Chapter 67

Faye

The soft glow of the morning sun filters through the curtains, casting delicate shadows across my bedroom walls.

Beside me, Yoko is still asleep, her face buried in the pillow, her breaths slow and steady.

I smirk. Even in the midst of all her stress and exhaustion, she still manages to look effortlessly adorable.

It's been an insane week—assignments, revisions, and the impending doom of final exams looming over her like a dark cloud. But as her girlfriend, the least I can do is make sure she actually rests.

Which is why, last night, I convinced her to stay over at my place.

I told her we'd study together, that she could ask me for help whenever she needed—not that she really does, anyway, considering she's practically acing everything—but the real reason?

I just wanted her to have a break. To not be cooped up alone in her room, drowning in textbooks. To be with me.

I shift slightly, propping myself up on my elbow as I glance down at her.

Her hair spills across my pillow, her expression peaceful—a rare sight lately, considering how stressed she's been.

I reach out, fingers brushing lightly against her cheek, and lean down, pressing a soft kiss against her temple. She stirs but doesn't wake.

I take that as my cue to slip out of bed because as much as I'd love to stay wrapped around her all morning, I have something else in mind.

Breakfast.

Yoko might be too focused on studying to remember to eat properly, but I refuse to let her neglect herself.

Quietly, I slip on my shirt and make my way downstairs, tying my hair up into a loose bun as I enter the kitchen.

I open the fridge, scanning the contents. Something simple, something that will make her actually eat.

I settle on pancakes.

I pull out the ingredients and start preparing the batter, moving around the kitchen with practiced ease. The scent of vanilla and butter fills the air as I pour the first pancake onto the pan.

A small smile tugs at my lips.

She's been pushing herself so hard lately. I just want her to breathe. To know that she doesn't have to carry everything alone. That I'm here, for her–always.

The pancake sizzles, golden brown, and I flip it effortlessly.

I can't help but think— one day, once she's graduated, when we don't have to hide anymore... this could be our mornings together.

Waking up next to each other. Making breakfast in a shared home. Loving her without fear.

The thought sends a warmth through my chest.

I glance at the stairs, as if expecting her to walk down any second, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, mumbling something about coffee before inevitably stealing half my pancakes.

God, I love her.

Shaking my head, I turn back to the stove, flipping the last pancake onto the plate.

Just as I set the table, I hear the faint sound of footsteps upstairs.

Looks like someone finally woke up.

I grin, setting down the syrup. "Perfect timing."

I hear the soft shuffle of footsteps before I see her. 

And then—there she is. Yoko, still half-asleep, her hair a mess, her sweater—my sweater—hanging loosely on her frame.

She rubs her eyes, blinking against the morning light, looking so damn soft that I can't help myself.

I cross the space between us in an instant, cupping her face as I lean in and press a slow, lingering kiss to her lips.

She hums against my mouth, her arms wrapping around my waist, melting into the touch like she always does.

"Good morning," I murmur against her lips.

She sighs, still drowsy, still wrapped in sleep. "It's morning?" she mumbles dramatically.

I chuckle, pulling away just slightly to admire her face—sleepy, warm, mine. "Yes, darling," I tease, nudging my nose against hers. "It is, in fact, morning. And it's also breakfast time."

Her stomach grumbles and I smirk.

She groans. "Betrayal."

I laugh, tugging her towards the kitchen table. "Come on, before it gets cold."

She huffs, plopping down onto the chair while I pour her coffee. The moment she takes a bite of her pancake, her eyes widen.

"Okay, wait," she says, chewing. "This is actually good."

I roll my eyes, sitting down across from her. "Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence."

She grins, reaching for the syrup. "You are a literature teacher, not a chef, babe. Let me be surprised."

I kick her lightly under the table and she laughs. We fall into easy conversation, eating comfortably, sharing bites here and there.

Then, casually, I ask, "So, what's on the study agenda today?"

She sighs dramatically, stabbing her pancake. "Chemistry," she says, then pauses—and oh no.

