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lovebugism · 10 months

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“don’t you dare touch him” eddie x shy!reader

idk i need a situation where reader never really speaks up but she finally does when it comes to eddie because she loves him sm😭

thanks so much for your request! hope you like it!! — the one where eddie melts when his quiet gf sticks up for him in front of jason (shy!reader, fluff, 2.4k)

bug's summer fic fest ♡

The drive from Forest Hills to the arcade is spent with Lucas and Dustin bickering in the backseat and Eddie’s hand on your thigh.

“It’s been two years, and you still can’t beat my high score, Dusty Bun,” the former boy taunts. The nickname spills like venom from his smiling face. “Just give it up, okay? It’s not happening.”

Dustin grins back at him. It’s more so mischievous than it is taunting. His deep blue eyes narrow in a challenging squint. “You are so gonna be eating your words by the end of the night. When we leave, Princess Daphne is gonna be mine, alright? For good.”

Their arguing becomes background noise. With your cheek lolled against the hand you’ve got propped against the window, you’re pulled into the wispy lilac cloud your gaze is so heavily fixated upon. The sky billows lavender against a sea of pink and golden orange — a summer sunset so vivid you can taste it.

The only thing keeping you grounded is Eddie’s palm on your knee, wide and warm and all-consuming. His thumb rubs against your skin so softly you think it must be absentminded. It feels like static shock, anyway. He laughs quietly to himself, and his fingers tremble gently against you. This time they squeeze you with a newfound intention as he brings you back to him.

“What do you think, babe?” Eddie asks, pink mouth spread in a pearly white grin. His chocolate eyes glimmer with the golden hour sun as his gaze flits between yours and the road. “Think Dusty Bun has a chance here?”

You nod, scrunched nose and squinted eyes, silent in your support for the curly-headed boy who’s still yelling over Lucas in the back of the van.

“What about me?” he presses. And because he knows better than to give his quiet girl anything other than a yes or no answer, he follows quickly, “You think today’s the day I finally beat your Space Invaders high score?”

A beat passes. The momentary silence is filled with arguing boys, old tires on older asphalt, and Ozzy Osbourne’s “Crazy Train” spilling softly from the radio. A quiet smile tugs at the corners of your mouth. You purse the mischievous expression to the side as you turn away from him again.

Your non-answer makes him laugh. It sounds exactly like the colors of the sunset.

His beat-up van jerks when he puts it into park. The door on the side squeaks as the kids file out of it. Eddie’s does too, but you can’t hear it over him telling you to “sit tight.”

You wait patiently in the passenger seat like you always do, smiling to yourself as the boy rushes around the hood to open the door for you. The hinges screech in protest. His wild curls billow in the wind as he smiles. “C’mon, sunshine. Our palace awaits.”

The group of you stand beneath the spinning neon sign he parked next to — glowing orange and white beneath a setting sun. Someone calls from across the parking lot, “Well, well, well. Look who it is.”

Your heads snap in the direction of the painfully familiar voice.

Jason and the rest of his abnormally tall goons stand outside the new gym that just opened on the strip. The dark, vacant building wedged between The Palace and Family Video was no longer as scary as it used to be now that it was occupied. You were just hoping it’d be something more exciting. Forcing arcade nerds and gym bros into one spot feels like a crime.

“And they brought little miss wallflower, too,” Jason lilts with his pretty smile and straight teeth. His blonde hair is a darker shade of brown, damp with half-dried sweat. His lean form is unnaturally built underneath his white tank top and basketball shorts.

It isn’t any wonder why he turned out to be such a raging douchebag.

Someone so perfect needed at least one flaw.

“The gang’s all here, huh?” one of his other friends — Andy, you think — concurs from behind him, always in the boy’s shadow.

“Like what you see, fellas?” Eddie calls out from across the slab of pavement separating the group of you. He’ll never turn down an opportunity to take the piss out of the so-called jocks, all muscle and no brain.

“What do we do when those assholes give us hell?” he’d often ask when you’ve had a particularly shitty day with them. “We give ‘em hell right back.”

Jason’s thin lips curl into a more mischievous smirk. His blue eyes are lighter in the golden sunlight, and they twinkle beneath the neon signs as he looks you up and down. “Yeah, actually,” he hums with his unabashed ogling. “I do.”

Mike’s lanky legs sidestep to stand ahead of you. He does it so swiftly, so instinctually, you don’t think he even really meant to do it. Despite the raven-haired boy halfway covering you, you cross your arms over your torso in a further attempt to keep yourself hidden.

You feel so suddenly exposed in your frilly floral sundress — especially considering the only thing you wear to school is baggy jeans and baggier sweaters. You feel like you might as well be naked standing in front of them just now.

The younger boys stand on high alert as Eddie walks the short distance to Jason. The brief journey is made quicker when the blonde boy strides to meet him halfway. It’s a high school sort of standoff — neither particularly wanting to get physical because the real-life repercussions aren’t worth it. They just want to see who can piss each other off the most.

“She is pretty, isn��t she?” Eddie concedes with a grin, flashing you a brief glance over his shoulder. He turns away quickly at the sight of your wide, pleading eyes. He scrunches his nose in feigned sympathy. “I bet you’re real jealous, huh? Especially now that you’ve got nothing but your right hand keeping you company ever since Chrissy dumped your ass.”

“Watch it,” Jason warns through gritted teeth.

“I think I saw her riding around last week with Harrington, actually.”

The blonde boy’s sneakers scuff against the concrete as he takes a daring step closer. His piercing stare never wavers. “Don’t talk about Chrissy.”

“Don’t talk about my girl, and I won’t talk about yours,” Eddie retorts in lilt. And then, because he can’t help but twist the knife, he tilts his head to his shoulder and continues. “Well, I guess she’s not really yours anymore, is she?”

“I said don’t talk about Chrissy!” Jason repeats, louder than before, when he lets his anger get the best of him. One hand shoots up to shove at Eddie’s chest, using only enough force to make the boy stumble slightly back.

While Dustin, Lucas, and Mike gear up for a fight, Eddie only laughs in response — big, boisterous, and boyish.

You don’t even realize you’re stepping in front of the group until you’re already doing it. The words seem to fly from your mouth without you even thinking about them. “Don’t touch him!” you shout.

And even though it wasn’t particularly loud, it quiets in the mindless bickering all at once. Everyone turns to gape at you — Jason, Andy, Dustin, Eddie. Everyone is equally surprised by your outburst. Because you don’t speak. Ever. At least, not if you can help it.

And it’s not because you don’t have anything to say, because you do. It’s just that your brain works too much, and your mouth can’t keep up with it sometimes. It’s easier just to be silent.

That’s what you’ve been known for ever since you were little. You went through all of it — the bullying, the sad eyes, the talks with teachers, the ‘is everything alright at home’s. Everything was fine, for the most part. Your childhood was equally as middling as everyone else’s. You just had a harder time being human than most people.

Jason smiles again, amused by your warning. “What was that, sweetheart?”

You swallow through a tightening throat. Your sweaty hands clench into balls at your sides. The words come out quieter than before, but no less meaningful. “I said… Don’t touch him.”

