Chapter Text
Saturday nights look very different, now that he’s married.
Instead of curling up with a good book, Zayne is watching his new wife sing her heart out in a dark bar while her coworkers egg her on. They favor this dingy-but-cozy little place, she’d told him while applying her glittery eye makeup, because of its kitschy, themed karaoke nights. Tonight’s is Redneck Yacht Club, and she’s singing one of those old cowboy songs she inexplicably loves — “You and your sad horse music. You’ve never even ridden one.” he’d heard Caleb tease once — but then again, she likes a bit of everything.
“It’s nice you still let her out of the house,” Andrew tells him after letting out a loud whoop, leaning in close to be heard over the din.
“She’s liable to escape from time to time.”
Her voice drifts down to him from the dive’s small stage — if you lose your one and only, there’s always room here for the lonely — and he can’t help but feel proud of her. Not for getting drunk and singing, she’s always doing that. For building this little life for herself, for finding her people. You’d never know what she’d been through, looking at her now. Bright, capable, confident, funny, never knew a stranger. That’s Michelle.
That hadn’t always been the case. He remembers the first time they met, in a small, stark, windowless room at the research facility. Not a place for children. Even at 12 he’d known that, felt a sick twist in his gut he’d later identify as disgust.
“Don’t be surprised if Michelle doesn’t talk,” Josephine had warned him before letting him in. “It will take time.” Though she’d warmed to Josephine, apparently she only spoke at length to the boy, Caleb, and he communicated for the both of them.
They were a strange sight. The tiny girl who kept her bug eyes glued to the floor, and the skinny boy who watched Zayne like a hawk, his stare as wary as an old man’s. This is what all these grown-ups were so afraid of? Two pale, exhausted-looking little kids? It made no sense. The girl couldn’t have weighed more than 50 pounds, and she had an Anhausen class Evol? It had to be a mistake.
He'd sat there awkwardly, lining up pieces from a board game like they were toy soldiers. Every time he got them how he wanted, they’d topple over. He’d try again, and they’d float away before clattering to the floor. He shot Caleb a dirty look, but the other boy just widened his old-man eyes, shrugged innocently. What was he, half ghost? Michelle didn’t even react, her face buried in a coloring book. Why had his parents even asked him to do this? He could barely make friends at school. Just because he was older than them, it didn’t mean he could make them act normal.
He’d won Michelle over with a popsicle, of all things. She’d taken too long to eat hers, and half of it slid off the stick and onto the tile floor, the slosh of red on white reducing her to tears. Caleb said he’d get her another one, but Zayne acted faster, repairing it with his ice without a second thought. Only then did she look at him, smile. You’re like us, she seemed to say without words, cementing them as a trio.
Caleb took longer to warm to him, months after the adoption papers were signed.
“I had sisters before,” Caleb finally told him as they watched Michelle take off after a rabbit in the park. “They…I wasn’t fast enough.”
Zayne nodded, understanding without prying, and just like that, they were friends.
“My sisters are dead.”
Another, older Caleb interrupts the memory. They’d met up at a bar in Skyhaven on a rare night off, Zayne’s train delayed by bad weather. All he’d said was your sister seems to be doing well in Linkon. He wrote it off as drunk crankiness, Caleb clearly still sour about Michelle’s decision to study so far away. Overserved or not, the meaning was clear. She’s not my sister.
Yeah, I gathered that, he wants to answer him across time.
Michelle seemed to draw a line in the sand when she left home for school. On one end was the shy, dreamy girl who needed her brother for everything, who whispered in his ear (or Zayne’s, if Caleb wasn’t in arm’s reach) instead of asking for anything herself. On the other was Shelly, a nickname she’d never used until adulthood, the vibrant, whip-smart party girl who was always game for anything. The one he’d fallen so hard for. The more open she became, the more Caleb turned in on himself, until she was the one dragging him along, their childhood roles reversed.
“I’ll understand if you can’t forgive me,” Josephine had said when she left Michelle’s files with him. She was growing frail, he could tell, but her voice was unchanged from his youth, still that odd mixture of soft and formidable.
As it turned out, he couldn’t forgive her. But it didn’t matter. He never saw her again, and he’s never been one to speak ill of the dead.
