Kayne

RE9 Leon Kennedy

You Can See It With The Lights Out 💗

Summary: Leon and you are long-term partners and nearly lose each other after completing your mission in Raccoon City. After reuniting, you both need to come to terms not only with your fate but some unspoken feelings.

Happy Mama-To-Be-Day 💗

Summary: You are pregnant with Leons baby and he surprises you on Mother’s Day with a breakfast in bed. 

(Not) Good Enough 💗

Summary: Leon thinks he is not good enough for you and you make it your mission to prove to him he's everything you ever wanted.

Just Like You 💗

Summary: You and your husband Leon spend a peaceful morning together in bed. You try to hide your injury after last night’s mission, but Leon figures out what’s wrong almost immediately. Before you know it, he’s patching you up, while scolding you for not telling him earlier.

Fatal Fantasies 🔥

Summary: Leon comes home early and finds you pleasuring yourself. He then decides to punish you in the most exciting way possible.

Spice Things Up 🔥

Summary: After reading a certain article in a magazine, you get the idea to spice things up in your intimate life.

Forever Night Stand Part 1🔥 , Part 2 💗 , Part 3 🔥

Summary: You move to a new city, preparing to start your new job at the DSO. On one evening, you decide to go out for a drink to ease your mind. You end up hooking up with a handsome stranger, thinking it’s just a one-time thing. However, on your first day at work, you discover that the handsome stranger is actually your new superior

Just A Touch Of Your Love 💗

Summary: Leon is touch-starved. Of course, he would never show this in public, but as soon as the two of you are alone, he can't help but crave your touch.

Taking Care Of You 💗🔥

Summary: Leon is having a few days off work and you make it your personal mission to take care of him. He is getting the full princess treatment from you (and maybe a little more)

this is me trying – Leon comforting his wife 💗

Summary: Leon comes home to comfort his wife after noticing she is suffering. 

In A World Full Of Boys He’s A Gentleman 💗

Summary: Leon picks you up after work. When he sees your coworker being a little too nice to you, he starts getting a little jealous. But he handles it like always: like a true Gentleman.

Treat You Better 🔥

Summary: You and your ex break things off, and you want nothing more than to leave the relationship behind. To your surprise, his older supervisor, Leon S. Kennedy, turns up at your doorstep when looking for your Ex. Turns out, your ex's boss knows exactly how to treat you better.

Siren Sounds 💗

Summary: The Raccoon City incident never happened. Leon actually started working at the Police Station and is now a Detective. You are the new forensic scientist in town and have to work with him. At first, he is not very fond of that idea. That changes after a few weeks together, when you both can't stop thinking about each other.

Bittersweet 💗🔥

Summary: Leon has to say goodbye to you before he leaves for his newest mission.

Bittersweet Reunion (Part 2 for Bittersweet) 💗

Summary: After fearing for his life and not hearing from him for weeks, you already prepared for the worst. Luckily, Leon makes it back home safe and cured, and you both have your bittersweet reunion.

When We Meet Again 💗🔥

Summary: Leon and you originally met many years ago, back in Tall Oaks. Ever since then, you had developed the biggest crush on him, though not reciprocated. After all these years, you meet again, with him planning to retire and moving into your small town. Things change and Leon starts to realize that you're not the young girl from Tall Oaks anymore.

When We Meet Again (Part 2) 💗🔥

Summary: After spending the night together, you wake up in Leon’s bed, reflecting on your shared past. In the months that follow, a new routine begins as Leon officially settles down in your small town and the two of you start building a life side by side.

Fighting Chance 

Summary: Leon has to team up with a research scientist on a new mission. When he realizes you're not quite ready for the field, he takes it upon himself to give you some self-defense lessons…with unexpectedly close results.

Fighting Chance (Part 2) 🔥

Summary: Leon takes you for a ride in his Porsche, where you talk about your latest encounter. 

I Protect The Family 

Summary: Your teenage daughter gets bullied, and you and your husband Leon handle it the....Kennedy way. 

Leon comes Home from a mission on Christmas Eve 💗

Summary: Leon returns home to his wife on Christmas Eve and she's prepared a few surprises for him.

RE4R Leon Kennedy

First Christmas Eve together as parents  💗

Summary: Leon and you spend your first Christmas Eve together as newly weds and with your beloved twins.

RE6 Leon Kennedy

How can we go back to being friends? (Leon x Reader x Chris) 🔥

Summary: You are a long-time work partner and good friend of Chris and Leon. There has always been some unresolved tension, so one night, after a round of Truth or Dare, you decide to act on your fantasies. 

How can we go back to being friends? (Part 2) 🔥

Summary: Your relationship with Leon and Chris evolves as the three of you start catching feelings for each other.

Final Note: I hope you enjoyed it! As always, feedback is very much appreciated and means the world to me! No matter if its comments, likes, reblogs. I appreciate the support so much. 💗

If you want to be tagged in future stories, feel free to reach out to me here or in the comments

flipped phai appreciation ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿he make my heavenly pillar rise ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿

Not rudely. Not aggressively. You simply… continued forward, as if she were a decorative pillar you had noted and dismissed. Your feet aimed for the herbal room with the single-minded focus of a migratory bird that has spotted its continent.

"(Y/N), wait—"

"No."

"You don't even know what I'm going to say!"

"I don't need to know. My body already knows. My body is telling me to run. I trust my body more than I trust you."

"That's incredibly hurtful."

"You'll recover. You have excellent coping mechanisms. I've seen you cope with Finn in the storage closet."

Daphne's mouth snapped shut. A flush crept up her neck. Leverage deployed. You kept walking.

But Daphne was Daphne. She didn't give up. Her determined footsteps followed close behind, making it abundantly clear that walking away wasn't going to end the conversation.

"It's just dinner!" she said, jogging to match your stride. "The girls and I are going out tonight. Lira and Thessaly too. A little celebration! We survived the week! Nobody died!"

"Several people almost died. I personally prevented three of them."

"Exactly! Cause for celebration! You deserve a nice evening out! Good food! Company that isn't screaming or bleeding!"

You paused at the herbal room door. Your hand rested on the handle. You turned, just enough to give her the full weight of your skepticism.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why me? Why tonight? Why is your left eye doing that twitchy thing it does when you're constructing a lie?"

"My eye does not twitch!"

It twitched. Right there. A rapid, involuntary flutter of her lower lid that she covered by blinking aggressively, as if dust had materialized specifically to provide her an alibi.

"No," you said, and pushed the door open.

"The restaurant is really nice—"

"No."

"They have that lamb stew you like—"

"I can make my own lamb stew. In private. Where nobody can ambush me."

"There's a musician who plays the lyre and he's apparently very—"

"No, Daphne."

"It's free."

Your hand froze on the door frame.

The word hung in the air between you like a baited hook. Free. Four letters. One syllable. The most dangerous word in any language, because it was never, ever actually free. There was always a cost, always a catch, always a reason some poor fool ended up signing away their firstborn or their dignity or both.

You knew this. You knew this in your bones. You had been alive long enough and burned often enough to understand that "free" was the universe's favorite opening move before it kicked you in the teeth.

And yet.

Your stomach, that treasonous organ, growled. Not a polite rumble. A full, guttural, existential complaint from somewhere deep in your abdomen. The sound of a body that had been running on anxiety, eucalyptus fumes, and a single honey cake since dawn.

Free dinner.

Free. Dinner.

Your principles, already weakened by a long day of arguing with old men and their mustaches, wobbled like a fence in a storm. Your dignity, what shreds remained after the Grove, the Garden, the Market, and many separate encounters with divine beings who found your suffering recreational, raised a feeble hand to object.

Free dinner, your stomach argued. With lamb stew.

But the catch—

LAMB STEW. FOR FREE. WITH YOUR MOUTH. WHICH HASN'T EATEN REAL FOOD SINCE YESTERDAY'S SOUP THAT TASTED LIKE PENANCE.

You turned back to Daphne. Your expression was the exact face of a person surrendering a fortress they'd defended for eleven seconds.

"…Fine."

The smile on Daphne’s face broke through her attempts at nonchalance. 

“Excellent! We depart at sunset! Dress appropriately!”

“I will dress the way that I am dressed.”

“That is a stained healer’s robe.”

"It has character."

"It has porridge."

"Character porridge."

She smiled and dashed off, not able to conceal her pleasure in her gait. You watched her leave, the enthusiasm you had felt for getting a free bowl of lamb stew slowly fading away. In its place settled a familiar feeling that you just walked straight into a trap.

A quiet scoff came from the other side of the infirmary.

You turned.

Marlon was sitting on his bed, his splintered arm resting on a pillow while he looked at you wearily for what seemed like an excessively long time for a boy his age. His soup had not been touched, nor had the chrysanthemum in its vase.

"What?" you snapped.

He shook his head slowly. The headshake of a boy, a twelve-year-old boy, but a boy nonetheless, who had seen the entire exchange, weighed it against his own considerable life experience, and found you wanting.

"Sold out for a free meal," he said, voice flat. "Like a stray dog following a sausage into a trap." He settled in further on his pillow, his eyes looking up toward the ceiling with the detachment that only comes from one who had already foreseen the whole disaster and is now just waiting to see confirmation. "You don't have a clue about what you've just gotten yourself into."  

"Dinner, Marlon. Just dinner."

He let out one cynical snort. One snort that contained more cynicism than many people manage in their whole lives. He didn't even look at you.

"Sure it is."

The sun sank below the skyline of Okhema like it wanted no part of what was about to happen.

You reached the east entrance of the infirmary on time, dressed in your healer’s robe. Your healer’s robe. That particular healer’s robe. The one stained with porridge. You had tried to clean the mess up as best as you could, but this merely resulted in an even larger stain in the form of a cloud or even a sad face. You'd chosen to interpret it as a cloud.

Daphne, Lira, and Thessaly were already waiting.

You stopped walking.

Your eyes, those treacherous instruments of observation that had failed you so many times before, performed a slow, horrified sweep from left to right.

Daphne had done her hair. Not the usual practical bun she wore for shifts. This was an arrangement. Curls had been coaxed into existence. The pins in her hair twinkled like cunning little stars above her temples. Her dress was wine-colored, a dark red with a neckline that clearly showed she had plans and none of them involved talking about wounds.

Lira, normally invisible behind her wall of stoic professionalism and sensible tunics, had materialized in something flowing and blue. There was some cosmetic she had used on her eyes to make them bigger and more darkly expressive. Her earrings reflected the last rays of dying light, seeming to share some inside secret of their own.

Thessaly, thorough, thoughtful Thessaly, who once advised a client that emotion was "an inefficient use of metabolic resources", had a necklace on. An actual necklace. With a pendant. She'd also done something structural to her hair that defied the natural laws of gravity and hairdressing, piled atop her head in an arrangement that looked like it required an engineering degree and three forms of spiritual permission.

You looked down at yourself. Porridge cloud. Wrinkled hem. The light scent of eucalyptus oil on your left sleeve. The straps of one sandal being a bit loose.

You looked back up at them.

"Why," you managed, and the word emerged as a sound much like that of a creaking door which, for sure, did not want to be opened, "do all of you have such appearances as if you were going to be wooed by nobles?"

Daphne laughed. It was the laugh of a woman who had prepared for this exact question and was now executing her prepared answer like an assassin with a schedule.

"We just wanted to dress up! Is that a crime? We spend every day covered in other people's fluids. Can't a girl put on a necklace without an interrogation?"

Lira nodded quickly. “It’s nice to feel pretty sometimes.”

Thessaly didn’t say anything but fiddled with her pendant, doing so in the careful way only a weapons expert could calibrate.

Every alarm in your body sounded. Not the soft ringing of something slightly worrying. But the loud bells of a cathedral announcing wars, disasters, or the breaking of social contracts. Your stomach felt queasy. Your skin crawled. And your hair bristled up on end.

Something was wrong. Something was deeply, fundamentally, dressed-up-ly wrong.

"We should go!" Daphne chirped, hooking her arm through yours before you could retreat. "The reservation is in fifteen minutes!"

"Reservation," you repeated, tasting the word like spoiled milk. "At a restaurant that requires reservations."

"It's a nice place!"

"How nice."

"Very nice!"

"How very nice, Daphne."

She squeezed your arm tighter, steering you down the lamplit street with the cheerful determination of a sheepdog herding a deeply suspicious sheep toward a cliff it couldn't yet see.

You followed, because your arm was trapped and your stomach was still lobbying hard for the lamb stew, and also because the part of your brain responsible for self-preservation had been overworked for so long it had simply stopped filing reports.

The restaurant, when you finally arrived at it, proved all the suspicions that you harbored inside of you.

It was no mere restaurant; it was an experience. Flanking the entryway were two columns made of polished marble. Lanterns were strung from wrought iron brackets and shed pools of gold light upon the courtyard which was decorated with flowers of jasmine and other things with an aggressive romance about them. Behind an arch in the doorway stood tables covered in white cloths with candles flickering in glass holders.

This was not a "girls' night out" restaurant. This was not even a "celebration" restaurant. This was a restaurant where people went to fall in love, or at the very least to pretend they were capable of it over expensive wine and strategically dim lighting.

Your feet attempted to reverse. Your legs, loyal and true, began the careful backward shuffle of a creature who has spotted the trap and is now making diplomatic negotiations with gravity.

"You know what," you said, your voice hitting a register usually reserved for hostage situations, "I just remembered I left the—the thing. The important medical thing. In the other place. Very urgent. Critically time-sensitive—"

Daphne's hand closed around your wrist.

Not her friendly hand. Not her "let's go shopping" hand. This was the hand. The iron hand. The hand that had once held down a thrashing warrior long enough for Hyacine to set a dislocated shoulder, the hand that had gripped a severed artery closed for forty minutes without trembling. This was the hand of a woman who had made a decision and was prepared to enforce it with the casual brutality of natural law.

"We're going in," Daphne said, and her smile was the smile of someone who knew exactly what she was doing and had made peace with the consequences long before you'd even left the infirmary.

