"we're in love during the war. does it make each moment more precious, or does it make each moment more difficult?"

— the war will turn us to monsters (i no longer recognize you)

Cornelia lies with her head in Caleb's lap. It is a slow Saturday afternoon, her mind in a thousand different places as she lazes on the couch, barely aware of the hands in her hair. Soon he will have to return home. He leafs through a driving manual and she averts her gaze before he catches her looking. Her eyes drift to the kitchen. Lipstick-stained wine glasses are gathered on the countertops. She tilts the face of her watch towards her. She is sure she asked the cleaners to come this afternoon.

As her eyes return to the coffee table, she notices that Taranee left her camera behind. She grabs the stack of polaroids clustered together on the floor and returns to her spot on the couch. Her lips quirk at the corners as she flicks through the photos. Will's red hair jumps from the confines of the frame, Matt smiling amiably by her side. Her mind wanders. They had seemed better than ever last night, sharing private jokes and clandestine smiles. They made it look so easy. Thinking of them, the way they reconcile their two worlds, makes the lining of her stomach feel like cement. Irma and Hay Lin seemed more tentative, their budding relationship just starting to grow roots. She remembers how they held onto each other's hands for dear life.

Later, Taranee had arrived with some girl from her contemporary photography class (Julie? she wonders through the fog of her hangover). Irma probably took this one, she thinks, judging by its poor framing. Taranee eyes her with avidity in the photo. She is pretty, dark hair against fair skin like black pen on paper. Their story is just beginning; the looks they give each other are as warm as they are appraising. She wonders if she and Caleb were ever like that. Casual.

Her temples begin to ache as she tries to see through the wine-soaked night. The girls were cacophonously noisy, dancing together in the kitchen to the pop music they listened to in their teens, white teeth twinkling, their lips bared and grape-stained. It is a stark contrast to the deafening silence of the afternoon. The light from the windows is cloudy, overcast, filtering the dust motes that drift towards the kitchen. A gentle discomfort settles in her stomach as she steals a glance at Caleb.

It's weird that they're not talking. His father's necklace catches her eye. It was a family heirloom given to him for his twentieth birthday, passed down from generation to generation, bright fire agate wound in wire. It hangs from thick black twine and blazes in the afternoon light. Whenever someone in the family dies, the necklace is passed on. Julian is not the young man he once was. He's sure his time is coming soon, Caleb says. The necklace always gets a new owner when someone dies.

Why aren't they talking? They're always talking—conversing over black coffee (four sugars for him, two for her), arguing over what to watch on TV, shouting about her family, about his, screaming over each other, whispering in movie theatres, taunting, teasing, pressing, challenging. They should be talking. She needs to go soon, after all. She needs to get ready for her internship at Bottega Veneta tomorrow. She has an essay for her textile studies class due in less than thirty six hours, and she really needs to get up soon if she wants to re-draft the last re-draft. He leaves for Meridian tomorrow night and they should really talk about—

"Hey." His hands rake through her hair, interrupting her racing thoughts. "What are you thinking about?"

"Nothing." Her mouth has formed the words before her mind can stop them. She looks up, searching his face for meaning, and he raises a brow. When she smiles the movement strains her cheeks. She hands him the polaroid camera that Taranee left behind.

It takes him a moment to figure out its functions. Eventually he gestures at her to sit up. She moves, smiling again, her temples aching as she presses her shoulder to his. She fixes her long hair, arranging the blonde strands around her face, tries to make her eyes look wide and alert. He inclines the camera towards them. She holds her breath. The camera flashes.

Just like that, the photo is printing. Caleb shakes the paper and slowly, painfully slowly, the colour starts to rise. Their faces shine in the reflected glare of the afternoon light, immortalised in joy. Twin smiles blinding, their eyes, green and blue, beam in bright harmony. There is no fear reflected in these fiery eyes. The photo grows in saturation as she stares and stares. Sheer, vivid reality stares back at her. They are vibrant and youthful; his arm is resting gently over her shoulder, and he has never looked so beautiful as in this moment, held in a white border eternally. Their faces fill her with a strange feeling that is both old and new.

For one fleeting, brilliant, infinitesimal moment, they are everlasting.

