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

[AJS Roleplaying]

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

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

Verena "Rena" Bristol written by Kita-san ​

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[AJS Roleplaying]

AJ moved beside Verena in calm, deliberate rhythm, letting the energy of the gallery flow around them like a river they didn't need to fight. He didn't talk much, letting her guide their quiet tour through the space. He'd never been one for scenes like this - champagne, abstract conversation, curated chaos - but in her orbit, it all made sense. Her world had texture. He paused at a piece near the far wall - a ceramic and steel sculpture, lean and unbalanced in its stance, like a dancer mid-turn. AJ stepped in closer, hands in his pockets.

"This one," he murmured, mostly to himself, "feels like a building that survived a fire. Scarred, but somehow more beautiful for it."

She said nothing, but he felt her still beside him, listening. That was enough. They moved from piece to piece, and he noticed the way she tilted her head when someone complimented her work, the little smile she offered when a guest lingered too long in front of one of her favourites. He admired her in the quiet way he did most things - not loudly, not for show. Just wholly.

And then, a shift. Not a sound exactly, but something more subtle - the weight of a new presence entering the room. AJ's instincts, honed from years walking construction sites and city councils alike, caught it fast. Tension slipped through the gallery like smoke.

He turned. James had arrived. Tall, sharply dressed, and already surveying the room like it belonged to him. AJ watched him scan the space, then land, predictably, on Verena. There was no warmth in the gaze. No real curiosity. Just calculation. AJ remained still, unmoved. He'd been in this room before - metaphorically. With property investors who wanted to gut every building, board members who thought being loud was the same as being right. Guys like James weren't new.

Eventually, their eyes met. AJ didn't flinch. He studied the man who had once claimed the title fiancé, taking his measure without judgment, but with total clarity. Then, without waiting, AJ stepped forward and extended a hand.

"Hey," he said, voice steady and friendly. "AJ. You must be James."

James looked at the hand. Then at AJ. Then back at the hand. His expression said plainly that he had no idea who AJ was - and that this surprised and irritated him.

"Sorry," James said finally, shaking the offered hand. "Have we met?"

"No," AJ said easily. "Not yet."

There was a beat of silence.

James tilted his head slightly. "You're…?"

"Architect," AJ replied, calm as ever. "I specialize in breathing new life into old places. Buildings with bones, history, something worth preserving. Not a lot of that left in the world—but when you find it, you fight for it."

James raised a brow, clearly unsure if AJ was being metaphorical or not. AJ smiled politely.

"I work with preservation committees. Reclamation projects. Turning forgotten spaces into something meaningful again."

James gave a nod, though it was clear he didn't know what to do with the information - or with the man calmly delivering it.

AJ continued, voice still friendly, but now with an edge of precision.

"I've found people sometimes look at these old places and only see what's broken. They can't imagine the potential because they're too distracted by the cracks. But if you know where to look - what to restore, what to let go of - there's something worth saving under all that ruin."

He said it like a professional describing his work. But his eyes never left James's.

James gave a tight smile, stepping back a half-inch, clearly feeling the message beneath the words.

AJ didn't press. He simply added, "Anyway, I've heard a lot about you."

James narrowed his eyes slightly. "Funny. I've never heard of you."

AJ didn't miss a beat. "Yeah. That's usually how it starts."

Then he smiled again, not smug, just quietly certain. It was the smile of a man who knew how to rebuild something from rubble - and knew exactly what kind of people usually did the destroying.

With that, AJ turned. He didn't look back. Let James stand there with his confusion and his sharp suit and his need to be the biggest presence in the room. AJ wasn't intimidated by men like that. He'd spent too much of his life bringing dead spaces back to life, proving there was still value in things others had written off. He wasn't here to compete. He was here because she'd invited him in. And he knew the worth of that invitation.​

 

[Kita-san]

Verena watched the entire exchange with a stillness that masked the storm gathering behind her eyes.

It started with a ripple — James entering the space like he owned it, like the gallery was just another venue for his curated image. His smile was rehearsed, his gaze sharp, his gestures calculated. And then there was AJ, steady beside her, taking it all in with a quiet that wasn't passive, but intentional.

She felt it before she even turned her head: the subtle drop in temperature when James clocked AJ's presence. The polite tension. The moment two different species of man measured each other in silence.

And then AJ moved.

No hesitation. No defensiveness. Just calm, deliberate confidence as he stepped forward and extended his hand.

"Hey. AJ. You must be James."

Verena barely breathed. Not because she was afraid — quite the opposite. She was curious. Watching. This was a language she knew. She'd seen James engage in a thousand power plays, watched him disarm with charm or undercut with a smile. But this time, he wasn't walking into a room full of admirers. He was standing in front of someone who saw straight through the performance — and didn't flinch.

AJ didn't puff his chest. He didn't challenge James with posturing or snide remarks. He simply held his ground with quiet purpose, his voice carrying something stronger than ego — conviction.

"Architect… I specialize in breathing new life into old places…"

Verena felt that line settle in her chest. She glanced at AJ, the side of his face lit softly by the gallery light, and saw something different than she was used to. James liked the spotlight — demanded it. AJ, on the other hand, stood just outside of it, not out of shyness, but because he didn't need it to feel seen.

And yet… he saw everything.

Every word AJ said carried more than surface meaning, but he never once lost his grace. There was a measured precision in how he spoke, how he refused to rise to James's provocation, choosing instead to speak with quiet insight and let it hang. And Verena noticed the subtle shift in James—the way his shoulders stiffened, the way his smile thinned just a fraction when he realized this was not a man he could dismiss with a handshake and a raised eyebrow.

Then came the line that struck her like a breath held too long finally exhaled:
"People sometimes look at these old places and only see what's broken… But if you know where to look—what to restore, what to let go of—there's something worth saving under all that ruin."

She felt it. He wasn't just talking about buildings. She wasn't sure if James caught the double meaning. But she did. Every syllable of it. Her spine straightened slightly, heart thudding beneath the elegant drape of her dress. She'd spent years being smoothed over, curated like a showpiece on someone else's shelf. Years being asked to play a role: the perfect partner, the charming host, the quietly agreeable woman beside the man with ambition. But AJ? He didn't just see her. He reflected her back to herself in a way that made her remember her own depth — the cracks she'd learned to cover, and the beauty that had grown through them anyway.

James's final jab — "Funny. I've never heard of you." — rang hollow. Defensive. Weak, even. And AJ's reply?

"Yeah. That's usually how it starts."

Delivered with effortless calm. A scalpel wrapped in velvet. Verena couldn't stop the small, involuntary smile that tugged at the corner of her lips. Not smug. Not performative. Just… impressed. Deeply.

As AJ turned away, leaving James standing there with his confusion and pride, Verena felt her gaze linger on him. Not James. AJ. The man who didn't need to dominate the room to leave a mark. The man who listened more than he spoke. Who walked through a room full of people without trying to impress a single one — and still managed to be unforgettable.

Verena felt the pull before she even realized her body had responded. A quiet magnetism tugged her a step toward AJ—toward calm, clarity, something real. But just as her foot shifted, she felt fingers close around her wrist. Firm. Possessive.

"Where are you going?" James asked, low and sharp.

She turned slowly, not yanking her arm away, but holding herself with quiet resolve. "To mingle," she replied, voice even. She held his gaze, unflinching. "It's my event. I have to circulate." Her smile was polite but unyielding, the kind of smile that looked soft but was made of steel underneath.

James narrowed his eyes, jaw tightening. "When did you meet that guy?" he asked, no longer trying to mask the edge in his voice. "Exactly who is he?" Verena tilted her head slightly, letting a breezy laugh escape. "He's a friend. I met him on that hike—you remember, the one you were so upset I didn’t invite you to?" Her tone was light, but every word was measured. "Turns out he's the architect who restored this very building. Isn't that wild?" She let a touch more warmth bleed into her voice. "It's like… we were meant to meet."

The flicker of irritation behind James's eyes told her the barb had landed. Good. He adjusted his tie, straightened his lapels like armor, and stepped closer, wrapping his fingers around hers with performative tenderness. "Then let's mingle," he said, voice lined with velvet and barbed wire.

Verena let him take her hand, though her body stiffened at the contact. She moved through the gallery at his side, but it felt hollow now, like she was playing hostess in a play she no longer wanted to star in. "So…" she said, glancing at him sidelong, "why are you here? Really." James didn't miss a beat. "To support my fiancée. And to return something you seem to keep forgetting." He held her hand up pointedly, drawing attention to the engagement ring now glinting on her finger like a question she didn't have the answer to.
She forced a smile, but her voice stayed steady. "You think I forget it on purpose?"
James chuckled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "After meeting your little friend? I'm starting to think you've got quite a few things on your mind."

"If you're accusing me of something," she said, her tone clipped but composed, "just say it." "I'm not," he replied with infuriating calm. "Not yet."

They were interrupted by the sudden flash of a camera. A photographer approached, beaming at them. "Verena! Can we get a few shots of you and your fiancé? Everyone's loving this show—huge success!"

Before she could object, James slid his arm around her waist and pulled her close. His smile was wide, teeth bared in perfect symmetry, like they were posing for the cover of a lifestyle magazine. Verena stood frozen, her own smile brittle, her shoulders tense under his touch. Then came the kiss—calculated, showy, completely disconnected. It landed on her lips like cold glass. Her skin crawled with the weight of the performance.

As soon as the photographer moved on, Verena stepped out of James's hold with sudden, decisive grace. "Excuse me," she muttered, already walking.

She didn't look back.

The hallway felt endless, but she moved fast, ducking into the quiet sanctuary of a bathroom and locking the door behind her. Her chest was tight, her hands trembling slightly as she pressed her palms to the sink. In the mirror, she saw herself—beautiful, successful, admired—and yet she barely recognized the woman staring back. She inhaled slowly, anchoring herself.

"You've got this," she whispered aloud, grounding each syllable like a mantra. "You've earned this."

She adjusted her dress, checked her smile, and emerged moments later with the same radiant expression people expected from her—gracious, glowing, seemingly untouched by tension. No one would know the storm just beneath the surface. That was a skill she had long since mastered.

As the night neared its close, Verena stepped to the front of the crowd, illuminated by warm gallery light. The room stilled around her, every eye drawn in. "Thank you all," she began, voice clear and strong. "This evening has meant more to me than I can put into words. To see this gallery so full of joy, curiosity, and generosity…" Her throat caught slightly, but she pushed through it. "It's overwhelming—in the best way."

She invited her guest artist up beside her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "To this talented mind who contributed, who believed in this space and this vision—thank you. You made this possible."

Applause rose like a wave. Warm. Loud. Genuine. The kind that shakes something loose in your chest and reminds you you're not alone. Verena blinked fast, fighting the sudden sting behind her eyes. The support was more than she expected. And it pierced something raw inside her—something long starved.

She spotted James in the crowd, slowly clapping, that inscrutable mask on his face. It didn't comfort her. It never had. She didn't even try to hold his gaze. Instead, she looked past him. Past the smiles and the champagne flutes.

Her eyes found AJ again.

He wasn't clapping for show. He didn't have to. The way he looked at her—it was steady. Real. It said: I see you. All of you.

 

[AJS Roleplaying]

The night had thinned. Guests milled about in smaller clusters now, their laughter quieter, conversations deeper. The kind of atmosphere where things got real. AJ had stepped away, drawn to the quieter end of the gallery, where the original beams of the old building still bore scars from its past life. He ran a hand along one of them absentmindedly. The imperfections told their own story - ones that most people missed if they weren't paying attention.

He didn't turn when he heard the footsteps. Measured. Purposeful. He already knew who it was. James appeared beside him, but kept a small distance. No one else was near. Verena was still out front, surrounded by admirers, her voice floating faintly over the music. The space around them was still, like a pause in the evening that didn't belong to the rest of the party. James broke the silence.

"You're full of surprises."

AJ glanced at him, then back to the beam. "So are most buildings. If you're paying attention."

James chuckled once, low and humourless. "You're not what I expected."

"Good," AJ said, not looking at him. "Expectations are lazy."

James took a step closer, his voice quiet and sharp. "Let's get to it. I don't care what version of the tortured genius you're selling here - I just want to know what you're doing with Verena."

AJ finally turned. There was no change in his expression. No defensiveness. No smugness either. Just presence.

"I'm not doing anything with her," he said evenly. "She's not a project. She's a person."

James gave a thin smile, eyes scanning AJ like he was trying to read blueprints he didn't understand. "You think I don't know your type? Quiet. Introspective. Pretend like you're above all this but still circling the centre like everyone else."

"I'm not circling anything," AJ replied. "I don't need to. I build things. Restore things. I know what's worth saving - and what isn't."

The pause stretched. James's jaw clenched.

"You talk like you're here for some noble cause," James said. "But let's be clear - this building is mine. This gallery, this spotlight, this woman? Mine."

AJ stepped closer, not to threaten - but to shrink the space between truth and performance.

"You know what the thing about ownership is?" he said softly. "You can only claim something if you truly understand it. You walk around polishing what looks good on the outside, trying to hide the cracks. I work with cracks. I rebuild from them."

James stiffened, his voice lowering to a growl. "I don't need a philosophy lecture from a nobody."

AJ smiled, just slightly. "You don't know me. That's fine. Most people don't, until they walk into something I've brought back from the edge and realize they're standing in something that should've been gone - and isn't."

He paused, letting the words settle like dust after demolition.

"Look, I've dealt with men like you before," AJ said, tone never rising. "Big voices. Bigger egos. You think people follow strength, but what you're selling is control. Different thing."

James's mouth twitched. AJ leaned in slightly, not threatening - just real. Unflinching.

