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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[Kita-san]

When AJ mentioned walking to a nearby park Verena nodded before her brain even caught up with the impulse. Yes. Her body had answered for her. The café had become too bright, too noisy—its open layout and bustling crowd pressing in on her already-frazzled nerves. She needed air. She needed space. And more than anything, she wanted to be somewhere quieter with him. Somewhere the eyes of the world couldn't find them so easily.

She rose when AJ did, wrapping both hands around her cup like it was the only thing anchoring her. The coffee had gone lukewarm, but she held it anyway. The comfort was less about the drink and more about something to do with her hands.

They stepped out of the café into the open air. A gentle breeze tugged at a few strands of her hair, and she instinctively tucked them behind her ear. The late afternoon light was slanting in golden ribbons across the sidewalk, and for a moment it felt like the day might actually soften around the edges.

Until she heard a woman call out.

Verena's heart jumped, thudding against her ribs. Her fingers clenched slightly around her cup. Her mind immediately filled in the blank: Serena. It had to be Serena. Of course it would be Serena. The universe had a cruel sense of timing, and Verena had learned never to count on clean exits or easy conversations. But it wasn't her. The woman approaching was unmistakably skeptical. Verena's heart rate slowed, but only marginally. If this wasn't Serena, it was someone who knew Serena. Someone from her world.

Verena managed a polite smile and a small wave when she was introduced. The woman didn't bother hiding the way her gaze skimmed over Verena—measuring, assessing, judging. Her expression was cordial, but cold. She didn't say much, but her silence said enough. Her eyes flicked between them with the precision of someone who was already forming an opinion.

Verena could feel herself bracing. Not for confrontation, but for the quiet kind of trouble that ripples out without a sound. She just hoped whatever assumptions were made wouldn't come back to hurt AJ. She could handle judgment. She was used to it. But AJ… he had more to lose.

Once the woman walked away, her heels clicking back toward some higher-end reality, Verena breathed out slowly. Her chest still felt tight, but her feet kept moving. The tension eased a little when the park came into view—green and open and blessedly quiet.

She walked beside AJ in silence for a moment, then asked gently, "Your wife… is she still out of town?" Her tone was careful, more curious than prying. She remembered AJ had told her Serena left to give him space, but a few days had already passed. Part of her wanted to ask more. Part of her didn't want the answer.

The scent of fresh-cut grass and early summer leaves filled the air as they entered the park. It was quieter than she expected—just a few distant voices near the playground, a couple of joggers, a breeze rustling through the trees. It felt like a hidden pocket of calm in a world that hadn't given her any all week.

"There," she said, pointing to a bench tucked away beneath a tree, just out of view of the walking path. "That one."

They crossed the grass, and when she sat down, her whole body seemed to let go all at once. She sank back into the bench like it might hold more than her weight—like it could carry the heaviness in her chest, too.

Verena took a deep breath and stared straight ahead, watching a dog in the distance chase a ball. "Do you ever just want to sleep your problems away?" she asked suddenly, voice dry with a tired sort of humor. "Like… disappear under a blanket in your favorite room and not come out for three days?"

Her laugh was quiet, almost sheepish. "I seriously considered it earlier. But then I realized I still have to, you know… be a functioning adult. Pay people. Feed myself. Pretend everything's fine." She sipped her coffee again, now more out of habit than thirst.

A beat passed, and then her voice softened, shaded with a hesitant kind of hope. "I've got a big show coming up soon," she said, glancing over at him. "One of the biggest I've ever done, actually." There was a hint of pride in her voice—but also nerves. So much of her life felt like it was cracking apart, but this event… it still held weight. It was still hers.
"You should come," she added, looking at him fully now. Her smile was small, sincere. "I think you'd like it. It'll be fun, I promise. A little fancy, though. So you'd have to dress up."

Her tone was light, teasing—but underneath it was a quiet invitation. A subtle reaching out. Not just for his presence at the show, but for something more. A part of her wanted to say, I want you there. I want you to see who I am when I'm not falling apart.

 

[AJS Roleplaying]

AJ followed Verena through the park in silence, matching her pace as they drifted toward the bench she'd pointed out. As they moved out of view from the street, past the trees and the tidy landscaping, he could still feel the lingering tension in his shoulders from that unexpected encounter with Lila.

God, of all people, it had to be her.

He'd seen the look on her face - the one that came right before polite gossip. The one that said she was filing this away for later, for when she had Serena on the phone. His stomach turned at the thought. There hadn't even been a moment to prepare for it. Just a name called in public and suddenly, the illusion of privacy was gone.

AJ shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and glanced sideways at Verena as she lowered herself onto the bench. Her whole body had seemed to exhale once she sat, like she'd been holding everything in just to stay upright. She looked tired. Beautiful, but tired. When she asked about Serena, he didn't hesitate.

"Yeah," he said, settling next to her, his knees just a few inches from hers. "She'll be in Europe for a month overseeing some big project. Said something about the space between us being a good thing."

His voice was low, steady, but honest. He didn't want to say too much. Not now. Not here. But Verena deserved an answer, and he wasn't going to insult her with vague deflections. He'd been thinking about Serena less than he probably should be, and Verena more than he expected. That had to mean something.

AJ leaned back on the bench, one ankle resting across the opposite knee, his hand still wrapped around the coffee cup as it cooled. "The truth is, I think space was just her way of stepping back without calling it what it is. Like if we don't say the words, then we can pretend we're not breaking anything." He gave a short, humourless laugh. "But it's already broken."

He went quiet for a moment, watching a couple jog past with their dog. Then, as if remembering the shift in Verena's voice, he turned toward her. She looked different now - not fragile, but vulnerable. Like she was trying to stand tall despite the weight.

When she mentioned her show, AJ straightened a little.

"You're doing a show?" His face lit up, something sparking behind his eyes. "That's amazing."

He didn't miss the way she softened when she said it. Didn't miss the pride and the pressure wrapped up together in her voice. It wasn't just a career move. It was a reclamation. Then came the invitation.

"You should come."

And for a second, he just looked at her, surprised she'd asked. Then the answer came out of him with no hesitation—more impulse than decision.

"Yes," he said, firmly. "Absolutely yes. I want to be there."

His words weren't loud, but they carried weight. "I want to see you in your element. To see what you've built with your hands. What you've created out of all of this." He gestured vaguely, encompassing the chaos of the last few days, the pain she'd shared, the world she carried on her back. "You've got this fire in you, Verena. Even when everything's falling apart."

He gave her a small smile, one that didn't try to fix anything, just acknowledged what was.

"Fancy's fine," he added after a beat, with a playful shrug. "I clean up okay. As long as you promise not to judge my tie."

He sipped his coffee, grimacing slightly now that it had gone cold. "But seriously. I want to be there. I want to see that side of you. The side that doesn't apologize for taking up space."

A breeze drifted through the leaves above them, sending dappled sunlight across the bench. AJ leaned back, letting it touch his face for a moment, letting the quiet settle between them again. The kind of silence that didn't need to be filled. The kind that felt… earned.

There was so much still unsaid. So much unspoken between them. But in this moment, with the sound of distant birdsong and the faint laughter of children from the playground, AJ felt it clearly - this was something real. Not a mistake. Not a secret. Just real.​

 

[Kita-san]

Verena understood AJ more than he probably realized. When he spoke about his marriage—the slow unraveling of it, the avoidance masquerading as civility—she saw herself in every syllable. Her own relationship with James had become a delicate balance of silence and survival. Conversations avoided. Emotions suppressed. Truths softened until they became lies. And sometimes, worse, she was the one choosing not to speak. Not because she didn't feel things, but because she was tired of feeling them alone.

But now, hearing AJ say he wanted to come to her show—really wanted to be there—Verena couldn't help the small rush of warmth that bloomed in her chest. Her fingers absentmindedly ran through her tousled waves, pushing the hair from her face in a motion that felt oddly vulnerable.

"Okay, perfect," she said, her smile lifting not just her lips, but something deeper in her spirit. "I'm so glad you said yes. I've got some amazing pieces to show this time, and I'm featuring a guest artist too—her stuff's unreal. Bold, emotional. It's going to be a big night."

Her words came out fast, fueled by the excitement she hadn't realized she'd been keeping bottled. James never came to her shows. He always had something come up—an excuse, a delay, a polite pat on the back paired with a glance at his phone. But AJ… AJ didn't feel like an obligation. He felt like support. He felt like choice.

When he joked about his tie, Verena giggled—an actual, full laugh, light and disarming. "Oh, but AJ," she said dramatically, placing a hand over her chest. "If it's bad, I have to judge. It's in my artistic code of ethics."

She smirked, then added with a playful shrug, "Though honestly, I probably won't even notice. I'll be too busy pretending to be the kind of graceful hostess who isn't elbow-deep in clay 90% of her life."

The breeze teased the hem of her shirt and the curls around her face. She let it. For the first time in days, she felt like she could breathe a little. Her shoulders didn't ache with the weight of everything left unsaid.

Then, quieter now, her tone shifted.

"Thank you for meeting me," she said, her hazel eyes locked gently with his. "I really hope I didn't pull you away from anything important." She meant it. She knew this moment wasn't supposed to be more than a quick coffee, maybe a bit of fresh air. And yet, sitting here, all she wanted to do was reach for his hand, lean against his shoulder, press her lips to his and forget everything else. But she knew better. Public space meant boundaries. Meant being careful.

Before she could navigate those tangled feelings, a voice cut through the calm like a jagged crack across glass.

"Verena? Oh my God, how funny to run into you here!"

Verena blinked, startled, and turned toward the voice. A tall, athletic blonde jogged toward them in sleek yoga shorts and a matching sports bra, the kind of woman who glowed even mid-run. Her ponytail swayed with confidence. Verena's stomach dropped the moment she recognized her.

Sophia.

James' executive assistant. The one he insisted was just a colleague, just a friend. The one Verena had met months ago and hadn't given much thought to—until now.

"Oh. Okay—yeah, Sophia. Nice to see you," Verena said, her voice strained under the weight of forced politeness. Sophia, clearly oblivious to the rising discomfort, kept going. "It's been so long, V! I always ask about you at the dinner parties—James says you're constantly buried in your art." She grinned like she was sharing some kind of inside joke. "You really should come out with us sometime." Verena's breath caught. Dinner parties? James mentions going to dinner but never it being some sort of party. He never invites me to these things. She thought.

She forced a smile. "I'll try to make the next one." "Oh, so you are coming tonight?" Sophia chirped. "James said you wouldn't. The group's got a private room at that new luxury sushi place downtown. Karaoke after, maybe."