It is months of indignant scoffs, withering looks, fake smiles plastered on tired faces, of words—words shouted over breakfast, loud words that scratch their throats and turn them raw, words like 'sacrifice' and 'distance' and 'busy' and 'waste' and 'home' and 'time apart', words they regret as soon as they leave their mouths—when he finally leaves. It's just a break, he tells her, a visit to Meridian to hold vigil at his sick father's bedside for a few weeks. Julian's health is waning fast. Cornelia wishes she could be there for him, but he told her to stay, finish up her internship and submit her final assignments. A small piece of her heart ripped itself away from the whole as, quietly, he shut the door.

If all is forgiven, they will meet on the day of her graduation. If not… she doesn't think about what will happen if not. One day bleeds into the next; she wears his shirt to bed every night, smells him on the sheets, misses his solid warmth. The fateful day comes before she knows it. She is gathered with the girls in her cap and gown. Her graduation scroll is tucked beneath her arm as she teeters in her heels on the wet pavement. The others embrace her beneath a rainbow of umbrellas. The commanding officer at Elyon's right hand is missing. Her heart plummets, then skips a beat when she spots him in the crowd.

She walks into the silvery rain, away from protection, from shelter. Her heart is in her throat. She knows he is hers when she reads his expression: the corner of his mouth is turned up into a smile, the kind he usually reserves for when they are alone, and she knows that their reconciliation is inevitable as she approaches him with a smile of her own.

Caleb closes the distance between them. "This is a good look for you," he says, toying with the tassel on her cap.

"You want to try it on?" she teases.

At that he chuckles. "I wouldn't want to ruin your look."

All at once she is in his arms again. The rain comes falling down, and she breathes in his familiar smell as her hair grows damp, pulling him close. "I've missed you," she tells him in earnest.

"I missed you, too," he sighs.

Over his shoulder she watches as the girls offer smiles and raised thumbs. Irma mimes something lewd, Will folds her arms, and she feigns innocence as the others giggle into their hands. She can't help but laugh herself, the sound a little strained. Elyon extends her hand to Julie, likely introducing herself as an old friend from out of town.

As she looks around, she sees her classmates embrace their families. There are mothers with tear-stained faces clutching hankies, fathers with proud smiles, kid sisters pouting, petulant and bored. She watches as a friend from her world history class introduces her parents to her boyfriend. Of course, she knew she couldn't have her family with her today. Inviting them would have meant she couldn't invite Caleb, or risk having to stumble her way through an introduction to the alien she had been dating for eight years.

Still. She has never missed them more.

It is half a life later when they return from the bar with whiskey on their breath and aching feet, just before midnight. Cornelia stands with her back to the door and watches him avidly. He peels off the layers of his heavy coat, the scarf she bought him for Christmas, the grey sweater made from Meridian wool. Quietly, he declares peace, marking the moment they lay down their arms. Still she can't help but feel like this ceasefire is delicate. Even after spending the better part of her adolescence and her early twenties by his side, their enduring love hangs in the balance. For seven years she has loved him with all that she is, and yet they can offer no promises, nothing but a white flag raised toward an empty sky.

She quirks a brow when she notices the swollen skin around his eyes, cheeks puffy from too many tears, and wants to run to him when she realises that Julian's time in this universe is over. Cautiously, she sits next to him on the couch. He clasps his hands together as if in prayer. She wraps her arms around his shoulders, planting gentle kisses on his shoulder, his neck, his cheek.

"When did it happen?" she murmurs into his collarbone.

"Thursday night. I was there. So was half the rebellion." He laughs once without humour, and his stubble grazes her jaw. "Elyon blessed him before he passed on."

She doesn't know what to say. "I'm so sorry, Caleb," she offers. It's not enough.

In lieu of a response, he shrugs with one shoulder, the gesture noncommittal. The cynic in her wonders if he would be here if his father were still alive. Would he still be sitting on their couch, piecing their broken love back together, if not for Julian's death? She shudders, trying to shake the thought away before it can evolve.

He shakes his head, scrubbing the tears from his eyes. "I have something for you." The smile that reaches his lips seems insincere. "A graduation gift," he adds.