“Oh, so she does speak. Here I thought no one ever taught you how to,” the blonde boy laughs. You feel disgusting when his attention settles solely upon you. The lingering sick feeling is eclipsed by your gratitude that Eddie’s no longer in his line of fire. “I’m gonna be honest… I thought you were cuter when you were quiet.”

You don’t know what he means by that. You can’t tell if he’s being genuine, or if he thinks you care enough about what he thinks to slink back into your shell.

“Leave Eddie alone,” you retort drily.

He snorts. “Yeah? Or what?”

There’s a thousand words you want to say. You open your mouth to spit all of them at the boy across from you, but nothing comes out.

“Yeah,” Jason laughs at your silence. “That’s what I thought.”

You stand your ground when he walks towards you. His strides are slow and menacing, like he’s expecting you to back away. You might’ve if you were anywhere else — if Eddie wasn’t a couple feet away and the rest of your friends weren’t crowding behind you. You’re made somehow braver by their presence.

“This is a really cute dress, though, sweetheart,” the blonde boy compliments with a thin smirk. “You should dress like this more often. You know what? You’d really fit in at the strip club downtown— what’s it called?”

“Pink Paradise,” Andy answers without missing a beat.

Jason smacks his lips against his teeth. “That’s the one.”

“Is that the one your mom works at?” you wonder with your arms crossed over your chest. Your head tilts to your shoulder as you squint at him. “Is she still giving those two-for-one discounts?”

Jason’s confidence stutters at your biting reply — even more so by the choked-back laughter accompanying it. Your boys don’t bother to hide their humored giggles, though the basketball team covers theirs by coughing into their fists.

“Ooh. I didn’t know you had such a much on you,” the blonde lilts as his blue eyes narrow. “I’m like… fifty percent more attracted to you now.”

“Leave Eddie alone,” you deadpan once more. “And go be a douchebag somewhere else.”

One of his friends breaks free from the pack. He’s tall, thin, and toned. He’s got the same haircut as Lucas: compact curls, squared off on the sides. You know him — Patrick McKinney. He’s the only one of Jason’s friends that was actually nice to you. Or, at the very least, he wasn’t a total asshole.

“Let’s go, man,” the boy ushers, nudging at Jason’s bicep. “Let’s go shoot some hoops or something. This isn’t worth it.”

You scoff out a laugh. “Oh, please— the only shooting Jason Carver does is into a kleenex. It’s why you were benched all last season.”

“I twisted my ankle!” the blonde boy defends, sounding weak and pathetic beneath the chorus of laughter as Patrick drags him away.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” you mutter, perhaps too quiet for him to hear, as Lucas pulls at your forearm to guide you in the other direction. His touch is still gentle — it would be uncharacteristic of him to be rough with you. It would also be a terrible idea with Eddie just a few paces behind the both of you.

The walk to The Palace is a silent one. There’s too much to say, and everyone’s just a little too amazed to say it. Eddie, however, never had a hard time killing a quiet. He rushes on long legs to match your quick strides, reaching you rather easily.

“Hey, hey, hey— you okay, babe?” the worried boy wonders. He takes a gentle hold of your wrists when you reach the awning beneath the arcade. His chocolate gaze flits attentively over your form, nowhere near as leering as Jason had been.

He can tell by your heaving chest and glassy eyes that you’re a little overwhelmed. When he takes your face in his hands, he finds that your cheeks are burning, too.

You nod into his warm palms in silent reply, back in the comfort of your shell all over again.

“What’d you do that for, huh?” Eddie singsongs with a quiet laugh. His thumb dances over your cheekbones as he grins at you. “You know I don’t like you getting involved with those assholes.”

“They don’t get to talk to you like that… Or put their hands on you,” you mutter. Despite your soft tone, Eddie can see the fury flashing in your eyes, getting angry about it all over again.

His smile widens — proud and hopelessly in love with you. “No. They don’t. Especially not with my girl around, huh?”

“Nope,” you murmur, popping the p. A sheepish grin pulls at your mouth, equally as proud and in love.

Eddie leans down to kiss you, guiding your mouth to his with the hands cupping your jaw. It’s innocuously chaste, being that you’re still standing in a public parking lot. You could never quite stomach the attention of PDA, anyway. His pink lips lock with yours in a fleeting peck, and his arms wrap around you a second later.

He smothers you into his chest, and you revel in every second of it. He smells like cigarette smoke and the cologne he tried to cover it up with. He smells like a home you could live in forever.

You smile into the thrifted Blondie tee you got him — which he happily accepted because he loves you (even though he hates Blondie). He presses a kiss into your hair and smushes his nose into the crown of it as he laughs.

“‘Is that the one your mom works at?’” Eddie repeats with a soft chuckle, chest swelling with pride once more. “God, babe. That’s good.”

“Shut up…” you murmur.

“I’m serious! I didn’t know you were such a good smack-talker! I think you might be a genius, actually.”

“Don’t,” you grouse with a lighthearted scowl. You pull away from him only slightly — enough for him to put your face back in his hands again. You feel safest there, even if you are pouting up at him.

“You’re so cute,” the boy muses with a beam. His eyes glimmer like a sea of chocolate syrup, melting with all the love he has for you. “You’re like a cinnamon roll. A cinnamon roll that could bite people.”

“That’s exactly what I am,” you monotone and try your best not to smile.

Eddie couldn’t hide his grin if he tried. “And that’s exactly why I love you.”

#published by bug #eddie munson x reader #stranger things x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #stranger things imagine #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fluff #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #eddie munson #st drabbles #eddie spaghetti drabble #eddie munson x shy!reader #bug's summer fic fest!

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vivalabunbun · 3 months

Text

As We Are, We Will Be

Summary: A nonsensical question is proposed in one singular moment between a stoic and stoic face in one singular universe.

Word Count: 9k (It was supposed to be short and sweet-)

Tags: Alhaitham X Fem! Reader, Smut, NSFW, Fluff, a lot of fluff, slight angst, soulmate au, slow fic, established relationship, married life, Soft! Alhaitham, attempts at comedy, mentions of aging, slightly jealous! Alhaitham, mutual pinning, soft sex, vanilla, safe sex (wrap it up), riding (cowgirl), fingering, slow sex, making love, really bad expatiations of scientific theories and math, just two nerds in love.

Authors Note: Happy belated birthday and Valentine's Day to my favorite dendro nerd. A continuation of this piece, one I hold dear. A thought experiment based on nothing more than the feverish delirium of love.

It was just for a moment.

A mere pasting instance in the contentious momentum of time when a glimmer caught your eyes in the muddled chatter of a crowd, a silver shimmer like starlight.

Interrupting your contemplation as your eyes impulsively search for the source.

A late morning on a Saturday, the markets and stalls were lively with families replenishing a week's worth of groceries. Bodies veering and easing through the bustle of the busty streets.

The wide breadth of life that moved all around you. Like a collection of small dots within the vastness of a universe.

But amid the vast collection of blurry faces were the flicker of silvery locks refracting the late morning light. Originating from a pair, an elderly lady and an elderly man, their aged hands intertwined.

Time had made her marks upon them, and gravity had pulled down on their wrinkled faces. Yet, the ends of their lips were pointed toward the sky. The corners of their eyes wrinkled as their gazes held each other's faces.