He told her I wasn't coming? He planned something tonight and didn't even ask if I wanted to go? Something inside Verena curled in on itself. She gestured vaguely at the dried clay on her clothes. "He's right—I've been… in my own world lately." Her words were thin. Fragile. Sophia nodded sympathetically. "Well, we'll miss you! Oh—" her eyes flicked to AJ, as if just noticing him. "Friend of yours?" Verena didn't want to answer. Not now. Not in front of someone who spent more time with her fiancé than she did. "Yes," she said flatly. "This is AJ."

Sophia smiled, far too sweetly. "Nice to meet you, AJ. Well—I better get back to my run!" She waved, her toned form disappearing down the path like some kind of glowing reminder of everything Verena wasn't.
Verena sat there, stunned. Her coffee sat forgotten beside her. Her limbs felt numb.
She let out a small, bitter laugh and leaned back against the bench, her hands limp in her lap. Her gaze stayed on the sky, unfocused.

"I feel so stupid…" she muttered under her breath. God, I look nothing like her. Another irrational thought. She let out a deep breath. Fighting the building pressure building inside.
There was silence for a beat. The wind rustled gently, soft against the noise screaming inside her. Then she looked at AJ, eyes tired, raw with emotion. "I'm going to go," she said quietly. "I just… I don't want to be outside anymore." The brightness that had filled her only minutes earlier had been extinguished. Not by AJ. But by the sharp, familiar ache of being reminded how invisible she'd become in her own relationship. She didn't want AJ to see her like this—doubting, unraveling, compared.

She stood, brushing clay from her jeans that wouldn't come off. A fitting metaphor, really. No matter how much she tried to clean herself up, the mess always lingered. "Thanks for the coffee," she said, her voice softer now, tinged with the embarrassment of feeling too much in front of someone she was still trying to figure out.

 

[AJS Roleplaying]

AJ's chest tightened as he watched Verena's posture collapse, the light in her eyes dimming with each heartbeat. He felt that familiar knot coil in his stomach - half anger at the injustice of Sophia's offhand insinuations, half empathy for the sudden weight she carried. Slowly, deliberately, he rose from the bench, his movement unhurried so as not to startle her. He brushed at a few stray grass clippings clinging to his jeans, an almost unconscious gesture, as he stepped to her side.

He lowered his voice immediately, leaning in just enough so that passers-by wouldn't overhear. "I understand," he said, quiet but firm. Though the breeze stirred the leaves overhead and carried distant city sounds to their ears, his words felt heavy in the hush that settled between them. He recognized that asking her to stay in the spotlight of the bench, now tainted by humiliation, would only intensify her discomfort. He simply offered: "Let's get you out of here."

He turned to locate his abandoned coffee cup on the ground, retrieving it and carrying it a few steps to a trash bin. With a gentle toss, he disposed of the evidence of their earlier normalcy. Then he pivoted back to face her, his gaze unwavering. He observed the faint clay smudges on her jeans, the way her fingers twitched as though attempting to wipe away more than just dirt. Compassion warmed his expression. "Can I walk you somewhere? Maybe back to your car?" His tone was soft, patient; he made no assumptions about what she needed, only offered simple assistance.

As they walked side by side toward the park exit, he maintained a respectful distance—close enough to signal solidarity, yet far enough to honour her need for space. In his mind, Sophia's words replayed: casual references to dinner parties Verena had never been invited to, the implication that Verena was an outsider in her own life. A surge of protectiveness rose in AJ's chest, accompanied by a flicker of anger toward James for allowing that gulf to exist. But he swallowed the impulse to rail against James; now was not the time for confrontation. His role was to offer quiet support, a silent promise that he saw Verena's worth, even if others overlooked it.

When they reached the threshold of the park, AJ paused. The street beyond was calm, the early evening light soft and diffuse, painting the pavement in pale gold. He turned, meeting Verena's gaze with steady eyes. He noticed how her shoulders still trembled faintly, and how her fingers flexed, eyes distant. He managed a gentle, sympathetic smile. "I'm sorry that happened," he said, voice sincere, devoid of judgment or impatience. "No one deserves to be spoken to that way." He paused, letting the sincerity linger. "Would you like me to drive you home? Or somewhere you feel safe?" His words were an open invitation, free of expectation.

He watched her for a moment, giving her time to gather herself. He resisted the urge to fill the silence with his own anxieties; instead, he simply stood beside her, hands relaxed at his sides. The breeze ruffled his hair, carried the scent of grass and damp earth, and he drew in a slow breath, grounding himself in the present so he could be fully there for her. He felt the distance between their lives acutely: his torn marriage, her fractured relationship with James, yet in this moment, those troubles coalesced into a shared understanding.​

 

[Kita-san]

It took every ounce of restraint Verena had not to show up at James's dinner party. The urge clawed at her—loud and relentless—daring her to walk through that door, stand in front of everyone, and lay bare all the ways he had hurt her. She wanted him to squirm under the spotlight, to feel the sting of humiliation, the same way she had—quietly, repeatedly, in the privacy of their unraveling. But she couldn't do it. Not because he didn't deserve it, but because that kind of cruelty didn't sit well on her shoulders. She had spent so long cushioning his ego, protecting his image, sacrificing her voice just to keep the peace. It was second nature now, like muscle memory. Even her anger came with guilt.

Spending time with AJ, of all people, had been a surprise—an unexpected detour from the version of herself she had been for so long. The Verena who walked on eggshells, who didn't speak unless spoken to, who let love become something to survive instead of something to feel—that Verena wouldn't have entertained AJ's attention. But she wasn't that person anymore. Or at least, she was trying not to be. Change was harder than she thought. The past clung to her skin like a second layer, hard to shed, easy to slip back into.

Whatever she and James once shared—it was gone. Irretrievable. A ghost she kept trying to talk to. Now there was just this vast, aching emptiness where their future was supposed to be. This—the silence, the uncertainty, the painful self-doubt—this was her new normal. And it was wearing her thin.

Today felt like a new low. The kind of day that pressed on her chest, that made her want to dissolve into nothing. She wasn't sure she had the strength to pull herself out this time. And she couldn't expect anyone else to do it for her—not her mother, not her friends, and definitely not AJ. Whatever they had—or were trying to have—was unspoken, undefined. There were no promises, no rules, nothing binding it together except fleeting moments and mixed signals. So she kept her feelings to herself. She didn't ask for anything. Didn't dare name the things she wanted from him, because to want was to risk scaring him off.

When he asked her to take her somewhere, she looked at him with tired eyes. "Can you take me to my studio?" Her voice was quiet, almost unsure. "I don't feel like going home. I just… need to be there." Her hands slipped into the deep pockets of her jeans, as if hiding them could also hide the trembling that had begun in her fingers. He nodded, said nothing, and together they walked back toward the café parking lot. She recognized AJ's car and wordlessly approached the passenger door.

The ride was filled with silence, the only sound her soft directions guiding him through the streets. No music. No small talk. Just the low hum of the engine and the spaces between them, growing louder with every passing block. Verena wanted to say something—anything—but she didn't trust herself. She wasn't sure if what she was feeling was real or just residue from everything she had lost.

When the studio finally came into view—a large, converted industrial space with tall windows and a weathered brick facade—she exhaled for the first time in what felt like hours. Her shoulders dropped slightly, and for a moment, the heaviness lifted.

Once the car stopped, she turned to him. "Thank you for the ride, AJ." Her hazel eyes flicked down to her lap, her fingers twisting together. She could feel the weight of everything unsaid pressing against her ribs.
She didn't know what this was between them. She wasn't sure if she was reaching out to AJ because she genuinely saw something in him—or because she needed something, someone, to soften the fallout with James. But AJ… he had this pull. He sparked something in her that had long been dormant—curiosity, desire, a dangerous kind of hope. And yet, she wasn't blind. She could see how careful he was around her. Too careful.

Maybe it was because of Serena.

Even in private, when no one was watching, he kept a quiet distance between them. It made her question everything. The kiss they shared—the one she had initiated in a moment of raw vulnerability—was starting to feel like a glitch, an accident he was too polite to bring up again.

She reached out instinctively, fingertips brushing the air toward his hand—but she stopped herself. The gesture died in her lap.
"Have a good night, AJ," she said softly, forcing a small smile that didn't reach her eyes. She reached for the door handle, gripping it a little too tightly. Her keys jingled as she pulled them from her pocket and stepped out of the car.

She didn't look back.

The large entrance door closed behind her with a metallic thud, leaving the night—and AJ—in the silence she couldn't bear to share anymore.

 

[AJS Roleplaying]

AJ watched the studio door close behind her with a heavy finality that sat wrong in his chest. Thunk. That sound echoed louder than it should have in the quiet street, sharper than the distant buzz of traffic or the occasional breeze brushing against his windshield. She hadn't looked back. He didn't expect her to. But something about that made it worse. Not because he needed her attention, but because he could see it, really see it, how much she was holding in.

AJ stared at the door for a few seconds, his hands resting motionless on the steering wheel. The weight of her silence filled the space she'd left behind like smoke. And underneath it all was a pressure in his chest that he didn't want to name but couldn't ignore. He knew the feeling. He'd lived with it. The quiet collapse someone tries to carry alone. He was supposed to drive away now. That would've been the boundary-respecting thing to do. But his hands wouldn't move.

Because something about the way she'd exited - tired, small, but trying so hard to appear composed - haunted him. She didn't need a saviour. She'd never once asked him to fix anything. But AJ knew, with absolute certainty, that what she did need right now wasn't more silence. Not tonight. Not in the aftermath of being made to feel invisible.

He climbed out of the car. The air outside was cooler now, the sky dimming into that late-evening blue that softened the edges of things. His footsteps were quiet against the sidewalk, almost hesitant, as he approached the tall industrial building. He didn't know what he was going to say when he got there. He only knew that leaving her alone inside, after everything that had unfolded, felt wrong.

He found the door unlocked. AJ stepped inside, slowly. The studio smelled faintly of earth, glaze, and the soft tang of drying clay. He didn't call her name. He didn't announce himself. Instead, he walked a few steps in, careful to stay near the entrance, scanning the space like he might startle something delicate. He spotted her - a silhouette in the back corner, half-obscured by a shelf of ceramics and brushes. She hadn't noticed him yet. Her back was to him, shoulders hunched, arms wrapped around her torso like she was trying to hold herself together.

He didn't move any closer. He just stood there, letting his presence speak where words would only fumble. Something inside him told him that she didn't want comfort that came with sympathy. She wanted presence. Witness. Someone to sit in the room and not look away. So he did. A minute passed. Then another. Time in the studio didn't tick the same way as the outside world.

He let his gaze travel the space. Sculptures in various stages of completion. Tools scattered across the counter. An open sketchbook, a few pages dog-eared. The remnants of a life she poured herself into. Her real life. The one James clearly didn't understand. AJ's jaw tightened. He thought of Sophia's chirpy tone, the way she'd spoken about Verena like she was some distant ghost, talked about her in the third person even while she was standing there. "James says you're constantly buried in your art."