I already know that look. The look that says she's about to mess with me.

I narrow my eyes. "Yoko."

She leans in, chin resting on her palm, voice mockingly sweet. "My amazing, brilliant girlfriend," she drawls, "who is so incredibly intelligent and wise..."

I groan.

"Who excels in literature and poetry and is basically a walking, talking novel—"

I raise an eyebrow.

She grins. "...must also be so incredibly skilled in chemistry," she finishes.

I stare at her. Deadpan. Expression completely unimpressed. "Yoko," I say slowly.

"Yes, love?"

I lean in, voice flat. "I can barely balance a chemical equation. The last time I attempted anything chemistry-related, I nearly set my kitchen on fire making tea."

Yoko bursts out laughing.

I smirk, shaking my head. "You knew I'd say that," I accuse.

She grins, nodding. "Of course I did."

I kick her again. She giggles, kicking me back.

And then—because she's Yoko, because she's absolutely ridiculous and endlessly adorable—she tilts her head and pouts, lips barely hiding a smirk. "Are you saying you won't help me with chemistry?"

I let out a long sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. "You just want to watch me suffer," I mutter.

Her smirk widens. "...Maybe."

I groan dramatically, shaking my head and she laughs.

And just like that, my morning is made.

After breakfast, Yoko is already setting up her study materials at the table, flipping through her chemistry notes with the deepest look of concentration—one that I find equally endearing and amusing.

I shake my head, rinsing the last plate before setting it down to dry.

Once my hands are free, I walk over to where she's sitting, placing my hands gently on her shoulders before leaning down and pressing a soft, lingering kiss to her temple.

"Good luck, genius," I murmur against her skin.

She sighs contentedly, leaning into me, and I smile—until she suddenly turns her head, catching my lips in a much deeper kiss.

I chuckle against her mouth, already melting into her, about to kiss her back properly when—

She pulls away abruptly, her body going rigid.

I blink. "What—"

"Did you hear that?" she cuts in, voice hushed.

I frown, confused. "Hear what?"

She pauses, eyes scanning the space around us, then she whispers, "A camera sound."

My spine straightens immediately. I glance towards the window, eyes narrowing. There's nothing. No shadows. No movements. No one outside.

I check again–still nothing.

I look back at her. "Are you sure?" I ask gently.

She nods, her grip on the pen tightening. "I—I don't know, maybe I imagined it, but I swear I heard it. Like someone was taking a picture."

I study her for a moment. She's tense. Her eyes shifty. On edge.

I hate seeing her like this. 

So, I exhale, slowly, and step closer, lowering my voice into something softer.

"There's nothing outside, love," I say, brushing my hand over hers. "No one's here. No one's watching."

She hesitates, still frowning, still uneasy.

But I keep my touch light, my words gentle. "I promise," I say.

Her lips press together, her shoulders still stiff.

I watch her for a moment longer, then, without another word, I walk to the window and I pull the curtains shut.

Then I turn back to her. "Better?" I ask.

She nods, but I can tell she's still slightly on edge. So, I walk over again, leaning down to press a lingering kiss against her forehead.

"You're safe," I whisper. "I've got you."

Her eyes flicker up to meet mine. Then, slowly, the tension in her shoulders melts away.

She sighs. Then she gives me a small smile. "I know."

I smirk, straightening up. "Good. Now get to work, genius."

She groans, rolling her eyes. I chuckle, ruffling her hair before stepping back.

Then, because she's Yoko, because I know her, I grin mischievously and add, "And if you get stuck, don't worry—I'll be right here, cheering you on... completely useless in chemistry, but still your biggest fan."

She snorts, shaking her head. And just like that—she's back. My girl. My Yoko. Focused, determined, and so damn brilliant.

And I? I sit back, watching her work, content in the quiet knowledge that whatever happens, I'll be here. Always.

...