From their view, do they not see the starlight hue of their hair? Instead, do they still see the vibrancy and youth of their locks which age had stolen from them?

The image of each other reflected in their irises, was it from a time before the hands of gravity pulled on their creased skin and bowed bones? Would you ever be able to find out?

“I wasn’t aware you had a hobby of people-watching.” A baritone voice ghosts over your ear.

Jolting your head to your right, you come face to face with the interruption. Or perhaps, your mind finally registered Alhaitham’s presence just off to the side of you. His arms were weighted down with various bags.

Oh, that’s right, the markets and stalls were lively on the weekend with families restocking groceries for the upcoming week. You and Alhaitham were no different.

Glancing up at his ashen trestles and then scanning back at the starlight locks of the elderly couple, and then back to your husband.

“Hmm, not quite. Just noting the fact your hair is the same color as an old man’s, Haitham.” You catch the subtle twitch of his brow.

“Is that so? I hope you are aware you’re not immune to the inevitably of aging, wife,” Alhaitham returns your jest.

“Well, with your hair color and grumpiness, I’d say you’re already halfway there.”

“I needn’t expound on your equivalent levels of grumpiness, it won’t be long before your locks share the same ashen hue.”

“I guess that’s why we get along then, dear husband.”

“That’s one theory,” he huffs, a simple tone lacking any bite.

You pan your face back toward the crowd, partly because it’s getting harder to hold the neutral position of your lips, partly because your curiosity aches for an untold conclusion.

However, when your gaze returned to the ever-bustling sea of people, the pair of starlight hues were nowhere to be found. It was regrettable, but expected, the elderly couple were nothing more than a pair of strangers in a crowd full of unfamiliar faces.

They were just a brief scene that disappeared into the moving tides of people.

Leaving you with your unresolved musings.

“Is there anything else we need for the week?”

Alhaitham’s voice reels your consciousness back, swiftly you check the crinkled slip of parchment within your hand. Scanning down the list of written items, all with a neat little line crossed through their immaculately penned letters.

“It looks like we got everything we need.” You tuck the list into your pocket.

“Then it’s best we get home before our groceries are spoiled by the heat.” Alhaitham readjusts the bags in his hands.

A hum takes its place as your response. Pivoting your body in the direction of your shared home. From the corner of your field of view, his strides were paced to coincide with your shorter steps.

Studying the numerous bags occupying his hands, you can’t help but think it’s quite convenient to have someone as robust as your husband. Maybe it's these weekly grocery runs that are the secret behind his physique.

Discreetly, your hand slowly slips between the gap of his arm and body, linking your elbows together. So that your frame and his could withstand the push and pull of the crowd’s contentious momentum.

The neutrality of your lips had long slipped away, softened by the familiarity of his warmth. Even as your eyes were pointed on the path ahead, you had an inkling that a similar occurrence was mirrored on his lips as well.

An inquiry your curiosity didn’t need to peek to resolve.

That ache for an untold conclusion morphed into a new musing by the afternoon.

The silver shimmer from that elderly couple’s hair truly was like starlight. Perhaps that’s the correlation that steered your thoughts down this winding path of pondering.

Everyone, from those taking their first stumbling steps of youth to the slowed cane-assisted tramps in their golden years, is technically billions of years old. Or more accurately, the atoms and minerals in everyone are billions of years old.

The carbon in muscles, the calcium in bones, and the iron in blood were all forged in the hearts of bygone stars. When those bright beacons burned out they exploded in one last finale, expelling those materials across interstellar space. Stardust that found its way here.

Here within you, and here within the slow breaths of the man in front of you.

After being around for billions of years, does stardust ever get exhausted?

That would be a sensible explanation for why Alhaitham had snuck away amidst hanging up freshly washed laundry.

His tall frame stretched the expanse of the couch as his starlight lashes were shut, shamelessly relishing in a nap under the streams of sunlight trickled in from the window.

Squatting down you observe the guiltless expression plastered over his resting face, still deep in the trenches of sleep, a small huff passes through your lips. Well, this morning you did have him carry all the groceries from the market back home.

Your husband does deserve this little nap.

Trailing your eyes down his neck you note the lack of a pillow, then as your gaze travels further you note the absence of a blanket as well. Internally, your mind tsks at this forgetful habit of his.

Although his body and yours still have youth coursing through your veins, it doesn’t mean they’ll remain as impervious as they are now later down the line, especially if preventative measures aren’t taken.

Like having a pillow to support one’s neck, or a blanket to prevent chills from plaguing the body.

Standing back to full height, you retrieved the missing artifacts, returning with a plush pillow and light comforter.

Even when his head was momentarily lifted to make space for the pillow, and when the spare comforter was draped over him, Alhaitham didn’t stir one bit. At times you can’t determine if he’s a light sleeper or if his stubbornness refuses to leave the plain of dreams.

It’s a true wonder of life how Alhaitham’s able to sleep so soundly at night given his extensive naps.

The vivid sunlight illuminated patterns upon his cheeks and trestles, causing the ashen strands to dazzle in their refraction of the afternoon light. A sight your eyes just couldn’t help but be enraptured by.

Maybe you could blame the warmth of the sunlight, or maybe the serenity of this quiet Saturday afternoon, or perhaps even these fickle inquiries about his naps for the yawn that left your lips. Now might be the prime time for some research.

Lifting up the comforter just enough for an opportunity to slip through, your body settles in the space right against his. It’s crowded on the couch, the cushions unprepared for two bodies to occupy its entirety, the open edge looming against your back.

Even after all the shuffling and pressing against his dozing frame, your husband didn’t budge a bit.

Leaden lashes still shut and lips set in that all too familiar line, chest rhythmically rising and falling in time with yours. The very image of unperturbedness under the blessing of sleep.

“You really are like an old man.”

At that mere jab, the corners of his lips tugged down while his eyes remained closed. A quick slip that confirmed your earlier suspicions.

“Who knew you were so talented in acting, Haitham,” you snicker.

A muscular arm soon enveloped your form, further pressing you against his chest as if to silence any more sardonic quips from entering his ears.

It was quite the challenge to stifle those giggles before they could erupt from your lips. Peeking up, there’s an ever-so-subtle lift at the corners of his mouth. An express which yours mirrored.

Studying the details of the lips just a breath away, a new musing worms its way into your thoughts:

When the hands of gravity and time start to pull down on his skin and yours the same, leaving wrinkles and creases in their wake, will the edges of his lips still curl like this?

Would yours mirror the same?

A second yawn sneaks past your lips as your lashes grow heavier with each fluttering blink. Claiming a corner of the pillow to lay your head upon, the seconds between each subsequent blink grew longer and longer until your lids were too heavy to lift.

Perhaps the stardust in your bones was exhausted, craving a short rest in his warmth.

--------------------------------

There’s something against your back and your legs are tangled in something, sensations which gradually alert your dozing sense back from the fog of slumber.

At first, you only had the strength to peek open one lid, then promptly shut it. But in the nothingness behind your eyelids, something was halting your limps from stretching the weariness out from themselves.

You tried again, this time fluttering both sets of lashes apart ever so slightly. There’s a dry film coating your throat and mouth, feeling the impressions of the couch cushions and bundled comforter imprinted into your skin.