She dragged you through the archway. Your heel dragged against the stones, marking the trail of your struggle, which the staff would eventually come to understand as modern art. Your other hand clawed at the door frame. failed, clawed at the curtain, the pole snapped in half, clawed at nothing, until your hand clutched at warm jasmine air.

The interior swallowed you. Candlelight. Soft lyre music. The scent of seared lamb and fresh bread and something herbaceous that your traitorous stomach responded to with an audible, groveling whimper of surrender.

And then Daphne turned a corner, pulled you past a partition of carved wood and trailing ivy, and deposited you in front of a long table set for eight.

Four seats were empty.

Four seats were occupied.

By men.

Four men, to be precise. Clean-shaven. Well-dressed. Sitting with the careful, slightly stiff posture of males who had been informed that women were arriving and had been coached on where to put their elbows. One was mid-process of straightening his tie. Another held a cup of water in both hands as though it might fall out if he let go. One was practicing a smile and had not gotten around to stopping in time, leaving him caught in a smile of horrified politeness. And one was looking at the bread basket in the kind of hyper-intense focus that comes from knowing that the bread is the only safe thing to look at.

Your brain made the connection.

It didn't click. Clicking implied a clean, satisfying mechanism. This was more like a series of dominos falling into a pit, each one screaming.

Four women. Four men. Fancy restaurant. Nice clothes. Candlelight. Reserved seats. Daphne's twitching eye.

Group.

Blind.

Date.

The realization landed on you like a dropped chandelier.

Your face performed what could only be described as an emotional speedrun. First: blankness, the pure white void of someone whose brain had stopped working and was displaying nothing at all. Then: confusion, the creased brow and tilted head of a dog hearing a noise it can't identify. Then: dawning recognition, eyes widening millimeter by millimeter as the truth crawled up your spine like ice water. Then: horror, the full, classical, mouth-open, color-draining horror of a human being who has been betrayed by someone they trusted with their dinner plans. Then, finally, settling into a fixed expression that could only be described as: the face of a woman watching her own execution proceed exactly as scheduled while she stands there in a porridge-stained robe.

Your jaw descended. Not in the romantic, swept-off-your-feet way. In the mechanical, unhinged way, like a drawbridge whose chain had snapped. It hung there. Open. A portal to nothing.

Your eyes found Daphne's.

Daphne, who was already sliding into her seat beside the collar-adjuster with the fluid grace of a serpent returning to its favorite sunning rock. She had the decency—if it could be called that—to give you one single, tiny shrug. One shoulder. Half an inch.

"Surprise?" she offered.

Behind you, Lira and Thessaly were already seated, engaged in conversation with their respective dining partners with the practiced ease of women who had known about this for days and had come prepared. Lira was laughing at something. Thessaly had already corrected someone's posture.

You stood. Alone. In your porridge robe. In the middle of a romantic restaurant. At a blind date you hadn't known was a blind date. With a chair waiting for you next to a man who was looking at you with the polite, mildly terrified expression of someone who had been told his date was "enthusiastic" and was now reconsidering his expectations in real time.

There was your soul, which had been hovering by the exit ever since you had seen the jasmine, making a formal declaration.

I quit.

It filed the paperwork. It cleared its desk. It walked out into the metaphysical night without a backward glance.

Your body, abandoned, sat down.

Not because it wanted to. Because gravity was still in effect and your knees had finally surrendered their long campaign of holding you upright through sheer stubborn fury. You collapsed into the chair like a building undergoing controlled demolition. Structurally coherent from the outside, utterly destroyed within.

The man next to you extended his hand. "Hi. I'm Cane."

You looked at his hand. You looked at his face. You looked at Daphne, who was pointedly not looking at you, which was the loudest not-looking you had ever witnessed.

"(Y/N)," you said. Your voice was the verbal equivalent of a flatline.

"That's a nice name."

"Thank you."

"So what do you do?"

"I prevent death."

"Oh! That's—"

"And sometimes I cause it. Accidentally. Or on purpose. Depends on the day."

Cane blinked. His smile, which had been doing its best, developed a fault line.

You took a bite of the loaf of bread you had just split in two, watching the candle flame through the eyes of an old veteran who had seen enough and was now seeing more.

Around you, the date proceeded. Lira laughed again. Thessaly was explaining the hepatic system to her companion, who looked simultaneously fascinated and ill. Daphne was being charming. Weaponizedly charming. She was performing charm the way other people performed surgery, with precision, intent, and the unspoken understanding that someone would probably cry afterward.

You sat. You chewed. You breathed.

The bread was good. You hated that the bread was good.

Half an hour crawled by like a wounded animal dragging itself across a field, each minute arriving with its own unique variety of social agony.

You had spoken exactly four times since sitting down.

Once to introduce yourself. Once to confirm that yes, you were indeed a healer. Once to decline wine with a "No, thank you" so sharp it practically drew blood. And once, memorably, when Cane had asked what you liked to do for fun, and you answered "sleep" with such bleak sincerity that the table had gone quiet for eight full seconds.

Cane had gamely tried to fill the silences. He was, objectively, a perfectly fine human being. Brown hair. Clean teeth. Symmetrical features. Employed—something with trade logistics, you had gathered from the few sentences that had drifted past your dissociative haze. He smiled a lot. He asked some clarifying questions. He had the stamina of an overly enthusiastic golden retriever trying to make friends with a cat who was figuring out how far away the nearest high shelf was.

You were the cat. The high shelf was the window. And the window was three feet to your right, which you have been working on figuring out with your peripheral vision for the past twenty minutes.

Your gaze rested on the dark pane of glass, where Okhema's evening lanterns reflected like scattered coins on black water. Out there was freedom. Out there was your infirmary, your cot, your mildly hostile patient, and an absence of romantic obligation. Out there was a version of your evening that did not involve sitting next to a man named Cane while wearing dried porridge and pretending you knew how dates worked.

You did not know how dates worked. You had never been on one. Not by accident, not by design, not by divine intervention—and you had experienced a frankly alarming amount of divine intervention lately. Your romantic history was a blank page, and you'd intended to keep it that way. Your heart was already fully booked. It had one tenant. One disastrously handsome, cyan-eyed, impossibly kind tenant who took up every available room and several that hadn't existed before he moved in. There was no vacancy. The sign was up. The door was locked. Any prospective suitor attempting to tour the property would find it already occupied by an image of Phainon smiling at her over a basket of groceries, and they would be asked to leave immediately.

"So," Cane tried again, leaning forward with the optimism of a man who had not yet learned that optimism was a trap, "have you been to the festival district recently? The night market is supposed to be—"

"Excuse me," you said, moving your chair backward. It scratched along the stone floor as though your tolerance had reached its end. "I have to go to the restroom."

Daphne's head whipped around. Her eyes, those calculating, kohl-lined eyes of deception, honed in on you like a bird of prey spotting movement through blades of grass.

"The restroom," she repeated.

"Yes."

"You're coming back."

"Obviously."

"You're not climbing out a window."

"Why would I climb out a window? That's absurd. I'm an adult. I use doors."

A pause of silence. Her eyes bored into you, trying to find the tell, the sign of imminent flight. You gave nothing to her. You were a brick wall, smooth and unperturbed, porridge-soiled plaster.

"Fine," she replied slowly, reluctantly letting you go under her intense gaze. "Come quickly, though. They are getting ready to fetch the lamb."

You nodded. You smiled. You smiled the smile of a woman that had already located all the possible escape routes within the premises and listed them in order of ease.

You rose. You fixed your robe. You left the table, taking your time as if you were indeed on your way to the restroom.

You cleared the partition. You passed the ivy. You entered the corridor that led to the washrooms.

And then you ran.

Not jogged. Not power-walked. Not did that brisk, semi-dignified shuffle you'd perfected during the Market Incident. You ran. Full sprint. Healer's robe billowing behind you like a war banner of retreat. Sandals slapping the marble with the frantic percussion of a woman who had realized, with perfect clarity, that she would rather die in a ditch than sit through one more minute of polite conversation with a man whose most controversial opinion was that the night market had "good pottery."

You break open the back door of the restaurant, this you had noted in your tactical examination of the available exits, categorized under "Social Emergency Exit." You pop out into the night like a cork in a bottle of regrets.

The alley behind the restaurant was dim and small, smelling of grease from the kitchen and the possibility of freedom. You rushed down it, with your robe catching on a box, one of your sandals about to go renegade, breathing hard in that way only possible after not having run since the Droma thing happened and being kept alive on stress alone.

You burst out onto a quiet street two blocks from the restaurant. The air hit your face. Cool, clean, jasmine-free. No candles. No lyre music. No Cane.

You stopped suddenly, doubling up and panting heavily like a windmill that was forced to work beyond its capacity.

And then you laughed.

It started small. A wheeze. A hiccup. A tiny, manic bubble of sound that popped in the quiet street and echoed off the stone walls. Then it grew. It climbed. It swelled into a full, unhinged, chest-shaking roar of delirious, feral, magnificently unhinged laughter.

"I'M FREE!" you howled at the sky, throwing your arms wide as if expecting the stars themselves to catch you. "FREE! NO MORE POTTERY OPINIONS! NO MORE SYMMETRICAL SMILES! NO MORE 'SO WHAT DO YOU DO FOR FUN!' I DO THIS! THIS IS WHAT I DO FOR FUN! I FLEE SOCIAL OBLIGATIONS AND SCREAM INTO THE VOID! I AM ALIVE AND UNMATCHED AND ABSOLUTELY NEVER SPEAKING TO DAPHNE AGAIN—"

A sound behind you.

Not a footstep. Not a throat clearing. Nothing so obvious, so courteous, so mundane.

A laugh.

Soft. Warm. Like rich honey that has been slowly aging poured on to smoldering embers. The sound that moved through the darkness in waves of gold like a tide, pressing against the back of your neck and against your chest and against the soft unprotected flesh of your heart in knowing, devastating intimacy.

Every hair on your body rose.

Your arms, still flung wide in triumph, froze in the air. Your lungs, still mid-victory-cackle, locked. Your spine, that overworked load-bearing column of your entire disastrous existence, went rigid as a board.

You recognized that laugh. You recognized it as sailors recognized the north star, as flowers recognized the sun, as your nervous system recognized the exact sound that preceded its own destruction. You had classified it, organized it, played it back when you lay awake at night, dreamed it when you had the courage to be responsible for it.

You knew. Before you turned. Before you looked. Before your traitorous eyes confirmed what your cells already recognized at a molecular level.

He was there.

Phainon.

He stood some dozen feet away, propped up against the corner of a stonewall, where the quiet street joined the broader avenue. His clothing was plain—well, plain for him, meaning he still looked like an animated picture that had discovered how to have a good laugh at itself. He wore his lighter clothes, with no armor, no ceremony. The lamplight shone in his white hair, because it wanted to, because the light adored him.

He had one shoulder braced against the wall. His arms were loosely crossed. And he was looking at you with an expression that made your internal organs attempt to reorganize themselves in alphabetical order.

It was amusement. Obviously. When was it not amusement? Yet underneath it all, buried under the wrinkles around his eyes, the subtle, helplessness curling his lips, there was something more. Something that almost seemed to resemble joy. Not joy at your expense. Joy at your being. Joy in the particular, unique being of you, standing in the street, arms raised and shouting about pots.

Your arms dropped. They fell to your sides with the limp finality of cut puppet strings.

"Oh," you said.

The syllable contained the entire history of your suffering. It was the "oh" of a woman who had survived a blind date, escaped through a back door, sprinted through a grease-scented alley, declared victory to the heavens, and then discovered that her one-person audience was the literal sun given flesh.

"Good evening," Phainon said. His voice was warm. Gentle. Infuriatingly, devastatingly gentle, like a hand extended to a creature that might bolt. Which you might. You were actively considering it. Your legs were polling on the matter.

"How long—" you started, and your voice cracked like a fourteen-year-old boy's at a school assembly. You swallowed. Tried again. "How long have you been standing there?"

He tilted his head, considering. "'I'm free' was the first thing I heard. Though the commentary on pottery opinions was particularly spirited."

Your face ignited. Not a blush. Blushes were for people who still possessed dignity. This was a full dermal event. Your skin turned a shade of red previously observed only in volcanic eruptions and emotionally compromised tomatoes. It started at your ears, which were now functioning as small, personal furnaces, and swept inward, claiming your cheeks, your nose, your forehead, your entire skull.

"That was—" you fumbled, hands making frantic, meaningless shapes in the air between you, "a private moment. A therapeutic vocalization. I was... decompressing. From a... from a thing."

"A thing," he repeated, and the smile—that small, knowing, ruinous smile—widened by exactly one devastating millimeter.

"A dinner thing. A social. It was Daphne's fault. All of it. Everything you've just seen is down to Daphne and her deceitful and conniving, it was a blind date, alright?" It came tumbling out of your mouth like pulling off a plaster too quickly from an ill-healed injury. "She fooled me. She said free dinner. She didn't say four strangers and candlelight and a man who wanted to discuss pottery—"

You stopped. Drew breath. Let it out.

"I fled," you said, flatly. "Through the back door. Like a reasonable person."

Phainon pressed his lips together. His shoulders trembled. He was fighting. Fighting hard. It was evident in the way the muscles on his jaw were clenching and how he would look up to the sky in one moment, seeking the support of the stars.

"Back door," he repeated. It was an effort to hold back a laugh.

"It was the most accessible exit. I assessed all of them. During the appetizer."

He lost. A sound escaped him—not the soft chuckle from before, but a bright, startled burst of laughter that he caught behind his hand, shoulders shaking, eyes squeezing shut. When they opened again, they were wet at the corners, and the look he gave you was so open, so freely and completely delighted, that your heart performed a maneuver it had definitely not been cleared for.

And something strange happened.

Maybe it was the residual adrenaline from the escape. Maybe it was the absurdity of the situation—being caught mid-victory-scream by the one person whose opinion could actually unmake you. Maybe it was the fact that you'd already hit rock bottom so many times tonight that the ground had started feeling like home. But the usual terror—the knee-buckling, vision-tunneling, nosebleed-threatening Phainon Effect—didn't come.

