Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“This feeling will pass,” Luz whispered, the words trembling off her lips like a lie she wanted to believe.

She sat in her dimly lit room at the Owl House, a box cutter clutched tightly in her hand. The candlelight flickered weakly, shadows crawling across the floor like restless thoughts. She didn’t even know what she was waiting for. Maybe a reason. Maybe courage. Maybe something that could make her feel real again.

She wasn’t alone. Amity lay sleeping across the room, her breathing soft and steady. Stringbean was curled up near Luz’s pillow, her tiny warmth pressing against the blanket. King snored gently in his “sleep cocoon” by the corner. Amity had been staying here ever since her home was destroyed when the Boiling Isles came alive — since everything fell apart.

Luz had faced death before. She’d fought monsters, gods, even fate itself. But this quiet — this stillness — felt heavier than any battle. Ever since becoming part Titan, her body hadn’t felt like her own. Her emotions twisted and flickered like bad magic. Some days she felt too much, others nothing at all.

And the nothing scared her most.

The hurt wasn’t what she wanted — it was the control. The reminder that she still could choose something, that she could still feel something that was hers.

Tears began to blur her vision. She swallowed hard, trying not to make a sound, gripping the box cutter tighter. A tremor ran through her arm. The first tear fell, then another, and soon her breathing hitched into quiet sobs.

She dropped back against her bed, the mattress creaking softly beneath her.

Something moved.

Luz blinked through her tears and saw Stringbean watching her, eyes full of concern. The little palisman tilted her head, studying Luz with silent understanding before climbing onto her chest, curling close like she could sense the storm inside her.

Luz froze, shame flooding her. She rolled her sleeve down to cover her arm — the arm already lined with old scars, fading scabs, and a few fresh, angry cuts. The sight made her chest ache. She pressed her sleeve down hard, as if she could erase what was there by hiding it.

Her other hand trembled as she tried to shift the box cutter out of sight, but Stringbean’s gaze followed the movement. Her eyes flicked toward the nightstand, where Luz had set the blade earlier, and lingered there — understanding, worried, silent.

“I’m fine,” Luz whispered, voice shaking. “Really, I’m fine.”

She wasn’t.

She stroked Stringbean’s back, the motion automatic and desperate. Tears kept spilling silently as the room seemed to close in around her. She wanted to feel something else — warmth, peace, anything but this.

After a long moment, Stringbean slipped off the bed and padded quietly toward Amity’s side. Luz’s stomach twisted. “No… Stringbean, please don’t.”

But it was too late.

Amity stirred, blinking groggily, her violet eyes catching the soft light. “Stringbean?” she murmured — then her gaze lifted and froze on Luz. The box cutter sat plain on the nightstand, catching the candlelight in a sharp gleam.

Her confusion melted into fear. “Luz… why do you have that out?” she whispered. Her voice cracked, half-asleep but trembling. “What were you going to do with it?”

Luz’s throat locked up. “Oh—nothing,” she said too fast, the word splintering.

Amity’s brow furrowed. “That didn’t sound like nothing.” She sat up fully now, eyes flicking between Luz and the blade. “Please don’t lie to me.”

Luz looked away, tears rising again. “I don’t want to talk about it,” she whispered hoarsely. “Please, Amity. Not now.”

Amity hesitated for only a second before standing and crossing the room. The mattress dipped as she sat down beside Luz, quiet but firm. Luz’s body shook; she didn’t look up.

Amity reached out, brushing a tear from her cheek. “You don’t have to talk,” she said softly. “Just don’t face it alone.”

That was all it took. Luz’s composure broke apart, her shoulders trembling as she choked back sobs. “I just wanted to feel something,” she managed to say between breaths. “I didn’t want to— I just— I can’t stop it sometimes.”

Amity didn’t flinch. She pulled Luz into her arms, holding her tightly as Luz broke down completely, sobbing into her shoulder. “It’s okay,” Amity murmured through her own tears. “You’re here. You’re safe. You’re not alone anymore.”

Stringbean climbed back up onto the bed, curling beside them both, wrapping her tail gently around Luz’s wrist — as if to remind her that she was still tethered, still here, still loved.

The room was silent again, but this time, it wasn’t empty. It was full — of breathing, warmth, and the quiet sound of a heartbeat that wasn’t hers alone.

The box cutter still sat on the nightstand — untouched, faintly glinting in the low light — but it no longer looked like an escape. Just a reminder of what she had almost lost, and what she still had left.

The next morning, sunlight filtered softly through the curtains. Luz blinked awake, her face buried in Amity’s shoulder, her fingers still tangled in her girlfriend’s sleeve. Stringbean was curled at their feet, eyes closed, breathing slow.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Luz didn’t wake up afraid.

Amity stirred beside her and looked down, giving her a sleepy smile that carried all the gentleness in the world.

Luz hesitated — then whispered, voice small but steady, “I think I’m ready to talk now.”

Amity brushed her hair back, tears glimmering faintly in her eyes. “Okay,” she said softly. “Then I’m ready to listen.”

And for the first time, Luz truly believed the feeling might pass — not because she had to face it alone, but because she didn’t anymore.