What time was it?

Blinking away the haze of sleep just enough to notice how the golden rays of a star were missing. A gray overlay was plastered over the living room despite the ticking clock hands displaying that it was late afternoon.

Peering back through the window behind, observing the congregating insipid clouds blocking out the azure sky.

A sure sign of rain despite the morning forecast. Rain… wasn’t there something left unfinished on the clotheslines outside? The groggy recollection of responsibilities creeps into the forefront of your mind.

The reign of your weary limbs slowly returns, and your legs languidly attempt to stretch out from the reveal they were caught in. However, their movements only caused a pair of longer limbs to ensnarl them further.

Alhaitham’s legs promptly caught yours, stifling any prospect of escape.

Your displeased whine was responded with a disgruntled groan by the man keeping your body locked against his.

Wasn’t your back looming just about the edge of the couch when you fell asleep? So why are you in this position now?

Your body wedged between the plush backing of the couch and his solid frame, the comforter swaddling you also didn’t aid in your immobility. Brawny arm draped over your waist, halting your feeble squirms at freedom.

“The laundry,” you mumble.

“Later.” A blunt interjection from a groggy voice.

“It’s going to rain.”

“Less than a 30% chance.”

“Haitham…”

Your husband simply burrows his head deeper into the leveled pillow, likely an attempt to leverage the cushy material to block out your grievances. His ashen lashes still stubbornly shut, much to your displeasure.

“Alhaitham.”

No fluctuations in your volume nor tone, but it was enough for one teal eye to peek out from under ashen lashes. Trailing up to a subtle frown to the furrow between your brow, then finally meeting your unamused stare.

“Laundry,” you try again.

A silent stare down, one stone face gazing upon an equally stoic face, like an immovable object pressed against an equally immovable object.

Which one will defend their title of most stubborn today?

His chest expands with a deep breath, grasp enclosing around your waist before his teal gaze shamelessly vanishes behind closed lashes. Robust frame pinning you further to the back of the couch as he continues to ignore your huffy floundering.

“Release me, don’t you dare-”

Your grievance was soon muffled by a gentle hand pressing your cheek into his palatial chest. A move that stupefies the irksomeness bubbling within until it falls defeated into placidness.

“Whether it be now or later, they’ll be clean regardless, it’s quite comfortable right here.” The resonance of his voice vibrates in his chest.

You respond with a humbled grunt. In terms of strength you’d always lose to your feeble husband, wouldn’t you?

There’s no point in peering up, for the pleased satisfaction of his resting face would bring a sour taste to your tongue. Thus, you merely adjust your limbs, coiling your arms around to his back and pulling his form closer.

It’s crowded on the couch, it’ll be troublesome if Alhaitham were to slip off the edge if his back were to stray any further.

At this distance, entangled so closely together, the soft beats of his heart in time with yours like a rhythmic lullaby beckons the heavy to return to your eyelids.

The gentle drumming of his heartbeat coaxes out a final sigh from you, lashes descending down as your vision dims back into the realm of slumber.

Slow breaths and heartbeats homogenize into a tender duet, tranquil enough to distract from the sporadic pattering against the glass and gradually increase in consistency.

A less than 30% chance of rain doesn’t mean that there’s a greater than 70% chance of no rain. It’s merely a statistical probability of 0.01 units of more precipitation at a given area in the given forecast area in the time period specified.

Known as the precipitation probability, calculated based on two factors:

The forecaster's certainty that precipitation will form or move into the area X The areal coverage of precipitation that is expected, then multiplied by 100.

Thus, if the forecaster were 90% certain that 30% of the forecast area would receive rain, then the forecast displayed on screens would read as a 27% chance of rain.

A crucial bit of information that seemed to have slipped his mind midst a quiet afternoon.

A troublesome miscalculation Alhaitham tsks at internally as he wrings out the pillowcase into a sink before tossing it back into the washing machine. Button-down shirts and blouses, wrinkled from the process of twisting out as much rainwater as possible, sat in damp piles awaiting their turn to be rewashed.

As he measures out the detergent he can hear the rattles and clanks of the pot and pans from the kitchen. A late dinner in preparation, a task which was supposed to be his this week.

When he woke up to the pattering of rain drumming against the window panes, the afternoon long gone, it stirred an ever-so-sinking pit of dread. Second only to the unamused stare of his wife as she replicated an overconfident statement:

“Less than a 30% chance, Alhaitham?”

How unfortunate it all was, that the area where this quaint house resides was part of that 30% of the forecasted area.

Teal eyes watch the bedsheets whirl and fumble as they spin in the wash, contemplating the circumstance and further action.

There is only one spare bedding set in the closet, so it’d be wise to allow you to have it for tonight as all the sheets and covers get rewashed and dried.

Your bed is about the same size as his, so two bodies wouldn’t have an issue fitting. At this rate, the two of you just slept in whichever bed was the most convenient.

However, given the current state of things, Alhaitham wonders if he should prepare himself to brave tonight on his bare mattress with a flimsy spare blanket and pillow.

He might as well return to the couch for tonight if that was the case.

The accumulation of all the years of science, mathematics, and research, Alhaitham wonders if there was ever a bright mind who came up with a formula to calculate how displeased one’s wife is.

What would be the factors plugged into the equation? And how accurate would it be?

More specifics needed to be gathered, something the man couldn’t do in the refugee of the laundry room. Thus, Alhaitham must brave a journey into the kitchen. His slipper-clad footsteps are slow and methodical as the kitchen appears from around the corner of the hallway.

Sights honed in on your back as you stood by the stove, a rich aroma wafting through the air.

Sleep still dusted your hair, evident in the few unruly strands sticking up erratically on your head, you made no attempt at fixing it. One hand is too occupied with stirring the pot on the stove, and the other set upon your hip.

Your stance wasn’t exactly tipping the scales in his favor.

Cautiously, Alhaitham made his way to you. Stopping just a few paces as your eyes peer over your shoulder, stoic gaze halting him in place just a few paces away. The faded imprint of the crumpled blankets and couch cushions on your cheek.

His hand twitches with the urge to run his thumb along the impressions, but rationally warns him of the consequences.

“The laundry?” No discernable tone in your voice.

“Everything has been collected and wrung out, I’ll rewash everything tomorrow.” It’s best to answer your questions this time.

“Hmm, they were out in the rain for quite a while now. They were dripping out onto the floor when you brought them in.”

“I’ve mopped away any rain and mud tracked between the back door and laundry room.” Teal eyes quickly checked the aforementioned area to ensure they were pristine before returning to you.

“Hmm.” You turn back towards the stove.

The soft ticks of the clock accompany the waning drums of raindrops against the glass, the kitchen hood whirring as a ladle continues to stir in a pot. A quiet lull engulfed the home. Treading on the side of caution, Alhaitham inhales deeply.

Without opening the box, one will never be able to confirm to fate of Schrödinger's cat.

“What’s for dinner?”

“Hmm? Well, it’s raining tonight, what better to eat on a rainy night than some Sabz Meat Stew, no?”

He’s careful to not sigh too audibly, lest he goes to bed with a stomach half-full of instant noodles and that miffed stare of yours.