“You good?” Tara asks, pulling him out of his head. She sits down next to him. “I know this isn’t really your thing.”
It’s not, but he knows how to compromise. They’d agreed to alternate who was in charge of their free weekends, and since they were meeting up with his parents tomorrow, she’d promised they’d be home by midnight.
“I like this better than camping,” he says, which makes Tara snort.
“Those are team-building retreats. This is just for fun.”
They sit in amiable silence, watching Michelle and Andrew duet to some miserable ballad — I was headed to church, I was off to drink you away!
“I think this is a good thing, you know, you two,” Tara says. “I’m glad you figured it out.”
Zayne nods.
“So am I.”
“Shelly’s been doing pretty good, but with you around I won’t worry about her so much.”
He sighs, his eyes back on his wife. She and Andrew are now laughing too hard to do much more than croak out the words, their arms melodramatically wrapped around each other, their shoulders shaking. He catches her eye, and she winks at him.
“No,” he says, quiet enough for only Tara to hear. “You don’t have to worry anymore.”
“She’s always loved you. Like, the entire time I’ve known her.”
His eyes move between Tara and the stage as the song ends, Andrew dipping Michelle down low as she laughs, her long hair loose and wild. He can’t help but smile, his heart clenching at her obvious happiness. So different from a year ago, it was like night and day.
He sighs again, thinking about how long a year can feel. A year of denial and frustration, months of wasted time. Trying to be there for her without crossing a line. Saying fuck the line every time she curled up beside him on her couch, then putting the wall back up in the morning. So stupid.
“You’re really good for her.”
“She’s really good for me.”
“I’m happy for you,” Tara says, reaching over to give his shoulder a gentle squeeze.
Michelle hops off the stage and bounds up to them, throwing her arms around Zayne’s shoulders as she slides onto his lap. His arm wraps automatically around her waist, steadying her.
“We’re so totally going to win,” she says, grinning, a little breathless.
“Of course you will,” Zayne says, affectionate. “But what does one win in a place like this?”
“Bragging rights. And shots.”
He narrows his eyes at her just a fraction. She’d agreed to two drinks.
“Which I won’t do!”
He pinches her nose, drawing a giggle from her. She looks so pretty like this, cheeks flushed, the silver glitter around her eyes a little smudged.
“You look happy,” he says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
She gives him a funny look, then leans over him to talk to Tara.
“Are you guys getting sentimental over here?”
“No,” Zayne says. “I’m complimenting my wife.”
“We’re getting a little sentimental,” Tara confirms, sipping on her drink.
“Oh god,” Michelle says, her eyes wary. “What are you saying about me?”
“Only nice things,” Zayne says, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“Quit it,” she mumbles to both of them, digging her elbow into Zayne’s chest. “You’re commiserating, I can tell.”
He tightens his arm around her waist.
“Quit pretending you don’t like us taking care of you.”
But he knows what she means. She doesn’t like being treated with kid gloves, even though she’d put them all through the wringer last year. It would be irrational to stop worrying about her, to quit watching her for signs.
“I can still take care of myself,” Michelle says with a small roll of her eyes.
“You can, but you don’t always have to,” Tara says lightly.
It’s impossible for Zayne to forget what little regard she had for herself then, the lack of sleep, the uptick in her injuries at work. She’d say she was fine one day and go completely off-the-grid the next. It wasn’t until she’d fallen asleep in his waiting room, unresponsive for hours, that he put his foot down, insisted on staying at her place until he was confident she could function on her own.
She sighs dramatically and rests her chin on Zayne’s shoulder, looking at Tara with puppy-dog eyes.
“Are you implying I was ever not an absolute delight to be around?”
Tara snorts into her nearly empty glass.
“I would never.”
“Just let us care about you,” Zayne murmurs, his eyes softening as she tips her head up to look at him, his arms around her like a grounding weight.
She sighs, relenting.
“Fineee. You win.”
She buries her face against his neck with a dramatic huff. He can feel her lips curl up in a smile. He kisses the top of her head.
“That’s my cue to get another drink,” Tara announces, waggling her fingers at Zayne in parting. Michelle looks up to stick her tongue out at her friend as she walks away.
“And ours to go home,” Zayne says into her hair.
