Meanwhile, across the bar, Marshall was observing the scene. Not with jealousy, but with a deep curiosity and something more he couldn't name. He saw the lilac-haired woman approach, Alyx's half-smile, the way Sage spoke to her. Something stirred within him. It wasn't possessiveness. It was the recognition that Alyx—his Alyx, the rock, the caregiver, the tortured prophet—could be the object of another person's desire. A person who didn't come loaded with all the baggage of their shared past, who saw her as someone new, interesting, and desirable.
Lily, following his gaze, also saw. A flash of... concern? Surprise? passed through her eyes. Then she squeezed Marshall's hand.
"She looks good," Lily murmured, her voice almost lost in the music. "Right? She looks... relaxed."
Marshall nodded, unable to look away. "Yes," he said, and the word felt strange in his mouth. Seeing Alyx relaxed, being flirted with, was a parallel universe.
The night continued. James and Barney were a whirlwind, but even they noticed the resistance. James declined drinks, yawned, and complained about his feet. The couple group, watching them, formed their own theory, whispered between sips of beer: that James was in a relationship. And when Barney confronted him, the truth came out: James was engaged. To a man named Tom.
Barney's world came crashing down. Not because of the gay marriage, but because of marriage, period. His last ally in the battle against domesticity had betrayed him.
Alyx observed the family drama from a certain distance. Her interaction with Sage had been interrupted by a need to go to the bathroom. Upon returning, Sage had disappeared into the crowd, leaving only a trace of her sandalwood perfume and a discreet business card on the bar. Visual Artist. If you ever want to talk about quiet storms. Alyx put it in her jean pocket, feeling the cardboard like a small, warm secret.
The conflict between Barney and James reached its climax in a conversation outside the bar, in the cold night air. Barney accused James of abandoning the "army of two." And then James dropped the other bomb: they were going to adopt a baby.
The transformation on Barney's face was instant and complete. The fury faded, replaced by genuine astonishment.
"I'm going to be an uncle?" he asked, his voice trembling slightly.
"For the rest of your life," James confirmed.
Barney—the cynic, the seducer, the man who saw marriage as a plague—melted. In that moment, Alyx, watching them from the doorway, had a vision. Not of the distant future, but of something simple and powerful: she saw Barney years later, with a child in his arms, awkwardly doing the robot to make him laugh. And she knew that, against all odds, Barney would be an excellent uncle.
The image was so strong and so tender it filled her eyes with tears she didn't shed. For the first time, a memory of the future didn't hurt; it gave her hope.
The night ended with the couples going home exhausted. Marshall, Lily, Ted, and Robin shared a taxi, leaving Alyx, Barney, and James on the sidewalk.
"I'll stay a bit longer," said Alyx, surprising herself.
"Me too," said Barney, putting an arm around James's shoulders, who smiled with relief. "I have to officially welcome my future nephew to the Stinson family. Lesson number one: suits make the man."
Alyx left them and went back into the bar. The music had lowered, the crowd was more intimate. She approached the bar and ordered a water. She didn't feel like alcohol; she just wanted to savor the calm.
Sage didn't reappear, but her presence—or the possibility of her—floated in the air. Alyx didn't take out the card. She didn't need to. The mere fact of having received it, of having been seen and desired in that new way, was enough. It was a reminder that her identity wasn't fixed forever in the Marshall-Lily-Alyx triangle.
She could be other things, for other people. Or even for herself.
When she finally left, the cold air hit her face, clearing away any remaining fog. She walked toward her apartment, feeling the cobblestones under her boots.
Her phone vibrated. A group message from Lily.
-Today was fun. Thanks for coming, Alyx. And thanks for not getting too carried away with the lilac lady (too much) 😉-
Alyx smiled. Then another message arrived, this time directly from Marshall.
-That woman had good taste. In case you were wondering.-
Alyx stopped on the sidewalk. The love for them—that ancient, complex love—surged in her chest, not as a wound, but as a warm wave.
She loved them.
She loved them with the freedom of someone who no longer needs to possess them or be possessed.
She loved them enough to be glad they were together (or finding their way), and enough to start imagining a path of her own.
-She was interesting- she replied to both in the group. -But I'm just taking notes. One day at a time. Good night.-
Before putting her phone away, one last message arrived.
From Robin.
-P.S. The robot was the best part. Thanks for laughing with me.-
Alyx put her phone away and looked up at the lit windows of her building. The scaffolding on the canvas waited, but that night, for the first time, she didn't think about the structure it would support. She thought about the windows it would have. Windows from which she could see the city, the winter sky, and life—with all its unpredictable and marvelous diversity—unfolding below.
She climbed the stairs and, upon entering her apartment, didn't turn on the main light. The moon illuminated the canvas with a soft glow. Without planning it, she drew a very faint sketch of a window in the scaffolding. And inside, just a suggestion, a small spot of lilac light—like the reflection of a distant neon sign, or the memory of a gaze that had seen her as a quiet, fascinating storm.
It was a good day. One heartbeat at a time. One flirtation at a time. One message of love from her old loves at a time. The future, full of unknown and beautiful possibilities, wasn't frightening. It gave... stamina.
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