Alhaitham decides to hold his tongue as teal eyes continue to watch you add more spices to the pot. Studying how nicely the apron is tied around your waist.

But it wouldn’t be wise of him to stand so close when the fabric of his shirt was still damp with rainwater transferred to him by the soaked laundry and sky.

His chain of thought was interrupted by the chimes of your phone on the countertop, catching your eyes as well as his to peek at the over. A certain name is displayed across the screen. It’s as if the hands of fate wanted to throw more salt into his face.

Bahram (Manager)

It’s a Saturday night, for what reason would an employer need to contact an employee so late?

Alhaitham’s focus shifts to your gaze which is still honed in on the screen. A bitter tinge crawls up the tip of his tongue, threatening to spoil his appetite. Perhaps, he wouldn’t mind settling down in his bare bed with just a spare comforter without dinner tonight.

“Can you reject the call for me? He can wait until Monday to get me to resolve whatever he messed up,” you scoff before rolling your eyes back to the stove.

Swiftly he swipes to decline the call, let your voicemail remind Bahram of the concept of ‘off time’. The phone whirs again right after the first rejection, but he simply swipes decline again.

Pushing the device away with a bit too much satisfaction in his veins.

Glancing back at your frame, he lets out a sigh as he relents. Resting his head into the crook of your neck, careful to leave a bit of distance between your bodies and to not hamper your shoulder’s movement.

“Hm?” You hum expectantly.

“It was my oversight tonight.” A string of words a bit unfamiliar on his tongue, but stubbornness hasn’t been in his favor tonight.

“And?”

“I’ll be more cautious regarding naps.”

“Hmph.”

The lull returns, him resting his head on your shoulder and you continuing to watch over the stew. Teal eyes on you and your eyes on the stove. Until your shoulders raise with a deep inhale.

“Go get changed out of that wet shirt then set the table, this bastardized version of ‘soup’ will be ready in 20 minutes.” You reach for a skillet just off to the side.

He hums this time, the liberation from treading in suffocating lull tugs at the end of his lips. He surmises that laying his head against you for a few moments more won’t be so consequential.

The patter of raindrops still splattered against the glass panes of the window, drops which warped and blurred the scenery beyond the glass. Not that there’s any scenery to look at, not with the dreary clouds crowding the sky.

A heavy sigh huffs through your nose, curling onto your side as you adjust your pillow.

A filling dinner, a warm shower, and soft comforters. Factors that should contribute to a restful night’s sleep, or at the very least make your eyelids weary with the weight of lethargy.

Yes, perhaps those components should’ve granted you entry into the reprieve of a dream.

If it wasn’t for the fact you’ve intruded into the domain of slumber twice already today.

And the tempter who lured you to do so currently has his arm wrapped around your waist.

Alhaitham’s chest rises and falls against your back, soundly asleep without an ounce of guilt over the predicament he’s partly responsible for.

Lifting your head off the flattened pillow, your body twists around to fluff the stale stuffing back up before settling back to your position.

His body rested against yours just as it would any other night. But there’s a weight at the corners of your lips, one only grew heavier as your ears witnessed each content exhale resounding from the man who seemingly stole your sleep.

If you were crueler, you would’ve exiled Alhaitham to the couch or his barren mattress.

However, he’d probably sleep just fine regardless.

Canting your head up, you flip your pillow to the other side once more.

Your rolls and rhythm were abruptly interrupted by the clasp of two harsh hands pulling your hips into his, the contours of his rigor now digging into the plush of your ass. Forcing a stunned gasp up your throat.

“It seems like my wife has quite a bit of energy.” His timbre deeper from grogginess.

Ah, all the twisting and turning you did just to adjust the troublesome pillow must've disturbed him.

The softness of your ass cradled against his pelvis through the thin material of a button-down, an item borrowed from his closet that you’ve designated as sleepwear, and his sweatpants.

‘Serves him right.’

Your attempts to twist out from his iron-clad hold only ground your ass more against the stiffness, earning a grumble from his lips.

“Oh? And who’s fault is it?” You retort, still protesting in his hold.

Snaking one hand downwards Alhaitham presses against your lower stomach to arch your ass further into him. Leaning his face closer to yours.

“Do you want me to take responsibility?” His whisper ghosts over the shell of your ear.

You could feel the pads of his fingertips tracing under the loose button-down.

“Shouldn’t you resolve the issues you’ve caused?” A huff leaves you.

The outline of his shape pressed along your skin, the plushness of your bottom contrasting against the rigidity.

“I can say the same to you.”

The pads of his fingers trail up your heated skin, crawling along your torso, feathering touches alighting your senses like sparks. Massaging the tired yet restless muscles. You sigh in contentment.

The billowing button-down dragged up by his vascular hand, unveiling your skin to the cool sheets. Wandering touches slow as they rest in the valley of your breasts. His fingers enclose around one mount, gently twisting the defenseless nipple.

“H-hey! Hmph-“ Barely catching a moan before it fled past sealed lips.

“Hm?” His lips are now right next to your ears. “Surely you foresaw this, I’m just helping my wife with all her excess energy.”

His forgotten hand made its presence known as it kneaded your hips, cunning touches breaching under the feeble defenses of your panties. Effortlessly brushing them to the side, long fingers encroaching closer to their destination.

Your thighs react, squeezing together to prevent him from venturing further. Unfortunately, it was all in vain, for his fingertips already dipped into an all too familiar sap.

“See, you seem quite eager,” he taunts.

Stubbornly, your body attempts to buckle away from his influence. Face firmly pointed away from his lest he peeks at your heated cheeks.

Alhaitham abandons the perch on your breast, two large hands attempting to tame the bucks and rolls of your hips. He releases a slow sigh into the crook of your neck.

“Are you not feeling it tonight?” His hands remain where they were, but the strength missing.

At the lack of resistance, your hips seem to have lost interest in their writhing, staying within his yielding hold. Internally, you chiding your body for being so straightforward. The only thing blocking an answer from exiting your throat was that fickle ego of yours.

“Won’t you allow me to make up for my blunders today, wife?” He soothes his hand along your leg.

With that stubborn ego of yours still biting down on your tongue, you simply nod your head. Feeling the heat of your cheeks reflected to you by the pillow.

Permitting your thighs to give into the tow of his grasp. Allowing the grip of one large hand to pull your bent leg open, exposing your vulnerable cunt. Shielded from the view of the raindrops by a mere blanket.

The hand snaked under your waist took swift advantage of the oppurtunity. Sliding one firm finger down to part the fold of your slit as his warm hand cups your greed.

Alhaitham continued with the caresses of his fingers. Your lashes and lips pressed tightly shut, your leg still held in his tender hold. His slow breaths brush ghosting your skin.

He spreads the slick along your slit, the tips of his fingers ever so often knocking against the bud at the very top. Teal eyes catch the sudden jolts of your body every time it happens.

He moves his fingers downwards, slowly parting the now soft folds of your core. Feeling the subtle puckers of your entrance as his touch traced closer, more wetness dribbling out from the honeypot.

The tip of his finger now encircles the fluttering hole. Your hip subtly bucked into his hand, as if to lure him in a soundless plea.

Breaths getting deeper as your eyes follow his touch, the warm pad of his index finger twirling against your clit. Stoking a burgeoning fire with each slow circle. Your placid sighs fill the lull.