"Let me give you something for free, since you're clearly not used to paying attention unless it benefits you: not everything beautiful needs to be owned. Not every scar needs to be covered. And not every man is afraid of someone like you."

James blinked. The confidence he wore like armour cracked just slightly.

AJ straightened, his gaze level. "I'm not here to compete with you. I'm not here to tear anything down. But I'll be damned if I let you bulldoze something just because you don't understand how to take care of it."

He let the moment hang. Then, casually, AJ extended his hand. "Anyway. Architect. AJ. Nice to meet you."

James looked at the hand like it was a challenge. It was. But not the kind he knew how to win. Eventually, he reached out and gripped it - too firm, trying to assert something. AJ didn't flinch. He never did. The pressure didn't matter. It was the intent that told the story. James dropped the handshake first.

AJ's voice was light as he added, "People usually haven't heard of me at first. That's usually how it starts."

Then he turned and walked away, leaving James standing in the quiet corridor, staring at the beam AJ had touched - an old piece of timber that had outlasted everything around it. Still here. Still holding everything up.​

 

[Kita-san]

Verena had spent the last hour moving from guest to guest, thanking them for coming and exchanging warm farewells. Her heels ached and her cheeks hurt from smiling so much, but the adrenaline from pulling off a successful art showing kept her upright. There were still a few last minute details to take care of—some invoices to check on, a catering tray that had gone missing, and making sure the last few pieces were cataloged properly before everything wrapped up. She hadn't even had time to notice who had stayed behind… or who might have found each other.

What she didn't know was that, while she was busy tying up the evening's loose ends, James and AJ had crossed paths again—and had a conversation she hadn't anticipated or wanted. The last thing Verena needed was for her fiancé to meet the man she'd grown so close to. She hadn't expected James to show up at all, let alone linger. But here he was. And there wasn't much she could do about it now.

As the gallery began to empty and the hum of conversation quieted into a soft background murmur, Verena finally exhaled. The night had been a success. With that thought in mind, she decided to find AJ. She hoped he was still around. She wanted to celebrate with him, share the joy of what she'd accomplished. A part of her worried—was he upset? Had James said something to him? Would he even want to see her after that?

She made her way toward the entrance, scanning the space for any sign of AJ. Her heart quickened, not out of nerves, but anticipation. But before she could reach the doors, James stepped into her path. His approach was sudden and deliberate, cutting off her route like a closing gate. His expression was serious, unreadable.

"Watch it with him," James said flatly. His voice wasn't raised, but it carried an edge. "I don't necessarily like the guy." Verena stiffened. She didn't need to ask who he meant—there was only one "him" that mattered tonight. She crossed her arms, eyes narrowing just slightly.

"I don't necessarily like Sophia," she shot back, her tone even. "But that never stopped you from seeing her outside of work."

James didn't flinch. He didn't even acknowledge the comment. It was like her words passed through him without leaving a trace.

"I'm going home," he said after a beat. "Come home tonight." The words hung there, more command than invitation. Verena blinked, taken aback. For months he'd been distant, uninvolved. Now he wanted her to come home? Why? What had changed?

What for? she thought. It's not like he ever makes time for me anymore. Still, old instincts kicked in—the ones trained to avoid conflict, to keep the peace. She nodded, almost out of habit.

"Okay…" she said quietly.

James leaned in and kissed her cheek. The gesture felt oddly out of place, like an afterthought. "Good." He hesitated for a moment, then added, "Great job tonight, by the way.” And just like that, he turned and walked out of the gallery.

Verena stood frozen, her eyes trailing after him. It took her a few seconds to register what had just happened. James had complimented her. Genuinely. For the first time in what felt like forever, he'd acknowledged her work. The praise stirred something in her chest—a small, flickering warmth. She didn't want to admit it, but it felt… good. Like a rare beam of sunlight through an otherwise cloudy sky.

But the moment passed quickly. Shaking herself from the daze, she resumed her search for AJ. She found him standing quietly near the far wall, his gaze fixed on one of her ceramic pieces—a smooth, asymmetrical sculpture that seemed to lean toward the light. His profile was thoughtful, calm, yet unreadable.

"Hey," she said softly, stepping closer.

AJ turned, his expression lighting up the moment he saw her. Verena smiled and threw her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. Her body pressed gently against his. The gallery was nearly empty now, and in this quiet space, the hug felt like a sanctuary.

"Thank you so much for coming," she murmured against his shoulder.

She didn't let the embrace linger too long—just enough to ground herself in the moment—then slowly pulled back, taking a small step away.

"I want to celebrate," she said, her voice a mix of excitement and vulnerability. "Are you up for maybe going somewhere? Getting some food… a drink, maybe? If not, that's okay. I know it's been a long day."

Her eyes searched his face for any sign of discomfort. She didn't want him to feel obligated. She could celebrate with someone else—or even alone. But the truth was, she wanted to be with him. More than anyone else, AJ's presence made her feel seen, grounded, real.

 

[AJS Roleplaying]

AJ's smile was immediate - soft, warm, the kind of smile that didn't just answer but reassured.

"I'd love that," he said, his voice quiet but certain. "There's a great little bistro just down the street. Cosy place, good food, private booths. Feels like the kind of spot that would actually let us breathe for a minute."

He didn't mention James. He wouldn't. Not tonight. The conversation they'd had had already taken up more space in his mind than it deserved. There was something sacred about the energy Verena carried right now - an afterglow of purpose, pride, maybe even hope. He wouldn't dim that with someone else's insecurities. Especially not a man like James.

He held out his hand, casual but deliberate. She took it without hesitation. They stepped out into the night. The bistro wasn't far - a tucked-away corner spot with fogged windows, flickering candles, and a soft hum of jazz coming from inside. The kind of place most people missed unless they knew where to look. AJ had always liked that about it. Restoration work had taught him that beauty rarely shouted. It just… waited. They slid into a booth near the back, half-shielded by a curtain of trailing ivy and warm shadows. A server brought menus.

"I think this calls for a bottle," he said with a grin, flipping briefly through the pages before landing on something French and bold. "Red okay?" She nodded. He gave the order and leaned back, one arm resting loosely along the back of the booth, his posture easy, unguarded.

"You know," he said, glancing across the table at her, "tonight was… stunning. The curation, the pacing, the atmosphere. It didn't just feel like a gallery - it felt like a story being told room by room."

Verena smiled, demure, but he could see it - how the compliment hit somewhere deeper than she expected. AJ went on, his tone more thoughtful now. "It takes a certain kind of eye to make that happen. To see how things speak to each other, how people move through a space. That's not just artistic vision - that's architecture, in a way. Emotional architecture."

The wine arrived. He poured for both of them, his movements practiced, then raised his glass toward her.
"To you," he said. "To the woman who doesn't just create beauty - but makes space for it to breathe. You pulled tonight off with grace and clarity… and you made it look effortless. That's no small thing."

Their glasses clinked gently. AJ took a sip, savouring it. Then he tilted his head slightly, watching her over the rim of his glass.

"Also," he added, voice dipping slightly, "I don't think most people realize how rare it is - to feel something real in a room full of performance. But you managed it. You brought people together without needing to outshine anyone. You anchored the night without once making it about you. And that… that's real power."

He set his glass down, gently. "So yeah," he said, a smile tugging at the edge of his mouth, "I'm celebrating with you. You earned it."

The air between them settled into something quieter. Deeper. AJ leaned forward, forearms resting lightly on the table. "You know what I loved most about this building when I first walked in?" he asked. "It wasn't the height of the ceilings, or the bones of the foundation. It was the light. How it came through the broken parts - windows cracked, plaster falling away - and still found a way to spill into the room. Like it didn't need perfection. Just space."

He looked at her directly then, eyes clear, voice steady. "You remind me of that. The light comes through. Even when you're not trying." The moment stretched between them - intimate, but unhurried. For AJ, this was how it always started. Not with declarations, not with promises. But with presence. With showing up and seeing. And right now, he saw her more clearly than ever.

He didn't need to say anything about James. The man was a footnote. A sharp corner in an otherwise open room. AJ had no interest in fighting for space. He created it. And in this booth, with the warm light flickering and the wine beginning to soften the edges of a long night, AJ realized something simple and unshakable: this wasn't just chemistry. It wasn't just admiration. It was recognition. Something in Verena echoed something in him. And he wasn't going anywhere.​

 

[Kita-san]

Verena's blush deepened as their eyes held, the hum of the jazz and candlelight wrapping around them like a gentle cocoon. There was a tenderness to this moment that felt rare—unrushed and completely real. She could still hear the echoes of AJ's words in her mind, and they settled into her chest with a quiet kind of weight. Not the kind that pressed down, but the kind that anchored. Kept her steady.

AJ always had this way with words—not just what he said, but how he said it. There was no flourish, no performance, no attempt to charm her for the sake of attention. Everything he offered her was unvarnished and true. It was that honesty that struck her most—not flattery, not sweet nothings, but truth. His encouragement wasn't performative; it wasn't about what she wanted to hear. It was about what he genuinely saw in her. That clarity, that sincerity—it meant more to her than he likely realized.

"Thank you, AJ," she said quietly, her voice nearly lost beneath the soft saxophone drifting through the room. Her eyes didn't leave his. "You have no idea how grateful I am… for everything you've said. And done. Just showing up tonight—just being you—that was more than enough. It's all I needed."

She smiled, a slow curve of genuine emotion. "I'm glad you got to see this part of me—this part of my world. What I love, what I work for. Not everyone really sees it. They admire it, maybe. Say nice things. But you…" She shook her head gently, lips still curled in a soft smile. "You understand it. You saw what I was trying to say without me needing to explain it. That doesn't happen often."

She lifted her wine glass to her lips, sipping slowly. The wine was rich and bold, but it was AJ's presence across the table that made the moment feel full.

"Seriously though," she added, lowering her glass, "thank you for being here tonight. I know it wasn't just another night for you either. And you being there—really being present—it meant everything."

Her voice quieted with that last part. She wasn't sure what they were yet, what to call the chemistry and emotional intimacy that had been building between them like slow-burning coals. But she knew this: AJ's presence tonight wasn't obligatory. It was intentional. He had chosen to be here, to support her, to see her—and that meant more than any title could define.

"Oh—and I meant to tell you," she said, the softness of her tone lightening into something a bit brighter, "I finished your bowl."

Her eyes lit up with the memory of it. "It's ready whenever you want it. It's not perfect—wasn't meant to be. But it's… yours. I figured you'd want to have it, since it holds a memory. A moment." Her smile turned more tender. "You created something. And I just wanted to honor that by making sure it was finished."

As their conversation flowed, Verena found herself sinking into the comfort of him. They laughed easily, shared quiet glances that lingered, their words brushing up against the edges of something unspoken but deeply felt. Her second glass of wine was nearly gone, but the glow she felt had very little to do with alcohol.

Still, as her eyes drifted around the little bistro, her thoughts wandered—to James, to Serena. The high of the evening still swirled around her, but a thread of awareness began to pull at her heart.

AJ had been nothing but supportive. Always present. Always giving. But what had he needed? How was he feeling, in the middle of everything unraveling in his own life?

Her gaze softened as she looked at him again—really looked at him. How steady he'd been. How quiet. How open. And yet… he rarely spoke about Serena. He hadn't mentioned her once tonight. And still, he had been all-in for her.

Does he miss her? The thought brushed through her, quiet and sharp. Of course he does, her inner voice whispered. She's still his wife.

Verena's hand moved slowly to her hair, brushing it back, more to steady herself than to style it. She didn't know where she stood in AJ's life—not really. They hadn't defined anything. And yet it was getting harder and harder not to want more from him. To not hope for something more. But was that fair? Was it wise? And what about James?

Her eyes dropped to her hand—the ring. That cold, beautiful, empty thing. It had lost its meaning months ago. It was a placeholder now, a promise that no longer rang true. She sighed, quietly, and slipped it off. Her fingers hesitated for a moment before tucking it into her purse. It wasn't about hiding. It was about releasing something that no longer felt like hers.

When her gaze returned to AJ, she felt a shift inside herself. A quiet resolve. She didn't know where this would lead. She didn't even know what she wanted to ask of him yet. But as she looked into his clear, steady eyes—those light blue eyes that had never once lied to her—she knew one thing for sure:

Whatever this was, it was real.

And she wasn't going to take it for granted.

 

[AJS Roleplaying]

AJ felt the warmth from her words settle deep in his chest. He didn't say anything at first - he just held her gaze, letting the silence speak. There was so much said between them already, so many layers unfolding without effort. The kind of honesty that didn't need grand declarations. It was just… there. The candlelight flickered in her eyes, and something about the curve of her smile in that moment made him reach across the table without thinking. His fingers brushed lightly over hers as they both reached for their wineglasses, and neither pulled away. Her skin was warm, her hand soft. The contact lasted just a second - maybe two - but it lingered, sent a quiet current between them.

They talked more over dinner, the kind of easy, intuitive conversation that slipped between topics as naturally as breathing. He told her about a half-finished project he'd been restoring in the historic district, how he'd found old hand-painted tiles hidden beneath a false wall. She leaned in, eyes curious, and AJ found himself telling stories he usually kept to himself - about long drives through crumbling towns, about forgotten architecture and how memory clings to old wood and stone like ivy.

By the time dessert came - a single slice of rich chocolate torte they decided to share - AJ had stopped thinking in careful steps. Everything about the night had shifted into something effortless. He watched her cut a forkful of cake, then slide it across the plate toward him with a smile.

"You take the first bite," she said quietly, her tone playful but laced with something deeper. He did. And then he passed the fork back, their hands brushing again, this time lingering just a little longer. He could feel the electricity between them now, not urgent or hungry, but aware. A tension that spoke of comfort and interest in equal measure.

