Skating Through Chaos

He sat in the quiet after her words, fingers still wrapped around the mug she had made for him, but it felt like he was holding something far more delicate.

Loving you is as easy and natural as breathing.

It echoed again in his head. Not dramatic. Not grandiose. Just… true.

And then it hit him.

She hadn't said it, I love you. Not exactly.

But she had.

Gods, she had.

And not just now.

She'd been saying it for weeks. In every small act. In every softened gaze. In every time she let him spin into chaos and never walked away.

And still, she hadn't labeled it.

Not because she didn't feel it.

Not because she was afraid of what it meant.

But because he hadn't been ready.

Malvor's breath caught in his throat as the realization sank deep. She knew.

He thought back, over every moment since she arrived. How she had let him set the pace. Let him joke, tease, push, pull. She'd called him out when he needed it, but she had never demanded more than he could give.

Not once.

She had let him decide what this was.

How fast.

How slow.

How real.

Because she knew.

Because she saw him.

Saw what he wasn't ready to face. The parts of himself that weren't divine. That weren't theatrical. That weren't charming or desirable or powerful.

The only one who treated him like he wasn't a god, just a man who messed up, got scared...

And she waited.

Not because she lacked feeling.

Because she had emotional mastery. Because her strength wasn't just in surviving the unthinkable, it was in loving someone like him without needing to hear it said back. Without needing it defined.

She trusted it.

She trusted him.

And now?

Now, when she finally gave him those words, not as a declaration but as a quiet truth, he was finally ready to hear it.

Malvor swallowed hard, throat burning.

He looked at her. This woman who had been through hell and still had the audacity to sit there with a soft smile and warm coffee and call love unconditional.

Annie.

His Annie.

The only one who had ever seen him, not the mask.

The only one who treated him like he wasn't a god, just a man who messed up, got scared, wanted too much, and didn't know how to say what he felt.

And the only one strong enough to let him figure it out without ever once making him feel lesser for taking his time.

His chest ached with it.

He reached for her again, just touching her hand, holding it like a fragile lifeline.

Not because she needed him to.

But because he needed her to.

She met his eyes, steady and calm.

Still letting him lead, even now.

But he knew.

She'd been leading all along. Quietly. Wisely. With love she didn't need to name to make real.

He was still staring at her like she'd just rewritten the laws of the universe with one sentence when she tilted her head, sipped her coffee, and said casually—

"Mal, let's go skating."

He blinked. "What?"

She stood, already rinsing her mug. "You heard me. Skating. Rink. Wheels. Balance. Mild public humiliation. Good times."

He opened his mouth. Closed it again. "You… roller blade?"

She looked over her shoulder, one brow arched. "Malvor, I grew up in the late eighties. Of course I rollerblade."

"But, after everything, don't you want to—"

"Sit around? Stare at the wall? Spiral? Already did that. Four days straight. You were crying on the other side of the door, remember?"

He made a strangled sound of protest. She ignored it.

"I want fresh air, loud music, and fluorescent lights that haven't been replaced since Nineteen Ninety Two."

"…You're serious."

She turned, drying her hands on a dish towel. "Dead."

He hesitated.

She stepped close, tapped him on the chest. "Come on, Master of Chaos. Let's see if your godly coordination extends to wheels."

He laughed, startled and broken and beautiful. "You are actually dragging me out of this."

She smiled. "Malvor. If I can survive being carved up by divine sadists, I can survive a skate rink. And so can you."

And gods help him, he followed her.

The rink was pure nostalgic chaos.

Terrible neon signs. A disco ball that rotated slightly off-beat. Teenagers in oversized sweatshirts doing tricks in the center while pop music blared from busted speakers.

Annie laced up her roller blades like she did it every weekend.

Malvor looked at his with visible suspicion.

"I don't like how soft they are," he muttered, tightening the straps.

Annie smirked. "What, you want armored boots? It's a rink, not a battlefield."

He glared at the wheels like they'd personally offended him.

She stood, perfectly balanced, and skated a slow circle around him. "You coming, or do I need to carry you?"

"Don't you dare."

She extended a hand. "Then come on, Chaos of My Heart."

He took it. Let her pull him forward. Wobbled once, then caught himself.

"I don't like this."

"You'll live."

"I could die."

"You're immortal."

"That's beside the, whoa!" he flailed as his feet slipped.

Annie caught his arm, laughing, not cruelly, but brightly. Alive.

He looked at her, breathless, caught between irritation and wonder.

She made it look so easy. Like joy was a muscle she hadn't let atrophy. And him? His had calcified into armor.

She had found a way back to herself without rage. Without magic. Without him. That scared him more than he wanted to admit.

"You're really doing this," he said, voice low.

"I told you," she said, guiding him forward. "Normal. Not perfect. Just… us."

He skated beside her, shakily, his chaos flaring occasionally to keep him upright. She rolled ahead, spun once, looked back.

"You're getting it."

He grinned. "I'm faking it."

She winked. "So are most people."

And for the first time in what felt like forever—

He laughed.

Real and full.

Annie had pulled him out of the abyss.

With coffee.

And rollerblades.