Last night had been… intense. Insatiable. Sweet. If it weren't for my occasional crying, I swear he wouldn't have stopped at all. The memory made my cheeks warm even as I watched him now, asleep beside me, arms wrapped around me like he never wanted to let go.
I traced his features slowly, committing each line and curve to memory. My fingers glided over his jaw, his cheekbones, the slope of his nose, and finally rested lightly on his collarbone, where I pressed small, careful kisses, feeling the heat radiating from his skin.
I had really done it. Slept with my ex-boyfriend's brother. My chest tightened at the thought, a mix of excitement, guilt, and… something I couldn't name. But I hadn't been able to resist. If circumstances were different, I probably wouldn't have made a single move. Yet here we were.
"Xenon," I whispered, fingers brushing the back of his hand. He caught my finger, still eyes closed. "Let's go on a date. One last time before the world ends. Catch a train to Brisia, check out the beach… it'll be fun."
"No."
Just like that, icy and sharp, the same Xenon I'd grown to love and fear in equal measure.
"Why not?" I pouted, leaning closer.
He finally opened his eyes, gaze fixed and intense. "Even after all this time, you still want to kill my brother? Can't you ever let the past go?"
"It's complicated, you see. That brother of yours… he really did something painful to me…" I whispered, letting my voice soften, hoping he'd understand.
"Again with that…" His eyes narrowed, frustration flickering. "I'm not a kid, so stop with the vague answers already."
I smiled, leaning in before he could say more, pressing my lips to his. Just a soft, teasing kiss, but it made him flinch and glare. I grinned at the reaction and kissed him again, this time before he could open his mouth to argue.
The fifth time he turned his head away, I pulled back slightly, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Just answer me. He doesn't even care what happens to you anymore. But here you are, holding on to your grudge. Don't you think that's what's really hurting you?"
He stayed silent, breathing unevenly, watching me like I was both exasperating and fascinating all at once.
"Oh, Xenon, you're so sweet," I whispered, leaning forward again.
I kissed him softly, then let my fingers wander into his hair, ruffling it lightly. Something about it was calming—the texture, the warmth, the feel of him under my hands.
"Again, please don't dodge the question…"
I watched his jaw tighten, the way his shoulders stiffened like he was bracing himself against something invisible. Xenon always did that when he was quietly overwhelmed. And seeing that made something in my chest ache.
I don't want to expose this kid to the worst parts of the world yet. To the way people use love as leverage, to how they justify cruelty with pretty excuses. He's too sincere, too painfully honest for that. Not yet. Not like this.
"If you say you love me," I said lightly, a smile tugging at my lips even as my heart thudded, "then I might just stop myself."
He groaned as if something is holding his voice back.
He groaned softly, like the words were caught somewhere between his chest and his throat. I could practically see the internal battle playing out—pride, confusion, fear, longing—all crashing into each other at once.
Color bloomed across his face, creeping from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. He still hadn't said a word, and somehow that made it even worse. Or better. It was unbearably endearing.
I didn't wait.
"I love you, Xenon."
That's why I said it first. There's no shame in declaring love. Not when I'm really honest about my feelings. Not when the world is so close to ending that pretending feels like the real sin.
He swallowed hard, fingers curling into the fabric beneath him. "…It's not fair," he muttered, voice rough, almost strained.
I laughed softly and leaned closer, lifting a hand to his face. "What isn't?"
"You," he said, barely louder than a breath. "The way you say things like that."
"But I really mean it," I replied, tracing the line of his cheek, my thumb brushing just under his eye. "You're handsome, Xenon. Not just on the outside. You're kind. You're stubborn in the stupidest, sweetest way. And you care even when you pretend you don't."
He made a small sound then—somewhere between a protest and surrender—and his eyes fluttered shut.
That was all it took.
My smile softened, and I let my fingers linger, memorizing him again: the warmth of his skin, the way his brows relaxed when I touched him like this, like he was finally letting himself rest.
"I love you," I said again.
I said it again after that. And again.
So he'd never forget. So that even if everything else burned away—cities, memories, the future we never really had—at least this would stay with him.
