Life After Tomorrow

Morning light cuts through the blinds, painting golden slashes across the wooden floor. The air smells damp—earthy and fresh—like the village itself is waking up with me.

I sit up, rolling my shoulders. Every muscle aches, but it's a familiar kind of ache. The kind that reminds me I'm still here. Still breathing. Instinct pulls my gaze toward the window.

Outside, something stirs. A small riot—mutants and CPG agents locked in a standoff. My heart clenches. For days now, ever since the Mutant Treaty Act was amended, tension has been thick enough to choke on. I watch, breath held. Then, something unexpected happens.

The shouts die down. The standoff wavers. Someone—a merchant, maybe, or an elder—steps forward, speaking with careful, measured words. A truce forms, shaky but real.

Nobody fights. Nobody dies. That alone is enough to make this morning feel different. With a slow exhale, I push myself to my feet. Time to see Yuccavale with my own eyes.

Stepping outside, I brace myself. The weight of the past few days still clings to me, heavy as ever. I expect the usual—whispers, wary glances, the kind of looks that remind me what I am. But instead—they smile.

A fisherman nods in greeting as he hauls in his morning catch. A farmer offers me a fresh apple, a silent show of goodwill. Even the children, once too afraid to get near me, dart past with careless laughter.

Then I see Madeline. I pause, jaw tightening. She was one of the loudest voices at my trial. The one who wanted me gone.

Now, she steps forward, searching my face for something. I prepare for the worst. "You did good, Barry," she says, voice softer than I've ever heard it. "For all of us."

I stare at her, unsure how to respond. The words don't quite fit in my head, don't quite belong with the image of her I've carried. But her smile is real. And so, I nod. It's all I can manage, but it's enough.

As I continue through the village, greeting farmers, fishermen, merchants—humans and mutants alike—I feel something I haven't let myself feel in years.

Something lighter. Something dangerously close to hope. And for the first time, I think—maybe, just maybe—I belong here.

I keep walking, soaking in the warmth of Yuccavale's newfound acceptance. It still feels strange. The weight of suspicion that once clung to me—gone. Replaced by nods, smiles, and quiet gratitude.

Then, I stop. A florist's shop. The scent of fresh blooms drifts through the air, delicate and sweet. Lillian's face flashes in my mind. I hesitate, then step inside.

Rows of flowers fill the small wooden shop—bright reds, soft pinks, deep blues. I scan them, frowning. Which one would she like? I barely know the names of these things, let alone their meanings.

The florist watches me struggle, amusement dancing in her eyes. "Buying for someone special?"

I rub the back of my neck. "Yeah. Maybe. I think."

She chuckles, then reaches for a bundle of flowers—soft white petals with hints of violet at the edges. "This should suit her."

I take them carefully, their petals almost too fragile in my hands. They feel out of place with my—rough hands, calloused fingers, scars that won't ever fade. But Lillian deserves something beautiful.

"How much?" I ask.

"Four thousand Lyd." She replies.

I pause. My stomach twists. I don't have that kind of money. Hell, I barely have anything at all.

The florist watches my hesitation and smiles.

"For you?" She pushes the flowers into my hands. "No charge."

I blink. "What?"

"You saved Yuccavale," she says simply. "Consider it a thank-you."

For a moment, I just stand there. I'm not used to kindness. Not like this.

I clear my throat. "Thanks."

She just nods. I step back into the street, flowers in hand, heart pounding just a little harder than before. Lillian's going to kill me for this. And for some reason, that thought makes me grin.

I find her by the lake. The water glows under the sun, silver ripples dancing with the morning breeze. Lillian sits at the edge, arms wrapped around her knees, lost in thought. Waiting. For me.

I take a slow breath, steadying myself. This is stupid. My heart shouldn't be racing over something as small as giving her a flower. I've gutted men, torn through beasts, survived things nightmares wouldn't dare dream of. And yet—this? This feels harder.

I step closer, boots crunching against the dirt. "Kept you waiting, huh?"

Lillian looks up. Her eyes, deep and knowing, catch mine. A smile tugs at her lips, but there's a flicker of something else—relief. Like she wasn't sure if I'd come at all.

"About damn time." She stretches, cracking her neck. "Thought maybe you got eaten by something nasty."

I smirk, then, before she can say anything else—I pull out the flowers. Her breath catches.

The reaction is instant—eyes widening, cheeks flushing, fingers twitching as if she doesn't know whether to take them or smack me.

"You're kidding," she mutters.

"Nope." I twirl the bouquet between my fingers, acting nonchalant. "Heard women like these things."

Lillian crosses her arms, studying me like she's trying to solve a puzzle. "Who put you up to this?"

I raise an eyebrow. "Why do you think someone had to put me up to it?"

"Because you're, Barry. You growl at people. You break noses before saying hello. You don't—" she gestures wildly at the flowers, "—do things like this."

I shrug, stepping closer. "Guess I'm full of surprises."

She narrows her eyes but finally, finally, takes the flowers. Fingers brush mine—warm, soft, lingering a second too long. My stomach knots in a way I refuse to acknowledge.