"Caleb…"

She is effectively silenced when he presses a finger to her lips. "Close your eyes," he commands in a soft voice. His touch is light when he turns her to face away from him.

"I'm not one to refuse an order from the rebel leader," she says. The ill-advised joke harkens back to a simpler time. Should she be worried that these simple times took place in the middle of a war? Was that the last time they were truly happy, down on their knees in Meridian plains with their hearts in their throats?

She elects to ignore her obsessive thoughts, instead listening patiently as he rummages in his pockets. A beat, his breath on her shoulder, and then there is… yes, a thin, string-like rope wrapped around her neck. He connects a clasp at her nape. Something cold and heavy and round sits at her throat. She grasps the stone with her hands, opens her eyes, looks down at the necklace.

Fire agate.

"Caleb!" she gasps. "I can't accept this."

And then he is sitting in front of her, perched on the edge of the coffee table, meeting her wandering gaze. There is something playing in his eyes. He seems skittish, almost wary, a wild animal lost in the city. She isn't sure she wants to know what he's thinking.

"It would be rude to refuse a gift on your graduation day," he teases half-heartedly.

"This is meant for family," she insists, toying with the weighty gem all the same. The pendant is incongruous against her ivory cashmere. Suddenly she can hardly breathe, suffocating under a piece of jewellery, asphyxiated in her own living room.

She can almost tell what he is thinking now, but the look on his face still catches her off guard, resigned and true as a solemn promise. His forest green eyes turn resolute. His words come slowly.

"You're my only family now."

As she looks into his eyes, her throat constricts, and her instincts tell her to run even as she knows they would tell her to turn back around. The gift around her neck is heavy when she finally falls into his embrace. His arms constrict around her, enveloping her waist. She gulps with her throat against his shoulder. He shakes in her arms, silent.

It is an hour or so later when they decide to move the furniture to the edges of the room. They dance to old jazz standards, swaying to half-ancient melodies, and she presses her head into his chest. It never lets up, the pressure against her neck. The fabric of his shirt grows damp as she tries to hold back choked tears. She closes her eyes and prays for the courage to come.

It is days before the tears stop.

It is weeks before she sees her family.

It is months before things start to feel a little less tenuous.

It is long, so long, before she is able to breathe again.

"Well," she says, slamming the passenger door shut and buckling her seatbelt. "That went better than expected."

He catches her eye and grins. Suddenly he is fifteen again. "Yeah," he responds, "it did."

She reflects on the evening as Caleb pulls out of the driveway. He had successfully deceived her parents into thinking this was his first visit to the Hale household. She recalled breathless nights spent together in the living room as teens whenever her parents were out of town on business as he complimented his mother's home, her elegant taste. Her parents were mollified by the half-truths they easily provided: Caleb's father was a retired carpenter and he had taken over the family business; his mother died of a terminal illness when he was very young; he lived out of state but travelled to spend each weekend with Cornelia. She had filled in the rest of the blanks: they met on an online dating app; they were fast approaching their first anniversary; the ring on her finger was a birthday gift from Hay Lin, thank you very much.

Carefully calculated, she had distracted her family with sleight of hand, monopolising the conversation with talk of her new job at Christian Lacroix, peppering Lilian with questions about school. Over dessert Mr and Mrs Hale discussed summer plans, considered adding another renovation to their home in the Hamptons, even tossed around a few ideas for their retirement. A lavish home in South Florida was the current frontrunner, but with Mr Hale's connections in real estate they could end up on the west coast. Where did Caleb's father retire to? Was he happy there?

They pull out of her suburb, golden street lights streaking against a dark blue sky. She remembers how they had stood in the threshold of the door overcome with anticipation. Her father, satisfied, had clapped him on the shoulder and thanked him for 'taking care of his Cornelia', whatever that meant. Cornelia had rolled her eyes affectionately. She wonders, stealing a glance at him from the corner of her eye, if they could keep up this facade forever.

"I want you to come to Meridian."

"What?" she spits.

He just looks at her. "What?"

"You're asking me to come to Meridian, not five minutes after you meet my parents? We haven't even gotten to the freeway yet," she quips.

