The Lives We Didn't Choose (AJS Roleplaying x Kita-san)

[AJS Roleplaying]

The Lives We Didn't Choose A Roleplay Brought to You By: ​

Adrian 'AJ' Carlson Jr. written by AJS Roleplaying ​

Verena "Rena" Bristol written by Kita-san ​

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[AJS Roleplaying]

AJ didn't answer right away. Not because he didn't have one - he did - but because something about her words, raw and unguarded and so painfully familiar, hit harder than expected. He felt it like the sudden quiet in a cathedral, a hush that pulled everything inward and made it sacred. There was something sacred about her honesty. And it wasn't depressing. Not to him. He watched her for a second longer, the way her hands kept fidgeting with her blouse like she needed something tactile to tether her. The way her voice had thinned under the weight of too many unsaid things finally given breath. He saw it. All of it. And strangely, he didn't feel like a stranger anymore. He shifted his stance slightly, thumb brushing the edge of the table behind him. Then he offered a small, almost reluctant smile.

"I should probably go back to work," he said, voice light but not dismissive. "Got a client who thinks brushed brass handles will fix a kitchen with zero natural light." He rolled his eyes a little, just enough to coax out the faintest echo of humour between them. "Design is 80% psychology and 20% arguing with people who watched two episodes of Fixer Upper and think they're developers."

The joke hung there for a beat, and then his tone softened again, rounding out the edges. "But… no. I don't think I'm going back in today." He looked down, then back at her, eyes steady. "I don't want to."

There was a quiet conviction in his voice - not rebellious, just true. "I think I needed to hear that. All of it. And I don't just mean your story - I mean the way you told it. Without trying to fix it. Without folding it into some neat little arc with closure."

He gave a half-shrug, smile tightening at one corner. "It's wild, right? How we end up drifting. Two people with shared dreams just… floating away from each other, one missed moment at a time. And you keep convincing yourself it's just a phase. Just a rough patch. You make yourself small so it doesn't become a fight, and then one day you wake up and realize you've been whispering for so long, you've forgotten what your voice sounds like." His throat tightened slightly. He hadn't meant to echo her words. But maybe that was the point. They weren't just hers.

"They don't tell you that love can become a kind of architecture too," he said after a pause. "Rigid. Functional. Just sturdy enough to keep you from seeing how hollow it's become."

He turned his gaze toward the gallery windows, where the light had gone from gold to amber, bleeding slowly into the early hues of evening. The city outside moved on, oblivious. Horns. Distant footsteps.

"But this," he said, his voice quieter now, "this felt like sunlight through all that scaffolding. For a minute, at least."

His eyes met hers again, and there was no flirtation in his expression—just something open. Unmasked.

"I don't think it's depressing," he added. "I think it's human. And frankly… a relief."

He let the silence settle again. It didn't feel awkward. They'd shared too much now for awkwardness to grow in the space between them. Only truth. And maybe something else that hadn't been named yet. AJ's phone buzzed lightly in his pocket. He ignored it.

"Listen," he said, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand, "I know we just unloaded a decade's worth of repressed emotional honesty in the middle of a cupcake-filled gallery, but…" he smiled again, a little more hopeful this time, "if you're free sometime - like, actually free - I'd really like to see you again. No pressure. No expectations. Just… whatever this is. Because it's something. And I don't want to pretend I didn't feel it."

He let that land, not pushing it. Just offering it. Then he took a slow step backward, eyes never quite leaving hers.

"But if you'd rather keep this moment just as it is," he said, gently, "I'll respect that too. Either way… thank you, Verena."

And with that, he reached for the door. Not out of finality—but with the kind of pause that left room for her to follow. Or not. He could carry both outcomes. He just hoped—maybe more than he should have—that she wouldn't let the silence have the last word.​

 

[Kita-san]

Verena stood there, her breath shallow in the stillness he left behind his words.

Her fingers had stilled somewhere near the hem of her blouse, but the faint imprint of tension still lingered in her hands—like they were holding onto more than just fabric. Her eyes never left him, even as he spoke about kitchens and brass handles and the absurdity of making beauty inside boxes built for function. The joke made her smile—just barely—but it was real, the kind of smile born from a shared weariness rather than amusement.

But it was everything after that—the stillness in his voice, the quiet surrender in his gaze—that rooted her in place. The scaffolding. The sunlight. The way he mirrored her truths like he'd been holding the same weight, quietly, for far too long.

Verena looked at him, really looked at him, as though she could memorize the way the light softened against his face, how his shoulders had lowered now that the truth had been let out. His offer to spend time with one another again caught her attention. She didn’t answer though, she had a lot to unpack. This moment with AJ interrupted her routined lifestyle…but not in a bad way.

Verena stood in the same spot long after AJ had gone, her fingers still curled slightly from the soft wave she'd given him. It lingered—his presence, his words—the rawness of what they had shared vibrating faintly in her chest like the last note of a song that wouldn't quite fade. "I don't think I've said this much about my life to anyone," she murmured into the stillness. Her voice sounded unfamiliar in the echoing room. Bare. Unsure. "Definitely not what I had planned."

Her hand brushed her forehead as she pushed her hair back, heat flushing her cheeks in a wave of delayed embarrassment. "God, I probably sounded so pathetic," she muttered with a quiet groan, dragging her hands down her face. "Too much. Too honest. Why did I say all that?" The self-consciousness gnawed at her, but there was something underneath it—quieter, warmer. Something that wasn't regret. She couldn't name it yet, but it pulsed in her, steady as a heartbeat. Eventually, she pushed herself to walk back to the studio, needing something to keep her hands busy, needing to retreat into the familiar comfort of paint and mess. She cleaned half-heartedly, rearranged brushes that didn't need rearranging, touched canvases that didn't need touching. But her mind wasn't in the work. It was still in that front room, still caught in the strange gravity between her and AJ.

Hours passed. The light dimmed. And finally, when there was nothing left to straighten or fix, she packed up her things, grabbed her purse and phone, and left.

The drive home was quiet. City lights streaked past her windows, blurring as she chewed on her bottom lip and replayed every moment of the afternoon. The gallery, the tea, the soft unraveling of confessions neither of them had expected to offer. AJ had surprised her. Not just with his honesty, but with how seen he made her feel.

"Should I see him again?" she whispered aloud, fingertips tightening on the steering wheel. Her voice was small. Hopeful. Terrified.
That tiny spark of joy she'd felt in the studio—that flicker of being understood—was still burning somewhere in her chest. But joy like that, when you hadn't felt it in so long, could feel dangerous. She shook her head, trying to ground herself. "He could be a good friend," she said more firmly, almost like a line she'd rehearsed. "We're both going through stuff. That's all this is. Just… shared ground."

When she got home, the quiet greeted her like a habit. "James?" she called out, a reflex more than anything else. She waited, but no answer came. Her eyes wandered across the dim apartment, untouched since morning.

Why do I still bother calling for him?


She dropped her keys in the dish, slipped off her shoes, and walked into the kitchen. It smelled like nothing. No dinner on the stove, no music playing, no hum of life. Dinner was leftovers. A hot shower dulled the noise in her head, but didn't erase it. She slipped into bed like someone slipping into a memory, pulling the blankets over herself more for comfort than warmth. James came in late, said nothing. Or maybe she'd already fallen asleep before he did.

The days that followed fell into rhythm again—predictable, distant, dull. James was polite. He kissed her cheek once. Said "see you later" like it was borrowed language. She noticed it—but not with hope. More like watching a wind-up toy perform its last few ticks. She went to the gallery, worked, smiled for visitors. But nothing quite matched the way that one day had felt. AJ kept slipping into her thoughts uninvited—his smile, the way he'd listened, the earnest way he'd said he didn't want to go back to work.

Three days passed. She hadn't reached out. She told herself it was to keep the boundary clear.

And then, on the fourth night, she sat curled on the couch in the dark, the TV playing a comedy she wasn't watching, a bowl of pasta she wasn't eating in her lap. Alone. James hadn't texted since lunch. The last message had been a two-word reply: "You too." She stared at it for a long time. Then finally set her phone down.

This can't be it, she thought. I'm too young to feel this old. AJ's voice floated into her memory. "This felt like sunlight through all that scaffolding." Her fingers moved on instinct. Heart quickening. Not overthinking for once. Just reaching out.

Verena: “Hey, hope all is well. I'd like to take you up on your offer. Let me know when you're free again? This time you don't have to worry about getting dirty from my art supplies. We can meet somewhere else.”