Buried? No. She wasn't buried. She was building. Surviving. Creating something real while the man she loved played host to a life that didn't seem to have room for her anymore. AJ stepped back slightly, letting his shoulder rest lightly against the wall. His arms crossed, not defensively, but like someone settling in. No pressure. No expectations.

After a few more minutes, she turned. She looked at him, really looked at him. AJ didn't speak. His eyes met hers, steady, open, unflinching. Then, just one sentence.

"I didn't want to leave you alone."

His voice was calm, low. There was no question in it. No suggestion that she should invite him closer, or offer an explanation for how she felt. Just truth. A simple answer to a silent question she hadn't asked. He watched her chest rise and fall, her expression unreadable at first. But her body eased, just slightly. That small shift - the subtle uncoiling of her shoulders, the tension in her jaw softening - told him everything he needed to know. He stayed where he was.​

 

[Kita-san]

She stood there for a moment longer, back still half-turned, as if deciding whether or not to let the weight of his words settle. Her fingers twitched where they pressed into her arms, nails digging in like she was trying to ground herself in the silence between them. Slow deep breaths seemed to help, she found herself coming back to the surface. She had been drowning before.

When she finally turned fully, it wasn't graceful. It wasn't cinematic. It was slow, hesitant—like the moment you come up for air after staying underwater too long and you're not quite sure the surface is real.

Her eyes met his, cautious but clear. "I didn't expect you to follow me in," she said quietly, her voice thick but even. She didn't mean it to sound cold—it wasn't. It was just… honest. Surprised. She had been sure he would drive off the second she closed the studio door behind her. The layout of the studio was specific, it was large and made for overnight stays. It was her home away from home.

Verena glanced around the space, the scattered pieces of her life that had become more like limbs than objects. The clay stained apron that was crumpled up on the floor, the smudged charcoal prints on containers of paint—they made more sense than anything she'd said aloud in days. Maybe weeks.

When her eyes found AJ again, she noticed the way he stood—steady, still. Not pushing, not pretending to understand more than he did. That mattered more than he probably knew. He wasn't looking at her like she was fragile. He wasn't trying to fix her. He was just here.

She exhaled, and the sound came out uneven, almost like a laugh that got caught halfway. "You know, I keep wondering what the hell I'm doing," she admitted, her voice just above a whisper. "With all of this… with you." She stepped toward the workbench, her fingers brushing across the edge like she was drawing strength from its solid surface. Her eyes didn't leave his. "I feel like I'm unraveling in slow motion, and every time I think I've hit the bottom, it shifts again. And James—James just keeps smiling like nothing ever cracked."

Her gaze flickered down, jaw clenched before she continued. "I didn't come here to fall apart in front of anyone. Especially not you. But I also didn't want to be alone tonight."
She looked at him again, this time with a flicker of vulnerability, like something inside her had finally split just enough to let him see the mess beneath the surface.

"I didn't want to be alone," she repeated, more certain now. "So… thank you. For not leaving." Her voice trembled at the edges, but she didn't look away. Not this time. And maybe that, in itself, was a beginning.

 

[AJS Roleplaying]

AJ didn't answer right away. He didn't need to. The way she looked at him - raw, unguarded, trembling with truths she hadn't planned to say - struck something deep in him, something that bypassed the usual instinct to problem-solve, to speak too quickly, to offer comfort in the form of distraction. Instead, he let the silence breathe between them. Not awkward. Not heavy. Just real.

And then, slowly, he moved toward her. There was nothing dramatic in the gesture. No sweeping movement, no theatrics. Just a quiet, deliberate step after another, until the distance between them dissolved. He didn't ask permission. He just reached out - arms open, steady - and wrapped them around her. A deep, full-bodied hug. One meant to anchor, not engulf. One that didn't demand composure or explanation. His arms around her were warm and certain, like a shield from the world she'd been shouldering for too long. He felt the tension in her body - tight, coiled - and he didn't say "relax," because he knew better than to ask her to let go before she was ready.

But he was there. Holding her. His voice, when it came, was low - close to her ear, soft and certain.

"I'm not leaving," he said, the words gentle but firm. "Not tonight."

He tightened his arms around her just a fraction, enough for her to feel the truth of it, the solidness of him there.

"You don't have to be strong right now," he murmured. "Not around me. Not for me."

His hand moved slowly up her back, a grounding motion, not to soothe her like a child but to remind her she was here. That she could lean, just this once.

"You're safe with me." He didn't add "I promise," because promises like that can feel hollow when someone's hurting. But his tone carried the weight of it. Steady. Unflinching.

He held her for a long time, saying nothing more. Letting her press into him or pull away as she needed. No conditions. No expectations. Just presence. He remembered what it was like - the way grief and confusion and betrayal could tangle up inside you until even breathing felt like effort. He remembered how often people walked away because they didn't know what to do with that kind of mess. How silence from others could deepen a person's isolation.

But he wasn't going anywhere. AJ closed his eyes briefly, resting his cheek lightly against her hair. The smell of clay and faint charcoal dust clung to her, the scent of someone who built things with her hands even as her heart fractured beneath the surface.

"You don't have to talk," he said quietly. "Or explain. Or hold it together."

His voice was the kind you didn't have to answer—like the hush in a storm when you realize someone stayed behind with you.

"I'm here," he added.

He didn't pull away. Didn't move until she did. And when, eventually, her breath evened out, or maybe her knees softened slightly into the hold—whatever tiny signal she gave that the worst wave had passed—he slowly eased his arms from around her but kept one hand resting lightly at the small of her back. He looked down at her then, not searching for a reaction, just grounding himself in the fact that she was still standing. Still here.

"Come sit," he said gently, nodding toward a beat-up sofa nestled against the far wall of the studio, half-buried in throw blankets and oversized pillows—clearly a fixture of long nights and restless mornings. "We don't have to talk. I just want to stay with you awhile."

He paused, then added with a small, almost-smile, "Unless you're secretly dying to show me how to use a pottery wheel. In which case, I'm fully prepared to embarrass myself."

It wasn't a joke so much as an offering—something light to fill the cracks if she wanted it. But only if. He kept his distance now, just enough to give her the space to choose what came next. Whether that was sitting, working, collapsing into silence, or simply standing there in her own studio, in her own skin, while someone stood quietly in her corner for once. AJ didn't need to define what was happening between them. He didn't need to ask for clarity or a plan or a label. Not tonight. Tonight, she didn't want to be alone. So he stayed.​

 

[Kita-san]

She stood there in his arms like a house that had been boarded up too long, creaking under the sudden weight of warmth. Her breath hitched against his chest, her face buried in the space between his collarbone and shoulder, where his scent lingered—clean soap, faint pine, something grounding. Something real.

AJ didn't hold her like she was fragile. He held her like he saw her. Every shattered piece. Every frayed edge. Every inch of her she had tried to tuck away beneath quiet strength and polite smiles. The world outside that studio didn't exist for a moment. Just this—his arms around her, his voice low and steady, the way he didn't flinch when she completely leaned into his embrace.

Her hands, clenched into fists against his chest at first, slowly began to unfurl. Not fully—she didn't know how to do that anymore—but enough. Enough to grip the fabric of his shirt like it could anchor her. Like if she held on hard enough, she wouldn't drift off into whatever emotional riptide had dragged her here in the first place.

When he said, "You don't have to be strong right now," something inside her cracked open. Not in a loud, dramatic way. No screaming or sobbing. Just a quiet, internal splintering—like the final thread snapping on a seam that had been strained for years. A single tear slipped down her cheek, hot and unforgiving. She didn't wipe it away.
Her body was tense even in his embrace, like it didn't trust the softness, the stillness. Like at any moment, the world would pull it all away again.

But he didn't. He stayed.

She folded her eyes, she let herself feel—the sheer weight of it all. James's betrayal. The slow erosion of her self-worth. The years of compromising pieces of herself just to be kept in someone else's orbit. The feeling that maybe she'd become invisible somewhere along the way—only to be noticed again when it was convenient for him. And now this man—this confusing, careful, complicated man—stood before her, asking for nothing. Demanding nothing. Just being.

When he mentioned the couch she followed his eyes toward the couch. She nodded wordlessly and walked with him to the worn-out couch. Verena set very close to AJ. She still wanted to feel so much of physical connection with him so when he sat on the couch she leaned into the side of him as she sat next to him. Her eyes flicked up to meet his when he joked—so gently, so carefully—about the pottery wheel. And to her own surprise, the corner of her mouth twitched. Just a little. Not a smile exactly, but the beginning of one. A flicker of something warmer trying to push through.

"These walls only ever seen me fail. It might be nice to have someone else fail at the hands of the wheel," she teased. No one has ever asked to use her wheel before. Of course the idea sparked her interest, she loved to show people what she loved to do most.

Her gaze lingered on him and for the first time that night, she reached for him. Just lightly. Her fingers brushing his knuckles, not laced, not clinging. Just there. A silent thank you. A silent don't leave yet. She then used her hand to brush some of his hair back from his face. She wanted to clearly see his beautiful eyes. I’m that moment she could easily get lost in them.

 

[AJS Roleplaying]

AJ felt the brush of her fingers across his knuckles like a whisper of trust - light, tentative, but deliberate. It said more than words ever could. His breath slowed, attuning to hers, as if their rhythms were trying to sync after all the dissonance the night had pressed into them. When her hand reached up and swept his hair gently from his face, his heart stilled in his chest. Her touch wasn't casual. It wasn't hesitant either. It was intentional. And intimate in a way that made everything else fade - the quiet hum of the studio, the faint sounds from the street outside, the restless thoughts that usually occupied the corners of his mind. None of it mattered. Only this did. Her, here. With him.

Their eyes locked. And for the first time that night, AJ didn't hold back. He brought his hand up slowly, cradling the side of her face, his thumb brushing the line of her cheek where that single tear had carved its way down earlier. His other hand remained lightly over hers, anchoring them both in this moment neither of them had asked for, but somehow both needed.

"You're not invisible," he murmured, the words spoken more through feeling than certainty. "Not to me."

And then he leaned in. Not in a rush. Not like before, at the park, where it had been sudden - reactionary. This time it was quiet. Intentional. A slow narrowing of space. A shared breath. A single, suspended second that seemed to hum between them. Their lips met softly, but the kiss deepened with aching clarity. It wasn't frenzied or questioning. It didn't ask for anything, didn't try to solve or erase pain. It just was - full and warm, lingering with the kind of quiet reverence that could only exist when two people stopped pretending.

His hand at her cheek slid to the back of her neck, fingers threading gently through her hair as he pulled her a fraction closer, not forceful, but sure. Her body fit against his like it had been looking for this place to rest. Like maybe she hadn't realized how badly she needed to be held - not just by arms, but by intention. AJ's chest rose and fell with the steady pull of breath, every nerve alert yet calm, like the stillness after a storm. And even as the kiss softened, as he slowly pulled back, he didn't move far. His forehead rested lightly against hers, eyes still closed for a beat before opening.

