「 bewitched 」 ᴋᴀʏɴ x ᴍᴀʟᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

Chapter XVIII

The movie flickered on the TV, casting a warm, golden hue across the room. The lights were dimmed, a faint hum from the screen filling the space alongside the familiar lull of nighttime.

Sylas had his legs sprawled across the coffee table, arms crossed over his chest as he stared at the screen, face lit in the shifting hues of whatever film was playing now. You were on the other side of the couch beside him, sharing a blanket, your fingers absently digging through the popcorn bowl which was now empty.

“We’re out of popcorn,” you muttered, holding up the bowl.

Sylas looked over. “Guess the marathon got the better of us.”

You pushed the blanket off, stretching as you stood. “I’ll go get more. Store’s just a couple blocks down.”

He started to get up. “I can come with.”

You waved him off with a smile. “Nah. You haven’t seen this one, right? I have. I can catch up later. If I go now, you’ll be halfway through the part I haven’t seen when I get back. Which will be perfect timing if I say so myself.”

Sylas hesitated. “I could just pause it.”

“And ruin the pacing? Please,” you teased. “Stay. I’ll be quick.”

He relented with a shrug, sinking back into the cushions. “Fine. But take your phone. And stay on the lit streets alright?”

You gave a lazy salute, already halfway to the door. You pulled your hoodie on, shoved your phone into the pocket, and slipped your airpods in. A slow beat filled your ears, something soft and moody that matched the late night breeze.

Sylas’s house stood in a quieter neighborhood, tucked between rows of sleepy homes and a few taller buildings. The convenience store glowed at the corner, buzzing neon green and white against the navy sky.

You pushed through the glass doors, the bell above chiming sharply. The store was warm inside, fluorescent lighting bouncing off polished linoleum. You made a beeline for the snack aisle, fingers already dancing along the shelves.

And then—

You slammed into someone.

Hard.

Your shoulder collided with theirs, your chest hitting the side of their arm with a soft thud that made you stumble back two steps. A sharp inhale caught in your throat as your hand flew up to steady yourself. The person you’d hit did the same.

“We gotta stop meeting like this in convenience stores,” came the voice, husky, lighthearted and unmistakably familiar.

Your breath caught.

Your eyes lifted.

Kayn.

Time felt like it slowed. He was standing right in front of you, heterochromatic eyes cutting through the bright sterile lights of the store, that half-smile on his lips like he wasn’t sure whether to laugh or brace himself.

You were frozen.

He looked exactly the same. The same tousled hair beneath his hood, streaked with crimson or magenta— you can't really tell, you're bad at distinguishing colors. The same undercut with that faintly rebellious air. Except he looked… more tired. Maybe thinner.

“You okay?” he asked softly, head tilting.

You blinked, slowly regaining your balance. “I… yeah. Sorry. I didn’t see you.”

He chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. “Guess the universe is into reruns, huh?”

You managed a tight smile, your chest squeezing with something complex. Awkward silence stretched between you both. It wasn’t uncomfortable, just heavy. Like walking into a room where all your memories had gathered before you.