The soft scratch of my pen fills the space, mixing with the faint rustling of paper, the occasional huff from Yoko, and—the part that amuses me the most—her quiet muttering as she tries to burn her chemistry notes into her brain.

I smirk, stealing a glance at her from the corner of my eye.

She's mouthing something about molecular structures, her brows furrowed, her lips pursed in intense concentration.

It's... adorable.

I bite back a chuckle, shaking my head as I return to my own work.

For the next half hour, we continue working in comfortable silence—until, suddenly, she drops her pen and turns to me with the biggest pout.

"Test me," she demands.

I blink. Then—I smirk.

Oh. This is going to be fun.

I set my grading work aside, shifting to face her fully.

"Alright, genius," I say, stretching slightly. "Hit me with your best shot."

She hands me her notebook, eyes glinting with challenge. "Just ask me the questions I marked."

I glance at the page. Immediately, I regret everything. Because I don't understand a single fucking thing.

Molecular formulas, complicated equations, something about electronegativity—yeah. Absolutely not.

Still, I clear my throat, keeping my face neutral as I pick a random one. 

"Define Le Chatelier's Principle," I read, my tone so serious it could pass as an actual chemistry teacher's.

Yoko grins, her eyes lighting up. "When a system at equilibrium is subjected to a change in concentration, temperature, or pressure, the system will adjust itself to counteract the change and restore a new equilibrium."

I blink, because I have no idea if she's correct, but I nod anyway. "Brilliant," I say smoothly.

She laughs, shaking her head. "You don't even know if that was right."

I shrug. "Of course I do."

She narrows her eyes. "Say it back to me."

I scoff. "Not important. Moving on."

I skim through the page, stopping at another term that sounds familiar. "What's Avogadro's number?"

She perks up, answering instantly. "6.022 x 10^23."

I nod, crossing my arms. "Fantastic. Genius. Future Nobel Prize winner."

She snorts. "You're just reading from the page, aren't you?"

I lift my chin. "I would never."

She laughs again, rolling her eyes. Then—suddenly, her expression shifts, her gaze turning mischievous.

"Okay, my turn," she declares, snatching the notebook back.

I blink. "Huh?"

She grins. "It's only fair. Since you're testing me, I should test you too."

I frown immediately. "That's not how this works."

But she's already flipping pages, clearly relishing in my inevitable downfall. Then—her eyes sparkle.

"Alright, babe," she drawls, "define an ionic bond."

I stare at her. My silence makes her grin even wider.

"No idea?" she teases.

I click my tongue, feigning thoughtfulness. "Ionic bonds... are the bonds... formed when two people—"

"No."

"—fall deeply in love, creating an unbreakable—"

"Faye!"

I smirk. "—bond that even chemistry cannot—"

"IT'S A BOND BETWEEN A METAL AND A NON-METAL!"

She bursts into laughter, dropping her head onto the table, her shoulders shaking.

I chuckle, pleased with myself, before leaning in, whispering, "Sounds fake, but okay."

She lifts her head, glaring playfully. "I hate you."

I kiss her cheek. "No, you don't."

She sighs, fond, dramatic. "Unfortunately, you're right."

I grin, tapping her nose. "*Now get back to work, genius. I'll be here—morally supporting you while understanding absolutely nothing."

She huffs, shaking her head as she picks up her pen again. And I? I sit back, smug, watching my brilliant, utterly adorable girlfriend return to her studies.

...

The soft scratch of Yoko's pen finally ceases, followed by the thud of her notebook closing.

I glance at her.

She stretches, letting out a satisfied sigh, before slumping back into the chair. "Done," she announces, sounding so relieved it's almost amusing.

I smirk, setting my own work aside. "Finally. I thought you were going to rewrite the entire chemistry textbook at this rate."

She shoots me a look. "Oh, ha ha."

I chuckle, leaning back. "So, what now?"

She tilts her head, thinking, nibbling on the end of her pen. "Hmm..."

I wait. Then—an idea.

"Movie?" I suggest smoothly. "We could just relax. Do nothing. Just exist for a while."

