Chapter 58

Faye

The first thing I feel is warmth.

Yoko is curled into me, her arm draped over my waist, her face pressed softly into my collarbone. Her breath is steady, slow, warm against my skin, her fingers barely curled into the fabric of my shirt as if, even in sleep, she refuses to let go.

I don't move. I don't want to.

Instead, I just watch her, taking in every detail—the way her lashes rest against her cheeks, the faint pout of her lips, the way her hair sprawls messily over the pillow, dark waves spilling like ink over white sheets.

My beautiful girl. She doesn't even know how much I adore her.

I let out a soft sigh, my fingers brushing over the curve of her bare shoulder, just lightly—enough to trace, to memorise.

Last night replays in my mind, but not the way she melted into my touch or how she whispered my name in the dark before we slept—though those thoughts alone are enough to make my breath hitch.

No.

I think about the moment she told me about Blair. About how hesitant she was, not out of fear of my reaction, but out of concern for how I might feel.

She could've kept it from me. She could've pretended it didn't matter. But she didn't. She came to me first. Always.

And I know now—more than ever—that Yoko isn't someone who would break my heart. She isn't someone who would betray what we have. She's mine. And I trust her. I always will.

I exhale, tilting my head back against the pillow, closing my eyes for a moment just to bask in the feeling of her beside me. Then I make the mistake of glancing at the clock on the nightstand.

My eyes narrow slightly. It's early. Way too early.

Which means Yoko still has time before she needs to sneak back to her room before anyone gets suspicious.

But—a memory flashes in my head.

Yoko, last night, wrapped up in my arms, mumbling something incoherent about setting her alarm. And me, too distracted by kissing her senseless, telling her she should probably set it before she forgets.

She never did. I know it. And now? Now she's completely buried in my embrace, her breathing deep, utterly lost to the world.

I blink and then sigh. "Of course," I mutter under my breath, defeated but entirely unsurprised.

Because this girl—this sneaky, cheeky, impossible girl—definitely forgot on purpose.

I stare at the clock for a few more seconds, contemplating my life choices.

5:47 AM.

Yoko's supposed to be back in her room before anyone notices she's missing. And yet, she's here. Still sound asleep. Still wrapped completely around me like she has no intention of leaving anytime soon.

I exhale, long and slow, dropping my head back against the pillow. "Of course," I murmur under my breath, shaking my head slightly.

This little brat. She definitely forgot on purpose.

I shift slightly, trying to move without waking her, but the moment I so much as lift my arm, her grip tightens.

I freeze.

Then, almost on cue, she burrows deeper into me, her legs tangling with mine, her nose brushing against my collarbone as she lets out a tiny, content sigh. A sigh that literally wrecks me.

My lips part slightly, my heart twisting in the kind of way that makes me weak, helpless, completely in love. I know I should wake her. I really should. But—

"Just a little longer," I whisper, convincing myself more than anything.

I let my fingers trace the curve of her back, feather-light, just enough to feel the warmth of her skin beneath the fabric of my shirt that she stole last night.

And then—because I really can't help myself—I tilt my head down, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to her temple. 

She stirs slightly, murmuring something unintelligible, her hold on me never loosening. I swallow, biting back a fond smile, then press another kiss—this time to her hairline, just above her brow.

I should wake her. I really should.

But God—How can I, when she looks so peaceful like this? When she sleeps like she's never felt safer? When I know that, even in her dreams, she's still reaching for me?

I stay still, my arms still wrapped around her, my body so unwilling to move from this warmth, this comfort, this piece of home that only Yoko ever gives me.

But I know I should do something—wake her up, check the time again, maybe start figuring out how to sneak her out of here before disaster strikes.

Instead, my gaze drifts to the poetry book on the nightstand. I reach for it, my fingers brushing the worn cover, the familiar weight of it settling in my hands. Vanessa's note to Yoko catches my eye immediately.

I flip open the front page, my lips tugging into a knowing smirk as my eyes skim over the elegant, almost too sharp handwriting. I snort softly, shaking my head.

Of course she wrote that.

I can almost hear her saying it, the ever-present sass laced with that undeniable amusement, like she already knew Yoko was exactly the type of person to fall for someone like me.

I run my fingers over the ink, letting the words linger in my mind, before flipping to the page I wanted her to see the most. The poem I'd wanted her to read, to know, to feel.

My fingers still as I find it.

"i carry your heart with me(i carry it in my heart)i am never without it..."

My eyes trace each line, my mind sinking into the words, the meaning, the undeniable truth woven between them.

"...and whatever is doneby only me is your doing, my darling"

I breathe in slowly, my eyes shifting from the page back to Yoko, who is still curled into me, still holding onto me even in her sleep.

God. She really has no idea how much I love her. How much I carry her with me, in every breath, in every thought, in every damn part of me.

I close the book softly, my fingers resting against the cover as my mind drifts back to yesterday afternoon. 

Back to my conversation with Vanessa. Back to the moment she gave me this book and told me to be honest about what I feel.

"You're in love with her, aren't you?" she had asked, not even looking up as she signed the title page.

I hadn't answered. Because I didn't need to. Because it was obvious.

And now, as I lie here, with the person I love more than anything in the world still wrapped around me, still clutching onto me like she never wants to let go—

I finally understand what Vanessa meant. I finally understand why she told me to give Yoko this poem.

Because this? This is what it means to carry someone's heart.

I look at her—really look at her.

The way her hair falls messily over her face, the way her fingers twitch slightly against my skin, even in sleep. The way she breathes so steadily, so peacefully, like she already knows she's safe here with me.

And I think about yesterday again. About Vanessa. About what she said.

"You're in love with her, aren't you?" She had asked so casually, so matter-of-fact, like it wasn't a question that would shake my entire damn world.

But then she looked at me, her piercing blue eyes holding something so sharp, so knowing, like she already knew what was coming. "To what extent?" she had asked.

I remember blinking at her, confused.

"To what extent do you love her, Faye?"

I had frowned, still not understanding, and Vanessa had sighed, shaking her head in mock disappointment, like I was back in her class, failing to grasp a literary concept she thought was blatantly obvious.

"Do you carry her in your heart?" she had asked next.

That had thrown me. I had stared at her, unsure what she meant, unsure why she was asking me that, unsure how to answer.

So I had asked instead. "What do you mean, Prof?"

And just like that, Vanessa had shifted, sitting back, her expression going from playful and teasing to serious and knowing. Like a professor again. Like she was challenging me.

"This poem isn't just about love," she had said, gesturing to the book in my hands.

"It's about devotion. It's about permanence. It's about knowing that someone isn't just temporary in your life. It's about knowing—" she had leaned forward, stormy blue eyes locked on mine, "—that you are ready to carry this person with you, for the rest of your life."

I had swallowed, feeling something twist inside me.

"Faye," she had continued, her voice softer now. "Do you love this girl to the point where you know, without a doubt, that you want to carry her in your heart? Forever?"

My mouth had opened, but no words had come out. Because I didn't know. Or maybe, maybe I had been too afraid to admit it. I had shaken my head slightly, unsure. "I—"

Vanessa had smirked then, like she had expected that answer. "Then you're not ready."

"Not ready for what?"

She had tilted her head, amusement flickering in her eyes. "Marriage."

I remember laughing, scoffing at the absurdity of it, at the way she had so casually thrown that into the conversation, like it was some natural next step.

"That's a bit much, isn't it, Prof?" I had joked, trying to shake it off, trying to ignore the way my heart had reacted.

Vanessa had just shrugged. "Is it?" she had asked, watching me closely. "Because that's what this poem is, Faye. It's a vow. It's a promise. It's an unbreakable thread. And if you're not sure, if you can't say it with certainty, then you're not there yet."

I had scoffed again, trying to laugh it off, trying to dismiss it as Vanessa being Vanessa, over-analyzing literature to prove a point.

But now? Now, as I look at Yoko, as I look at the way she clings to me even in sleep, the way she fits so perfectly against me, the way she feels like home in a way no place ever has—I know. 

I know exactly what Vanessa meant. I know exactly why she had challenged me like that. I know exactly why she had given me this book, this poem, this question.

Because she had already seen the answer. She had already known it before I did. Because the answer isn't uncertain anymore. Because the answer is Yes.

Yes, I want to carry Yoko in my heart. I want to keep her, forever, always, as long as she'll let me. I want to be hers, completely, irrevocably, without hesitation. I want everything and forever with her.

And I'm not afraid to admit it anymore. I know what I want now. It's not a fleeting thought. It's not some wild, ridiculous idea that I'll second-guess later.

No, this is real. This is certain. This is the most sure I've ever been about anything in my life.

I want to marry this woman. I want to wait for her, as long as it takes. I want to hold her hand through everything.

Her graduation. Her dreams. Her life. And I will wait. Until she's ready. Until the world is ready.

Because when the time comes, when she's no longer a student, when she's standing at that crossroads of her future, I want to be there, waiting.

And then, I'll get down on one knee. I'll ask her to be my wife. I'll ask her to be my forever.

I glance back down at her, my Yoko, still nestled into my arms, sleepy and warm, lips slightly parted, breath soft against my skin.

She mumbles something incoherent, and I chuckle, shaking my head.

"What am I going to do with you, love?" I murmur, brushing a strand of hair away from her face.