They left the bistro slowly, full from the food, the wine, the quiet intensity that had grown between them like ivy curling toward light. The night air was cooler now, the streets quiet. The city felt smaller in that moment, more intimate. As they walked back to the gallery, their shoulders brushed now and then. Once, he felt her hand graze his again. He didn't force anything. But when they reached the corner just before the gallery entrance, he stopped. The amber streetlamp lit the sidewalk in a gentle wash, and her profile glowed against it.

"I should tell you," AJ said, his voice calm, steady, "I'm heading to San Francisco next week. Conference for the Society for Preservation… they're showcasing some new work on seismic retrofitting, but honestly, I'm going more for the old districts. Mission, Potrero Hill. All that stubborn beauty holding its shape through time."

He paused, meeting her eyes. "You'd love it," he added. "The galleries there, the light, the chaos… it's full of stories. All just waiting for someone to see them."

Then, more carefully: "Come with me."

It hung there, not heavy, but real. Not casual either. He wasn't asking for an escape or a getaway. He was asking because she mattered. Because what they were building - quietly, steadily - deserved space to grow.

"I've got the hotel already," he continued, "and there's this loft museum outside the Tenderloin you'd fall in love with. They've got pieces by Ana Mendieta, and I swear there's this one ceramic collection that reminds me of your work—bent shapes, honest surfaces, rough on purpose."

He stopped himself, smiling. "Sorry. I know it's a big ask. But you wouldn't just be tagging along. I want you there."

He didn't mention James. He wasn't trying to challenge him, or force her to choose. But he had noticed. The way James lingered. The edge in his eyes. The tension in Verena's shoulders when his name came up. And still, AJ felt no hesitation. No guilt. Serena was gone. Europe had swallowed her up, and the silence between them had become its own kind of answer. He hadn't spoken to her in weeks. No messages. No updates. No closure. But even without a door slamming shut, AJ knew: it was over. And tonight, with Verena beside him, he didn't feel like something was ending. He felt like something was beginning.

So he waited. Watching her, listening without speaking, the way he always had. He'd offered her a question, not a pressure. He'd offered her a possibility. And whatever her answer would be - whether it came now or later - he already knew she'd carry it carefully. Because whatever this was between them, it wasn't just infatuation. It wasn't a fling or a rebound. It was deeper. Realer. And that was worth waiting for.​

 

[Kita-san]

Verena felt it first in her chest—an ache, not of pain, but of something unfolding. Something warm and raw and real. It had settled there slowly over the course of the evening, like the soft build of a symphony she didn't realize had already reached its crescendo. Now, standing under the amber glow of the streetlamp with AJ in front of her, she felt the weight of every word he had spoken. Not heavy. Just… true.

Her lips parted slightly, as if to speak, but nothing came at first. She looked at him—really looked—and the world seemed to blur at the edges. Not because she was overwhelmed, but because everything else had fallen away. There was only him. The quiet steadiness in his voice. The careful way he waited for her. Not demanding. Not rushing. Just there.

She took a slow breath, eyes searching his face. He wasn't offering her a trip. He was offering her space. A new place. A new chapter, maybe—not instead of anything, but beyond everything.

And something inside her stirred—a mixture of fear and hope, longing and resistance. She felt the familiar pull of what she should do, what people might expect of her. The old rules. The safe choices. But AJ wasn't asking her to run. He wasn't asking her to pretend. He was asking her to see—herself, her work, her place in the world—through a different lens.

"AJ…" she began, her voice almost a whisper.
Her hand came to her chest for a moment, fingers curling lightly as if trying to steady the beat of her heart. There was a pause, of course she thought about James. Could she really go on this trip with James? Could she really turn her back on James?

The city hummed faintly in the background, but her voice was steady now. "Yes," she said softly. Her voice didn't waver. "I want to come with you." AJ has always shown up for her. Always supported her. She wanted to do the same. She wanted to be by his side and dive deeper into whatever this was.

Verena's chest rose with a slow, full breath—one she hadn't realized she'd been holding for days. It left her on the exhale like a release, like surrender. Her voice came softly at first, wrapped in certainty and something more intimate.

"I want to see it all through your eyes," she said, gaze steady on his. "The old bones of the city, the galleries, the rough ceramics that wear their imperfection like a kind of truth… I want to be there for all of it. But more than that—" her voice lowered, a warmth curling into each word, "—I want to be where you are." She lifted her eyes to his, and what lived in her expression wasn't drama or desperation. It was truth. Bare, unpolished, but luminous.

Her hand hovered near his, close enough to feel the heat of his skin, but she didn't take it. Not yet. Her hazel eyes flicked upward, catching the gentle swirl of the city lights and the flickering gold of the streetlamp above. The air was brisk against her cheeks, but the wine kept her warm, and the glow between them did the rest. A small smile bloomed at the corners of her lips. Not flashy. Not practiced. Just honest.

"So yes," she said again, this time with certainty woven into every syllable. "Take me with you."

The decision wasn't impulsive. It was deliberate, considered, earned. She'd been turning it over silently all evening—what it would mean, what it would change. But in the end, it didn't feel like a detour. It felt like a step toward herself.

Verena already saw it playing out in her mind: the two of them exploring crooked streets and hidden studios, drinking coffee in tucked-away cafes, maybe getting lost on purpose. She had the freedom to move—to create wherever she landed. She could work on smaller clay studies while away, document textures, colors, the way the light shifted against old walls. That was part of her life.

"Let me know what I need to do," she added, her voice softening again. "Or if there's anything I can help with. I want to make it easier, not harder."

She looked at him with a kind of quiet excitement she hadn't felt in a long time. "I'm really looking forward to seeing you in your element. San Francisco's always been one of those places I said I'd visit and never did.”

The wind tousled her hair, and she tucked a piece behind her ear as she laughed lightly. "Honestly, I still feel like I'm floating from everything that happened tonight. This whole night has felt like a dream." She looked down at her feet and made a face, the laugh turning more playful. "But I am definitely ready to take these heels off and change into something cozy."

Then her eyes lifted back to his again, her smile gentler now, touched with the vulnerability of someone who had finally stopped running from what she wanted.
"we should probably call it a night? I’ve kept you out long enough.” She teased but she didn’t regret the time she spent with AJ. She would spend even more time with him if she could.

 

[AJS Roleplaying]

AJ didn't respond with words. He stepped forward, closing the small space between them with quiet, deliberate movement. His hand slid gently behind her neck, thumb brushing along the edge of her jawline. And then, with a breath that felt like release - his and hers - he kissed her. It wasn't cautious. It wasn't soft. It was full. His lips met hers with purpose - hungry, but not rushed. Grounded, not desperate. One of his hands found her waist, drawing her closer, and for a second, everything fell away. The city. The gallery. James. Serena.

None of it mattered. Not here. Not now.

She responded, her body curving into his, her breath catching against his mouth. The heat between them rose in a quiet swell - urgent, but rooted in something far deeper than desire. It was connection. Recognition. The collision of two people who had circled something inevitable for too long. AJ didn't care if someone saw them. Let them. Let the city whisper. Let the rumours start. Let James hear. Let Serena know. He was done hiding from himself. Done weighing every choice against a life that no longer existed.

When he finally pulled back, their foreheads rested together, breath mingling in the cool air between them. His hand stayed at her cheek, anchoring her to him just a moment longer.

"You have no idea how much I've wanted to do that," he murmured, voice husky, still catching up to the moment. "And no, you don't have to do anything. Not a thing." He smiled - a little crooked, a little breathless. His eyes were bright now, more alive than they had been in months. "Leave all the planning to me," he said. "Flights, hotel, schedule - it's covered. I'll text you the details in a few days."

He let his thumb trail along her cheek once more, memorizing the heat of her skin beneath it. Then he stepped back - not because he wanted distance, but because if he didn't, he might not be able to walk away at all. His hand lingered in the air between them for a second, fingers brushing hers before finally letting go.

"I'll see you soon," he said, and there was a certainty to it that didn't require confirmation.

He turned then, walking the short distance to where his car was parked along the street. The night had cooled, but his skin still burned with her warmth. Sliding into the driver's seat, he gripped the steering wheel with one hand, but he didn't start the engine right away. He just sat there, staring out through the windshield at the quiet street, at the glow of the gallery lights behind them.

Something had shifted tonight. Not just for Verena - but for him. He didn't think of Serena as he turned the key in the ignition. Not really. Her absence no longer hurt the way it used to. It was a quiet ache now, not a wound - something dulled by time and distance. The truth was, he hadn't known where she was for weeks. And worse, he hadn't really cared to ask. He had stopped waiting for her return the moment Verena looked at him tonight with that quiet hope in her eyes. The moment she said yes.

As he pulled into the empty avenue, the city lights casting reflections along the windshield, AJ felt it - not just the thrill of possibility, but a rare and steady clarity. He wasn't just chasing something new. He was choosing it. And this time, he wasn't going to hold back.​

 

[Kita-san]

Verena stood still for a beat after AJ walked away, her breath still tangled in his, her fingers faintly trembling where his had just been. The world slowly returned—faint honking in the distance, the soft buzz of gallery lights, the bite of evening air brushing the flushed skin of her neck. But nothing felt the same.

Her fingers rose to her lips, brushing against them as if to confirm that they had shared a kiss in public. No one was really around but it confirmed something for her. That after months of pretending and sidestepping that they both now had clarity. AJ picked her, he picked this. Whatever this was.

Verena had kissed him back. With everything.
She let out a breath, shakier than she expected, and then a quiet laugh broke through. Not out of amusement—but out of something looser. Lighter. Like an ache finally exhaled. The space he had filled a moment ago still buzzed with his energy. It lingered in her chest, thick and full, not just warmth, but weight. The kind that anchors you, not drags you down.

She turned slowly, facing the city with new eyes. Everything looked familiar, but newly lit—like seeing a painting in full sun after years of studying it under shadows. Her phone buzzed softly in her pocket, but she didn't check it. Not yet. She just stood there, feeling the earth tilt a fraction more into alignment.

AJ had said he'd take care of it all. The trip. The planning. The next step. And Verena—for the first time in a long time—was willing to let go of control. To follow the momentum instead of bracing against it.

Because something had shifted tonight. Something real. And no matter what came next—James, Serena, the rumors, the fallout—she wouldn't deny it. Not to herself. Not again. With a soft inhale, she finally moved, slipping back into the gallery. But her heart wasn't there anymore. It was already on a plane with him.

Wherever this led… she was in.

That night, Verena returned home—not because of any obligation to James, but because exhaustion clung to her like a second skin. The day had taken everything out of her: the gallery event, the emotion, AJ. Her entire body ached for soft pajamas and the familiar embrace of her memory foam mattress. She wasn't looking for comfort in James. Only quiet. Hopefully, he won't feel the sudden urge to care tonight, she thought as she pulled her keys from her bag and stepped inside their condo.

The place was dim, the usual hum of the fridge and distant city sounds filtering through the silence. She kicked off her shoes in the entryway and turned toward the kitchen—and stopped. The counter was overflowing with flowers. Bouquets upon bouquets, a wild, fragrant explosion of color—roses, peonies, tulips, and wildflowers spilling from wrappings in every direction. For a moment, Verena simply stood there, stunned. The sight was so unexpected it didn't quite register. She reached out and plucked a bouquet of pale pink roses from the center, lifting it to her nose. The scent was soft, sweet—almost nostalgic.

Her first thought was James. Maybe, for once, he had done something kind. Maybe he had come home and remembered who she was, what she loved.

"James?" she called softly.

He was already on his way downstairs, his voice flat as he reached the last step. "You came home. Good." She didn't respond to the strange choice of words. Instead, she held up the bouquet with a faint smile. "You did all this?" He gave her a confused look, already moving toward the fridge. "Me? No. I gave you my gift at the gallery. These were at the door when I got here."

Her smile faded, reality dulling the soft edge of hope that had flickered for a moment. Of course. She spotted the small white cards tucked into a few of the arrangements and sighed inwardly. She knew now that they were from friends and family.

James rummaged for something in the fridge, utterly uninterested in the flowers or in her. "We don't have enough vases for all that," he added, like it was an inconvenience. "I'll buy more tomorrow," she replied quietly, already beginning to unwrap one of the arrangements with careful hands. Her voice was even, controlled—too practiced to be emotional.
She paused for a beat before speaking again, her eyes still on the flowers. "I'm surprised you're not asleep. Did you wait up for me?"
James didn't even look at her. "I heard the front door. That woke me up. I was asleep."

The sting of his indifference hit harder than it should have. Verena clenched her jaw, the rustle of the flower wrappings suddenly too loud in the still kitchen. "I'm going to San Francisco next week," she said, almost absently, though every word was deliberate. "I'll be gone for a week." That made him glance up. "What's out there?" "Art. Museums. Culture. Things that interest me."

"You're going alone?"

"No." She straightened a stem. "I met some artists tonight. They invited me along. You can come too, if you want." James gave a low chuckle and shook his head. "No, no. I'm not into all that. Have fun." He disappeared back upstairs without another word.

Verena didn't even look up as he left. Her hands moved mechanically now, trimming stems, arranging the flowers into the few vases they did have. She rolled her eyes once he was out of sight, but it wasn't even out of annoyance anymore. Just resignation. A quiet, familiar ache.

By the time she finished, the kitchen had been transformed—half a florist's shop now, overflowing with color and beauty. The kind James would never notice. Later, after changing into a cotton tank and soft pajama shorts, she climbed into bed beside him. Neither said a word. Both lay facing opposite walls, the silence stretching wide between them until sleep eventually dulled the edges.