She stared at the message. Her thumb hovered over the screen for a full five seconds before she tapped send. And then—still curled on the couch, still alone—she finally let herself breathe.

 

[AJS Roleplaying]

AJ was still at his desk when the message came in. The office had mostly emptied out, except for the low hum of HVAC and the occasional muffled laughter from a podcast playing in the background of someone else's cubicle. He'd stayed late - not because he had to, but because going home felt like returning to silence. And tonight, silence felt heavy. He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his eyes, when the phone buzzed beside his keyboard. He picked it up casually, expecting a calendar alert or a group text from his college friends about some game he didn't watch.

Instead, it was her.

Verena: Hey, hope all is well. I'd like to take you up on your offer. Let me know when you're free again? This time you don't have to worry about getting dirty from my art supplies. We can meet somewhere else.

For a few seconds, AJ just stared at the screen, something in him going still. Then, he smiled. Not a wide, stupid grin, not some dramatic outburst, just a quiet softening around the edges of his face. Something settled in his chest like a stone dropping gently into water. Not heavy. Just real. He sat forward, phone in hand, thumbs hovering. He didn't want to sound too eager. But he also didn't want to pretend.

AJ: Hey. That just made my whole week. I'm free Thursday evening - if you are. There's this small rooftop café near the river. Not too loud, lots of space to talk. Or we could walk. Honestly, I'd be good with sitting on a park bench as long as it's not raining.

He hit send before he could second-guess himself. Then he stood and stretched, the long ache in his back reminding him just how long he'd been hunched at his screen. But something about the message - her message - had pulled the weight off his shoulders. As he packed up his laptop, AJ tried to remember the last time he'd felt anticipation like this. Not dread disguised as obligation, not routine cloaked in false optimism. Excitement. Possibility.

He could still hear her voice from that day - her laugh, her quiet pain, the way she had seen him without even trying. And now… here was a chance to see what it all meant outside the gallery, outside the sharp vulnerability of that first conversation.
​

---

Thursday evening came fast. He'd chosen a crisp button-down - charcoal grey, rolled sleeves - and clean jeans, the kind that felt intentional without trying too hard. He arrived ten minutes early and claimed a spot on the rooftop patio, the string lights above casting a soft glow against the fading sky. The city below murmured with twilight. Somewhere nearby, a saxophone player was busking - slow jazz notes curling through the summer air. AJ checked his phone once, then again. He wasn't nervous. Not really.

Okay - maybe a little.

He spotted her a moment later. And there she was - Verena, dressed simply but unmistakably herself. Hair swept back, eyes scanning until they landed on him. No paint-splattered apron this time. No cluttered studio. But she carried the same quiet gravity, the same impossible mix of elegance and vulnerability that had made him want to know her more in the first place. He stood, gave a small wave.

"Hey," he said, when she reached the table. "I wasn't sure you'd actually come." He smiled, soft, without pressure. Then he pulled her chair out gently. "But I'm really glad you did."

They sat, and for a moment, the city moved around them while their corner of the world stayed still. Menus came and went. Orders placed. But neither of them really cared about the food. They talked - easily, surprisingly so. About little things at first. A show she'd half-watched. A renovation nightmare he'd dealt with last week. A terrible cup of gas station coffee that had derailed his morning. She laughed at that, her eyes lighting up just enough to make him catch his breath.

But then the conversation slipped into deeper waters. AJ sipped his drink, eyes thoughtful. "You know," he said, "it's wild how we can tell ourselves we're being loyal by staying. That we're strong for enduring. But sometimes I think real strength is knowing when something isn't good for you anymore. And being brave enough to want something different."

He looked at her - not probing, not demanding. Just offering the thought, letting her decide what to do with it. "I kept thinking if I just worked harder," he continued quietly, "loved better, adjusted more… maybe it would bring us back. But sometimes the gap between people isn't about effort. It's about direction. And I think I was walking in circles while she stood still."

He caught himself, then smiled. "Sorry. I didn't mean to turn this into therapy hour." But the smile didn't last long. "It's just… being with you the other day? Talking like that? I felt awake. Like someone had cracked open a window I forgot I'd sealed shut."

He let out a slow breath, gaze drifting to the skyline. "This city's so damn full of people. But sometimes it feels like no one's really with anyone, you know? Not really."

He turned back to her, voice low. "But I felt with you. And… I didn't want to pretend otherwise."

The sun dipped further, shadows stretching long over the café's brick walls. He leaned forward a little, elbows on the table.

"So… I don't know where this goes," AJ said. "I'm not trying to rush into anything. I just know I don't want to let whatever this is slip past because we were both too afraid to name it."

He looked at her - really looked - and there was no pretence in his voice.

"I like you, Verena. Not just because we're both kind of emotionally wrecked," he added with a soft laugh. "But because in one afternoon, you reminded me what it feels like to matter. To be met. That… doesn't happen every day."

He didn't reach for her hand. He didn't lean in too close. He just sat there, open, waiting - for whatever would come next.​

 

[Kita-san]

The city had already begun to hum with night, and it wrapped around her as she stepped onto the rooftop patio—soft air, golden lights, and that quiet pulse of something just beginning. She saw him before he saw her: the rolled sleeves, the clean lines, the way he kept checking his phone like someone who wasn't nervous—except in all the small ways that said maybe he was.

She walked forward. The heels—sleek, tall, and obviously not her day-to-day pair—clicked softly against the rooftop's stone pavers. They were a deep black patent leather, catching the light with every step, elegant without being flashy. They made her taller, but more than that, they shifted something in the way she carried herself. Not armor, not disguise—just a reminder to herself that she was allowed to feel beautiful, even now.

The black jeans hugged her figure neatly, a tailored fit that curved without clinging, and the cropped satin blouse—a muted, almost smoky rose—gleamed subtly when she passed under the string lights. The fabric caught on the breeze just enough to move with her, soft and fluid in contrast to the structured denim. It wasn't a dramatic outfit. Not really. But it had intention. And for Verena, that mattered. She wasn't trying to impress. She was trying to show up as the version of herself that existed when she wasn't hiding.

Her hair was down—long, naturally wavy, left to do what it wanted with just the faintest touch of effort to make it look like no effort at all. The kind of undone that took quiet care. Her makeup was minimal, but it was there. Liner that made her eyes a little sharper at the edges. A soft blush that gave her skin a quiet warmth. And on her lips, a dusky pink—barely brighter than her natural color, but enough to notice. Enough to feel like a choice.

When their eyes met, something in her chest clicked into place. Recognition, maybe. Or relief. He stood, and she noticed how he didn't rush the moment. Just that small wave. That simple, careful smile. Like an invitation, not a demand.

"Hey," she answered, and there was the faintest trace of a smile in her voice. "Heh I wouldn’t break a promise.” She teased lightly.
She let him pull out her chair. She hadn't expected the gesture to matter, but it did.

The city carried on around them like a film playing just behind glass. The clink of dishes, the soft buzz of conversation, the distant saxophone winding through air like smoke. And somehow, inside all that noise, there was space for silence between them. The good kind. The kind that doesn't need filling.
She listened to him talk—at first, just light things, and she found herself laughing more easily than she expected. The way his face lit up when he made her laugh—it caught her off guard. Not because she didn't expect him to care, but because of how gently he did. Like every reaction she gave was something worth holding onto.

But then his words shifted—slowly, carefully—and the air between them settled deeper. She heard the quiet weight in his voice. The honesty. No armor. Just him, cracked open like a page turned face-up. When he said "I think I was walking in circles while she stood still," something in her went very still, too. Not because she pitied him—but because she knew the terrain. The ache of trying to out-love the gravity of misalignment. The exhaustion of carrying something by yourself just because it used to mean everything.

She didn't interrupt him. Not once. She just let him speak, her hands resting loosely on the table, her expression unreadable only because she was feeling too much at once.
"Talking like that? I felt awake," His words were extremely relatable. The way he had felt she had felt the same. Her gaze dropped for a moment. Not out of shyness—just the need to take it all in.

Then her hazel eyes met his blue ones.

"You weren't the only one," she said softly. There was a long pause, but it wasn't uncomfortable. She let the moment stretch, let the truth rise in her throat before she spoke again. "Don’t apologize. I don’t mind this at all.” She didn’t want him to hold back at all. “I've spent a long time… building rooms inside myself. Quiet ones. Safe ones. Where I could paint, play with clay and not have to explain why I needed silence more than company. Or why connection scared me more than loneliness ever did." She ran a hand through her dark waves. "I think I forgot how to let someone see me. Until you walked in and didn't try to pry the door open. You just… stood at the threshold. Waiting."

