Chapter Text
He wasn’t the type to read newspapers, at least not the sections dealing with mere gossip or news about famous people—he couldn’t have cared less.
And yet there he was, a newspaper in his hands, sitting in his sterile office at Skyhaven, hundreds of meters above Linkon City.
Above her.
And above the man who now had the privilege of calling her his wife.
Perhaps if he hadn’t overheard a few colleagues discussing it in the cafeteria at Farspace Fleet’s central command headquarters, he would never even have found out.
Two years had passed since the incident that had changed everything.
From that day on, he had never gone back. It was better to be a literal ghost in her life than to risk bringing her further danger.
In fact, he had convinced himself that maybe this way he could still protect her—even if not by her side as before.
But his absence from her life, of course, had consequences.
Perhaps she had forgotten him—what sense would it make to hold on to a dead man in her life? He was only a useless burden.
Or maybe, from time to time, she thought of him, only to remind herself it was pointless to dig up a past that would never return.
Caleb had tried to forget her. He had done it for both of them, and to try to dull that pain in his chest every time he thought of her—of what could have been, if only he hadn’t been caught in that explosion.
Maybe one day things could have changed, maybe with time he could have held a different place in her heart than before.
Maybe it would have taken years to transform that bond into something more.
Or maybe, nothing would have changed at all.
Maybe that was how everything was meant to be from the beginning.
After all, Zayne had always been a good man—level-headed, responsible, and conscientious.
He was intelligent, an excellent student, reserved, kind, and thoughtful.
Caleb remembered how she used to look at him even back then, with wide, adoring eyes, whenever he told her something new he had read in his massive tomes.
How he had been a gentle shadow in her life, the eldest of the trio, a steady and reliable presence despite his young age.
Perhaps that was how it was always meant to be.
And yet, that headline—that little paragraph in the corner of the Linkon Today newspaper , announcing the marriage between the renowned surgeon Zayne Li and the winner of last year’s Rising Deepspace Hunter Award—tasted almost bitter on his tongue when he repeated it.
An intimate ceremony, the article said.
He wouldn’t have expected anything else, knowing Zayne—he wasn’t the type who’d want to flaunt something like this in front of hundreds of people.
In fact, it was already strange that the news had made it to the papers. But after all, both figures involved had been in the public eye over the past few years.
Caleb closed the newspaper, folding it and laying it down on the desk, away from him, as if to push the news itself further away.
He felt nothing, as though the words he had just read had been painful, but now there was only emptiness.
The kind of emptiness you feel when you know that any other emotion could shatter your balance, driving you to lose control.
He half-closed his eyes, and his lips curved into a misplaced smile, one utterly unfitting for what he felt inside.
It’s fine.
It’s fine this way.
That evening, when he returned to his apartment in Skyhaven, he warmed up something pre-made.
There was hardly anything in the fridge—aside from ready-made meals, a couple of eggs, vegetables long forgotten, and a few almost-rotting apples.
When he set the reheated meal on the table, he noticed it was still cold, but didn’t give it much thought.
The food on his tongue had no taste at all; it was just something slimy and utterly flavorless in his mouth.
He didn’t even look at what was on his plate, his eyes dull, devoid of any light, almost opaque.
The only sound in the dining room was the clink of the fork against the half-empty plate, dragging across the ceramic while his gaze drifted elsewhere.
Nothing.
The minutes passed, while he remained fixed in the same position, the room immersed in silence.
Then, with the same emotionless expression, he stood up, taking the plate still half full of food in his hand, emptied it, and left it in the sink.
He would eat something the next day, maybe.
The stream of the shower poured violently down on him, almost as if it were trying to wash away with water that unpleasant feeling clinging to him.
He couldn’t even tell whether the water was hot or cold, nor did he care, since he had dragged himself into the bathroom more out of habit than necessity.
Maybe the sound of the water would keep his thoughts from making even more noise in his head, maybe it would finally silence them for a while.
Then, sudden images flashed in his mind.
A figure with familiar curves, hidden by a thin veil of steam from the hot water, behind the shower glass.
Instinctively, he reached out his hand as if to touch her, longing to feel the wet skin under his touch, her warmth beneath the stream of water.
But his hand touched only the cold tiles of the shower wall, as the figure vanished, swallowed up by another puff of steam.
Gone.
His gaze remained fixed as he swallowed with difficulty, realizing that it had only been another projection of his imagination, as always and forever.
No, he would never feel her skin beneath his hands that way.
He would never be able to hold her close while the water caressed their bodies, run his fingers through her wet hair, kiss her damp skin while they held each other tight.
He would never be able to share any domestic bliss with her, not even something like that.
Not any other kind either, it would never happen.
Someone else would. He would.
He would have shared a bath with her, then wrapped her in a towel, pulling her close as he kissed her playfully.
He would have dried her hair just like Caleb always did years before, when they were kids.
He would have combed her hair the way he used to, braiding it with precision, then closing it with another band, while the one Caleb had gifted her—with an apple-shaped charm—remained shut away in some forgotten drawer.
