t disappeared. And that felt bigger than the sun rising when he told it to.

He slowly walked over to me, sitting beside me, in a beige hoodie. “How long was I out for?” My voice came out quiet, sleep still clinging to it. “Only four hours,” he said gently. Four hours. My heart stuttered. “It’s school.” “It is,” he replied. I turned my head toward the window. The sky was only just beginning to pale. Early enough that the world had not properly started yet. “You still have two hours,” he added. Two hours. Enough time to pretend none of this was real. Enough time to decide if I wanted it to be. I sat up slowly, brushing my hair back from my face. I felt fragile. Not weak, just thin, like everything inside me had been stretched too far. He watched me carefully. Not intense. Just careful. “You could have breakfast with us,” he said. “If you want.” With us. His family. My stomach flipped, but not in fear. In something else. Something steadier. “Yes,” I said before I could overthink it.

We walked downstairs together. The house was quiet in that early morning way where every sound feels louder than it should. The wooden stairs creaked beneath our feet. He stayed just behind me. Close enough that I could feel him there without looking. When I hesitated on one step, his hand hovered near my back. Not touching. Just ready. Protective. Always slightly behind me. Watching. When we reached the bottom, the smell of scrambled eggs filled the kitchen. Warm. Familiar. Human. His parents were already seated at the table. They looked up at the same time. His mother’s face softened immediately. “Good morning, Colette.” His father gave me a small nod, but there was something kind in it. Something relieved. Relieved he was home. Relieved I was here. I sat down, tucking my hands into my sleeves. The room felt warmer than upstairs, but a chill still slipped through me like it did sometimes when I was near him. He noticed. Of course he did. Without a word, he stood and moved through the house. I heard the quiet click of windows being shut, one by one. The faint shift of air as drafts were sealed away. His mother watched him go, a smile touching her lips. “He has always been like that,” she said softly. “Like what?” I asked. “Attentive,” she replied. “Especially when it matters.” I swallowed. The kitchen felt smaller suddenly. I looked between them. My pulse started to quicken, but I kept my voice steady. “There’s something I don’t understand.” They exchanged a glance. Not alarmed. Not angry. Just measured. “What do you know?” his father asked gently. “Not enough,” I admitted. “About Clytia.” The name felt heavy in my mouth. Ancient. His mother folded her hands on the table. “Clytia loved him once,” she said. “A long time ago.” Loved him. My throat tightened. “She loved him deeply,” his father added. “But love does not always mean possession. She struggled with that.” I tried to picture it. Someone ancient. Someone who had known him before me. “What happened?” I asked. His mother’s eyes softened, but there was sadness there too. “She could not let go. And when you cannot let go of something eternal, it changes you.” The word eternal hung in the air. “Why is he bothered by Apollo?” “Hylen has… responsibilities,” his father said carefully. “There are seasons where he must return.” “Return where?” I whispered. His mother met my eyes fully now. “Above,” she said simply “For now, Apollo has taken Hylen’s role, he envies that now.” My skin prickled. They did not say it dramatically. They did not lower their voices like it was a secret whispered in shadows. They said it like it was fact. Like sunrise. “We have not been back to Australia since the 1800s,” his father continued. “We came when he did. We stay when he stays.” Like family, I thought to myself. The 1800s. “So how long have you all been on Earth?” “For around one hundred and fifty thousand years. Once humans started migrating around.” His mother responded.

They’ve seen everything, everyone. “Wow, what time was your favourite?” I asked. “This one. It’s been the most…interesting.” “Do you ever miss the above?” I blurted out. “Pamela and I would like to stay for another ten thousand years ideally, before someone fills our place, but Hylen, I think he has other plans.” Something about how his father said it, made me not want to ask further on the subject. Pamela, is Psyche, Earl, is Eros and Hylen being Helios, it all made sense. They were all the same age, up above, but down here, a family…interesting.
The words should have sounded ridiculous. Instead, they settled into place in the back of my mind, right beside all the other impossible things that had started to feel real. “And so he doesn’t like Clytia?” I asked again. “Yes, she could not accept that he moved forward,” his mother said softly. “That he wanted nothing to do with her. That is why he took this opportunity for Zeus. And now, he’s found someone. He’s one of the few gods who had no one.” Found someone. I felt heat creep into my face. They saw it. His mother smiled gently. “We are glad he has found someone who chooses him freely.” My breath caught. “Found someone again,” his father added. Again. The word should have scared me. Instead, it steadied me. There was something else sitting beneath all of this though. Something unspoken. His mother’s voice shifted slightly. “You must understand something, Colette.” I straightened. “You cannot tell anyone what you are learning,” she said. Not harsh. Just firm. “Not your friends. Not your teachers. No one.” “Why?” I asked, even though I already knew. “Because there are beings who would not be as kind as we are,” his father answered. “And because once spoken aloud, truths like this have a way of spreading.” The kitchen felt quiet again. Then I heard his footsteps returning. He re-entered the room, and the temperature felt different immediately. Not colder. Just charged. He looked at his parents first. Then at me. His eyes softened when they landed on mine. He knew. He knew they had told me something. Not everything. But enough. And suddenly I realized something too. He was not just protecting me from the cold. He was protecting me from the truth catching up too quickly. And I still had two hours before the world expected me to sit in a classroom and pretend none of this existed.

