Chapter Text
"No, Granny, I haven't found the carnations yet," you yelled over your shoulder. Sighing quietly, you turned your attention back to the bouquet you were currently working on—a small piece for a young bride. 'Nothing flashy,' she had said with the brightest smile, 'just something unique.'
You hoped this one was unique enough for her taste. She had told you about her love for succulents, so you had decided to make that the center piece. A soft green, thick juicy leaves framed by delicate pastel pink peonies. Baby's breath to tie it all together.
"All done," you mumbled, setting the bouquet aside carefully. It was weird to think that merely six weeks ago you were a corporate girl, juggling numbers and clients to reach the unrealistic goals your boss had set—and then some more.
And now... you were here. Living with your grandma, working in her flower shop. She had gotten older and started needing more help around the house and the shop. Maybe this was what you needed. A step back from a desk and into flowers and greens. A cozy shop to run and maintain. Working with customers instead of against them.
It was strange how much different your life back at home was. You were born here in the country of Elarion, Kingdom of Celestia. Linkon, the capital, the Crown city, had forever been the most populated and visited metropolis... and the permanend residence of the royal family.
As far as history went back, Celestia had been ruled by the Shen Dynasty. Granted, the whole monarchy-thing changed with time. Nowadays it's mostly about representation rather than actual power. Still, people around here were proud of their royals.
In theory, you knew that. Practically, though... you hadn't spent a single thought about that since you left all those years ago. Your family had settled in another country, halfway across the globe. While you were still legally a citizen of Elarion, you didn't feel like it. Maybe you would, in time. For now—
A loud crashing sound ripped you out of your thoughts.
"Oh, goodness—" you gasped, rushing outside to get the flowers inside. The weather was still unpredictable. Rain and thunderstorms never announced themselves. They just appeared. Like now.
You scrambled to get everything in time without getting completely soaked... which was a futile attempt. In a matter of seconds the rain changed from a steady drizzle to a violent downpour. Your clothes stuck to you like a second skin, but you couldn't do anything about that yet. The flowers. You needed to get them inside quickly—
"Let me help," a soft voice said behind you, a strange pair of hands lifting the pots effortlessly and carrying them inside quickly. "Thank you," you whispered, surprised by the unexpected gesture of kindness by that... rather handsome stranger. Silver-blonde hair, sky-blue eyes, and an aura of elegance that you had never seen in anyone before.
You shook your head to force yourself to look away, although he smiled softly at you. "You're welcome," he answered, setting the pots down carefully. You just stood there, watching him wordlessly, still bedazzled by the sheer beauty of that stranger.
Then, eventually, you snapped out of it—after a long moment of silence. "I'll get you a towel," you stammered, making your way to the back of the shop quickly. "Here you go,"you said quiety, handing him one of the towels you brought, using the other to dry yourself off.
"Thank you again, Sir..." you smiled awkwardly.
"Xavier," he answered immediately, smiling back at you. "Xavier Sterling."
• • •
"Is that presentation done already?" your boss asked, passing by your office. "Yep," you answered quickly. "Already sent it to you."
"Thank you~", he sang, disappearing down the hallway again. Getting more coffee, talking to another team member or his party members... who knew. You didn't, and you didn't have time to find out.
Election campaigns were the worst times in your job. As much as you loved being the personal assistant of a Member of Parliament... you would kill for the chance to skip elections. It was insane, every single time.
Get up, go to work, meetings all day, back to back. Protocols, dates, statistics, campaigns, results... back to meetings. Mails, calls, media... more meetings. Go home, sleep... repeat.
"Oh gosh," you mumbled, emptying your coffee in one go before returning to yet another mail. Your fingers flew over the keyboard, finding the letters with scary precision, and more force than necessary. You hated the name that had popped up on your screen. Some pesky newspaper-person, asking questions not to learn but to dig up dirt where there was none.
You cursed under your breath and hit 'send', scribbling down another thing in your notebook. 2:53, almost time for the next meeting. Maybe you could still squeeze in a very quick lunch.
You got up from your desk and took exactly two steps before your vision got blurry. Black pulled at the edges of your vision, the world turned... and you heard your coworker scream your name somewhere in the distance.
"Hm?" you hummed, blinking awake only moments later. "What..?"
"Oh thank GOD," Simone gasped, helping you sit up. "Girl you passed out, are you okay? Are you hurt? What happened? Are you pregnant?"
You glared at her. Rubbing your eyes, you asked her how long you were gone.
