He sat beside her, flashing a knowing smirk before focusing on the shimmering lake. Neither spoke, and the air between them grew heavier with unspoken words. She found herself stealing glances at him. an image flashing in her mind of the strong, youthful Ronan she had known and the man she was seeing now. The moonlight painted every difference in stark relief—that stubborn jaw now carried the weight of centuries' worth of decisions, and fine lines bracketed his mouth, a testament to both laughter and grief she hadn't witnessed. The silver hairs at the temples and a scar above his eyebrow. His was on his chin, she thought. Even his movements had changed, carrying the fluid grace of someone who had grown fully into their power.

Her vampiric senses memorized each change with painful clarity. His heartbeat carried a slower, steadier rhythm than she remembered, and his scent had deepened like aged wine—the sharp edges of youth mellowed into something richer, more complex, yet underneath lay that essential note that had always made her fangs ache. The predator in her recognized how time had refined him from dangerous youth into lethal grace.

"You're staring again," Little Misaka pointed out. "However, I can't exactly blame you. It's like seeing the epilogue to a story we'll never get to read."

Mikoto nervously shifted on the stone—so close that the vampire in her began feeling a need. She softly ran her tongue over her lower lip as the night air carried his scent to her, and each breath felt like torture—familiar yet different as a favorite song played in reverse.

"So," Ronan broke the silence, "do you often claim stones in stranger's gardens?"His voice hit her like a physical blow - not the words themselves, but how he spoke them. That familiar cadence, the slight lilt at the end of his question, had always betrayed his amusement. Even now, older, she could hear the echo of that impetuous youth she'd known. She slowly turned her head as if setting the mood of how dare you ask such an impertinent question. She glared at him.

"Oh... oh my," Little Misaka breathed. "We weren't prepared for this, were we?" taking a breath. She was on a barstool, a short drink in her hand. She was in a tight, slinky red dress, legs crossed seductively. The attractive woman in a bartender's outfit looked over the bar at her. She was drying a glass with her eyes closed, humming a tune. Little Misaka took a drink, swallowed, and leaned back on the barstool. "I think it's a good time to make a rather I won't regret this one memory?"

A laugh bubbled up before she could stop it, part amusement and how could you forget. Her glare settled on him like a threat. But he just sighed, furrowed his brow, waiting.

Damn him!

Yep, that's him," little misaka said.

"Only the good ones," she replied, falling into their old pattern of banter before remembering this version of him knew nothing of their shared joke. It was a cruel joke.

He must have noticed the irony, how her eyes lit up, and that smile appeared and quickly disappeared. As if giving her a pass, he lowered his gaze briefly, understanding his question may have had an unintended sting.

"Strange," he said, leaning back to study the moon's reflection in the lake, "meeting you now, knowing that somewhere centuries from now, a younger version of me will encounter you for the first time."

With his words, her breath caught in her throat. Trust him to shift seamlessly from playful to profound. She could tell him everything. It was a chance to change things, warn him, and alter the cruel fate she knew awaited him. She felt the temptation clawing at her throat like thirst.

"Don't even think about it," Little Misaka's voice cut through her thoughts with unusual sharpness. "we don't know what will happen if we…..Change one moment..."

"It could change everything," Mikoto whispered, biting her lower lip. She looked down at her hands as her nails scraped the stone. She raised her head to look at him. His scent rolled over her tongue and drew her closer like gravity.

But as Ronan began speaking about the nature of moments and how some existed outside of time's normal flow, she felt something change outside and inside her. The space around and between them seemed to be getting warmer.

Sweat beaded at the nape of her neck, trailing between her shoulder blades. She shifted uncomfortably.

"Are we getting a little warm here?" Little Misaka's voice held a note of concern beneath its usual sarcasm. "maybe we should have worn something lighter...perhaps nothing at all," she said, taking another sip. She closed her eyes and licked her lips, savoring the drink's coolness. As she held the cold glass against her forehead, her eyes slowly opened, revealing slitted pupils and a deep red hue that glimmered in the dim light. The attractive woman said nothing, sat down the glass she was cleaning, and picked up another.