She doesn't stir. Not yet. But I know she will, soon.

And when she does, when those beautiful brown eyes flutter open, when she looks at me with that sleepy, drowsy gaze, when she smiles at me like I'm the only thing in the world that matters—I'll kiss her awake.

Slowly. Tenderly. Romantically.

Like she's the most precious thing in the world to me. Because she is. Because she's going to be my wife someday. And I can't wait.

I let my eyes drift shut, the warmth of Yoko seeping into me, wrapping around me like a cocoon. Her breath is soft, steady, a gentle rhythm that grounds me. This—this moment right here—is what I want for the rest of my life.

To hold her like this. To wake up next to her every morning. To fall asleep to the sound of her breathing, the weight of her in my arms.

I don't know how much time passes, but eventually, the pull of sleep wins, and I let myself sink into it, my arms tightening around her, my heart full.

☽ ☼ ☾

BZZZZT. BZZZZT. BZZZZT.

The piercing vibration of a phone jolts me out of my slumber, ripping me away from my warm, peaceful dream.

I groan, blinking blearily, disoriented as hell.

Was that my phone?

With one hand, I grope around the nightstand, my fingers brushing against cold glass before I manage to grab the device.

Still half-asleep, I answer without checking the screen, my voice groggy and low. "Yeah...?"

There's a pause. Then—"Oh. My. God."

My brain lags.

That voice... It's—

"Ms Peraya?!"

Ink.

I jerk upright instantly, my whole body tensing. Oh. Oh, shit.

"What the hell are you doing answering Yoko's phone?! And why do you sound like you just woke up?! Oh my god—don't tell me—OH MY GOD."

Oh. Oh my god. My mind short-circuits for a solid three seconds. Then, panic. I whip my head to the side, eyes darting to Yoko's phone in my hand.

Oh. Oh, fuck. This isn't my phone. This is Yoko's phone. Which means, Ink called Yoko. And I, like a fucking idiot, just answered it.

I clear my throat, scrambling for damage control. "Ink." I say, trying to sound calm, trying to sound like I absolutely did not just wake up next to Yoko in bed. "What do you need?"

"What do I need?" Ink practically screeches. "I need to bleach my ears, that's what I need! Did I just hear you waking up? Ms Peraya, what the hell—"

I rub my temple, exhaling sharply. "Ink," I try again, calmer, firmer. "Lower your voice."

"OH, SO YOU'RE FULLY AWAKE NOW?!"

Jesus.

I pinch the bridge of my nose, willing my sleep-deprived brain to function. "Yoko is still asleep," I say smoothly, pretending I have my shit together. "If you'd like to speak to her, I can wake her—"

"NO, NO, NO, DO NOT WAKE HER."

I pause. "Then why did you call?"

Ink inhales. "I CALLED TO WAKE HER UP, BUT CLEARLY, YOU'VE ALREADY DONE ENOUGH OF THAT."

Oh my god. I stifle a laugh.

This girl. 

Ink is losing her mind right now, and I'd be lying if I said it wasn't at least a little funny. I glance at Yoko, still fast asleep, curled into my chest, completely oblivious to the chaos happening over the phone.

"Relax, Ink." I murmur, my voice dropping into a teasing lilt. "Nothing happened."

There's a long pause. Then—"I don't believe you."

I grin. "Too bad."

Ink groans in frustration. "I hate you."

"I know."

"I'm hanging up."

"Please do."

"I swear to god, Ms Peraya—"

Click.

I chuckle, tossing Yoko's phone onto the nightstand, fully awake now. Well. That was one way to start the morning.

I turn, watching the soft rise and fall of Yoko's breathing, her face relaxed, peaceful in the early morning light. For a moment, I just let myself admire her, the way her lashes flutter faintly, the slight pout of her lips, the way she instinctively curls toward me like I'm her personal source of warmth.

God, I love her. But if I let her sleep any longer, we're going to have a problem. I lean down, brushing my nose against her cheek, pressing the lightest kiss to her temple.

"Baby," I murmur, my lips moving to her jaw, trailing soft, coaxing kisses.

No response. I bite back a chuckle.

"Yoko," I try again, sweeter this time, kissing the corner of her mouth.

She stirs, grumbling something incoherent before burying her face deeper into my chest. "Mmmf."

I smile, shaking my head. "Come on, love," I whisper, kissing her again, this time on her lips, slow, deep, indulgent.

She groans. I take that as progress.

"Five more minutes," she mumbles, clinging to me, her voice muffled against my skin.

I laugh, low and amused. "Yoko," I pull back slightly, cupping her face, brushing my thumb along her cheek. "You need to get up now, or the whole world is going to know you spent the night in my bed."

Her eyes snap open instantly. I barely contain my laughter as she blinks blearily, her brain obviously struggling to piece reality together. Then—

"Shit."

I chuckle, pressing one last kiss to her forehead. "Good morning, baby."

She groans dramatically, flopping onto her back. "I hate you."

"No, you don't."

She glares weakly at me, but I can see the pink creeping up her cheeks. And then—oh, I smirk.

"What?" she grumbles.

"Nothing," I say smoothly, brushing her already messy hair out of her face.

"Liar."

I grin. "Just wondering where your three alarms are, that's all."

Her eyes widen slightly. I see it, the exact moment realization dawns on her. Then, she gapes at me, horrified. "Wait—how did you—"

"Oh, you know," I hum, feigning nonchalance, watching her squirm. "I figured it out when Ink called me."

Silence. A beat. Then—

"Wait. What."

I barely suppress my laughter. "Ink called," I repeat casually, adjusting the pillow behind my back. "I answered."

Yoko bolts upright so fast she nearly falls off the bed. "YOU WHAT."

I burst into laughter, utterly delighted.

"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god—" She grabs the nearest pillow, muffling her screams into it.

I grin, completely enjoying this. "You better thank her, you know."

She whips around, eyes wide. "Thank her?!"

"She saved you." I smirk, leaning against the headboard. "If she didn't call, you'd probably still be snoring into my chest."

"I DO NOT SNORE."

"Mmm, sure, baby."

She grabs another pillow and whacks me with it. I laugh, catching her wrist before she can assault me any further.

"You deserve this, honestly," I tease, pulling her closer. "You thought you could sneak your way into my bed and not get caught?"

She groans, collapsing against me, clearly defeated. "I hate everything."

"And yet, you love me."

She grumbles something under her breath, still burying herself into me like she can disappear.

I chuckle, pressing one last kiss to her forehead before nudging her gently. "Come on, darling," I murmur, voice softer now, coaxing. "You need to go wash up and get back before Marissa starts suspecting."

She pouts, tilting her head up to look at me. "I don't want to go."

I smile, brushing my fingers through her hair. "I know, love."

I watch as her resolve crumbles, her shoulders slumping before she finally lets out a sigh of defeat. Then, she makes one last attempt.

"If I kiss you a few more times, can I stay?"

I laugh, "No."

She huffs dramatically, but finally, finally she peels herself off of me and grumbles her way to the bathroom. I watch her go, shaking my head, my heart so ridiculously full it's almost embarrassing.

God. This girl is going to be the death of me.

By the time Yoko steps out of the bathroom, she's fully awake now, her hair damp from washing her face, her cheeks still a little pink from sleep. And, of course, she's wearing another one of my sweaters.

I smirk, leaning back against the headboard, watching her as she adjusts the sleeves like it's already hers. "You're really building a collection of my clothes, huh?" I tease, tilting my head.

She grins, unbothered. "Maybe," she says, pulling the collar up to sniff it dramatically.

I laugh, shaking my head. God, I love this girl. "Come here."

She walks over, and I tug her down, kissing her slowly, savoring the last few seconds before she has to leave. Her lips are soft, familiar, and she tastes like my toothpaste, which only makes me smile into the kiss.

"See you later, baby," I murmur against her lips, brushing my thumb along her jaw.

She pouts but nods, reluctantly pulling away. With one last quick peck, I finally step back and reach for the door. She stands there for a second, giving me a look that makes my chest ache before she sighs dramatically and sneaks out like a damn thief in the night.

The moment the door clicks shut, I let out a deep breath, shaking my head, still smiling like an idiot. God. This girl. I run a hand through my hair, dragging myself to the bathroom.

By the time I step out, freshly showered, dressed, and actually functioning, I find myself sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at the door like an absolute fool. It's barely even the start of day, and I'm already thinking about her again.

"Hopeless," I mutter to myself, chuckling softly.

Just as I reach for my phone, it starts ringing. I glance at the screen.

Caller ID: Engfa

I sigh deeply before answering, bringing it to my ear. "What."

"GOOD MORNING, MY FAVORITE SUFFERING TEACHER," Engfa sings loudly, so obnoxiously cheerful that I immediately regret picking up.

I groan, rubbing my temples. "Jesus, why are you like this so early in the morning?"

"Why are you acting surprised? You know this is what you signed up for when you became my friend," she cackles.

I roll my eyes. "What do you want?"

"Oh, nothing," she says dramatically. "Just wanted to check in on my beloved friend who is currently pretending to be professional on a school trip but is actually madly in love with her student."

I freeze. Then squint. "Why do you sound like you're enjoying this too much?"

"Because I am."

"You're an asshole."