She perks up immediately. "Ooo, I like the sound of that."

I grin. "Of course you do."

She sticks her tongue out at me but gets up eagerly, already making her way to the living room. I follow, grabbing the blanket off the couch as I settle down comfortably, holding my arms open for her.

Yoko doesn't hesitate—she drops onto the couch beside me, curling into my side as I wrap the blanket around us, pulling her close.

I press a soft kiss to the top of her head as she scrolls through the movies.

"What are we watching?" I ask.

"Hmm... something chill," she mumbles, too comfortable to think too hard about it.

I hum, rubbing slow circles on her back as she makes her decision. Eventually, she clicks on something—some easygoing rom-com—and sinks into my embrace.

The movie starts. The room is warm. The couch is soft. And Yoko...

Yoko is so incredibly relaxed against me that I can practically feel her stress from the past few weeks melting away.

I stroke her arm lazily, content, but—after a while—I realize something.

She's not watching the movie. She's busy.

Busy—devouring her snack.

I blink, glancing down at her. She's completely engrossed in eating, her eyes on the screen but her hand constantly moving, grabbing more and more chips, crunching happily as if she's at some all-you-can-eat buffet.

I stare. Then—I grin.

"Are you even paying attention?" I ask, amused.

"Mhm," she replies, mid-bite.

I chuckle, brushing a stray crumb off her cheek. "Sure you are."

She gives me a thumbs up, not even looking at me, and reaches for more snacks. I shake my head, kissing the top of hers again.

"My girlfriend, everyone," I mutter. "So focused. So engaged."

"Shhh," she hushes me, waving a chip at me. "This is important."

I laugh quietly, wrapping my arms tighter around her as I return my attention to the screen. And honestly? I don't even care about the movie anymore.

Because having Yoko here, like this, snuggled into me, at peace—even if she's stuffing her face with snacks instead of watching the damn movie—is everything I could ever want.

...

The credits roll on the screen, the soft hum of background music filling the room.

Beside me, Yoko stretches, letting out a satisfied sigh as she leans into my side, looking entirely too pleased with herself. "That was nice," she hums. "No stress, no school, no revision. Just us."

I smirk, pressing a lazy kiss to her temple. "See? I told you I'd make today worth it."

She nods, completely content, before her stomach growls.

I chuckle. "And now I know it's time for dinner."

"Shut up," she grumbles, but she's already reaching for her phone, ready to order takeout.

We settle on something easy—some comfort food that doesn't require effort—and soon, we're both lounging on the couch again, warm food in hand, the evening settling in peacefully.

By the time we finish eating, Yoko is sprawled half across me, her head resting on my lap as she stretches out, looking more relaxed than I've seen her in weeks.

I stroke her hair idly, twirling a strand around my finger. "You look comfortable."

"Mhm," she hums, closing her eyes. "Very."

I grin. "Want to feel even better?"

She cracks one eye open, intrigued. "What are you suggesting, Miss Peraya?"

"A bath."

Both her eyes snap open. "A bath?"

"Mhm." I smirk. "You deserve some real relaxation. A warm soak, some peace, and," I pause, leaning down to murmur, "me."

Her eyes sparkle with interest. "I like the sound of that."

"Of course you do."

I stand, offering my hand, and she takes it, letting me pull her up effortlessly. Together, we head upstairs, stepping into the bathroom.

I move first, adjusting the temperature of the water, watching as the tub fills up, steam rising in gentle swirls. I add a few drops of lavender oil—something soothing—before turning back to Yoko, who is watching me with a soft smile.

"What?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.

"Nothing," she muses, stepping forward, pressing a kiss to my jaw. "Just appreciating you."

I roll my eyes, but my heart warms nonetheless. "Save the appreciation after the bath."

She laughs, and together, we step into the warm water, sinking into the heat.

I pull her close, letting her settle between my legs as I take the soap in my hands, lathering it before I gently press my palms against her bare back, moving in slow, soothing circles.