His middle finger ventures past the entrance of your satin walls welcomed with a lewd squelch. Curling his finger against slick walls to test the give, he wonders if this hidden oasis is etched into his shape yet.

Diligently, his digit continues to sink in and out of your weeping hole, making your teeth sink into the flesh of your bottom lip. The squelches increased in volume as trickles of nectar began pooling on the sheets. Walls clamping around a lonely finger, it wasn’t enough to quell that mounting heat within.

A second deft finger joined in, sliding past a hungry entrance. A tangled dance amongst gummy walls as they curled and stretched the space. The lewd squelches resounding in your ear, a whimper trapped in your throat. The heel of his warm palm now pressed flat against the soft mound of your cunt, every movement of his hand resulting in a grind against your clit.

Each grind causes a hot flash to shock throughout your body, starting from your curled toes to the very top of your head. The jostling of your hips and legs gradually expels the blanket off the bed.

“Mmph!” A whine from a sudden surge of bliss when his thick fingers curled against a spongy patch deep within.

“T-there! More there!”

Your body writhes, no longer docile under the white searing pleasure frying the ends of every nerve within your being.

He gladly obliges. Unrelenting rhythm slipping in and out of your convulsing walls. Ensuring to grind against that spongey patch.

Your body twitches and flails in reaction. Trying to find some way to handle this surcharge of sensations.

Legs instinctively wanting to shut together as if to cease this turbulent sensation, unfortunately, your pitiful strength gave no resistance against his rigid hold.

Piqued by the sweet tune, Alhaitham watches the scrunch in your trembling brows. He repeats his actions, another mewl leaves your lips as your head leans further into his shoulder.

The mellow pace of his fingers suddenly amps up, retreating out only to clap back in as his palm presses into the twitching bud.

“Ah! Haitham.”

A pressure mounting up, a sirens call beckoning you closer and closer to a hazardous cliff’s edge. The only foundation for your sanity is thousand-count fabric, thus you twist the silk fibers as tremors overtake your body.

Walls clamping down to trap his thick digits inside as it spasms. Muscles tensing and quivering as your back arches away from his chest, parted lips with nothing choking past them.

Three thick fingers sink deeper into your pussy without a hint of resistance, as a reward he makes sure to roll your overstimulated clit in firm circles with his palms. Judging from the violent tremors in your legs, it seemed you were almost there.

Just at the cusp of rapture when your hand tangles into his ashen-locks, canting your head back so that your panting lips could capture his. Alhaitham returns to gesture with just as much fervor in his kiss, swallowing down your sweet mewls for himself.

With a singular gasp, the siren’s call had beckoned your sanity to drown in the murky depths. It’s as if you lost control of your body to the possession of pleasure.

Eyes rolled back and lips broke away as breathy moans escaped the prison of your throat, a haze heavy over your thoughts, pride long lost amongst the gale of an orgasm.

The beckoning depths of euphoria welcome your descent.

Your limp frame rests against him. A light layer of sweat coating your panting chest, blurred vision merging and blending the details of the ceiling above the bed.

Alhaitham coaxes the contractions of your core, riding out the waves of their squeezes and sucks against his fingers. Earning an addictive whimper from you when his digits pulled away. Entranced by the glimmering string of nectar stretching between his fingers and your oasis.

Trailing back up to your face, he notes the return of your hazy irises from their ogle of the bedroom ceiling.

“Better?” Teal gaze watching the pants of your chest as they steady.

‘No, not at all’, a statement just at the tip of your tongue, but your lips were busy attempting to grasp deep breaths. The surplus of vigor festering into unquenchable desire. To be closer, deeper, more. You needed more.

Where words fail, action must take its place. Even before your mind finishes up the scheme brewing within, your lips catch him off guard, plush lips embracing his in a tender waltz.

Your body rolls back so that your breast can press against his chest through the thin fabric of his stolen shirt.

At the tender caress of your kiss, teal eyes disappear behind ashen lashes, the clasp of his grip loosening. Allowing you the mobility to finally pull your body on top of his, lips never once parting until you were finally settled atop his broad body.

A certain stiffness makes its reintroduction against your roused clit.

Breaking the seal of the kiss as a line of salvia stretches between your tongues, arms pushing against his firm chest to prop your body up as you gaze down at him.

“Still have too much energy?” Haughty eyes peer into yours, yet you can see the ardor oh so thinly concealed behind the brilliant teal.

“What do you mean? Aren’t you the eager one?” You hum, rolling your hips against the rigidness trapped behind the prison of sweatpants.

“Hmm.” He sucks in a breath through his teeth.

Large hands feel down along the plumpness of your ass as they drag a flimsy bit of fabric down your thighs. Daintier hands pull down the hem of sweatpants and briefs.

A fair exchange. Him helping you out of those ruined panties, and you freeing him from a compressed prison of cloth. Discarded and forgotten along the floorboards as the fog of passion obscured them from further consideration.

His vascular hands slide down the curves of your body, settling on your hip as your legs plant themselves on either side of his body. Alhaitham coaxes the hem of his stolen button-down just above your midriff. Sharp eyes surveying the puffiness of your clit, glistening with temptation.

Lowering your hips a breathy sigh leaves his lips and yours as the ridges of his cock drag against your slick folds. A few slow rolls starting from his leaking tip sliding down, thick veins skimming against your swollen clit. Precum mixing with arousal in a sinful concoction along his length.

Perhaps he should convince you to participate in more naps if he knew it’d make you this excitable.

“Oh,” you hum aloud, pausing your hips as you reach over to the bedside table.

Pulling open the drawer and rustling about a box followed by the crinkling of foil. Holding up the corner of the packet to your lip, tearing the foil while your gaze held his. Taking your time in dragging the condom out from its package. Easing it down his length while your fingers traced along, feeling each twitch and shudder.

“You sure do know how to test my patience.”

“Hmm?” You feign innocence.

A pair of shaky breaths mingle as Alhaitham helps position his engorged tip at your dripping entrance. Your hand guides him while raising your hips.

Other hand pressing his chest down for support as your thighs sink back down, a shameful squelch accompanying heavy breaths as your walls welcome his cock’s fat head.

Weeping pussy engulfing his girth in bit by bit until you clit kisses his pelvis. Sending jolts of searing pleasure that caused your satin walls to twitch and tighten.

Releasing a breathy sigh as you gather your senses.

Drawing out his cock inch by thick inch, sloppy trails of arousal caught on each ridge before dropping back down. Earning low grunts and sighs each time your satin walls swallowed his girth. The rhythm of your hips is paced and controlled despite how Alhaitham’s fingers dug into your skin.

A whine living your drooling lips with each slap of his skin against your clit. Pushing each tantalizing inch to stroke your starved walls until his skin claps against yours with a wet kiss. The bedframe creaks with each calculated movement, back and forth, back and forth the wood sings along.

Your head was light, intoxicated by a feverish potion of lust and desire. Feeling him reach the deepest depths, fat tip grinding against those spots which made your legs falter momentarily each time.

Utilizing the strength of both your arms now to support yourself. However, the jolts of pleasure that shot up your spine with each roll of your hips were too maddening to stop.