Or rather, it came. It always came. But tonight it arrived and found you already in shambles, already stripped of pretense, already standing in a dark street in a porridge robe having screamed your freedom to an empty sky. There was nothing left to protect. No composure to shatter. No dignity to lose. You'd spent it all. You were operating at zero.

And from nothing, there was only one place to go—a place that felt, terrifyingly, almost easy.

“You’re laughing,” you said, and your voice, though shaky, though haunted by the thousand screams from within, had something different about it.

"I am," he admitted, wiping his eye with the back of his hand. "Forgive me. The image of you performing a tactical evacuation through a kitchen exit while wearing—" he gestured at your robe, his smile helpless, "that, is going to sustain me through several council meetings."

"I'll have you know this robe has survived encounters with Chrysos Heirs, feral grandmothers, and a runaway Droma. It's a veteran."

"It looks like a veteran."

"Thank you."

And he laughed again, his laugh now softer. It fell into the space between the two of you, and you found yourself giving in to your mouth’s betrayal, despite your firm instructions.

The quiet that followed wasn't the loaded, suffocating quiet of before. It was the good kind. The kind where two people who have both decided to stop pretending simply exist in the same air for a moment and find that the air doesn't mind.

Phainon moved away from the wall. He stepped towards you, then paused, his hands sliding into his coat pockets with an ease that made it abundantly clear that he wasn’t trying to make you fear him in the least. It was that damned thing he did again, the careful, measured gentleness with which one approaches an animal that knows how to panic. The fact that he had learned your behaviors so well made something shift in your gut that you were unequipped to identify.

"I was actually looking for you tonight," he said.

Your heart kicked. Hard. A single, violent thud against your ribs that you felt in your teeth.

"You—what?"

"I stopped by the infirmary. Marlon informed me you'd been… conscripted."

Marlon. Of course. That tiny, omniscient gremlin had known. He had seen you fall into Daphne’s trap with folded arms and raised eyebrows, and he knew, and he didn’t say a thing because suffering was the only form of amusement he held in any regard.

"He said you went out with Daphne and the rest," Phainon went on, his voice calm but holding some underlying tone you couldn’t quite pin down. "And that you were probably, using his exact words, ‘already freaking out.’"

"Perceptive child," you muttered.

"He then explained what kind of event it was." A pause. Phainon’s eyes locked with yours, and something changed in them, a glimmer of something else, something not quite laughter. Something that had made him leave the infirmary and walk into the city in the evening. "He used the phrase ‘blind date’ and said you didn’t know about it."

The implication hung between you like a thread pulled taut.

He'd come looking. When Marlon had told him where you were—who you were with—what it was—he'd left. He'd walked across Okhema. He'd found the restaurant, or at least your vicinity. And now he was here, in a dark street, looking at you with an expression that contained many layers of meaning and not one you felt safe examining directly.

"And I was halfway here when I heard the yelling," he continued, and his smile came back, but in a different way. Gentler, almost affectionate. "And I thought maybe either you were about to die or you had found some very, very bad food. Either one was worth checking out."

"I didn't even make it to the lamb," you explained, and there was no question at all about the grief in your voice being real.

He laughed, a short huff of laughter. Then he stood up straight, and the joy on his face sobered up.

"In that case," he said, and his tone dropped into that lower register, the one that did things to your nervous system that probably required a license, "allow me to propose an alternative evening."

Your lungs stopped accepting applications for air.

"Would you have dinner with me?"

Six words. Six ordinary, completely normal, world-ending words. They arrived in your consciousness like a very polite avalanche, and everything in you—every cell, every synapse, every overworked, underpaid molecule of self-preservation—went absolutely silent.

Inside your skull, the response was not silence. Inside your skull, a choir of tiny, feral versions of yourself erupted into pandemonium.

HE ASKED YOU TO DINNER. HE ASKED YOU TO DINNER. THIS IS NOT A DRILL. THIS IS THE OPPOSITE OF A DRILL. THIS IS THE THING THE DRILLS WERE PREPARING YOU FOR AND YOU ARE NOT PREPARED—

SAY YES.

SAY NO.

SAY SOMETHING.

SAY ANYTHING.

DON'T JUST STAND THERE WITH YOUR MOUTH OPEN LIKE A FISH THAT JUST LEARNED ABOUT MORTALITY—

Your jaw worked. Up, down. Up, down. A mechanical exercise producing zero sound. You looked like a woman trying to chew the concept of dinner into something digestible.

Phainon waited. Patient. Steady. His eyes on you were calm and bright and entirely too understanding of your current predicament, which was rude of him because your current predicament was his fault.

"I—" you started. The word came out as a croak. You cleared your throat. Tried again. "You want—you're asking—this is—"

Be normal. BE NORMAL. You have spoken to this man before. You have made him laugh. You have discussed the emotional lives of plants. You can say yes to dinner. It's one word. Three letters. A child could do it. Several children have done it in your presence, to lesser prompts, with less at stake.

"Yes," you said.

It came out. Whole. Complete. One syllable. No squeaking. No trailing off into a wheeze. No unfortunate addendums about soup or gravity or your own impending death.

Just yes.

You saw it happen. The moment the word reached him. His face didn't transform, it illuminated. It was as if someone had adjusted some sort of switch within him and it made everything glow. His smile, which until then had been tender, reserved, prudent, blossomed into something innocent, young. A smile of pure and simple joy that made him seem more boyish than Deliverer of Amphoreus.

Your chest ached. A sweet, dangerous ache. The ache of looking at someone so earnestly pleased by your one-word answer that you wanted to give it to him again. A hundred times. In a hundred different ways.

He looked childlike. That was the word your brain finally supplied, struggling up from the wreckage of your internal meltdown. Childlike. Not childish—never childish. But lit from within by something uncomplicated and real, something that the weight of his title and his centuries and his duty usually kept pressed flat.

You smiled. A real one. Not the panic grimace, not the fluorescent defense mechanism, not the social-survival rictus. A real, warm, soft smile that you felt in your face muscles and your chest simultaneously, and that made your eyes sting in a way you chose not to examine.

It was refreshing.

It was him. Without the polish. Without the weight. Just—happy.

You could live there. In the light of that expression. You could set up camp and never leave.

"Good," he said, and the word was ridiculously inadequate for the wattage of his smile. "I know a place."

It was a restaurant of which you have never heard before; an unassuming little eatery hidden away on a sleepy residential street at the fringes of the lower town, behind a courtyard that was more planters full of vegetation than anything else. It was not fancy. It was not marble and jasmine. It was warm and homely and authentic. Tables with dented wood, mismatching chairs, a ceiling covered with hanging herbs, filling the air with the scent of rosemary and thyme and someone's competent grandmother.

The woman behind the counter recognized Phainon. The look in her eyes was wide and then understanding, and said nothing more than leading you both to a table set back in a corner, almost obscured by vines of ivy that created an illusion of seclusion. The candle at the table was a short beeswax affair, not romantic atmosphere but practical illumination, and you savored its warmth with all the enthusiasm of a recent escapee from ambient terrorism.

You sat. He sat. A carafe of water appeared. Bread followed. The bread was warm.

"Before you—" you started. 

"It's on me," he told you, looking at the menu as though it were the most normal thing in the world. The kind of thing a guy would do when he knew exactly what argument you'd make about it and had already solved it in advance.

Your mouth dropped open. Then closed. Then you try to open again.

He looked up at you. The candlelit shadows reflected in his eyes, which, absurdly, became even more alluring up close, under ordinary light, without any heavenly rays beaming down into that perfect garden. Just candlelight, with two gorgeous iridescent blue eyes staring into you with such affection that your ribs seemed way too small for what they needed to accommodate.

“If you make an argument," he murmured, "I’ll just tell the kitchen you’re allergic to paying.”

Your jaw clicked shut. Because there was one thing you are sure about. If he looked at you, just looked, with those eyes and that voice, you'd fold like wet parchment. You'd agree to anything. You'd agree to fund a public statue of yourself in the porridge robe if he asked with that particular tilt of his head.

You hated how much power he had over you.

You hated more how willingly you surrendered it.

“Fine,” you said quietly, ripping off a piece of bread with a little more strength than needed. “But I’m ordering an expensive meal.”

“I insist upon it.”

The meals were served in waves, slowly yet generously, as if the owner was giving a personal show of some sort. There were roasted root vegetables covered in herb oil. Some kind of stew—no lamb, but another meat, deep and savory with wine and bay leaves, smelling like an embrace from a civilization that got its priorities right. Some kind of grain with soft cheese that you couldn’t identify but adored instantly for someone starved of proper food for a full day.

You ate. He ate. You talked.

But not the forced, don't-let-me-say-something-embarrassing chat that had characterized all previous attempts at communication. This was different. Slower. Easier. Like the evening had sanded down the sharp edges of your mutual dynamic and left something that fit together more naturally. You told him about the Grove. About the archivists. About Anaxa's notebook and the peer-reviewed crumb incident, and his laughter came in waves—full, unrestrained, table-shaking waves that drew brief, startled looks from the only other diners, an elderly couple who seemed mildly concerned for his health.

He told you about his day. About the council session that had devolved into a forty-minute debate about whether the eastern aqueduct's decorations should face outward, inward, or "at a philosophically neutral angle." About a letter from a frontier outpost commander whose report was so dryly hilarious that Phainon had read it three times before filing it.

You laughed. Loudly. Laughed so hard that you placed your hand on your lips to muffle the sound since it was far too loud and raw for the silent environment of the restaurant, but he grinned widely in response to your laughter, which sounded like it was his favorite sound all week long.

At some point in the conversation, though you weren’t sure when, it stopped hammering on your door. You no longer felt shaky, your voice went back to normal, and the sound of fear that was vibrating through your veins changed into something pleasing, like the ringing of a string.

It was merely two people having dinner together. Nothing else.

And then you looked up from your stew and saw it.

A smear of dark sauce. Just a fleck, really—a tiny, dark comma sitting at the left corner of his mouth, clinging to the skin beside his lower lip with the stubborn tenacity of a thing that had no right to be there but absolutely intended to stay.

The sight of it did something truly unfair to your brain. It was so normal. So human. So profoundly, wonderfully imperfect. The Deliverer of Amphoreus, the man whose cheekbones could cut diplomatic tensions, had sauce on his face.

"You've got—" you started, gesturing at your own face. "Right there. A little—"

He picked up a napkin and swiped. Wrong side. Clean side. The side that didn't have sauce.

"No, the other—your left."

He wiped again. Same side. More pressure this time, as if determination alone would relocate the offending condiment.

The sauce remained. Steadfast. Loyal to its post.

"No—" you pointed more emphatically, "the left. Your left. Left."

He wiped his right cheek. Thoroughly. Comprehensively. The cheek was now the cleanest surface in the restaurant. The sauce, on the opposite side of his face, watched from its secure position and was unmoved.

You stared at him. He lowered the napkin and looked at you, eyebrows slightly raised, mouth caught in that particular shape that—

That was when he gave that smug look. That small but very annoying twist of his lip. It was as if he was saying, with utmost clarity, "I know exactly where the sauce is."

The realization detonated.

He was doing it on purpose.

He was wiping the wrong side on purpose. He was watching you fluster and point and gesticulate, and he was deliberately, methodically, with the strategic patience of a military commander who had all the time in the world, missing.

Your eye twitched. Your jaw tightened. A furnace of pure, righteous, deeply personal frustration ignited somewhere behind your chest and began to roar.

"You—" you started, your voice climbing. "You absolute—you're doing this deliberately. You can feel it. It's right there. It's been there for thirty seconds. You are a grown man. A Chrysos Heir. The Deliverer. And you cannot locate sauce on your own face—"

"I'm not sure what you mean," he said, the picture of innocent confusion, wiping his forehead.

"YOUR FOREHEAD DOESN'T HAVE SAUCE ON IT!"

"Doesn't it?"

That was it. The final thread of your restraint, already frayed to translucency by the blind date and the escape and the screaming and the entire cumulative weight of your acquaintance with this impossible man, snapped with an audible internal twang.

You snatched the napkin out of his hand.

You leaned across the table.

And you scrubbed his entire face with one sweep.

Not gently. Not daintily. Not with the precise, careful touch of a healer tending to a delicate wound. You went full washerwoman. Both cheeks. His chin. His nose, for good measure. The napkin swept across his features with the brisk, merciless efficiency of a mother cleaning a child who'd fallen face-first into a pudding, and you put your back into it, one hand bracing against his jaw to hold him still while the other administered justice.

For approximately two and a half seconds, Phainon went completely still.

His eyes, peeping through the aggressive waving of your napkins, were wide. Wide. His lips opened just a little bit. The smug expression disappeared and in its place was something that you had never seen on his face before: utter shock. Real shock, the kind of shock that comes from being completely stripped down by a porridge-smeared healer with a napkin as a weapon.

Then he blinked.

Once. Twice.

And his head tipped back, and he laughed.

Not the careful chuckle. Not the warm huff. Not the dignified, controlled laugh of a public figure maintaining his mystique. This was the laugh. The one from the market overlook. The one from the infirmary. The one that shook his shoulders and creased his eyes and broke through every layer of composed, patient, measured grace until what was left was just a man. A young, startled, fiercely happy man who had been caught off guard by something he hadn't expected to feel.

The sound filled the small restaurant. The elderly couple looked up. The owner paused in her wiping of the counter. The trailing ivy seemed to sway.

And you—napkin still raised, hand still on his jaw, brain still catching up to what your body had done, felt the laughter roll through his skin and into your fingertips. Felt the vibration of it. The living, physical reality of his joy, transmitted through the point of contact between your palm and the warm line of his jaw.

You dropped the napkin. You snatched your hand back. Your face was approximately the temperature and color of the sun.

"There." It came out as a choke. "Clean. Thank you very much. Never ask for my assistance again."

He was still chuckling. He held his hand on his heart as if he was trying to hold something back inside him. Once he caught his breath, he looked at your eyes across the table and the expression in his eyes was—

It was everything.

