Infinity

Split, splat, splash.

The raindrops pounded against the sixth floor of a local apartment, but the usual background music was absent. Kian paid little attention to his favourite weather or to the suffocating silence of his home. It was just an apartment now, stripped of whatever it once was.

She was gone. Kian Leclerc’s curse had reached Valeska Morozov too. He had done it. He had pushed her away. This was supposed to feel like winning, like every other time he had severed a connection before it could turn on him. He never wanted to be bound to anybody; everyone eventually left, so he made sure he was always the first to go. But this time, something hollow replaced the feeling of victory.

Even Zero remained tucked away in a corner, as if avoiding him. Everything in his perfectly organised house felt wrong, almost eerie, like he had stepped into a place that only looked like his own. He couldn’t recognise it anymore, couldn’t recognise himself in it either. Still, he refused to accept the truth.

“Nothing a good liquor can’t fix,” he scoffed under his breath, the words sounding emptier than he intended. The refrigerator’s hum grated against his ears as he moved to grab a drink, seeking a pause, a distraction, anything. The chocolate she had gifted him sat there, untouched. He thought about throwing it away, about erasing that last trace of her presence, yet his hand refused to move. He couldn’t even bring himself to touch it.

She wasn’t crying. Why would she? He had always been the crybaby here. The thought struck him harder than expected, settling in with a quiet finality. There was no “here” anymore, just a room he no longer recognised.

Valeska Morozov’s routine hasn’t changed. She didn’t stop working, she didn’t pause to take a break. She didn’t let him affect her, she didn’t let people see she was affected.

She hated thinking about it. She hated the way her chest hurt whenever his words crawled up into her head again, she hated the void she felt even when she was in a room with the happiest people on earth.

So she did what she does best.

She drove off, excused it as an “emergency to attend to”.

She found herself in a bar, the rain was drowning the city in its tears—it seemed to be crying ugly today. The kind of rain that smells like frustration.

Maybe it’s her self projection.

She found a seat, the bar was empty except for one person. A man.

He sat there, eerily still as the rain continued to move. She could only see his back, she couldn’t see his face.

Part of her wanted it to be Kian.

She wanted him to come back. To apologize. To hear him say he couldn’t afford losing her.

“As if.” Valeska muttered, walking towards the counter.

She ordered a whiskey, sitting down as she put her coat down on the empty seat beside her.

She shut her phone off, letting herself drown in the moment. She needed a release, she couldn’t—couldn’t continue to act like it didn’t matter. Like he didn’t matter. It was suffocating.

The bar exposed him. It tore him apart, the liquor dragging him back to himself only for the silence to strip it away again. This place was hers. Kian had always been the busy club type. When he was melancholic, his pantry used to suffice. He didn’t know why he was here. The soft music, the dim ambience, and the rain, something he once loved, now irritated him enough to unsettle him completely.

And then it followed. Her scent. Valeska.

In no world would he forget the sound of those heels striking dark wood.

She ordered whiskey. She never drank whiskey. She had changed. Kian should have felt satisfied, proven right. People do change. But this change struck against something fragile in him, something he refused to name. He wanted to turn around and tell her not to drink. He wouldn’t be there to drive her home. If she would even let him was another matter entirely. He had stabbed the golden retriever. It would be his fault if she had become a black cat now. He had made her into something colder, something closer to himself.

She had taught him how to feel, and now he was too afraid to face it. He knew well enough that if he turned, there would be no turning back.

Accountability. He hated it.

Confrontation. He feared it.

The sleeve of her coat brushed the floor. It unsettled him. The absence of her usual tapping against the counter unsettled him more. The missing light in her presence felt wrong, like something essential had been taken out of the room.

He didn’t want to believe it was because of him. That would mean he was wrong. But ego held little value when she was all that occupied his thoughts recently.

She felt eyes on her back.

What the fuck?

Valeska turned to look at the dude, half alert in case it turns out to be some bitch looking at her like she’s a piece of meat but her gaze caught his.

Her breath was stuck in her throat, for a minute—she was stuck in a trance, a trance made by the eyes she loved the most.

He looked away first, she did the same. Don’t react, she repeated in her head over and over again.

Heat crawled up her neck, she took in a deep breath—took a hold of her coat and threw it at him.

“Asshole.” She spoke, her voice loud enough for him to hear it. She wrapped her hand around the glass, shoving the liquid down her throat.

As if that would erase the impulsive actions she resorted to.

But then again, Valeska was nothing if not petty.

She let herself express, she let herself think she hated Kian so she could get rid of the feeling. She couldn’t, she couldn’t hate him. She couldn’t erase him.

Even as they sat next to each other, the feeling of.. being that faded came back to life. Like colour.

Her coat landed in his lap, intended to be harsh but it felt warm.

He wanted to say something, anything. But speaking felt useless when he couldn’t take his eyes off her. He missed her. The faint smell of her perfume, the way she would fuss over him for no reason, the way she made space feel less empty.

“Stop drinking that,” he almost said. He didn’t have the right.

He yanked the glass from her hand, pulling it away before she could react. Her fingers resisted for a second, then slipped. The contact burned longer than it should have. Her stare hit him instantly. Sharp. Accusing. Alive.

That was her effect. Valeska fixed things. Even the ones that weren’t hers to fix. She tried with him too. Took responsibility for parts of him that had nothing to do with her. Made him feel… human. He knew he had no excuses.

And still, sitting here, this close to her, felt like the best decision he had made all week.

“Leave me alone. Isn’t that what you wanted, jerk?” Her voice was guarded. Controlled. Not empty.

“At your place, sure, ma’am.”

Her jaw tightened. He noticed that too. He noticed everything.

“So you think you can just come back like that?”

“I didn’t come back.”

“Then what is this?”

Silence stretched. Heavy. Breathing between them instead of air. He placed the glass out of her reach, slower this time. Like giving her a chance to stop him. She didn’t.

“Stop resisting.”

A humourless laugh left her. “Only when you stop fearing the elephant in the room, Kian.”

That hit. His grip tightened slightly against the counter. Not enough to show. Enough to feel. He leaned back just a little, like distance would help. It didn’t.

The soft scent of vanilla reached her senses before she even woke up. It smelled like comfort, it smelled like him.

But wait.

Why would her room smell like vanilla?

Valeska jolted awake, trying to get a grip of her surroundings—why was she at his place and how did she get here? The last thing she remembered was arguing with him and then—and then nothing occurred to her mind.

Like a missing piece. Maybe she shouldn’t have gulped down so much whiskey.

She had been to his place before, it’s not like it’s the first time she’s here but—it still feels new.

Before she could look for her phone, Zero jumped onto her lap, “Hey baby.” Valeska spoke, patting the cat as he relaxed into her space.

Zero was Kian’s cat, who he loved more than his own life. Valeska used to visit his house for the cat more than she used to visit for him, Zero had always been very specific of who he liked and who he didn’t, like his father. Of course. Except the asshole trait.

Her trance of thoughts was broken as Kian’s voice came through, “Good morning to you too.” The words rolled off his tongue too smoothly.

Valeska looked around, the smile vanishing from her face and turning into a scowl—“Right. Good morning, friend.” She emphasized the last word, whether it was because his greeting sounded like nothing had happened at all.

They didn’t talk about what happened that night. They didn’t talk about anything else either, somehow— they were back again.

Like that song that goes, “I know we cut all the ties but you’re never really leaving.”

That’s Kian Leclerc and Valeska Morozov for you.