Chapter Seven:
A couple days following I found Hylen walking to his English class, the hallway empty. “Something different about you?” I noted softly. “What is it?” I thought to myself for a moment, his eyes eager for my response. I stared at a couple soft freckles on his face. “These.” I pointed to his cheek, he placed his hand on his cheek, clearly confused. “Freckles?” “Yeah. Aren’t you supposed to be immune to the sun's rays?.” “I should, something's happening.” He half spoke to himself. He looked more human than he ever had, still with model-like features but that same radiant glow that he used to emit. He hesitantly walked away, staring at the ground, possibly hoping it had the answers. I opened my locker to get my books when something fell out. I looked down to dried up sunflowers, the type that looked days old, and walked over. I threw it in the bin before getting my books and walking back to class. Later that evening I invited Hyen over to my house for the first time. My house was quaint on a small road that had even smaller houses. I showed him my room, i had everything tidied up before he arrived. My tiffany lamps, mountains of books on my bedside and my little plant on my desk that clearly hadn’t been watered enough. He walked over to the family photo album, opening it up to see a photo of me as a toddler. “You’re so adorable.” He smiled. “Yep well that was ages ago.” I brushed off. He pulled me by my waist closer to him, sending butterflies through me. He gave me a quick kiss on the cheek before flipping to the next page.
I was a little nervous for him to meet my parents. I wasn’t so much as worried that they wouldn’t like him, everyone liked him, I was worried he wouldn’t like them. “So, Hylen,” My dad said “what sports do you play?”. Dad had noticed Hylen's tone figure the minute he walked in the room, my dad was a surfer. “Racing.” I knew he meant chariot. “Oh you’re fast are you?” “Quite, yes.” He smiled politely, it felt good to be part of an inside joke. Hylen was in fact great at talking to adults, he asked them questions, answered enough about himself that by the end of the dinner they loved him just as much as i did. He helped clean up before we went back to my room. “My parents love you.” He nodded, laying on my bed, pulling me with him. My head found his chest where it lay, his arms wrapped around me. “I’m glad.”

A couple of days later, I found Hylen walking alone to English. The hallway was unusually quiet, sunlight pouring through the high windows in long golden strips. “There’s something different about you,” I said softly. He slowed immediately. “Different how?” His eyes searched mine, almost anxious for the answer. I stepped closer, studying his face. That was when I saw them again. A small scattering of freckles across his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose. Soft. Faint. Human. “These,” I said, lifting my hand and pointing gently to his cheek. He touched his face where I’d indicated, brows knitting together. “Freckles?” “Yeah.” I swallowed. “Aren’t you supposed to be immune to the sun’s rays?” “I should be,” he murmured, though it sounded more like he was speaking to himself. “Something’s happening.” He looked more human than I’d ever seen him. Still unfairly beautiful, still sharp and radiant in a way that didn’t feel entirely earthly, but the glow he used to carry so effortlessly felt quieter now. Warmer. Like it had settled into his skin instead of hovering around him. For a moment, something like fear flickered across his expression. Then he stepped back. “I’ll see you later,” he said, though his voice was distant, distracted. He walked away slowly, eyes lowered to the ground like it might offer him an explanation. I stood there longer than I should have. When I opened my locker, something slipped out and fell at my feet. Dried sunflowers. Their petals were curled inward, brittle, like they’d been dead for days. I stared at them, my stomach tightening. They felt deliberate. Placed. A warning. I didn’t let myself think about it. I picked them up and threw them in the bin before grabbing my books and heading to class, though the image followed me all day.