Her fingers traced the edge of the glass her cocktail was in. "I thought about this a lot. Whatever this is. I don’t know what to label it but I also don’t want it to go away.” Her eyes softened as she looked at AJ. “So yeah, I don't know where this goes either. But I don't want to pretend it didn't happen. That I didn't feel something shift. I’m done pretending…” She exhaled slowly, taking all of his words and her own that she had just spoke. What is happening here. She thought, a soft smile pulling at her lips. Verena leaned forward just a little, the soft city light catching in her eyes.

"I like you, AJ. Not because we’re both wounded. Not because you're kind. But because when I'm around you, I remember that I don't have to hold the whole world together on my own.”

Verena thought about reaching for his hand but she wasn’t exactly sure what this all meant. She was willing to take whatever came with it though. So instead she picked up her glass and took a small sip before she spoke again.

"Also… that gas station coffee story? Terrible. But impressive. I didn't know it was possible to survive that kind of betrayal." She let the humor hang in the air, gently tethering them back to something light—but the warmth in her expression didn't falter. "Let's see where this goes. One honest moment at a time."

 

[AJS Roleplaying]

AJ's lips twitched into a grin at her coffee remark. "Honestly? I should've filed a police report. That cup did me dirty."

The laughter between them wasn't loud, but it landed. A shared breath of relief, a thread of levity that curled between the deeper things - soft, but steady. The warmth of her presence, the quiet courage it took to say what she just had, settled in his chest like something precious. He didn't reach for her hand either. Somehow, not reaching made the moment more real. Not rushed. Not dependent on contact to validate the connection. It was there already, humming beneath the words. AJ leaned back in his chair a bit, eyes still on her. His smile had changed - less nervous now, more grounded. More like someone who'd just stepped into a room he didn't realize he'd been locked out of.

"I'm glad you said that," he said quietly. "About not pretending."

He let the silence bloom again. The kind that asked nothing but presence.

He met her gaze again, his voice softer. "Maybe honesty isn't about certainty. Maybe it's just choosing not to flinch when something real shows up."

Another breeze drifted across the rooftop, brushing the edge of the candle flame between them. The soft clink of silverware at nearby tables filled in the quiet. AJ looked out over the edge of the patio for a moment, where the city stretched in every direction - alive, complicated, always in motion. A little like them.

Then he turned back to her. "So, alright. One honest moment at a time." He raised his glass toward her, not quite a toast - something more grounded. "You in?"

He clinked his drink gently against hers, the sound light but deliberate.

They talked more after that. Nothing earth-shattering - just the kind of conversation that flowed because the pressure was gone. AJ told her about the first apartment he rented after college, the way the floor sloped to one side like the whole building had given up halfway through construction. She told him about a gallery owner she once argued with for forty-five minutes over what "introspective chaos" meant in a review. They laughed. They lingered.

It got late without them realizing. The plates were cleared. The lights above them dimmed just slightly as the rooftop thinned out. AJ stood when she did, letting her lead the pace. Neither of them reached for a goodbye just yet. As they made their way down the narrow staircase to the street, he glanced at her from the corner of his eye.

"You know," he said, voice casual, "we probably just set an absurdly high bar for every future conversation. Like, what if next time I'm just rambling about how much I hate folding laundry?"

He looked at her then, fully, smile curved just slightly. "Think you'd still want to meet me on a bench somewhere?"

They reached the sidewalk. The city buzzed around them - traffic in the distance, the flicker of shop signs, a breeze carrying the last hints of summer heat. AJ hesitated. Not the kind that came from doubt - but the kind that comes from wanting to hold a moment without freezing it.

"I don't want to assume anything," he said. "But if this doesn't scare you off…" He rubbed the back of his neck, a sheepish smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "I'd like to see you again. Not because I think we need to define it. Just because… being around you feels like breathing differently."

Then, because it was the truth, and not because it was romantic, he added: "It's been a long time since I've liked who I am in someone else's company."

He didn't press for an answer. Didn't step closer than felt right. He just stood there under the streetlamp glow, his expression open, hopeful in the quiet way that didn't need fixing.

Then he looked down the street, then back at her. "Can I walk you to your car?"

It was the simplest thing he could offer - nothing grand, just a gesture. But the kind that said: I'm still here. I'd like to keep being here. Whatever happened next - whether it unfolded into something bigger or stayed right where it was - AJ knew this night had changed something. And maybe that was enough for now. Maybe being seen, and still standing, was the first real beginning either of them had had in a long, long time.​

 

[Kita-san]

She laughed—really laughed—when he said "I should've filed a police report." It bubbled out of her in that way it rarely did, the kind that cracked open her ribs a little, the kind that left her eyes brighter than before. And just like that, the heaviness of what they'd both said moments earlier softened, not disappeared, but balanced. Light and shadow playing fair.

She watched him as he leaned back, his grin turning quieter, steadier, like something inside him had finally clicked into place. And when he said "Maybe honesty isn't about certainty," her smile faded into something more thoughtful, more real. "You might be onto something," she murmured. "Maybe we spend too much time waiting to feel sure before we speak up. But sometimes the brave thing is saying it anyway… even if your voice shakes."

She glanced at the candle flickering between them, the breeze teasing the flame but never quite blowing it out. When he raised his glass she tilted her head slightly, a soft glint in her eye as he tapped his glass to her. "I'm in," she said and took a sip of her drink. This was start to something new and exciting. And then time… just moved. In that strange way it does when you're not watching it.

Eventually the staff began clearing tables around them, and the soft ambient music faded lower. The string lights glowed like memory. She didn't want to go, but time was a thief. Still, she stood and gathered her bag.

The staircase down to the street was narrow and uneven, and she held the railing with one hand, feeling the city open again below them. When he made that crack about setting the bar too high, she glanced sideways at him, arching a brow.

"I don't mind hearing about your hatred for folding laundry. Laundry complaints, sock-folding crises, whatever," she said, grinning. "I can tell about how much I hate washing dishes and if the dishwasher is used how much I hate putting them away." She teased l, her face still holding that playful smile.

"You didn't scare me off," she said. "If anything, you kind of… re-centered me. I wasn't expecting that." Verena gently tucked some of her wavy brown hair behind her left ear. "No need to assume anything but I can definitely meet you on a random bench somewhere. I'll bring coffee, proper coffee of course."

The walk to the car was short but she felt the air between them settle into something quiet and golden. Not finished. Not defined. But open. When they reached her car, she turned toward him, resting a hand on the door handle, but not opening it yet. "Tonight was good," she said simply. "Better than good."
Then, with a hint of mischief: "And if your next conversation really is about laundry? Fine. But I'm coming prepared. I have opinions about dryer sheets."

The hazel eyed woman stepped closer for just a second—still not touching—but close enough to let him feel it. "Drive safe, AJ. And… don't overthink this. Just text me whenever." She gave a light shrug, not putting any pressure on him. "Goodnight." She opened her car door before getting inside. She watched as he walked away, she didn't drive off until he was fully out of her sight.

Without relaxing it she had let out a breath, she had been holding her breath for some reason. Her body was buzzing with excitement and hope even though she wasn't really sure what to be hopeful or excited about. She just knew that she liked AJ and wanted to continue to see him. Verena started up her car and made her way back home.

When she arrived at her condo she went inside with a new sense of purpose. She wanted to create. She needed to feel something familiar like clay. "Art studio~" she said in a singing tone as she made her way to the bedroom she shared with James. He wasn't home of course but that didn't stop her from changing her clothes and head back out what use to be her second home. Lately it was feeling like her main home.

There she spent the night allowing her emotions to run free, she couldn't wait to see what she would find in the morning. Something beautiful, something raw and purposeful she hoped.

 

[AJS Roleplaying]

AJ didn't look back when Verena closed her car door. He didn't need to. The weight of her presence lingered behind him like the scent of her dusky rose perfume - subtle, warm, unmistakable. He walked toward his car slowly, hands in his coat pockets, each step deliberate. The city pulsed softly around him, headlights passing like ghosts, distant voices fading into the night. Her laughter still rang in his ears - full and unguarded - the kind of sound that had cracked open something in him. Not broken. Opened.

By the time he slid behind the wheel, the rooftop lights were just a glow in his rear view mirror. The car was cold. Sterile. He sat for a few moments, engine off, eyes unfocused. He should've felt guilty. But he didn't. Not in the way he expected. Instead, he felt… still. Not calm. Not sure. But still, like the noise in his chest had finally quieted for a breath.