She lifts them to her nose, inhaling. Her lips part slightly. Her lashes flutter. For a moment, I forget how to breathe. Then—

"You know what these mean, right?" she asks, voice turning suspicious.

I frown. "Uh…" Shit.

She grins, wicked. "Devotion." She taps the petals, looking far too pleased. "Unwavering love."

I freeze. The florist set me up.

Lillian leans in, tilting her head, voice dropping to something almost sultry. "Barry… are you trying to confess something?"

I swear my soul leaves my body.

"—the florist picked them!" I blurt out, stepping back. Too fast. Too defensive. Lillian cackles like she just won a bet.

I scowl. "Real funny."

"Oh, it is." She twirls a strand of hair around her finger, pretending to examine the flowers. "But, y'know, it's a shame…"

I raise an eyebrow. "Shame?"

She smirks, scooting closer—close enough that her thigh brushes mine, close enough that I can smell her, something wild and sweet all at once.

"If you were confessing…" she muses, tracing a slow circle against my chest with her fingertip, "I might've been nice to you tonight."

Heat shoots down my spine. My muscles lock.

She tilts her head, eyes gleaming with mischief. "Missed opportunity, Sheriff."

I narrow my eyes. "You're a menace."

She hums. "You love it."

I don't answer. Because maybe I do. Instead, I grab her wrist—gently, but firm—and pull her in.

Lillian gasps, caught off guard, and in that flicker of surprise, I press my forehead to hers. Close enough to feel her breath hitch, close enough that my lips almost—almost—graze hers.

"Keep playing with fire," I murmur, voice rough. "See what happens."

Her breath stutters. But she doesn't pull away. Neither do I. The moment stretches, taut and electric, until—She shoves me.

I stumble, barely catching myself before landing on my ass. Lillian bursts into laughter, hugging the flowers to her chest.

"Gods," she gasps between giggles. "Your face!"

I groan, dragging a hand down my face. "You're the worst."

"Mm. And yet," she waves the bouquet, smirking, "you're still here."

…She's got me there.

I shake my head, standing. "Come on," I grumble, offering my hand.

Lillian takes it, fingers curling around mine. "Where to?"

I glance at the lake, at the sun reflected in the water.

"Nowhere," I say. "Just here."

Her grip tightens—just a little. And for the first time in a long, long while—I don't feel alone. We end up on the grass.

I don't even remember how. One second, we're sitting by the lake, and the next, Lillian shoves me, and I go down with a grunt. Before I can get up, she pounces, straddling me with that damn smirk.

"Gotcha."

I blink up at her, trying—failing—not to stare at the way her hair falls around us like a curtain, golden strands glowing under the moon.

"That's cheating," I mutter.

"Is it?" She tilts her head, feigning innocence. "I thought you liked a challenge, Sheriff."

I narrow my eyes. "Oh, you're asking for it."

Before she can react, I flip us. She yelps as she lands on her back, arms instinctively wrapping around my shoulders.

"That's not fair!" she laughs, eyes wide.

"You started it." I smirk, bracing my weight on my elbows so I don't crush her.

We breathe, just staring. Her hands slide to my jaw, thumbs tracing my stubble. My pulse stutters.

Her lips part, like she's about to say something—but then she flips us again.

"—Oof!" I grunt as I hit the grass.

Lillian grins, proud of herself, but I don't let her enjoy the victory. I roll us over again, earning another gasp—then another, then another, until we're both laughing like idiots, tangled in each other, breathless and dizzy.

Finally, we stop. She's on top this time, chest rising and falling, fingers gripping my shirt. Her laughter fades, and something shifts in her eyes.

I swallow hard. "Lillian," I murmur.

She hums in response, her thumb brushing over my lower lip—gentle, warm, lingering.

I could say something. Should say something. Instead, I pull her down. Our lips meet, soft at first—testing, tasting, waiting. Then, she melts.

I don't know which one of us deepens the kiss first, but gods, it's everything. Her fingers thread through my hair, tugging lightly, and a shiver runs down my spine. My hands find her waist, pulling her closer, pressing her against me, needing more.

The world blurs. There's only her. Only us. She pulls back just enough to whisper against my lips, "I—"

Then I flip us again.

"Barry!" she squeaks, laughing against my neck as I bury my face there, grinning like a damn fool.

"You were taking too long," I tease.

She smacks my arm, but she's still laughing. "You're impossible."

"You love it."

Lillian rolls her eyes—but then, softens. She cups my face, brushing her nose against mine, voice barely above a whisper.

"I do."

I freeze. She bites her lip, looking suddenly nervous. "I mean, I— I think I do. I—"

I kiss her. Deep. Slow. Real. She sighs into it, relaxing, trusting, knowing.

When I pull back, I rest my forehead against hers, eyes shut, breath mingling.

"Lillian," I murmur, "I think I do too."

She exhales, something between a laugh and a relieved breath.

We stay there, tangled under the moon, hearts pounding, lips swollen, knowing without a doubt—this is real.