His calloused fingers massage circles into your hips. Squeezing the plush flesh to ground his sanity, watching your lewd face as you shamelessly bounced on him for your pleasure. Observing the subtle ripples with each slap of your hips and the jumps of your perky breast.

The ghostly touches of your fingers skim across his lips, prompting his eyes to connect with yours. Lush and glossy lips parted with your deep pants as your lust-hazed eyes peer down at him, unspoken plea inscribed within them. Who is he to not fulfill your desires?

Lurching his upper body up, he answers your plea, capturing your lips with his. Swiping his tongue against your bottom lip, deepening the kiss. A messy and feverish tangle as if to replace the air in your lungs with his.

Mewls and whimpers muffled by his skin, your hands moving to perch themselves on his broad shoulders. Your quivering legs grew limp as the strength of his hands took over. Barely processing the sweet nothings whispered as your core relishes in the fullness. Like an ache that’s been finally satisfied.

He wondered if tonight’s excessive vigor was fraying his control, or if your body was just this addictive.

By now any notion of decency and integrity has long left you, your hand clawing into his shoulders, marking him with the scars of rapture. A harsh thrust of his hips recoils through you, a wanton moan reverbing off the walls as it forces your tangled lips to part.

Tongue unable to produce anything other than strained moans, your head nods into his broad shoulder as your hips ground against his. The wet squelch announces the reciprocation of your walls.

The intervals of those unrelenting rams increasing between the tender thrusts, half-lidded eyes trained on the shivers of your body. Cock sliding against satin ridges of your wall. Grunts and pants reverberate through his throat, teeth clenching as your heat engulfs him again. Reaching deeper into your welcoming core as your lips fall open.

“Is this not enough?” You could feel the mirth in his whisper.

Closer, deeper, more. You want more. Walls aching for more, for his girth to jostle your core more, to extinguish this all-consuming heat within you. Hips floundering in harmony with breathy mewls.

Pressing libidinous kisses along his throat feeling the vibrations of his grunts and pants, a deep chuckle was soon felt against your lips.

“Good grief you are a greedy little thing aren’t you.”

A deafening slam of skin resounds through the heavy air, swiftly followed by another and another. A new tempo in this waltz of passion takes over like a wave sweeping both of you out to a sea of indulgence.

Possessed by the desperation of chasing a white light, your hand rakes deeper into his toned arms. Seizing anything to prevent your mind from abandoning your sinful body as his girth twitches within your velvety folds.

Sanity like a foolish sailor who’s beckoned by the lure of a siren’s voice, uncaring of the rocks which will sink them to the very bottom of the bemused tides. Keening against your husband shamelessly, a shameless wife on the cusp of her second fall into ecstasy.

The heavy scent of lust, the smothering heat, his unrelenting and unshakable thrusts amalgamating into the spark that lit your nerves alight. Toes arched into the air and eyes reaching the back of your head. Sobs and incoherent babbles resounding through the room.

Your devious walls clamped around his dick with maddening convulsions, gummy muscles suckling against his girth eager to quell your aching greed. It was too much.

His fingers claw into your soft hips, pressing your cunt flush against his hips with a sloppy slap of skin. The bulbous tip prodding against that weakness deep within you. Bruising grip holding your body in place as his lips crash back into yours.

Swallowing down his breathless groans with your sweet mewls and praddles.

A heat is spilled into the rubber, making your greedy walls quiver amidst the aftershocks of ecstasy. Alhaitham’s hips twitch with each subsequent rip of his orgasm, thrusting his length further into your crowded cavity with each one. The filthiness of it all prolongs your sinful depravity.

Chest expanding with pants, your lopsided shirt falling further down your shoulder. Your eyes return from seeing blinding white, exhaustion drenching each fiber of your body.

Limp figure crumbling against your husband as his back lays back on the creaking headboard. Even before your worn mind could conjure a coherent thought, your hands caress his starlight tresses.

As his own breath evades him Alhaitham releases one hand to cup your cheek, thumb brushing softly against your smoldering skin, guiding your lips back to his.

Basking in the warmth forged between your bodies, between drumming heartbeats and breathless lungs.

Two bodies lay under silken sheets, skin freshly wiped clean of sweat as the crisp breeze brushed against the curtains gradually erasing the sinful haze. The cool air aids your rising and falling chest to pace itself.

Muscles and bones heavy with fatigue, yet your eyes couldn’t bring themselves to retire behind shut lids. Not when those dreary clouds have finally retreated.

The moon hangs high in the sky, finally free from the shroud of rain clouds, she sits among the twinkling dots. Twinkling dots were in actuality brilliant stars, some even larger and brighter than the beloved sun.

Glimmering lustrously as they traverse through the contentious vacuum of space and past other nameless stars. A scene from a late-morning market trip wanders its way back from the depths of your memory, bringing its musings with it.

“Something on your mind?” A timbre voice beckons your conscious mind back from its trek.

Teal eyes set upon yours as your heads rest on plush pillows, just a breath away from one another.

“Hm, just senseless musings.” Your gaze shifts away from the window.

In a changed world with millions of hands will your hands and his find each other to make two pairs of hands?

In a different time with a million pairs of legs, will your steps and his steps still coincide in time with each other

In a new life with a sea of new faces, will a stoic face and another stoic face spot each other in the crowd?

What is the likelihood of those odds?

“If you keep letting your thoughts fester, it’ll only bring trouble upon yourself in the morning from sleep deprivation.” He shifts his position, supporting his cheek on his fist as he stares down at your face.

You sigh because he spoke exactly what those whispers of rationale were urging you, but the scoffs of pride had deemed these rampant inquiries ‘childish’. However, it’s a bit hard to avoid his eyes now.

“I was just musing about the soulmates concept again,” you confess.

Alhaitham hums in curiosity.

“Do you…” You take a deep breath, forcing the hard-to-vocalize question from your tongue. “Do you think we’ll only be together in this life?”

He’s silent. Just the muted chorus of Summer crickets rejoicing over the conclusion of a rainstorm resounding through the space.

“In a different time, a different universe, or the next life, do you think we’ll be soulmates again?” You muster together the courage to peer up at his face.

“I don’t recall ever reading an article or paper related to this topic, so it’ll be convoluted to get an answer.” He brings his other hand to his face, signifying his musings.

Right, there isn’t even a definitive answer for what happens after life passes, an afterlife, a cycle, or nothing, no one knows. Was this the only universe where life exists or are there infinitely many far out there in the stars? Does anyone know?

Your hand pulls your blanket up to your face, partially to cover the growing shame creeping up your face. That haughty voice within was right, these baseless questions are silly and childish. Perhaps even too morbid to bring up so unprompted on this weekend night.

What were you expecting Alhaitham to even do? Did you want him to give you an answer? What can he even do? A question you can’t even begin to understand, why would you even expect him to have some solution prepared?

What to do now? Can you just take back your previous words from his memory, so he’ll just forget what you said? Maybe just ask him to quell any more mindless musings from plaguing you tonight by placing his lips on your forehead? So that you could finally drift into the realm of slumber.

However, is that temporary solution enough? Enough to stifle the contentions and riddles clattering together into a clamorous ruckus in your head? Could sleep even spare you from their tumult?