The drive home was short. Familiar streets, automated turns. But everything felt different now. The city looked softer. Or maybe it was just him. He pulled into the underground garage of the building he still technically shared with his wife. The sleek modern apartment that had once felt aspirational. Now it just felt empty - because it was. Serena hadn't been home for three days. She was still staying at her parents' house after their last fight. No slamming doors, no plates shattered - just a final, exhausted silence. A sharp remark. A mutual surrender neither of them had the energy to call by name.

AJ stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for their floor. The stainless steel walls reflected him back at himself. Crisp shirt, rolled sleeves, hair just slightly undone. He looked… alive. More than he had in months. When the elevator doors opened, he walked the familiar hallway with slow, steady steps. The door to their unit was unlocked. He stepped in.

Dark. Quiet. Still. He flicked on a light. The living room looked untouched. Neat, cold, impersonal. Serena's shoes were gone from their spot by the door. Her coat wasn't draped over the dining chair. No fresh flowers in the vase she insisted on refilling every Sunday. AJ set his keys on the counter.

Removed his coat and slung it over the back of a stool. The silence was complete. His phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out quickly, already knowing who it was.

"Home safe. Thanks for tonight. Sleep well."

Verena. He stared at the message for a long beat before typing back:

"You too. Tonight meant more than I thought it would. We'll talk soon."

He set the phone face down. There was nothing else to say, and somehow that felt okay.

He wandered the apartment, stopping in the kitchen for a glass of water. The under-cabinet lighting hummed faintly. Normally, Serena would have music playing from her curated playlists - coffeehouse jazz or ambient indie. The emptiness now made the space feel bigger. Not better. Just clearer. He passed the dining table. The one where they'd once sat together over delivery sushi, planning vacations they never took. The one where she told him she was going to start sleeping at her parents' "for space," and he hadn't argued.

He opened the bedroom door and stood at the threshold. Her side of the bed was still made. His side was half-done, the covers pulled back carelessly. There was a folded sweater of hers on the dresser - left behind without intention, like a footprint. AJ sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, staring down at the floor. The weight of what had just happened with Verena didn't crash down on him. It landed gently. He thought about her voice. The way she'd said "Tonight was good. Better than good." The way she hadn't asked for promises. Just honesty. Space to breathe. Room to explore whatever this was - no pressure, no illusions.

He thought about the moment she'd stepped closer to him at her car. Not touching, but close enough that he'd felt the air shift. That charge. That quiet electricity. AJ closed his eyes. He should have felt shame. But the marriage, he realized now, wasn't a thing he was cheating on - it was a thing already gone. A hollow house. What they had once shared with Serena had faded so gradually that neither of them noticed it had died until it stopped even echoing.

He lay back on the bed, hands behind his head. The ceiling stared back. He didn't know what was coming next. There were conversations to be had. Real ones. Probably hard ones. But for the first time in a long time, he didn't feel trapped inside his own life. He felt movement. Verena had said, "Let's see where this goes. One honest moment at a time."

He could do that. AJ reached for his phone again - not to text, just to see her message one more time. Just to feel something real. Then he turned off the light. The apartment stayed quiet. But for once, it didn't feel empty. It felt like a beginning.​

 

[Kita-san]

The next morning, Verena woke to pale light seeping through the gauzy linen curtains of her bedroom, casting soft shadows across the white oak floorboards. Her eyes blinked open slowly, lids heavy with a sleep that didn't feel entirely restful. She couldn't recall exactly what time she'd made it home the night before—everything after the walk to her car with AJ was a bit of a blur, like a film reel she wasn't quite ready to rewind.

All she knew was that her heels had come off at the door, her blouse had been draped over the arm of the accent chair without a second thought, and her body had collapsed into bed with that kind of weight that only comes after emotional vulnerability—raw, tired, but quietly… full.

Her gaze drifted toward the nightstand, where her phone lay facedown on the wood. She reached for it, her arm stretching lazily under the duvet, thumb tapping the screen to wake it.

7:57 AM.

Too early. Not early enough.

With a quiet sigh, Verena set the phone back down and rolled onto her side. That's when she noticed him—James—lying beside her. Still dressed in last night's clothes. His dress shirt, a crisp white button-down she vaguely remembered him wearing when she left for dinner, was now rumpled and completely unbuttoned, one side twisted beneath his torso. His jeans were halfway off, bunched around his thighs like he'd given up midway through undressing. One shoe had been kicked off at some point; the other still dangled loosely from his foot. His hair, usually styled with practiced care, stuck out in uneven tufts, flattened on one side from where his head had burrowed into the pillow.

The scent of whiskey still lingered faintly in the air near him. Verena watched him for a moment, expression unreadable. He looked… undone. Not vulnerable, not open—just disoriented. A man who had likely stumbled into bed more from habit than desire. He rarely slept in jeans. That detail alone told her he must've been drinking more than usual. James was many things—precise, methodical, composed—but casual wasn't one of them.

Not in his right state of mind, she thought.

She slowly slipped out of bed, the hardwood cool beneath her bare feet. She didn't bother waking him. He didn't stir. She grabbed a nearby robe and wrapped it around her body.
Padding down the hallway to the kitchen, she pulled her robe tighter around her and gathered her hair into a loose bun. She wasn't usually hungry this early, and certainly not a morning cook. But something tugged at her—perhaps generosity, perhaps guilt, or maybe just routine. Either way, she found herself cracking eggs into a bowl, the pan warming on the stovetop as she moved through the motions in silence.

At least he'll have something to eat when he wakes up.

It was a small gesture. But it felt necessary. Or maybe it just felt familiar. She plated the food with quiet efficiency—scrambled eggs, toast, a few slices of avocado arranged neatly beside a glass of orange juice. It sat waiting on the table, untouched and probably unnoticed.

By the time she left the condo with her purse slung over her shoulder and keys in hand, James was still asleep.

The days that followed blurred into rhythm—her rhythm. Mornings began with coffee and clean sunlight pouring across her gallery's polished concrete floors. She welcomed guests—art collectors, tourists, regulars who had become soft fixtures in her life. She sold several pieces that week, including a large commission that had been quietly stressing her out. The buyer loved it. Called it "brilliantly unsettling." That made her laugh later, alone in the back studio, hands still stained faintly with cerulean blue.

She started sketching concepts for a new installation, something bold, more visceral than her usual style. The ideas came easily now, like the creative part of her had finally gotten permission to breathe again. Her work life was thriving. She wanted to tell James. Every day, she thought about it. She tried once, casually, over coffee as he rushed to check his messages.

"I landed that project I was telling you about—the multi-panel piece for the arts grant series." "That's great," he said distractedly, barely looking up. "Hey, do you know if I left my navy tie in the dry cleaning bag?"

Another time, she waited until dinner, sitting across from him with a glass of wine in her hand. She brought up a visitor from Paris who had inquired about a private showing. Before she could finish the sentence, James' phone buzzed. He glanced at it, stood, and mumbled something about a client call he couldn't miss. He didn't ask her to continue when he came back.

By the end of the week, the pattern had crystallized into something she couldn't unsee. They were living in the same space, but not the same life. Sleeping in the same bed, but not dreaming in the same direction.

While drinking a hot cup of tea Verena stood on the condo balcony over looking the neighborhood she lived in. Thoughts of James and AJ filled her mind, she found herself comparing the two and that startled her a bit. The hum of city traffic could be heard, it was quite settling as she let the truth hang in the air like a painting waiting to be titled.

 

[AJS Roleplaying]

AJ woke before his alarm. Not in a jolt or a haze - just awake. His eyes opened to the cold grey hush of a Saturday morning in a quiet apartment that somehow managed to feel emptier than usual, even in its minimalist décor. The windows stretched nearly floor to ceiling, but the blinds were still drawn. He lay there a moment, staring at the faint texture of the ceiling, hand resting behind his head.

No Serena. She hadn't come home. And that realization didn't land with the guilt it used to. Just… a hollow sort of acknowledgment. Like noticing a piece of furniture was gone, but realizing you hadn't used it in months anyway. He sat up slowly, the sheets rustling beneath him, one hand brushing over the duvet as if expecting to find some imprint, some warmth. But it was cool beside him. Cold, even. She was still at her parents' place after their latest fight, a fact they'd both treated with thin civility, as if it was temporary. As if they didn't already know it wasn't.