"And yet, here you are, still talking to me," she says smugly.

I sigh again, falling back against the bed, staring at the ceiling. "I really hate you sometimes."

"No, you don't," she says sweetly.

I close my eyes and sigh. This is going to be a long call.

"Why the hell are you even awake at this ungodly hour?" I ask, rubbing my forehead as I sit back against the headboard, my phone resting against my ear.

"Oh, please," Engfa scoffs. "Unlike some people who are on a lovely school trip in scenic Edinburgh, some of us are actually being overworked like a damn corporate slave."

I snort, already unimpressed by her dramatics. "So, in other words, you're still stuck in the office?"

"Obviously," she grumbles, followed by the sound of her typing. "This case is sucking the absolute soul out of me. I haven't even seen my bed in like 36 hours."

"That sounds like a personal problem."

"Go to hell."

"Already there, babe," I tease.

She groans loudly like she's about to chuck her phone at the wall. "I hate you."

"Yeah, yeah. How's the case?"

"Trash," she mutters. "But whatever, not talking about it. More importantly—how's the trip? I bet you're loving it, Ms. Literature Enthusiast. Back at your damn alma mater and everything."

"It's been...not bad," I admit, a small smile pulling at my lips. "I went back to the university, saw some of the professors—"

"Oh?" Engfa perks up. "Anyone interesting?"

I smirk. "Vanessa Evans."

There's a loud pause. Then—"Oh, HELL no."

I burst out laughing as Engfa shudders so hard I can practically hear it through the phone.

"Fucking Professor Evans? The Attorney-turned-professor-from-hell?"

"The very one."

"Christ," Engfa mutters. "That woman could kill a man with just her stare."

"I know." I chuckle. "And somehow, she became my mentor."

"Oh, please," she scoffs. "You totally wanted to be her favorite."

I grin, nonchalant. "And I was."

"I hate you."

"You've said that already."

"Still valid."

I shake my head, stretching my legs out.

"What else happened?" Engfa asks, "Besides you fangirling over your old professor?"

"Nothing much. Just the usual. Walking around the city, revisiting places I never had the time to appreciate as a student—oh, and Yoko."

"Ooooh." She drawls. "Now we're talking."

I roll my eyes.

"How's the little girlfriend?"

I exhale, softly smiling. "She's good. Annoying as always, but good."

"You look like you have something on your mind," Engfa suddenly says, her voice shifting slightly.

I pause. "What? No, I don't."

"Faye."

"Engfa."

"Spill."

"It's nothing."

"Bullshit," she calls out instantly. "You've been acting weird since I called. Tell me, what's going on? Are you finally going to admit you're the biggest simp to ever exist?"

I groan, pinching the bridge of my nose. "I hate you so much."

"Flattered. Now tell me."

I let out a slow breath. Then, "I want to marry her."

There's silence. For a long second, I wonder if the call dropped. Then, "Holy shit."

"Mhm."

"HOLY SHIT."

"Mhm."

"You're not joking."

"Nope."

"YOU—" she pauses, seemingly speechless for the first time in her life. "I—holy fuck. You're serious about this."

I let out a deep exhale, my gaze flickering. "Yeah," I murmur, "I'm so fucking serious."

There's another pause, a deep inhale from Engfa's end. Then, "My girl is finally fucking growing up."

I groan, already regretting everything. "Don't start."

"No, no, no. Shut the hell up. I need a moment," she dramatically gasps, sniffling like she's about to burst into tears. "My best friend, the notorious, commitment-phobic, emotionally-stunted, love-doesn't-exist-unless-it's-in-literature Faye Peraya, is actually saying—no, declaring—that she wants to marry someone. And not just anyone—a woman."

"I have always been into women, dumbass."

"Yes, but not like this," she cackles. "Not marriage serious."

I roll my eyes, staring at the empty space beside me where Yoko had been just an hour ago. The sheets are still slightly creased from where she had laid, her scent still lingering faintly on my pillow.

"Okay, fine," I admit, exhaling heavily. "But if you say 'I told you so,' I swear to god, I'm ending this call."

"I TOLD YOU SO, BITCH."

I hang up.

My phone immediately starts ringing again. I stare at it, contemplating my choices in life before finally accepting my fate and answering.

"What."

"Rude."

"You had that coming."

"Fine, fine," she huffs, but I can hear the amusement laced in her voice. "Alright, tell me. How did you come to this great epiphany? Because last I checked, you were Miss 'I'll Think About It When It Happens.'"

"I don't know," I murmur, running a hand through my hair. "I think it just...hit me. Like, I always knew I loved her. But earlier, when I was reading I Carry Your Heart With Me by e.e cummings and thinking about what Vanessa said—"

"Wait, wait, wait." Engfa interrupts. "Vanessa Evans made you realize you wanted to propose?"

"She didn't 'make' me," I clarify. "She just challenged me. Made me think about it deeper."

"So let me get this straight," she snickers. "The woman who traumatized you in university—Professor Doom herself—is now the reason you want to get down on one knee?"

"Oh my god, shut up."

"This is so poetic. The irony. The full-circle moment. I'm living."

I groan, grabbing a pillow and shoving my face into it. "I hate you."

"Love you too, babe," she chuckles. "But listen, I'm so here for this. You should totally do it."

I blink, a little surprised by how earnest she sounds. "You think so?"

"Are you fucking kidding?" she scoffs. "You're literally the happiest I've ever seen you. You think I'm gonna stop you from marrying the woman who makes you feel like this? HELL NO. If anything, I'll be your damn maid of honor."

I laugh, shaking my head. "Of course, that's your priority."

"Duh. But seriously, babe. You and Yoko? You're it. I can see it from a damn continent away. If you feel like she's the one, then she is the one. I'll support you, no matter what."

My chest warms, my fingers unconsciously tracing the indentation of Yoko's weight on the bed, where she had curled up against me hours ago.

"Thanks, Fa," I whisper.

"Anytime, babe. Now, go plan your future wedding and let me suffer in my law hell. I'm expecting an invite when the time comes."

"Noted."

"Love you, simp."

"Fuck off."

"BYE, MRS. PERAYA-APASRA!"

I hang up again, but this time, I'm smiling.

By the time I finally make it down to breakfast, the dining hall is already bustling with students, the morning air buzzing with chatter, the clinking of cutlery against plates, and the occasional burst of laughter.

I blame Engfa entirely for my slight tardiness. Though, knowing her, she'd probably call it fashionably late instead of being held hostage by her cackling over my impending gay panic marriage thoughts.

I step into the hall, my eyes immediately scanning the room not for my students, but for her. And of course, there she is.

Yoko is sitting at a table with her usual gang, but something is off.

She's grumbling, her face slightly flushed, while Marissa and Big are both grinning like absolute devils, their laughter ringing through the hall like they just uncovered the juiciest gossip of the century.

Ink, meanwhile, is just sipping her orange juice, watching everything unfold with that same amused, knowing smirk that tells me exactly who the mastermind behind this morning's torment is.

I don't even need to hear what they're saying to know that Yoko is getting teased to hell and back.

And of course, I'm going to make this worse.

Suppressing a grin, I casually slide into the empty table right behind them, perfectly within earshot but out of their line of sight. I set down my plate, pick up my coffee, and lean back—because this?

This is about to be some prime entertainment.

"YOKO. You're practically glowing." Marissa's voice is dramatic as hell, dripping with fake innocence. "Would you like to tell the gang why?"

"Shut up." Yoko groans, stabbing at her toast like it personally offended her.

"Oh, come on," Big eggs on, nudging her arm. "You came back so late last night. With a different sweater, might I add."

Ah. So that's the angle they're going for.

I hide my smirk behind my coffee cup.

"What's wrong with that?" Yoko says, trying so hard to play it cool.

"Oh, I don't know." Marissa taps her chin, feigning deep thought. "Maybe because you left the hotel in your sweater but came back in—what was it again, Big?"

Big pretends to think.

"Oh yeah. A completely different sweater."

Yoko's entire body stiffens for a fraction of a second.

And I—sitting behind her, witnessing every single moment of this absolute comedy—have to physically bite my lip to stop myself from laughing.

Ink, the only one who actually knows what's going on, is still calmly sipping her orange juice, watching Yoko crumble in real time.

"That's... That's—" Yoko splutters, reaching for her cup of coffee. "That's just—I borrowed it."

"OH?" Marissa perks up, eyes twinkling with mischief. "From who?"

Big leans in, grinning ear to ear. "Was it your mystery girlfriend?"

Yoko nearly chokes on her drink. I have to lower my head, pretending to check my phone just to hide my shaking shoulders.

"Guys," Yoko says, exasperated, rubbing her temples. "Can we just not do this at breakfast? It's too early for this nonsense."

"Nonsense?" Marissa gasps dramatically. "We are simply concerned friends trying to piece together the mystery of your secret romance."

"Oh my god, shut up."

"You don't deny it, though!"

Ink finally decides to interject, setting her cup down. "Leave her alone," she says smoothly, but the smirk on her face completely betrays her words. "She's already been through enough."

Yoko turns to her instantly, eyes pleading. "Ink," she whispers. "You're supposed to be on my side."

Ink just shrugs, looking entirely unbothered. "Should I remind you that I saved your ass this morning?"