She sighs, completely melting against me. "You're good at this," she murmurs.

"Of course I am." I smirk, pressing a kiss to the nape of her neck, my hands continuing their slow, careful motions. "I take good care of my girl."

She hums, completely at ease, and I know, without a doubt—She's mine.

Yoko sinks further into me, her back pressed against my chest, her head tilted slightly as I continue my slow, soothing motions across her shoulders and arms. The water is warm, the scent of lavender lingering in the air, and for the first time in weeks, she isn't tense, isn't worried, isn't drowning in her studies.

She's just here. With me.

I wrap my arms around her, pressing a lazy kiss to her damp shoulder, my lips trailing upward to the curve of her neck. "Feeling better?" I murmur against her skin.

"Mhm." She tilts her head slightly, giving me more access, but she's already smiling. "You always make me feel better."

I smirk against her skin, pressing another kiss before resting my chin on her shoulder. "You ready for university, then?"

She pauses. "Probably."

"Probably?" I raise an eyebrow, amused. "That's not very reassuring."

"What do you expect?" she grins, turning her head slightly to look at me. "You think I just know exactly what I'm doing?"

"You usually do."

She snorts, rolling her eyes. "Wow, so much faith in me."

"Always," I reply smoothly, squeezing her waist gently. "So? What are you applying for?"

She sighs, tilting her head back slightly, resting against my shoulder, then—

"Edinburgh."

My lips twitch. "Of course you are."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she narrows her eyes playfully, turning slightly in my hold.

"Nothing," I smirk, nudging my nose against her cheek, my fingers tracing slow patterns against her skin. "Just that I always knew you'd follow in my footsteps."

"Please," she scoffs, but her cheeks are pink. "It has nothing to do with you."

"Mhm. Sure it doesn't."

"It doesn't!"

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, baby."

She groans, throwing her head back, but I can see the way her lips curve, see the warmth in her eyes, the way she melts into my touch–I know, she's mine.

And then, before I can tease her further, she turns completely, straddling me in the tub, her hands cupping my face as she leans in, her lips brushing against mine.

"You're so annoying," she whispers against my lips.

"And yet you love me."

"Unfortunately."

I chuckle, but then she kisses me, hard, deep, her hands tangling in my hair as she presses closer. And just like that, I forget about everything else.

...

Yoko leans into me, soft and pliant, as I help her slip into my shirt, my hands gliding down her arms, smoothing out the fabric against her skin. She tilts her head up, her eyes half-lidded, her lips parted, and I can see it—The desire. The need.

And fuck, it destroys me.

I lean in, pressing kisses along her jaw, trailing down to the side of her neck, feeling the way she shivers under my touch. "Comfortable?" I murmur against her skin, my lips brushing against her pulse point.

"Mhm..." she hums, but her hands are already gripping my shoulders, pulling me closer, her body molding against mine as she tilts her chin up, exposing more of her neck for me to devour.

I chuckle, my lips hovering just above her skin. "Something on your mind, baby?"

She huffs, her grip tightening. "You know damn well what's on my mind."

I grin, dragging my teeth lightly over her collarbone, before whispering against her skin, "Oh? Enlighten me, then."

"I want you."

Fuck.

I pause, savoring the words, the way they fall so easily from her lips, unapologetic, needy, demanding.

I pull back slightly, my fingers teasingly tracing up the hem of the shirt she's wearing—my shirt—before slowly, lazily, dragging my hands back down, watching as her breath catches, as her fingers dig into my arms.

"Oh, love," I murmur, letting my lips graze the shell of her ear, "you always have me."

And then—

I pin her against the bed, my weight pressing down, my lips claiming hers with a slow, deliberate hunger.

She gasps into the kiss, her hands tangling into my hair, pulling me closer, and I can feel it—Her desperation. Her longing. Her love.

And fuck, I'll never get enough of it.

