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She was exhausted.
Every part of her body, from the largest muscle to the smallest bone, joined together in perfect harmony to complain as Viana dragged her legs across the lobby of the building she lived in. It was a symphony of aches, worthy of the stage at that opera house she had seen an advertisement for somewhere…
… Was it on social media? Maybe a post Xavier had forwarded last week? Or perhaps it was Tara, not Xavier? Damn it, Viana couldn’t remember. Her mind was far too tired to hold on to details like that. And, really, she couldn’t pressure herself, all her focus was on staying upright.
Her feet screamed inside her combat boots; her neck throbbed with the knots that had formed from tension. Aches in her muscles and tendons, every joint and ligament working together just to remind her that pain existed. And, gods, stars and constellations, Viana didn’t even want to imagine the pitiful state her right leg was in after she’d fallen directly on top of it during that horribly botched landing.
She made a mental note to never jump from the roof of a townhouse into a pile of dried leaves again (no matter how soft and fluffy the pile looked. Spoiler alert: it isn't). Even if that ridiculous jump had given her just enough momentum to deliver the final blow to the last wanderer in the protofield that had trapped her for over a week.
Viana didn’t want to think about the scratches scattered over her hands and arms either. Or about her left cheek, which definitely needs some ice to bring the swelling down. Or about the nest of sewer rats her curly hair must’ve looked like.
Cotton candy, but the kind that was never bought and had been sitting far too long in the back of some vendor’s cart.
The thought made her smile. Not much, because everything hurts horribly. Cheeks, lips, chin and every muscle that formed her face.
Still, the smile was there.
Viana found it so endearing when Xavier called her pink hair “cotton candy”. It made her feel all warm inside.
She remembered how hard she had worked to find the perfect ratio of bleaching powder to peroxide to keep her curls alive, soft and pretty. He saw it all. He saw her.
She sighed.
When was the last time she’d washed her hair? Maybe… last week’s Wednesday? (!!!!!!!) And today, if her Hunter’s watch wasn’t completely busted, was already Friday. Damn, damn, damn it!
Nine days.
Viana hadn’t washed her hair in nine days.
Not a single shower that lasted long enough for her to relax even a little.
Tears pooled in the corners of her eyes, and for a brief moment, she reached her limit. She thought she might collapse right there, just steps away from entering the only place she truly considered safe. And Viana knew that if she did collapse, she wouldn’t be able to get up again for minutes… maybe hours. Maybe days, unless a neighbor passed by and pitied her catatonic state. So she swallowed hard, remembered the breathing exercises she’d practiced with Xavier during some random mindfulness training, and kept putting one foot in front of the other.
Never again.
Never again would Viana accept a last-minute mission. Not even if the payment came in red diamonds and rare protocores scavenged from the most distant desert on Earth.
Never again.
… Though she could swear to herself in that moment, when every inch of her body screamed in agony, that she’d never do it again, deep down she knew the truth. The moment the pain faded into a bad memory and her help was needed, she’d drop everything and say yes without blinking twice.
Despite everything, she still loved her job. And that only proved Tara’s absurd theory that no Hunter had either mental stability or a shred of self-preservation instinct. They were all adrenaline junkies with severe hero complexes who desperately needed professional therapy.
Viana’s mind made her think of a certain masked hero, with eyes blue as the night sky and hair kissed by starlight. But she didn’t let that thought build a home.
Maybe she’d share it with him later…
She groaned, just a few more steps. When had the hallway from the elevator to her apartment door become so long? Just a few more steps and her arms would finally be free from the weight of her work bag. Just a few more steps and she could unload every weapon strapped to her body. Just a few more steps and she’d sink into the bathtub and stay in the hot water for at least an uninterrupted hour.
And only then would she worry about mundane things like the poor kid from the third floor, the one she had (unintentionally, let that be clear) probably traumatized in the elevator ride up. Or about the routine medical exams she had postponed yet again. Or the fact that she desperately needed to restock her stash of midnight snacks for sleepless nights.
The door finally appeared, and Viana opened it without thinking twice. Her mind, crowded with mental lists, drowned out the exhaustion pulsing through her. She didn’t notice that the lock was different. Or that she was on the wrong floor. Or that the welcome mat didn’t have the smiling stars she loved so much.
She ignored all the signs and as a result, was greeted by strong arms, the soft fabric of a well-worn hoodie, and the comforting scent of mint and honey.
Xavier pulled her to him in a single breath, and Viana was swallowed whole by his warmth.
The sound of her bag hitting the floor came first, followed by the echo of every mental barrier collapsing inside her. Viana’s shoulders finally relaxed, and she let the tears return to her eyes, spilling freely down her cheeks.