Surprisingly, she doesn’t argue, doesn’t insist on waiting for her grand prize of well tequila.
The heat wave has broken, the night air finally cool and refreshing again as they step out into it. A temporary reprieve before summer has the city in its grasp.
“A whole week of marriage and you’re not tired of me yet?” she asks, shivering slightly as he tucks her under his arm.
He tightens his hold on her waist in response, the only answer he needs to give. The streetlights catch the silver shimmer smeared around her eyes, and he thinks again about how happy she looks, her whole being alight in a way he once worried might be lost for good.
The city hums around them as they walk home. It’s a gorgeous night, but it’s nothing compared to the woman at his side.
“Not even close,” he finally says against her temple.
“How’s your Evol?” she asks as they continue to walk. “Other than your dream, has it bothered you at all?”
He pauses at her question, realizing he’s been…fine. Nothing beyond an occasional chill, not even when L&D transferred a newborn with central cyanosis to his pediatric ward.
He glances down at her, brows lifting slightly in surprise.
“I've barely noticed it,” he admits.
She hums thoughtfully, fingers tightening where they're tucked into the crook of his elbow. She looks up at him, a small smirk playing at her lips.
“Maybe I'm your good luck charm.”
He snorts.
“Or maybe you know something I don’t?”
She shrugs, her smirk turning to a grin.
“Not really. I just feel dialed into you. It’s kinda interesting.”
Dialed in. She’d said something like that years ago, when he’d asked her to explain what her Evol felt like. It’s like you all have volume dials, and I can turn them up or down. He hadn’t needed her to elaborate, but she did anyway: I’m always turning yours down.
“And you’re not exhausted?”
She shakes her head.
“When you were a full-blown snowman the other night, yeah, it took some effort. But honestly I feel really good. It’s like, automatic.”
For the second time that night, he tries and fails to bat Josephine’s voice away. By helping her, you help yourself. Had it been more than some platitude from a guilt-ridden old woman? He’d spent so many years thinking he was destined to hurt her, that childhood accident playing out on a grand scale if he didn’t keep his distance. Follow his imaginary rules. Interpret his dreams as prophecy. Maybe it’s all bullshit. Maybe it’s all in his head. Even if it isn’t, shouldn’t they figure it out together? He owed her that much.
He tightens his arm around her as they round a corner. He’ll tell her when they get home.
“Your heart’s stable, my Evol’s quiet. Our heads won’t fit through the door at this rate.”
She shoves her shoulder into his in feigned offense.
“Shut up. Your ego’s bigger than mine will ever be.”
She’s standing in front of their closet in only an oversized t-shirt, her hair damp from the shower. She’s talking a mile a minute about tomorrow’s plans, taking clothes off hangers, holding them up to herself in the mirror, then frowning and putting them back.
Should I wear white, or is that tacky? Why didn’t I know you belong to a country club? You’re so bougie. If my skirt is shorter than fingertip length, will they kick me out? I have long arms, see? Should I take tennis lessons? Will you teach me? If I beat your mom at tennis, is that bad manners? I think we need more coffee creamer.
“Are you listening to me? You look like you’re trying to solve a riddle.”
Zayne exhales audibly from his spot on the bed as she flits around the room.
She steps closer, close enough for him to smell her body wash and the thick white lotion she puts on her knees and elbows. She sits next to him.
“You okay? Did I keep you out too late?”
He doesn't respond right away, which makes her frown slightly.
“I wanted to talk to you about something,” he murmurs finally, because what else can he say? That every time they have these moments where things feel too good to be true, part of him expects it all to shatter, because she still doesn’t know what he did?
Her frown deepens, and she wraps her arms around his neck. The top of her head fits perfectly under his chin, and the way she nuzzles against him brings instant relief.
“Are we getting divorced?” she asks.
He laughs despite himself and moves to cup her chin in his hands, drawing her face toward his. He kisses her, slow and deep.
“No.”
“We might be, once you hear what I have to tell you,” she says. “You stopped me the other night, but I still want to tell you.”
“I can promise you, mine’s worse.”
“Then let me go first.”
She inhales sharply, pulling away from him to rest her head in her hands for a moment, gathering herself. She tugs at the skin around her eyes with her fingertips before she comes up for air, curling her arms around herself like armor.