The days that followed were filled with work—finishing commissioned pieces, touching up canvases, ordering supplies. But there was an undercurrent now. A pulse she couldn't ignore. Verena found herself shopping with a purpose—browsing dresses she normally wouldn't consider, holding up sunglasses and picturing herself walking down a breezy San Francisco street. She tried on lipstick shades she hadn't worn in years. Something inside her was shifting.

Her thoughts kept drifting to AJ. The way he looked at her. The sound of his laugh. The certainty in his voice when he said, "Leave all the planning to me." And that kiss. God, that kiss.

She could still feel the press of his hand at her waist, the breathless heat between them, the way the world had stilled around that moment. Verena had told herself she'd be patient. And she meant it. But waiting had never felt so electric—so charged with possibility.

She wasn't just preparing for a trip. She was preparing for something new.

Something real.

 

[AJS Roleplaying]

AJ moved like a man on a mission - sharp, precise, in full control. He liked this part. The planning. The orchestration of something meaningful. It was what made him good at his job - vision, execution, and knowing exactly where the emotional beats should land. But this? This was more than a project. This was personal. He stood over the long walnut desk near the window, his laptop open, his phone buzzing softly every few minutes with confirmations. Outside, the city stretched into a quiet hum - its skyline familiar, but tonight it felt like the backdrop to something just beginning.

A few clicks, a final double-check, and it was done. Flight, booked. A private charter leaving early Tuesday morning, one of the quieter FBO terminals outside the city. The perks of being a senior partner meant certain doors stayed open when he needed them. No TSA lines, no crowded cabins. Just him and Verena, and the sky.

Hotel, confirmed. The St. Regis in SoMa. Modern, clean, discreet. He'd reserved a suite - two double beds, not because he didn't want her, but because he refused to assume. Verena deserved the kind of care that didn't come with expectations.

Dinners, locked. Reservations at Atelier Crenn, Zuni Café, and a hidden sushi spot in Japantown he knew she'd love. He wanted her to taste the city, to experience it the way he had when he first fell in love with it - messy, beautiful, layered.

A message popped onto his phone screen, asking for confirmation. AJ reviewed the itinerary one last time, then opened a new message thread and typed:​

Flight info attached. Car will pick you up at 8:30. Pack light but bring something warm. Weather's moody out there. Can't wait to see you at the plane. — AJ​

He hit send, then leaned back in his chair. For the first time in weeks, he exhaled fully.

—

Tuesday, 9:02 AM

The tarmac gleamed under a wide, pale sky, the light mist of morning fog curling around the edges of the airstrip. AJ stood at the base of the aircraft stairs, hands tucked casually into the pockets of his dark navy overcoat. The plane behind him was sleek and gleaming, private but not ostentatious. Like everything he chose, it was intentional. He watched the black town car pull into view at the edge of the terminal and felt a low thrum start in his chest. His heart was steady, but alert. Present. The car door opened.

And there she was. Verena stepped out slowly. AJ didn't move at first. He just took her in. This wasn't about showing off. It was about showing up. For her. For them. He walked toward her as the driver moved to collect her bag, the wind tugging lightly at his coat. As he reached her, AJ offered a slow, easy smile - the kind that didn't need words behind it.

"Good morning," he said, voice warm, eyes steady on hers. "You look... stunning."

There was a flicker of something unreadable behind her sunglasses - maybe amusement, maybe surprise - but AJ didn't push. Instead, he reached for her suitcase himself, nodding to the driver as he wheeled it toward the stairs.

"You sleep okay?" he asked over his shoulder, keeping his tone light but genuine. "I figured you'd have nerves. I barely slept." He paused at the foot of the stairs, then turned to her fully, motioning toward the jet behind him. "Welcome to your ride." He grinned, a little boyish now. "I figured if James gets to whisk you off in luxury, I should at least level the playing field." He tilted his head slightly, the smile softening. "But there's one difference," he added, quieter now. "I listen."

He held her gaze for a second - just long enough to let that truth settle - then stepped aside, gesturing for her to climb the steps ahead of him. As they boarded, the flight attendant greeted them with practiced politeness, guiding them into a small but elegant cabin. Plush white leather seats, wide windows, and a chilled bottle of sparkling water already set between them. AJ stowed her bag and then took the seat opposite hers, loosening his coat as he sank into the leather. He looked over at her, not with the intensity of their last kiss, but with something gentler. Calmer. As if just being here with her - on this plane, in this moment - was enough.

"You're not just along for the ride, Verena," he said after a beat, voice low and sincere. "This week's about you as much as it is about me. I want you to see the city, sure - but mostly, I want you to see yourself in it."

He reached for the safety belt, clicking it into place as the jet began to taxi. "No pressure. No expectations. Just… space." The engines began their low rumble beneath them. AJ leaned back and turned toward the window, watching as the world outside began to blur. Everything behind them - James, Serena, the unanswered questions - was shrinking now. Ahead, the sky opened. And for the first time in a long while, AJ wasn't wondering what came next. He was living it.​

 

[Kita-san]

There was something about the smell of jet fuel mixing with the morning air that made Verena pause. Maybe it was the novelty. Maybe it was the symbolism. But standing there, one boot stepping onto the slick tarmac, hair tousled slightly by the breeze, she felt the weight of what this meant. Not just the flight. Not just the gesture. But him. AJ.

He looked different in the daylight. Not softer—AJ was never soft—but real. Grounded. That quiet confidence of his, always just on the edge of arrogance, now felt like a kind of refuge. She smiled right away. It was rare for her not to, she felt so much excitement and happiness when she was around AJ.

Behind her dark glasses, her eyes were scanning every detail—the plane, the glint of light on his coat buttons, the way his voice dipped when he said you look stunning. "Hey." She said softly. "Thank you. You look quite handsome." She added since she honestly thought he did.

"I slept okay, I was a little nervous but I'm ok. I'm happy to be here." she said, voice smooth. When he took her bag without ceremony, something unspooled quietly inside her. Not because she couldn't do it herself—God knew she'd carried heavier things—but because he didn't ask. He knew.

Her brows lifted at his line about James. A small smirk formed on her face and a gently chuckle left her lips. "I appreciate all of this AJ." She said and took her sunglasses off.
"But James prefers Bentleys and marble foyers," she replied. "You prefer silence and precision. And leather seats, apparently." She teased and placed a hand on his shoulder still holding that playful smirk on her face. "Not a bad trade to be honest."

She walked past AJ, brushing lightly against his shoulder as she climbed the stairs. Inside, the cabin was immaculate. Clean lines. Neutral tones. Nothing showy. Everything intentional. Like him. As she settled into her seat, shrugging off her coat, she looked across at him—AJ, now half-turned toward the window like he was already imagining the next frame of their story. There was something achingly tender about that.

When he spoke again—You're not just along for the ride— Her gaze fell onto him. She felt her heart skip a beat. He knew exactly what to say and when to say it. She was just happy have this opportunity with AJ. "I'm ready to see any and everything." She commented before looking out the window then. She then watched the tarmac fall away as the jet began to roll forward. Beneath them, the past was already starting to blur. Above them, the sky opened up like a blank page.

"Space," she echoed, her fingers tracing the curve of the armrest. "It's exactly what is needed. Let's see what it feels like." And then she smiled. Not the careful, social one she used with James. Not the professional, practiced one she wore in boardrooms or cocktail lounges. But the one that only came when she wasn't performing. When she was safe. When she was seen.

And just like that, Verena leaned back into her seat as the wheels lifted off the runway, the subtle shift in pressure pressing her gently into the leather. The soft hum of the engines wrapped around them like a blanket of white noise, quieting everything except the thrum of possibility. She exhaled slowly, turning her head toward the window as the ground fell away beneath them — buildings shrinking, streets blurring, the whole city becoming a miniature version of itself.

Without looking, she let her hand drift toward him, fingers grazing the back of his before resting there — casual in appearance, but deliberate in intent. Her touch was light, unspoken, not asking for anything. Just being. Just there. A simple act, but one that said more than any words could in that moment. She didn't grip, didn't cling — she offered presence. Contact. A quiet tether.

She hoped this trip would be a kind of shift — not a break from reality, but a deepening of it. They'd been orbiting each other for weeks now, careful and charged all at once. Maybe this was the space they needed. No distractions. No triangulation. Just them.

Once the jet leveled out, its nose settling into smooth cruise, she turned toward AJ fully, her expression softer than before. She tucked one leg beneath her and angled her body slightly toward him, letting the cabin lull her into something unguarded.

"Thank you," she said, her voice low and genuine. "For taking care of… everything. This is the easiest trip I've ever been on." A flicker of amusement curved her lips. "I don't think I've ever just shown up and gotten on a plane without worrying about logistics,l and reservations." She chuckled and sighed softly.

She didn't say James's name. She didn't have to. But the absence of him in her life — in this moment — was loud. She couldn't even recall the last time they'd traveled together. He flew constantly, sure, but always alone. Always ahead of her, somewhere distant and unreachable. The idea of being invited to join had never even been offered. She had learned, quietly, not to expect inclusion. But AJ… AJ included her.
Her fingers tapped lightly on his hand once before pulling back — not withdrawing, but simply easing back into herself. She tilted her head, studying him with curious warmth.

"So," she asked, her tone inquisitive but laced with that signature Verena curiosity — sharp, but never cold. "What are you looking forward to the most?"

She already knew this was mostly a work trip for him — meetings, pitches, something important she didn't fully understand but respected. But she also knew he'd planned more than just the professional. Dinners. Experiences. Moments. She could feel it in the details — the kind only someone who paid attention would plan. "Is it the sushi?" she teased lightly, a glint in her eye. She knew it wasn't the sushi.

There was a beat, then a small laugh — not sarcastic, but warm. She was testing the air between them, the temperature of it. But beneath the levity, there was something real. Because for the first time in a very long time, Verena wasn't trying to win or control the story. She was just living inside it — and curious to see where AJ would take it next.

 

[AJS Roleplaying]

The plane hummed steadily as it cut through soft morning skies, cruising above the cloud line like they were floating on velvet. The flight was smooth - so smooth, it almost felt unreal. AJ could feel the tension in his shoulders unravelling by degrees, the kind of tension he hadn't realized he'd been carrying since the night of the gallery kiss. He glanced across the aisle at Verena, lit softly by the diffused sunlight streaming through the window. Her posture was relaxed now, her coat draped neatly over the seat beside her, one leg folded beneath the other. She looked… peaceful. Not trying to be composed. Not performing. Just being.

He couldn't stop watching her. Their hands had touched earlier - fingers brushing, resting - and it was a light, casual contact, but to AJ, it carried the weight of an anchor. Her presence, even in silence, felt deliberate. She'd thanked him a few minutes ago, her voice low and real. She'd said this was the easiest trip she'd ever been on. And AJ had smiled at that, faint and brief, the kind of smile he only let out when something reached him.

"You deserve that," he'd said. "Not having to hold everything all the time."

Now, as she asked him what he was looking forward to the most, AJ leaned back in his seat, tilting his head toward her with the beginning of a grin.

"Well, I was going to say the sushi," he replied dryly, teasing her right back, "but I guess you saw through that one."

He paused, then exhaled quietly and let his eyes settle on her again. This time, the humour faded, and his voice lowered slightly.

"Honestly? I'm looking forward to time that isn't fractured. Where I'm not checking my watch every ten minutes. Where I'm not fitting you in between calls or in the parking lot after an event. Time with you, uninterrupted."

He shrugged one shoulder. "I mean, I'll still take the sushi. But this? Sitting next to you, flying somewhere new together? It feels… solid."

AJ shifted slightly toward her, letting one knee rest toward the aisle. "I think sometimes we don't realize how little space we give ourselves to feel anything. We just keep moving. I wanted to build something into this trip that gave you room to feel - without pressure. Without expectation."

There was a moment where her eyes met his, and even without words, he could tell she understood. He wasn't performing, either.

The rest of the flight passed in a quiet rhythm. Bits of conversation sparked and faded - questions about the project he was pitching, small stories from past visits to San Francisco, shared observations about the land slowly revealing itself beneath the clouds as they neared the West Coast. Every now and then, their arms would brush, or a hand would rest close enough to almost touch, and the contact always felt intentional - like punctuation marks between words that didn't need saying. By the time the captain's voice came through the intercom announcing their descent into SFO, AJ had completely lost track of time.

Outside the window, the Bay glistened beneath them, edged by the rough, familiar silhouette of San Francisco's hills. The Golden Gate Bridge peeked out through a thin bank of fog like it always did, timeless and distant. AJ glanced at Verena again. She was leaning toward the glass, her profile caught in soft light, and he felt something quiet stir in his chest. They landed smoothly. A car was already waiting on the tarmac, just beyond the aircraft stairs. AJ retrieved her bag again, without fanfare, and walked beside her to the sleek black sedan. The driver, an older man in a pressed suit, greeted them by name and offered bottled water as he pulled away from the runway.

"Thirty minutes to the hotel," AJ said casually, watching the blur of bayfront give way to freeway. The St. Regis rose up from the city's downtown like a brushstroke of modern design - unfussy, elegant, intentional. They were escorted through a private entrance and into a discrete elevator at the back of the lobby. No check-in desk. No key cards passed over the counter.

When the elevator doors opened, it was directly into their suite. AJ stepped aside, letting Verena enter first. Floor-to-ceiling glass surrounded them on three sides, wrapping the entire corner of the top floor. The Bay sprawled out endlessly beyond the windows, glittering under the late-morning sun. Alcatraz floated in the distance. The Golden Gate Bridge, just barely visible through the haze, cut a graceful red line across the horizon.

Inside, the suite was a study in restraint. Warm wood tones, a soft neutral palette, art that didn't scream for attention but rewarded a second glance. There was a living area sunken slightly from the entry, a large marble bathroom to the left, and ahead—two double beds dressed in crisp white linens and navy throw blankets.