Home.
Viana was safe again. Home again.
“Vivi, welcome back,” Xavier murmured softly over the top of her head.
Viana, melting in his arms, mumbled something incomprehensible as her sense of gravity shifted. She never doubted that Xavier would hold her up.
Xavier would be her strength when nothing but exhaustion and pain filled her. Xavier would be her joy on dark days, her light in the deepest hours of the night. And in return, she offered him all she was, her entire being, as a home, as endless comfort.
“I got the wrong door,” she whispered after some undefined time.
“You got the right home,” Xavier answered in the same tone.
Viana didn’t argue. Her throat was too tight with tears. Her pain faded beneath the warmth of his embrace, the kind that didn’t care about the unpleasant smell clinging to her, the grime on her uniform, the mud caked to her exposed skin, or the dried blood on her wounds.
… and maybe Xavier really didn’t care.
In fact, Viana was certain he didn’t. After all, if their roles were reversed, if it were Xavier standing before her, filthy, injured, and bone-tired, she knew she wouldn’t hesitate either. She’d take care of him. She’d love him. Nothing in the world could ever keep her from Xavier’s arms.
Lost in her thoughts and half-formed groans, Xavier’s gentle voice in the background sounded to Viana like ASMR on a rainy night. It took her a moment to realize he had asked a question she hadn’t answered.
The thud of her combat boots hitting the wooden floor pulled her slightly out of her trance. Mint and honey still wrapped around her. Her head rested against his shoulder, her nose near the hollow of his neck.
Viana regretted that the dirt on her skin was staining his favorite white hoodie.
“… hospital?”
Viana flinched in pain as Xavier’s right hand moved her injured leg. She hadn’t caught the start of his question, but the icy tone was easy to recognize.
“No… I came straight home.”
“Viana.” A reprimand.
How could he manage to sound both comforting and stern at the same time? How could he hold her so completely with just one arm?
“Home.”
She hoped he understood that coming home meant more to her than wasting precious hours surrounded by cold white walls and antiseptic smell.
“Hmm. I know.” From her position, Viana couldn’t see his face, but she felt his resigned sigh against her temple. “… But I’ll take a look and if it’s serious, I’m taking you to the hospital.”
There was no room for debate, which was fine, because Viana didn’t have the energy to argue anyway. She accepted without protest.
Tears still rolled freely as Xavier carried her to the bathroom of his apartment’s suite. Melodic hums left his throat, the theme song from that period romance series they’d been watching together. He knew how much his voice calmed her and used it well. By the time he set her down on the marble countertop, she wasn’t crying anymore.
The combination of heavy breathing and a dry throat turned her protest into a pitiful, “Oh no,” when she found herself away from his warmth.
Xavier’s lips tightened as he stepped back to look at her properly for the first time since she arrived. His sky-blue eyes darkened, worry and anger at the same time, at the sight of her battered state.
He said nothing, and that silence made her self-conscious.
“Xav…” Viana shrank back as every ache in her body returned full force.
At once, Xavier’s thumb brushed her uninjured cheek. “Vivi, I’ll run the bath and come back to help you out of your clothes,” he said evenly, no hint of lust, just care and concern.
Love and devotion.
Honey and mint.
Comfort.
Viana nodded.
And while Xavier did the things he’d announced, she struggled to undo the elastic that tied her hair, and began removing the gloves and armguards of her Hunter official uniform. She could no longer feel the weapons on her body. Xavier must have disarmed her without her even noticing.
“Let me handle that.” He was in front of her in an instant, ready to help.
Viana let him.
With hands still warm from contact with the water, Xavier removed layer after layer of Viana’s clothing with a professional tenderness. As if she were a princess made of crystal. The thought would have annoyed her, had she not felt so utterly shattered.
“I’m not broken,” she still protested.
He raised an eyebrow.
Viana would have crossed her arms if Xavier weren’t currently removing, with practiced familiarity, the knives she kept hidden beneath her uniform sleeves.
(How many times had he done that already? Granted, in different contexts, when desire and heat spoke louder than care and concern. Xavier was a true expert in the subject of “Viana’s body.”)
“What exactly do you consider ‘broken’?” he asked softly. Another blade clinked into the bathroom sink. How many did she have?
Not enough.
The time she’d spent escaping that infernal protofield proved it. She would buy a new set of combat knives as soon as possible. (The disadvantages of not having an evol that allowed her to conjure her own weapons from thin air.)
Xavier lifted an eyebrow at her.
“Visible bones and blood.”
“I see blood.”
“Blood blood, not dried.”
“Still blood. Your blood.”
Viana sighed.
“Just scratches. Nothing serious.”