Yoko's face drops instantly. I take a long, slow sip of my coffee, highly entertained.

"What does that mean?" Marissa squints suspiciously.

"NOTHING," Yoko blurts out way too quickly.

Too late.

Marissa and Big exchange a glance. "Oh." Big's grin grows wider. "Oh, this is better than I thought."

"Let's circle back." Marissa leans in, elbows on the table, looking like she's about to conduct a full-fledged interrogation. "Saved her from what, Ink?"

Ink just sips her orange juice again, not answering.

Yoko pales. I lift my coffee to my lips once more, hiding my victorious smirk behind the rim. This morning just got a lot more interesting.

I'm still highly entertained, watching Yoko squirm under the relentless teasing of her friends when—"Morning, Faye!"

I look up and internally sigh.

Ms. Taylor slides into the seat across from me, all bright smiles and overly enthusiastic energy, looking way too chirpy for this ungodly hour.

"Good morning," I reply, perfectly polite, perfectly neutral—because even if I don't particularly enjoy her company, I still have a professional reputation to maintain.

Not that it stops her from leaning in a little, her hands wrapped around her coffee cup, looking like she's about to have a very important conversation with me.

"So," she starts, tilting her head, "are you excited for tonight?"

My brow furrows. "Tonight?"

She chuckles. "The university mixer?"

Oh. That.

I resist the urge to groan out loud.

Right. The university mixer—a formal event hosted as part of the ongoing partnership between our school and the university, meant to introduce our students to potential further studies opportunities.

A networking event. A soulless, tedious, politically correct nightmare where teachers are expected to stand around making polite conversation with professors and deans while students awkwardly hover in a room full of academics pretending to care about their futures.

"Of course," I reply smoothly, masking every ounce of my dread behind a pleasant, knowing smile. "How could I possibly forget?"

Ms. Taylor laughs, mistaking my painfully obvious sarcasm for actual amusement.

"I know you're not a fan of these things," she says, shaking her head, "but come on, it'll be fun. The students will get a chance to explore their options, and it's a great opportunity for us to network with faculty members."

I take a long, slow sip of my coffee. Network with faculty members. 

Translation: stand around and make empty small talk with people I will never contact again.

"Thrilling," I deadpan.

Ms. Taylor laughs again, as if I'm joking, which I'm not, but sure. "At least you'll get to see some familiar faces," she continues, sipping her own coffee. "That Professor Evans you studied under is attending, isn't she?"

Vanessa.

I exhale sharply through my nose, half-smirking at the thought.

If there's one person who could make a pretentious networking event entertaining, it's Professor Doom herself.

"Haven't confirmed," I reply smoothly. "But she did mention she might drop by."

Ms. Taylor nods. "That's great! Maybe she'll put in a good word for our students if any of them are interested in pursuing literature at Edinburgh."

I hum noncommittally, doubtful that Vanessa Evans—the harshest, most brutally honest professor I've ever known—would willingly endorse anyone unless they were literally the next Shakespeare.

But sure. Let's go with that.

"Well, I should finish up," Ms. Taylor says, setting her cup down. "See you tonight?"

"Of course," I answer, because I have no choice.

She leaves, and I let out a deep, suffering sigh as I turn back to my breakfast.

A mixer. God help me.

I finish my last sip of coffee and exhale, bracing myself for the day ahead.

The dreaded mixer isn't until later tonight, so at least I have a few hours before I'm forced to smile and nod my way through tedious academic conversations.

For now, I have to survive another round of Ms. Taylor's itinerary briefing.

Lucky me.

I step out of the breakfast lounge and head towards the main lobby, where students are already gathering, chatting loudly, some half-asleep, some—like Marissa—entirely too energetic for this hour.

I spot Yoko immediately.

Not just because my eyes instinctively seek her out, but because she's currently red-faced, squirming, flustered beyond belief, and desperately trying to get her friends to stop teasing her.

I chuckle under my breath.

She looks so cute when she's suffering.

Ms. Taylor, standing at the front, claps her hands to get everyone's attention. "Alright, everyone, listen up!" she announces. "Before we head out, I'll go over today's itinerary again."

I exhale through my nose, only half-listening, because I already know what we're doing today. Instead, my focus remains entirely on Yoko, who catches my gaze for a split second—only to look away immediately, as if she's been burned.

I smirk.

She's still so embarrassed from this morning.

Adorable.

Ms. Taylor continues rattling on about the day's schedule—something about historical sites, something about a university-related event, something about students having free time in the afternoon—but I only half-process it, too busy suppressing my amusement as I watch Yoko physically vibrating with secondhand shame.

Eventually, Ms. Taylor claps her hands again. "Alright! Let's move!"

Students start filing towards the exit, and I casually stroll along, blending into the background. The bus ride awaits. And maybe, just maybe, I'll let Yoko recover before I tease her again.

... Maybe.

The bus rumbles beneath me as I sit at the front, sunglasses on, arms crossed, letting the dull hum of student chatter fade into white noise.

The first stop on today's itinerary? The National Museum of Scotland.

Ms. Taylor had excitedly rambled about it back at the hotel, something about Scottish history, literature, and the evolution of the arts—which, admittedly, does pique my interest. Still, I'd rather not be doing this with this many students.

I glance toward the back of the bus.

Yoko is there, sitting with Ink, probably still trying to recover from the relentless teasing she endured over breakfast.

I smirk to myself. Poor thing. She did set herself up for it, though.

I feel my phone vibrate in my coat pocket. I take it out and glance at the message.

Yoko

Where are you sitting, babe?

I type back lazily.

Faye

Front, teacher zone. Where I belong.

Her reply is almost immediate.

Yoko

So boring

Faye

So obedient, you mean

I hear a tiny snort from the back of the bus and smirk. Yeah. I know that was her.

By the time we arrive at the National Museum, I'm the first off the bus, stepping onto the cobbled pavement, stretching slightly before adjusting my coat.

It's chilly, the Edinburgh morning air crisp, but refreshing.

The museum stands before us, grand and breathtakingly intricate, its glass windows reflecting the soft glow of the overcast sky.

Ms. Taylor starts gathering the students near the entrance, herding them like sheep as she excitedly explains the museum's significance.

I take a few steps forward, admiring the structure.

I always meant to visit back when I was a student here. But then, Law classes that I didn't sign up for because Engfa forced me to attend with her. Literature dissertations. Engfa dragging me to pubs instead.

Yeah. I never got around to it. So I suppose this is my chance.

Yoko hops off the bus with her friends, adjusting the sleeves of my sweater, looking too damn cute for her own good.

And then, she sees me. Our eyes meet. She quickly looks away, pretending to listen to Ms. Taylor, but I know better.

I smirk, slipping my hands into my coat pockets. Yeah, she's still flustered. This is going to be fun.

I wander through the grand halls of the National Museum of Scotland, taking my time to admire the exhibits.

The literature and Scottish history sections hold my attention for the longest.

There's something oddly grounding about standing in front of preserved manuscripts, seeing ink-stained pages that have outlived their creators, words that once belonged to dreamers, poets, revolutionaries.

I should've come here back when I was studying in Edinburgh.

Maybe then I wouldn't have spent half my university years getting dragged to pubs by Engfa or locked in endless debates with Professor Evans about why poetry matters in a world full of law students.

I smirk to myself.

That woman would love it here. Engfa, on the other hand?

She'd pretend to be interested, then get bored within five minutes and start picking fights with history enthusiasts just for fun.

Speaking of Engfa–I check my phone, scrolling through Engfa's string of unhinged texts.

Engfa

Did you get engaged yet

Engfa

Why not

Engfa

You coward

Engfa

LITERALLY YOU'RE IN SCOTLAND

Engfa

MARRY HER LIKE THEY DO IN ROM-COMS

Engfa

KNEEL ON THE COBBLESTONES

I sigh. She's unbearable. I type back, rolling my eyes.

Faye

Get a hobby.

Then I slip my phone into my pocket and head to the souvenir shop. Might as well get her something so she'll stop terrorizing me.

The shop is quaint, lined with books, trinkets, and memorabilia showcasing Scotland's deep artistic roots. I pick up a whisky tumbler engraved with a Robert Burns quote, turning it over in my hand.

Engfa would appreciate it. Well, she'd pretend to. What she'd really appreciate is if I just brought her back a whole bottle of Scotch.

I grab the tumbler and then spot something else—A small, handmade leather journal, bound neatly with gold leaf edges.

It reminds me of her.

Not Engfa.

Yoko.

I brush my fingers over the cover, debating. She already has the first edition book from Professor Evans and half my wardrobe at this point. But still, I buy it. For her. Because I can't not get her something.

And because I know, no matter what happens, Yoko will always be my favorite story.

Back on the bus, I settle into my seat, stretching my legs as the engine hums beneath us. The students are buzzing with excitement, their chatter bouncing off the walls of the vehicle.

Marissa is passionately recounting something to Big—probably about how the museum changed her life in the last two hours.

Ink is scrolling through her phone, tuning them out entirely. And Yoko? She's three rows ahead, squeezed between Ink and Marissa, her head turned slightly toward the window, her fingers playing with the necklace I gave her.

I catch her stealing a glance at me through the reflection. I smirk and she looks away immediately.

Cute.