That evening, I invited Hylen over for the first time. My house sat on a narrow road lined with even narrower houses, all of them leaning slightly into each other like they were sharing secrets. It wasn’t grand. It wasn’t dramatic. It was home. I had cleaned my room twice before he arrived. My Tiffany lamps glowed warmly in the corners, lighting the piles of books stacked messily beside my bed. My poor little desk plant drooped slightly from neglect, something I tried to hide by turning it toward the wall. Hylen stepped inside slowly, taking everything in like it mattered. He ran his fingers lightly across my bookshelf, over the spines, over the tiny imperfections in the wood of my desk, like he was memorising it. Then he found the family photo album. He opened it and paused at a picture of me as a toddler, chubby-cheeked and missing a front tooth. “You were so adorable,” he said, smiling in a way that made my heart flip. “That was ages ago,” I brushed off, suddenly shy. He looked up at me then, softer. “You’re still adorable.” My breath caught. He closed the album and stepped toward me, sliding his hands around my waist and pulling me gently against him. The movement sent butterflies racing through me, settling somewhere low and warm in my chest. “You look nervous,” he murmured. “I’m not,” I lied. “You are,” he said quietly, leaning down to press a kiss to my cheek, lingering just long enough to make my knees feel weak. Before I could respond, my dad called us for dinner. I wasn’t worried my parents wouldn’t like him. Everyone liked him. I was worried he wouldn’t like them. “So, Hylen,” Dad said, already assessing him in that subtle way dads do. “What sports do you play?” Dad had noticed his physique the moment he walked in. Surfers can always tell. “Racing,” Hylen answered smoothly. I bit back a smile. I knew exactly what he meant. “Oh, you’re fast, are you?” Dad grinned, a little surprised. “Quite,” Hylen replied politely, though there was something amused behind his eyes. It felt strangely comforting to be holding an inside joke between us at the dinner table. Hylen was effortless with adults. He asked my mum about her work. He complimented dinner. He answered questions just enough to be interesting but not suspicious. By the end of it, they were both charmed. I watched him the entire time. The way he leaned forward when someone spoke. The way he listened like it mattered. The way his hand brushed my knee under the table once, just to check I was still there. After dinner, he insisted on helping clean up. My mum adored him for that.

When we finally went back to my room, I felt lighter. “My parents love you,” I said once the door closed behind us. He nodded, stretching out on my bed before gently pulling me down with him. My head settled on his chest, and his arms wrapped around me instinctively. His heartbeat was steady beneath my ear. Real. Mortal. “I’m glad,” he said softly. “Why?” He hesitated, then tightened his hold on me slightly. “Because it makes this feel…” He searched for the word. “Possible.” I lifted my head to look at him. “Possible?” “A life,” he said quietly. “Here. With you. Your small street. Your lamps. Your ridiculous plant that desperately needs water.” I gasped. “Excuse you.” He smiled, brushing his thumb gently across my cheek. “I like it,” he continued, voice low and honest. “I like that your house creaks. I like that your dad sizes me up like I’m a threat. I like that your mum looks at you like you’re still five.” “You’re making fun of me.” “I’m not.” His expression turned serious. “I’m saying I could get used to this.” My heart skipped. “Used to me?” I teased softly. He looked at me like I’d just said something impossible. “I was never trying to get used to you, Colette,” he murmured. “I was trying not to need you.” The air shifted. “And?” I whispered. “And I failed.” My fingers traced the freckles on his nose again, gently. “I like them,” I said. “They make you look like you’ve been living.” “I have been,” he replied quietly. “With you.” I smiled, pressing a soft kiss just below his jaw. “You are so easy to love.” I said without even a silly thought, but he didn’t flinch, his eyes softened, almost with sadness. “You love me?” I sighed, knowing i couldn’t lie. “I do.” “I love you.” He whispered, i swore i saw his eyes water. He pulled me closer, our lips colliding with one another. When i walked him to my front gate it was hard to let go, like some magnet that didn’t want us apart. I almost held back tears watching him drive away, he loved me. When I reluctantly turned away my shoe crunched on something, an old leaf I thought. When I moved my foot, yet again, there was a dead sunflower. Someone was not happy.

The next following weeks Hylen dropped me to and from school, walked me to every class, and took me out on multiple dates, with each excuse being ‘You need to live’ or ‘We’re indoors too much’, which was true, but i had a feeling they aligned more to him than to me. It felt daunting the amount of eyes that fell on us as we walked by each other, his arm around me. He didn’t seem to care as much, in fact sometimes it felt like he only noticed me, and I liked that. At every break we’d sit apart from the group. “So your parents mentioned that you don’t want to do the mission anymore?” I fiddled with the grass. “That was the case.” “And now?” “Well now I have you. It changes things.” “For the better?” He looked down for a moment, “I’ve got till the end of this year to figure things out.” “Ok, we won’t worry about it till then.” He nodded reluctantly, my heart skipped a beat. This was more complicated than I thought. “We need to go out more.” Hylen mentioned as the week progressed. “We do.” I agreed and we planned to go hiking. It was raining as we arrived on a mountain. It took us an hour to get up, and Hylen would give me a hand or pick me up when it got tough. He made everything look so easy. When we arrived we sat on a picnic chair and stared towards the dark gloomy ocean and town. It looks so different up above. I gently rested my head on his shoulder and he gave me a kiss. I loved being loved. It started with silence. Hylen had always been intense, but lately he was distracted. Not distant. Not cold. Just… listening to something I couldn’t hear. He’d pause mid sentence sometimes, eyes unfocusing for half a second, like someone had called his name from very far away.