"Only a minute or so," she answered, giving you a glass of water. "The boss already called his doctor, he should be here soon."
"That's overkill," you said, standing up slowly. "There's a meeting in five and I need something to eat. Want something from the cafeteria?"
"Don't you dare," another voice said behind you. Your boss. "This is Dr. Li, he'll check up on you. You're off for the rest of the day."
"What?" you protested, turning to face him. "That's unnecessary. I'm fine, really."
"You fainted, though," the young doctor said calmly, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. "At least let me check if you sustained any injuries."
Your protests had fallen on deaf ears. Your boss practically dragged you to his office, sitting you on the plush couch. "Don't let her off the hook, Dr. Li," he had said, glaring at you lightly, before leaving the room and closing the door behind him quietly.
"I'm Dr. Zayne Li," the black haired man said, pulling a chair up to sit in front of you. You mumbled your own name in response, your resistance slowly ebbing away. After all, the doctor wasn't at fault here, was he?
"Do you feel any pain, Miss?"
• • •
The blue tangled with a warm grey, creating a vortex of passion that pulled you deeper and deeper into the abyss. Colors danced before your eyes—a perfect union, dancing in harmony.
Swirls of azure and cerulean gradually faded into prussian and midnight blue... and something else that you couldn't name. Was it... oxblood? Bordeaux? Crimson? A hint of red underneath the grey, scratching the edge of your vision.
I pulled you in. Deeper, deeper, and deeper. And still, you had never felt so...
"... alive."
You gasped and slapped your hands over your mouth, looking around the gallery quickly to see if anyone heard you. You exhaled slowly, relieved that no one heard your rambling. Taking a step back, you took another look at the grand canvas in front of you.
You had never seen anything like it. Usually, drawings of the ocean—as beautiful as they were—all felt... dull. Lifeless. One-dimensional.
This one... this was different. It almost felt like it was speaking to you. The combination of colors was unique, much more intricate than it looked online.
This very drawing was the reason you came all the way to Linkon, to see this beauty with your own eyes. You had been looking for a new drawing for your quarters at home, and none seemed to satisfy you. Until... you found this one. 'Home' by Rafayel Mo.
"This one caught your eye, young Lady?" an older man said, coming to stand beside you. His disdain was evident in the crinkle of his brow, in the narrowing of his eyes. "I don't see the appeal. It's just a blend of blue and grey."
You swallowed thickly, refraining from arguing. You had learned very early in life that it was pointless. You had always seen things in art that no one else seemed to grasp. It was always "if you say so," but never "you're right, I see it, too."
"I like the blend of blue and grey," you answered calmly, turning your attention back to the drawing. It was mesmerizing.
"If you say so," the man said, continuing his way through the gallery—you wanted to laugh at the irony. Some things just never changed.
"Blue and grey... tsk," someone said behind you. You turned around, finding a young man with blueish-purple hair, arms crossed, pouting slightly at what the older man said before. You almost giggled, if not for the fact that the young one looked genuinely hurt.
"Oh, don't bother," you answered, smiling at him. "Some people can't appreciate art or color."
"But you can?" he said, making his way to your side, a small smirk having replaced his pout in seconds. "What do you see then?"
"Uhm..." you swallowed thickly, turning your attention back to the canvas. "It looks like... a storm at sea."
The young man sighed and shook his head. "That's it?"
You bit your lip. It was not it. But if you went all out, you'd seem like a weirdo again...
"The sea is crying."
That got his attention.
"She is crying for something that should be there but isn't anymore. The red underneath the dark grey currents carry the pain of loss, while the blue from the surface threatens to wash away the memory. It's a tragedy, but it's drawn like a fantasy. The artist used different blues and greys. It feels safe and familiar. But underneath lies the truth, the blood of... whatever it is the sea is mourning."
There was silence, long and suffocating. You braced yourself for a snide comment, a laugh, a scoff... anything to—
"I'm impressed," the man said, a soft smile on his face. "Not many people catch the red, yet you didn't even hesitate."
You felt your face heat up, and immediately tried to hide your flustered expression under the rim of your ridiculously expensive hat.
"I'm Rafayel," he said after a moment. You gasped in response and looked up at him in shock. He was the artist?!
"Do you have a name, cutie?"
• • •
You hated Galas.
There was no denying or sugarcoating it. If there was one thing you could scratch from your list of duties... it would be Galas of all sorts.
Someone always wanted something. A picture. A toast. An autograph. And you had to play along. "For the image," as your manager always said. "Good image means good offers."