Even if the world fell to pieces, I wanted to believe that somewhere inside him, my voice would remain, quietly repeating the truth:
I loved you.
He glared at me, eyes sharp, but I could tell the edge had dulled. The anger was still there, sure—but it was frayed around the corners, softened by something warmer, something he didn't quite know how to name yet.
"I hate you."
"Hmm," I hummed, pretending to think hard about something else. "I wonder how many hours it'll take from here to Brisia. If I tell Argon anything, I guess I'll tell him that if he's going to curse someone, he should curse his brother instead. Fair's fair, right?"
"I hate you," he said again, arms tightening around me like he was afraid I'd vanish if he loosened his grip even a little.
I smiled, resting my chin lightly on his head. "You know, my axe is pretty powerful and all, but it's a bit blunt. He might have to suffer for a while."
"I hate you," he repeated, this time burying his face into the crook of my neck. His breath was warm against my skin, uneven, like he was trying to steady himself.
"So where's that villa anyway?" I went on, deliberately casual. "Ocean view, right? After killing him, I might tear the whole place down. If I've got time."
"I hate you," he murmured, though now his nose brushed against my skin, breathing me in, lips grazing my neck in faint, almost unconscious kisses.
I laughed quietly. "I mean, it's an axe. It'll chop wood just fine. But maybe I should just bring matches instead. Faster and easier."
"I hate you," he said again—but his voice cracked this time, and then, softer, almost slipping out before he could stop it, "I love you…"
I froze.
The words hit harder than any confession I had forced out of him before. Slowly, carefully, I tried to pull back and look at his face. "Did you say something?" I asked, like I hadn't heard him at all.
He stiffened. Then his eyes snapped open, wide and flustered, face burning red. "I love you!!" he blurted out, voice shaking. "That's all I have to say, right!? I said it! So you don't have to go looking for him anymore!"
For a moment, I just stared at him. Then I smiled and lifted a hand, threading my fingers through his hair, gently, soothingly. "There's not enough time for that anyway," I said quietly.
He frowned at me. "Then you should've said that first!" he snapped, finally meeting my gaze head-on.
I laughed, soft and tired, and leaned my forehead against his. Even if I left now—ran, searched, somehow made it to Brisia—there wouldn't be enough time. And even if I did find Argon, what then? The axe would be too heavy. My arms too weak. In the end, it was nothing more than a decoration by the door.
"He might even kill me instead, you know," I teased softly, tracing lazy circles on his chest. "For daring to make a move on his handsome little brother."
"We don't care about each other," Xenon said flatly, though his grip on me tightened just a bit, betraying him.
"But you're so cu—"
He didn't let me finish. He leaned in and kissed me, firm and insistent, silencing every thought in my head as he shifted above me. "I'm not a kid anymore," he muttered against my lips, breath warm, voice low. "So stop calling me cute."
And then he kissed me again—deeper this time, like he was trying to prove something not just to me, but to himself.
My fingers slipped between his, and he laced them together without hesitation, pinning our hands above my head.
Forget Argon. Forget the mess, the betrayal, the axe by the door, the anger that once kept me alive. Right now, all I wanted was him.
I wanted to stay in this house with him. Not for two days. Not until tomorrow. Forever—if forever were something the world still allowed.
His body warmed me in a way nothing else ever had, like shelter from a storm that was already swallowing the sky. His scent made my chest ache with something dangerously close to peace. Even his scowl, the one he always wore when he was tired of my nonsense, felt precious. Especially that look he gave me when he pretended he'd had enough of me, eyes sharp but never cruel.
I memorized everything.
The curve of his shoulder.
The steady rise and fall of his breathing.
The way his thumb brushed against mine, absentminded.
I wished—selfishly, desperately—that things could stay like this. That the song on my phone would keep looping forever. That the power wouldn't go out. That tomorrow wouldn't come.
But no matter how tightly we held each other, time didn't stop. The world wouldn't bend for us. What we did here, what we felt, wouldn't make it last any longer.
Tomorrow, it would all be over.
So I pressed myself closer to him, as if I could carve this moment into my bones, and closed my eyes—choosing, just for now, to believe that this warmth, this love, was enough to face the end.