"So?" He looks from the road to her and back again, spite sharp in his eyes, cutting her deep. "I know you've been deluding yourself for years, but you can't lie to your parents forever."

She curses him. "Deluding myself!" she echoes. "You want me to give up my whole life here and tell my parents about Meridian, Caleb? You want to put my family in danger? Sure!" she crows. "Go ahead. Tell them about the Guardians while you're at it, Phobos and Nerissa and Kandrakar, drag them into a secret I've been protecting them from for ten years—"

"Maybe I will!" He takes out his phone, waving it in his hands. A threat. "Maybe someone should."

"Caleb, watch the road." he scoffs. "Caleb!"

Two hours, a hefty fee, and twenty stitches later, she is holding his hand in the hospital room as a kindly nurse in chartreuse scrubs checks them out. She shuts the door for him on the passenger side and takes the wheel. Her hand never leaves his the whole ride home. She feels his gaze pin her to the seat and clings to his grasp, refusing to take her eyes off the road for even a second. The journey ahead of them is a long one.

She helps him out of the car, scowling at the lengthy wound on his forehead—as if he needs another battle scar, she thinks—and they collapse together on the couch. She is already half asleep before she settles into the crook of his neck. The tension seems to leave his body as he pulls her close. Overcome with exhaustion, they fall into a dreamless sleep, gentle pink bleeding into the dark horizon, soft as hope.

When she opens her eyes the sun has come up. Saffron light spills into the living room, bright and everlasting. There is a crick in her neck and her mouth feels like sandpaper. Still she can't help but smile affectionately as she smoothes his mahogany hair away from his face. All at once she can barely feel the weight of the pendant at her neck. His eyes flutter open, green and amber in the morning light. When she starts to cry the tears in his eyes, too, spill over.

She holds him and watches as the future she worked so hard to build—the big white wedding on Earth and the smaller intimate ceremony on Meridian, but the marriage, too, the three children she has already named playing in the backyard, held in their grandparents' laps, running in the plains of Meridian, everything that does not exist without him—starts to return to her.

That familiar feeling returns to her, too. But no, it's not merely a feeling. She knows this to be true: this is her love. Her life. Her person.

"I love you." It's like he read her mind. "Forget everything else. I love you," he kisses her tears away, "I love you, I love you."

"I love you, too." She sniffs. "I'm going to call work later."

"Yeah?" His voice is thick with emotion, his pure, unbridled hope enough to stop her tears from falling. The terror that remains in her heart all but melts away.

"Yeah. I'm gonna tell them that I'm taking a sabbatical." She produces a tissue from her pocket and dabs his face gently. "Elyon is going to be so happy I'm coming to see her."

It is a beat before his astonishment passes, and then she is gathered in his arms listening to his relieved laughter, the sound of his mirth filling her heart with joy. She grins into his shoulder and doesn't even try to school her features into composure. All at once she is overcome with happiness. She considers that maybe fear can change to love, or that love can't exist without fear, that it helps to teach us what love truly is. Maybe fear and compromise together create love. Or maybe love and compromise are the same thing.

She finds herself sharing in his fond laughter, catching his eye, gently pressing her lips to his as they smile through kiss after kiss. She would do it all again—every single second of it—for him.

As she weaves their fingers together, the emerald ring on her left hand sparkles like a promise.

a/n: hello! thank you so so so much for reading. the idea for this fic came to me after listening to a taylor swift song (lol). this is not a songfic as such (are songfics still a thing?!) but was heavily inspired by the track. i was really inspired by the idea of twentysomething cornelia and caleb struggling with their relationship. mostly imo these kids are just,, really traumatised from the war(s) on meridian and are bound forever not only by their love for one another but by their shared trauma. the quote at the start is from poet nickandros on tumblr and i think it's just beautiful.

this is also kind of a middle finger to that comic special where they try to remain together and things end… poorly, suffice to say. because i'm salty like that and can always vindicate my heartbroken 10 y/o self with fic!

also, try tell me cornelia wouldn't have an emerald engagement ring from caleb because 'it's different, like us.' just try!

again, thank you so much for reading, i love and adore reviews very much!

Big love,

A

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