“Caleb…wasn’t my brother.”
He’d known, of course he’d known. Caleb had dangled it in front of his face like a carrot for years, hadn’t he? It’s not the right time to say it, but subtlety wasn’t either of their strong suits. He never missed the looks they exchanged, how they felt entitled to each other’s space as if they were one being forcibly relegated to two separate bodies. He saw the way she disintegrated when he died, heard her whimper his name in the middle of the night. Her confirmation doesn’t change anything, but she’s looking at him like he’s holding the executioner’s axe.
He doesn’t speak right away, but he reaches out to stroke her hair.
“It’s okay, sweetheart. You don’t have to say it. It’s your business.”
Her expression changes from trepidation to wild-eyed bafflement, like he missed her meaning entirely. She presses her fingers against her lips, like she’s holding the words back by force.
His hand falls from her hair and rests on the comforter between them, open, waiting.
“But he was my brother.”
Fat tears fall down her cheeks, and she blinks too fast, quickly turning her face away from him. She hugs her knees to her chest.
“He was, and he wasn’t.”
“I know,” Zayne says. He tilts his head, trying to catch her gaze without forcing it.
Her eyes lock on his. Wet, wounded.
“Don’t you think I’m disgusting?”
He doesn't even hesitate, drawing back so she can see he's serious.
“Never.”
He presses his forehead to hers, his hands coming up to cup her cheeks. Her eyes are bright with tears, her face beet red. He wipes at the tears that spill over, kissing her softly.
“Don’t you dare think that. You’ve never been anything but perfect to me.”
Her shoulders lift, then drop as she collapses into his arms.
“I thought you’d hate me,” she whispers. “But you knew?”
“Not exactly. But I wondered,” he says without a trace of judgment.
They sit with their foreheads together, and he focuses on her breathing, waits for it to even out. She sniffs, wipes at her face with the heel of her hand.
“When he left for Skyhaven, he didn’t tell any of his new friends he had a sister. I felt like such a dumb little kid. I missed him so much, and he wouldn’t even tell people about me?”
She tells him everything. How Caleb asked her to pretend to be his girlfriend, except it didn’t feel like pretending at all. How she felt like she was trapped between two lives, until resentment festered between them. She couldn’t get to Linkon City fast enough, because all she wanted was to find out who she was outside of him. She wanted him beside her, always, wanted to crawl inside his skin. She wanted to put oceans between them, planets.
“I don’t know. Everything got all mixed up. I never got to figure it out.”
Zayne threads his fingers through hers, lifts her hand to kiss it. He can’t give her absolution, but he can stay. They’re quiet for a long while.
“Okay,” she says, clapping her hands together, making him flinch. “Top that.”
He takes her hand again, taps each knuckle. Repeats the process.
“If we’re having a contest, I’ll win in a landslide.”
“It’s the trauma Olympics, live from Linkon City.”
He shakes his head at her. He needs her to be serious. She takes the hint, leaning in, her expression open.
“You remember that summer you got sick? When you were little?”
Her brow furrows.
“I mean, no, but yeah.”
“You didn’t get sick,” he begins, hating the way his voice catches on the first word. He lets go of her hand, and she tilts her head in confusion.
He averts his gaze, rubs the back of his neck.
“I was getting too old to be playing with you, but you were both begging me for a summer snowball war.”
When he glances over, she’s looking at him like what does that have to do with anything?
“My parents warned me not to go too big with my Evol. My dreams had already started. I was sleeping under an electric blanket half the time.”
She nods.
“But I didn’t listen. You wore me down. Our yards looked like the North Pole. We had fortresses, artillery, everything.”
His eyes swim at the memory. It was beautiful, snow sparkling in the sunlight, the sounds of their childish laughter ringing out as they pelted each other with snowballs.
“You and Caleb teamed up, like you always did. You thought you were sneaking up on me, but I could hear you.”
She smiles, but it falters at the grave look on his face.
“I was going to ambush you, drop a giant snowball on Caleb’s head from above.”
He looks down at his hands. Older and larger than when they’d betrayed him, but his nonetheless.
“Instead, I made ice. Like a volley of arrows. I don’t know what came over me. By the time I realized what I’d done, you were on the ground. Pierced through the heart.”