Ms. Taylor stands at the front of the bus, raising her voice over the murmurs. "All right, everyone, we're heading to Arthur's Seat for the next stop! It's about a 40-minute walk to the top, so make sure you have your water bottles."

There's an immediate wave of groaning. I chuckle to myself. I knew they'd complain the second walking got involved.

Ms. Taylor claps her hands. "Come on now! The view is breathtaking, and you'll thank me once we're up there!"

Yoko turns slightly in her seat, finally facing me fully. Our gazes lock. There's a small pout on her lips—one she doesn't even realize she's making.

I already know exactly what's going through her head–she doesn't want to hike.

I lift my hand discreetly and hold up three fingers. Three words, silently mouthed, "You'll survive, baby."

She rolls her eyes, crossing her arms before looking away. But I catch it. That small, begrudging smile.

Yeah. She'll be fine.

We step off the bus, greeted by the vast, rolling greenery of Holyrood Park stretching out before us.

Arthur's Seat towers in the distance, rugged and grand, standing as if to mock every single student currently groaning at the idea of walking up there.

"Okay, guys," Ms. Taylor announces, far too enthusiastically for a woman who will also have to make the climb. "We'll take it slow. Stick with your friends, don't wander off too far, and please, for the love of everything holy, no one sprain an ankle."

A chorus of grumbling agreement follows. Beside me, a voice grumbles even lower than the others.

"This is ridiculous," Yoko mutters, pulling her hoodie up like it'll somehow make the climb disappear.

I smirk. "It's just a walk," I tease, adjusting my trench coat.

"It's not 'just a walk' when it involves an incline and suffering."

I chuckle, reaching over discreetly to flick her hoodie down. "Come on, I'll even give you words of encouragement every step of the way."

She glares at me. "I don't want encouragement."

"Too bad," I say, falling in step beside her.

The first few minutes aren't so bad. The path is well-trodden, slightly rocky, but manageable. But then, the incline starts. And the whining begins.

"Oh my god." I hear Jonathan somewhere behind us, already out of breath.

"Why did we agree to this?" Big groans, dramatically throwing his head back.

Marissa, on the other hand, looks annoyingly unbothered. "I think it's great! It's an excellent form of cardio!"

I hear multiple people groan at once. Yoko huffs loudly, clutching my sleeve as she trudges up the path.

I raise a brow, glancing at her. "Need help?"

"I need a helicopter."

I chuckle, gripping her wrist for just a second before letting go. "Come on, just a little more."

She glares at me. "Don't patronize me."

I grin, leaning in slightly, lowering my voice so only she can hear—"I'd carry you if I could."

Her cheeks flush immediately. She shoves me—lightly, because we're still walking, and she doesn't actually want to trip me. "Shut up."

I laugh.

Yeah. This is already worth it.

The moment we reach the top, a collective sigh of relief spreads through the group.

Some students collapse onto the grass immediately, while others lean forward with their hands on their knees, dramatically gasping for air as if they've just conquered Everest.

I, on the other hand, breathe in deeply, letting the crisp, cool air fill my lungs. The view is as breathtaking as I remember.

The entire city of Edinburgh sprawls out below us—a blend of old-world charm and modern architecture, nestled between green hills and misty horizons. The sky stretches wide, streaked with soft blues and wisps of white clouds, while the castle in the distance stands proud, watching over it all.

Beside me, Yoko is standing silently, gazing at the view, her expression soft and thoughtful. I let my eyes linger on her for a moment.

The wind tugs at her hair, messing it up slightly, and she absentmindedly tucks a strand behind her ear, her fingers brushing against the necklace I gave her. I smirk.

At least she's grounded herself back to me after all that awkward Blair nonsense yesterday.

Before I can say anything, Ms. Taylor's voice cuts through the peace. "Alright, everyone! Group photo!"

A collective groan erupts.

"No escaping this one!" she continues, clapping her hands. "Come on, let's gather up."

Slowly, reluctantly, the students shuffle towards the designated spot, muttering complaints the entire way. I see Yoko eyeing the chaos, calculating her best escape route.

I smirk.

Not happening.

I reach over casually, wrapping a hand around her wrist. "No running," I murmur.

She pouts dramatically, but doesn't protest as I guide her toward the group.

Jonathan, of course, complains the loudest. "This is absurd," he grumbles, dramatically flopping into place.

"Shut up and smile," Marissa says, shoving him into position.

Ink just shakes her head and pulls Yoko beside her. "Ms. Tall-and-Cold," she teases under her breath.

Yoko swats at her immediately. I chuckle softly, shaking my head as I position myself at the edge of the group.

The photographer counts down—Three, two, one—and just as the shutter clicks, someone behind me trips.

Chaos. Laughter. A pile of students toppling over. And Yoko? She's laughing the hardest.

I glance at her and for a moment, as the wind plays with her hair, as her laughter rings out, as the sun catches the warm glow in her eyes—I swear, this moment? I'll remember it forever.

By the time we make it down and head back to the bus, everyone is dead. At least until we reach the place for lunch.

And well, lunch is nothing short of a battlefield.

The moment we step into the restaurant, students rush forward like a pack of wild animals let loose after days of starvation.

The poor waitstaff barely have time to process their orders before trays are being loaded with food at record-breaking speeds.

Knives and forks clatter. Glasses clink. Someone–probably Jonathan–drops a spoon loud enough to make heads turn.

I shake my head, amused, as I settle into my seat near the window, already knowing that no one is going to talk for the next fifteen minutes because everyone is too busy stuffing their faces.

Including Yoko.

I smirk as I watch her out of the corner of my eye.

She's sitting between Ink and Marissa, shoveling food into her mouth at an alarming pace.

"You're eating like you haven't seen food in weeks," I murmur just loud enough for her to hear.

She pauses mid-bite, eyes narrowing as she points a fork at me. "We just climbed a mountain."

"It was a hill."

"A tall hill," she corrects. "I deserve to eat like this."

I chuckle and return to my own plate, enjoying the momentary peace. And then, just as I take another bite, reality hits. Or rather, walks in through the entrance like an omen.

Allison.

With her group of students trailing behind her, she steps inside like she owns the place, effortlessly scanning the restaurant before making her way to the front counter.

Immediately, I feel my appetite shrink.

Of course she'd end up at the same restaurant. Of course she'd waltz in like a ghost from my past that refuses to stay buried.

I exhale slowly, keeping my expression neutral, but my fingers tighten around my fork out of pure instinct.

From across the room, Yoko must notice the shift in my demeanor because I catch her sneaking a glance my way, subtle but observant. I meet her gaze.

And with the tiniest raise of my brow, I silently tell her, I'm fine.

She holds my gaze for a second longer, searching, reading—then relaxes slightly before returning to her food. Still, I know she's keeping an eye on me.

Allison finally spots me. Her lips curl into that same smug smirk I remember too well before she turns to order her meal. I look away, rolling my shoulders, forcing the tension out of my body.

I am not going to let her presence ruin my afternoon. Not when I have so much more to look forward to.

Like spending the rest of the day watching my girlfriend try to avoid another unexpected encounter with Blair.

Now that would be entertainment.

Just as I'm about to mentally check out from this entire situation, my worst nightmare unfolds in real time.

Allison. Sitting. Across. From. Me. The audacity. The sheer, unholy audacity.

She sets down her tray with a calculated ease, her smirk firmly in place like she knows exactly how much I'd rather be anywhere but here.

"Fancy seeing you here," she muses, her voice dripping with false amusement.

I exhale slowly, placing my fork down because—let's be honest—I'm not touching my food anymore.

"This is a public restaurant and we're on a school trip," I reply, deadpan. "Not that fancy, really."

Her smirk deepens, because of course it does. Still, I do not react. I have given this woman enough of my reactions to last a lifetime.

Instead, I reach for my water glass, sipping at a calm, measured pace, pretending that my ex isn't sitting across from me like some revenant from my past, hellbent on making my life difficult.

She props an elbow on the table, resting her chin on her hand as she studies me. 

"I have to admit, Faye, you're still as composed as ever," she drawls. "It's almost disappointing. No little cracks in that perfect armor of yours?"

I give her a flat, unimpressed look. "I prefer to keep my meals drama-free."

"Shame," she murmurs, tilting her head. "I always did enjoy rattling you."

I set my glass down, feeling my patience thinning like a delicate thread. And then—a small, barely noticeable shift in the air.

I don't have to turn around to know that Yoko is watching. She's not obvious about it, but I can feel her gaze, quietly observing, probably seconds away from storming over if Allison pushes any further.

I can almost see the way her brows would furrow in quiet concern, how her fingers would twitch like she's contemplating whether to interfere.

I school my features, giving nothing away. Instead, I look back at Allison with a disinterest so potent it could be weaponized. "Do you need something?" I ask coolly.

Her smirk doesn't waver. "No, just thought I'd keep you company. We do have a history, after all."

I fight the urge to scoff. History. That's all she is to me now—a footnote in my past. Not my present. And certainly not my future.

I lean back in my seat, unbothered. "Then let's leave it where it belongs."

For a fraction of a second, I see something flicker in her gaze. Annoyance? Amusement? Something else? It doesn't matter. Because I am so far removed from whatever game she's trying to play.