He searched her face. Not for regret, or panic, or withdrawal - but for her. Whatever truth she might show him in that moment. Whatever she might allow him to see now that the air between them had changed. That kiss hadn't asked for a promise. But it had meant something. And if there was even the slightest hesitation in her gaze, the smallest retreat behind her eyes, he was ready to give her space. To wait. To let her have this moment on her own terms. But if she let him stay, really stay, AJ knew he'd stand right here in the wreckage with her for as long as she needed.

He brushed his thumb again along her cheek, slower this time, a silent check-in. His voice was a near whisper when he spoke again, low and steady. "You don't have to say anything." He let his words linger, gentle but certain. "Whatever this is… whatever it becomes… I'm not going anywhere."

He didn't press for more. Instead, he stayed close, one arm draped behind her shoulders as she leaned into him again. The studio lights cast long shadows across the concrete floor, soft and flickering, like everything was slowly settling into place. Outside, the world still spun - dinners were served, laughter echoed across patios, phones buzzed with unanswered texts—but here, in this corner of Verena's sanctuary, time had quieted.

AJ let the silence return. Not as a gap, but as a comfort. And if she leaned in again - if she rested her head against his shoulder or pulled her knees up beside his, or reached again for his hand - he would be there for every second of it. No noise. No fixing. Just this. Just them.​

 

[Kita-san]

Verena felt her heart swell in the silence between his words. Not in a dramatic, movie-scene kind of way—but in that deep, quiet ache that sits right beneath the ribs when something true is happening. She didn't realize she was holding her breath until she heard his voice again.

"You're not invisible. Not to me.”

God. The way he said it—not like a line, not like a rescue, but like he meant it—made her eyes sting all over again. But this time, not from sadness. From something much more dangerous. Hope.

His kiss had settled something in her chest, even as it stirred everything else into chaos. There had been nothing performative about it, nothing rushed or uncertain. Just intention. Just presence. He hadn't kissed her to save her. He'd kissed her because he saw her. And because in some strange, cosmic accident, she saw him too. And maybe that's why she leaned in again—this time with her whole self.

She leaned back on the couch for a moment and nestled into his side. She brought her knees up into the couch. She felt comfortable is this ball position. Her hand found his again, fingers sliding against his, not tentative now but anchored. Like she'd decided to choose this—whatever this was—in the middle of all her ruin. Verena looked up at him slowly, studying his eyes, memorizing the curve of his mouth, the softness at the corners of his expression. He was waiting. For her. No pressure. No assumptions. Just… waiting.

“Whatever this is…I don’t mind it at all.”

Their eyes caught each other again. There was that pull again, something that she felt in moments like this with AJ. He was exactly what she needed without her even asking for it. Before doubt could find its way in, she leaned up towards him, closing whatever gap there was and kissed him.

This time she initiated it. Fully. Deliberately.

The kiss wasn't timid. It but it wss soft. It was everything she hadn't said, everything she hadn't allowed herself to feel—poured into a single, gentle moment. Without thinking anything through her lips parted his, and her body pressed closer, like she needed to pour all the loneliness, all the fear, all the aching silence that had built up in her life into this connection. Into him.

James didn’t matter tonight. Her relationship didn’t matter. She didn't pull away quickly. She let the kiss linger, deepen. She let her fingers eventually tangle with his, she let herself get lost in the way he tasted—warm, familiar, steady. When she finally pulled back, she kept her eyes closed. Their breath tangled together in the space that remained.

"Maybe I don't know what I'm doing," she whispered, eyes still closed. "Maybe this is messy and complicated and not smart. But right now? I don't care."

She opened her eyes and looked into his—really looked, like she wanted to make sure he saw her without the armor. Without the mask. Just Verena. Bruised but breathing. Afraid, but finally letting herself want something again.

"I just want you here. Like this." Her voice trembled, but not from uncertainty. From the weight of the truth it carried. "And if this all falls apart tomorrow, then fine. But don't walk away from me tonight." She adjusted her position a bit so that she was sitting up and facing AJ. The word cracked at the edges, but it wasn't begging. It was an invitation. To stay. To feel. To matter.

And in that moment, Verena knew—this wasn't about replacing James, or healing a wound overnight. This wasn't about the future or what label they wore or how carefully they'd tiptoe around what came next.
This was about finally being seen. And kissed like she was someone worth staying for.

 

[AJS Roleplaying]

AJ felt the shift immediately the moment Verena drew him in again - her intention clear in the way she closed the gap between them. He rose slightly to meet her, and their lips met in a kiss that felt different from the one in the park: quieter in urgency but deeper in its knowing. The studio's dim light and the private space allowed them a freedom they'd not had before. The world beyond these walls, with its expectations and judgments, seemed to fade until only the two of them remained.

As the kiss deepened, AJ's hands moved with care, resting lightly on her back and shoulders, not in a rush but in a gentle exploration of her figure. He paused often, watching for any sign of hesitation - any flicker of discomfort that might mean he should stop. But Verena leaned into him, offering her own assent in the softness of her response. He could feel the vulnerability she'd allowed him to see: the loneliness, the fear, the longing for someone to hold her truly, without performance. He held her in turn, offering steadiness. In every gentle movement, he was asking, "Is this okay?" and in the way she pressed in, he took that as her quiet yes.

He let his touch be warm and slow, acknowledging her openness rather than seeking anything beyond the moment. This was not about desire alone; it was about affirming her worth, showing that her vulnerability was met with respect, not exploitation. He brushed a fingertip along her arm, paused, then settled his hand where it felt natural - on her waist, then at her back - ever mindful of her comfort, checking in through the tender rhythm of their lips. The contact was intimate but restrained, shaped by the trust she'd given him. He did not rush, nor did he pull away abruptly; instead, he remained present, fully attentive to her.

When at last he leaned back, drawing a gentle breath that mingled with hers, AJ searched her eyes. The light in them was soft but vivid, a reflection of the raw honesty between them. Verena's whisper met him: "Maybe I don't know what I'm doing… Maybe this is messy and complicated and not smart. But right now? I don't care." He felt the tremor in her voice, not of doubt, but of the weight she'd carried and was now unburdening, even briefly, into this connection.

He cradled her face with careful tenderness, brushing a thumb lightly along her cheek where a tear had once fallen. "I'm here," he replied, voice hushed but certain. "Tonight, I'm here with you." When she spoke of wanting him here and not wanting him to walk away, AJ felt the depth of her invitation. He recognized how much courage it took for her to voice it. He drew her close again in a protective embrace, wrapping his arms firmly but gently around her. "I'm not going anywhere," he murmured. "You don't have to be strong for me, or for anyone, right now. You can just be you."

He held that embrace, letting the silence speak: they could stay like this for as long as she needed. His mind was clear of past constraints or future anxieties; in this moment, all that mattered was honouring the trust she offered. The studio around them, strewn with half-finished pieces and tools, bore witness to her creation and her unravelling; now it also held this fragile, tender interlude.

Eventually, he eased back just enough to look at her face. He offered a small, reassuring smile, one that acknowledged the complexity but also celebrated the human need for connection. "We don't need answers tonight," he said. "We don't need plans or promises for tomorrow. Just this, right now, is enough." His hand found hers again, fingers lacing gently, grounding them in the reality of shared presence. "I want you to know you can lean on me, even if it's just in a moment like this. I respect every piece of you, your strength and your cracks alike."

He stayed close, allowing the quiet to settle around them again. He noted the way her breathing slowed, the tension in her shoulders easing imperceptibly. He offered another, gentler kiss, not to cross a new boundary but to affirm the one they had just shared. It was a kiss of reassurance, of solidarity, of recognition that she was seen and valued.​

 

[Kita-san]

A slow, genuine smile curved across Verena's lips after the last kiss, soft and unguarded, the kind of smile that came from someplace deep—where warmth fought its way through everything cold and uncertain. Her chest rose and fell in a measured breath, her heart still thudding, not with panic now, but with something more grounding. Reassurance.

It wasn't just what AJ had said. It was how he'd said it. It was how he'd touched her like she wasn't breakable, just… human. How he'd kissed her like it meant something—without conditions or timelines, without needing her to be anything but exactly who she was in that moment. It made her hope, for the first time in a long time, that things might get easier. Maybe not immediately. Maybe not cleanly. But hopefully, after tonight, the fog between them—and between her and James, and him and Serena—might finally begin to lift.

She sighed softly, then leaned back just enough to meet AJ's eyes, her smile lingering like the fading echo of a melody. "Okay," she said, voice light but edged with sincerity, "let me give you a small tour. Then you can embarrass yourself on the wheel."

She stood up, brushing her palms against her jeans, the quiet energy of the studio wrapping around her again like an old friend. AJ watched her as she moved—there was a grace to Verena when she was in her element, a quiet confidence that didn't beg for attention, but drew it anyway.

She led him across the studio, past the workbenches littered with tools and fragments of past ideas—half-formed sculptures, cracked test pieces, and glaze experiments left mid-thought. The smell of clay, wood, and faint citrus from a candle that had long since burned out hung in the air like a signature.

"Here's where the magic happens," she said, stopping near the pottery wheel with a little smirk. "I've got enough materials here to build a damn cathedral if I wanted to. Name it—I probably have it tucked in some drawer or buried under something." She glanced back at him, eyes twinkling. "I'm an artist, not an organizer.”

The wheel sat at the center like a throne—its surface still speckled with dried bits of clay from the last time she'd been too focused to clean up. Tools hung on a nearby pegboard. Sponges, ribs, and wire cutters were neatly—almost—within reach. Verena trailed her fingers along the rim of the wheel like she was greeting an old friend.

After a pause, she crossed to the opposite side of the room. The vibe shifted slightly—more personal now. Tucked into a corner was a small living area: a nice sized bed pushed against the wall, a compact fridge humming softly, a plain enamel sink, and a curtained door that led to a bathroom.

"Now, this is where the magic doesn't happen," she joked, motioning toward the bed with a lazy wave of her hand. "But it's where I crash when I'm too exhausted—or too… over it—to go home." Her smile faltered for a breath, a flicker of truth behind the light tone. She didn't need to say James's name. AJ would know.

She caught his gaze, her own expression softening. "What do you think?" she asked, tilting her head slightly. "Pretty nice, right?" Her voice took on a teasing lilt again, easing the moment back into something lighter. "Now come on—let's get you messy."

She strode back to the wheel and grabbed a clean apron from a nearby hook, tossing it at AJ with a grin. "This is the closest thing you'll get to armor. Wear it proudly."

