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For the eighth time in about the same number of minutes, Hope’s phone buzzed. He picked it up from the kitchen table, glanced at it, frowned, and then put it down again. Lightning sighed. Serah pursed her lips in annoyance. Sazh muttered something about kids and their addiction to anything with a touch screen. Fang and Vanille exchanged a look that probably carried a full conversation only they could understand. Snow kept shoveling pie into his mouth as if he hadn’t even noticed.
Months ago, right after they’d all arrived in the new world, Serah had declared that Sunday nights were family dinner nights. She’d decided that once a week, they would all gather at her and Snow’s house—and somehow, she’d managed to make it a mandatory thing. Some excuses were acceptable, like Noel and Yeul being abroad, but that was about as far as Serah’s leniency went. Sunday nights were family dinner nights. Period.
Lightning had always been a loner at heart, but even she found joy in these little gatherings. Everyone was so busy living their own lives nowadays that if they hadn’t all feared being hunted down by a passive-aggressive Serah, they probably wouldn’t have been able stay in touch like this—a thought of that scared Lightning more than she would ever admit. She finally had a family again, and she wanted to keep it. Even if it meant having weekly dinners in a kitchen that definitely wasn’t big enough for the entire gang.
The room wasn’t quite as crowded now as when Noel and Yeul was in town, but the seating arrangement was still far from comfortable. Lightning had to dodge Snow’s elbow every time the big buffoon reached for something, and her thigh was pressed flush against Hope's.
It was fascinating, really, how the warmth of Hope’s leg could somehow be more distracting than the risk of getting elbowed in the face.
Hope’s phone buzzed.
“Could you please turn that off?” Serah asked. “The world won’t end just because you’re unavailable for an hour.”
“You’re giving the world way too much credit,” Hope muttered. He ran his fingers through his silver hair, a deep wrinkle forming between his eyebrows. The ever-growing concern in Lightning’s chest nagged at her. Hope’s eyes were surrounded by dark circles, and every time she saw him he seemed to have lost another pound or two.
When Hope had said that he wanted to work as a researcher again, she’d been happy for him. Of course he’d want to figure out how the science of the new world worked, and of course he’d want to help people find ways to make their new lives work in this unfamiliar environment. What she hadn’t realized was just how much everyone would come to rely on him. Everyone seemed to want a piece of his intellect and his lifetimes of experience. He was being torn apart right before her eyes, and there was nothing she could do about it. Every time she brought it up, he just brushed it off. They’d been partners once, but now, he wouldn’t let her in. He’d shut her out.
“Hope…” She glanced up at him. “The world isn’t your responsibility anymore, you know? Just because everyone wants your help doesn’t mean you have to be there for them constantly. You have to think about what you want, too.”
“I can’t have what I want.” There was a strange combination of heat and sorrow in his eyes when he met her gaze. “I don’t deserve it.”
Lightning fell silent as she tried to get her emotions under control. She sometimes wondered if Hope had any idea how frustratingly attractive he was, with his chiseled jawline, full lips, and ocean-green eyes that still gleamed with an understanding of the universe that no other human on the planet possessed.
She also sometimes wondered if he knew how he made her brain malfunction by simply looking at her.
It wasn’t his appearance that made her feel the way she did. Seeing him as an adult had only made the final puzzle piece of her conflicting emotions fall into place. And now, when she’d finally realized what their bond truly meant to her, he was shutting her out.
Hope’s phone buzzed.
Serah gave him a glare that could have slayed a behemoth. “That’s it, Hope, you’re turning—”
“It’s okay.” Hope gave the screen a final glance before standing up. “I’ve got to go. Thanks for the dinner, Serah. It was perfect, as always.”
“Hope…” Serah paused. After countless dinners ending the exact same way, they all knew that there was nothing they could do to make him stay.
Lightning watched him leave the kitchen, his narrow frame slimmer than ever, and just… reacted. This time it was her elbow that nearly connected with Snow’s face when she rushed after Hope. She caught up with him in the hallway as he was putting on his coat.
“Enough.” She placed herself between him and the door.
“What?”
“I said enough.”
They stared at each other. Hope’s face went from confusion to annoyance to melancholy in a matter of seconds.
“I really have to go, Light,” he said, giving her a humorless smile. “We can talk later.”
“There will never be a ‘later’, and you know it.” Lightning leaned back against the door, effectively blocking his only escape route. “We’re still partners, right? Or did that change when we arrived here?”
Hope blinked. “Of course we are. Nothing will ever change that.”
“Then, as your partner, I’m putting my foot down.” Lightning raised her chin and crossed her arms. “I’m not going to stand by and watch you tear yourself apart to keep the world afloat. Not again.” She swallowed hard. “Never again.”
“Light…” Hope slowly approached her until their bodies were only inches apart. Lightning’s heart began to race. She refused to look away, though. She was taking a stand, and she was not going to let her emotions get in the way of that.
“If you’re going to say you’re fine, then save it. I know you’re not. Have you looked at yourself lately? Can’t you see what this is doing to you?” A hint of desperation somehow found its way into her voice. “You’re putting the needs of others over your own, and I… I feel like I’m losing you again.”
“I’m sorry, Light. I never meant to… I’m sorry.” Hope looked down. “It’s just that everything’s a mess, and considering the part I played in all of this, I feel like it’s my responsibility to fix it.”
“It’s not. That responsibility lies on humanity as a whole now. You and I… We may have contributed to the destruction of the old world, but we also helped creating this.” Lightning nodded toward the kitchen, where their little mess of a family chatted and laughed together. “A new world. A blank page. We create our own fates now. I know it’s hard—trust me, I know it is—but we deserve a new start too. It’s time for all of us to start living the lives we want to live, and that includes you.” She gently stroked a wayward strand of hair from his forehead. “What do you want, Hope?”
“What I want?” He looked up at her, letting out a bitter sound that wasn’t quite a snort but not quite a laugh either. A shiver ran down her spine. He had that look in his eyes again, hot and sad and hungry. “I don’t think you want to know.”
“Try me.”
He hesitated. “There is one thing I want. More than anything.” He cupped her cheek in his hand, his gaze lowering until it landed on her lips. Another moment of hesitation passed.
“I want to kiss you.”
Lightning’s eyes widened. Her cheeks burned. Her heart pounded hard enough to drown out her thoughts—which thankfully wasn’t that much of a problem. In this situation, she didn’t need to think.
“Then kiss me.”
Hope’s lips crashed into hers. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her body against his as her back slammed into the door. Her head spun, and all her repressed emotions sprung into life. This was what she’d been craving ever since she first saw him in the new world. This was how things were supposed to be. This was right.
Their kiss deepened. The rest of the world seemed to disappear. All she could focus on was him—his smell, his warmth, his hands in her hair, and his impossibly soft lips.
When he finally pulled back, an astonished smile played on his lips. Soon, he would most likely rush out the door as usual to once again fix whatever it was that someone had screwed up, but this time he’d at least gotten something he wanted for himself—something she’d been more than happy to give it to him. She wasn’t delusional enough to believe that a kiss would change his self-destructive behavior, but maybe, just maybe, it was a start.
“What about you?” he murmured, slightly out of breath. “What do you want, in this hypothetical utopia of yours?”
She smiled. That was probably the easiest question he could have possibly asked her.
“You.”