AJ pushed himself out of bed, bare feet meeting the polished concrete floors of the apartment. He padded toward the kitchen in boxer briefs and a worn black tee, the air sharp enough to wake him fully. The place was silent. No distant hum of Serena's morning news podcast, no clinking of her spoon against a ceramic yogurt bowl. Just the low hum of the refrigerator and the city far beyond the glass.

He poured himself coffee. No cream. No sugar. Just the bitter, honest stuff. As he took his first sip, his mind drifted.

Verena.

The way she'd looked last night - standing at her car door, smiling with that quiet confidence, lips painted soft and dusk-coloured. The sound of her laugh, the way it lingered in the air, unforced and real. He couldn't shake the feeling she left behind in him. Not just attraction- something deeper. Something that made him feel less alone in a world that often expected him to be fine, composed, functional.

She'd said, "Drive safe." And he had. But the rest of her parting words clung tighter than he expected.

"Don't overthink this."

Too late.

AJ let out a breath and leaned against the counter, sipping slowly. He could still smell her perfume faintly, like memory. He thought of her art - how she'd once described the clay under her nails as a kind of proof she'd been somewhere real. That had stuck with him. That and the way she looked when she spoke about the silence she needed. The rooms she'd built inside herself. God, that had hit him hard. Because he knew what it meant to build rooms. He'd built entire wings. Hallways that never led anywhere.

With Serena, everything had become a series of negotiations - spoken and unspoken. Performances of harmony. The dinners where they didn't speak. The sex they didn't have. The words they didn't say anymore.

She still wore the ring, and so did he. But that was muscle memory now. Not meaning.

He reached for his phone out of instinct and opened his messages. Her name - Verena - sat at the top, unreadable in its simplicity. He didn't text her. Not yet. But he wanted to.

Instead, he stared at the screen a moment longer before locking it again and setting it face down on the counter. He had things to do. Workouts. Emails. A video call later with a client in Europe. But none of it felt urgent. Not after last night. Not after the way she'd looked at him.

Instead of going through the motions, AJ walked back to the bedroom and started getting dressed. A grey hoodie over a white tee. Dark jeans. Sneakers. He glanced around the bedroom - their bedroom - but nothing about it felt shared anymore. Her vanity was still cluttered with products. Her robe hung on the back of the door. Her mug, "CEO of Everything", sat untouched on her side of the dresser.

But the scent of Serena? It had faded.

He left the apartment around nine. No destination in mind at first. He just drove. Past the coffee shop they used to visit on Sundays. Past the gym. Past the office he only went into twice a week now. Then, almost without thinking, he pulled into the parking lot of a small park on the edge of the city. One with winding paths and old benches, where you could lose yourself in plain sight. He killed the engine and sat still.

What would he say to her, if she were here? What could he offer that wouldn't sound like a promise he couldn't keep? But that wasn't the point, was it? Verena had said it herself: "One honest moment at a time."

He pulled out his phone again, thumb hovering over the screen. He didn't overthink it. He just started typing.

Coffee's on me next time. Bench is your choice. I'll even bring the dryer sheets.
A beat passed. Then he hit send. And for the first time in weeks - maybe months - AJ smiled to himself. Not wide. Not certain. But real. He sat there for a moment longer, listening to the sound of birdsong over traffic, the wind rustling the leaves. The park was quiet, but not empty. Just like him. It wasn't everything. But it was a start.​

 

[Kita-san]

Once she finished the last sip of her jasmine tea, Verena rose slowly stepped back inside her home. The air inside felt cooler, quieter, the faint scent of sandalwood and eucalyptus clinging to the corners of the bedroom she shared with James. Shower was running. The sound of cascading water echoed gently, and she knew James was in there.

For a moment, she lingered in the doorway of the large master bathroom, her hand brushing the door, eyes unfocused. There was a time—not long ago, but it felt like a different lifetime—when James would have called her into that shower without hesitation, his voice playful and coaxing, his touch unrelenting. Their chemistry had once been magnetic, fierce—every glance and brush of skin igniting something immediate and intimate between them. But now, the fire had dwindled to embers. And after being turned away more times than she cared to count, Verena no longer reached for him in that way. Her desire hadn't vanished, but her hope had. He didn't even seem to notice.

That, more than the rejection itself, unsettled her. She walked toward the bed and looking forward her cellphone. When she noticed on her night stand she grabbed it. The screen was glowing softly with a new message.

It was from AJ.

Her heart skipped—just slightly—but it was enough to make her sit down at the edge of the bed. A gentle smile crept across her lips as her fingers moved to open the message. There was something easy about AJ. Light. He had a way of making her feel seen, especially when the rest of her life felt like she was fading into the wallpaper. She typed quickly, unable to keep the excitement out of her reply:

"Sounds good to me. I know the perfect bench. Are you free tomorrow?"

Her pulse quickened the moment she hit send. She didn't want to wait. After the recent success with her art—selling several art pieces including a very pricey and large statue that was taking a lot of space at the art gallery. Not to mention her new contract with well known local artist. — She needed to talk to someone who would actually listen, who wouldn't brush past it like a side note in a bigger story.

Within seconds, AJ's response lit up her screen with the response she was hoping for. Verena tapped quickly, giving him directions to Willowstone Grove, then paused as the sound of the bathroom door opening pulled her attention away.

James emerged, damp and shirtless, a towel wrapped low around his waist. His dark hair dripped onto his collarbone as he moved toward the walk-in closet. He glanced at her, noticing the curve of her smile.

"Why are you smiling so hard?" he asked with a teasing smirk. "Whatever it is can't be that funny." Verena instinctively placed her phone face-down on her lap. Not because she had anything to hide, she told herself, but because she didn't feel like explaining. Or defending.
She watched him for a second, then looked away. You're not hiding anything. You're allowed to text a friend. He has female friends, she reminded herself, releasing a slow, steady breath. Still, she didn't answer his question.
Instead, she shifted the conversation. "What's your day looking like tomorrow?"

"A new investor just flew in from L.A.," James replied, already half-dressed and flipping through a rack of tailored shirts. "I'll be showing him and his wife around town. Taking them out, buttering them up, ya know? I'd love to lock in a deal.” Which, Verena knew, translated to him leaving early and coming home late. "Okay," she said quietly. "Good luck." But she wasn't disappointed. She had her own plans.


The Next Morning –

Verena dressed casually, but with care. She pulled on her favorite slate-gray yoga pants and a matching loose tank, the kind that hugged her in all the right places without trying too hard. Her Nike running shoes matched the trim of her outfit, and she tied her waves into a high ponytail that bounced lightly as she moved.By the time she stepped out of the house, James was already gone. And for once, she wasn't thinking about him.

Willowstone Grove was a sanctuary tucked at the edge of town, a place where time moved slower and silence felt sacred. The 60-acre park was a gentle sprawl of creeks, wooded trails, and open meadows. Graceful willow trees dipped their branches into the water's edge, casting long shadows across the still, reflective surface. Turtles sunned themselves on half-submerged logs while ducks waddled through the tall reeds. A looping trail curved through the landscape—part paved, part earthen—winding under canopies of sycamores and cottonwoods. Wooden footbridges creaked softly underfoot, leading to quiet nooks with stone benches and plaques engraved with poetry. Local artists had contributed to the park too—sculptures of rusted iron and carved cedar stood like guardians along the path, unnoticed by some, but not by Verena.

She arrived a few minutes early and waited near the parking lot, scanning the area for AJ while the breeze teased at her ponytail. She took a moment to breathe, really breathe, and let the tension of the past few days roll off her shoulders. When she saw him, a smile bloomed on her face, unforced and warm. When she noticed AJ she waved and took a few steps to meet him.

"Glad you made it," she said, her voice light. "The weather's perfect today."

 

[AJS Roleplaying]

AJ stepped out of his car, locking it with a soft beep behind him as his eyes scanned the path ahead. The morning light filtered through the trees in golden shafts, dappling the gravel lot and catching faintly in the dew still clinging to the grass. He spotted Verena almost immediately - already standing near the trailhead, ponytail catching the breeze, that same quiet confidence in her posture that had pulled him in the first night they'd talked. She looked relaxed. Brighter somehow, like she'd been plugged back into herself.

AJ walked toward her, lifting a hand in greeting. "Hey," he called out with a half-smile. "Told you I'd bring the dryer sheets." He patted the side pocket of his hoodie with exaggerated importance, then grinned. "Got to protect your bench."