And so you played along. You smiled when you wanted to scream. You laughed when you wanted to punch someone. You sipped your champagne whenever it was appropriate and expected. You nodded when someone was talking, even though you felt like sleeping. You agreed when there was nothing you wanted to agree to.
Because that was part of the job of being a world renowned and appreciated actress. People looked up to you... and you had to deliver the best version of yourself at all times. No one wanted bad press. Tabloids nowadays were licking their fingers for every bit of dirt they could find on a famous person. There was no need to feed their curiousity, to satisfy their hunger for drama.
Still, you couldn't deny that after almost five hours... you were sick of it. Sick of people, sick of the fake smiles and laughter, sick of men and women flaunting their wealth as if it's their only quality. Sick of the sweet perfumes, the booze and the 'I am better than you' conversations.
You sighed deeply as you reached the bar, setting down your still half full glass of champagne.
"Anything I can get for you?" the barkeeper asked. You didn't look up at him.
"Coke." - "Whiskey."
You frowned and finally looked around, finding the barkeeper at the other end of the bar with another customer. You chuckled at the stupidity of the moment. "Whatever happened to 'Ladies first'?" you asked, earning a small laugh from both men in return.
Awkwardness avoided.
You thanked the barkeeper as he served you the cold beverage after a few moments... before serving the other man.
No, not just any man as you realized now.
Sylus Blackwell. CEO and founder of Onychinus, internationally operating multi-billion dollar company.
Curse your luck.
Your name dropped from his lips like honey as he came to sit next to you. "I take it you needed a break, too," he smirked, sipping his whiskey.
"Yeah," you sighed, a small laugh slipping out. "I'm ready for this day to be over."
"Same here," he answered, much to your surprise. You had taken him for someone who thrived in these kind of events. Apparently you were wrong.
"Why are you still here, then?" You asked, taking a few sips of your coke. "Don't tell me you have an annoying manager as well."
He chuckled deeply. "Not quite," he answered. "But there's still something I need to do before calling it a day."
"When you're done," you continued, not caring who would hear you, "can you come back to me and get me out of here? That would be swell."
He chuckled again. "Of course," he smirked, emptying his tumbler and standing slowly.
"Give me five minutes."
• • •
"Farspace DS-3248, Linkon Tower. You are cleared for ILS approach runway two-seven. Wind zero-eight-five at six knots."
"Copy that, Tower. Cleared ILS two-seven."
You smiled lightly, adjusting your headset. You loved this work. Air traffic control was something you had worked towards your whole life. This was where you were meant to be. In the tower, coordinating starts and landings on Linkon International Airport. Nothing could ever make you lose your calm—not even the fact that your coworker got injured a few weeks back and you had to take over her flights until she was back... or someone else would jump in for her.
Granted, it was more stressful than usual. But this was what you needed. You thrived on high intensity work.
And of course... the voice on the other side of the line helped a lot, too.
Colonel Caleb Summers, DAA reserve fighter pilot and Colonel of the Farspace Fleet—Linkon's biggest commercial airline, operating nationally and internationally.
Of course, you had heard your coworkers swoon. But that wasn't the reason you smiled when hearing his voice, oh no.
He left an impression on you.
"First time hearing your voice on this frequency," was the first thing he had said when you took over your coworker's flights. It hadn't been the first time you filled in for someone else. But it had been the first time a pilot actually paid attention enough to notice.
Your calls were usually laced with light banter, unless it was critical timing, like starting or landing. He even said goodbye to you every single time without fail—after flights or when he left your airspace.
Today though... there was no goodbye. You frowned, almost feeling sad about it... even though you technically had no right to be sad. It wasn't like you actually knew him. You knew his voice, no more, no less. Besides, it was only 30 more minutes until you were off work, anyway. If he hadn't been lucky enough to arrive sooner than planned, you wouldn't have gotten a goodbye either.
"See you on monday," you had said loudly, earning waves and humms in response from your colleagues. You were done with the day and the week... and in urgent need of some coffee.
You knew exactly what you wanted. A large cold brew, full fat milk, drizzle of caramel and—
"... no ice."
The coffee appeared in front of your face magically, just as you exited the staff area of the airport. The cup was held by a gloved hand, leading to a frame wearing the signature Farspace Fleet uniform, and eyes who looked like a tropical sunset.
"So," the man grinned, his voice so unmistakebly... him.
"You're the woman behind the voice."