“We really need to redefine ‘serious,’ love.”
“By serious, I meant fatal,” she clarified. Xavier kept staring at her. “Keep in mind that what applies to me, applies to you too, Xavier,” Viana tried to emphasize, though she didn’t have the strength to lift her finger and punctuate her point.
Xavier was silent for a few seconds, as if running mental calculations.
“Only fatal?”
“…Depends.”
“On what?”
Viana grumbled again. She couldn’t remember the last time she had grumbled so many times in a row. She felt like a spoiled child. The faint smile returned to Xavier’s lips, the blue of his eyes softer, less glacial.
“I vote for a middle ground,” he mused.
“Middle ground,” Viana tested the words, the concept becoming increasingly familiar as her life tangled with his. A little more and they’d be like a sailor’s knot. “Which would be…?”
“Broken bones, fatal wounds, bleeding, fever, and anything we can’t treat with painkillers, cough syrup, or ointment,” Xavier listed. “If it’s any of those, we go to the hospital. Immediately. No protests.”
“None at all?”
“Neither mine nor yours. None.”
During the minutes it took Xavier to remove the weapons from her legs and help her out of the torn pants, Viana considered those new terms.
“Alright.”
“You’re about to say a ‘but.’”
Viana shot him a look. “But…”
“I knew it.” He sounded far too smug. “That uniform is going straight to the trash. State your conditions, Vivi.”
Viana smiled sweetly. She didn’t care about the uniform; she had plenty of replacements in her wardrobe. And if they ever ran short, she could always modify Xavier’s to fit her. “Whoever ends up in the hospital gets to choose the meals for the next week.”
“No way,” Xavier protested immediately. “What if the doctors prescribe vegetable soup or some other thing as complementary treatment? Can you lift your arms?”
“Ok, ok..” Viana raised her arms slowly, her shoulders tense and sore, each movement heavy and deliberate. “The next week’s meals, respecting medical recommendations.”
Xavier exhaled through his lips, a short laugh escaping.
“I thought you’d say something about chocolate.”
“And who said chocolate isn’t a meal?”
Xavier helped her remove the sports top she wore during long field missions. Regular bras tended to grow uncomfortable over extended periods of high-impact activity like fighting wanderers and dodging dangerous blows. Support was more than a luxury, it was an intrinsic necessity of being a Hunter with big breasts.
“I think we’ve reached an agreement.”
Viana sighed with relief as she found herself finally free of all the dirty, heavy clothing. The steam from the hot water had already fogged the mirrors. The scent of the bath salts Xavier had poured, more lemongrass than the mint and honey she loved, filled the air.
“You have nothing else to add?”
“Not for now.” Xavier smiled the way Viana did: tired, worried, but comfortable.
Wearing only panties and socks, still perched on the bathroom counter, Viana shivered. She was exposed. Hair, scars, bruises, dirt, fat, pain. Hair roots showing, curls flattened, not a hint of makeup. All of it laid bare before Xavier, open for his scrutiny. Yet the conclusion stirred not a single drop of discomfort. They had long since reached a level of intimacy where such things carried no embarrassment.
At another time, the fact that she was naked while he was fully dressed might have sparked some degree of heat, but none of that seemed to have a voice between them now. There were far more urgent concerns.
Gods, they looked like a couple with thirty-five years of marriage, four kids, two grandkids, and three pet rabbits.
The thought warmed her from the inside. It was a sweet, tender possibility for the future. Maybe one day…
Xavier met her gaze, and for a few seconds, Viana’s heart stopped.
“Actually, I do have something to add.”
Viana read the emotions in his blue eyes: affection, devotion, worry, and desire. The last one was restrained, tempered, giving way to feelings far more immediate. Yet it was still there.
He looked at her as if she were sunlight, and something very specific in Viana’s heart melted like butter on a hot pan at the realization. How could he desire her in such a pitiful state? She didn’t understand.
Was this what it meant to be loved?
“If it’s about chocolate not being a meal, we’ll have to binge-watch MasterChef again.”
“Chocolate isn’t a savory meal,” he emphasized, poking her waist gently, careful not to press the bruised areas.
“Xavie.”
“But that’s not what I was going to add.”
“It’s not in the terms of our agreement that you cook the meals alone.”
“I’m improving my technique!” he insisted.
Viana said nothing.
(He really was improving in the kitchen, but it was better not to shower him with compliments now. Xavier was already too bossy for her liking. Then again… she did like him bossy.)
His blue eyes gleamed with emotion, and his hands circled her waist. He leaned in until his forehead rested against hers, eyes closed.
Viana closed hers too.
“What I need to add,” he whispered, “is that I love you.”