Verena sat on the sturdy wooden stool in front of the wheel, slipping into the space like it was made for her. Her hands moved with fluid ease as she began to demonstrate. She walked him through every detail—how to center the clay, how much water to use, where to position his hands. Her voice was confident, almost melodic, and her fingers shaped the mound of clay with muscle memory born of years—each motion practiced, intuitive, hers.

She glanced over her shoulder at him, a playful spark in her eyes. "See? Not that hard. You just have to listen to it. Let the clay tell you what it wants to be." Then she stood, wiping her hands on a towel and gesturing for him to take her place. "Now you try."

Verena watched him carefully, her arms folded but her face open, patient. "Get a feel for her first," she said quietly, her voice almost reverent now. "Don't rush it. Just… listen."
And as he sat, she stood beside him, close enough to guide him if needed, but not close enough to interfere. The artist in her held back, but the woman—the one who'd just kissed him, who had let him see behind the curtain—she leaned in just a little. Letting him try. Letting him stay.

 

[AJS Roleplaying]

AJ caught the apron mid-air, laughing under his breath as he slipped the thing over his head. It smelled faintly of clay and lemon, somehow both rugged and fresh - just like everything in this studio, everything about her. He looked around once more before stepping toward the wheel, noting the way this place felt like an extension of Verena herself - raw, lived-in, brimming with intention but without pretence.

"Guess I better not screw this up," he murmured with a grin as he sat down on the stool.

He reached for the wet mound of clay in front of him, and immediately his hands were unsure. Slippery. Uncoordinated. "Shit," he muttered, the clay wobbling as he tried to centre it like she'd shown him. He glanced up toward Verena, who stood watching, her arms crossed but her posture relaxed. There was no mockery in her expression - just quiet encouragement.

AJ steadied his hands, trying again. The clay spun beneath his fingers, resisting at first, then slowly starting to respond. He recalled her voice - "Don't rush it. Just… listen." So he listened. Not just to the wheel, or the clay, but to the silence between them. The hum of the studio. The breath they seemed to share in the stillness.

"You make this look easy," he said softly, keeping his eyes on the spinning clay. "But it's like trying to read someone who doesn't want to be read."

Verena didn't reply - not out loud. But AJ felt her step closer, her presence warm and quiet. He could feel the heat of her body beside him even before he turned his head to glance at her. She was watching intently, not correcting him, just… being there. And that, somehow, made everything else feel steadier.

He shaped the clay until it vaguely resembled a bowl—lopsided and trembling at the edges, but intact. He pulled his hands back, lifting them with exaggerated caution, like a surgeon finishing a delicate procedure.

"Boom," he said, deadpan. "Modern art."

He turned to look at her, smiling at his own ridiculousness. But what he found wasn't laughter - at least not yet. Verena was still watching him, something softer in her gaze now, something deeper. The moment stretched out, quiet and unhurried, and AJ felt that same pull from before - like gravity, but more personal.

He stood slowly, brushing the clay from his palms. His hands were caked and his forearms smeared, but he didn't care. He met her eyes, searching them again for that openness she'd given him earlier. It was still there. Not wide open, not unguarded - but present. Real.

And that was all he needed.​

 

[Kita-san]

Verena couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up as AJ caught the apron mid-air like it was some kind of sacred relic. There was something endlessly endearing about the way he wore it—completely out of place, yet somehow owning it. She leaned against the worktable, arms folded, watching with a grin as he took his place at the wheel like he was about to face off with a dragon instead of a lump of clay.

"Don't worry," she teased, her voice dancing with mischief, "the wheel only bites if you're cocky."

She moved to stand just behind him, a few feet away, giving him space but still close enough to intervene if he ended up flinging clay across the studio. He touched the mound like it was going to shatter beneath his fingers, and she tried—tried—not to laugh when he immediately lost control of it.

She watched as he paused, took a breath, and tried again. This time his hands moved with just a bit more confidence. Still awkward, sure, but there was focus in the way he leaned in, listening not just to the instructions she'd given but to the feeling of it. His brow furrowed in concentration, tongue caught slightly between his teeth, and it made her smile—God, did it make her smile.

She stepped closer, her arms dropping from their fold as she hovered near, her eyes tracking the wobbling mess that was beginning to resemble—maybe?—a bowl. Or a very sad ashtray. But still, she didn't interrupt. This wasn't about the product. It was about the trying.

When he finally pulled back, lifting his hands like he'd just disarmed a bomb she found herself smiling even more.

"Boom, he says.” She muttered, her face still holding a proud smile. She looked exactly at AJ and crossed her arms again. “Ok ok not bad. I see you." She stepped in beside him and bent slightly to get a better look at the clay creation. "It's abstract. Bold. Very emotionally honest. I love that for you."

She looked up, and suddenly they were closer than she'd realized. Inches apart. Her amusement faded, not into awkwardness, but into something else—awareness. His eyes were on her again, calm and open, and Verena felt that shift in the air, the way it always did when something unspoken became undeniable.

There was a little clay on his face—just a little smudge on his jaw. She reached up without thinking, wiping it gently away with her thumb. But her hand didn't fall away. It lingered. Just like her gaze for a few seconds longer than needed.

"Not bad for your first time," she said quietly, softer now, voice a little breathless. "But your hands…" She took one of his hands in both of hers, turning it palm-up. Clay caked his fingers, his knuckles, his wrists. She traced the lines with her own fingers slowly, thoughtfully, like they were reading braille.
"…definitely need cleaning," she added, and smiled before letting his hand go. She walked in front of the wheel, examining his modern bowl.

“See?" she encouraged. "Art doesn't have to be perfect to mean something.” She made her way over to where the sink is. “Do you want to wash your hands?” She asked knowing he probably wanted to get the clay off his hands and forearms. “Come, I’ll help you. It takes a little work to get clay completely off.”

 

[AJS Roleplaying]

AJ followed her toward the sink without a word, his footsteps quiet against the studio floor. His hands itched with drying clay, but that wasn't what was making his chest feel tight, electric. It was her. The way she'd looked at him. The way her fingers had traced his hand like it mattered - not for how strong or capable it was, but for how real it was. How there he was, in her space, in this moment.

"Bit more intimate than a wet wipe," he said, attempting levity as he stepped beside her. His voice was low, quiet in the hush that had settled over the room. She didn't respond - not with words. Just a glance that lingered. That said enough. AJ held his arms over the sink, and warm water rushed out, steaming slightly in the cool air of the studio. Verena reached for the soap, and without asking, she took one of his hands in hers. Her touch was firm but gentle, practical - but still somehow slow. Her fingers worked through the clay on his palm, over his knuckles, beneath his fingernails. She didn't flinch at the mess. She leaned into it. AJ watched her as she focused, lips slightly parted, brows relaxed in concentration. He swallowed thickly. There was nothing suggestive in the way she was touching him - yet it unravelled him more than anything else could've.

"You know," he said, voice roughening slightly, "if this is your idea of a first date, it's setting the bar really high."

She didn't answer. She switched to his other hand, and he let her, wordless again now. The clay melted under the heat and pressure, sliding off his skin in ribbons that disappeared down the drain. But some part of him felt like he was being stripped, too - layers of noise, of pretence, of whatever he thought he had to be for everyone else. None of it held here. Not in this space. Not with her.

By the time she finished, his hands were clean, but he didn't move. He stayed standing there, her fingers still barely touching his wrists. The silence between them cracked like thin ice - delicate, dangerous, but holding. He shifted slightly, closing the small space between them. Not sudden. Not bold. Just… there.

He lifted one hand - freshly cleaned, but still pink at the joints - and brushed a damp strand of hair from her forehead. His thumb lingered just a second longer against her temple. Her body was still. Listening.​

 

[Kita-san]

Verena stood beside him at the sink, the sound of rushing water filling the space between them like a hush that demanded reverence. Steam curled upward, softening the edges of the studio's harder lines—metal tools, concrete floor, shelves stacked with glaze jars and half-formed creations. But right here, in this narrow slice of warm water and breath and proximity, the world felt strangely quiet. Intimate. Like they had stepped inside a different rhythm, one not bound by everything that waited outside.

She didn't laugh at his joke, though a corner of her mouth twitched upward in response. Not because it wasn't funny, but because this—the way he looked at her, like she was more than just the woman left behind in someone else's story—felt too real to cheapen with words. So she said nothing. Just held his gaze for a second longer than necessary, then reached for the soap with slow deliberation.

She took his hand like it was an extension of her own—clay-slick, rough, cooled by the air and warmed again by the water. Her fingers weren't hesitant. They worked with the confidence of someone used to mess, someone unafraid of it. She rubbed the soap across his palm in soft, circular motions, lifting away the dried clay like she was peeling back a layer of armor.

Verena was quiet, but her presence spoke loudly. Her breath came slow and steady, though inside she felt an odd fluttering. Not panic—presence. The way AJ stood there, not pulling away, not making light of the moment—it undid something deep in her.

His voice came again, quiet and rough at the edges:

"If this is your idea of a first date, it's setting the bar really high."

That earned a real smile and a genuine soft chuckle. “Looks like I better make sure the second one is better.” She looked up at him, the motion subtle, deliberate. Their faces were close now—closer than she'd realized. His expression was unguarded, that same vulnerability from earlier still lingering in his eyes. But it wasn't raw anymore. It was steady. Curious. Open. And it made her chest tighten in the most unexpected way.

She glanced down at his fingers as she gently scrubbed the clay from beneath his nails. There was nothing rehearsed about the intimacy that hung between them. It was raw and unscripted. And it scared her in the best way.

The clay slid from his skin in soft, murky streaks that curled down the drain and vanished. She watched it go, then traced her thumb over his palm one last time before letting go. But he didn't move.

Neither did she.

The silence between them stretched—fragile, charged, like a held breath. Then, slowly, he stepped closer. Just an inch. Then another. She felt it before she saw it, the shift in energy, the narrowing of space. His hand came up, his fingers ghosting over her forehead, brushing a damp curl from her face. She stilled.

The touch was feather-light, but it made her whole body hum with awareness. Her gaze locked with his, and for a moment, all the noise of her life—the guilt, the unanswered questions, the heartbreak—fell away.

She leaned into the space between them, closing the last of the distance. Her hands found the edge of the sink, resting there lightly. She could have spoken. Could have made a joke, or asked him what this meant. But the truth pulsing between them didn't need language.

She kissed him.

It was slow, gentle. Not hesitant, not impulsive. It was a kiss that chose itself—without apology, without fear.

The water still ran behind them, the faucet not forgotten. The steam curled around their bodies, softening the edges of reality. This wasn't a kiss stolen in the dark or hidden between regrets. This was something claimed.

The kiss was brief, but it hummed with something deeper—acknowledgment, appreciation, quiet intensity. As Verena pulled back, her smile was small but genuine, the kind that lingered in the eyes more than the mouth. She turned toward the sink, needing just a second to breathe, to settle the rush of emotion still unfurling beneath her ribs.