Mikoto took in more of his scent with each breath, and memories flooded her mind. The taste of salt lingered on her tongue as she traced her fangs along his throat, savoring the way his breath would catch. The heat of his body pressed to hers against the cool stone walls. Creating a tantalizing contrast, she couldn't resist with it. Her vampiric nature stirred, awakening with each racing heartbeat. The predator in her remembered too well - remembered the taste of him, the way his blood would sing through her veins, that perfect pressure needed to break the skin.

"Focus!" Little Misaka snapped, hoping to pull herself together. "He's still talking about something. The moon? The flowers? Honestly, I'm having trouble concentrating, too. " He said something, what it was she didn't hear, but still...

She didn't remember moving. One moment, she was fighting for control. The next, she found herself pressed against his hip. The world narrowed with the brush of his arm against hers, the steady rhythm of his heart, the warmth radiating from his skin.

"Are you alright?" he said, reaching his hand toward her face—so familiar, she thought, that gesture belonging to a man who had never touched her. But the memory played off a moment between her and her Ronan. She felt a slight pain in her chest, and her eyes began to water.

"Don't you dare cry," Little Misaka whispered, though her voice wavered. "Queens don't cry in moonlit gardens, even if the moment deserves it." Her warning faded into white noise.

Time slipped away. The world tilted, and suddenly, she was above him, her long hair falling around them like a curtain of night, creating an intimate world for them. That damned, knowing smile curved his lips as he spoke words she couldn't hear over the roar of blood in her ears.

His neck was exposed, pulse points dancing beneath paper-thin skin. The thrum of his heartbeat filled her senses—strong, steady, unafraid—just like always, just like he had never been. Her body reacted fast, fangs hitting that perfect spot, breaking the skin with a familiar pressure that sent lightning through her veins.

He responded quickly, feeling the pressure of her attack, one arm wrapped around the back of her shoulders while the other seized a handful of her hair, squeezing the back of her neck and holding her tight. His embrace was dominating, grounding her as the blood frenzy threatened to consume her.

His blood rolled over her tongue and down her throat, into her belly, only to swallow her. It wasn't like before. It's not even close. This was like a bonfire, burning her from the inside. Her body trembled between recognition and terror as the fire spread through her veins. This wasn't her Ronan—this was what he would become, refined and dangerous. For one wild moment, as that divine power threatened to burn her from within, she truly believed she might become ash.

Then darkness took her.

She awoke as if from a very deep sleep, her muscles aching and beginning her not to move. The sensation of cold water lapped against her body. She struggled to open her eyes, and when she did, the moonlight stung her vision. As her eyes finally adjusted, she saw mist rising from her asking, swirling over his chest. His name escaped her lips in a whisper, "Ronan." Her cheeks puffed out in a sigh.

"Not such a bad sight." Little Misaka stretched her arms and yawned. She smacked her lips, looking at her hands and flexing her fingers. "I don't know why, but I gotta say, I do feel good."

"What... how did I..." Mikoto tried to rise, but the pain forced her back down. "What did you do?" She grimaced, attempting to cover her chest. "And what are you looking at?"

"I have made my choice," came a calm reply.

"he always was a boob man," little misaka answered with a smirk. "and we have some knockers."

He laughed. "After you nibbled on me," he said with that same infuriating calm, "you complained about how hot you were. You were sweating quite a lot. Then you got up and started walking towards the lake, dropping everything as you went. You tripped several times and yelled at me, saying if I were a gentleman, I would turn away or close my eyes." His eyes sparkled with amusement. "But you, sir, are no gentleman. You fell on your butt once or twice. In answer to your comment about me, I agree that I am no gentleman. I kindly walked over to you, helped you up, and helped you undress." Putting his hand to his chin.

"At first, I was going to leave on your undergarments, but you puffed out your chest and told me, 'a queen does not do anything half-assed.' With that said, you screamed, 'I am so hot!' as you pointed at me and blamed me for it. Then you just stopped, closed your eyes, spread your arms out to your sides, and started to fall backward into the lake. But don't worry, I caught you and took you farther out."