Amusement, yes. Surprise, yes. But there was something more. Something tender, something devastatingly tender, something specific, something that was directed at you, at you personally, at you and no one else in the entire universe.

"Thank you," he told you, and his voice was raspy from laughter, and warm, and right up next to your ear. "It is the most thorough face cleaning that I have ever had since I was four years old."

"Good for you," you said softly in response because you didn’t know how to shout anymore.

"Yes, I do," he smiled, and the flame of the candle trembled a little due to the wind that neither of you could feel, and the whole world seemed to become very tiny and marvelous at once.

The walk back unfolded in pieces.

Close together along the silent streets in the evening, your shoulders nearly brushing, just barely, close enough for you to feel his warmth, even without touching, close enough so that every little touch of sleeves against sleeves caused a spark in your veins. The lights made golden puddles on the stones. The air held the scent of cold stone, of night blooms, of left-over dinner. It did not take any effort for your steps to fall into time, his long stride shortened, yours lengthened, and before you knew it, you were moving in time like music fallen into harmony.

You talked. About nothing. About everything. He brought up the name of a poet whose poetry he had been reading again—somebody who described everyday things, bread and doors and the sounds of rain, and made them seem huge. You told him you understood that. Because your whole life was made up of things like that—that seemed huge, whether you liked it or not. And then he laughed, and the laughter seemed gentler now, worn down by the evening, and your chest ached from the longing to hear more of it.

You told him about Marlon's chrysanthemum, the laminated chart, and the manner in which the child stared at the flower like the flower had personally betrayed him by its beauty. As you narrated your story, Phainon nodded his head a little while his profile was illuminated by lamplight, then he replied, "He reminds me of someone."

"Who?"

"Me. At that age. Furious at everything. Convinced that softness was a trap."

You looked at him. He looked at the street. Something in the line of his mouth told you this was not a topic he shared lightly, and the fact that he'd shared it at all—with you, in the dark, between one lamppost and the next—made your throat tight.

You didn’t speak, either. You just moved forward, and let your shoulder brush against his for one single, purposeful second. He did not draw back. He kept on walking in the same rhythm. You heard him breathing slowly, deeply, and something about the space between the two of you changed into permission.

The infirmary appeared at the end of the street like a loyal friend who had been awake just for you. Its windows remained dark except for the one night duty light burning inside the amber square of safety.

You stopped at the door. He stopped beside you. The night wrapped around you both, close and quiet.

"Thank you," you said, and meant it with every cell of your battered, bewildered, astonishingly lucky body. "For dinner. For the rescue. For the—" you gestured vaguely at your entire person, "tolerance of all… this."

He looked back at you. The lamplight from behind him gave his hair an aura. The shadows made his eyes darker, but you could see them. Could feel them. Clearly and warmly present.

"There's nothing to tolerate," he said. "Only to appreciate."

Your heart did something slow and enormous and devastating. A single, heavy beat that seemed to echo in the bones of your chest.

And then he reached out.

His hand found yours.

Neither a grab nor a clasp. It was as though his fingers glided under yours with a reverence that almost seemed sacred, cradling your hand in a way that it felt delicate and priceless, while his thumb brushed against your knuckles just once in a gentle gesture that made all of your nerves fire.

He raised your hand.

He bent his head.

His lips pressed against the back of your knuckles.

The world stopped.

Not figuratively. Not in the dramatic, hyperbolic way you'd become accustomed to deploying. The world stopped. Sound ceased. Air ceased. Time, the cold, unfeeling entity, froze its tracks and took its breath and let this one, terrible instant stand apart from the rest.

His mouth was warm. Warm and soft and gentle and there. The pressure was light—barely a kiss at all, more like a prayer pressed into skin. You felt the shape of his lips. You felt the warmth of his breath. You felt, with searing, impossible clarity, the slight curl of his fingers around yours, holding your hand steady in a grip that was somehow both fragile and absolute.

It lasted two seconds. Maybe three. An eternity compressed into a breath.

He straightened. His fingers released yours.

You did not move. You could not move. You had been transmuted. Your body had become stone, your lifeblood became electricity, and your spirit had become an echo, a resonant sound that filled every atom within you and made no space for thought or movement or even breathing.

You were stone. You were a monument. A slightly porridge-stained monument to the concept of being utterly, completely, catastrophically undone.

Your eyes—fixed, enormous, probably displaying pupils the size of dinner plates—stared at him.

He smiled.

It was the gentle one. The authentic one. The one that made him look human and happy and impossibly, unfairly, transcendently good.

“Good night, (Y/N). It’s a great night to be with you. I’ll see you later.” he said.

His voice went through you like light through glass.

“Good…” You tried to say. It came out as a mere whisper of a sound torn from the farthest, darkest reaches of your throat. “Good night. See you later…”

You turned. You pushed the infirmary door open. Your hand—the kissed hand, the branded hand, the hand that now contained the most significant tactile memory of your entire existence—found the handle through pure muscle memory, because your conscious brain was not currently accepting operational commands.

You stepped inside.

You closed the door behind you.

You stood in the dark corridor of the infirmary, lit only by the amber night lamp, and pressed your back against the wood. Your hand—that hand—rose to your chest. You pressed it flat over your heart, which was no longer beating so much as vibrating, a sustained tremolo of such intensity that you were fairly certain it was audible from the street.

The back of your hand burned. Not with pain. With the phantom warmth of his mouth. With the memory of pressure so gentle it made you want to scream, and cry, and laugh, and possibly never wash that particular patch of skin again for as long as you drew breath on this ridiculous, beautiful, merciless world of Amphoreus.

A tiny, broken sound escaped you. Not a word. Not a laugh. Something between a whimper and a hymn. The sound of a person whose internal architecture had been fundamentally and permanently rearranged by a gesture that lasted fewer seconds than it took to sneeze.

You let yourself fall to the floor. Finally, your knees had resigned themselves to doing so. You crumpled to the floor in a heap of healer’s robe and emotional wreckage, your kissed hand clenched in your palm, your face a masterpiece of astonishment and devastation and wonder and awe.

From the shadows of the hallway, came a voice.

"You combusted."

Marlon.

He was sitting on his cot, visible through the doorway to the main ward, splinted arm propped on his pillow, chrysanthemum standing guard. He hadn't been sleeping. He'd been waiting. Of course he'd been waiting. The little gargoyle had been sitting in the dark like a sentient security system, monitoring the door for signs of your return, ready to document the damage.

You didn't answer. You couldn't answer. Your vocal cords were still smoking.

He stared at you for a very long time. Saw the sitting on the floor. The hand grasping. And the face changing colors like a sunset having an anxiety attack.

Then he rolled onto his side on the cot, brought the blanket up over his mouth, and began speaking to the wall as one would to someone whose predictions were now confirmed.

"Told him," he mumbled. "Told him she’d blow up."

A brief pause. You heard the infirmary breathing, cots creaking, a tincture dripping, a patient snoring from three beds over.

And then, almost too softly to be heard, a voice speaking out of sheer disbelief:

"Idiot."

It was unclear whether he meant you, Phainon, or the universe at large.

Probably all three.

previous | ahy masterlist | next

A/N:

Hi everyone! Surprise!!! 😭✨ Look who's alive and has returned from the depths of work-induced hibernation with a new chapter!

First of all, thank you for your patience. I know it's been approximately 15465135 years since the last update. Work has been absolutely kicking my butt lately, and most nights my routine has been: come home → stare into the void → become one with my bed. 😴

I have been so busy that I basically vanished from the face of the internet. Tumblr? Haven't seen it. My drafts? Collecting dust. My social life? Missing, presumed dead.

So I sincerely apologize for disappearing without a trace and making you all wait so long. But the good news is NEW CHAPTER!!! 🎉🎉🎉

I really hope you enjoy it and think it was worth the wait. Thank you for sticking around despite my tendency to evaporate whenever life gets chaotic.

I miss you all so much!! 💖 And as compensation for my crimes against consistent updating, I shall do my best to bring you more chapters and less emotional damage from waiting.

You were utterly furious at his impossible attitude. You were hoping to win. You really were. But all hope was lost.

> F*** you, im not > I just cant play well on a computer that isn't mine.

Eclipse invited you to another match before typing out his next series of mockery.

> well, too bad. > im not on my own computer either > :P

You were confused, questioning for what reason he himself didn't play on his own device. 

> Why not??

You couldnt help but ask.

> my cat would never let me use my keyboard in peace. 

> Lame excuse.

> say what u want. u still suck

> K*** yourself

> only if u win the next round, darling.

You were determined this time, a GAME OVER screen would not slap you across your beautiful face ever again, you would have to find some sort of tactic. 

He probably spent ungodly amounts of time playing this stupid game, wanting to challenge a beginner only to stroke his ego. Or in your case, induce rage within you. The only purpose in life he seemed to have, at least from your perspective.

And so, another match began. 

And another

And—

VICTORY

The fifth match ended and you finally won, by a stroke of luck. He had messed up near the end, trying to pull some dirty trick to get you to crash into him, thus utilizing a speed boost glitch that you noticed he did during the first match.

Sneaky bastard.

> Okay that's enough, ive won. Im going home.

There was a pause in Eclipse's response. Then—

> killjoy :(  > i want to keep playing

> Ask your friends or something, i have better things to do

> like argue with me on twt?

> not that.

> u sure?

> pretty sure. > bye.

You shut the game down, staring vacantly at the screen, considering if you wanted to play something else since you were already here, at the gaming café. You leaned back, sliding the headphones down to your shoulders, hearing countless voices of people surrounding you, playing their own games and having fun.

It made you wonder: Why didn't he want to use voice chat? 

Did he wish to preserve his anonymity? That seemed most likely. But something tugged at you, feeling like it wasn't quite it. 

You shook it off, shutting the computer off completely, and sliding the headphones off before grabbing your things and stepping outside to leave. You opened the door and immediately bumped into someone's back who was standing right in front of the entrance.

“Hey—” 

He looked over his shoulder at you and all your irritation melted away. An eye of sapphire glimmered back at you under the dark sky, a hood draped over the moonlit, almost pearlescent hair. He was clad in all black, head to toe. What caught your attention the most was the white eyepatch covering a portion of the left side of his face. 

Familiar.

He stepped away immediately.

“Sorry…I didn't…” His voice was quiet, a little hoarse and he quickly avoided eye-contact, turning from you and walking away with one hand in his pocket and the other clutching his phone closely to his face. You watched his disappearing figure, but didn't linger too long. 

Now where had you seen someone resembling that appearance? One thing was for sure though. He looked gorgeously ethereal under the moon's watchful gaze.

prev.  ᨳଓ  masterlist.  ᨳଓ  next. 

SYNOPSIS: You're a famous faceless webcomic artist online. After an argument in some unnamed comment section when you were younger, you gained yourself a hater who loves to annoy you over every little thing you do. Neither of you seem to be able to agree on anything, and every day you realize that he does this intentionally to be a shithead. You didn't know that this mysterious hater was closer than you might think.

A/N: tumblr is being a lil shit about the colored text, ignore if anything is miscolored.

࣪ ִֶָ☾. Taglist: @junoms @lunavixia @memreniee @aloudice @yany4n1 @shadowofthesun7 @jpsg-6 @sunphais @t0r4s @axkushvii @milklise @cl0udii-m00n @kangyeonie @r4yyyyy @violetisreadinghush @kik1k0 @khoiyyu @sinbehavior @overall-mamori @mwzuuu @sunsethw4 @philesora @socyx @childesdog69 @rioceanid  @aries-afk @starwardjourneying @kuromiiiiifrv @firefliesoul-owo @astro-oo0 @blueberrybxba @phainonconsumer @skylermiller1  @misipp @kumiluvvsu @tamashithe2nd @aurxvyn @dollfies-angel @victoria1676 @ynnarin @dreamyhazx @milkuu333 @ihatemyselffromthestart-blog @maggiforlifesstuff @celesteelysia @kaoiyeva @sunnyskies0602 @kala-aiya    ࣪ ִֶָ☽.

For a moment you forget the animosity you have against boys. The memory of your brother dejected and purposely isolating himself last year rings clearly in your mind. Your family had left your town of Castrum Kremnos and moved to the more populated city of Okhema to get a fresh start, especially because of the grief caused by your father. However, this also meant that Mydei would be leaving his friends.

Hephaestion, Leonnius, Perdikkas, Ptolemy, Peucesta.

Though you have not had many interactions with them, you knew they were good friends and meant a lot to your brother, even if he didn't want to admit it. A dull ache lingered within your household despite moving to the free and prosperous Okhema.

So you decide to give this mystery boy a pass.

Your tablet flashes, signaling low battery, and suddenly you realize the predicament you're about to be in. Shit. You left your charger with Mydei after his broke, so now you have to go in his room to ask for it.

Did you really have to go in? Your mind goes back and forth between saving your tablet and staying in your room and waiting it out. Looking back in your room, avoiding interacting with the mystery boy and your stinky brother seemed really tempting. You had hobbies! You could definitely find something else to pass the time. But a part of you can't help but be curious, and before you know it, your feet were dragging you to Mydei's room.

You walk as lightly as you could, trying not to alert them of your existence before you were ready to go in. The door was half open, and you hear the low murmur of their voices, along with the electronic sounds effects of what seemed to be punches or shooting. You gulp, overthinking of whether Mydei would even hear you over the video game noises. You knock anyway.

"Yeah?" Mydei's voice calls out. You breath a sigh of relief- at least he heard you. You grab your nonexistent courage and push the door to enter. Keeping your head down, your footsteps hover lightly on his floor as if you were sneaking in. And then your breath catches in your throat.

The mystery boy- A boy sits on the edge of Mydei's bed beside him with a controller loosely in his hand. He looks up at you the same time your brother does, and you get a full glimpse of his face. He was sitting, but he looked around the same height and age as Mydei. White messy hair framing his face, bright blue eyes, and an even brighter smile. Why was he smiling at you?

And was that the scent of wheat?

Your brain barely catches up to the overload of the mystery boy, but Mydei fortunately snaps you out of your trance.