Later in the evening we came back to my room. “You do that a lot now,” I told him as we sat on my bedroom floor, backs against my bed. “Do what?” he asked. “Leave.” His lips twitched faintly. “I’m right here.” “Your body is.” That made him look at me properly. “I don’t mean to,” he said quietly. I reached forward and brushed my thumb under his eye. The shadows were darker again. “Are you sleeping at all?” “Not much.” “Why?” He hesitated. “I don’t like being unconscious anymore.” Something about that lodged in my ribs.
The flowers escalated. At first they were just near me. My locker. The front gate. Then one appeared on my desk at school, tucked inside my English novel. I hadn’t opened it since last lesson. I stared at the brittle sunflower pressed between the pages, my stomach tightening. Later that night, I found one on my windowsill. Inside. My window had been locked. I didn’t tell my parents. I told Hylen. His jaw went rigid when I showed him. “She’s getting impatient,” he murmured. “Clytie?” I whispered. He nodded once. “She was always dramatic.” “That’s not dramatic, Hylen. That’s unhinged.” He almost smiled at that. Almost. But his hands were shaking.

Three nights later, I woke to the softest sound. Not a knock. Not a creak. Just presence. I sat up, heart hammering. “Hylen?” I whispered. He stepped out of the shadows near my desk. Moonlight spilled across him, turning his skin silver. “You can’t just appear in my room,” I breathed, though relief flooded me so fast it made me dizzy. “I needed to see you.” His voice was wrong. Tight. Urgent. I pushed back my covers. “Come here.” He crossed the room in two strides and slid in beside me, careful, like I might break. His arms wrapped around me immediately, face buried in my hair. “You’re freezing,” I murmured. “I know.” We lay there in the dark, tangled together, my leg hooked over his waist, his hand splayed across my back like he was memorising the shape of me. “You scared me,” I whispered. “I’m sorry.” “You don’t usually sneak.” “I don’t usually feel like I’m running out of time.” The words made my chest constrict. “Hylen…” He pulled back slightly, looking down at me. His eyes were softer than I’d ever seen them. “If something happens,” he began quietly, “I need you to understand that none of this was accidental.” “What does that mean?” “It means I chose you.” My throat tightened. “You’re scaring me.” He leaned down and kissed me slowly, deliberately. Not rushed. Not desperate. Just full. “I love you,” he whispered against my mouth. “I know,” I breathed back. “I love you more.” He almost smiled at that. And then it happened. His body tensed violently. His hand flew to his temple. “Hylen?” He sucked in a sharp breath like he’d been struck. It wasn’t subtle. It wasn’t mild. His whole body curled inward, jaw clenched so hard I thought his teeth would crack. “Hey, hey, look at me,” I said, sitting up with him. He didn’t answer. His eyes were unfocused, pupils blown wide. “Hylen!” And then he gasped. Like someone had released him. He collapsed back against my pillows, breathing hard. “What was that?” I demanded, panic flooding me. He stared at the ceiling. “Zeus,” he said hoarsely. My blood ran cold. “What did he say?” He swallowed. “That I’m almost fully human.” Silence. “That’s good, right?” I asked carefully. His eyes slid to mine. “It means the transition is accelerating.” “Accelerating to what?” He didn’t answer that. Instead he pulled me back down against him, burying his face in my shoulder. “I’m not leaving you,” he said quietly. “You better not.” But my hands were shaking.

Two weeks later, the second headache was worse. By then the flowers were everywhere. One in my school bag. One in the passenger seat of his car. One pressed flat against the inside of my bedroom mirror, like someone had been standing there watching us. I stopped sleeping properly. He stopped pretending everything was fine. The second time it happened, we were by the water at sunset. He stiffened mid laugh. Then dropped to his knees. “Hylen!” This time there was no silence. His voice came out strangled. “No.” “No what?” I cried, kneeling in front of him. He gripped my wrist so tightly it almost hurt. “They moved it again,” he choked. My heart slammed. “Moved what?” His eyes met mine. “Two weeks.” Two weeks. “For what?” “For permanence.” The word felt final. “And if you don’t decide?” I whispered. He didn’t hesitate. “Then I become mortal. Fully. Permanently.” The air felt too thin to breathe.“And if you choose to go back?”
His jaw tightened. “Then I lose this.” His thumb brushed my cheek like it was something fragile. Like I was. What he didn’t tell me. What I didn’t know. Was that there was another option. That I could choose to turn with him. That Zeus had made it very clear. Two weeks. And she comes with you. Or you lose her to time. He swallowed that part whole. Because if I chose him, he needed it to be mine. Not a trade. Not a sacrifice. A choice. I grabbed his face in my hands. “Look at me,” I said. He did. “You think I’m scared of you being human?” “No.” “You think I care about eternity?” “No.” “Then stop looking at me like I’m something you’re preparing to lose.” His breathing slowed slightly. “I don’t want to ruin your life,” he whispered. “You are my life,” I shot back, the words leaving me before I could soften them. Something broke in his expression. “Colette…” “I don’t care if we get sixty years or six,” I continued, voice trembling. “I just care that they’re with you.” He pulled me into him so suddenly I lost my balance. “I don’t deserve you,” he murmured into my hair. “Too bad,” I whispered. “You’re stuck with me.” His laugh was weak but real. “I love you,” he said again, like he needed to anchor himself to it. “Then stay,” I breathed. Two weeks. And neither of us knew yet what that choice would cost.