The warm water soothed the last remnants of clay from her fingers. She moved slowly, letting her thoughts catch up with her heartbeat. Her hands, once messy with creativity and connection, were now clean, though something in her still felt permanently marked by the night. She reached for the soft towel hanging nearby and dried her hands with care, glancing sideways at AJ as he did the same.

When both of them were finished, Verena leaned against the counter, tucking a damp curl behind her ear. "We should totally stain your bowl and fire it up," she said, nudging his elbow gently with hers, her voice light but sincere. "Make it official. Give it a second life."

She glanced over at the wobbling, lopsided creation still sitting proudly by the wheel. "Maybe I'll take care of it for you. So next time I see you, it'll be ready. You can use it for snacks… or just admire your masterpiece as modern art."

There was a softness in her tone, but the offer was real. A part of her wanted that piece to exist—wanted him to have something from this night. A token. A memory shaped with their hands and the silence between them.

As the remainder of the night went on. Time blurred.

The studio's windows had long since gone dark, the city outside dimmed to the occasional passing headlights and the distant hum of street sounds. Inside, the warmth between them had only grown. After the clay, after the kisses, after the easy way they had started to share stories in the aftermath of it all, it was like they'd stepped into a different version of time—slower, quieter, intentional.

They ended up back on the couch, a cozy sprawl of pillows and mismatched throws enveloping them. Verena tucked one leg beneath her and rested her head briefly against the back cushion, facing AJ. She let out a soft yawn, her fingers lightly brushing over the hem of the blanket draped across her lap.

"This was really nice, AJ," she said, voice edged with sleep but still warm with gratitude. Her eyes drifted to him before she reached for her phone, the screen lighting up and casting a pale glow across their faces. "Heh… it's pretty late."

She held it out for him to see. 1:14 AM.

Her gaze returned to his, eyes softer now, lids half-lowered. "I feel so much better. Thanks to you." The words came gently, but they carried weight. She wasn't just talking about tonight. It was about the way he showed up. The way he didn't turn away when she was a mess. The way he stayed when she didn't ask him to. She pulled her legs up on the couch, getting more comfortable.

"You don't have to stay," she said, her voice calm, nonchalant—but real. "If you're tired or need to get home, I get it. I'm gonna crash here tonight anyway, like I usually do. You're welcome to stay if you want. Or not. No pressure."

And there truly wasn't. Her tone held no expectation, no test or hidden meaning. Just a wide-open space where he could choose. Where she wouldn't flinch either way. But there was something else in her eyes too—something quietly hopeful. The kind of invitation that didn't beg to be accepted but would feel like a comfort if it was. She looked at him, waiting—not for reassurance, not for declarations. Just for him. However he came.

 

[AJS Roleplaying]

AJ exhaled slowly through his nose, the breath barely audible over the quiet hum of the studio and the occasional thrum of passing traffic outside. He stared at the time on her phone, that soft glow reflected faintly in her eyes, and then let his gaze drift back to her face - open, honest, wrapped in that worn kind of comfort that only came when someone stopped trying to be anything other than real.

This was a fork in the road. He could feel it - not dramatic, not defining - but one of those quiet moments that said more than it looked like it should. He could stay. He could walk. He could take the kiss and the shared silence and the half-shaped bowl as what they were: offerings, not promises. And Verena… she wasn't asking for anything. That's what made it harder.

"I should probably go," he said softly, almost to himself. "I mean, it's late. And you've had a long day. A long week."

He stood slowly, adjusting his weight like he wasn't entirely sure what to do with it. The couch creaked as he moved, his fingers brushing the edge of a pillow before falling to his sides. He looked down at her - tired, wrapped up in mismatched blankets and her own calm - but she didn't shrink back. She met him exactly where he was.

AJ scrubbed a hand through his hair and gave a small, lopsided smile.

"But," he added, voice a little rough, "if I stay… it's just to stay. I'm not - " he cut himself off, catching her eye again. "I'm not expecting anything. Not a follow-up to earlier. Not a sequel to the kiss. Nothing physical. I mean that."

His hands spread, an open gesture. Honest. Unguarded.

"I'd just be here. On the couch." He offered a wry grin. "But I'd be here. If you want that."

He paused a beat, then lowered himself back down beside her. Not too close. Just near enough. Close enough to still share the warmth. He leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees, hands clasped loosely.

"Truth is," he said, voice lower now, steadier, "I haven't been in a space like this in a long time. Not just the studio. This. The kind of moment where you don't have to fill the air with noise, or pretend like you've got it all figured out."

He looked over at her again. "You're easy to be quiet with. That's rare for me." His gaze lingered on hers for a few seconds more, and then he shifted slightly. "Besides," he added with a breath that bordered on a chuckle, "I want to see that bowl when it's done. Feels like I've got something to come back for now."

The weight of the day sank into his limbs, and slowly, the stiffness ebbed. His body relaxed against the couch. Not because he was giving in to fatigue, but because something deeper was loosening in him.

"I'm not trying to chase anything here," he said after a moment, not even sure if she was still fully awake. "No finish line, no expectations. Just want to be part of whatever this turns into. Even if it's just a weird pottery footnote."

He smiled to himself, eyes on the ceiling now, his voice little more than a whisper.

"So yeah… I'll stay. If that's okay with you."

He didn't reach for her. Didn't press in. Just stayed where he was, a steady presence in the soft dark of the studio-turned-sanctuary. No pressure. No demands. Only presence. And patience.

It wasn't about staying the night. It was about staying present. And for the first time in a long time, that was enough.​

 

[Kita-san]

Verena watched him through half-lidded eyes, her body already sinking into the plush comfort of her makeshift couch nest, but her mind alert, tuned to the subtle currents running between them. She caught every nuance—the hesitation in his voice, the softness in his eyes, the quiet way he offered himself without armor or agenda. He wasn't performing. He wasn't angling. He was just being—and somehow, that undid her more than any grand gesture ever could.

When he stood and the couch released a soft creak in protest, her chest tightened slightly. Not with panic—just with the ache of knowing the moment was changing. She met his eyes, waiting. Letting him decide. When he said he'd probably go, she nodded gently.

And then he paused. "but."

As he spoke—his voice low and unpolished, his words stripped of anything unnecessary—Verena's expression didn't change, but something behind her eyes did. She sat up a little straighter beneath the blanket, drawing her knees in, folding them like she was bracing herself against the way his honesty landed. Not heavily. Not painfully. Just deeply.

She didn't interrupt when he clarified, when he made it clear what his staying wasn't. No expectations. No pressure. Just… presence. That kind of clarity was rare. And it meant something. More than he probably realized.
When he sat back down—near, but not too close—she turned toward him slightly, just enough to give her full attention. Her fingers played absently with the edge of the blanket as she listened to him speak about silence, about the rare ease of not having to fill every moment with noise or shape it into something that made sense.

"You're easy to be quiet with."

Verena had spent so long being misunderstood in silence, seen but not really seen, that to hear that quiet was not only comfortable but welcome… it cracked something open in her. When he looked at the ceiling, smiling faintly at the thought of being a "pottery footnote," she smiled too—soft, tired, but true. And after a moment of silence, she reached over without fanfare, without thinking, and gently touched his arm. Not pulling him toward her, not asking for more—just offering something back. Contact. Confirmation. A quiet yes in the form of touch.

Her voice, when it came, was low, hushed by the hour, but steady. "That's more than okay with me," she said. "You being here. Just being." Verena adjusted herself slightly so she was facing him, one knee pulled up under her, the blanket pooled at her hips. "Let me get you a bigger blanket.” She smiled before standing up, by her bed there was a small cabinet. Inside were fresh towels, blankets, pillow cases and sheets. Made she sure to keep it stocked with things she might need.

When she returned to AJ she handed him a thicker blanket and a pillow. “Goodnight AJ.” Verena made her way over to the bed that she would be sleeping in. Having someone else in’s studio at night wasn’t something that has ever happened. James had never stayed the night here but having AJ gave her a new sense of comfort. Safety. Peace.

And then she closed her eyes—not to end the moment, but to sink into it. She didn't know what tomorrow would look like. Or what this was becoming.

But tonight, he stayed.

 

[AJS Roleplaying]

AJ settled back against the couch, the thicker blanket Verena had handed him draped over his lap, warm and unexpectedly grounding. He watched her cross the studio floor, small and certain in the low light, the quiet padding of her feet the only sound aside from the gentle hum of distant traffic outside the windows. The soft click of a light switch dimming the space even further pulled the night tighter around them, like the world had finally decided to stop spinning just long enough for them both to catch their breath.

He adjusted the pillow behind his head, shifting to lie on his side, one arm folded beneath it and the other tucked loosely beneath the blanket. The couch wasn't made for comfort, not really. The cushions had that lived-in dip of too many years and not enough fluff, but he didn't mind. Not tonight. His body was tired, but his mind hadn't quite slowed yet. Not with the warmth of her hand still lingering faintly on his arm. Not with the memory of her lips on his and the unspoken understanding that threaded everything between them.

AJ stared at the ceiling, where the soft spill of light from the street lamps outside painted long shadows through the blinds. He let his gaze unfocus. The kind of unfocusing that came when you were safe. He hadn't realized how much he missed this kind of quiet until he had it again. There was a time in his life when sleeping in someone else's space would've felt like a performance. Like something borrowed, or fragile. But here - surrounded by shelves of glaze jars, half-dried mugs, that strange, wobbly little bowl they'd made together - it just felt… still. Like the moment didn't need anything more than what it already was.

His eyes drifted shut. And for the first time in weeks, maybe longer, he didn't lie awake replaying every misstep he'd ever made. He just slept.
​

---

The morning came slowly.

The light crept in through the studio windows with a quiet persistence, slanting across the concrete floor and kissing the edges of scattered brushes, tools, and canvas drop cloths. AJ stirred beneath the blanket, a slight groan escaping his throat as he rolled onto his back. The stiffness in his spine was exactly what he expected from a night on the couch, but somehow, it didn't feel as punishing as it might've any other day.

He blinked at the ceiling for a few seconds, disoriented but not alarmed. Then it all came back - the clay, the wheel, her hands on his, the kiss, the quiet. Her voice saying "Goodnight AJ." The way she looked at him like he wasn't someone passing through.

AJ sat up slowly, raking a hand through his sleep-mussed hair. The studio was still quiet. Still peaceful. The kind of peace that felt earned. He stood and stretched, the blanket falling off his shoulders as he reached toward the ceiling with a soft groan. The smell of clay and faint lavender still clung to the air. It smelled like her. Like the night they didn't try to define.

He padded quietly toward the sink, rinsing his hands and splashing a bit of cool water on his face. No towel nearby, so he shook his head lightly and wiped the excess on the hem of his shirt. He glanced back toward her bed - curtained slightly off by hanging fabrics, almost like a makeshift canopy. She was still asleep. Or at least, she hadn't moved.