Across the restaurant, I finally let my gaze flicker toward Yoko. She's watching intently, lips pressed together, trying to gauge if I'm alright. So, I do the one thing that will assure her without words. I smirk. Soft. Playful. Reassuring. A message, just for her–I'm fine.

And just like that—the worry in her eyes fades, replaced by something softer. Something only meant for me. And it's infinitely more powerful than anything Allison could ever say.

But I should've known she wouldn't leave without trying to stir the pot.

Allison leans back in her chair, swirling the last bit of her drink in her glass, her eyes sharp and dangerous in that way only she knows how to be. And then, she drops it.

"That little student of yours," she muses, her tone deceptively casual. "Yoko, isn't it?"

My grip on my fork tightens imperceptibly. I don't react. Not outwardly.

She watches me like a cat playing with a trapped bird. "I noticed you looking at her," she continues, her voice silky smooth, like she's merely making an observation.

I meet her gaze evenly, unaffected. "Did you?" I ask, feigning mild curiosity. "I look at all my students."

Allison hums, tilting her head, her smirk widening like she's found something entertaining. "Of course," she says. "I just found it interesting. You have such a... particular way of looking at her."

I say nothing. Because this is exactly what she wants. A reaction. A crack in my armor. Something to confirm whatever twisted suspicion she's been harboring.

Instead, I do what I do best. I remain calm and unshaken.

Allison leans in slightly, lowering her voice just enough to ensure only I can hear. "You know," she murmurs, studying my face, "I heard something rather... intriguing from one of the staff at the hotel."

I lift a brow, bored. "Is that so?"

She smirks. "Apparently, a student has been seen loitering around the teachers' floor. Late at night. Suspicious, don't you think?"

There it is. The bait. She's dangling it, waiting for me to flinch, waiting for me to crack. Waiting for any sign that she's hit her mark. But she won't get it. Because I refuse to give her the satisfaction.

I take a slow sip of my water, setting the glass down with deliberate ease. "That is suspicious," I say smoothly, tilting my head. "I do hope you're keeping an eye on whoever it is. Wouldn't want any students breaking curfew."

Allison's smirk twitches, as if she was hoping for something more. I can see the slight flicker of frustration in her gaze, masked behind amusement. I hold my ground, calm and composed. Unbothered.

She watches me for a long moment. Then, she leans in just a fraction, lowering her voice further—her next words laced with quiet warning.

"I know, Faye."

The moment hangs between us, heavy and deliberate. I don't blink. I don't waver. I simply tilt my head slightly, a quiet, unreadable smile touching my lips. "Do you?"

She stares at me, searching, digging for anything she can use. But I give her nothing. She can't touch me. Not yet. Not without proof. And she knows it.

Finally, after a beat too long, Allison exhales through her nose, amused and almost satisfied with herself. She pushes back her chair, standing smoothly, giving me one last smirk.

Then—just like that, she's gone. As if she never said anything at all.

I let out a slow, controlled breath, reaching for my water again. From across the restaurant, I catch Yoko watching. Her brows slightly furrowed, like she's trying to read my face from where she's seated.

I meet her eyes briefly, offering her the smallest hint of a smirk. A silent message.

I'm fine.

But deep down—I know this isn't over.

After Allison, lunch passes in a blur. I barely taste the food, barely register the chatter around me.

Not because I'm scared. No. Fear isn't the right word for this.

I don't care about my job. I've already survived one betrayal from Allison—if she wants to come for me again, she can.

But Yoko—She is the one I refuse to put at risk. And that means I need to be careful.

Even if it means keeping my distance. Even if it means ignoring the way her eyes flicker toward me from across the room, searching. Even if it means pretending nothing happened in that conversation with Allison.

Because I can handle this. I've handled worse. But Yoko? She deserves better than to get tangled in this mess. She deserves to be safe.

The rest of the afternoon passes in a haze. I hear snippets of conversation around me, watch students come and go, but my mind is somewhere else.

By the time I snap back into awareness, we're already making our way to the university. I glance at my watch.

The mixer. Right. The university mixer. The one event I'd rather claw my eyes out than attend.

A sigh escapes my lips as I trail behind the group, slipping my hands into my coat pockets, already bracing for the insufferable socializing ahead.

I glance at Yoko–She's with her friends, laughing at something Marissa said, her dimples showing.

I long to reach for her. To close the distance. But I can't. Not here. Not when I know Allison is watching.

So instead, I swallow the ache, straighten my shoulders, and step into the university halls like I actually want to be here.

Time to play the part. Even if I hate every second of it.

By the time we arrive at the university, I've perfected my mask of polite indifference.

I step off the bus with the other chaperones, adjusting the lapels of my coat as Ms. Taylor launches into her obligatory "No drinking, no wandering off, and for the love of God, don't embarrass your school" speech.

Most of the students are only half-listening, their excitement barely contained. I don't blame them. Even I'd rather tune this out. Unfortunately, I can't.

Because the moment Ms. Taylor finishes, my role as Faye Peraya, Educator and Representative of the school kicks in.

Which means pretending I actually enjoy these networking events and making small talk with the university's professors and deans.

It's second nature by now—the poised smile, the firm handshake, the nods at all the right moments. I'm halfway through a conversation with one of the literature professors when I catch sight of her.

Allison. Of course, she's here. She's our principal. But she is also the woman who has made it her personal mission to pry into my life. And now, my direct threat.

She stands near the entrance, conversing with some faculty heads, but her eyes flick toward me just for a second—just long enough for me to know she's watching.

I don't react. I won't give her the satisfaction. Instead, I shift my attention back to the discussion at hand, forcing myself to focus.

Yoko is somewhere in the crowd, with her friends. Safe. For now.

I exhale, pushing down the weight pressing against my chest. Time to survive another night of pointless networking and carefully measured words.

Because tonight, it's not about me. It's about making sure Allison doesn't find anything to use against Yoko.

After awhile, I slip away from the faculty conversations, my social battery violently drained after a full hour of polite smiles and mindless small talk.

The hall is dimly lit, a soft golden hue from the chandeliers casting a warm glow over the buzzing crowd. Students and professors mingle, wine glasses in hand, voices a hum of chatter that barely registers in my ears.

I settle into a quiet corner, leaning against a table, exhaling slowly. Just a moment. A moment to breathe, to recalibrate, to stop the tension simmering at the base of my skull.

Then—

"Leaving the battlefield so soon?"

That voice. My jaw clenches before I even turn to face her.

Allison.

She steps into view, standing across from me with that same goddamn smirk she's had since university.

I don't react. I won't react. Because that's what she wants.

"Long night?" she muses, sipping from her wine glass. "I imagine it must be exhausting, pretending to be so... detached."

My fingers tighten around the edge of the table, but I say nothing. She tilts her head, studying me like I'm some unfinished puzzle she's piecing together.

"You know," she continues, tone lilting, light, almost playful, "I've been thinking about something ever since I read that rather beautiful poetry in the exam scripts."

I don't move but my pulse spikes.

Her smile stretches. "I recognized the style immediately. You always had a distinct way with words, Faye. I suppose that never left you."

I inhale slowly, evenly. "I don't know what you're talking about."

She clicks her tongue. "Don't insult my intelligence. You wrote it."

I meet her gaze, cool, indifferent. "And if I did?"

Her smirk deepens. She's enjoying this. "If you did," she muses, swirling the wine in her glass, "then it means that poem—so full of longing, of love, of devotion—wasn't just some abstract exercise in literature."

She leans in slightly. "It was about someone."

I say nothing. Because anything I say will only make it worse. But Allison knows me. Knows me well enough to see through the silence.

Her voice lowers, amusement laced with razor-sharp precision. "It's Yoko, isn't it?"

My breath catches. One second. That's all it takes. A single second. A flicker of hesitation in my expression, a tightening in my shoulders–she sees it.

Her smirk sharpens like a blade. "Ah," she exhales, satisfied.

I swallow the urge to react. I force my body to remain still.

"That's interesting," she continues, feigning curiosity. "You were always careful, Faye. Always so controlled. But when it comes to her..." She lets the sentence linger.

I exhale, tone flat. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't I?" She tilts her head, watching me with a predator's patience.

"You forget, darling," she murmurs, "I studied literature too. I know how to read between the lines. And more importantly—"

She sets her glass down with a quiet clink, eyes glinting with cruel amusement. "I know you."

My stomach knots. Because she's right. She does know me. Too well. And now? She knows about Yoko.

But Allison doesn't let up. Of course she doesn't. She steps closer, her tone turning mockingly sympathetic, as if she's pretending to be concerned rather than absolutely reveling in the power she thinks she holds over me.

"You know, Faye," she sighs, "this is a really dangerous game you're playing."

I don't respond. Because I know what she's doing. I've seen her do it before–manipulating, twisting, pressing into the cracks she thinks she sees in people.

"You're a good teacher, I'll give you that," she muses, crossing her arms. "But the moment someone—anyone—finds out about this...? All that effort you put into your career, all that hard work to build a respectable reputation?"

She taps her wine glass, a lazy, slow rhythm.

"Gone."

My jaw tightens.

She smiles. She knows she's struck something. "And the girl," she continues, shrugging casually, "she might get expelled for misconduct too, depending on how certain people want to frame it."

I grip the table so hard I swear I hear the wood creak.