Verena laughed - he could hear it clearly in the stillness of the grove - and the sound did something to him. Eased something. It reminded him why he came. Why he'd wanted to come. They started walking down one of the quieter paths together, the dirt trail soft underfoot and flanked by low, leafy shrubs. AJ kept pace with her easily, his hands in his pockets, shoulders loose beneath a fitted zip-up jacket. His expression was open, curious. Present.

"You weren't kidding," he said, taking in the park around them. "This place is… peaceful. Kind of feels like it doesn't belong in the same zip code as everything else."

They passed under a footbridge. The smell of water and earth filled the air, subtle and grounding. A pair of mallards slipped through a narrow stream to their right, cutting ripples into the mirrored surface. AJ slowed a little, breathing it all in.

"I needed this," he said, more to the trees than to her. "This week's been… something."

She glanced over, and though she didn't speak, the softness in her eyes invited him to continue. He hesitated, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

"Serena's still at her parents' place," he admitted. "Been four days. We talked once. If you can call it that." He kicked at a small pebble on the trail. "Feels weird. Not painful exactly. Just - muted. Like we ran out of things to say, but neither of us wanted to be the one to admit it."

Verena remained quiet, listening.

"I used to think we were just going through a rough patch," he continued, his voice quieter now, "but it's more like we've become experts at coexisting. Good on paper. Scheduled affection, polite silences, press releases for our feelings."

He laughed once, humourless.

"I've never felt more like a ghost in my own damn apartment."

They reached a clearing, and Verena motioned to a curved stone bench set beneath the low droop of a massive willow tree. Moss grew along the base of its roots, and the light shifted green through its tendrils. AJ nodded, following her toward it, then sat. He leaned forward, forearms resting on his knees, fingers loosely clasped together.

"I don't want to be that guy who rushes to unload everything on someone just because they smiled at him," he said after a moment. "But I keep thinking about what you said. About how hard it is to be seen when you've spent so long learning how to disappear."

His gaze flicked to her, then down at the ground.

"I've disappeared in my own life. In my marriage. Even in my work. I'm good at showing up for people, but… I can't remember the last time someone actually saw me."

A breeze rolled through the clearing. AJ looked up at the branches swaying above them, then turned back to Verena with something new in his expression—vulnerability, yes, but also resolve.

"I've been thinking about the other night. About how easy it felt. Like I didn't have to try so hard to be okay around you." He exhaled, hands opening in his lap. "I don't know what this is between us. Or where it's going. But I want to keep showing up for it. If that's something you want, too."

There was a pause. Not heavy - just honest. The sound of the stream babbling nearby filled the air, birds chirping in the trees like they'd been cued for the scene. AJ smiled faintly at the absurdity of it all.

"I know it's complicated. You've got your own stuff, and I'm not expecting some answer or decision today. But I needed to say it. Out loud. Because it's the first real thing I've felt in a long time, and I didn't want to let it pass without naming it."

He leaned back against the bench, letting the quiet fill the space between them.

"God, this place is good for honesty," he muttered with a wry smile. "Maybe they should hold couple's therapy under this tree. Might save a lot of people the trouble."

He turned to look at her again, softer this time. "I'm not rushing you. And I'm not asking you to rush me either. Just… tell me if this is something that feels real to you, too. Because I think we both deserve real."

He left the words there, hanging like a question in the branches. And then he waited.​

 

[Kita-san]

Verena sat beside him, her body turned slightly in his direction but her eyes focused on the green-filtered light dancing through the willow leaves above. Her fingers rested loosely in her lap, one thumb absentmindedly brushing against the other in a steady rhythm. She let the silence linger a moment longer—not out of hesitation, but reverence. What AJ had said deserved more than a rushed reply. It needed air. Stillness. Space to land.

When she finally spoke, her voice was low, even. But it carried weight.

"Thank you for saying all that," she began, glancing sideways at him. "For trusting me with it. I’m sorry that things aren’t working out like you hoped. I do feel bad about your situation…no wants to be in that." She paused, as if searching for the right words in the soft blur of the trees. "I know what you mean about feeling like a ghost. About being seen less and less by the person who's supposed to know you best. That sense of… slowly fading until you're just a role. A routine. Something that fits conveniently into someone else's version of a happy life."

She gave a faint, bittersweet smile, eyes still tracing the horizon of the creek just visible through the trees. "I've been there," she said. "Hell, I'm still there—living in a house that used to feel warm, used to feel full. James and I used to be… electric. Every glance, every touch meant something. Now we barely speak. And when we do, it's about logistics. Groceries. Schedules. His work. Never about us. Never about me." She shook her head softly. "So yeah. I get it."

Verena turned to face him fully now, folding one leg beneath her on the bench. Her gaze was steady, unflinching. "When you said what you did just now… about showing up for this… I felt it," she said, pressing her hand briefly to her chest. "Not because I've got it all figured out, or because I know where this is going. But because something about you—about this—does feel real. And I haven't felt that in a long time." A breath caught in her throat, and she let it out carefully. "You didn't just say things I needed to hear. You said things I've been hearing… in my own head. Over and over. Quietly. Ashamedly. Because I thought maybe I was asking for too much. Wanting too much."

Her voice dipped slightly. "I don't want to keep disappearing. I want to feel alive again. Not just existing beside someone, but with them. Talking. Laughing. Touching. Being honest, even when it's messy. Especially when it's messy." She rested her hands back into her lap with a soft sigh. Slowly but surely she was feeling even lighter, the heaviness always seemed to disappear around James.

"I'm not sure if I can make promises. And I can't say what comes next. But I can say this: I want to keep showing up too. For whatever this is. For the possibility of more. Even if it's complicated. Even if we have to take it one step at a time." Her eyes locked with his now, clear and steady. "I see you, AJ. Not the version you think you need to be. Not what Serena needed. Just… you. And I like what I see." She smirked lightly, wanting to make this moment less gloomy and more hopeful…it was a positive thing for both of them.

The wind stirred again, rustling the branches above like the soft exhale of something ancient and wise. "I think you're right," she added softly. "This place is good for honesty."

A pause.

"And I'm really glad you came." She smiled then—full and warm, with just the faintest glimmer of something hopeful flickering behind it. Something that, for the first time in a long time, looked like the beginning of more.

 

[AJS Roleplaying]

AJ felt the words settle around him like dappled sunlight, slow and warm. He didn't move right away - he couldn't. Not when her voice was still echoing in his chest, still curling around the tight corners he hadn't realized were so starved for oxygen. There was something sacred in what she'd just said. Something naked and brave. And it shook him more than he wanted to admit.

For a long moment, he didn't speak. Then, softly - God," he said, rubbing a hand down his jaw, "you have a way of making a guy feel like the only person on the planet."

He looked over at her - not just at her, but into her. There was no performance in his gaze. No agenda. Just a quiet awe, a breathless kind of gratitude.

"I didn't think I'd hear that today," he admitted. "Any of it. I figured maybe we'd talk about weather and art and… ducks." His lips tugged into a half-smile, self-deprecating. "Not that I mind ducks. But, what you just said? That means more than I can put into words. Because I think part of me needed to know I wasn't going crazy. That someone else saw what I've been afraid to say out loud."

He let his head fall back slightly, eyes following the delicate dance of willow branches overhead. "I thought I was broken," he said. "Like maybe I was the one who stopped trying. Or stopped being enough. Serena used to be this force, you know? She'd walk into a room and rearrange its gravity. I fell for that. Hard. And then over time… I don't know. I think we stopped looking at each other. And started looking through."

AJ leaned forward, elbows on knees again, but his hands moved this time - restless, expressive. "I used to believe that if you loved someone, really loved them, you'd find your way back. But what if you're not meant to go back? What if forward just doesn't include them anymore?"

His voice cracked slightly - not from sorrow, but from truth.

"I'm tired of pretending the house isn't on fire just because it's always looked good from the outside."

He turned to Verena again. This time closer, more earnest.

"And then you - you show up in the middle of all that chaos and somehow it's like… like I can hear myself again." He chuckled, not entirely believing it. "It's wild, right? That we're even here. Talking like this. Feeling this."

He tilted his head, studying her.

"You're right. It's complicated. And yeah, we've both got messes waiting for us when we go home. But I'd rather take complicated with you than simple with someone who doesn't really see me."

A breeze stirred again, lifting a few strands of her hair. AJ reached out without thinking and gently tucked one behind her ear. His hand lingered for a second longer than it needed to - just long enough to say I'm here. I mean this.

He cleared his throat. "Okay, serious moment over," he said with a small grin, trying to lighten the mood. "Now you've got to tell me more about this secret bench of yours. How long have you been hiding it from the rest of humanity?"

