Moon huddled on the bench, hands burrowed deep into her sleeves for warmth, the wood's chill seeping through her coat like an unwelcome guest. Her breath fogged the air in soft, uneven puffs—white ghosts rising into the deepening blue. The garden wrapped her in quiet: distant city hum fading to a murmur, bare branches creaking like old bones in the wind.
She fished out her phone, screen glow cutting the dusk. 6:47 PM. Thirteen minutes early. A small win? She pulled her knees up closer, chin resting on them, scarf muffling her sigh. "It's okay," she whispered to the empty paths, voice thin as the frost. "He'll be here soon. Just... wait. Like always."
Pine scent sharpened on the breeze—crisp, biting—mingling with the faint rot of fallen leaves. Moon tilted her head, nose twitching. A flutter then—soft, sweet. Orchid again, blooming uninvited in the cold. She blinked slow, lashes catching the last light. "...Again? Why now? Like you know..."
But thought scattered—crunch—footsteps on gravel. Two sets. Light, overlapping.
Moon's lips curved faint, hope flickering fragile. He's early...? For me? She pushed up from the bench, brushing frost from her coat sleeves, heart doing a tentative skip. "Wèi Chén?" The name came out soft, testing the air.
Shadows stretched long through the evergreens—figures emerging, close now. But... not alone. Beside him, a girl—pretty in that effortless way, long hair curling loose at the ends, catching the streetlamp's gold. Bright lipstick slashed her smile, glowing like stolen sunset.
Wèi Chén threw his head back, laugh low and easy—that laugh, the one she'd chased for months. His hand brushed hers—casual, lingering. Fingers tangled brief, then loose.
Moon locked still, smile crumbling mid-breath. "...No..."
Her eyes widened—shock blooming wide, pupils swallowing light. Confusion swirled next, a storm clouding the brown. A tiny crack speared through—pain's first fracture, sharp under skin.
She whispered, lips barely moving, "H-how...? Why is he—? With her?" Voice ghosted out, lost to the wind.
The girl tugged his sleeve—playful yank, giggle bubbling. "Chén, stop—someone might see us! This spot's too open."
He chuckled, leaning in closer, arm draping her shoulders easy. "Relax. It's too early. No one's around. Garden's dead this time of year."
Moon's stomach plummeted—freefall cold. He thinks I'm at work. Still slinging lattes till seven. He doesn't know I came early. Doesn't know I'm here. Watching my own end.
One step back—small, silent—her boot crunching faint on stone. Breath shook, ragged pull.
The girl looped arms 'round his neck—bold, sure—pulling him down. "Come here," she murmured, voice honey-low, eyes half-lidded tease.
He didn't pause. Didn't glance away. Lips met hers—slow, warm, like they'd mapped this a hundred times. Hands slid to her waist, fingers splaying possessive.
Moon's hand flew to her mouth—palm muffling the gasp. Eyes flooded instant, hot blur. "No... no... please don't..." The plea choked out, shaking ghost in her throat. Barely sound. Barely there.
The kiss deepened—her fingers knotting in his hair, tugging gentle; his hold tightening, world narrowing to them. Laughter bubbled between breaths, soft and shared. Pine air turned thick, rose perfume wafting faint—cloying sweet, turning Moon's gut.
Her world tilted—ground soft under boots, sky pressing down.
Split panel—harsh divide, jagged line down the middle.
Left: Moon—framed tight, tears beading lashes, mouth quivering open-silent scream. Hand vise-grips the bench slat, knuckles bone-white, nails splintering wood faint. Face pale, shadows carving hollows under eyes. Crackling aura—faint orchid wisps curling 'round her, unseen.
Right: Wèi Chén and the girl—wide frame, golden lamp-light bathing them soft. Lips lock again, her back arched into him; his grin flashes mid-kiss, thumb tracing her jaw. Laughter spills—intimate, easy—into each other's mouths. Rose scent blooms stronger, mocking the divide.
Moon's whisper cracks the split: "It's my birthday..." Voice fractures, raw splinter. "You were supposed to... spend it... with me."