Chapter Eight:
Two weeks. The number began to feel like it was written on everything. On the clock above the stove. On the calendar in the hallway. On the inside of my skull. Hylen tried to act normal. He failed. He’d go still mid sentence sometimes, eyes flicking to the sky like he was listening for thunder that never came. He’d wince at nothing. His hand would hover over his chest as if checking something that wasn’t there anymore. His heartbeat. It had changed. It used to be steady. Strong. Warm beneath my palm. Now it stumbled when he got tired. And he got tired constantly. “You’re human,” I said one evening as we sat on the edge of the pier, our legs dangling over dark water. He didn’t answer.
“You’re actually human,” I repeated. “I’m becoming,” he corrected quietly. That word lodged in me. Becoming meant unfinished. Becoming meant choice. I watched him instead of speaking. The way his shoulders held tension like he was bracing for impact. The way he stared at the horizon at sunset as if trying to memorize it. Like he might lose it. The flowers changed that week. They weren’t random anymore. They were arranged. One appeared on my bedroom desk with exactly thirteen petals left. The next day, twelve. The day after that, eleven. I didn’t tell him. I started counting. The first dream came on the ninth petal. I didn’t mean to fall asleep thinking about Olympus, but I must have. The sky in the dream wasn’t blue. It was white. Blinding white. Endless marble beneath my feet, stretching into nothing. Statues that breathed. Columns taller than mountains. And in the distance, voices. Not speaking to me. Speaking about me. “She does not know.” “She will fail.” “He weakens.” I turned. No faces. Just presence. Cold. Ancient. And then one voice, smoother than the rest. “She could ascend.” The word snapped through the air. Ascend. I woke up sitting straight upright in my bed, heart pounding. Ascend. Not turn. Not die. Ascend.
The next morning I went to the library. Not the school one. The old one near the church that smelled like dust and rain. I didn’t know what I was looking for until I found it. A book of myths that didn’t read like stories. They read like rules. God loves mortal. Mortal dies. God defies Olympus. God is punished. Mortal challenges Olympus. Mortal is tested. There it was. Buried in a fragment about forgotten rites. A mortal may rise if she withstands the Trials of Olympus and survives divine judgment. Rise. Not be granted. Not be turned. Survive. My hands started shaking. This wasn’t something the gods offered. This was something mortals claimed. Which meant he didn’t tell me because he didn’t want me to know it was possible. Not because he was hiding hope. Because he was protecting me from it. I pressed my palm flat against the page. “A god cannot love a mortal,” I whispered to the empty aisle. Unless she stops being mortal. The realization didn’t feel dramatic. It felt quiet. Terrifyingly quiet.

That night I watched him differently. He was lying on his back in my room, staring at the ceiling like it held answers. “You’re not sleeping,” I said. “Neither are you.” I shifted closer, resting my head on his chest. His heart skipped once. “Hylen,” I said softly. “Yes?” “If there was another way… would you tell me?” His breathing changed. Barely. “There isn’t,” he answered. Lie. Not cruel. Not malicious. Protective. I felt it in the way his fingers tightened in my hair. He was already choosing. He was choosing mortality. He was choosing to fall. He was choosing to give up eternity. For me. And he was doing it quietly. Without asking me to sacrifice anything in return. My throat burned. “You don’t get to decide alone,” I whispered. “I’m not deciding,” he murmured. “I’m accepting.” That word again. Accepting meant surrender. I lifted my head and looked at him. “You’re preparing to lose something.” His jaw flexed. “Yes.” “Is it your power?” A pause. “Yes.” “Or is it me?” His eyes flicked to mine so fast it almost hurt. “Don’t.” “Is it me?” I pushed. He sat up abruptly, running a hand through his hair. “I will not drag you into Olympus politics,” he said, voice tight. “I will not let you bleed for something that was never yours to carry.” Bleed. My stomach dropped. Trials weren’t symbolic. They were violent. “You think I can’t survive it?” I asked quietly. His expression broke. “It would kill you.” Not a guess. Not fear. Knowledge. The dream flashed back. She could ascend. They didn’t say she would survive. They said she could try. The last sunflower that day had eight petals. I had eight days. He thought I didn’t know. He thought he was shielding me. But the gods had already started watching. And if Olympus believed I would fail then I wanted to see them try. I lay back down beside him and wrapped my arms around him tightly, memorizing the warmth of his skin, the uneven rhythm of his human heart. He pressed his lips to my hair. “I love you,” he said, softer now. I closed my eyes. “I know,” I whispered. And for the first time since the countdown began, I wasn’t afraid of losing him. I was afraid of what I would have to become to keep him.