She sees it. She sees the slight twitch in my fingers, the way my breath slows—controlled, measured. But Allison has always been good at reading me. So she goes in for the kill.

"Though, I suppose none of this is entirely new for you," she muses, tilting her head, feigning curiosity. "After all... you always had a soft spot for certain students, didn't you?"

My entire body locks. That's it. That's what she was aiming for. A reaction. A crack. A moment of weakness.

I take a slow breath. Then another. And then, I exhale, steady, composed, looking her directly in the eye. "You don't get to talk about Yoko like that."

Allison laughs. "Like what?" she asks, all fake innocence. "I didn't say anything about her in particular. But you just did."

She smiles, mocking, victorious. My stomach coils in disgust. I won't let her use Yoko against me. Not like this. Not ever.

"You can say whatever you want about me," I tell her, voice cool, sharp. "But leave Yoko out of it."

She raises a brow, pretending to consider. "But why would I? She's part of this, isn't she? She's the one you—" She pauses, her smirk curving, her words deliberate. "—helped with her exam."

My blood runs cold. I keep my expression neutral. Unbothered. But inside? My pulse spikes.

Allison notices and she enjoys it.

"You thought I wouldn't check the exam papers?" she asks, a quiet laugh escaping her lips. "A student suddenly improving, writing something so... particular? Of course, I looked into it. I looked into all of them."

I say nothing. Because nothing I say will make a difference.

"You didn't think I'd notice, did you?" she continues, almost gleeful. "That you left traces of yourself in it? But you did, Faye. You always do. You're a poet, after all. You can't help but weave a part of yourself into your words."

My chest tightens.

Because she's right. Because I was careless. Because I helped Yoko too much.

And now, Allison is standing in front of me, knowing exactly what cards she holds over me. I don't move. I don't react. I refuse to give her that satisfaction.

Then, a voice. A familiar voice.

"Faye."

The moment that voice echoes down the hallway, Allison's smirk falters—just slightly. And I freeze. Because I know that voice. That smooth, unbothered, unmistakable voice.

I turn and there she is, Vanessa fucking Evans. Storm-blue eyes. Impeccable posture.

A sharp, knowing gaze that immediately lands on the two of us, assessing, calculating—because of course she's already piecing it all together.

She doesn't rush. She never rushes. Instead, she takes her time, heels clicking softly against the marble floor as she approaches, her black blazer fitted to intimidating perfection, the high-neck blouse beneath it just barely hiding the silver chain at her collarbone.

The moment Vanessa comes to a stop, Allison does what she does best—adjust. Her entire posture shifts, her expression smoothing into something pleasant, something controlled. Something fake. 

"Professor Evans," Allison greets, voice perfectly polite, perfectly neutral. "It's been a while. I hope you're doing well."

Vanessa doesn't smile. Instead, she tilts her head, storm-blue eyes sharpening, gaze slow and assessing. "I'm surviving," she replies, voice smooth, biting. "And you, Principal Allison? You seem to be thriving in your little kingdom."

Oof.

I bite the inside of my cheek, hiding a smirk.

Allison, however, does not. But she recovers quickly. "It's been an adjustment," she says, offering a measured smile. "But rewarding nonetheless. It's always a pleasure to see former students doing well, isn't it?"

Vanessa hums. "Mm. Yes," she muses, voice sharp with hidden meaning. "I can imagine how rewarding it must be for someone like you."

Allison's fingers twitch at her sides.

Vanessa notices. Of course she does. And she pounces.

"You'll have to forgive me," Vanessa continues smoothly, looking between us, "I walked in at such an... interesting moment. What exactly were you discussing?"

Allison, ever the politician, adjusts. She shifts gears, face settling into something professional. "Oh, just some minor concerns about Faye's—" she pauses, glancing at me for a split second, "—work ethics."

I keep my expression blank. I wait. Because I know Vanessa. And she never asks a question she doesn't already know the answer to.

Vanessa raises an eyebrow. "Oh?" She slides her hands into the pockets of her slacks, stance casual, but dangerous."Work ethics?"

Allison nods, carefully maintaining her neutral tone. "Yes. I was merely ensuring that—"

"That her relationship with Yoko doesn't affect her performance?" Vanessa interjects, her voice silky, sharp, deadly.

Allison freezes.

And I swear, if I weren't so tense, I'd laugh. Because for the first time tonight, Allison looks genuinely caught off guard.

"Ah," she exhales, blinking, just slightly thrown off. "So... you know?"

Vanessa smirks. The kind of smirk that terrifies students, lawyers, and weak-willed men. "Oh, Allison," she drawls, tilting her head. "You're acting like I didn't notice it the moment I saw them in the same space."

Allison hesitates. Because she's miscalculated. She thought Vanessa was an ally. She thought Vanessa would be on her side. And Vanessa knows it.

"Oh dear," Vanessa sighs, voice laced with mock pity, her tone dripping with theatrical disappointment. "Were you under the impression that I was about to support you?"

Allison doesn't answer. She doesn't have to.

Vanessa chuckles, shaking her head. "Let me make something painfully clear," she says, eyes locking onto Allison's.

"I don't condone inappropriate power dynamics. But what I really don't condone—" she takes a step forward, voice dropping to a slow, lethal whisper "—is when someone in power abuses their authority, manipulates circumstances to suit their ego, and justifies their own insecurities by punishing others."

Oh. Oh. Holy. Fuck.

Allison's expression hardens, but Vanessa just smiles. All sharp teeth and storm-blue menace.

"Your concern for Yoko's well-being is touching, truly," Vanessa muses, voice like silk and knives. "But perhaps—before you start scrutinizing other people's relationships—you should take a hard look at your own past behavior, hmm?"

Allison's jaw tightens. And I swear, if I listen closely enough, I can hear the exact moment her ego fractures.

Vanessa gives her a slow once-over. Then, "Do excuse us," she sighs, turning back to me with zero regard for Allison's presence. "Faye, let's go. You look like you need an actual drink."

She doesn't wait for a response. She just turns on her heel—completely dismissing Allison's existence—and walks. 

I stare at Allison for half a second. Then—without another word—I follow Vanessa.

Once we are out of the same space as Allison, I let out a breath I didn't even realize I was holding.

"Thank you," I exhale, still feeling the aftermath of whatever divine wrath Vanessa Evans just unleashed on Allison.

Vanessa doesn't even glance at me. "Stop it," she says flatly, adjusting the cuffs of her blazer. "You're acting like I just saved your life."

I blink. "You did just save my life."

She rolls her eyes and I grin.

"Don't get used to it," she quips, her tone sharp but amused. "Now, tell me—did my little fan enjoy her book?"

At the mere mention of Yoko, warmth floods my chest. "She loves it," I say, unable to keep the fondness from my voice.

Vanessa hums, looking satisfied. Then, her gaze flickers toward me, something knowing in her expression. "And you?" she asks. "Have you figured it out yet?"

My smile falters slightly.

She doesn't elaborate. She doesn't have to. Because I know exactly what she's asking.

I think back to our conversation yesterday—her challenge, her question, the weight of I Carry Your Heart With Me sitting in my hands.

I think about Yoko–Her laughter. Her fire. The way she loves me without hesitation. The way I love her without end.

And I know.

I turn to Vanessa, my voice steady, sure, unshaken. "Yes."

Vanessa doesn't react right away. Then, she smirks. And suddenly, it's less Professor Evans, the terrifying legend and more Vanessa, the mentor who somehow always knew the answers before I even figured out the questions.

"Took you long enough," she says, sipping from a glass of god-knows-what like this is the most casual revelation ever.

I roll my eyes, exhaling a soft laugh.

"Where is she, then?" Vanessa asks, scanning the room. "This brilliant student of yours who idolizes me."

I snort. And then—I find her.

I spot Yoko across the room, sitting with her friends, completely unaware that one of her biggest literary inspirations is standing right here.

"Right there," I say, pointing.

Vanessa follows my gaze, then smirks. And the second Yoko realizes who she's looking at, she freezes. Her entire soul leaves her body and I swear, I can see the exact moment her brain short-circuits.

And before she can react further, I make it worse. I tilt my head slightly and gesture for her to come over.

Yoko blinks. Then blinks again. Then, her friends shove her forward, laughing, and I know she's cursing them in six different languages in her head.

But she still walks over, looking like she's forgotten how to breathe.

Vanessa watches, her smirk growing sharper, more amused. The moment Yoko stands before her, she tries to speak—and fails.

I smirk.

Vanessa raises an eyebrow. "Well?" she drawls, tilting her head.

Yoko inhales sharply, exhales shakily, then—"You're so cool, P-Prof." she blurts, voice entirely too awed.

Vanessa's lips twitch.

Fucking finally. 

My no-nonsense, sharp-witted, always-teasing-me girlfriend has finally been humbled by the Queen of Sass and Sadism herself. And it is glorious.

Vanessa smirks, crossing her arms. "I know."

Yoko makes a sound that should not be humanly possible. I bite my lip to contain my laughter. Then, Vanessa sasses her further.

She teases Yoko for idolizing her, critiques her choice of literary favorites with "I suppose I'll allow it, " and even signs another page of her poetry book for fun—this time with the words: To Yoko, try not to be insufferable. Best wishes, V.E.

