Reclaiming Her Space

They left the roller rink hand in hand, wheels traded for shoes, neon traded for moonlight. The sky above was velvet and scattered with stars, the warm buzz of laughter and life fading behind them as they wandered the small downtown strip of the sleepy town.

Malvor was not thinking about the gods.

Was not thinking about vengeance.

Was not even thinking about his chaos.

Annie was beside him.

And for the first time in forever, that was enough.

They strolled past closed shops with string lights in the windows, hand in hand, bodies warm from skating and cheap food, breath fogging slightly in the night air.

Annie looked over at him, still smiling from the memory of his near-death limbo attempt.

"Mal?"

He glanced down, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. "Yeah?"

She looked ahead, voice softer now, but with that same solid confidence she always carried like armor. "I hope you know what you mean to me."

His heart stuttered.

Then, gently, he said, "I do."

She nodded.

And then she grinned.

Wicked. Beautiful. Dangerous.

"One day," she said, voice low and full of promise, "you'll say those two words to me again… with a different context."

He froze mid-step.

His mouth opened.

Closed.

Opened again.

His brain screamed.

Holy gods.

Did she just—

Was that—

Did she mean—

IS THAT A PROPOSAL THREAT?!

He made a sound. Half gasp, half wheeze, full emotional collapse.

She laughed, loud and unbothered, delight dancing in her eyes.

He was staring at her like she'd just pulled the stars out of the sky and handed them to him with a bow.

"You! Annie! you can't just—"

"I can," she said.

"And you will," he breathed.

She looked at him then. Calm. Certain.

"I know you will."

And even though she was smiling, playful, casual. He felt the truth of it deep in his bones.

She was not joking.

Not even a little.

And gods help him, he believed her.

Gods help him…

For the first time in his eternal existence, he wanted that.

The idea rooted itself deep and fast, growing wild in his mind like ivy through stone.

Proposing.

He could see it, chaotic, theatrical, something ridiculous involving illusions and glitter and possibly fireworks shaped like coffee mugs. Something she'd roll her eyes at… and secretly love. She would pretend to be annoyed, but her fingers would tremble when she said yes.

If she said yes.

She would.

She would.

Because she already saw him. Knew him. And still wanted him.

Even after the worst of it.

Marriage.

He'd never imagined it. Not really. Not with anyone. Immortality made promises slippery things, and gods like him didn't settle down. They flirted. They played. They danced through lives like comets.

But Annie was not a spark. She was gravity.

And the idea of being married to her?

Of waking up to her every day.

Of skating mornings and chaos nights.

Of coffee and fights and shared glances and inside jokes and her wearing his clothes forever—

It slammed into his chest like a divine strike.

He stopped walking for half a second, just to breathe.

Annie didn't say a word.

She just kept walking beside him, her fingers loosely curled in his, giving him space to feel it.

To want it.

He glanced at her, and she was still smiling, quiet and certain.

As if she knew the future already.

As if she had seen every possible version of their story and had chosen this one.

He caught up to her again.

And didn't say a thing.

Because for the first time, his silence didn't come from fear.

It came from hope.

Hope that maybe, just maybe, the Trickster God of Chaos could have something real.

Someone real.

Annie.

His Annie.

And one day…

One day he would say those words again.

With a ring in his hand.

They walked until the moon was high and heavy in the sky, its light painting silver across the cobblestones and rooftops.

They didn't talk much.

They didn't have to.

Annie's hand in his was enough.

Her presence, solid and warm and hers, was enough.

And when the path finally curved back into the veil between worlds, and Malvor's chaotic sigil glowed in the air, welcoming them back to the realm, he felt it before they even crossed the threshold—

Arbor.

The house reacted like an overexcited golden retriever, bursting with energy and emotion. Lights brightened all at once. Warmth flooded the halls. The faint scent of cinnamon and vanilla rolled through the air like a hug.

The fireplace roared to life, music began to play from nowhere, something cheerful, jazzy, and just this side of ridiculous. Pillows fluffed themselves. Blankets folded and unfolded in joy. The paintings in the hallway literally wiggled in their frames.

Arbor was ecstatic.

Not because they were home, but because they were happy.

Malvor couldn't stop grinning. "Arbor, you absolute sap."

A small light on the wall blinked rapidly in response, like a bashful giggle.

Annie stood in the middle of the foyer, looking up as the chandelier twinkled brighter than ever before. Her smile was soft, sincere.

"I missed you too, Arbor," she said.

The house shimmered.

Lights pulsed.

A trail of golden petals bloomed under her feet with a whisper of magic. Not showy. Not overdone.

Just love.

Malvor's throat tightened. The realm had been so dim without her, so quiet, so still. Now, it sang.

It felt like a family reunion.

Minus Karma, the chaos horse, who was probably off terrorizing some pocket dimension.

Annie glanced toward the hallway and took a deep breath. Then, without a word, she started walking.

Malvor blinked. "Guest room's that way."

But she didn't stop.

Didn't hesitate.

She walked straight to their room.

Their room.

Malvor froze.

He hadn't expected this. He'd been bracing for space. For time. For weeks of her sleeping across the hall, processing, healing, rebuilding her sense of safety.

But Annie?

Annie was already there.

She paused in the doorway and looked back at him, arching one brow. "You coming, or are you planning to pass out in the foyer?"

He blinked. "You… you're going to sleep in there?"

"Yes, Malvor. In my bed."

"But—"

She stepped inside and turned around, smiling. "You're welcome to join me."

And just like that—

He melted.

Because the message was clear.

Not only was she reclaiming her space—

She was reclaiming him.

And inviting him back into her life, her heart, her bed.

Not with fanfare.

Not with tears.

But with the same calm certainty that had always made her unstoppable.

He followed her.

No dramatics.

No declarations.

Just quiet, aching joy.

And the sound of Arbor humming softly through the walls, like even the realm itself was breathing again.