He would have shared all those little moments with her and made her feel special even in small things.
She would have been happy.
Even without him, she would have been happy.
That was what mattered, wasn’t it?
That was what he had always wanted, after all—to see her happy.
So why did he feel that hollow ache in his stomach and throat as those thoughts assailed him?
Why couldn’t he be happy for her, why did his hands weaken at the thought of knowing she was with Zayne?
Why did his lips curve into an unnatural smile, why-
The hand on the tiles began to slip, and slowly, to his surprise, he found himself kneeling on the shower floor, head bowed as the stream struck his back, rivulets of water running quickly down his spine.
Warmer rivulets began to cross his face, faster and faster, but to his surprise, they tasted of salt.
The salty streams grew heavier as his eyes began to burn slightly.
“No, it’s fine. It’s fine.”
He tried to stop the flow, rubbing the backs of his hands against his eyes, but nothing seemed able to contain it.
He couldn’t remember the last time he had cried, maybe years ago, maybe decades ago.
He had forgotten what it felt like, and yet in that moment, it seemed as if all the tears repressed during all that time had broken through his self-imposed dam, flooding out like a river in spate, impossible to hold back.
The hand on the tiles clenched into a fist, and a sudden sob escaped his lips.
“…I don’t want to.”
The voice was whispered, as if he were afraid to give voice to what he truly felt.
“I don’t want to…”
He slammed his fist against the wall, trying to stifle a faint cry of pain.
He didn’t want someone else to do with her everything he had dreamed of for years.
To hold her in their arms, to love her, to make love to her, to hear her say “I love you” and be able to say it back without fear.
He would never be able to do that.
Especially not anymore—not when she believed him dead, and when she was in love with another man.
He would never know that happiness.
Maybe he was just selfish—he always had been—even while convincing himself he only wanted her happiness.
Wasn’t that what love was, after all? To put the other’s well-being before your own?
Then maybe he didn’t really love her, he thought, otherwise he would be glad to know she was happy.
He, who thought he loved her more than she could ever realize—maybe it wasn’t true after all.
Sobs shook his body as he slowly curled up on the shower floor, while the water fell on him steadily.
It didn’t matter what he didn’t want—he could not change reality.
He would remain a ghost in her life, a shadow of a distant past that with time would fade, hidden among the skies above Linkon City, while she moved on, hand in hand with the man who would make her happy.
He, among the skies, the machinery of a laboratory and the empty walls of his house.
Alone.
In the silence of his deafening thoughts.
She walked hand in hand with her groom, while in the distance the sounds of the small reception grew fainter.
The garden where the ceremony had taken place and where the wedding banquet was now held was wonderful at that time of year, the perfect setting for such an intimate occasion.
There were flowers of every kind—peonies, annual asters, lilies, jasmines, and a few apple trees in bloom, their petals sometimes carried away by the fresh spring wind.
“We were so lucky that the garden was available this time of year. I remember it was always booked for events in past years.”
“Sometimes it helps to have connections, especially when it comes to former patients.”
“I know it wasn’t just that. I know you had to insist and negotiate quite a bit to get it, don’t downplay it.”
Zayne smiled, pulling her gently to him as he adjusted her veil so as not to ruin the braid that combed her hair.
“I knew how much it meant to you. I couldn’t possibly begin our married life with something to apologize for, if I hadn’t managed to secure the place for the ceremony.”
She smiled back, rising slowly on her toes to leave a soft kiss on his cheek.
“Thank you.”
As she pulled back, the necklace around her neck snagged momentarily on his jacket, and her eyes widened in worry.
“Oh no—”
“Wait, let me do it.”
Zayne, with surgical hands, gently freed the necklace from the fabric of the jacket, checking that the pendant hadn’t been damaged in any way.
“All done.”
He said, then carefully arranging the necklace on her neck, so the little apple-shaped charm and the tag were visible against her collarbone.
“Do you think he would have been happy?”
She asked, lowering her gaze, her cheerful tone from moments before dimming slightly.
Zayne caressed her cheek with his thumb, then lifted her chin so she would focus on him.
“I suppose so. He would have been proud of you. And he would surely have told you how beautiful you look.”
A bittersweet smile appeared on her lips as she clasped his hand on her cheek with her own.
“This ceremony feels incomplete. I mean…”
“I know, me too. You look into the crowd and feel like someone’s missing, right?”
She nodded, then rested her head on his chest.
“Even though, somehow, it’s like he’s here.”
“He’ll always be with you, a part of you. And he'd be happy to know that you’ll never be alone anymore.”
He held her close, swinging gently with her in his arms among the flowers as the wind caressed them, while apple blossoms fell upon them like delicate confetti.
As they moved, slowly dancing, the veil swayed with them, revealing now and then the braid hidden beneath it.
She had made it trying to recreate the way he had taught her years before—it was a bit messy, not perfect, but she didn’t care.
To close it, a small elastic with an apple-shaped charm.