"What do you want?" Mydei's voice is curt and straight to the point as always. You catch the mystery boy stifling a laugh, nudging your brother and whispering something like "how gentle", to which your brother nudges him back subtly. You don't know why but you feel self conscious all of a sudden.

"I-I need the charger." You mutter. Ew. You become aware of how awkward your voice comes out.

"It's on the desk." Mydei replies, quickly focusing back on the video game. You cringe. The desk? The one all the way across the room? Where you'd have to pass this weird smiley boy? Your anti-social self loathes this, and you wish you could cuss at Mydei for not getting the message but alas there is a guest. 

Men. They certainly stress women out. Even your own brother.

You feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand up as you swiftly cross your brother's bed to snatch the charger. Okay, you did it, just quickly in and quickly out, easy right-

"Hey."

The white haired mystery boy calls out to you, and you flinch like those cartoon robbers caught in the police lights.

"I'm Phainon." He says with a smile. "Do you wanna play with us?"

Your pupils dart quickly between the boys and Mydei's TV, where some sort of FPS game was paused. The thought crosses your mind so fast, you almost flinch in disgust at the thought of playing this violent video game with boys. Yuck!

"I- what?" You grimace, though it comes out meek. Phainon only continues smiling, lifting his controller to gesture at the game.

"We're about to enter a lobby, you can join us if you like." Phainon only continues smiling, lifting his controller to gesture at the game. The invite makes your heart beat faster- though you're not sure if you should be flattered or weirded out that you're being included. Mydei seems to voice the latter.

"Why would we do that?" Mydei's words come out blunt as usual, though you don't fault him for it because you also couldn't find a reason to join them, especially when you didn't really enjoy your brother's video games. More importantly, you felt like it was gonna be awkward.

"Um, I'm okay. I don't really like shooter games." You reply, slowly backing off with the charger in hand. Weirdly, Phainon perks up more, still talking to you.

"Then we could play something else. Do you like Mario Kart? Or Party?" Phainon suggests. You and Mydei both give him a grimace like true siblings.

"We don't have to include my sister in everything." Mydei says. From the way he said it, you felt like Mydei briefly told Phainon about you, which doesn’t help with your face burning at the thought of being mentioned.

"I-It's fine, really. You guys play." You say, taking the last word to finally exit. You're at the threshold of Mydei's doorway when Phainon steals the last word, calling out one last thing.

"Maybe next time then."

You almost flinch again, your steps abruptly stopping, and shit. It signalled that you heard him, so now you had to answer. You slowly turn, putting on a smile.

"Yeah... sure." Your answer wasn't confident, and you realize you might have come off as fake- like you were putting on a customer-service smile with an empty promise.

And yet, Phainon- this smiling boy, continues to beam at you like he actually believed you.

You don't trust yourself to not embarrass yourself any further with that interaction, so you you quickly pull your brother's door closed and retreat back to the safety of your room. You sit on your bed, charger clearly forgotten and your posture rigid as a soldier as you reflect on what the hell just happened.

Your heart was beating too fast. Too fast, but... not for a boy, right? 

It's ridiculous, you think. Phainon was the guest here- a stranger. There was a supposed to be a sense that playing video games with them was some sort of uncharted territory when he was your brother's friend. But it’s like it has been reversed. 

You've met boys before, obviously in your elementary school. They were smelly, mean, and dumb... loud, reckless, and careless... Yet Phainon was strangely not like them. And you were sure as hell knew that none of them ever looked at you like that- like it was normal for you to be there, or that it made sense for you to join. You press your palms to your face, as if wiping it would get rid of your overcomplicated thoughts.

This is so stupid.

Somehow, you get the feeling that you weren't going to forget him.

A few hours later, you realize you actually aren't going to forget the boy. Especially when you find him setting up the dinner table.

Your mother called you and Mydei down that evening for dinner, and you pause for a moment in the hallway as you see the white haired boy still here. You caught a glimpse of him just washing his hands, meaning he was definitely staying to eat. He answers your mother with a cheerful "yes ma'am!" and you make a face- both at the thought of Phainon joining your family for dinner, and the fact that he just called your mother "ma'am".

Your mother calls you and Mydei to set the table as usual. You realize how giddy Phainon looked as you saw him from the corner of your eye, sleeves rolled up and posture upright like he was ready for your mother’s cooking. He suddenly realizes you too.

"Oh, hi again." Phainon's eyes blink at you as he turns away from drying his hands.

"Hi..." You quietly nod to him, and he smiles at you again. By this point, you felt that he could probably tell that you were weirded out by him a little- being a guest and all yet being so comfortable with people he just met. You don't even remember the last time you were comfortable in your own skin. And yet here you were, standing awkwardly at your own dinner table in your own house, while this random boy acts like he belonged here all this time.

For once you latch onto the task of setting the table gratefully, busying yourself with forks and knives in order to not to pay the obvious elephant in the room any mind. You definitely don't realize the way he kept glancing over, and you certainly don't realize how he pulled your chair out for you.

Once dinner was set, your family takes their seat and starts on a nice home-cooked meal. Your mother gets curious and starts asking Phainon questions, since she too realized this was the first friend Mydei brought home. You keep your head down mostly, as you weren't really a part of this conversation. Funny enough, Mydei stays quiet too. Birds of a feather you were.

"How long have you two been friends?" Your mother asks towards your brother and Phainon. Though of course, Phainon takes the lead and answers.

"Since the beginning of the school year. Mydei has been helping me with studying for history." Phainon beams, his head nudging towards Mydei to acknowledge him. "He's really good in that class."

Mydei grumbles something unintelligible in response. It's weird... weird how Phainon's praise for your brother warms your heart. You knew that your brother was good at history, that much was true. But nobody was perfect (and as his sister, you knew firsthand of Mydei's particularly annoying traits such as his attitude). Phainon goes on about how he met Mydei from how he admired Mydei's competitiveness in gym class, but Mydei of course mistaken it for rivalry. You internally cringe at the thought of more boys being over competitive in sports.

Still, the sound of Phainon talking about your brother like he was perfect was... different somehow, genuine- even though that wasn't part of the question your mother was asking. You poke mindlessly at your food, a small smile slipping out as you recognize the hidden weight behind Phainon's polite answers.

Your mom continues to pester Phainon and Mydei with questions, with Phainon answering and your brother contributing the bare minimum. At one point you swear you see your mother rolling her eyes fondly at Mydei's lack of answer. You knew she likely shared the same sentiment as you- thinking how your brother was secretly happy for making a new friend.

"What grade are you going to?" Phainon's voice interrupts your thoughts, and you blink up, realizing that he was suddenly talking to you.

"Oh- eighth..."

"Eighth? Cool. Are you looking forward to high school?"

"I don't know..."

"That's okay. I think high school is gonna be fun! What's your favourite subject?"

"Um, art."

"That's awesome." Phainon says it like he actually means it, which makes your grip on your fork tighten. "Do you draw a lot?"

"Yeah I guess..."

"What kind of stuff do you draw?" Holy moly. You start cringing more, feeling some sort of embarrassment as Phainon presses on with the questions. He really wasn't letting this conversation go.

"Um... just things..." You shrug. You’re not really sure you want to say out loud that you draw silly anime characters at the dinner table. There's a pause, where Phainon just nods at you. It's like deja vu, where you expected the talk to end here. And yet-

"I'd like to see them sometime." He says, smiling. Your heart seems to catch on to the deja vu, doing that strange little jump again like before.

You don't understand it.

You don't understand why he wants to know more about you, or why he's being so polite, or why he keeps trying to include you, or why he's smiling so much. Why it ironically feels physically hard for you to look him in the eye. Going to a friend's house for the first time is typically awkward, is it not? But nothing seemed difficult for Phainon. In fact, everything seemed relatively easy for him.

Dinner continues with your brother and Phainon bantering and bickering like boys do while your mother smiles fondly. Once you finish, you walk quickly back to your room, wanting to be back in the safety within your walls, where you will not be bothered by some stinky-

“Hey!” Phainon calls out to you, and you flinch, stopping in your tracks. His footsteps pad across the floor, with Mydei silently beside him. “I still don’t know your name.”

“It’s (Y/N)…” You reply softly. You would think that your brother would have introduced you, but alas there he stands, anti-social and nonchalant like all boys try to be. Well, almost all boys.

“Well (Y/N), do you wanna play Mario Party with us?” There was the question again, but rephrased with your name with the addition of a more family friendly video game. He was purposely trying to include you, wasn’t he? You pause for a moment, thinking. Phainon grins, pressing on. “Your brother told me that you need help unlocking a minigame in the two versus two mode.”

“But there’s three of us…”

“Yeah. It can be me and you versus Mydei.” Phainon remarks casually. Before you could quirk an eyebrow at the strange pairing, Phainon continues. “Your brother already claimed he would still win.”

And it’s strange, you think. How the stars are perfectly aligning, so much so that it almost seems suspicious. Something prickles at your pride. Mydei has always been competitive with you, but to be honest, playing Mario Party with your brother has started getting boring. Here Phainon was, offering a fresh perspective by fueling Mydei’s competitive spirit and wanting you to join.

You blink blankly at your brother. “…You wouldn’t win partnered with an AI.”

“Yeah? Wanna bet?” Mydei growls immediately after. It earns a chuckle from Phainon, as he gets a first hand experience of you and Mydei being essentially the same person, and furthermore a glimpse of your own sarcasm against your brother. Phainon looks over at you, beaming.

“So, what do you say?”

You look at the boy, whose posture remains hopeful that you would join. Your stomach fluttered again- why? At this point you realize how bad it would be if you declined him again like you subtly dismissed him before. But he was... intelligent, you think. Intelligent in how he phrased his words.

"Partners?"

Phainon is already pushing Mydei's door open like he owned the place (while the real tenant grimaces). His other hand is outstretched to you, and somehow you see the change now. The invite was no longer a push, but a sign of him waiting. This was weird. He's too warm... too-

"Yeah." Before you knew it, a smile slowly spreads on your face, and you take his hand. He somehow lights up even more, giggling with you as he tugs you into Mydei's room, with the shared goal of beating your brother. 

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆

Age: 15

Two years ago was when you’d say you officially became friends with Phainon: That day he was first invited to your house by Mydei.

You remember playing Mario Party with the boys, which turned into a whole marathon of video games. But you also ended up learning about Phainon. How he actually lives very far from school, in the countryside of Aedes Elysiae. Little things like how he wanted a video game console, but found it useless if he no one to play with- hence why he was so excited to get the invite from Mydei to play video games at your house.

As you finally come into your own in high school, you don't freeze up anymore whenever Phainon comes over. He’s starting to get taller and his voice has lowered, but you barely realize it because of how often you see him. However, there was still the notion that Phainon was more of Mydei’s friend than he was yours. They were classmates first after all, but now that you knew him better, you felt like being in his presence more. 

"Mydei, I need help with homework." You blurt out as you dump your bag on the couch as you come home. Mydei and Phainon were already there, sitting at the dining table, heads buried in their notebooks. Mydei clicks his tongue.

"What homework?" Your brother grumbles, already dreading your request and dramatically setting his pencil down. Phainon peers over at you behind him.

"Trig stuff." You reply casually. Mydei lets out a groan.

"No."

"What?!" You shout, immediately getting defensive. In times like these, you're reminded how obnoxious your brother is. Not that you ever forgot. "I have a quiz soon."

"I'm busy studying for my own test. Figure it out yourself." Mydei says. You catch the subtle sound of Phainon snickering behind your brother, and you get suspicious of whether he was laughing at you. Little do you know, the white haired boy caught a glimpse of Mydei's notes- messy and full of frustrated scribbles, because he too was struggling with trig stuff. Of course, he didn't want to admit it.

"Mydei, please. You're not saying no because you suck at trig too right?"

"No, I'm not." Mydei replies curtly. It was a lie of course. Again- birds of a feather you and Mydei were... both struggling with maths. You thought you could at least rely on your brother since he had at least a year of experience. But still, he waves you off. "Ask someone else."

You were about to open your mouth to argue, when-

"I can help." Phainon leans out for you to see him, offering his services easily. A beat of silence goes by until you and your brother both shout what?! without any shame.

What was it you said earlier? You don't freeze up anymore whenever Phainon comes over?

The hairs on the back of your neck prickle again, and you start feeling self conscious... like when you were thirteen meeting Phainon for the first time. Your notebook and past quiz that were prepared in your hands, slowly hide themselves behind you as if to back off. You knew your notes were messy- maybe even more than your brother's. But worst of all, your equations were half finished, red marks on your previous quiz with see me after class as the cherry on top.

You really don't want Phainon seeing this.

“I-It’s fine… I don’t want to bother you guys.” You try slowly backing away, hoping the boys would get the message that you changed your mind. Phainon only continues to smile, disregarding your stance.

"It's okay. I don't mind." He shrugs, already walking to the other side of the dining table so you could sit next to him. Shit.

Your brother rolls his eyes, seeing this as a sign for him to leave and study in peace. Wait, Mydei- He wasn't supposed to leave you alone with Phainon! He's so stupid!

"Whatever, I’m going somewhere else to work. Just don't fail her." Mydei glares one last time before dragging his stuff into his room and slamming his door like a princess, leaving you alone with Phainon.

"I won't." Phainon says simply, his arm resting on the back of the chair. He looks up at you, who was still standing there, and you flinch.

"Do you wanna come over here?" He asks. Your cheeks go warm at his... gentleness. You couldn't quite put your finger on it, but there was a tiny part of his voice that sounded like he was teasing you. Still, you walk over, stiff as cardboard as you awkwardly sit in the chair next to him with your disappointing notes in hand. Immediately, you become aware of how close Phainon was, so you unconsciously shift your chair a little further from him, purposely distancing yourself. An awkward silence occurs for a good minute, until Phainon notices something and laughs quietly, looking at you.

“...What?” You stammer, your pupils flickering back and forth between him and the floor.

“Hm?” Phainon tilts his head as if he was an innocent puppy, though you knew he was far from innocent. Did he have to keep staring at you like that?