Chapter Text

Amity slowly rose from the bed, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear as she tried to steady her voice. “I’m going to get something to eat and drink. Would you like anything? Maybe some calming tea?”

“Tea would be fine,” Luz murmured, sitting up and pulling on a pair of socks while Stringbean clung gently to her arm, worried eyes darting between them.

Amity turned to leave, but her eyes caught the small, metallic glint on Luz’s nightstand. Her breath hitched. The box cutter.

For a heartbeat, everything else went quiet — the faint hum of the house, the shifting of Luz’s sheets, even her own heartbeat. She forced herself to move naturally, crossing the room and scooping it up with a motion that felt too casual to be real. Her fingers trembled as she slid the box cutter into her palm, hiding it against her side.

She hesitated — Luz was watching her. Their eyes met for just a second, and Amity forced a small smile. “I’ll see you downstairs,” she said softly, before slipping out the door.

As she walked down the hallway, her mind raced. The weight of the box cutter in her hand felt wrong — heavier than it should’ve been. She hated how familiar it looked, how close it had been to Luz’s trembling hands last night. She swallowed hard and tucked it into one of Eda’s chaotic junk drawers the moment she reached the kitchen, burying it under spare screws, a broken wand, and crumpled notes. Out of sight.

Ghost and King padded into the kitchen behind her, blissfully unaware of the storm lingering upstairs.

The air smelled of fresh apple blood; Eda was already up, flipping something on the stove. “Hey, Boots! How’d you sleep?” she asked cheerfully, leaning against the counter.

“Really well,” Amity answered a little too quickly, her voice light but her fingers still trembling slightly around the teacup.

“And you, King?” Eda called over her shoulder.

“Like a baby!” King yawned. “Got Amity’s bed for half the night since Luz and Amity decided to share!”

Eda raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Oh, is that so?”

Before Amity could respond, Luz appeared at the bottom of the stairs. “Eda, it’s not like we did anything. You know us.”

Eda laughed, waving a hand. “Oh, I know, kiddo. Just teasing.”

Luz stepped behind Amity, wrapping her arms gently around her waist. Amity stilled, the warmth of Luz’s body against hers cutting through the cold worry in her chest. Luz leaned closer, whispering, “Can we go on a walk to talk about this? I’m not ready to open up to anyone else just yet.”

Amity smiled softly, turning enough to press a quick kiss to Luz’s cheek. “Of course, Batata,” she said brightly, trying to sound casual so Eda and King wouldn’t notice the weight in Luz’s voice.

After breakfast, they both got ready for their walk — shoes tied, jackets zipped, quiet determination between them. Before stepping out, Amity made sure Hooty had his headphones on, muttering something about “privacy.” Their palismen stayed behind, curled up together by the fire.

The door closed softly behind them, leaving the warmth of the house — and the hidden box cutter — behind.

Chapter Text

As the walk begins, Luz keeps her eyes on the ground, her thoughts tangled. The safety of the Owl House feels miles away now, and out here in the quiet, she isn’t sure how to begin—how to shape the storm inside her into words.

Amity walks beside her in silence for a moment, watching the tension in Luz’s shoulders. Then, gently, she asks, “How long have you felt this way?”

Luz swallows, thinking. “A while,” she finally says. “I don’t know how or why it started, but… something inside me feels wrong.”

Amity slows her pace just a little, turning her head to look at her. “Nothing is wrong with you,” she says softly. “I might not know exactly how to help, but I’m here. I’m ready to try.”

Luz lifts her gaze from her feet. Her eyes are glossy, her voice small. “Thanks, Amity.” A quiet sniffle follows, fragile but honest.

Amity’s voice remains patient. “Do you think Eda or Camila could help you with these feelings?”

Luz hesitates—just a heartbeat at first, then longer, the pause stretching until it feels like time is moving around her. “Maybe,” she says, but her thoughts spiral in the background: Would they understand? And if they couldn’t help… would telling them only make things worse? Would it change how they look at me?

Her steps grow uneven. The anxiety is written all over her face, and Amity picks up on it almost immediately. Without a word, she gently guides Luz toward a more open, quieter part of the woods—offering comfort through the simple shift in direction.

They arrive at an old tree stump bench nestled in the forest near the Bat Queen’s cave. The forest air feels cooler here, softer, like the world is giving them permission to exhale.

Luz speaks first this time. Her voice trembles. “I just… I want to feel something. I’m losing myself. I’m scared you’re going to lose me too.” She wipes her cheek, breathing shakily. “I don’t want to die. I don’t want that. But I can’t stop feeling like this on my own.”

She stutters, frightened—not of her feelings, but of what Amity might think of her now.

“Oh, Luz,” Amity whispers, a crack of guilt threading through her voice. “I’m so sorry I didn’t notice sooner—”

Luz’s head snaps up, eyes wide. “Amity, it’s not your fault.” The words come out almost on instinct, as though she can’t bear for Amity to blame herself.

Amity moves closer on the stump, closing the space between them. She rests one hand gently on Luz’s thigh and takes her hand with the other, grounding her. “We’ll work through this together,” she promises. “Please tell me when you’re struggling. You’re not alone with your thoughts, Luz. I want to know when you’re hurting, so I can help you through it.”