AJ turned to her, unhurried, letting the moment stretch. "You can take whichever bed you want," he said lightly, his tone casual. He looked around the room, taking in the city beyond the glass, then met her eyes again with something quieter behind his own. "I figured we'd both want space to settle in."

He walked to the window then, resting a hand lightly against the cool glass. "Take your time. Unpack, breathe, do whatever you need. We've got dinner at seven - somewhere that does more with miso than I thought was legally possible."

He turned slightly, catching her reflection in the glass rather than facing her head-on. "I just want this week to feel like yours too."​

 

[Kita-san]

Verena stepped gently into the suite, her heels clicked against the polished floor. For a second, she just stood there—completely still—her eyes wide with something almost childlike. Wonder, maybe. Or just a rare and sudden sense of ease. The kind of stillness that only shows up when everything feels, just for a moment, right. She turned in a slow circle, taking it all in: the soft elegance of the room, the light spilling across the linens, the city laid out like a painting beyond the glass. When she finally looked at AJ, her face lit up, bright and unfiltered.

"This is insane," she breathed out, a giddy laugh rising from her chest. "This is very nice. The openness from the glass…this is just beautiful.” She made her way to a set of windows, arms crossing loosely over her chest as she stood there. The city stretched out below, busy but hushed from this height, as if the whole world had turned the volume down just for them.

"Okay. First of all," she said, glancing sideways at him, "I'm obviously taking the bed by the window.” She smirked loving that he gave her the option to have her own bed but deep down she knew she wouldn’t have mind sharing a bed with him. Then, with a warm grin: "Second—thank you. For thinking of all this. For not just… inviting me, but bringing me. Deliberately making space for me in your world. You have no idea how great that makes me feel and awesome that makes you.”

She stepped away from the glass, stretching her arms up over her head before collapsing lightly onto the edge of her bed with a happy sigh. "I haven't felt this relaxed in so long. I feel like I should be doing something stressful.” She teased. “Or trying to relieve some stress by breaking clay.”

Verena looked up at him, her voice softer now. "You meant what you said on the plane? I’m looking forward to interrupted time with you as well. I want to just enjoy my time here with you.” Her expression turned a shade more thoughtful, but still open—no armor, just a kind of raw honesty that didn't need to be dramatic to be real. She stood again, walked over, and placed a hand lightly on his arm—just for a second. Her eyes met his, steady and sincere.

"I'm really glad I came."

Then, with a cheeky little twist of her mouth: "And I'm very excited for this mysterious miso dinner.” She laughed, bright and musical, before slipping past him toward the bathroom, already pulling her hair up into a loose bun.
"I'm going to unpack, settle in and then take a hot shower.” She figured that would be a good plan, this way she’s not left unpacking later.

Verena moved through the suite with quiet purpose, her fingers trailing lightly over surfaces as she unpacked, grounding herself in the space. She opened her suitcase with a practiced grace and began placing her belongings with care—thoughtful, deliberate, almost meditative in the way she arranged each item. She hung her dresses and blouses first—pieces in soft silks and structured knits, the kind of wardrobe that moved easily from gallery to dinner. She ran her hands down each fabric after hanging it, smoothing wrinkles, letting her mind settle into the comforting ritual.

The more casual items—light sweaters, vintage tees, well-worn denim—she folded neatly into the drawers of the sleek, low-profile dresser. It was walnut and flush against the wall like it belonged there. The handles were seamless, hidden—much like the suite itself. Designed to feel effortless.

Her toiletries were next. She stepped into the bathroom and blinked, momentarily stunned by its size and brightness. Pale marble wrapped the floors and walls in a soft glow, and the vanity lights gave off a flattering warmth that made her skin look sun-kissed, even in morning light.

"Have you seen this bathroom?" she called out to AJ, her voice echoing gently off the high ceilings. "It's huge.”

She took her time placing her skincare and makeup into one of the wide, soft-close drawers beneath the sink, thankful for how much storage there was—everything had a place. No clutter, no chaos. The space looked untouched, but alive. Like her.

When she was done, she stepped back and admired the clean lines of it all—the quiet order she'd created. There was something deeply satisfying in it. In this small act of settling in, she felt… anchored. Like she wasn't just passing through this trip. Like she belonged in it. Back in the bedroom, she laid a dark blue dress across the bed. It was understated but striking, the kind of piece that whispered elegance. The sleeves draped off the shoulders, delicate and romantic without trying too hard. She paired it with a light, structured jacket. She'd remembered AJ's note about the moody weather.

Finally, from the bottom of her suitcase, she retrieved a large, well-worn notebook bound in soft charcoal leather. She thumbed through a few pages—ink sketches in various states of completion, poetic fragments, idea scribbles in the margins. This was her mind on paper. Her way of tracking the ephemeral. Verena tucked one leg beneath her and sat cross-legged on the bed, flipping to a blank page. She didn't know what the city would offer yet—what colors, textures, or stories would catch her breath—but she wanted to be ready for it. To catch it before it passed.

A quiet stillness settled around her, but her eyes were bright, alert. This was more than a vacation. It was a shift. An opening. And for the first time in a long time, she wasn't chasing inspiration. She was making space for it.

 

[AJS Roleplaying]

AJ stood quietly by the window, hands in his pockets, watching Verena move through the suite like she belonged there - not as a guest, but as something the space had been waiting for. It was a strange, magnetic kind of beauty to witness - her presence somehow making the sleek lines and glass and marble feel warmer. Lived in. Real. He'd brought her here on instinct, but now, watching her unpack, listening to her laughter echo from the bathroom, AJ knew it hadn't been instinct alone. It was intention. He wanted her here - not beside him as a favour or companion, but as something far more grounded. A choice.

Her voice floated from the bathroom—"Have you seen this bathroom? It's huge."

He smiled, leaning against the frame of the window. "Yeah, I figured you might like it."

The silence that followed wasn't awkward. It was natural. A kind of peace blanketed the suite, and AJ let himself sink into it. He moved to his own bag, opening it and pulling out a clean shirt for the evening, a black merino crewneck - sleek, understated. Easy. Everything about this trip had been designed to be easy. Not simple. Not lazy. Just... intentional ease. The kind people forgot they needed until it was given to them.

He moved into the bedroom and saw the dress Verena had laid across her bed—the deep, smoky blue standing out like brushstroke against white canvas. His fingers brushed the edge of the fabric, feather-light. He didn't linger, didn't intrude. But the sight of it stirred something in his chest. She didn't just exist in his world - she elevated it. Made it sharper, more textured. More worth slowing down for.

AJ walked back out to the living room and poured two glasses of still water from the carafe by the minibar, setting one quietly on the table nearest her side of the suite. Then he returned to the couch and settled in, pulling out his phone - not to check messages, but to scroll through his notes for the week. Work would come. The meetings were scheduled, the pitches ready, the numbers polished. But right now, in this space, none of that mattered.

When he heard her footsteps behind him, he looked up and gave a soft smile. "You settle in alright?"

She nodded, her eyes brighter now, face open in a way he rarely got to see back in New York. He took a moment to just look at her. Not in the admiring, silent way he sometimes did across a bar or gallery room - but in this private way. Unrushed. Present.

"I'm glad you took the bed by the window," he said, his voice low and warm. "Feels right. You're the one that always looks at things differently. Might as well wake up to a view that keeps pace with you."

He stood then, moving toward her without urgency, just a quiet ease. "And for the record," he added, voice dipping slightly as he passed her on the way to the bedroom, "I meant what I said on the plane. Every word." There was no need to say more. He knew she heard him. Felt it.

AJ changed quickly, pulling on the black crewneck and a slate-gray jacket - light, tailored. He checked his watch: an hour till dinner. Just enough time to unwind before slipping into the evening. As he stepped back into the shared space, he caught sight of her again - cross-legged on the bed, notebook in her lap, eyes scanning the page like she was already sketching their arrival in lines and fragments.

It struck him in a quiet, powerful way - she brought herself, fully. Not just physically. She came with her inner world intact. Her rituals. Her rhythm. She wasn't trying to perform, or impress, or adapt to his pace. She was letting her own tempo unfold. AJ leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed.

"You know, I don't think I've ever seen someone unpack that gracefully," he said with a small grin. "You move like you're setting up a gallery, not a hotel room."

His tone was teasing, but not flippant. He meant it. She had presence. She shaped the air around her. He walked back to the window, watching the light dip low across the bay. The clouds hung in loose swaths of gold and smoke, a painter's sky. "When you're done sketching the universe," he said with a glance over his shoulder, "I say we head down around 6:45. The place is about ten minutes away."

There was a pause, then something more serious in his voice. "And after dinner… we don't have to rush back. There's a rooftop I know. Quiet. You'll like it."

He turned fully then, catching her eye. "I want to give you more than just space this week," he said. "I want to give you context. Places that don't ask anything of you. Rooms that let you stay soft."

AJ's jaw tightened slightly at the vulnerability of his own words - but he didn't regret them. They weren't tactical. They were true. She had a life back in New York that kept her sharp, sculpted by necessity. But here? Here she could be un-carved. And he was ready to hold that version of her, even if it was just for now. He stepped back into the bedroom and pulled the door mostly closed behind him, giving her the privacy to finish whatever she was writing.

As he glanced at the time again, AJ felt something quiet settle inside him. The week hadn't even truly begun, but already something had shifted. Not because of a grand moment. Not because of passion or spectacle. Because of the ease. Because for the first time in a long time, he wasn't bracing for the next thing. He was just here. With her. And it was enough.​

 

[Kita-san]

Verena didn't look up right away. Her pen moved slowly across the page, deliberate, as if AJ's voice had gently filtered into her consciousness but hadn't fully pulled her from the rhythm she was in. The sketch forming on the paper was abstract—fluid shapes overlapping, a soft interplay between lines and space. Not quite the skyline, not quite him, but something that felt like both. Her version of arrival.

When she did finally glance up, her expression was warm—like she'd been smiling long before he spoke, just quietly, to herself. “I guess I can’t help it. Arranging the art gallery is an art within itself. You know I’m constantly rearranging it.” She said and chuckled.

Her gaze followed him as he crossed to the window, the light from outside gilding the planes of his face. There was something about the way he stood there—half-casual, half-aware of the moment—that struck her. AJ always seemed to live in dualities: curated, but sincere. Focused, but feeling. She admired that about him.

His mention of a rooftop softened her features further, a hint of intrigue blooming behind her eyes. "A rooftop," she repeated, the word turning over in her mouth like it meant more than it should. "You do realize I'm a sucker for elevated views and poetic timing, right? If you've got city lights and silence lined up for me, I might never forgive you for setting the bar that high."

Then his next words came—quiet, sincere, unguarded—and Verena stilled again.

Rooms that let you stay soft.

She felt those words like a hand gently pressing against her ribs. Not hard, but deep. They landed somewhere between her chest and her throat, right where truth tended to live. Her smile didn't fade, but it changed—less playful now, more luminous. The kind of smile that happened when someone saw you clearly and didn't flinch.

She didn't need to say anything. Didn't fill the air with disclaimers or stories of how often she had to armor up just to get through a Tuesday. She figured he knew already. That was part of what made this feel so unforced. He saw her, and he wasn't trying to edit her experience.

Verena stood and walked to her suitcase again, gently pulling out a velvet pouch containing earrings—simple gold hoops that caught the light but didn't beg for it. She placed them on top of the dress. She looked over at him as he gently pulled the door nearly shut. "I'll be ready by 6:40," she said with a playful lilt. "And I expect dinner, rooftop, and at least one accidental moment that feels cinematic. You've already got the lighting right." She teased before he gave her some privacy.

Verena let out a soft sigh, the kind that came not from fatigue, but from the quiet exhale of transition—the moment between solitude and presence. She added a final, deliberate line to the sketch in her lap, darkening a silhouette she'd only just begun to shape. It wasn't finished—not yet—but something about the act of closing the notebook felt like a small ceremony. The lines could wait. Life was happening outside the page now.

She rose slowly, stretching the tension from her shoulders, and glanced at her phone. A subtle buzz of anticipation flickered in her chest. It wasn't nerves, exactly—more like the hum of readiness. Tonight mattered, not because it was a grand occasion, but because of the space they were creating inside it. It had weight without pressure. Intimacy without expectation.

Carrying what she needed into the bathroom, Verena gently closed the door behind her. The soft lighting cast a warm glow across the marble surfaces, and for a moment she stood still, just taking it in. There was something almost sacred about preparing herself this way—not for anyone else's gaze, but for her own. She washed her face slowly, palms cupping water like it was something holy. The moisturizer she smoothed into her skin smelled faintly of rose and sandalwood, grounding her in the now. When she reached for her makeup, it wasn't to conceal or transform—it was to honor the canvas she lived in. A little definition at the eyes, a wash of color on the lips, highlighter brushed gently over her cheekbones like moonlight.

Her hair, wild and free by nature, was coaxed into something a little more intentional. Half up, half down—waves softened but defined, clipped back to reveal the line of her neck and the subtle shine of the earrings she'd chosen. Gold, minimalist, but with just enough gleam to catch the light when she turned her head.

She slipped into the dark blue dress with a kind of reverence. The off-shoulder sleeves framed her collarbones like brushstrokes. The fabric hugged gently without demanding attention, and as she fastened the clasp at her back, she allowed herself a small smile. It felt good to feel good. She pulled a light coat from the closet—and finally, the shoes. Deep navy high heels that revealed her freshly painted toes. The open, pointed toe heel was sophisticated yet sexy.

6:34 PM.

Right on time—and a little ahead of it. She grabbed her small purse, soft leather that matched her coat, and turned to the suite with an easy confidence.