He leaned back again, legs stretched in front of him, palms planted on either side of the stone. "And what's the story with the sculpture down the trail? The one that looks like a tree made of copper veins? I saw it on the way in. Gave me goosebumps."

He glanced sideways, that spark of curiosity alive again.

"I mean, you've got this whole eye for things most people miss. I figure you've probably got a dozen stories about this place. Or at least a dozen artist critiques."

There was playfulness in his voice, but the warmth remained. Like even in lightness, he wanted to hear everything she had to say. The real stuff. The weird stuff. The passionate stuff.​

 

[Kita-san]

Verena felt her breath catch somewhere deep in her chest as AJ spoke, not because of the heaviness in his voice—but because of the clarity. It was like standing still in a clearing after a storm, hearing the world breathe again for the first time. Every word he said hit something tender in her. Something long-neglected but still alive.

When he said, "I thought I was broken," she nearly reached for his hand again. Not out of pity, but solidarity. Instead, she stayed where she was, her posture open, heart wide. Because what he'd said was sacred in its own right. And she didn't want to crowd that vulnerability with anything but presence. A faint smile tugged at the corner of her lips when he talked about Serena. That image—someone who "rearranged the gravity of a room"—was so honest, so human, it almost hurt. Verena knew that kind of gravity. She'd been orbiting James for years, wondering when the center stopped holding.

When he said "What if forward just doesn't include them anymore?"—a crack opened in her chest that hadn't been touched in months. Not since the first time she'd cried in the shower with the water running, just so James wouldn't hear. She turned to AJ slowly, eyes bright but soft. "You're not broken," she said gently, firmly. "You're just waking up."

A pause. Her voice lowered.

"And I think I am too." She untucked the leg that she had tucked underneath her earlier. She let her gaze fall for a second, trying to collect herself. She could feel something real threading its way between them—delicate but unmistakable. And when his fingers brushed the strand of hair from her face, she didn't flinch. She didn't retreat. She simply closed her eyes for a breath, letting that small gesture anchor her.

The moment soon came to an end but what bloomed next was a fun yet easy conversation which was always comforting to Verena. When AJ joked about the bench, Verena laughed—genuinely, from her chest. The tension cracked like glass, giving way to something warmer. Lighter.

"Well," she said, shifting back with a faux conspiratorial tone, "this bench? It's mine because no one else appreciates it the way I do. Everyone rushes past it thinking the views get better deeper in, but this one?" She reached out and knocked the smooth edge with her knuckle. "It's the perfect combination of shade, water sounds, and a breeze that always shows up when you need it." She looked at him sideways, a sparkle returning to her eyes.

His question about the sculpture made her perk up more, the way she always did when someone invited her into her passions."Oh, the copper tree?" she nodded enthusiastically. "It's one of my favorites. It's called 'Veins of Memory.' Local artist. She said it was inspired by the way grief branches through the body—like trees, like blood. It's meant to show that loss doesn't leave us, it just changes form. Moves with us. Becomes something beautiful, if we let it."

Verena's tone softened as she spoke, and her eyes lingered in the direction of the sculpture, though it was hidden behind trees now. "I use to come out here when I'm stuck—creatively, emotionally, whatever but lately I almost felt as if I didn’t believe here anymore. I had lost a lot of confidence in myself as an artist but slowly it starting to come back.” She paused for a moment. “This place reminds me that beauty doesn't always have to be polished. It can be rusted. Twisted. Raw."

She turned to AJ again, her voice quieting with sincerity. "And yeah. I do see things. Not because I'm special, but because I had to. Not to be dark or anything but when someone stops seeing you… you start trying to see everything else, just to feel connected to something." She gave a small laugh. "Art always helps though, when it’s not complicated. Complicated clay work is not fun. I end up just smashing the thing in the end.” Her gaze softened again, her vulnerability not withdrawn, but held with dignity now.

Then she bumped her shoulder gently against his. "Now. You've shared your deepest wounds and complimented my secret bench," she teased, smiling. "That earns you coffee. Or maybe a walk past the sculpture so I can give you my very intense, unsolicited artistic breakdown." She stood slowly and offered her hand down to him to help pull him to his feet, it was all still playful but charged with something steady.

 

[AJS Roleplaying]

AJ took her hand without hesitation, the contact warm and steady, fingers closing around hers like a reflex he didn't have to think about. The small tug upward was all he needed, though he could've risen on his own. He didn't want to. There was something about letting her pull him that felt right. Like surrendering to something he didn't have to guard against. Once he was on his feet, he didn't let go immediately. Instead, he looked at her hand in his for a second longer, then met her eyes with a quiet, amused reverence.

"Okay," he said, his voice low and light, "but just so we're clear - if you give me a full sculpture critique and it makes me cry in public, I'm blaming you. And that very intense artistic breakdown? I'm all in. But you have to promise not to judge me if I say something like, 'It looks like a really sad broccoli.'"

He grinned, wide and boyish, the weight of earlier words lingering in his eyes even as he tried to keep things playful. They began walking together, their pace slow and unhurried, side by side along the winding gravel path. The grove seemed to shift with them - willow fronds whispering, breeze curling softly at their heels like a companion. AJ took a deep breath and exhaled like it was the first full one in weeks.

"You know," he said after a few moments, "when you were talking about that sculpture - Veins of Memory - I got it. Even before you explained it. That idea that grief stays with you, changes form... I don't think I've ever heard anyone say it like that. But I felt it."

He glanced at her. "My dad used to say something kind of similar. That some people carry their past like a weight, and others carry it like a map. Depends on if you're trying to escape it or trying to understand it." A pause. "I think I've been running. From Serena, from the silence, from myself. But today? I don't feel like I'm running. I feel... here."

His tone was softer now. More grounded. "Like maybe I needed to find someone who doesn't expect me to be fixed. Who's not afraid of the rusted parts."

The path curved gently toward a wooden footbridge. As they stepped onto it, the boards creaked beneath their steps, a low rhythmic song that accompanied the sound of water rippling below. AJ leaned over the side for a moment, watching the slow current weave around moss-covered stones.

"You ever wonder," he mused, "how many stories are buried in places like this? Like if the trees could talk, what they'd say about all the people who've come here, trying to remember who they are?"

He straightened again and smiled over at her, more gently now. "I don't think it's just the art that helps you see. I think it's you. I think you've been doing it your whole life - learning how to notice the quiet things. The things most people miss."

As they rounded the bend, the sculpture came into view: Veins of Memory. Copper branches arched outward from a gnarled trunk, twisting into delicate, vein-like fingers that seemed to pulse with life in the sunlight. The metal gleamed in tones of amber and shadowed bronze, not perfect, but deeply intentional. AJ slowed to a stop and stared.

"Damn," he said under his breath. "It really does look like it's breathing."

He took a few steps closer, letting the moment wrap around him. Then, without looking away: "You said it's grief that moves through us like that. That it becomes something beautiful, if we let it."

He turned to her now. "I don't think I've let anything become beautiful in a long time. I've just been holding onto the sharp parts. Pretending they don't hurt as much as they do."

He tilted his head, thinking. "Maybe this is the first time I've looked at something broken and thought, that's okay. That's still worth something."

The silence that followed was peaceful. No longer heavy. Just full. AJ slid his hands into his pockets and rocked slightly on his heels. "Okay," he said with a small smile, "I take it back. Not a sad broccoli. It's more like... a tree that remembers."

He grinned at her again, something bright behind it this time. Hopeful. Present.

"And now I think we've earned coffee. Unless you think your intense art lecture deserves lunch. I mean, I'd buy a ticket to that."

He nudged her lightly with his shoulder, echoing the way she had earlier. It was playful. Intimate. Familiar in a way that surprised him.

"You feel good to be around," he said. Simple. Honest.

Then, softer: "And I think I needed that more than I realized."​

 

[Kita-san]

Verena's fingers curled instinctively around AJ's when he took her hand—steady, sure, like they'd done this before in another life. The warmth of his palm against hers made something in her unclench, something small but long-held. A breath she hadn't realized she was holding seemed to leave her body when he stood, and even then, he didn't let go. His gaze lingered on their joined hands, and when he looked up at her again, the expression on his face—half amusement, half wonder—made her heart skip.

She laughed, soft and rich, when he mentioned the sculpture possibly making him cry. "Deal," she said, raising a brow playfully. "But if you start sobbing over my poetic dissection of 'sad broccoli,' I'm absolutely recording it.” She teased.