Yoko clutches the book like it's the Holy Grail. I just watch in amusement. Eventually, Yoko leaves, looking eternally blessed, and Vanessa turns her attention back to me.

"You're enjoying yourself," she notes.

I grin. "That was the best thing I've ever witnessed."

Vanessa chuckles, then her expression shifts slightly, something serious flickering through her gaze. "Earlier," she says, "with Allison—"

I exhale, suddenly tense again. "Yeah," I murmur.

She watches me. "You're worried."

I hesitate. Then, "I don't care about the job," I admit, voice quiet but firm.

"I don't care what happens to me. I just—" I exhale, shaking my head, "I don't want her to hurt Yoko."

Vanessa's eyes flicker with understanding. And then—she just smirks. Because of course she does.

"Relax, Faye," she sighs, voice dripping with casual amusement.

I look at her, waiting. Then—she claps a hand on my shoulder, leans in slightly, and gives me her final piece of advice:

"Just fucking roll with it."

I stare. Then, I groan.

Vanessa laughs. I sigh, shaking my head as Vanessa's laughter lingers in the air.

Even after all these years, she's still as mercilessly blunt as ever. And yet, somehow, it's comforting. Like a constant, like something unchanged—something that always knows exactly what to say even when I don't want to hear it.

I shift my weight slightly, crossing my arms as I glance at her. "Are you ready?" I ask.

Vanessa raises an eyebrow. "For what?"

"To go back home. To teach. To decimate students at a brand-new university," I tease.

She scoffs, flicking a piece of lint from her blazer. "I was born ready, Peraya."

I roll my eyes.

"Besides," she continues, smirking, "the real question is—are they ready for me?"

I laugh, shaking my head. "Probably not."

She hums, clearly pleased.

Then—I squint at her, something else stirring in my mind. "Are you really going to stay single forever?" I ask, half-teasing, half-curious.

Vanessa pauses, then gives me the laziest side-eye imaginable. "You ask that as if it's a bad thing," she muses.

I smirk. "Just seems like a waste," I reply.

She rolls her eyes, sipping her drink with a sardonic elegance that only she can pull off.

I wait. Then—I push further. "Come on," I prod. "No one's caught your attention? No one's made you fall?"

She pauses, this time longer. Then, a slow smirk. Vanessa tilts her head slightly, a flicker of something indiscernible passing through her stormy blue eyes. She exhales, setting her drink down.

"The woman I'm desiring," she says smoothly, as if it's the simplest thing in the world.

I blink. Then—I narrow my eyes. "What does that even mean?"

She chuckles, shaking her head. "You're nosier than I remember."

"Nosy? Me?" I feign offense. "You're the one who practically grilled me on my entire love life just yesterday!"

"That was different," she says, waving me off lazily. "I was mentoring you."

I scoff. "Yeah, right."

She chuckles again, not elaborating further. I stare at her, trying to gauge if she's just messing with me or if there's actually something deeper in those words.

But Vanessa Evans is an enigma. And she only reveals what she wants to, when she wants to.

Before I can pry further, she adjusts the cuff of her blazer, glancing at her watch. "Well," she exhales, standing gracefully, "I should get going. It's about time I return to my real life."

I nod, straightening up as well.

Something settles in my chest. A quiet, deep-rooted appreciation.

For everything she's done.

For everything she still does. For being my relentless mentor, my toughest critic, my unexpected guiding force, even when I wasn't looking for one. Even when I didn't deserve one.

"Thank you," I say, genuinely.

Vanessa pauses, looking at me fully now. Her gaze is sharp, thoughtful. Then, she smirks. "Try not to be an idiot, Peraya," she says lightly.

I laugh, shaking my head.

She turns, stepping away, her clicking heels fading into the background. Then—just before she disappears—she calls over her shoulder, voice sharp with amusement and finality:

"And don't forget to fucking roll with it."

I groan, covering my face. Of course. Of course she had to say that.

Still, when I lower my hands, my eyes instinctively follow her. I watch as she walks away, the commanding presence of Vanessa Evans unwavering, effortless, always so certain of herself. And yet—beneath all that, I know.

She's still looking out for me. Even now. Even after all these years.

I exhale, something heavy and light settling in my chest all at once.

Quietly, I bid her goodbye, my lips parting—though the words never leave me. Instead, I send them to her in silence.

"Thank you."

For everything. For university. For every sharp push forward. For being my professor, my mentor, my safe anchor in a place that sometimes felt too big. For still being here now, shielding me in ways only she could.

She disappears around the corner, her silhouette melting into the grand halls of the university—off to wherever her next path leads.

And I hope—I truly, deeply hope—that it leads her somewhere good. Somewhere fulfilling. Somewhere where she will finally, finally find the woman she's desiring.

The bus hums softly beneath me as we pull away from the university, the warm glow of the city lights spilling through the windows.

The mixer is finally over.

I exhale, leaning back against my seat, eyes flicking over the quiet streets of Edinburgh as the night deepens. It should've been just another tedious academic function—meaningless small talk, polite nods, pretentious networking.

But of course, Allison had to crawl her way in, dragging her sharp words and calculated implications with her.

Still, my fingers curl around my phone as it buzzes softly in my palm.

Yoko.

I swipe to open her message.

Yoko

Can I sleep with you tonight?

A slow, uncontainable smile pulls at my lips.

No hesitation. No second-guessing. No lingering fears of Allison's threats.

I type back.

Faye

Okay.

Simple. Certain.

Because at the end of the day—Allison doesn't scare me. Losing Yoko does. And I'll be damned if I let anyone keep her from me.

The moment we reach the hotel, I step off the bus with one thought in my mind—Yoko.

I don't even bother lingering with the other chaperones or pretending to care about Ms. Taylor's overly enthusiastic chatter about tomorrow's schedule. Instead, I weave through the students, my fingers tightening around my phone as I send a quick text.

Faye

Where are you?

The reply comes almost instantly.

Yoko

Coming up the stairs. Meet me on your floor?

I don't even think before turning towards the lift, pressing the button repeatedly like it'll make the doors open faster. The ride up feels excruciatingly slow. My thoughts are a mess, my body thrumming with anticipation.

Yoko wants to be with me tonight.

And for the first time, I don't have to overthink it. I don't have to worry about Allison. I don't have to worry about being careful.

All I want—all I need—is to hold her, to feel her warmth against me, to have her in my arms where she belongs.

Because I too, want her that much.

The lift doors slide open, and I step out just as I see her—Yoko, walking down the hall towards me, still in her sweater, my sweater, looking so painfully soft and mine that my heart clenches.

She grins, her steps quickening as she approaches, but she doesn't run.

Because we can't. Because we're still in public, still on a school trip, still bound by the roles we're forced to play. But the moment she's close enough, the moment we slip into my room, the door clicking shut behind us—It's just us again.

Just Faye and Yoko.

And I don't hesitate.

I pull her into me, breathing her in, feeling her, letting the weight of the day melt away as she presses against my chest. Yoko sighs, her arms tightening around my waist, nuzzling into my shoulder like she's been starved of this closeness.

And maybe she has. Maybe we both have.

I stroke my fingers through her hair, pressing my lips to her temple, murmuring, "Welcome back, baby."

And in this moment, with her in my arms, I don't care about anything else.

Yoko breathes against my neck, her arms locked around me like she never wants to let go. And maybe she doesn't. Maybe I don't either.

I tilt my head down, brushing my lips against the crown of her head, inhaling the soft scent of her shampoo—something light and floral, something inherently her.

My fingers slide down her back, pressing just a little firmer as I whisper, "You missed me?"

She lets out a soft huff, shifting in my arms just enough to look up at me, her dark eyes hazy with something deep, something unspoken.

I know that look. I know that want. And I can't deny that it mirrors my own.

Her lips part, just barely. "You already know the answer."

I do.

I can feel it in the way she holds me, in the way her fingers fist lightly against the fabric of my shirt, in the way her gaze flickers down to my lips and lingers.

I smile, brushing my knuckles along the curve of her cheek, then tilting her chin up with my fingers. "I want to hear you say it," I murmur.

She doesn't hesitate.

"I missed you," she whispers.

And that's all it takes.

I close the distance, catching her lips in a slow, deep kiss—one that speaks of longing, of relief, of the ache that's been growing since the moment we had to part. Her body melts into mine, the warmth of her pressing into every inch of me, and I can't get enough. I never get enough.

The kiss deepens, my hand sliding up to cup the nape of her neck, tilting her head just right so I can taste her fully. Yoko whimpers, her fingers gripping at my shoulders, and the sound alone nearly undoes me.

I pull back slightly, my breath mingling with hers, my forehead resting against hers. "Stay with me tonight," I murmur.

Yoko blinks up at me, and for a moment, there's no hesitation, no conflict in her eyes. Just trust. Just love. "I'm already here," she whispers.

A slow smile tugs at my lips. "Good," I murmur, trailing my fingers down the curve of her spine, my voice dropping lower, more intimate. "Because I'm not letting you go."

She shivers at my words, her lips parting slightly, her breath hitching. And I know, tonight, I will show her.

Show her just how much I love her. Show her that she is mine.

And I will carry her heart with me, always.

NOTE FROM MEOWINGHAM: Congrats! You have just read a total of 13,500 (and more actually) words! Hooray!