“What are you looking at?” You ask almost curtly, attempting to shoo him away.

“What am I looking at?” Phainon repeats your question with a knowing grin. 

God, why did Phainon have to be so stupid? He truly didn’t know the effect he had on you- making you forget how to speak despite him coming over to your home for years and teetering off embarrassing yourself whenever he spares you a little glance.

But that’s just the thing, isn’t it? It wasn’t just a small glance to you. 

Things like going the extra mile to help you with something you struggled with, being persistent in including you… Realistically, it didn’t mean anything special but oh, at the same time it definitely did. Why else did you start staring at the mirror for longer, wondering if you should fix your hair a little before going down? Why else would you think about changing into something that makes you look less like a bum? It was a little crazy now that you think about it. Mydei would definitely say something about it for sure. Something like “Why the fuck did you change your clothes when we’re in our own house?” to which was a valid argument- one that you didn’t want to have. So you usually end up doing nothing, but overthinking it anyway.

Phainon speaks again, seeing as you’ve seem to have gone silent for some reason. Thankfully, it stops your intrusive thoughts, but in turn makes your cheeks heat up a little.

“I’m looking at you because you’re sitting so far from me.” Phainon’s mouth curves upwards, his tongue teasingly between his teeth. He gives a playful pout. “Are you scared of me?”

You watch as Phainon grin turns into a playful pout. You realize what he meant with you sitting all the way at the end, accusing you of avoiding him or something.

Still, you deny it. “N-No…”

“Well then-“ Phainon lets out a soft grunt, and you get a little startled when you notice his foot hooking through the leg of your chair to bring you closer. That home-y scent of wheat wafts through your nose as soon as he got you where he wants. 

"Okay, show me what you've got." He says. You cringe, still cosplaying as cardboard as you slowly slide your embarrassing notes and past quiz over. He looks it over silently, and you hold your breath.

"Hey," Phainon looks at you with a certain softness, something you definitely weren't expecting after your atrocious quiz score. "This isn't bad."

"I-It's not...?" You think he's making fun of you. Phainon shakes his head with a smile.

"No. To be honest I struggled with trig identities too. I think you're overthinking it, let me show you how I did it..."

Phainon teaches you how to approach the math questions you struggled on, and you start questioning whether he was lying about struggling on this too. From how he was explaining it to you, it's like he never struggled at all.

Then again, the only tutor you've known is your brother, so your standards are pretty low.

It's somewhat hard to concentrate as Phainon points out certain things and watches you do questions. He's close- really close. He's leaning towards you. Your shoulders would be brushing if you hadn't purposely leaned away. It was so much so that you notice the little crease in his brows and the way he bites his lip when he's concentrating.

"See? You're getting it."

What was this...? It’s literally just Phainon. Your heart starts doing those stupid little flips again, but you’re not sure if it’s just your brain mistaking it as nostalgia. Because it was the same way he was kind and patient with you two years ago. The same way he stayed for you at your dinner table despite you being difficult. The same way the smell of his hometown consumed you. The same way he continued to smile at you like it costs him nothing.

"What?" Phainon asks, softly glancing at you. You snap out of your trance and realize you were staring at him- daydreaming. How embarrassing.

"N-Nothing." You reply too quickly, ducking your head. Still, your eye flits back to him to peek, and he was smiling anyway. A warm feeling courses through your body, and you suddenly feel extremely comfortable. An idea comes up. "Can you help me with my English essay after?"

Phainon laughs, indulging you. "You need help with that? I thought your brother would be better with words."

You make a face at him, thinking, since when Mydei was good with poetry?

"You know- words like fuck and dumbass." Phainon clarifies. You laugh, realizing he was being sarcastic.

"That's exactly why I need help." You explain, and Phainon chuckles with a nod. 

While you were being tutored, you shyly asked him why the heck he was even doing this- why he was willingly tutoring you when he had his own things to do, and didn’t have to in the first place. He only smiled a little, saying, “I like helping you.” You sputtered, exasperated as you questioned him, not being able to wrap your head around why that was a valid reason. But the implication was forgotten because he just made things easy for you. It doesn’t pass Phainon’s mind, but to be honest, he didn’t mind.

At some point, your eyes start drooping and getting heavier. Your textbook and notebook pages get blurrier. You feel your neck giving up on you, making your head lurch forward a few times. 

“You falling asleep?” A soft voice whispers in your ear. 

“No…” Even the dullness of your tone betrays you. 

Phainon chuckles, and you get a little embarrassed. No, you cannot fall asleep at this point. Not when Phainon was right beside you. What if you drooled? Or snored? Mydei was always complaining about your snoring, and even though you were in denial, you get self conscious at what could happen. You force your eyelids open, but they only get heavy once more. 

Before you knew it, your head fell to rest on a squishy pillow. The pillow briefly shakes beneath your cheek just before you passed out. How embarrassing- you eventually did use him as a pillow. You need to get up, but you don’t. It was mostly because you were tired, but perhaps a teensy tiny part of it was because you never wanted to leave.

You were drifting deeply into dreamland for who knows how long, and by how soundly you were sleeping, it seemed like you never wanted to wake up. That is, until something soft taps at your shoulder. Your eyes don’t really open until the tap happens a second time. 

“There you are.” A soft chuckle reaches your ears, and you finally realize the predicament you were in. 

The first thing you saw was Phainon, and you realized that he was sitting much closer than expected, and close enough that you could make out the little crinkle in the corner of his eyes as he smiled down at you.

“Hi.” He says again, softly greeting you, seeing as you haven’t fully woken up. Your brain seemed to be blissfully empty in this moment, simply savouring the view without informing your body to move. It doesn’t last long though, since Phainon slowly tries to extract himself from you without jostling you too much. “Was my lesson really that boring?”

You don’t even have the energy to respond, your eyes barely opening, though you hear Phainon’s voice fading in and out.

“I have to go now. (Y/n)-” Phainon chuckles sheepishly as he attempts to pull his sleeve caught from under your weight. “(Y/n), you need to wake up for me. Your brother’s gonna get mad at me again.”

“Mmph- y-you’re leaving now?” You suddenly scramble to fix your hair, sitting up properly to look at Phainon who was already reaching for his jacket. He turns back to you with a smile.

“It’s late.” He simply says. And he was right. As you looked outside, you could see the sky already pitch black. Just how long were you out for? What time did you fall asleep? Did you really lay on Phainon’s shoulder for that long? The thought makes you blush. You glance down at your forgotten trig homework, and see a bunch of sticky notes written with arrows and small notes for each question.

“Oh.”

Phainon seems to notice the mortification slowly creeping on your face at your brilliant response. He laughs under his breath. 

“I’ve written down some notes for the last few questions you had. I hope they’re helpful in some way.” Phainon seems to be in deep contemplation, like he was thinking back to his notes and hoped they sufficed. He decides not to overthink it or potentially stress you out even more. So he smiles and waves, heading towards your door. “See you tomorrow.”

“Goodnight…” You managed to squeak as he left. 

As your front door clicks shut, you collapse forwards on the table, simply staring at your scattered homework in silence. The living room felt strangely warm despite Phainon having already left. The scent of wheat lingered, his presence lingered, the half empty bowl of snacks, the blanket draped over you and the armrest. The feeling of his shoulder beneath your cheek. 

Mydei casually walks down the stairs, his eyes flickering between the door and you, and you flinch. He leans forward on the table, looking down at you with the same arms-crossed, unreadable expression on his face. Though it was the same perpetual look of mild judgment he always gave, this time you felt like he could be suspecting something else.

“What…?” You say with a hint of attitude in your tone, side-eyeing your brother who clearly had something on his mind. You hated when Mydei did this. 

“Nothing.” Mydei shrugs, reaching forward for the now stale popcorn. The silence continued to stretch, making you uneasy. “...Were you sleeping on his shoulder?”

“I- No…“ Smooth.

Mydei’s eyes narrow at you, getting skeptical from your very convincing answer. Fortunately, he scoffs and doesn’t address the secret you thought he was going to, but unfortunately, he decides he’s not going without a jab at you. “God, sleep on your bed next time.” 

Your eyes widen in embarrassment, realizing that Mydei did indeed catch you sleeping on his best friend’s shoulder.

“S-Shut up Mydei!” You knowing he was teasing you for drooling on Phainon’s shoulder. 

Mydei doesn’t even breaking eye contact with you. His gaze remains fixed, blinking blankly like he’s expecting something yet also wanting to ask something. You’re caught between deciding to stay silent or throwing another pillow because you knew he was teetering off pointing out a certain something between you and Phainon. Why couldn’t you talk to your brother about other things? Trying to have a normal conversation with Mydei was like trying to argue with a brick wall that occasionally made blunt remarks and observations about your life. 

“You seem happy.”

You stared at Mydei, your heart skipping beats- though you weren’t sure if it was because you were anxious or the fluttery feeling of actually admitting what Mydei was likely referencing. The thing about having a sibling was that you would be fluent in their lies, but the biggest problem was that they would be fluent in yours too.

Because later that night, after denying everything to Mydei which you were sure sounded suspicious- you realized the thought had finally taken shape.

Fuck. You looked forward to seeing him. And it’s not like you haven’t, but after months of avoiding the question altogether, you slowly started to come to the terrible conclusion that your heart was craving his presence. There was no way you were going to get rid of the thought since you acknowledged it.  

You knew Phainon didn’t come here to tutor you, and he too had work of his own and things to study for. Phainon had stayed. And even though you made him explain the concept four times, and continued cringing over trying not to break over trigonometry, your previous feelings of thinking you were a bother eventually seemed to disappear. He was patient with you, and never sounded annoyed, which in turn ruined your life in the way that you never stopped thinking about this moment. 

You felt like you could depend on him comfortably without judgement or impatience. And he would let you take up as much of his time as you asked him for. 

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆

Age: 17

Ever since that night when Phainon helped you with your homework, you felt like you could be more carefree around him. Before, Phainon was just Mydei’s friend. Just a boy, who was annoyingly good at everything and nice in a casual way that easily made people gravitate towards him.

At seventeen years old, you think you know better. You were an adult, applying to universities, and thinking about careers.

You think you've matured. Which is why crushing on Phainon feels childish now.

You've admitted it internally in your head, that you've had a crush on him. A baby one at least. Over the years, you've watched him grow and you considered him a friend like your brother did. But somewhere throughout the multiple times he came over to your house, you found yourself finding every part of him attractive. It wasn’t your fault though, that he hasn't stopped with his whole golden boy persona. He was good at everything, liked by everyone, and fine, you'll admit he's cute. But he's eighteen now, already graduated and in university. So, you start seeing less of him.

And because you've matured, you pushed your silly little crush deep deep down early in the year.

Besides, there was a guy in your grade who you've been liking for a while now. You talked often with him, and he was funny and clever. You play the same video games, and share the love for art. He was super attractive too, and him teasing you lightly and seeking you out only made you fall harder. But you mistake the laughter and banter for warmth- for the kind of connection you yearned for. 

Near the end of the school year, you finally admitted it to the boy. Your feelings, out on a plate that trembles from your shaking hands and pounding heart and... he laughs.

"Wait, you thought I was serious?"

The words hit you and you instantly become hollow. You don't even remember the rest of what he said. Something about how he never saw you in that way. But all you could focus on was the little scoff, the awkwardness, the laugh. The humiliation replayed in your head all day, and you realized too late that the teasing was never friendly, and that your feelings were more disposable than you thought.

By the end of the school day, you feel nauseous. Ironically, not from the pit in your stomach but from how you didn't know how to keep your face from not looking nauseous.

And to make things worse, you had to keep a not-nauseous face in front of your brother... and Phainon, who were both picking you up after school.

You think you were doing a good job- purposely walking three steps behind them and looking down, lest they see you secretly wiping your tears. But as the three of you walk to the bus station, Mydei's eyes widen as he catches the sight of your reddening nose.

"You okay?" Mydei asks suddenly. You blink up, and fuck- even your eyes couldn't hide how puffy they felt.

"I'm fine." You reply. But your voice is croaky, and your sleeve suspiciously in front of your nose.

"You're crying." Mydei observes.

"I said I'm fine." You turn away defensively. Mydei's jaw gets tight, and he steps closer to you.

Panic and anger starts flaring up between you and Mydei, the two of your snapping and cutting off each other. 

"What happened."

"Nothing."

"Who did it then?"

"Nobody."

"I know it wasn't fucking nobody."

"Just drop it Mydei!"

Phainon steps in gently with his hands raised between you and your brother. "Hey, let's just get to the station, okay?"

You almost forgot Phainon was there. You didn't want to know what he was thinking, and in the moment you didn’t care. Mydei glares at you, growling as he turns to keep walking to the station, reluctantly following Phainon's advice. You follow the boys silently, your heart hammering. It's embarrassing you think, how you've just argued with your brother out in the open like a child. You were eighteen for fucks sake.

The bus ride was painfully quiet between the three of you, and you didn't dare look up from your feet. After a while, Mydei speaks again.

"Was it that guy?" Your brother's voice low, but clearly aimed at you. You start getting nauseous again.

"No." You lie. It was small and desperate. You almost cry when you see your brother shaking his head from the corner of your eye. Was he disappointed in you? For lying? Because of the guy in your class? You weren't sure. Still, you knew you should never have told him. Mydei says nothing.

When you finally reach your home, you don't wait to rush straight to your bedroom, slamming the door behind you. You drop onto your bed, face flat into your sheets as you sob into them, hoping they muffle the sound. You feel so stupid.

Meanwhile, Mydei stomps into the house, shoulders rigid with anger as he violently sits on the couch, his fingers pinching his brows. For once, Phainon is nervous to enter further into your house. Even with uncertainty and a small ache in his chest, he approaches Mydei.

"Are you okay...?" He asks, slowly putting his bag down. A long silence passes, and Mydei doesn't even look up at him.

"Do whatever you want." Mydei says, not even answering Phainon's question. Okay- so obviously Mydei (and you) weren't okay. Phainon sits beside him anyway. He eventually convinces your brother to go wash his face to cool down.