"Okay, I'm ready," she called lightly, stepping into the shared space. Her voice held a subtle mix of sparkle and calm. She checked her phone again, chuckling as she glanced at the time. "Oh, I'm early. Perfect." Her tone was teasing, but warm, threaded with a quiet pride in the way the evening was unfolding. Then her eyes landed on him.

AJ.

Standing there in that sleek, understated way he always seemed to embody. The black crewneck framed his frame like it was made for him, and the slate-gray jacket elevated it without trying too hard. He looked composed—but not curated. Present. There. Verena's steps slowed just slightly as she took him in, her gaze lingering for a heartbeat longer than she intended. Something gentle tugged in her chest.

"You look nice," she said, her voice a little softer now, the words unwrapped from pretense. Her smile followed—not wide or dramatic, but quiet and whole. The kind of smile that said: I see you, and I like what I see, but more than that—I like that it's you.
There was a flicker in her eyes as they met his, a spark not of performance, but of invitation.

Let's go be something beautiful tonight, it seemed to say. Just us, just this moment, just enough.

 

[AJS Roleplaying]

AJ didn't rush her arrival - didn't check his watch, didn't pace the space. He simply waited, shoulders relaxed, resting one hand loosely on the back of the armchair, the other holding his phone with the screen dark. When she stepped into view, he looked up and felt the breath catch - not dramatically, not in some cinematic gasp, but in the way a person feels a sudden clarity when everything in front of them just fits. His gaze took her in, beginning with the subtle gleam of the earrings, trailing over the elegant cut of her dress, and settling on her face - the ease in it, the confidence layered with softness. She hadn't dressed to impress. She'd dressed to exist, fully. And that was what struck him most.

"You look beautiful," AJ said, simple and sure.

Then, with a quiet smile as he moved toward the door, "And very punctual, which is important. I'm told miso waits for no one."

He reached for the suite key and held the door open with a nod, letting her pass first. Their fingers found each other as they walked down the hallway, easy and instinctive. No orchestrated moment. Just his hand brushing hers, their palms fitting without adjustment. The hallway was quiet, the carpeting muting their steps, but something about their pace made it feel like the world outside had slowed to match them.

Downstairs, the city had begun to hum in twilight. Streetlights blinked on one by one, casting a golden wash over the pavement. Traffic murmured rather than roared, and the breeze held a whisper of salt and jasmine. AJ glanced sideways at her as they walked, her coat flowing just enough to echo the rhythm of their stride.

"There's this moment," he said as they waited at the curb for the car, "just before a city fully turns over to night. Where it holds its breath. Feels like something's about to start, but you don't know what yet." He paused, looking out over the skyline as the ride approached. "I think that's where we are. Right in that breath."

He opened the car door for her, then slipped in beside her, his hand finding hers again without needing to think about it.

The restaurant was nestled on a side street in the hills above the city, part of a minimalist boutique hotel with no signage - just clean lines, soft light, and a glass façade that gave nothing away from the outside. AJ had found it months ago, during a trip when work had left him restless, searching for quiet. Inside, the atmosphere shifted. Warm wood tones, soft illumination from hanging lanterns, a low hum of ambient music like rainfall at a distance. A woman at the host stand greeted them by name, her tone soft, professional.

"Mr. Carlson. Right this way."

The path she led them on weaved through the main room - a scattering of intimate tables, low conversation, and the occasional clink of ceramic. Toward the back, a frosted-glass partition slid aside, revealing a private corner alcove, completely enclosed on one side by floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a panoramic view of the city below. From this height, it felt suspended. Removed. Floating. Verena paused, taking in the scene. AJ watched her, lips twitching into a smile.

"I figured if we're going to eat soup named after fermented rice paste," he said quietly, "we might as well do it with a skyline."

They were shown to a low table surrounded by sunken seating with deep cushions rather than chairs. It was elegant without being fussy. A single white orchid stood in a narrow vase at the centre, and the table was already set with delicate ceramic dishes, hand-thrown and subtly mismatched in shade. Once they were seated, AJ glanced over the menu with a practiced eye, then looked up at her.

"The tasting menu's the best way to experience it," he said. "Trust me. You won't miss a thing, and you don't have to make any decisions. They just bring it. Course after course. It slows you down in the best way."

He let the menu fall closed and gestured for the server. The tasting menu began not with food, but scent. A warm towel, infused with yuzu and lavender, placed gently in their hands. AJ pressed it to his face and exhaled.

"I swear, sometimes I think I come here just for this part."

Then came the first course - clear broth, impossibly flavorful, in cups with no handles. AJ sipped his slowly, eyes flicking toward her now and then. She was glowing - not from makeup or the light, but from presence. From being in her body, in this moment, in this space.

Over the next hour, they shared miso cod that flaked under the brush of a chopstick, tempura-fried shiso leaves that crackled between their teeth, and tiny rounds of sushi dressed with citrus instead of soy. AJ occasionally offered quiet notes about the ingredients - just enough to be interesting, never enough to lecture. He told her the chef once studied architecture before falling in love with fermentation. That the ceramic bowls were commissioned from a local artist known for letting the glaze run wild. That one of the walls in the kitchen was made entirely of rice paper and hand-stitched vines.

But mostly, he watched her experience it. Not perform appreciation, but feel it. When the final course arrived - a matcha ice cream paired with plum wine syrup and a whisper of sea salt - AJ leaned back, one arm resting along the cushioned ledge behind him.

"This," he said, voice lower now, "is the kind of meal you remember. Not because it's flashy, but because it's considered. Everything here has been chosen for a reason."

He looked across the table at her, his tone softening even further.

"Kind of like this whole week. It's not just about where we are. It's about who's in the room. And right now, I'm exactly where I want to be."

Their fingers brushed again on the tabletop, this time a little more deliberate. Outside, the city glittered like the inside of a snow globe - beautiful, untouchable. But in this room, with her, AJ felt grounded. Present. Like something important was happening - not loudly, but undeniably. And he was ready for whatever came next.​

 

[Kita-san]

There was something about the way AJ waited for her that undid Verena before the evening even truly began. He hadn't fidgeted. Hadn't glanced at his phone or shifted impatiently. He had simply waited. Still. Present. Like waiting wasn't a pause, but part of the rhythm. When he looked up and their eyes met, it wasn't performative, no overly poetic swell in his expression—but something landed between them. A recognition. A resonance. As if the space around them had narrowed just enough to hold only the two of them.

She saw the flicker in his eyes, the way he took her in. Not with hunger or awe, but with reverence. And that almost undid her again. Because she hadn't come dressed to stun—she'd come dressed to feel like herself. And yet, when he said "You look beautiful," she believed him. Not because of how she looked, but because of how he said it. Like beauty, in that moment, was less about appearance and more about alignment. About presence.


Walking beside him felt easy in a way that shouldn't have surprised her, but did. Their hands met in the middle space between steps—not choreographed, not hesitant. Just… natural. Like they'd been reaching for each other longer than either of them had realized. And as they moved through the city, down quiet hallways and into the deepening twilight, it felt like the world had agreed to quiet itself so they could hear whatever this was becoming.

Then came the restaurant.

From the outside, it looked like an architectural secret. No sign. No announcement. Just angles and glass and the glow of intention. AJ didn't say much—he rarely filled space for the sake of sound—but the glance he gave her as they approached said everything. He'd brought her here for a reason. Not to impress, but to offer. And Verena felt that. Like this was something sacred he was sharing.

Inside, the atmosphere shifted around her like warm water. Subtle, muted light. The scent of something delicate she couldn't name. The quiet hum of conversation that never rose above a hush. When the host greeted AJ by name—"Mr. Carlson. Right this way"—Verena caught herself watching him again. How easily he existed in this space. How nothing about him was striving. Not for attention, not for approval. He was just… there. Grounded. And somehow, just by being beside him, she was too.

But when the frosted glass partition opened to reveal the private alcove—when that view opened up like a living painting—Verena stopped breathing for a moment. Not from shock, but from a deep, still kind of awe. The city below shimmered like something fragile and infinite, and she felt untethered from everything except this. This man. This view. This exact sliver of time.

She didn't say anything right away. She didn't need to. And AJ didn't fill the silence. He just watched her take it in, his lips curving slightly, almost like he was proud for her, not of himself.

The seating was unexpected—sunken cushions, a low table, everything arranged to make you slow down. To sink in. And Verena did. She let herself ease into it, feeling the subtle tug in her shoulders unwind, letting the room, the mood, the man across from her disarm her in layers. She was already loving this entire experience. Creative ideas just kept coming to her and she couldn’t help but make mental notes of the little things that caught her attention.

Then came the towel—warm, scented with yuzu and lavender. She pressed it to her face and closed her eyes for a moment longer than necessary. It wasn't just refreshing. It felt ceremonial. Like a boundary had been marked: the outside world stays out. You're here now. Just here.

The meal unfolded like poetry with no rhyme—just rhythm. First, a broth so clear and potent it felt like memory. Then dish after dish that surprised her not with their extravagance, but with their restraint. Their clarity. Every bite was precise, balanced, confident. Like the food trusted itself the way AJ did.

And as Verena ate, she became more aware—not just of the tastes or textures, but of herself. Of her own breath. Her posture. Her laughter, which came easier now. Of AJ's voice, soft and low, explaining things not to impress but to invite her in. The way he told stories—about the chef, about the ceramic artist, about the rice paper wall—was the way someone speaks of things they love. Gently. Without claiming them.

There was no agenda with him. No performance. And that made Verena feel something rare and startling: safe. Not in the sense of comfort or predictability, but in the sense that nothing in this moment demanded more of her than her truth.

She caught herself watching him more than the food. The way his hands moved. The small smile he gave when a flavor surprised her. The flicker of something tender in his eyes when she sighed after a particularly perfect bite. It wasn't that he'd brought her somewhere beautiful. It was that he saw beauty in her being here. With him.

When dessert arrived—matcha ice cream, plum wine, sea salt—Verena felt completely, exquisitely undone. And not in the way she used to equate with love. Not from chaos. From clarity. Verena looked at him, heart suddenly quiet in the most profound way. Not racing. Not leaping. Just still. She took note of the low light catching in the line of his jaw, the softness in his eyes. That same quiet certainty he'd held all night. The same presence she kept finding herself falling into.

Verena swirled the last bit of matcha ice cream in her bowl with her spoon, letting the pale green melt into the plum syrup like a secret dissolving. She gave a quiet hum—half satisfaction, half disbelief—and leaned back against the cushion, one hand cradling her wine glass, the other tracing the edge of the dish like she might actually mourn its emptiness.

She smirked. "Okay, that's it. I'm in trouble. You do realize you just ruined every other restaurant for me, right? Nothing can top this.” She teased with a light giggle. Verena was very pleased with this experience. Everything went beyond her expectations and besides this was her favorite type of food anyway. AJ didn’t miss the mark with this. “This is beautiful AJ. Everything is just beautiful. Oh and you were right about the miso.” A small smirked appeared.

Verena exhaled and set down her spoon with ceremony, like it was the end of a ritual. Then she reached out, her fingers slipping over the table to rest against his. Then, after a beat, her voice dropped just enough to let the honesty slip through: "This feels good.”

And with that, she leaned back again, hand still in his, lips curving into something easy. Unrushed. The kind of smile that only happens when you're exactly where you want to be—and you know the person across from you is to. “I’m curious to see what’s next.”

This wasn't a moment trying to become something. It was something.

And she was ready. Ready for wherever this would carry them next.

 

[AJS Roleplaying]

AJ met her touch with a quiet kind of gravity, his thumb brushing once over the back of her hand. Not absentminded. Not performative. Just… real. His fingers closed gently around hers as she leaned back, and for a long, slow breath, he didn't say anything. He didn't need to. The city glittered beyond the glass, a constellation of lives happening all at once - cars threading through avenues, windows flickering with movement and mundane wonder. But in their little cove of warmth and cedar-scented air, AJ wasn't thinking about the city. Or the restaurant. Or even the impeccable course they'd just finished.

He was thinking about her.

He watched the way the candlelight played against the curve of her cheek, the way her expression softened in stillness. Verena had this way of being entirely present while still leaving space around herself. She didn't fill every silence, didn't rush to define every moment. AJ had known women who chased experiences like proof - rushing toward something glittering just ahead. But not her. She met experiences the way an artist met a canvas: with awareness, with reverence. With the courage to let the moment tell its own story. And now, here she was. Hand in his. Satisfied. Grounded.

He leaned forward a little, resting his other elbow on the edge of the low table, keeping his movements slow and spare, like he didn't want to disturb whatever lived in the hush between them.

"I'm glad," he said simply. "I wanted this to feel like something… honest." His gaze lifted to meet hers again, green eyes catching in the candlelight. There was warmth there, but also intention. "Too many things get dressed up to impress. This place doesn't do that. It just… is."

He paused, watching her face for a reaction, the curve of her lips still softened with that post-dessert smile. His thumb grazed her knuckle again.

"That's what I wanted tonight to be. Not an event. Not a show." He tilted his head slightly. "Just time. Time where you don't have to wear anything but your own name."

There was no weight to his words, no pressure. But they hung there gently, like a coat being offered at the door - just in case she wanted to stay awhile. AJ leaned back slightly, giving her space to breathe again, but he didn't let go of her hand. Not yet.

After a moment, he glanced sideways out the window, watching the lights shimmer in the windows across the skyline. "The rooftop's a short walk from here," he said after a moment. "Private. Quiet. There's a little garden up there. Not much, but it's enough." His voice was low, smooth. Almost conspiratorial. "You know. Since I've already ruined every other restaurant."

That smile tugged at the corner of his mouth again - dry, self-aware, but undeniably fond. "Or we can sit here a while longer. No rush. The night's not going anywhere."