Yes, this was what it meant to be loved.
If Viana hadn’t already cried herself dry, she probably would have started again. He had no right to melt her heart like that, not so many times in a row. Not without warning.
“I know.” She pulled back just enough for her hand to reach his cheek, for their eyes to meet clearly, blue and brown. Earth and sky. A feeling shared without barriers.
Yes, this was what it meant to love him.
Her dry lips brushed his cheek: soft, tender, intimate. “Me too.”
“You too?”
“I love you. So much.”
Xavier nodded quickly, his neck and ears reddening as if it were the first time he’d ever heard those words. So foolish. How could he be so foolish? Viana loved him so much.
Xavier stepped back. “One minute.” And it took him less than that to strip off his clothes. The sweatshirt and pants landed in a pile under the sink, alongside Viana’s. His hands were back on her, sliding off her starry socks and panties.
“Come with me.”
Viana clung to him, and Xavier lifted her into his arms again (her rightful place). Skin against skin, the warmth and comfort enveloped her. And together, they entered the bathtub. The mix of hot water and Xavier’s presence was the final thing she needed to fully relax.
Xavier moved her body as a puppeteer would his favorite marionette, cleaning each sore limb with delicate care and humming old melodies under his breath to distract her from the pain. Interesting thoughts flickered in her mind, though she was certain she drifted off at times, losing them to drowsiness. She knew she had fallen asleep because his fingers had begun to massage her scalp, untangling the knots in her curls, knot by knot, until he could run his fingers through the pink strands with ease.
Yes, this was what it meant to be loved.
Tears welled up again as the feeling in her chest grew stronger and spilled over. Viana had thought she had no tears left to shed.
“Does it hurt too much?” Xavier noticed immediately, stopping the sponge on her arms. He always noticed, ever observant. Concern radiated from him again.
Sitting between his legs, surrounded by warm water and the scent of lemongrass, Viana shook her head. It took her a moment to find her voice again, but when she did, she said: “No, that’s not it.”
His fingers tried to wipe her tears, but they were as wet as everything else, so it didn’t help much. The attempt was sweet nonetheless.
“What is it?” he encouraged softly.
It was all so intimate. He could see her soul, and time tasted like eternity. Viana leaned into his hand. The caress that followed was instant.
“You.” The tears didn’t stop. Viana knew she needed to elaborate, but she needed a few deep breaths first.
Xavier gave her all the time in the world. He didn’t push. Instead, his free hand returned the star-shaped sponge to its holder and went to the base of her neck, massaging slow circles there.
Steam rose from the hot water; the mirrors were completely fogged. How long had they been there? Viana had long given up trying to track time.
“I just wanted to come home,” she confessed. “I fought and fought, and all I could think about was coming back here.”
“You’re here.”
“I know, I know.”
“Your home,” Xavier said softly, stating the simple fact.
He was her home. He said it so easily. Damn it, Xavier, why so sweet? More tears.
Viana took another deep breath.
“But I- I didn’t let myself think it would be like this, you know?” It was rhetorical. “…That I’d have all this.”
She opened her eyes, hoping he’d understand. It would’ve been so much easier if one of them had an evol that allowed mind reading. So much simpler than trying to articulate her own feelings.
“Is it too much?” Xavier asked, serious, though his blue eyes remained gentle.
He wanted to understand.
Viana shook her head instantly.
“It’s just- it’s more than I expected. I didn’t… when I could sleep, the thoughts were about getting here, not what it would be like once I got here.”
“One step at a time. So you don’t lose your mind,” Xavier said, understanding perfectly.
Viana nodded.
“Exactly. And I did it. I’m here. You’re here too. And you’re taking care of me. So much better than-” Her voice broke with another sob. Gods, she felt like a waterfall with all the tears pouring from her eyes. “Better than I ever could, you know?”
“I know.”
Viana collapsed again in Xavier’s arms — for the umpteenth time. And he held her again. And again.
And again.
They didn’t talk much after that. Viana was exhausted, and Xavier saw no reason to fill the silence. They didn’t need to; they understood each other beyond words.
He held her until they were out of the bath. Until every wound was covered in ointment, every muscle soothed by medication. Until she was clean, perfumed, hydrated, her hair brushed, and dressed in one of Xavier’s sweatshirts, once again surrounded by honey and mint.
Until both of them were sitting on the couch, eating something warm. Or rather, until Xavier was sitting on the couch, and Viana was curled in his lap, clinging to him like one of those claw machine plushies she loved so much.
“Can we talk about the mission tomorrow?”
Xavier answered without hesitation: “Yes.”
And Viana, already halfway to the dream world, let herself go completely.