An hour passes, and Phainon realizes he was alone. Actually, he realized it a lot longer ago, when he heard the sound of the bathroom door closing... and then Mydei's own door.

This should be awkward for him. Being promised a normal hangout but now being left alone in a house that isn't his, where both his friends were upset. Against his better judgment, he softly walks down the halls to your door. He hesitates a little before knocking lightly.

"Hey... are you okay…?" He asks.

On the other side of the door, you gulp, swallowing your sobs for the nth time. You stay silent, both from not knowing what to say and not wanting to face him.

"I-I don't need to come in." Phainon continues cautiously, and you keep quiet. "I just wanted to know if you were okay..."

You shouldn't be replying to him, not now. Even so-

"I'm not." Ew. Your voice comes out watery and snotty. Weirdly enough, something in Phainon's chest breathes a sigh of relief at hearing your voice.

"Can I sit with you?" He asks immediately after. "We don't have to talk."

You hesitate again. Every nerve in your body is telling you no- that you should keep the door locked and not let him or anyone see you like this. But Phainon's voice was gentle, just like you've always known, and- ...this is so dumb. 

"...Fine." You mumble, creaking your door slightly open.

Phainon immediately pushes the door wider. His heart sinks when he sees you with red swollen eyes and hunched shoulders. But you don't even notice- in fact the only thing you do notice is the ghost of a hopeful smile just before he crushes you with a hug.

"Hey," He murmurs, as if greeting you after not seeing you for a while. "I've got you."

You stiffen for a second. The hug wasn’t even that tight, his grip light and loose like he was afraid of breaking you. His hold remained respectful, and so you let yourself melt into him, chin resting on his shoulder even if it was for a few pathetic seconds.

He pulls away eventually and gestures for you to sit back on your bed while he sits on your chair. You’re hoping Phainon doesn’t notice the disgusting tissues piling up in your trash can.

“Do you… wanna talk about it?” He asks softly. And it’s really none of his business. But at this point you’re desperate and you’ve already let him in your room. So, you tell him.

You tell him everything despite the moments making your face hot with humiliation. From how you thought your shared interests and teasing with the guy meant something, to how you stupidly convinced yourself it was mutual. Somewhere along the line you also slowly realize how delusional you must have been. The boy simply didn’t like you because he didn’t see you in that way- no fault in that. But was it so bad to think that something could have came from it?

You shakily recall how much you trembled during your confession, voice and body and all. It should have been a sign since then. So, the answer is yes.

“I feel so stupid.” You blurt out, rubbing your eyes again. “

“Don’t say that,” Phainon coos softly. “It takes guts to confess. I’m sorry it turned out this way.”

“You are…?” You sniffle.

“I thought he would have liked you too.” He explains matter of factly. “Anyone with the same dynamic would have.”

Suddenly, a bitter type of anger twists within your stomach.

I thought he would have liked you too. Anyone would have.

Phainon’s words were kind, but you felt that they were too kind for the utter stupidity you subjected yourself to. You think about how some of your classmates knew of your playful rivalry with the boy and started encouraging it. You think about the nights you spent up texting your friends, secretly giggling and squealing over every little interaction and replaying conversations you had with the boy. You think about how much time you wasted.

And then it hits you- how stupid you look right now. Crying, eyes swollen, puffy nose, and your voice all watery and wobbly… with Phainon watching all of it. Heat starts flooding your face again, and before you knew it the bitterness was tumbling out of your mouth.

“You don’t know anything.” You mutter quietly. But Phainon hears it.

“What-“

“You don’t.” You stand up suddenly, your change in demeanour now prevalent. “You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

No wait-

Your seething words get to Phainon, the corner of his eyes turning downwards, heart aching. You immediately feel the guilt and shame, but it’s too late. 

“I’m not.” Phainon replies quietly. Somehow, his tone was normal- unaffected even after the bitterness from you. For a second your heart wants to double down. But your words tell a different story.

“Yes, you are.” You refuse to make eye contact with him, but your message remains clear. “Just- Just get out. Please.”

There’s a pause where a small part of you hoped that Phainon would stay. But of course, your words have already left your mouth and told him otherwise. Phainon stands up, a deep sigh coming out of him. He nods once with a bittersweet smile as if accepting something he doesn’t want to.

“Okay… I’ll give you space.” Phainon says softly. He hesitates at your door for a bit. “I’ll be outside if you still want to talk…”

Phainon finally leaves, making sure to close your door for you. Almost immediately, you start crying again, though the embarrassment lingers longer than the tears. Curled within your blankets, your mind can’t help but replay the moment, finding a new detail to hate each time. You shouldn’t even be crying this much. Even as you found yourself liking this boy throughout the school year, you internally told yourself to prepare for the chance of heartbreak. You couldn’t expect everything to be a happy ending, right? Yet as you become aware of the sorry state of yourself now, it seems to be more painful.

Because maybe, a small foolish part of yourself thought that he might say yes. 

The more you thought about it, the more humiliating this whole thing felt. The butterflies, the daydreams, the hopeful little fantasies you built in your head- how arrogant were you to think someone would like you back? The answer should have been obvious from the beginning.

On the other side of the door, Phainon stands there for a moment with a heavy heart as he hears your muffled sobs and sniffles. He’s about to turn and walk back to the couch when suddenly- a familiar pair of footsteps approaching make Phainon snap up. Mydei.

The boys both look at each other with wide eyes, not knowing where to start. Phainon’s mouth opens though nothing comes out, while Mydei stands there with an unreadable expression and his arms crossed.

“I-I wasn’t- I mean- I was just…” Phainon trails off, not really making any sense.

“I know.” Mydei replies while letting out an exhale. Phainon’s half relieved but also half confused. He knew Mydei was quite protective of you, but he surprisingly wasn’t mad at him for talking to you after a meltdown. Mydei opens his eyes, but avoids looking towards your bedroom door. “Was it about that guy…?”

Phainon is torn between telling his best friend and respecting your privacy. It was hard when Mydei was already this perceptive- what else was there to hide?

“Nothing gets past you, does it?” Phainon sighs with a meek smile. A neutral answer, yet it told Mydei everything he needs to know. Your brother doesn’t press on for information, only deeply exhaling again while walking towards the living room.

“I’m bad at this.” Mydei mutters, flopping on the couch. Phainon curiously trails after him. “You’re better than this than me.”

Phainon blinks, then rounds the couch to sit beside him. “That’s not true.”

“She talked to you, not me.” Mydei says flatly, rubbing his hands on his face. Phainon swears he saw the corners of Mydei’s eyes still recovering from redness(?) but he decides not to comment on it. He thinks back to your red eyes, and how he wished he could have comforted you more.

“I know you… never really liked that guy in the first place but,” Phainon says, giving a hopeful smile. “She needs you more than me. Even if she doesn’t say it.”

“And…? I’d just make things worse.” Mydei lowly protests. “I don’t even know what to say.”

“Yeah, you probably would.” Phainon pokes at Mydei, and his head snaps towards him giving him a glare. Phainon chuckles, though he knew his friend would know that he was half joking. Phainon offers a weak smile. “But at least it meant you tried.”

A beat of silence hangs in the air, but it wasn’t heavy this time. 

“I’m sorry.” Mydei says, his voice low. Phainon’s ears perk up, unsure if Mydei really meant that.

“What did you say-”

“I said go home.” Mydei deflects, facing away from him. But even with the unsaid words, Phainon knew his friend had a lot of heart, and didn’t mean to cause this conflict and awkwardness. Mydei picks up Phainon’s bag and throws it at him. “I’ll talk to her later…”

And finally, Phainon breathes a sigh of relief, having a gut feeling that this would resolve itself soon enough.

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆

Age: 18, start of university

It’s been about almost a year since that argument you had with your brother about that stupid crush. 

Mydei did end up knocking on your door that night, and you had a talk. It wasn’t perfect by any means- there was still some frustration and shouting. Mydei kept telling you how he knew he should have trusted his gut on how that guy was bad. You kept telling him that it wasn’t his business, and that you could take care of yourself. You weren’t a little kid anymore.

Eventually, the anger fizzled out and Mydei remembers that the whole reason for this conversation wasn’t about being right. 

You both sit in silence for a while, until Mydei gives you an awkward side hug, murmuring about how that guy sucked. If it was anything you could agree on now, 

“You’re not serious about beating him up are you?” You ask incredulously.

“Yeah I am. Got a problem?” Mydei replies without an ounce of care. You roll your eyes.

“Um yes, there is a problem. An ethical one.” You say like it was obvious- because it was!

“Who gives a shit?” Mydei shrugs. You can’t help but laugh at Mydei’s straightforward yet completely honest answer, because truthfully you would probably think the same if it weren’t for repercussions. You knew you couldn’t change anything from what happened, though a part of the embarrassment still remains deep in your heart. You decide to do your best and move on- and more importantly, you didn’t want to argue with your brother, or stay mad at him for his way of thinking.

Later that night, you also made sure to text Phainon, and you get a reply back pretty quickly.

(Y/N): I’m sorry for snapping at you earlier. I really appreciate you coming to comfort me, even if I wasn’t accepting of it.  Phainon: There’s no need to apologize. I understand you were hurt.

For a moment you stare at the screen. Even with all these years knowing Phainon, his gentleness still astounded you.

Phainon: You’re tougher than you think. Always have been. 

You smile at the text. Stubborn would have been a better word, you think, especially with Mydei as part of the context. Still, this was the last time you saw Phainon before entering university, which made things slightly awkward. Things are resolved, but you still can’t shake off the fact that the last impression you had was bawling your eyes out in front of him, and then snapping at him right after. 

The summer passes quietly after that. You don’t see Phainon much since you were preparing to start your own journey in university. You were ready for things to change.

Well, most things. Mydei was still protective of you, and you suddenly see a (less nice) carbon copy of your mother following you into the post-secondary life. 

Make sure you lock your doors, I don’t care if you’re just going for a coffee down the street. And don’t walk home alone when you have night classes. Holy moly, it was barely even the first day and he was already giving you orders like it was boot camp. Still, you don’t fault him for it. You figured you’d catch yourself forgetting something like that eventually, since these seemingly “normal” procedures might not be the first thing you think of.

Speaking of your first day and Mydei- he insisted on picking you and your friend up after the orientation party. 

“Please don’t tell me that stupid mascot was there.” Mydei groans.

“It was.” You reply, giggling as you and your friend hop in the backseats.

“I thought they’d stop doing that, bringing him to all these campus events.” Mydei scoffs, then mumbles something about how the mascot was just dancing in a corner. Clearly the mascot was haunting his dreams.

“Hey, he’s doing his best.” A familiar voice laughs. 

Your nose catches onto the realization first, the familiar scent of wheat drifting past you as you shifted into Mydei’s car. You abruptly look up from tugging on the seatbelt and realize- oh. Phainon was here too in the passenger seat. Wait- he looks… different. He wasn’t completely unrecognizable but his voice got lower, and he seemed much more confident which was somehow possible.

Well this was unfair. What was that line you heard from that one video game again? “Doctor- you’re… huge!” And you think that because holy fuck he was huge. From what you could see, his arms got all bulked up with muscle, shoulders extending past the width of the passenger seat of your brother’s car. What the hell happened over one year? Phainon goes through puberty and he gets taller and hotter. You go through puberty and you get pimples and a menstrual cycle. Or in other words: fuck you I guess.

“Is that Phainon? The guy you mentioned?” Your friend whispers to you, which snaps you out of your trance.

“Wha- I mean yes-”

“He’s cute. Super cute.” She whispers with a knowing grin. You’re hoping her statement falls on deaf ears but to your dismay, Phainon turns around, and you finally see his handsome face and smug grin.

“Was I supposed to hear that?~” He asks, looking at you straight in the eye. It wasn’t even the first day yet and your brain was already getting fried. Over a boy of all things. 

“No.” You seethe, smacking your forehead at your friend’s whispering that could have been quieter. Phainon laughs.

“Don’t inflate his ego.” Mydei adjusts the rearview mirror, casually making a jab at Phainon. Though, it doesn’t really do anything when Phainon was still smiling. 

“So, did you ladies have fun?” Phainon asks smoothly, looking back again, addressing the both of you. Your friend doesn’t answer, and you somehow get the feeling that she wanted you to talk, making your face subconsciously heat up.

“Um, yeah I guess.” You say awkwardly. You don’t know why you get shy when you respond, slowly sinking further into the seats as you struggle to even look at him. Phainon’s the same he’s always been- warm smiles, teasing lilts to his tone just to get you to talk to him, the scent of wheat. Still, your friend nudges your arm, telling you that she too noticed your speechlessness in front of him. Something is different. He is different.

As the car ride goes on, it’s fairly silent. Even though Phainon was sitting in the passenger seat, you couldn’t help but feel aware of your surroundings- like if he was gonna turn around or ask you something again. You tell yourself it was just to prepare yourself if he decides to look at you again. You hate that your eyes trace over him. 

“Are you gonna start going out like this every weekend?” Phainon’s poses this question to you and your friend, though his eyes linger on you mostly. 

“I dunno… Why?” You inquire, your shoulders slightly tensing when you watch Phainon’s lips curve into a teasing grin again.

“Just curious,” He shrugs. “Maybe you’d be better than Mydei who stayed in his dorm all the time when he was in first year.” 

Mydei grumbles, giving Phainon a light shove as his friend giggles. 

“There’s nothing to go out so often for.” Mydei proclaims with his arms crossed. His eyes then flicker to you in the rearview mirror, deciding to attack you for no reason like every older sibling does. “You couldn’t even go out without getting lost."

“I’m an adult Mydei.” You protest with an eyeroll as your brother embarrasses you (though he really is just a worrywart).

“Debatable.” Mydei scoffs.

“Mydei!” You yell. Phainon chuckles watching your short banter, then cuts in himself.

“She can handle herself.” Phainon gives Mydei a reassuring smile. There it was again- just a small little boost of confidence, that stupid faith he had in you that casually made you lose it. Not this again.

