The week rolled by like a dream wrapped in sea salt and sunbeams.
We chased waves barefoot at the shoreline, fingers locked, daring the tide to pull us in. Nico lost every race back to the sand and blamed the wind for cheating. I laughed until my stomach hurt, cheeks sore from smiling too much.
At night, we built tiny bonfires and roasted whatever Nico could find in the cupboards, mostly marshmallows, sometimes skewered fruit. He always burned his, pretending it was part of his "master chef" technique. I'd play along until I couldn't keep a straight face anymore, and he'd flick sand at me as revenge.
One late afternoon, we sat on a blanket, the sun hanging low, golden and lazy. Nico was sketching something in the sand with a stick, eyes focused.
I tilted my head. "What's that supposed to be?"
He glanced at me, grinning. "Us. Kinda."
The drawing looked like two stick people lying down, one with hair that obviously exploded in all directions.
I scoffed. "I look like a sea urchin."
"You are my favorite sea urchin."
"Smooth."
"Admit it. You'd marry me if I proposed with a sea urchin shell."
My breath caught. He said it so casually. Like he wasn't trying to drop a hint, but at the same time... maybe he was.
I reached over and flicked his forehead. "Only if you don't cook the honeymoon dinner."
He caught my hand, kissed my fingers. "Deal."
Some nights were quieter. We'd lie in the hammock outside the beach house, Nico's arms around me as I traced the stars with my fingertip. The waves sang lullabies, and his heartbeat was the only rhythm I wanted to fall asleep to.
"This," I whispered once, eyes half-closed. "If I could bottle this feeling... I'd carry it with me forever."
He kissed the crown of my head. "You don't have to. I'll always remind you."
And he did.
Every glance. Every gentle touch. Every shared silence and every kiss that didn't ask for more than what we already had, each one a promise sealed in the soft hush of the sea.
By the end of the week, we hadn't kept track of the days. Just moments. Just each other.
The last evening settled around us like a slow exhale. The sky had bruised into deep purples and burnt golds, and most of the beach had quieted. But Nico tugged at my hand, his eyes glinting with something mischievous under the fading sun.
"Come with me," he whispered, voice low, urgent, but soft.
We wandered down the shoreline, leaving the warmth of the beach house behind. The wind tugged at my hair, and the sand cooled beneath our bare feet. Nico led me toward the far edge of the beach, where the rock formations towered like old forgotten sentinels. The waves crashed harder here, echoing against stone.
He slid through a narrow opening between two jagged cliffs, and I followed, heart racing, not from fear, but from the thrill of being pulled somewhere only we could belong.
Inside, it was like a secret chamber carved by time, worn stone, patches of moss, the ocean peeking through cracks. No one could see us. The tide reached in only slightly, as if respecting our space.
Nico turned, shadows dancing across his face, and backed me gently against the stone. His hand pressed against the wall beside my head, the other slipping around my waist. His lips brushed mine, slow, searching.
"Last night," he breathed, his voice barely heard over the waves. "I want to remember this. All of it."
"You will," I whispered, fingers curling into his shirt. "So will I."
We moved like the tide, rough at first, caught in a wave of need that neither of us wanted to tame. His kisses were deeper, hungrier, but never crossing the line we silently protected. His hands clutched my waist, mine buried in his hair. And the sea, wild as it was, felt distant compared to the storm inside us.
Somewhere between kisses, I gasped his name, and he smiled against my neck, breath heavy, trembling.
We didn't go too far.
But far enough to feel undone. Rebuilt. Claimed in the way only two hearts entirely in sync could understand.
And when we finally sat, tangled together with his jacket draped over my shoulders, we just watched the stars appear one by one through the gap above us.
He leaned close again. "Next time we come here," he murmured, "I want it to be forever."
I nodded, resting my head against him. "Then let's make that promise."
The waves rose and fell.
But we, right there between the rocks, remained still, soaking in every last second before the dawn.
The road home stretched ahead, sunlight catching on the windshield as we drove in comfortable silence. I had my feet up on the dash, sunglasses on, and my hair still damp from the last dip in the ocean. Nico had one hand on the steering wheel, the other lazily linked with mine between us.
"I think I've forgotten what city noise sounds like," I murmured.
"Give it an hour," he smirked, glancing at me. "We'll be dodging buses and honking at people again like nothing ever happened."
I sighed, not quite ready to let go of the beach air, or the freedom that came with it. "Can we just... turn around? Pretend we forgot something important?"
He chuckled. "Like what?"
"Like... our sanity?"