Eight petals. The next morning there were seven. Not on my desk. On my pillow. Placed carefully where my head had been. I didn’t scream. I didn’t tell Hylen. I just held it in my hand and counted again. Seven. He started fading in smaller ways. Not disappearing. But dimming. His skin didn’t catch light the way it used to. Sunsets didn’t bend toward him anymore. Once, when we were walking home, the sky stayed stubbornly gray even though it should have burned orange. He noticed. He pretended not to. “You’re tired,” I said one afternoon when he stumbled slightly on the pavement. “I’m fine.” “You’ve said that every day this week.” He smiled faintly. Human. Exhausted. “I’m adjusting.” “To what?” He didn’t answer. That night, I brought it up. Not gently. “Stop deciding for me,” I said. We were in his room. His window open. Night air spilling in. His shoulders tensed. “Colette.” “No. You don’t get to look noble and tragic and quietly give up eternity without even asking me what I want.” His jaw flexed. “I know what you want.” “You don’t.” “I want you safe.” “And I want you,” I shot back. Silence. The word hung there. Heavy. Final. He looked at me then like I’d just said something irreversible. “You don’t understand what you’re offering,” he said softly. “Then explain it.” His throat worked. “If you attempt the trials and you fail—” “I won’t.” “You don’t know that.” “I don’t care.” That made him angry. Not explosive. But sharp. “You should care. You’re human.” “For now.” The room went very still. He stared at me. “You figured it out.” It wasn’t a question. “Yes.” “How?” “The gods talk loudly when they think mortals can’t hear.” A long breath left him. “I was going to let myself become mortal,” he admitted. “Completely. Permanently.” “I know.” “I would have lived. Aged. Died. With you.” “And you would have resented it,” I said quietly. His head snapped toward me. “Never.” “Maybe not at me,” I whispered. “But at the sky. At the sun. At the part of you that was meant to burn.” That broke something in him. He stepped toward me slowly. “You think I want eternity without you?” “No,” I said. “I think you want to protect me from it.” I reached for his hands. “You don’t get to choose small love for me.” His breath caught. “I don’t want sixty years,” I said. “I want all of it. Even if it hurts.” His voice cracked when he answered. “It will hurt.” “Then let it.” For a long time, he just looked at me. And I saw the moment he let go of the idea of saving me. Not because he stopped loving me. Because he realised I was choosing it. “You’re sure?” he asked finally. “Yes.” “If Zeus refuses—” “Then I’ll make him listen.” That earned the faintest, most helpless smile. “You’re terrifying.” “Good.” He pulled me into him, pressing his forehead against mine. “If you do this,” he whispered, “you do it because you want forever. Not because you’re afraid of losing me.” “I’m not afraid of losing you,” I said softly. “I’m afraid of being left behind.” That was the truth. And he knew it. He kissed me like something sacred. Slow. Certain. “I will stand with you,” he said. “If you claim the trials, I will stand there when you do.”

Six petals. Five. The flowers stopped appearing alone. Now they came in pairs. Two placed side by side on my windowsill. Two at the end of my driveway. Two on his dashboard. Together. A warning. Or a promise. I started saying goodbye without saying goodbye. I sat on the kitchen counter while Mum cooked and asked her about when she was seventeen. She laughed, surprised I cared. I hugged Dad longer when he left for work. “Everything okay?” he asked. “Yeah,” I said quickly. “Just… love you.” He smiled like that was enough. At school, I lingered by my locker. I memorised the scratch in the paint near the handle. Meg nudged me. “You’re being weird.” “I know.” “Are you leaving or something?” I laughed too quickly. “No.” Not leaving. Ascending. But I couldn’t say that. I went to the beach one last time before dusk, barefoot in cold sand, and let the tide curl around my ankles. “I’ll miss this,” I whispered to no one. The ocean shifted anyway. Hylen took me to his parents. They already knew. Of course they did. His mother looked at me for a long time before speaking. “You understand what you’re asking?” “Yes.” “And you do not feel coerced?” “No.” His father’s gaze was steadier. “You are eager,” he said quietly. “I am,” I answered. Hylen’s hand tightened in mine. There was no hesitation in me. No trembling. Just resolve. His mother nodded once. “Then we will inform Zeus.” The room felt colder after that. More official. Less reversible.
Three petals. Two. The second to last day felt too normal. We watched a movie in my living room. My mum offered Hylen dessert. My dad made a joke that didn’t land. I memorised everything. The sound of the dishwasher. The ticking clock. The way the hallway light flickered once before staying on. That night, I kissed my mum on the cheek. “Goodnight, sweetheart,” she said. “Goodnight.” I stood there a second longer than usual. Then I went to my dad. He was already half asleep in his chair. “Night, Dad.” “Night, kiddo.” I pressed a kiss to his hair. He stirred. “You okay?” “Yeah,” I whispered. “I’m good.” I went to my room. Closed the door. Locked it. The final sunflower lay on my desk. One petal left. I picked it up. Held it between my fingers. “Okay,” I breathed. No tears. No panic. Just a choice. I lay down on my bed fully dressed. The house was quiet. The air felt charged. “Hylen,” I whispered into the dark, even though he wasn’t there. Then I closed my eyes. And let sleep take me.