She pauses, breath steadying as she shares a piece of herself. “Back when I lived with my mom—Odalia—I always felt trapped. The only place I felt free was the library. Leaving the house felt like running, but it helped. And when I surrounded myself with the right people… that feeling started to fade. Little by little.”

Luz leans into her, her voice quieter now. “So… when you surrounded yourself with Gus, Hunter, and Willow, things got better? Oh, Amity…” She exhales shakily, emotion lacing her words. “I love you.”

Amity wraps an arm around her, pulling her in. She presses a soft kiss to Luz’s forehead—warm, steady, certain. “I love you too,” she murmurs, letting the moment settle gently between them, accepting what’s been said… and what hasn’t yet.

Chapter Text

Luz curls closer to Amity, her head resting against her chest. We’re so young, she thinks. Too young to be carrying so much. Her mind drifts, uninvited, to the quiet ache she rarely lets herself linger on—the life she might have had if her dad had never passed away, if she’d never fallen into the Demon Realm, if she’d never been struck by that orb that erased her existence, even for a moment.

The weight of it all presses down on her at once. Losing her dad. Dying and coming back, knowing what waits in the in-between. Being trapped in another realm with no way to reach her mom. The trauma feels impossibly large, bigger than anything she knows how to name. Bigger than her.

Her vision blurs. Luz tightens her grip on Amity, pressing her face into her shoulder as quiet sobs slip free.

Amity doesn’t say anything at first. She simply plays with Luz’s hair, slow and steady, grounding. After a moment, she murmurs, “Do you want to go lie down at home? You still seem like you have a lot on your mind. I can ask Eda to go on a trip for Camila… or grab food, if that helps.”

“Sure,” Luz says softly, her voice still thick as she sniffles.

When they return to the Owl House, it’s already buzzing with movement. King, Eda, Lilith, and Hooty are gathering supplies for a side quest, talking over one another as they mention meeting up with Hunter and Darius. It’s loud, chaotic—and then it’s gone, the door shutting behind them.

For once, the house is quiet.

Amity and Luz head upstairs together and settle into bed, curling into each other instinctively. Ghost stretches out between them, purring softly, while Stringbean coils nearby, tail flicking lazily as if standing guard.

“I’m sorry,” Luz whispers into the silence.

Amity tilts her head slightly. “For what?” she asks gently. “For being human?” There’s no teasing in her voice—only warmth. “I’m glad you told me you were struggling. I’d rather know than have you hurting alone.”

Luz swallows. A part of her still believes the opposite. That it’s easier—safer—to suffer quietly.

“I don’t know,” she admits. “I feel like if I never told you, it would’ve been less of a burden on you.”

Amity presses a kiss to the top of Luz’s head. “You’re never a burden, Luz. I love you. I want to know when you’re struggling.”

“I love you too,” Luz says after a moment. “I didn’t want you to find out like that. I thought I’d tell you eventually… or that I’d just stop on my own.”

Amity exhales softly. “You’re my superstar,” she says with a small smile. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way. I’m glad I was told—even if Stringbean had to wake me up to make it happen.”

Luz lets out a shaky breath. It almost feels unreal, like something out of a movie. This is the kind of thing you hope never happens—something you fight to prevent. And when it does, you promise it won’t happen again… but then the cycle repeats, over and over. Luz is caught between relief that Amity knows and guilt over how she found out. The night before, she hadn’t been in the right state of mind. She’d felt rude, closed off, unable to explain herself.

They lie facing the window, still wrapped around each other. Suddenly, Amity stiffens slightly. “Luz… look.”

Luz follows her gaze. “Are those meteors?” she asks, a faint smile breaking through. “During the day?”

“Yes,” Amity replies. “They only come once every ten years here. Do they only show up at night in the Human Realm?”

“Yeah,” Luz says. “And there are usually way fewer.”

They watch in silence for a while, letting the quiet beauty settle between them.

Eventually, Amity speaks again, her voice careful. “How long have you been… struggling like that, before I found out?”

The question lands heavily. Luz’s chest tightens. “I’m not sure,” she says after a long pause. “I can’t give you exact timelines. I just know it’s been a while. I’m sorry.”

“No,” Amity says immediately. “You don’t need to apologize. I’m sorry if the question came out too suddenly.”

“I usually went to the bathroom,” Luz admits quietly. “It felt… safer. Away from everyone. I thought I might wake you up this time, though, so I didn’t.”

Amity thinks for a moment, then squeezes her hand. “I’m glad you didn’t,” she says softly. “I don’t want you hurting yourself. I can’t force you to stop—but I can be here. Every step of the way.”

They curl closer, Luz settling fully against Amity’s chest, her ear pressed over her heart. Amity’s arms wrap around her without hesitation, one hand resting protectively at Luz’s back. Luz feels the steady rhythm beneath her cheek, the rise and fall of Amity’s breathing slowly guiding her own. Their heartbeats fall into sync, breaths evening out together. Something feels different now—not fixed, not perfect—but lighter. Safer. And for the first time in a while, that difference feels like hope.