She stares at him, mouth slightly open, all traces of laughter gone from her face. His heart hammers wildly in his chest.
“We thought you were dead,” he says. “You weren’t bleeding, but you wouldn’t open your eyes. You were gray. You were so cold.”
She hadn’t made a sound, either. It was Caleb’s howl of terror, of hatred, that still had the power to rouse him from deep sleep.
She traces a finger over her heart through her shirt like she’s trying to find the evidence.
“But I didn’t die.”
“No,” Zayne says through a deep exhale. “But you were out for almost two weeks. There was no trace of the ice when Josephine got you to Akso. Dr. Noah said you must be absorbing it, and you’d wake up when it was...incorporated.”
She wrinkles her nose at his choice of words.
“Is that what happened?”
He nods.
“Noah wanted me to leave for school straightaway. He arranged everything, and my parents agreed.”
She reaches out for him, then hesitates.
“That’s why Caleb hated you out of nowhere.”
He nods again.
“Rightfully so.”
She blinks hard. She reaches out again, her fingers brushing over his wrist. His throat tightens.
“So…that’s it?”
He looks at her. Her lips twitch, then curve into a smile.
“What do you mean that’s it? You nearly died. You lost months of your life.”
She shrugs.
“Big deal.”
She tugs hard at his wrist, pulling him closer. When he doesn’t immediately envelop her in his arms, she crawls into his lap instead.
“Losing a summer isn’t that serious. One time I stubbed my toe really hard and then next thing I knew I was waiting in line at the halal cart with a bloody toe. Had to have lost at least 45 minutes.”
He stares at her in disbelief. Her chin is tipped upward, an unapologetic half-smile on her face as her thighs slide to either side of his hips.
“I hurt you,” he says.
“I had to throw my suede sandals away. That’s worse than what you did.”
He has to stop and swallow a few times before he can speak again. Lunatic, she’s a lunatic. She didn’t see it, she doesn’t know what he’s capable of.
“This isn’t funny,” he croaks.
She just smiles, looping one arm around his neck as she tucks in closer, nosing against his jaw.
“It’s a little bit funny.”
She kisses his cheek, a quick peck, warm and grounding.
“Michelle,” he protests. His hands find her waist despite himself. She laughs against his skin, nuzzling under his jaw. He can feel her eyelashes tickling his neck.
“Don’t, please. That was the worst day of my life.”
He feels her exhale through her nose, her hot breath on his skin. She pulls back, enough to cradle his face in her hands, her thumb brushing over his check. She studies him. When she speaks again, she’s mercifully serious.
“Zayne. It was an accident.”
“It wasn’t just an accident,” he insists. “I knew my Evol was volatile, I knew—"
She cuts him off with a kiss, her fingers smoothing over his cheekbones, across his jaw.
When she pulls away, the weight in her gaze pins him in place. There’s no teasing in her eyes now, just quiet certainty.
"I don’t care," she says.
Zayne closes his eyes for a moment, forehead tipping to rest against hers. When he opens them again, all he sees is her: the girl who looked for fairies in every hollow tree, the woman who fought so hard to stay alive when grief tried to swallow her whole, his wife, stubborn and radiant and here in his arms despite his best efforts.
He exhales shakily before capturing her lips with his own, slow at first, then deeper when she hums against him like she’s savoring it too. Her fingers tangle into the hair at the nape of his neck as if to say I’m not going anywhere.
“Plus, I still think I win,” she says when they pull apart.
“What?”
“Hooking up with your brother is worse than attempted manslaughter.”
He huffs out something between a laugh and a sob.
Instead of arguing, he leans back on the bed, propping himself against the pillows to pull her down with him. She goes gracefully, sprawling across his chest, her head tucked under his chin.
He presses a kiss to the top of her head, inhaling deeply.
“Have you ever considered a vow of silence? I think it could be good for you.”
She pinches him in retaliation.
“Wouldn’t you get lonely?” she mumbles into the hollow of his throat. His fingers trail up her spine in answer, slow and deliberate.
A comfortable silence stretches between them until her breathing evens out against him, deep and steady with sleep. He lets himself match it, heartbeat pressed to heartbeat, his anchor to everything good in the world.
For once, he knows sleep will be dreamless.