Chapter Nine:
I did not wake gently, I fell through light and landed hard on white marble, my knees striking the ground before I could even understand where I was. The air around me shimmered gold and pressed heavily against my lungs as towering columns rose into a sky that did not feel like sky at all but liquid brightness. Statues lined the edges of the vast space, their eyes moving as I moved, and gods stood watching from the shadows like judges waiting for a verdict. Zeus’ voice filled the chamber without shouting as he said, “You claim the trials,” and I forced myself to stand even though my legs trembled. I swallowed and answered, “Yes,” my voice sounding smaller than I wanted it to, and the echo of it seemed to seal my choice.
Phanes stepped forward, light bending around him as he spoke calmly, “Trial One is Unmaking,” and the ground beneath my feet cracked open into a glowing circle that demanded I step inside. I did not hesitate and the world dissolved instantly, replacing Olympus with my bedroom, my familiar walls, my bed, and Hylen standing near the window looking human and warm. He smiled at me like nothing had ever gone wrong and said softly, “You stayed,” as he reached for my hand and his fingers felt real against my skin. His heartbeat pulsed beneath my palm and he whispered, “You don’t need eternity, you need this,” as the room around us felt safe and small and perfect. I looked around and realized something was wrong when I asked, “Where’s the sun?” and he replied, “It’s there,” but I whispered back, “No, where is he?” because I knew this comfort was an illusion.

His expression shifted and gold flickered behind his eyes for a second before returning to human warmth as he stepped closer and said, “Stay,” while the walls behind him turned to dust and the laughter of my parents faded from existence. The photos on my shelf dissolved and the room began to fracture like glass, and I stepped back saying, “You’re choosing power over peace,” but he answered gently, “I’m choosing us,” as if this version of him was meant to convince me to quit. I shook my head and told him, “You don’t get to shrink yourself so I feel safer,” and the illusion cracked open completely, his body splitting between light and flesh before everything shattered around me. I fell through the broken room and landed back on marble, breathing hard as Zeus observed me silently and declared, “Trial One complete,” while my hands trembled but I was still standing. The comfort had tempted me, but I chose to walk away from it.
The ground shifted again beneath my feet and the air grew heavier and hotter until flames erupted around the edge of the platform in a slow, deliberate circle as Phanes announced, “Trial Two is Endurance.” The fire did not rush toward me at once but advanced steadily, pressing heat against my skin until my throat dried and my shoes burned against the glowing stone beneath me. The flames twisted and suddenly Clytie’s voice echoed through them as she whispered, “You already are,” and the fire morphed into memories of Hylen laughing, Hylen kissing me, and Hylen collapsing in pain before my eyes. I dropped to my knees as the heat climbed up my legs and burned through my arms, screaming as the pain wrapped around my body, but I forced myself upright and whispered through clenched teeth, “I choose this,” refusing to retreat. The flames surged higher and surrounded me completely, and I whispered into the fire, “If he endured mortality for me, then I endure this for him,” until the fire hesitated for a fraction of a second before collapsing inward into silence.
I fell forward onto scorched stone, gasping for air as my skin throbbed and my body trembled from the aftermath of the burn, but I pushed myself up slowly despite the pain. Zeus stepped closer and said calmly, “You did not retreat,” and I answered hoarsely, “No,” even though my strength felt drained and my spirit felt reshaped by suffering. The platform shifted once more and transformed into a narrow bridge of light stretching across an endless void where nothing existed beneath it, and Zeus declared, “Trial Three is Ascension,” as I swallowed my fear and stepped forward. The bridge trembled under my weight and became thinner with every step until Clytie suddenly appeared before me, blocking my path and saying quietly, “Do you know what happens when you succeed?” I looked at her and answered, “I become immortal,” but she laughed and replied, “You become what he will outgrow,” before shoving me backward hard enough to make me lose balance.
My fingers clung to the edge of the light bridge as she stepped on my hand and whispered, “Let go,” while pain shot through my bones and I gritted my teeth refusing to give her the satisfaction. “You cannot have him,” she hissed, pressing down harder, and I spat back, “Neither can you,” before she shoved again and I slipped off the edge into the void. For a split second I was weightless and falling into nothingness, my heart freezing as I realized I was about to disappear, and then Hylen’s scream ripped through the sky as he shouted, “NO!” and tried to reach me while Zeus blocked his path. I twisted mid fall and grabbed the edge again, blood dripping from my hands as Clytie tried to push me loose once more, but I looked at her calmly and said, “You lost him because he chose me,” and in that moment she hesitated. I used every last ounce of strength to pull myself up and shove her backward, watching as she fell into the void and transformed into roots and stems and petals, becoming a sunflower forever facing a sun that would never return her gaze.