Finally, the pain subsided, and Mikoto's eyes focused. There he was, framed by the full moon. He held her close as she floated, the whipcord frame of a young man she remembered broadening into the solid build of an older man. Moonlight traced the droplets down his chest, revealing scars she'd never seen before—marks of battles she hadn't shared.

As her mind slowly cleared, the reality of her situation began to sink in. Her eyes widened, and a rising panic threatened to overtake her. She became acutely aware that she was floating in his arms, very much naked. The way he recounted what had happened only deepened her embarrassment.

"Umm... Mikoto?" Little Misaka's voice held a note of carefully controlled panic. "I hate to point out the obvious, and I don't want you to do that high-pitched little girl scream you do when you're stunned, but remember, he's seen us... I mean, not this him, but our him... or rather, the him that will be... oh, you know what I mean!"

Mikoto's cheeks burned as she listened to Little Misaka's words. It was true that her Ronan, the one from her timeline, had seen her in intimate moments. But this Ronan had never seen her naked before. This wasn't her impulsive young fighter anymore, all raw power and eagerness. This was Ronan shaped by decades, his strength as refined as the silver streaking his hair. The realization only intensified her embarrassment.

"Don't. Say. It." Mikoto replied, each word dropping like ice.

"I mean, we did drag him into the lake with us. And those clothes we see scattered on the shore..."

I am aware, Mikoto thought stiffly.

"Well," Little Misaka's voice drifted, "we didn't burn down the moonflowers. Breaking the entire timeline is probably worse than a little accidental arson."

"Probably," Mikoto whispered, her face burning. "Now, let me go!" she demanded, pushing against Ronan's chest.

Ronan did what he was asked and slowly removed his arm from underneath her. She quickly sank beneath the cold water's surface. She screamed, cursed, and thrashed under the water and came up sputtering and coughing, swallowing water and her pride as she surfaced. "You could have warned me!" she glared at him, pushing her wet hair out of her face.

"Apologies," Ronan said, a hint of amusement still in his voice. "I should have warned you,"

"Just go first," Mikoto grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest. "I'll follow."

Ronan nodded, turning towards the shore and moving towards the shallower waters. As more of his muscular back was revealed, Mikoto couldn't help but stare, admiring the flex of his shoulder blades and the silver tracery of scars from countless battles. Her vampiric sight focused on the freshest marks, looking more like passionate scratch marks, and she blushed.

"Oh my... Someone's been busy," Little Misaka chimed in impishly.

Ronan stepped out of the lake, water and moonlight dripping off his skin as he turned to face her. "Oh shit! Eyes up, girl!" Little Misaka warned urgently. But Mikoto couldn't help it. Or she didn't bother to try. Only she knows. And little misaka isn't about to tell.

He offered his hand. She quickly raised her gaze to meet his, cheeks flushed. "Think I'll trip, or just stealing a look?" she quipped, arms still demurely crossed.

"I'd be a fool not to savor this sight. It proves one or both of us has excellent taste," he grinned broadly.

Despite the chill, his words warmed her. "Pervert," she whispered, secretly flattered.

"Oh, he's good," Little Misaka admitted. "Really good." she finished her drink and set it on the bar. The attractive woman turned and took another bottle off the shelf. Little misaka covered the top of the glass with her hand, shaking her head no. The attractive woman shrugged and sighed, putting the bottle back on the shelf.

Mikoto lightly batted his hand away. "then remember this….I don't need your help?"

Chuckling, he went to the stone she'd perched on earlier. with two knocks, it split open.

"What's that?" Mikoto's curiosity overrode her state of undress.

"My daughter's work. It uses negative space for storage, " he said as he pulled out some towels. "Do you need one?" he asked, holding out a towel.

"I have my own way," she said without a thought. Bluish-white sparks danced over her skin, vaporizing the water and settling her hair.

"Wondering what he is thinking?" little misaka asked.

"don't care now…"

"Kinda forgot?"

"Yep…oh well," she shrugged as electricity slowly faded.

He didn't say much, watching for a moment before returning to doing what he was doing.

She watched him turn and dry himself off. She was about to gather her armor and get dressed, but then she heard him say, "The moon is beautiful, isn't it?"