Fingers numb, Moon clawed her phone free—screen smudged, trembling in grip. "I... I need to hear him. Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe she's his cousin, or a friend, or—" Shake of head—fierce. "No. No. Call him. Now."
Thumb mashed call. Ringing pierced the hush—once. Twice. Her pulse synced to it, wild drum.
Across the garden—buzz—Wèi Chén's pocket lit, screen flaring blue. He broke the kiss lazy, pulling back with a sigh, glancing down. The girl stayed looped 'round him, chin on his shoulder.
"Who's calling you?" she murmured, pout forming, fingers toying his collar.
He squinted at the glow. "Moon."
Moon flinched—body jolt, like slapped. The name hung, casual discard.
The girl frowned, lips pursing sharp. "That girl again? Why's she blowing up your phone now?"
He shrugged—loose, unbothered—arm tightening 'round her waist. "She's probably still grinding at work. Shift ends at seven. Thinks I'm coming later. She won't know a thing."
Moon's breath snagged—throat closing vise. "I-I'm right here..." Tears spilled silent, hot tracks carving cheeks. Phone shook in her fist, his voice tinny-distant through the speaker.
The girl pouted fuller, tracing his jaw with a nail—playful scratch. "Do you think she'll find out about... us? Like, for real?"
Wèi Chén laughed soft—low rumble, vibrating against her. "Nah. Moon? She never shows early. Too busy jumping hoops. Listens to every word I say, follows like a lost pup. Harmless. Totally harmless."
Moon pressed palm harder over mouth—muffling the sob clawing up. Harmless. The word stabbed, twisting deep.
The girl giggled, light trill, leaning in to nip his ear. "You're so mean. What if she gets all attached? Clingy?"
He smirked—slow curve, eyes glinting wicked. "She already is."
The sob broke free—choked gasp, hand failing the seal. A tear plip-ed to frozen stone, shattering tiny at her feet. Crack. Heart echoed it.
Click—call connected. His voice shifted seamless—smooth velvet, gentle wrap. "Moon? Hey, babe. You okay?"
Behind him, the girl mouthed silent—Babe?—then laughed soundless, hand sliding under his jacket bold.
Moon swallowed—razor in throat. Trees blurred wet. "Where... are you?" Whisper scraped out, shaking leaf.
"At home," he lied effortless, thumb stroking the girl's hip absent. "Just resting up. Why? Miss me already?"
Her heart cracked—clean split, ache flooding. "I thought... you were coming to see me..."
He chuckled easy, like soothing a child. "I am. At seven, remember? Don't stress. See you soon, yeah? Love you."
Love you. Echo hollow. Moon stared—his arms still locked 'round the girl, her lipstick smudged bold on his mouth, rose ghost on his collar.
Tears cascaded now—full, silent drops. "Yeah," she breathed, voice splinter. "...See you soon."
Hung up. Screen went dark. World darker.
Knees buckled—soft give, no fight left. Moon sank to the bench, shoulders curling in, body folding small. Sobs wracked quiet—hitched breaths, hands fisting coat like it could hold her together.
The garden spun—trees smearing shadow, sky bleeding black, air thickening to choke. "No more... no more today... please..." Whisper lost to wind, face buried in palms, tears soaking sleeves.
Moon dragged the back of her hand across her cheeks—rough swipe, smearing salt and snot, breath hitching jagged in her chest. The tears kept coming, hot traitors, but her eyes... they hardened. Steel edging in, frost over the hurt. The garden's hush mocked her, pine wind whispering weak, weak.
"No more," she rasped, voice a scraped whisper, fists clenching at her sides. "I'm done crying quietly. Done being the ghost."
She shoved up from the bench—legs wobbling like newborn foal, knees locked by sheer spite. Forced one foot forward. Then another. Move. Or rot here.
Disclaimer
This work is a fan-made story inspired by The Apothecary Diaries. The world, its canon characters, and original setting belong to their creators.
Moon, her journey, and all new scenes written here are entirely my own creations. This story is shared purely for love of the universe and for personal enjoyment. No copyright infringement is intended.