“The Membrane Multiverse Theory or reincarnation, hm, do you have any personal theories you’d like to share?” The sensation of his fingers grasping yours brings you back to reality.

Glancing at him with a quirk in your brow, you wait for him to continue.

“Who knows, maybe we’ll be the first to publish something for this topic.” His thumb runs along your knuckles.

“So, is there a speculation or possible rationale you feel particular to?” Teal eyes reconnect with yours.

“Well…” You sigh, relishing in the warmth of his hand as you concoct a half-baked theory.

“There’s stardust from stars that had burst billions of years ago, that have somehow ended up on this planet. Subsequently, every being on earth has the atoms of stars in them. So, naturally by the law of conservation, the earth is where the atoms of the human body will return.”

“Based on the law that atoms cannot be created or destroyed?” He drones.

“Yes, they all had to come from something before them. The carbon in muscles, the calcium in bones, and the iron in blood. The atoms that make up you and I might become part of something else, or even of different people too.”

“Hm, that sounds probable.”

“But, then this brings up a whole new host of questions, such as, if the new people our atoms become a part of are even ‘us’? Will they ever meet? What if you become a tree and I a rock? What if the atoms of you end up on one side of Teyvat and I on the other end?”

You peer into his irises, but you were just searching for an answer that isn’t there.

For his beryl irises were impassive. But it was the impassive foundation you needed to ground your rambling thoughts and nonsensical musings into the desolate truth of it all.

The warmth of his hand slips away.

“Never mind, I suppose it’s the most logical to conclude that we’re just soulmates in this instance of time, in this universe, and only here.” Your hand closes over the empty space he left.

Maybe it’s wise to dismiss it as silly rambling and then withdraw from his indecipherable eyes. Is it too late to put this plan into motion now?

The weight of a muscular arm is draped over your waist, hand pulling you closer unlike your ploy to escape.

“But I have a few theories I haven’t shared yet.” He glances out toward the bedroom window.

“While the theory of reincarnation currently doesn’t have any solid scientific backing, in some way, the law of conservation of mass does give a bit of merit to that notion.” Alhaitham draws circles into the small of your back.

You hum in response.

“The atoms that created us will return to the earth after us and become a part of something or someone else’s molecular structure. A tree or a rock, a human or a beast, it’s all probable. However…” Beryl eyes return to meet yours.

“What’s stopping them from repeating the same molecular structures as right now?” He asks.

Maybe it was his turn to peer into your eyes to search for an answer, an answer currently brewing and forging between your united gazes.

“What’s stopping these atoms from returning to these exact molecular structures in the future? In a different time, the atoms of us now could one day in the far future come together again and make ‘us’ once more. Maybe just you, maybe just me, or maybe both at the same time.”

He frees his other hand from the duty of supporting his head, broad body settling down into the bed and blankets, allowing his face to move closer to your level upon his pillow.

“What’s the likelihood of those odds? Me and you again?” You ask.

Alhaitham pauses. All the bright minds of science, mathematics, and physics, have yet to come up with a formula to calculate such a thing.

What would be the factors plugged into the equation? And how accurate would it even be?

The ashen-haired man wasn’t sure, but there was at least a statistical observation that would provide some basis.

“A true 0% chance is an absolute impossibility, just as nothing can be proven absolutely 100%. Since we don't know the absolutes of time, existence, or physics. So, there’ll always be a non-zero chance.” Feeling the drums of your heartbeat against his chest.

“Then, when they do, I think I’ll spend my life pondering what could fit into the spaces between my fingers like this.” He slips his hand into the gaps of yours, intertwining them.

Then finally, he saw the smile he’d been yearning for rising on your lush lips. The ends of your eyes crinkle as it make its way to your irises as well. Your grip mirrors his as you nestle your face closer to his.

“You won’t get tired of this stoic face?” You taunt.

“Will you get tired of mine?” He counters.

Your shoulders quiver with stifled giggles.

“No, no I won’t,” you promise him.

“Then I won’t,” he promises back.

His larger hand brings yours closer to himself, all the while your attentive eyes watch failing to keep the curl of your lips under control.

“Any thoughts on the Membrane Multiverse Theory? How will your astute mind surmise the possibility of us laying like this somewhere else in the stars?” Honeyed-voice mimicking awe as your face inches closer.

“I believe I’ve shared enough, I’d much rather hear what your brilliant postulate is.” His tone casted with mirth, but the bite missing from teal eyes.

Letting a soft hum, your mind rifling through all the paragraphs and journals your hands had ever thumbed through.

The soft rhythm of his breaths kept time. Stringing the words together on your tongue, you hope this monologue of yours will provide some amusement for him.

“If universes are randomly put into 2 boxes of ‘yes’ and ‘no’, then on average the number of universes in each box would be the same. For every universe I’m not with you, there’ll be equally as many where I am with you.”

A coin toss, perhaps it was all just a coin toss after all. Whether or not the Akasha paired a stoic face with another stoic face, for the gaps of your fingers to fit his so perfectly.

It could have all been a coin toss, for one half to stumble upon the other half cruelly parted from them by the hands of unseen gods.

“Something akin to a bijection existing between both sets of universes?” He cross-examines.

“Maybe… If we were to assign one type ‘yes’ to a positive integer, and the other type ‘no’ to a negative integer, then perhaps we can construct a bijection from the positive and negative integers.” Your brow furrows in contemplation.

“If we submit this theory do you think the Akademiya would publish it?”

“Not likely, bijections are usually made between sets of elements like numbers, not sure if bijections can be applied to something like whole universes. I’m just hypothesising nonsense,” you sigh.

“But they did publish the nonsense known as The Lifespan of Love,” he interjects.

“Hm, then maybe there’s a non-zero chance they’ll publish our nonsense too.” You stifle a scoff.

“Hm,” Alhaitham hums in amused agreement.

His free hand pulls the covers further up over your frame then smoothing out the wrinkles. Observing the growing delays between your slowing blinks.

“Only you and I would turn pillow talk into an academic deliberation.” You couldn’t hold back the giggle any longer.

He sighs in agreement, nestling his head closer to yours on the plush pillows, teal gaze never once leaving yours.

“It’ll make any romantic keel over and die from how dry it is, wouldn’t it, Haitham?”

“I say let them.”

Scoffing and shaking your head at his crude declaration as a yawn slips past your lips, a conclusion to this nonsensical academic deliberation.

With one hand still intertwined in the tender grasp of another you pull Alhaitham closer. So that the spaces of your body could lay against the spaces of his.

The warmth of his skin mingling with the warmth of yours, pressed against one another. You drawing mindless shapes into his back, his hand tracing senseless ruins into yours.

Perhaps, an illogical attempt to echt memories into the stardust in your bodies.

So he and you could imprint the memory of each other into the very fibers of your beings. Then maybe someday when these atoms return to these exact molecular structures, they’ll remember this too.

The law of conservation of mass, the probabilities upon probabilities, and bijections used in an inconsequential pseudo-academic ramblings to no one but an audience of silent stars.

Alhaitham’s certain no academic publisher would spare a glance at them.

But this nonsensical instance in the continuum of time, feeling the rhythm of your heart on the other side of his chest next to his own, is his most precious epiphany.

Fin~

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