For a moment, he just watched. Not in a possessive way. Just… grateful. Quietly grateful that she let him stay.​

 

[Kita-san]

As soon as she head hit the pillow she could feel her body become heavy. She was exhausted. Emotionally and physically but she wouldn’t have been able to sleep if AJ didn’t stay to comfort her. Again she couldn’t help but think about how grateful she was for him tonight. Slowly she drifted to sleep. She slept deeply, curled in on herself. The blanket tucked loosely over her shoulder.

And then slowly… morning arrived.

It wasn't abrupt. It was patient, steady. Light crept across the studio floor like an artist sketching the day into being. It caught on the curve of a half-finished vase, glinted off a jar of stained brushes, and reached the bed, slipping between the hanging fabric that shielded her from view.

Verena stirred.

Her nose scrunched first, catching the faint scent of morning light on concrete and clay. Then her brow furrowed, lashes fluttering as the world gradually pulled her back into it. A soft breath left her lips, followed by a barely audible yawn. Her arm stretched outward and found cool linen.

She blinked into the muted light, her eyes adjusting as she turned toward the rest of the studio. The curtain shifted slightly with the air, and through it she caught the barest glimpse—movement near the sink, a rustle of clothing, a soft sound of running water.

She sat up slowly, the blanket falling into her lap. Sleep clung to her limbs like fog, but she didn't fight it. She let herself move slowly—her muscles remembering how to hold her upright again. The cool morning air kissed her shoulders, and she pulled the blanket tighter for a second before swinging her legs over the side of the bed.

He was there. Not gone. Still here.

She smiled, soft and to herself, like someone letting a secret bloom in her chest. Standing, she ran a hand through her sleep-mussed hair. When she noticed AJ she lightly waved.

"Hey," she murmured. "You survived the couch, huh?"

Her voice was quiet, but laced with something playful and tender. She rubbed one eye with the heel of her palm, then looked up at him more fully. The morning light made him look different. Softer, somehow. More real. Less shadowed by the weight of yesterday.

"Thanks for staying, I hope you slept well. I feel much better this morning.” she said, and meant it. Slowly she made her way over to sink and splashed cold water onto her face, just to give her that extra kick and to fully wake herself up.

“Do you work today?” She asked curiously. “I have to head to the art gallery at some point. There’s still so much to be done with this event coming up.” She looked over her shoulder at him, one eyebrow arched, a smile tugging the corner of her lips.

“You’re still coming right? I just gotta see your tie.” She teased.

Once she dried her hands she began to gather her shoes, phone, purse, everything she needed since she had to head home.she quickly got herself together before approaching AJ. “Ready to head out?”
When the two exited the building the bright rays of sunlight basically blinded Verena. It took her a few seconds to adjust. “I’ll text you.” She smiled softly at him. “Have a good day.”

 

[AJS Roleplaying]

AJ stood just outside the studio entrance, blinking into the sharp brightness of the morning. The door had clicked shut behind them a moment ago, sealing off the quiet pocket of the world they'd shared for one slow, strange, beautiful night. Now, out in the open air, the city greeted them with its usual chaos - distant car horns, the clatter of early deliveries, birds chirping like they hadn't slept at all. Verena stood beside him for a moment, looking over at him with that soft smile that somehow made the morning feel less abrupt. "I'll text you. Have a good day."

He nodded slowly, smiling back. "Yeah… you too."

She turned and started walking toward the direction of the train, her pace easy but purposeful. AJ watched her for a few beats longer than necessary, then exhaled and turned in the opposite direction.
​

---

He walked the first few blocks in silence, his mind thick with the quiet aftermath of the night. It wasn't the kind of silence that pressed against his chest or reminded him of everything he hadn't said. This one felt easier. Like an afterglow. He still didn't know what they were building, what they were stepping into, but he knew it mattered. Whatever it was.

He pulled out his phone once he hit the main avenue and ducked into a coffee shop just opening its doors. The scent of espresso and fresh bread met him like a second sunrise, and he welcomed it with a tired grin. As he waited for his order - black coffee, always - his eyes drifted to a couple seated near the window. They weren't talking, just quietly sharing a croissant and sipping drinks, like they'd done it a thousand times before. Like it was normal. Simple.

AJ looked down at the counter, tracing the grain of the wood with a fingertip. He didn't want to overthink last night. He didn't want to ruin something that had, for once, felt good from the inside out. But still, his brain - it never quite stopped spinning. He hadn't intended to stay over. And even after he said he would, he still half-expected something to shift. For her to rescind the invitation, for the night to become awkward, for the silence to turn into the kind that used to hollow him out. But none of that happened.

Instead, she kissed him. And then said goodnight. No pressure. No expectation. He'd slept better than he had in weeks.

The barista called his name, and AJ snapped out of the spiral long enough to accept the steaming cup. He sipped it immediately, burning his tongue slightly but welcoming the jolt. It grounded him. As he left the shop, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out instinctively, thumb unlocking the screen.

[Verena]: Forgot to say—don't be late to the gallery. Or I'll know you're avoiding the tie moment.

AJ huffed a quiet laugh, the corners of his mouth lifting as he stared at the message. He didn't reply right away. He took another sip of his coffee and kept walking, letting the city fold around him again. But something had shifted. The sunlight was warmer. The morning less sharp. And somewhere deep in his chest, the echo of last night's quiet still pulsed steady - an unfamiliar rhythm he wasn't quite ready to name, but one he wasn't afraid of anymore.
​

---

By midday, AJ was back in his apartment, a small one-bedroom with too many records and not enough furniture. He changed into a fresh shirt, tossed a load of laundry into the machine, and stood in front of his closet longer than usual.

The tie thing. It was half-teasing, half-challenge. He had one decent tie, navy with a faint diagonal stripe. Hadn't worn it since a wedding two years ago. He wasn't a tie guy. Not really. But when he pulled it down and draped it around his neck, he imagined her smirking in approval, head tilted, arms crossed like she was pretending to judge.

He smiled at his own reflection, not entirely used to the expression.

"Yeah, alright," he muttered, tightening the knot slowly. "I'll wear the damn tie."

He glanced at the clock. Still enough time before the gallery setup began. He had no idea how tonight would go. If they'd talk about the kiss. If they'd talk at all about what this was, or what it might be. But one thing was certain - he wasn't going to disappear. Not from her. Not from this. He grabbed his coat, ran a hand through his hair, and headed for the door. Ready to see her again. Ready to keep showing up.​

 

[Kita-san]

Once Verena had her car parked, she made her way swiftly to the front door. Her mind running faster than the seconds ticking by. By the time she entered the bedroom she shared with James, she was already peeling off her day-worn clothes.

The hot shower was a small luxury, but today, it felt like salvation. As the water streamed over her body, Verena leaned forward, resting her palms against the cool tile, letting her shoulders drop. Her muscles slowly began to unwind beneath the heat. A deep sigh escaped her lips, one of those involuntary exhales that came when the world was too heavy and the water was just right.

Her thoughts wandered—inevitably—to AJ.

There was something about the way he made space for her. He listened. He didn't speak over her when she talked about her work, or stare past her like James sometimes did. With AJ, there were no social pretenses, no performances. Just ease. Warmth. Real attention.

She raised a hand to her lips, fingers brushing softly where his kiss had lingered. A kiss that hadn't felt like a mistake. A kiss that should have come with guilt, but somehow didn't. Nothing about that night had felt wrong—just… different. Grounding.

Tilting her head back, Verena closed her eyes, letting the stream of water hit her face and run down her cheeks like a veil. Her dark waves clung to her back as she reached for her shampoo, fingers working the lather through methodically. Tonight, she didn't want to be the girl with clay under her nails and paint on her sleeves. She wanted to be the artist in control—the vision behind the work and the image. Elegant. Poised. Deserving.

After stepping out of the shower, she quickly towel-dried her hair and began packing. Her makeup bag, the elegant black dress she bought just for tonight, matching black heels that made her feel like walking art, and a few delicate pieces of jewelry. Everything was placed carefully into her overnight case. She slipped into a sleek black jumpsuit—modern, minimal, flattering—and flat sandals, then gathered her things to head downstairs.

She had just reached the bottom of the staircase when the front door opened and in walked James. Verena froze, surprised to see him. He was shrugging off his blazer, toeing off his shoes with a tired sigh.

"Are you just getting home?" she asked coolly, adjusting the strap of her bag.

James glanced up at her, his face unreadable. "Yeah."

Verena frowned, arms crossing over her chest. "Must've been quite a party. Thanks for the invite." James stopped, his jaw tightening. "Does it matter? You clearly weren't home last night either." She narrowed her eyes. "Oh, I'm sorry, are we keeping score now? You're mad I didn't crash a dinner party I wasn't invited to?"

James tossed his keys onto the entryway table. "I checked the Ring. You didn't get home until a few hours ago.” He folded his arms, his tone biting. "You're my fiancée, Verena. Though lately, you've stopped wearing the ring, so maybe that doesn't mean much to you anymore."

"I stopped wearing it," she said sharply, "because I got tired of pretending everything's perfect when it's not."

His gaze dropped to the case in her hand, completely ignoring what she had said. "Going somewhere?"

"My art showing is tonight.”

James nodded his head. "Right. Well… good luck with that."

He brushed past her and made sure to pat her shoulder while heading upstairs. Verena stood in silence for a moment, jaw clenched, chest tight with a mix of frustration and exhaustion. She could feel the anger welling, wanting to snap back, to throw one more jab… but instead, she let out a long breath and turned toward the door.

She wouldn't let him ruin this. Not tonight.
_______

The space buzzed with energy. Tall white walls basked in golden sunset light pouring through the gallery's high windows. Crisp linen-draped tables held fresh floral arrangements in deep crimson and blush tones, exactly as she and the planner had discussed. Candles flickered in hurricane vases, casting a warm glow against the concrete floors.

"Thank you so much. This is going to be amazing," Verena said, genuinely smiling at her event planner, who directed her team with efficient grace. Crates of decorations were unpacked, the scent of fresh-cut peonies and eucalyptus filling the air. It was all coming together.

Verena moved to the back room and began carefully transporting her newest pieces to the main exhibit area—each one wrapped, cradled like a secret she was finally ready to share. Her hands moved with reverence. This was her soul on canvas, and for the first time in a long time, she was excited to be seen.

A few hours later, her guest artist arrived, accompanied by assistants carrying an impressive ten-piece collection.

"Thank you again for coming," Verena said warmly, hugging the woman. Her eyes scanned the art, genuine admiration in them. "These are stunning."

"Thank you for the invite," the guest artist replied. "This space is gorgeous."

"I've set aside the entire room to the right for your work," Verena explained. "We'll get everything displayed and perfect before doors open. I'll see you tonight at six."