Yoko is beneath me, her body warm, her breath heavy, her fingers curling into my shirt like she needs something—anything—to ground her. Her lips are swollen, her cheeks flushed, her eyes dark with desire—and fuck, she is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.

"Faye..." she whispers, her voice a quiet, desperate plea, and it makes something deep within me shatter completely.

"Shh..." I murmur, pressing my lips against hers again—slow, deep, lingering. I want her to feel me, to know me in a way only I can give her.

My hands travel down, gliding over the fabric of my shirt that she's wearing, my fingers teasingly ghosting over her bare thighs, feeling the way she trembles beneath my touch.

I pull away, my breath mingling with hers, my lips hovering just above hers.

"I've got you, love," I whisper, pressing butterfly kisses down the column of her neck, my lips lingering against her racing pulse. "Let me take care of you."

She nods, her body arching, wordlessly surrendering herself to me.

And fuck—I really adore her. I love her. I worship her.

My lips trail lower, my fingers pushing up the hem of my shirt, revealing more of her, all of her. She gasps as my mouth follows the path my hands make, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses against her skin, feeling her shudder beneath me.

"You're so beautiful, Yoko," I murmur against her stomach, my fingers skimming the curve of her waist, holding her steady as my lips venture lower.

"Faye..." she whimpers, her hands grasping onto me, her body already falling apart from just my touch, just my words.

I smirk, pressing a teasing kiss to her hip. "Patience, baby."

She groans, and I chuckle, sliding my hands further up her thighs, my nails dragging lightly against her skin, feeling the way she tenses, the way her breath stutters.

"You're so sensitive tonight," I tease, my voice low, husky. "I love it."

"Faye," she breathes, her voice pleading, and fuck—I can't deny her anything.

So I don't. Instead, I give her everything. I make her fall apart. I make her remember that she is mine.

And when she gasps my name, when her body trembles, when she clings to me like I am her everything—I know—She is mine just as much as I am hers.

Yoko shatters beneath me, her body trembling, her breath hitched, her fingers gripping onto me like I am her anchor to this world.

Her soft, gasping cries of my name make something deep and primal in me tighten—because fuck, she is so beautiful like this.

I press soft kisses against her inner thighs, my hands still holding her, steadying her as her body quivers, overwhelmed, spent, wrecked in the most perfect way.

"Faye..." she breathes, breathy, barely there, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

I smile, my lips brushing over her sensitive skin—but I am not done yet.

Slowly, gently, I lean in again, my mouth finding her tender, still-sensitive center, my tongue lapping up the remnants of her pleasure, savoring her, tasting every last bit of her like she is the sweetest thing I have ever had.

"F-Faye—" she gasps, her entire body tensing, a sharp, overstimulated whimper escaping her lips.

"Shh, love..." I murmur against her, soothing her, my tongue moving slowly, tenderly, worshipping her. "Let me clean you up..."

She squirms, her thighs twitching, her hands weakly tugging at my hair, wordlessly pleading—but I don't stop.

I press one last, deep kiss against her before finally pulling away, my lips glistening, my gaze dark with satisfaction.

She looks wrecked, her cheeks flushed, her eyes glassy, her body barely able to move—and fuck, I love her.

I move up, hovering over her, brushing her hair from her forehead, kissing her temple before pulling her into me, letting her melt against my chest.

"You okay, baby?" I whisper, my fingers tracing soft, soothing patterns on her bare back, pressing tiny kisses into her damp hair.

She nods, still catching her breath, burying her face into the crook of my neck. "You..." she murmurs, voice still shaky, "are a menace..."

I chuckle, pulling her tighter into me, feeling the way her body relaxes against mine. "And you love it."

She makes a half-hearted sound of protest, but I can feel her smile against my skin.

I kiss her again, slow, deep, tender, letting her feel everything I can't put into words—how much she means to me, how much she owns me, how much I love her.

"Sleep, love," I whisper against her lips. "I've got you."

And as she drifts off in my arms, safe, warm, mine—I swear I have never felt more complete.