He sipped, eyes never leaving hers. AJ didn't chase. That had never been his way. But he offered - steadily, without demand. And in this space, under the hush of curated silence and warmth, he felt the quiet truth settling deeper in his chest: he didn't want this to be an exception. He wanted this to be part of something - something that didn't need to rush or unravel to matter.

And even though he didn't say it aloud, even though the night was still young, he knew - without hesitation - that if this was what falling felt like, then it wasn't a plunge. It was a landing.
​

---------

They walked slowly from the restaurant, their pace unhurried, hands still linked. The narrow, warmly lit hallway gave way to the open breath of the rooftop access - a staircase enclosed in glass, washed in soft lighting. The air changed as they ascended, cooler now, edged with the early-summer night and the faint, fragrant promise of the rooftop garden above. When they reached the door, AJ stepped forward and pushed it open.

The city opened around them. It wasn't a dramatic skyline, not the kind found on postcards or dramatic cinematic backdrops. But it was theirs. Muted gold windows. A quiet breeze. The faint sound of traffic, softened by elevation and distance. And the garden - pockets of lavender, clusters of ivy trailing over wooden beams, planters filled with herbs and wildflowers lit by discreet, low lights. It smelled like rosemary and fresh earth and sky.

AJ let her walk ahead a few steps, giving her space to take it in. He stayed behind her for a moment, just watching. She moved like someone returning to something they hadn't known they'd missed. When she finally turned to him, eyes wide with something unspoken, AJ stepped forward and raised his glass slightly. Not in a toast, exactly. Just acknowledgment.

"To good trouble," he said quietly, echoing her earlier words with a faint smirk. They wandered toward the edge of the garden, where a small wooden bench faced the city. He sat first, then reached out for her hand again, his fingers closing around hers as if he were drawing a line from dinner to now. He didn't speak again for a while. Just breathed. Just sat. This was what he wanted. Not fireworks. Not declarations. Just her. Just this. The gentle, honest unfolding of a night that hadn't tried to become more than what it was.

AJ glanced at her again, and in the soft hush of the rooftop, he let the smallest truth rise behind his eyes. He hadn't brought her here to impress her. He'd brought her here because this - the view, the quiet, the breath between words - was the most honest version of himself. And she was the first person in a long time he wanted to share that with.​

 

[Kita-san]

Verena turned her head slightly, letting her eyes take in the rooftop: the whisper of herbs in the planters, the breath of lavender curling through the air, the way the city below flickered like a thousand untold stories. Nothing was loud. Nothing demanded. But everything was alive.

Then she looked at him—and everything in her stilled.

"So this is another side to AJ," she said softly. A smile tugged at her lips, soft and real. Verena was starting to see things about AJ that she hasn’t seen before, positive of course. Attractive of course. Her hazel eyes sparkled with something more than amusement as she looked up at the sky. Something steadier. Rooted.

For a long time, she'd been good at collecting beauty—at experiencing things intensely, richly, without always letting them anchor her. But this—AJ—was different. He wasn't trying to sweep her off her feet.

He was offering the ground.

She looked at their hands—still linked—and her thumb moved lightly over his skin, almost absentmindedly. Almost.

Verena set her wine glass down gently on the small table in front of them, the deep red catching the soft garden lights like a liquid jewel. She shifted her weight ever so slightly, turning her body toward him until her shoulder rested against his, warm and deliberate. There was no casual accident in the touch. She wanted to feel him beside her—wanted the closeness to say what her words were still catching up to.

Her fingers absently played with his a quiet fidget that only happened when her guard was down. She glanced sideways at him, her expression open and curious, laced with a spark of mischief that had softened over the course of the night into something more intimate. More real.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked quietly, her voice dipped in velvet. "What's on the mind of AJ the Architect tonight?"

She smiled as she asked it—half teasing, half serious—but her eyes searched his, wanting to hear the architecture of his inner world, not just the cities he designed.

There was a small pause, just long enough for her to fill it with her own thoughts, her own honesty. "My brain's usually this wild traffic jam of thoughts," she admitted, her tone light but honest. "Plans, conversations I should've ended differently, how much clay and art supplies do I have left. Did I pick the right color for the pot I need to glaze next week? Stuff like that.” She chuckled softly. “But… right now?"

She exhaled and let herself sink just a little deeper into his side, her head resting gently on his shoulder like it had always known its place there.

"Right now it's just… quiet," she continued, her voice a little lower. "Still. Like someone turned down the noise in my head and gave me this one clear sentence that keeps repeating: I'm happy. I'm safe. I'm really glad I'm here." She tilted her face slightly up toward him, just enough to catch his profile in the glow of the rooftop lights, then smiled again—this time wider, warmer, unfiltered.

"And the view doesn't hurt," she added with a wink. Her fingers gave his hand a playful squeeze. "One very present, very kind man, who may or may not be a criminally bad tie-wearer, but somehow still managed to completely derail my emotional defenses with lavender towels and fermented rice paste."

She grinned into the fabric of his jacket. "Honestly, I should be mad at you. I was planning on keeping things chill tonight. Easy, flirty, you know? But then you had to go and make me feel all these good emotions.” Her tone was light and teasing but then it softened again, the edge of humor folding into something more vulnerable.

"You make space for people without even trying. And you don't just say nice things—you notice them. You notice me.” Verena closed her eyes for a second, feeling the steady rhythm of his breath, the heat of his arm beside hers, the way the night had slowed into something tender and true.

After a moment she chuckled softly, her head still tucked against him. "I'm just here. In this minute. With the city beneath us, and the stars doing their thing, and you—being way more than I expected."

She looked up at him, that familiar glint back in her eyes now, even as her voice held a thread of sincerity that ran deeper than anything she'd meant to say that night.

 

[AJS Roleplaying]

AJ let her words settle around him like warmth from the glass of wine still resting by his side, the pulse of her voice drawing closer with every note. He didn't interrupt, didn't try to smooth or shape her thoughts into anything other than what they were - honest, tender, softly alive. Her head was on his shoulder now, and there was a quiet gravity to it. Not heavy, not confining - but grounding. Like a ribbon being tied instead of pulled. And AJ, who so often existed in spaces of precision and planning, allowed himself to live fully in this one breath of unscripted closeness. His fingers moved just slightly beneath hers, not to guide, but to respond. A slow brushing of his thumb along the inside of her wrist, then a subtle press of his palm to the back of her hand, as if anchoring them both in the same unspoken truth. The silence between them wasn't empty - it was full of all the things they didn't need to rush to say. He turned his head toward her slowly, eyes tracing the line of her cheek as it caught the golden wash of the rooftop lights. A small smile curved the corner of his mouth—slow and content, the kind that meant more than anything he could've said out loud.

Then, gently, he shifted. Not away - closer. His shoulder pressed slightly firmer against hers, his thigh brushing along the side of hers with quiet intention. His free hand moved, slow and deliberate, to rest lightly on her knee - barely touching, just fingertips to fabric. A silent question. A soft, thrilling dare.

"I'm thinking," he said finally, his voice low and unhurried, "that I didn't expect tonight to feel like this."

He glanced down at their joined hands for a second, his thumb still moving with quiet rhythm, before looking back at her. "I knew I wanted you here. I knew I wanted the night to matter. But I didn't think it would settle into me like this. I didn't think it'd feel like… clarity."

The wind moved softly around them, lifting a few stray strands of her hair and carrying the faint scent of lavender past his nose. He leaned into it instinctively, not with hunger, but something slower. His chin dipped briefly, lips brushing lightly - accidentally, almost reverently - against her temple. A breath's width. No more. But enough.

"Clarity's rare," he murmured, barely above the hush of the city behind them. "It's quiet. Doesn't demand your attention. It just… fits."

He gave her leg the slightest squeeze beneath his fingers—affection disguised as reassurance.

"Most of the time, I'm thinking about what comes next. The next sketch. The next pitch. The next thing to fix or finish or make right. I'm always adjusting the frame. Trying to make the structure hold."

He paused, then laughed once under his breath - dry, soft. "But this doesn't feel like that. Doesn't feel like work. Doesn't feel like I'm trying."

His gaze returned to the city, letting the moment breathe. Lights sparkled beneath them like fireflies trapped in glass, their glow pulsing in time with the heartbeat he could feel rising in his chest. Her weight against his side was a presence he didn't realize he'd been missing. Not as distraction. But as balance.

"I've always admired beauty from a distance," AJ continued, his voice barely more than a murmur now. "Skylines. Angles. Light. Even people. But you..." His jaw tightened faintly, not from discomfort, but from control. From trying to find the right architecture for the feeling rising inside him. "You don't stay at a distance."

He glanced down at their hands again. The way her fingers still traced his like she was mapping something sacred. Then up - his eyes catching hers in that slant of golden light. "You move in. Quietly. Without asking for permission. And then suddenly, you're in the foundation."

He let that hang for a second, watching her reaction as much as he was feeling his own pulse echo back to him in the touch of her skin. His hand at her knee slid slightly, not high, not urgent - just up enough to trace the edge of the fabric there, like an unspoken promise.

"I like this version of you," he said softly, mouth close enough to the crown of her head now that his breath lifted a few strands of her hair. "The one who doesn't filter what she says. The one who leans."

He chuckled gently, tilting his head so his temple brushed against hers. "And I'm okay with being responsible for derailing your emotional defenses. Even if it means I have to keep lavender towels on hand going forward."

A beat. Then a soft hum in the back of his throat.

"You're here," he said finally, his tone more grounded than anything he'd spoken yet. "And I'm glad you're here. That's all I'm thinking about right now."

He leaned back, but not away—enough so she could look up at him if she wanted to. His hand stayed at her leg. His other hand still holding hers. AJ didn't need to ask where the night was going. Because right now, it was here. And here was enough.​

 

[Kita-san]

Verena let the softness of his voice settle into her bones like something slow-burning and real. She could feel the quiet thrum of his pulse through the hand that still held hers, the grounding weight of his thigh brushing hers, the warmth of his palm against her leg—a presence that asked nothing and somehow gave everything. It felt like leaning into the kind of silence most people run from. But she didn't want to run. Not from this. Not from him.

Her eyes stayed on the city for a beat longer, the lights below blurring slightly in her peripheral vision. Not from emotion—though there was plenty of that swirling in her—but from the way her focus had tunneled in on this man beside her. How present he was. How unwaveringly here.

She shifted, just slightly, her body curling in more. Her hand still laced with his, her other one coming to rest softly over the back of his where it sat on her leg. Not possessive. Not performative. Just… steady. Like she wanted to be the thing anchoring him, too.

"I don't think I've ever felt this calm with someone," she said at last, voice low, like the hush between their bodies required a gentler tone. "Not in a way that felt earned. Or safe. Or seen." Yes, she had been in love with James and she assumed at one point he had been with her. They shared many positive and beautiful experiences. They shared loving and intimate moments but those had long disappeared. Still, she didn’t know how things became this way. No matter how many times she tried to talk it out with James it just never got solved. Their conversation never went anywhere. It just stayed still.

She tilted her chin, brushing her cheek against the soft fabric of his jacket, the scent of him—cedar and warmth filling her senses.
"This is nice. To be with someone and not feel like I'm supposed to be performing some version of myself. Like I need to sparkle or seduce or keep the mood light enough not to be a burden." She let out a soft, breathy laugh, the kind that didn't rise from humor but recognition. "But you just let me be. And not just that—you make it feel like being is… enough."

Her fingers began to move gently—idly tracing a pattern across the back of his hand with the pad of her thumb, like she was memorizing the terrain. She felt his hand tighten just slightly at her leg in response, and she closed her eyes for a breath.

Verena couldn't help it—every point of contact between them felt amplified. AJ's touch wasn't dramatic or overt, but it was devastating in its subtlety. The slow graze of his thumb across her hand, the way his palm settled at her knee with a quiet surety—it made her skin hum with awareness. Her body was tuned to him now, to the stillness they were sharing, to the rich gravity of what pulsed beneath their silence. And every time he shifted, every time his fingers moved the slightest bit, it lit a fuse beneath her skin. It wasn't just attraction. It was something deeper. Something magnetic.

Her breath caught, but she leaned in closer anyway, slow and deliberate, letting her temple brush the line of his jaw. The scent of him—cedar, clean linen, a faint trace of wine—flooded her senses. Her lips parted as if to speak, but instead she let the moment stretch, her face tucked against the warm hollow between his neck and shoulder, the soft stubble along his jaw a gentle scrape against her cheek.

"And you…" she murmured, voice low and warm, her lips so close they didn't just hover—they brushed. A whisper against skin. Not quite a kiss, not yet. "You with your thoughtful, measured glances… and your facts about rice paper walls…" Her breath ghosted over his neck, a deliberate caress. She smiled against his skin, and it bloomed slow and dangerous. "And your god-awful tie knot that somehow makes you even more impossible not to adore."

There was humor there—yes, always—but threaded beneath it was something softer. Something reverent. She meant every word, and it vibrated in her voice, her touch, the space between them that felt increasingly charged. Her lips skimmed the edge of his neck as she spoke, just barely, like they were tracing the shape of a decision she wasn't ready to make yet—but was aching to.

Then she slowly drew back—not far, just enough for her eyes to meet his. There was a shimmer there now, unmistakable. The kind of vulnerable shine that only comes when your heart is both wide open and fully exposed. She didn't hide it. She didn't want to. Not with him. Her gaze lingered and then something in her softened and deepened at the same time.

"I could stay here for a while," she said, her voice barely more than a whisper, but there was nothing uncertain in it.

She meant it with everything she had—her stilling breath, the way her legs angled toward his, the curl of her fingers over his hand like she was afraid he might vanish. She meant it in the way her pulse thundered in her ears, and in the hush that blanketed them both in something almost sacred.