Nico laughed louder, squeezing my hand. "Tempting. But I think the real world's already on our tail."
The closer we got to the city, the more the magic started slipping from our skin. The buildings rose up again, and the light changed, sharper, less golden. Still, his presence beside me grounded it all. He was the piece I got to bring home.
We pulled into the parking space outside our house, the car quieting down to a tick-tick-tick as the engine cooled. Nico stretched his arms with a groan, then looked over at me.
"Home sweet home?"
"Hmm," I grinned. "Let's make it sweeter."
He raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Is that a challenge?"
I opened my door with a wink. "Race you to the bedroom."
The morning sun spilled through the curtains, painting golden streaks across the kitchen floor. I sat on the counter, still in one of Nico's old shirts, watching him straighten his collar in the microwave's reflection. There was a quiet hum in the air, like the house hadn't quite woken up yet… or maybe it didn't want to, not after the week we just had.
"You really have to go back already?" I mumbled, rubbing sleep from my eyes, chin resting in my hand.
He glanced back at me, lips tugging into that lopsided grin I knew too well. "Break or not, the lab never sleeps. Mr. Francoise wants the prototype stabilized before next month's testing. We've got a packed week ahead."
I pouted. "But I'm on summer break. Which means you're contractually obligated to spend every second with me. You know, by law. Or some universal couple's rulebook."
He chuckled and stepped closer, brushing a kiss across my forehead. "You're so cute when you try to bend science to romance."
"I'm cute all the time," I teased, sliding off the counter to follow him as he grabbed his bag.
By the door, he paused. The air between us softened. He turned, cupping my cheek like he always did when he wanted me to feel everything he couldn't put into words. "Last week with you... was perfect. I can't remember the last time I felt that free."
My fingers curled lightly around his wrist. "You don't have to say it. I feel it too."
He kissed me again, gentler this time, lingering like he didn't want to pull away. And when he finally did, he gave me that boyish grin again. "I'll be home early."
"You better," I whispered.
And just like that, the door closed behind him. The quiet settled in, wrapping around me like a warm blanket.
I pressed my back against the door and let out a soft sigh, a small smile playing at my lips. The beach, the quiet, the laughter, it all felt like a dream. But this… this was real too. A different kind of calm. The kind where love stayed in the air even when he wasn't in the room.
Summer break had officially started.
And I had a whole day to do absolutely nothing... or maybe something.
But first, coffee.
I spent the morning lounging around, alternating between scrolling through random summer playlists and hugging the pillow Nico slept on. But eventually, the quiet started to feel too loud, and I needed more than just echoes of the beach house to keep me company.
So I decided to go home, my old home.
The streets were familiar, lined with trees I used to climb and fences I once scraped my knees on. There was something comforting about how nothing had changed. Same cracked pavement. Same neighbor's grumpy dog barking like I was a stranger. I grinned as I stood at our gate, fingers tightening on the latch for a moment before I pushed it open.
"Nyx?" my mother's voice called from inside, a second before the screen door creaked open. She stood there with a dish towel in her hands, eyes lighting up like the sun itself when she saw me. "You didn't say you were coming!"
I stepped into her arms, the smell of home instantly calming whatever leftover sea air still clung to me. "Thought I'd surprise you."
"Your timing's perfect. I just made your favorite, pasta."
"You had me at pasta.'"
My father emerged from the living room, glasses perched low on his nose, holding the same old crossword puzzle book he always pretended not to cheat on. "Look who remembered where she came from."
I rolled my eyes. "I never forgot. I just upgraded my address temporarily."
We settled into the dining table with bowls of warm, sweet stew. The kind that tasted like childhood. I told them about the beach trip, well, some of it. The PG parts. I left out the rocky hideaway and the way Nico's fingers tangled in my hair when no one was watching.
Instead, I told them how peaceful it was, how blue the sky got when we sat in silence, toes buried in the sand. How I finally felt like I could breathe after so many months of classes, expectations, and… being the strong one all the time.
The house was quiet when I stepped in. My bag slipped off my shoulder with a soft thud by the door. No sounds of typing from the study, no shifting of parts or tools from the workshop, just the distant hum of music playing from the kitchen. Something mellow, familiar. The kind Nico only played when he was alone with his thoughts… or waiting.
And then I smelled it.
The warm, savory scent drifted through the air, coaxing out a small smile I didn't even know I was holding back. My stomach did a little flutter, not from hunger, not really. Something else. Something softer.
I rounded the corner.
There he was.
Back to me, sleeves rolled up, a bit of flour dusted on his cheek. Hair slightly damp, like he'd taken a quick shower before this. He was humming, completely unaware, or maybe too aware.