Silence swallowed the bridge as I stood alone trembling but victorious, and I took one final step forward just as golden light exploded from above and wrapped around me. My knees buckled and I collapsed as I saw Hylen running toward me, his face filled with fear as he shouted my name, and then everything went black before I could reach him. The darkness swallowed my vision completely, and the last image burned into my mind was his desperate expression as I fell unconscious at the edge of ascension.
Time moved differently after I became the Moon. Days blended into glowing horizons and endless observation from high above the earth. I learned quickly how to feel the pull of tides like they were extensions of my own breath, how to guide the silver light across oceans, how to steady myself when emotions from millions of sleeping humans rose up through me. But even with all that power, one thing remained constant. I watched him. Hylen burned below me every day, bright and focused, moving across the sky like nothing had shattered between us. I could feel his presence even when clouds hid him from sight. I could sense the strain in his power, the quiet exhaustion that came with holding up the sun alone while knowing we were separated by law and distance. He never reached for me publicly. He never tried to break the balance. But sometimes, when the sky was empty and the light shifted, I felt him looking up. The first eclipse arrived quietly. I sensed it before the humans did, before the astronomers announced it, before cameras lifted toward the sky. The alignment began like a whisper, the Earth positioning itself carefully between us, drawing my shadow slowly across his light. My heart started pounding even though I did not have a human body to feel it physically anymore. “It’s happening,” I whispered to myself as I shifted slightly in my orbit. Below, the sunlight dimmed. Hylen felt it too. I saw him turn his head sharply toward the horizon as his glow flickered for the first time since my ascension. The sky darkened around him and for a brief moment panic flashed across his face. Not fear for himself. Fear because he understood what this meant. The balance was allowing us to see each other again.
The shadow of my form moved across him slowly, covering his light with my darkness until the world between us grew quiet and painted in silver twilight. Stars began to appear even though it was midday for humanity. I felt myself descending closer, not physically touching Earth but orbiting in perfect alignment with him. Then I saw him clearly. He stood in the fading light, golden aura dimmed but not extinguished, eyes lifted toward me as if he could see straight through the veil separating sky from ground. My breath caught. He whispered my name. Not loudly. Not as a command. But like a prayer. “Colette.” His voice travelled through the space between us and reached me even up here. I pressed my hand against the invisible barrier that separated my realm from his and he mirrored the movement below. It looked like we were touching, though there was distance and power and law between our palms. “You look different,” he said softly. “So do you,” I answered. His expression shifted, sadness mixing with awe. “I hated the thought that this was the only way we would see each other.” “It is not the only way,” I replied quickly, my voice trembling with something heavier than joy. “It is the only allowed way.” He let out a quiet breath and looked at me as the darkness wrapped fully around his light, surrounding him completely for a brief moment. Humans gasped below. They watched the sun disappear and whispered about omens and miracles. But I only saw him. “I miss standing beside you,” he admitted. “I miss sitting next to you,” I confessed. His lips curved slightly at that and for a second the pain between us softened. The shadow reached its peak and the world around him glowed in silver darkness. He lifted his hand toward me again and said, “No matter what form we take, I choose you.” My heart broke and healed at the same time. “I choose you too,” I replied. The alignment began to shift. Slowly. Reluctantly. My body moved forward in orbit and his light began to reemerge from behind my shadow. The sun returned piece by piece, glowing brighter as I drifted away. The moment stretched long enough for us to memorise each other again, long enough for grief to settle in quietly beneath the love. When full light returned, he stood alone in brilliance once more. He looked up one final time and said, “Until the next eclipse.” I nodded. “Until then.” The connection snapped as distance widened again. The sky restored itself to normal daylight and humans cheered without knowing they had witnessed the only time we could stand face to face. I remained high above, watching his light scatter across the earth. And even though the law separated us, even though eternity stretched between our duties, I understood something clearly. We were not together the way mortals are. But we were bound in cycles. Bound in alignment.

Chapter Ten:
Epilogue.
In the beginning it was written that the Sun and the Moon could never remain together in the same sky. One burned too brightly. The other ruled the night. Balance demanded distance.
Yet love does not obey decrees.
It is told that whenever a solar eclipse darkens the world, it is the moment Hylen and Colette stand face to face again. For a brief breath in time, their light overlaps and the sky holds them together before separation returns. Humans call it a celestial event, but those who remember the old stories know better.
Some claim that on quiet mornings the Sun rises a little earlier than expected, as if eager to greet the fading Moon. Others swear that on certain nights the Moon lingers longer than it should, glowing softly as if refusing to let go. In those rare moments, their lights touch the horizon at the same time, suspended together in balance.
They cannot live side by side.
But they can meet in alignment.
And so the sky itself becomes proof that even bound by duty and eternity, they still find each other.
Every eclipse is a reunion.
Every shared horizon is a promise.
So next time you see that solar eclipse, just know that’s the moment they look forward to every year. The only moment that allows them to be as close to one another as they once were.
There is always a price to pay for immortality, don’t be the one to pay it.