There was a hunger in her now, not for more action, but for more time. More moments. More of him—the way he made her feel seen without being studied. Desired without being devoured. Wanted for something real. Her entire being was leaning into him now—curled into the quiet hum between their pulses, the warmth of a night that asked for nothing but offered everything. And as the city glittered behind them like a thousand tiny promises, Verena realized: she didn't just feel safe.

She felt found.

 

[AJS Roleplaying]

AJ felt the warmth of Verena's presence linger in his veins as they rose from the cushions, the rooftop bar's muted hum receding behind them. He noticed the subtle unsteadiness in his steps - liquid courage mixing with exhaustion, the gentle pull of alcohol softening his usual vigilance. A small part of him, sharpened by that haze, wanted nothing more than to sweep her into his arms again and lose himself in the urgency of desire. Yet he also remembered the fragile trust they were weaving, the care her vulnerability deserved. He inhaled deeply, settling the urge into quiet resolve.

At the host's desk, AJ asked for the bill. He paid with deliberate calm, fingers brushing the check folder as if sealing a promise to honor this night's tenderness. Returning the card, he caught the attendant's polite nod and guided Verena from the alcove, their hands meeting again in the twilight. Outside, the city air was cooler, carrying a faint breeze that lifted her hair and reminded him how alive this felt. He squeezed her hand, a gesture both possessive and protective, before leading the way down the stairs toward the hotel.

Their walk was slow. He felt her presence at his side like a tether, an anchor he wasn't ready to sever. Every time their fingers brushed or their shoulders nudged, his pulse quickened. He wanted to close the distance, to explore the promise in her curves - but he resisted. Tonight, he told himself, was about deepening trust, not surrendering to impulse.

Once inside the suite, the soft lighting and the quiet hum of air conditioning welcomed them. AJ paused in the entryway, giving Verena a moment to let the hotel's calm envelop her. He watched as she surveyed the space briefly, then turned back to him with that gentle openness that had undone him earlier. He felt the tug to step forward, and did: closing the gap until their chests nearly touched.

He gathered her in a deep embrace, letting his arms encircle her firmly. His hands traced the curve of her back, slipping down to her waist, exploring the familiar line of her hips. The pressing need to draw her closer was intense - he could feel the heat of her body through his shirt, the rise and fall of her breath against his chest. For a moment, the world contracted to that embrace, the only sound the soft rustle of fabric and the beating of their hearts.

His lips brushed her hair as he murmured against her scalp, a faint confession of longing. Yet as his hands drifted higher, skimming the silhouette of her body beneath her dress, he paused. He felt the weight of responsibility: she deserved respect, patience, a foundation of trust before they crossed any boundary more intimate. He gently disentangled his arms, letting a sliver of distance return. The abruptness of pulling back was jarring in contrast to the closeness, but necessary.

"I… I should let you rest," he said quietly, his voice hushed in the suite's gentle light. He stepped back, offering a small, rueful smile. "Thank you for tonight. I'll see you in the morning." He didn't elaborate; the night's intensity spoke between them without words.

He watched as she melted into the softer side of the suite. His gaze lingered on her silhouette before he turned and crossed to the other end of the room. The suite felt vast now, the distance between the two beds both literal and symbolic. He placed a hand on the headboard of his side, then sank onto the mattress, careful not to wake the quiet hum of the space. He lay back, staring at the ceiling, replaying every nuance of her touch, her warmth pressed into his memory.

Sleep did not come immediately. Instead, he traced his fingers along the edge of the comforter, recalling how her head had rested on his shoulder, how her breath had warmed his neck. The restraint he'd exercised felt both triumphant and torturous: he had honoured her, honoured the fragile trust they were building, yet ached for more. He whispered into the darkness, "Goodnight, Verena," though he wasn't sure she could hear. He closed his eyes, the weight of the night pressing gently against him.

Morning light would bring conversation and laughter, perhaps another tentative touch, but for now he allowed himself the private ache of desire deferred. He drifted toward sleep with the memory of her in his arms, convinced that respect would pave the way for deeper intimacy later. And somewhere beneath the hush of his exhaustion, he felt a quiet certainty: they would cross that line, when time and trust had shaped it into something right. Until then, he remained here on his side of the suite, holding onto the promise of morning - and the promise of Verena's presence beside him, when she was ready.​

 

[Kita-san]

AJ's restraint had not gone unnoticed. Every inch of her had felt his nearness—his warmth, the intensity coiled just beneath his calm—but it was the space he gave her that struck deepest. It told her she was more than a moment, more than a body to be taken. She was something to be seen. And he had seen her.

Verena accepted his decision. She understood the him and his reasonings even if they were unspoken. Carefully, almost ritualistically, she reached for a cotton pad and her micellar water, gently wiping away the layers she had worn like soft armor. The makeup lifted away, revealing the natural softness beneath—her freckles, the slight shadows under her eyes, the flush that still lingered from his embrace.

She leaned over the sink to wash her face, the cold water a jolt that made her gasp slightly. It was refreshing, grounding. As she dabbed her skin dry with a white towel, the exhaustion she'd been holding at bay all evening began to catch up with her. Next, she picked up her hairbrush and slowly pulled it through her hair, unraveling the knots the wind had woven in it earlier on the rooftop. Each pass of the bristles was soothing, the repetitive motion quieting her mind. She thought of his fingers threading gently through her hair, the way he'd pulled her into his chest like she belonged there. The memory made her breath catch—longing threaded through with gratitude.

She reached for her toothbrush next, methodically brushing away the final traces of the night. The minty taste was clean and crisp, almost jarringly so after the warmth of wine and AJ's nearness. She rinsed, spat, and paused, gazing one last time at herself in the mirror. There was no trace of glamour left, but somehow she felt more beautiful in that moment—barefaced, unguarded, and full of feeling. Finally, she slipped out of her dress and into her sleepwear: soft black pajama shorts that clung gently to her hips and a loose black cami that brushed her skin like a whisper. The fabric was cool, comforting, worn-in. She ran her hands down her sides, grounding herself in the simplicity of this new moment—one of closure and turning inward.

With the bathroom light dimmed behind her, Verena opened the door and stepped quietly back into the suite. The soft hush of the room welcomed her, and though the distance between the beds still felt like a tender ache, she carried with her the weight of something meaningful: the kind of restraint that spoke of promise, not denial. She crossed the threshold, the hush of her footsteps marking her return—not just to the room, but to herself. She turned on her side, facing the quiet stretch of room between them, and whispered into the dim, "Goodnight, AJ." She wasn't sure if he was still awake, but she hoped he heard. Hoped he felt it.

In her chest, a delicate kind of warmth bloomed—not the fevered rush of desire denied, but the slow-burn certainty of something beginning. He had wanted her, and still he had waited. That choice wove trust into her ribcage like silk threads, fragile but strong.

Verena didn't need to cross the distance tonight to feel close to him. She already did.
Still, her thoughts drifted forward: to the light of morning, to coffee shared in quiet smiles, to the brush of hands as they moved through whatever came next. The kind of intimacy that wasn't built in a single night but in each moment of mutual care. And she wanted that—with him.

A slow smile tugged at her lips as sleep crept in, soft and safe. In the silence, she made a promise of her own—not in words, but in the way her heart stayed open. When the time was right, when her body and spirit aligned in certainty, she would let him in more deeply. But for now, this—their shared silence, their mutual restraint—was enough. Maybe even perfect. She drifted into dreams with his name curled gently in her thoughts, hopeful. Very hopeful.

The morning unfolded slowly, wrapped in a hush that felt sacred.

Pale golden light spilled through the tall hotel windows, casting long, gentle patterns across the floor. The city beyond was still wiping the sleep from its eyes—traffic murmured softly below, and a few early risers wandered the sidewalks like ghosts in the morning haze. Inside the suite, everything felt still, peaceful, suspended in that rare kind of quiet that only comes after emotional vulnerability has been offered and accepted.

Verena sat curled in the wide armchair by the window, her legs tucked beneath her, one hand cradling a warm ceramic mug. The steam from the coffee rose in slow, lazy swirls, catching the sunlight as if even it didn't want to rush. The scent was rich and grounding—roasted warmth, a hint of vanilla, and the faint memory of yesterday.

She wore the same black pajama shorts and loose cami from the night before, her hair gathered loosely at the nape of her neck, strands falling softly around her face. The shadows under her eyes had lightened, and her skin carried that fresh, flushed softness only sleep and peace could bring.

Balanced against the arm of the chair was her sketchpad, open to a new page. In her lap, her hand moved steadily, fingers smudged faintly with graphite. She wasn't drawing anything precise—just the impressions of light and space: the curve of the windowsill, the softened line of a distant rooftop, the slope of a skyline blurred by early light. Shapes formed slowly under her hand, thoughtful, unhurried. She was less concerned with accuracy than feeling, letting instinct guide the pencil.

Occasionally, she paused to sip her coffee, letting the warmth bloom across her tongue and down into her chest. Then she'd look up—out the window, or sometimes across the room—eyes flicking softly toward AJ's side of the suite.

Her pencil paused again. A breeze stirred the curtain near the window, brushing against her bare arm like a whisper. She breathed it in, calm and full. There was a peace inside her she hadn't expected to feel—not after so much weight had been carried to this place, not after so many walls had been slowly dismantled. But there it was, nestled beside her like a companion: the quiet certainty that something true was taking shape between them.

Verena returned her eyes to the page, sketching a softer line this time—suggestive of two figures, abstract, shoulder to shoulder. She didn't rush to define them. Instead, she let the image stay open, like a possibility.

The coffee warmed her hands. The light warmed her skin. And somewhere in the silence, Verena smiled.

 

[AJS Roleplaying]

AJ stirred awake to the faintest scent of coffee and something warm in the air - familiar, grounding, like the echo of last night still lived between the soft sheets and the city just beyond the window. His eyes opened slowly, adjusting to the gold-washed light that had filled the suite like a tide rolling in. The morning was quiet, but not empty. It had weight. Presence. He lay still for a moment, letting the memory of her settle into him again - not just her touch, but her voice, her warmth, the way she had looked at him across the rooftop garden like he was already known. There'd been a moment last night, one he hadn't dared name even in his own mind, where he'd almost let go. Almost drawn her close enough to forget restraint. But he hadn't. And though his body still ached with the memory of her curves beneath his hands, there was no regret in the quiet between them now. Just… respect. And anticipation.

He pushed himself upright, rubbing a hand over his face and dragging it through his hair. The room was filled with light - clear, forgiving light that didn't hide anything. A contrast to the seductive hush of night. He swung his legs out of bed and padded quietly across the room, still barefoot, still shirtless, the cool floor a reminder to stay grounded.

He saw her before she noticed him. She was curled in the armchair, legs folded beneath her, a mug cradled in her hand and her hair slightly undone in that way that only made her look more herself. He didn't speak right away. He stood in the hush of the suite and simply watched her, the soft slope of her shoulder, the way she paused mid-sketch to sip her coffee, her expression one of complete ease. The sight tugged at something deep in him. And then, without fanfare, he moved toward the kitchenette, giving her the illusion of privacy even though his senses were tuned to her completely.

He poured himself a cup of coffee, fingers brushing the handle with more care than necessary. Everything felt delicate this morning - not fragile, but significant. Balanced. Like one wrong word could tip them somewhere they weren't ready to go, and one right one might open something lasting. He approached her slowly, mug in hand, the heat of it a small anchor. His voice was quiet when he finally broke the silence. "You're up early," he said, his tone warm, unhurried. He glanced at the sketchpad in her lap and smiled faintly. "Capturing the morning?"

He leaned against the wall nearby, sipping his coffee, his gaze soft on her face. She looked… luminous. Not in some exaggerated cinematic way, but in a deeply human one. Sleep-softened, real. There was a part of him that wanted to cross the distance, sink to the floor beside her, rest his head against her thigh and breathe in the smell of her skin and the morning and nothing else. But instead, he let the moment breathe.

He walked a little closer, then, finally sitting across from her in the opposite chair. Their legs weren't touching, but they were close enough that a shift could close the gap.

He smiled, quiet and sincere. "I wanted you," he said simply. "Still do." He didn't dress the words up. They didn't need it. "But that wasn't the moment. Not yet."

His eyes found hers and held. "You deserve more than impulse. I want this - whatever this is we're building - to mean something. To last." His voice lowered, not from fear, but from the gravity of what he felt. "And when we do get there, I want us both to walk into it with no doubts. No second-guessing. No holding back."

He took another sip of coffee, letting the words settle. Letting her absorb them however she needed to.

"I hope you know that wasn't me pulling away from you," he said, leaning forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees. "It was me staying close in a different way. One that says - I'm here. Not just for the night."

He let a slow breath leave him. Then, quieter: "You looked beautiful this morning." His eyes flicked to the sketchbook again. "And I like watching your hands when you draw. There's something about the way you focus—like the world narrows and expands at the same time."

AJ stood then, but not abruptly. There was something almost reverent in his motion, as if he didn't want to disturb the soft architecture of the morning they'd created. He crossed behind her chair, letting his fingers trail lightly—intentionally—along the top of it as he passed. He paused at the window, gazing out over the city. The rooftops stretched like unfinished thoughts, the skyline painted in layers of haze and promise. He turned back to look at her.

"I thought we might walk down to that market street you mentioned yesterday. Get some breakfast. Maybe wander a bit. Unless you'd rather stay here…" The last part came with the barest smile, the kind that hinted at possibilities but didn't push. He tilted his head, soft humour dancing at the edges of his expression, but his eyes stayed steady - anchored on her, on this moment. Whatever came next, he wanted it to come from here. From this slowness. This choice. This shared pause that didn't feel like waiting anymore. It felt like beginning.​