They hugged once more, the connection between artists unmistakable, a shared understanding that went deeper than words.
As the guest artist departed, Verena stood in the center of her gallery, taking it all in. Everything was ready. All that was left was to change into her dress, do her makeup, and step into the spotlight she had created for herself.

She smiled to no one in particular, the moment finally sinking in. Tonight was hers. And she was going to shine.

 

[AJS Roleplaying]

AJ stood outside the gallery in the waning light, the sky above turning lavender and gold. He could already hear the low hum of music drifting through the doors, the subtle clink of glasses and the murmur of conversation spilling out onto the sidewalk. The whole place glowed. He adjusted the knot of his tie for the third time, fingers fumbling with the crisp fabric like it was foreign territory. It wasn't his usual style - not after realizing the one he had originally picked had a mysterious red wine stain he hadn't remembered acquiring. But this one? Sleek, navy, subtle diagonal stripes. Nothing flashy. It would do. He caught his reflection in one of the tall gallery windows - a shadowed outline, distorted slightly by the glass - and took a breath. Not for nerves. Just to ground himself.

You're not here to impress. You're here because she asked you to be.

Still, something inside him buzzed with electricity. When he stepped through the door, the energy hit him like a quiet wave. The gallery was alive - people mingling in curated clusters, glasses of champagne glinting in hand, soft music weaving through the space like silk. The art on the walls pulled him immediately: fluid lines, bold textures, an emotional undercurrent he didn't have the vocabulary to name but could feel nonetheless. Her fingerprints were everywhere.

AJ moved through the room slowly, weaving past guests in tailored blazers and dresses that shimmered when they caught the light. He didn't know many people here - maybe two, vaguely, from mutual acquaintances - but that didn't bother him. This wasn't his scene, but he didn't feel out of place. Not tonight.

He paused in front of one of her pieces - a large canvas washed in hues of umber and slate, with gold leaf stretched in a jagged arc across the centre like a fault line made beautiful. It stopped him cold. There was something so Verena in it: strength in tension. Vulnerability, but never fragility.

"She's got a hell of a voice," he murmured to himself, then smiled.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement near the far entrance of the gallery floor. The staff were setting up a final velvet rope, and beyond them, the back hallway lit up as the door cracked open. And then, there she was. AJ didn't move right away. His breath caught. Verena stepped into the main gallery space like she belonged there - because she did. Her black dress flowed around her like liquid confidence, hugging the contours of her body in all the right ways, but it wasn't just the outfit. It was the way she carried herself. She moved with a kind of earned grace, not performative, not delicate - rooted.

For a moment, he let himself take her in fully, from the polished lines of her hair to the quiet fire behind her eyes. She hadn't seen him yet. And that was fine. Watching her like this felt like watching a moment happen - a rare, unrepeatable one. She floated between guests, exchanging soft smiles, speaking with the gallery staff, checking the angles of her work with an artist's discernment and a host's poise.

This was her world. Her light. And he was just grateful to be in its orbit.

Someone passed AJ a drink - he hadn't even noticed where it came from - and he nodded politely, lifting the glass but barely tasting the champagne. His eyes kept trailing back to her. When she finally caught sight of him, her expression shifted - just slightly. A flicker of surprise, followed by something softer. Warmer. Like she was seeing something familiar in the midst of all the new.

He gave her a small, two-fingered salute from across the room. Casual. Steady. His version of I'm here. I meant it. And then he turned his attention to the art again, giving her space to greet her guests, letting the moment breathe. He wasn't here to distract her, wasn't here to claim her attention. He was here to support, to witness, to show up. Just like he said he would.

But still, when she began making her way toward him - eyes never leaving his - it lit something in his chest. He straightened slightly, cleared his throat, and murmured under his breath, "Alright, let's see what happens next."

The hum of the gallery faded a bit as she drew near, as if the noise stepped aside to make room for whatever they were stepping into now. And though he had no script for this, no blueprint for what came after, AJ was ready. For her. For all of it.​

 

[Kita-san]

People began to fill the gallery. Verena could feel the excitement from everyone, it gave her a genuine buzz of happiness. “You got this.” She told herself as she looked herself over in a nearby mirror. Her hair was luscious, her waves were defined and neat. Her make was light yet neatly done and her lips were tinted pink. She felt confident and ready to begin her night.

Verena exited from the back room and began making her way down the hallway. She'd seen AJ the moment she stepped out from the back hallway, though she didn't let it show right away. There was a rhythm to these nights—people to greet, quiet notes to check, the subtle choreography of hosting an opening. But as she moved through the gallery, her pulse betrayed her. A shift. A tug in her chest she couldn't name until her eyes landed on him.

AJ.

She noticed the way he stood—not stiff, but grounded, like he was holding space instead of just taking it. A few people brushed past her to offer congratulations, and she smiled, nodded, said thank you—but her attention stayed on the man by the far wall, gazing at the piece she'd poured herself into when everything felt like it was splitting open.

She didn't think he'd come just to impress her. That wasn't his way. And yet… he looked like someone who knew why he was here. Who chose to be here.

As she moved through the crowd, her dress catching the light just so, she felt that subtle gravity between them grow. He hadn't come over right away. Hadn't demanded space or time or spotlight. That mattered more than he probably realized. By the time she reached him, the noise of the room had dulled—blurred behind the low hum in her ears, the one she always heard before a moment that mattered.

She stopped just in front of him, letting a breath linger before she spoke. Her eyes lifted to meet his, steady and lit with something between challenge and curiosity. "You came," she said, a smile curling at the edges of her mouth, not surprised—but maybe a little undone. “Your tie looks good.” She added with a playful smile. "You look good, by the way. Even with the tie. " A glint in her eye. "Though I am curious about how long it might of took you to tie it.” She teased. She was able to play around with AJ and be herself. It was all in good fun.

"So… what do you think? Pretty nice turnout, right?" Verena asked with a soft chuckle, her voice dancing with equal parts disbelief and pride. She glanced around the glowing gallery, the warmth of the evening settling in her chest. "It just feels so alive in here. I can't believe I actually pulled this off."

Her smile stretched wider, lit from somewhere far deeper than her lips. "People are happy. They're drinking, eating, donating… and some are even buying art. Not just mine. The guest artists too." Her eyes shimmered beneath the overhead lights, reflecting the vibrant pulse of the night. "It's great."

She didn't wait for an answer—not yet. Instead, Verena turned and led AJ across the hardwood, her heels echoing in rhythmic confidence. She didn't reach for his hand. She didn't need to. Something in the way he followed her—steady, present—felt just as intimate.

"Come on," she said over her shoulder, her tone laced with the kind of quiet excitement that only came when she was talking about art. "Let me show you the work from my guest artist. It's… actually quite impressive."

In the adjoining room, the light shifted slightly—softer, more golden, as though the space itself had inhaled and quieted for the art. She reached for a glass of champagne off a silver tray, then turned back to him, lifting it slightly before taking a slow sip. "Ten pieces total," she said, gesturing around them, "all curated to speak to each other. A mix of mediums—some oil, some sculpture, even a few mixed media installations.”

She moved alongside AJ now, pausing in front of a large textile piece—stunning in its texture and rawness—and gave him a bit of background on the artist: a young woman from Oaxaca, just starting to break into international circles. Verena spoke with reverence, weaving the story behind the piece as though it were inseparable from the threads and dye.

She didn't have to stay near AJ. There were so many people to see, so many small fires to tend to as the host. But there was something about his presence—quiet but rooted—that made her want to keep him close. When she broke away to greet friends, to exchange hugs with patrons or answer questions from donors, she never drifted too far. And AJ never made her feel like she had to apologize for it. He was just… there. Constant. Supportive. Watching her in her element.

It had been nearly an hour, and Verena felt the rhythm of the evening settling. The conversations became richer, the art glowing under softened light, the gallery a hum of celebration.

And then the air shifted.

The front doors opened again, and in stepped James. He was impossible to miss—tall, sharply dressed, polished to an almost clinical shine. A fitted navy suit clung perfectly to his frame, the fabric catching the light just enough to suggest money and taste. His face was freshly shaved, his jawline clean and unyielding, his smile a practiced, photogenic thing. And in his hand, a bouquet of deep red roses—opulent, dramatic, unmistakably performative.

As he entered, heads turned. He nodded like a politician, greeting people he recognized from Verena's circle. He was charming. Well-trained. And completely out of place in a room built on authenticity.


Verena had just been asked for the tenth time, "Where's your fiancé tonight?" and, once again, she'd offered a polished excuse: "He's tied up with a meeting, but he might swing by later." She never believed he actually would. He purposely avoiding her event.

"Oh Verena, he made it," someone murmured with cheerful surprise. That's when she turned—eyes drawn to the entrance. Her stomach dropped. There he was. Flowers. Smile. Purposeful stride. And she… froze. Why is he here? The thought barreled into her mind, loud and unwanted. Her mouth went dry.

James approached like he was stepping onto a stage. Without hesitation, he placed his hand on the small of her back—possessive, practiced—and leaned in. "Sorry I'm late, love," he said, voice smooth, polished. And before she could recoil, he leaned in and kissed her—lightly, but enough. Enough to be seen. Enough to reclaim. Verena didn't kiss him back. Her body went still, her mind spinning in silence behind her eyes.

"These are for you," he said, offering the roses like they were some sort of peace treaty. Then, as if that wasn't enough, he reached into his pocket and pulled out something small, glinting—her engagement ring. "You forgot this," he added, slipping it onto her finger with deliberate ease. "Can't have you losing it." Verena stared down at the ring now hugging her finger again—its weight suddenly unbearable. He's performing. He's staging this. The way his eyes locked with hers, instructing her to smile, to play along, made her skin crawl.

"Thank you…" she said, the words brittle, lifeless.

"Damn, you look beautiful," he continued louder now, to the crowd, taking her hand and spinning her in place like they were at a gala. Verena flushed. Heat spread to her cheeks—not from flattery, but embarrassment. Discomfort. People clapped. Someone laughed. A small chorus of “Awe's” rippled through the crowd.

Verena smiled. Thin. Hollow. Mask on.
And then—instinctually—she stepped back. Just enough. Just far enough to feel space again. Her retreat landed her closer to AJ, and something in her body exhaled for the first time in minutes. James noticed immediately. His eyes sharpened.

"A friend?" he asked, tilting his head slightly as he stared directly at AJ. The words were casual, but the tone wasn't. There was scrutiny in his gaze—coated in civility, but unmistakably sharp. James scanned AJ from head to toe with subtle calculation. Sizing him up. Dismissing him. Verena didn't answer right away. She was too focused on the contrast between the two men—one who showed up late with roses and theatrics, and one who'd shown up early, simply to be there. No expectations. No performance.

Just presence.

And that difference was suddenly so loud, it was deafening.