As they started walking, the gravel whispered beneath their steps, and the air around them seemed to settle into a kind of reverent hush. The grove felt alive—not just with birdsong or wind, but with a quiet knowing. Like it had been waiting for them. Or maybe she was just finally still enough to notice.

When AJ spoke again, something about the way he described his father's words struck her deeper than she expected. Weight or a map. She held onto that. "That's beautiful," she said softly. "Your dad was wise. I think… I've been doing both. Carrying it like a weight and convincing myself it was a map. Telling myself every ache was a lesson, every silence was a sign. But maybe it was just me… trying to make meaning out of being ignored."

She glanced sideways at him, her voice quieter now. "It's exhausting, isn't it? Building stories around people who've stopped showing up. Pretending it's normal to shrink so someone else doesn't feel overwhelmed by your needs." Her throat tightened at that—how normal it had become for her to ask for less. Need less. Be less. But here, with AJ, she didn't feel like too much. Or not enough. She just felt… seen.

As they approached the footbridge, she slowed beside him, their footsteps syncopated with the gentle groaning of the planks beneath. The water below caught the light and shattered it across the stones like fractured stained glass. She leaned on the wooden railing, close enough for their shoulders to brush.

At his question, she turned her head, her smile small and thoughtful. "I think about that all the time. The stories these trees could tell. The confessions they've overheard. All the grief and joy they've held without judgment. I wish I could talk with them. Like they're old friends or something of the sort.” She playfully smiled and looked around at the surrounding trees. “Oh the stories they would tell.” As they rounded the last bend and the sculpture came into view, Verena's breath caught.

She watched him, not the sculpture—watched him take it in. The way his gaze softened. The way his shoulders fell. The reverence in his silence. And then he said it: "Maybe this is the first time I've looked at something broken and thought, that's okay."
She felt something inside her ache—not from sadness, but from the beauty of truth spoken aloud. The beauty of him trying. She stepped closer, her eyes locked on the copper sculpture as she spoke. "It's okay to hold the sharp parts," she said gently, "as long as you're willing to let them change shape. You don't have to drop them all at once. But maybe let them bend. Let them breathe."

She turned toward him then, eyes luminous with something like wonder. "And you're worth something, AJ. Not 'once you've figured it out.' Not 'when the dust settles.' Just… now. Rust and all." Her words were laced with honesty and kindness. This moment was everything she needed it to be.

When he took back his broccoli joke, Verena couldn’t help but giggle—unrestrained, pure. She shook her head in agreement. “Seeeee…it’s more than just a sad broccoli." she said through her grin. “And to answer your question lunch sounds like the best way to go.” She added.

In a few short minutes Verena gave her take on the large sculpture before then. She explain how the mental was manipulated, she gave AJ all the logistic of it before pausing to let it all sink in. Before saying anything else she heard the sweet words that left his lips.

"You feel good to be around."

Those words did something to her. Not because it was grand or poetic—but because it was real. Plainspoken affection. Unpretentious intimacy. She could feel the truth of it settle in her bones like warmth.

"You feel good to be around too," she said softly, the words leaving her mouth like a secret she'd been holding for days. Her voice was a murmur, just loud enough to reach him over the hush of the breeze and birdsong.
She took a slow step closer, drawn toward him not by impulse, but by something quieter—steadier. Something rooted. Her body responded before her mind could argue. Not out of recklessness, but recognition. Like her heart had already decided, and now the rest of her was catching up.

The space between them seemed to hum. Their eyes found each other and didn't look away. In AJ's gaze, she saw something that felt achingly familiar—like home after a long absence. Not flashy or dramatic. Just… safe. Grounded. Real.

And in that stillness, Verena realized just how easy this felt. How rare that was. There were no masks between them. No tiptoeing. No careful silences or unspoken resentments. Only breath, and warmth, and the soft ache of something new beginning to take root.

Her eyes flicked down to his lips, unthinking—drawn there by gravity more than curiosity. I wonder if this is meant to happen, she thought. But the truth was, her body already knew the answer. Without hesitation, she closed the final inch between them.

Her lips brushed his first—tentative, almost questioning. But the second they met his, it deepened instinctively into something more certain. Her full, soft mouth molded to his in a kiss that was both tender and searching. Not rushed. Not demanding. Just true. When she finally pulled back, her eyes fluttered open slowly. They searched his face, a trace of vulnerability in them, but no regret. No apology. Just breathless honesty.

 

[AJS Roleplaying]

AJ stood still, heart pounding in a way he hadn't felt in years, not even during the most heated fights with Serena or in the quiet victories of reconciliation that never really reconciled anything. When Verena's lips touched his, something inside him gave way - not like a dam breaking, but like the quiet unlocking of a long-sealed door. Her kiss wasn't tentative for long. It deepened almost immediately into something real, something felt, and his body responded without thought, without caution.

He kissed her back - fully, deliberately.

His hand found the curve of her waist first, drawing her closer, not out of desire alone but something more grounding. He tilted his head to better fit the shape of her mouth, and the way they met felt shockingly natural, as if their bodies had already known each other longer than their minds could admit. His other hand brushed her jaw, thumb gently grazing her cheek. It wasn't hunger. It wasn't escape. It was reverence - like touching something sacred after years of starvation.

The noise of the world dulled, hushed into the wind that rustled the leaves above, into the water murmuring beneath the nearby bridge. There was nothing now but her. Her warmth. Her breath. Her presence. And the truth of what was passing between them. His pulse thundered in his ears, but not from panic. From clarity.

He wasn't supposed to feel this. Not by the rules of marriage. Not by the lines society had drawn. But the rules hadn't saved him. The lines hadn't kept him whole. They'd only carved his life into shapes he no longer recognized. For years he'd been fading - dimmed under the weight of obligation, performance, silence. With Serena, he'd been living in a house made of photographs—smiling memories framed on the walls, curated and distant. But in this moment, with Verena, everything felt raw and unfiltered. There were no photographs here. Just presence. Just truth.

When the kiss finally broke, their lips parted slowly - reluctantly. His forehead leaned gently into hers, as if neither of them wanted to step away, as if breaking the physical closeness would somehow undo what had just occurred. Their breaths mingled in the cool air between them, shallow and uneven. AJ's eyes remained closed at first, trying to hold the moment just a little longer before the world intruded again.

But guilt didn't come. He waited for it. Expected it. The old reflex of shame - his lifelong companion - should have flared up by now. He should've felt sick. He should've felt like a liar. A cheater. A coward. But he didn't. He felt alive.

Not euphoric. Not reckless. Just awake in a way he hadn't been in years. Not since before the long silences with Serena. Not since before he learned how to shrink to keep the peace, how to talk about everything except what mattered, how to perform intimacy instead of living it. He had been coasting through numbness for so long he had forgotten what it meant to feel something this clearly.

And what he felt now wasn't lust or infatuation. It wasn't fantasy. It was warmth. It was being seen. It was peace.

His eyes opened slowly, taking her in - not just her beauty, but her presence. She stood there grounded, unashamed, not demanding anything of him. And that, more than the kiss, undid him. She hadn't kissed him to steal something. She wasn't trying to claim him. She had kissed him because it was the only honest thing either of them could do in that moment. And he had kissed her back for the same reason.

He let out a slow breath, as if releasing something that had lived in his chest for too long. His fingers, still resting lightly at her waist, curled slightly - not to pull her closer, but simply to stay connected a little longer.

"I should feel ashamed," he said at last, his voice low, almost a whisper. "But I don't."

He looked down briefly, almost surprised by his own confession. Then his gaze returned to hers, steady and quiet. "I just… feel awake. Like I've been underwater for years, and you pulled me to the surface."

He paused, letting the weight of those words settle between them.

"I know this changes things. I don't know what that means yet. But I know this wasn't nothing. It wasn't a mistake."

There was no apology in his voice, only a gentle resolve. It wasn't defiance. It was honesty - hard-earned and quietly spoken. He reached up, brushing a piece of hair from her face, his fingers lingering just a second longer than they needed to. The gesture was tender. Certain. And when he spoke again, his voice was softer still.

"Whatever happens next… thank you for reminding me I'm still here. That I'm still someone who can feel this deeply. That I'm not broken. Just… waking up."

His throat tightened, emotion flickering beneath the words. Then he let his hand fall, not in retreat but in reverence, as though he'd just touched something fragile and holy. And in many ways, he had.

He didn't know what tomorrow would ask of him. But today, this moment, was his first honest breath in a very long time.​