"Cooking?" I leaned against the doorframe.
He didn't flinch. Just turned with that small, lopsided smile that always made my chest squeeze. "Took you long enough."
A breath caught in my throat. Not from the words, but from the way he said them, like I belonged in this kitchen, in this quiet moment, in his waiting.
"I didn't know you were making dinner," I said, stepping in slowly.
"I did," he replied. "Didn't tell you though. Thought you might come back late." His eyes flicked to the clock, then back to me. "But you're right on time."
He turned off the stove, wiped his hands on the towel by his hip, and walked up to me. There was nothing hurried in his steps. Nothing rushed. Just Nico, sure, calm, warm.
And then he kissed me.
Soft at first, like he was testing if I was really there. Then deeper, slower, his fingers brushing back the strands of hair the breeze must've played with on my way home. I leaned in, closing my eyes, feeling the familiar thrum beneath my skin start to beat a little faster.
"Missed you," he murmured when we broke apart, his forehead resting lightly against mine.
"I wasn't gone that long," I whispered back, even as my hands betrayed me and slipped around his waist.
"Long enough."
The table was already set, candles flickering low, plates still warm. He pulled out my chair, eyes never leaving me. I sat, dazed, smitten, wondering how this man could make coming home feel like a first date and forever all at once.
And in that moment, the quiet clink of silverware, the soft music, the flicker of candlelight----
I realized something.
Maybe I had missed him more than I admitted.
I took a bite of the roasted chicken he plated for me, savory, a little lemony, just how I liked it. Across the table, Nico was watching me, not in that hovering kind of way, but the kind where his eyes softened like he'd waited all day just to see me eat.
He didn't ask where I'd been.
He never does.
And that's the part that always gets me. Not because he didn't care, no, it's the opposite. He trusts me enough not to question my steps, and that kind of faith? That kind of knowing?
It wraps around your chest and warms you in the quietest ways.
"I went to visit my family today," I said, swirling the edge of my fork in the sauce. "Mom made this guava jelly thing she swears is a dessert now. I would've run for the hills."
Nico chuckled. "Did you run?"
"I survived," I said with a grin. "Barely."
He reached for my hand across the table, and I met him halfway, our fingers weaving together like they always did. His thumb brushed the back of my hand gently, grounding me.
"They were happy to see you?" he asked, voice low and steady, eyes still locked on mine.
I nodded. "Yeah. It was… nice. Familiar. My brother haven't changed one bit. Loud, chaotic, and always trying to steal the last piece of everything on the table."
"I'd fight him for it," he said.
"I bet you would."
I laughed, easing back into the seat as I told him more. About how Lila had messaged me while I was there, about my dad pretending he didn't tear up when I showed him the latest photo Nico and I had taken together at the beach.
And the whole time?
He just listened.
His hand never left mine, his plate barely touched until I paused, and only then would he lift his fork, still watching, still smiling like my stories were the only thing he wanted to hear for the rest of his life.
That was Nico.
Not loud with affection. But present. Anchored. Steady.
And in between bites, I leaned in and whispered, "Thanks for waiting."
His hand tightened around mine, just enough.
"I'll always wait for you."
The dishes were done, the lights dimmed, and Nico's head was resting quietly in my lap. I gently combed my fingers through his hair as the soft glow from the screen played across his face, casting little shadows under his eyes.
He was already half-asleep.
And me?
I just smiled.
There was this stillness around us, like the universe had finally decided to give us a moment to breathe. To just be. No chaos. No interruptions. Just us, in our own rhythm. My thumb brushed along his temple slowly, memorizing the rise and fall of his breath.
It was quiet.
Safe.
For now.
Meanwhile… Somewhere else
The phone hit the desk with a sharp clack, the screen flickering briefly as the woman who tossed it leaned forward, elbows digging into the cold metal surface. Her eyes were sharp, burning even, as she stared at the digital projection hovering before her.
Photos.
Documents.
A glowing red marker circled the name "Nico Stratford."
And just below it… "Nyx Blake."
Her lips curled.
"So this is what peace looks like to you?" she muttered, venom coating every syllable. "Playing house. Pretending you've outrun the past."
She stood up slowly, swiping everything away with a flick of her hand, leaving nothing but darkness behind her.
"I warned you, Nico," Kayla whispered. "You made your choice. Now I'll make mine."
She turned, long coat sweeping behind her like the wing of a fallen angel, and disappeared into the hallway where dim red lights blinked like the beat of a coming storm.