Still, even as the car pulls next to the curb and you’re ready to flop on your bed and gossip with your friend all night and more importantly brush off these feelings-

“Bye!” Phainon rolls his window down, waving at you. “Don’t stay up too late!”

Your feel that tingle at the back of your neck as you’re stunned at how Phainon said that phrase, though you barely have time to process it. 

“Oh my god…” Your friend latches onto your arm, startling you for a second. She hunches over as she walks to your shared dorm together, looking at you with a knowing smile. “Are you gonna address the elephant in the room, or should I just say it?” 

“What are you talking about?” You ask in a monotone voice as you unlock your door. You were hoping it wasn’t about-

“Uh hello? This Phainon guy, obviously.” Your friend says with an eye roll as if the topic was plain as day. “You didn’t tell me you guys were a thing.”

“We’re not,” you sputter. “He’s just a friend. My brother’s friend to be exact.”

“Yeah? Well this friend looks pretty happy to see you.” She hums, clearly not convinced. You both walk over to your her bedroom where you sit to talk. You roll your eyes, though you couldn’t stop how your body unconsciously tried turning away from her to hide your face. “He literally turned around to talk to you every five minutes. Did you even know he was gonna come to your orientation to flirt with you?”

You sputter at her bluntness, also not liking the way you got flustered so easily by her observations. But now that you think of it, why did Phainon even come along just to join Mydei to pick you up after your orientation?

“That wasn’t flirting.” You argue, cutting the conversation short and not willing to entertain any more questions. “Anyway- are you gonna tell me about the drama that happened at prom or what?”

You and your friend end up chatting into the late hours. More importantly, you end up skillfully avoiding and not responding to that statement she made. Truthfully, your own thoughts terrify you. 

Deep down, a part of you knows that if Phainon was gonna keep talking to you like that- like he was teasing you, being all confident, and smiling and implying he wanted your company, you’re not going to be able to pretend it means nothing. 

You remember yourself one year ago, when you confessed to that boy in your school and how embarrassed you felt when he laughed and scoffed. You remember how dumb you felt for misreading things, and believing that it was something more. You can’t let yourself do those things anymore. 

Unfortunately for you, confidence looked really good on Phainon. 

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆

Age: 18 (a few months later)

You think you settled into your classes and university life pretty well. Looking back at your orientation day, it felt a little ridiculous how much you spent worrying about Phainon’s perception of you. You were convinced that after you pushed him away that night when you were seventeen, that you had ruined everything. Or at least, that’s what you expected. You knew Phainon wasn’t the type to hold grudges or lie, but with the way he looked and talked to you that day, it was if he was entirely unaffected. 

As the semester goes by, you realized you were in your head too much after all. You were lingering outside with your friends, already complaining about a group project that was assigned when suddenly you felt a tap on your shoulder. 

“Hey, found you.” 

It’s Phainon.

“Oh, hey.” Your eyes widen when you realize it’s him. Your eyes trail up to finally meet his gaze, which looked a little too pleased with himself. Was he even aware of how he somehow just became unfairly attractive over one summer? Meanwhile, your friends’ jaws drop at the same time when they notice him spawn out of nowhere, and immediately interpret this as a signal to move two meters away.

“How are classes going?” He asks with a calm smile. You suddenly get a sense of scale of how much taller he got, now that you were with him standing up and not in a car. It was slightly embarrassing to you, how he was hunched over slightly to talk to you better.

“Okay I guess,” You say, shrugging. “Getting busy.”

Your friends watch, half in awe and half-deadpanned as you give Phainon a boring answer. And still, he smiles, remaining engaged as he talks to you.

“Good, good… Do you already have plans for the break?” Phainon asks, almost sheepishly. 

“I dunno, probably staying home with Mydei…” You reply. Phainon seems to inhale a little deeper before speaking again.

“I know finals are coming up soon… but I wanted to revive an old tradition, if you’re game?” Phainon asks. You cock your head to the side, unsure of what he meant. “The winter market, back near your home.”

Ah, right. You do remember the winter market- one you went with Mydei and Phainon when you guys were younger. You guys were barely teenagers, insisting you could go out by yourselves, and end up spending a majority of it listening to your brother whine about the cold. Still, it was a much simpler and nostalgic time you considered a core memory. 

“Do they still do it?” You ask, your eyes widening at Phainon bringing up something so nostalgic out of the blue. “I don’t know if I could convince Mydei to go… At his grown age I think he’d still complain about the snow.”

“He would do that.” Phainon chuckles breathily, knowing Mydei’s behaviour as well as you. “But I already convinced him to go.”

“You did?” You ask, your eyes widening. You truly underestimated Phainon’s power.

“Well, he did grumble about it for a good five minutes…” Phainon admits, scratching the back of his neck. “But he said he wanted to bring some of our friends, if we were going.”

Mydei has friends?

“Oh… your other friends…” A part of your confidence crumbles at the mention of your brother’s and Phainon’s other friends. You want to go- though you hadn’t really thought of why your heart was urging you to. At the same time, you’re not sure if you’d want to be in a group with randoms you didn’t know. For all you know, they could be just as stinky as your brother! Your response turns slightly dismissive. “I don’t know… I’ll check with Mydei if he’s going first.”

“He will. And if he says no I’ll make him go.” Phainon gives a devious grin and a thumbs up. Your uncomfortable posture turns more relaxed and you smile, seeing exactly what this was- the same game you’ve been playing for years. He was trying to invite you again.

“I’ll think about it.” You say finally. Phainon smiles wider, the corners of his eyes crinkling like he subtly won you over. 

“I’ll hold you to it.” He leans closer with a wink, and you think your brain stops functioning for a good second. He then straightens, giving you a casual wave before walking off. “See you then.”

You watch as his figure walks away, spotting one of his friend groups nearby and jogging to them. And-

“Oh. My. God.” Oh yeah, you almost forgot that your friends are still standing there.

They squealed and whispered animatedly, all nosy about your ties with this hot guy and theorizing on whether you’ve been dating or if the flirting was normal. The bombardment of questions and exclamations obviously pointing out Phainon’s… Phainon-ness made it hard to conceal your nerves. Wait- why were you nervous again?

“You guys-” You attempt to compose yourself, but your stammer already gives out your subconscious feelings. “You guys are delusional. Just because some attractive guy happens to be talking to me doesn’t mean anything romantic.”

“So you think he’s hot.” One of your friends chides, completely ignoring your argument and latching on a random detail. You pause for a moment, your mouth agape as you realize the small slip you made. You shake your head dramatically to dismiss any other thoughts, but your roommate beats you to answering that.

“That’s (Y/N)’s friend, Phainon.” Your roommate so graciously corrects with air quotes around the word friend. You have no idea why your cheeks start to burn up when your roommate sarcastically addresses Phainon as your friend. Or was it just an intrusive thought that you seemed like more than friends? Either way, you hope your flustered expression is not seen by your friend group. “And I’ve been saying the exact same things to her, but she’s denying the… well- whatever’s going on between them.”

“He’s literally my brother’s friend.” You roll your eyes as you correct her, emphasizing the involvement of Mydei in this whole ordeal. “As in he’s known me since I was like thirteen?”

“Uh-oh, that’s dangerous~” One friend sing-songs with a smug grin. “That means he’s already got a leg up in the game. And judging by what I just saw, men like him are hard to find. Y’know- kind, hot, knows all your habits?”

You want to roll your eyes again and ready to deny all these claims your friends are making, but you find yourself replaying that whole conversation with Phainon just now. Knows all your habits? It was certainly dangerous but not in the same way your friend stated. It was more like dangerous in the way that you didn't want Phainon remembering every embarrassing thing you did in front of him and being close enough that he would bring it up. You think back to how he kept trying to include you and ask you questions about yourself, and when you realize the exact same thing just happened-

“Sooo, what did he talk to you about?” Your friend interrupts your spiralling, and the rest of the group turns their heads to you expectantly. 

“He asked if I wanted to go to a winter market thingy we have back home.” You say casually. Your friends squeal- making you groan at their overreaction. 

“And? What did you say?”

“I said I’d think about it.” You shrug. Your friends dramatically sigh with disappointment, their hands sliding down their faces. 

“Okay- why did you say you’ll think about it? This is like… textbook winter arc in a shoujo manga where the leads go on a date and share hot chocolate.” Your roommate says incredulously. You roll your eyes, ignoring her obvious teasing as prepare to explain.

“It’s not a date.” You protest with an exhausted sigh. “Mydei and a few of their friends are going too.”

“Damn, that’s a lot of wheels.” She scoffs. The rest of your friends giggle. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You deadpan, the joke going over your head.

“Nothing.” She beams. “Anyway, what’s wrong with other people going?”

“It’s gonna be awkward as hell…” You groan, gritting your teeth as you drag out the words. Being as introverted as you are, situations like this felt iffy for you. You really don’t want to seem difficult, but if he was inviting other people you didn’t know, you felt like the odd one out. 

“So?” She scoffs, grabbing you by the shoulders lazily. “He’s going. He wants you there. He basically just asked you out. Isn’t that enough reason?”

You pause for a moment, your roommate’s argument surprisingly getting to you. 

“...That doesn’t mean anything.” You finally utter. Your friends groan in unison.

“Oh shut up, he’s cute! Just let yourself like him!” 

Your eyes widen at the bold command. Your friends burst out laughing, enjoying your embarrassed reactions from this so called gossip. It really sucks how now you couldn’t contain the tiny smile that creeps onto your face. 

Before you knew it, your thoughts spiralled and you couldn’t stop thinking about how Phainon smiled at you, or how easily he was able to spot you here on campus. Your gaze flickers briefly to Phainon’s direction again, where he was talking with his friend group. You end up staring for too long because Phainon seems to feel your eyes burning into him, and he turns his head to look at you. You awkwardly look away, not knowing whether to play it off or keep looking- either way it was gonna make you suspicious. But Phainon doesn’t seem to think so, because he sends you a small smile and a wave before going back to speaking with his friends. 

And now, with your friends observations combining with your own buried feelings, you’re realizing how hard it’s getting to believe that he was just a friend. You thought you’ve convinced yourself that you saw him as strictly a friend of your brother’s that you just happened to get to know. You thought you weren’t going to make another silly mistake about a boy. But… you’d be lying if you said you never thought he was… kinda…-

“Also- don’t you think (Y/N)’s brother is kinda cute?~”

Ew. Your friends continue giggling, not caring that they just called your brother hot in front of you. Yup, daydream-y thoughts gone. 

Nothing else needs to be said when a guttural scream tears from your throat.

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆

Age: 18 (Winter break)

A couple weeks after stressing over exams, you find yourself standing in the middle of the winter market. For some reason, you felt like being here in and of itself was another way of admitting the real reason you were going- another way for your friends to tease you about you-know-who.

Speaking of friends, you realized something about Mydei’s friends.

You stuck to Mydei that night as you waited for the rest of the group to arrive. The market was glowing with the same warm lights and cold air, festive music drifting through the crowd. When they arrived, you greeted them all politely, offering a small smile. But you notice something-

All of Mydei’s friends were gorgeous.

What the fuck? As if it couldn’t make you any more anxious than you already were, they had to be stunning too. Even in the cold winter weather they dressed like they came out of a shoot for Vogue. You look at your own attire and feel hyperaware of how your coat makes you look like a puffball, and you tuck your hands in your pockets.

You see a girl with whitish hair that bleeds into a light purple, a cheerful girl with pink hair tied in two pigtails, a group of four that- wait… were those the twins? Stelle and Caelus? Oh god- you didn’t know they were a part of this hang out. Okay, it was probably dramatic to have this intrusive thought of hiding right now- but you couldn’t help it. They were well known across campus, and you couldn’t fathom them having connections to your brother of all people.

“Hey,” You feel somebody tap your shoulder and you turn around quickly- it’s Phainon. “You came.”

“Oh. Yeah.” You nod, breathing out. Your heart does that stupid flip again as you see Phainon- cheeks rosy already from the coldness, and flashing a toothy grin like it meant a lot to him. 

“He’s just a friend. My brother’s friend to be exact.” “That’s (Y/N)’s friend, Phainon.” You remember yours and your friends’ phrases being thrown around when Phainon was being introduced. You tell yourself again the same thing- that he’s just a friend, and this didn’t mean anything. That Phainon was just being friendly like he always was, and that whatever fluttering feeling you’re getting in your chest was just some naive hope that needed to be buried away again. 

The group moves slowly through the market, a safe distance enough to explore the booths and keeping sight of each other. You mostly stay near the back, hands tucked in your coat pockets as you listen to the group more than talking.

Before you could take notice of it, one of the girls falls into step with you.

“Hi! I don’t think we’ve met.” It’s the pink haired girl. “I’m Hyacine. You’re Mydei’s little sister, (Y/N), right?”

“Oh- hi. Nice to meet you.” You reply, adjusting your scarf to try and not seem anti-social. She then taps Mydei on the shoulder, who was walking in front of you two.

“Mydei, you’re sister is way cuter than you!” Hyacine clasps her hands theatrically and beams.

“Um… thanks?” Mydei blinks, then turns back. Hyacine laughs, and even you manage a small giggle. You kind of appreciate her humour (and jab at Mydei) and hope you didn’t come off as a stranger anymore. 

Before you could overthink it, Hyacine tugs you over to one of the booths, asking if you liked cute things. You stumble a little as the girl drags you to who knows where, though you reply saying you do. You notice the little unicorn plushie on her bag, and felt that it was on brand for her.

“Over here!” Hyacine giggles, not caring that you both were obviously straying from the group. There was no time to protest as you both weaving through the crowds until you both stop at one of the artist booths. You look around at what Hyacine wanted you to see, and see various keychains, stickers, and cute little handmade plushies lining the table. They were soft, mismatched coloured little creatures, sitting as if waiting for someone to adopt them.

“These are so cute!” Hyacine’s eyes light up, flickering from plush to plush. She silently hoped you felt enjoyment from this too. “Oh- and this one too.”

“They are.” You blink, picking one of the plushies up. It was a small pastel coloured star with a crooked smile. You thoughtfully turn it in your hands as you admire it. You wouldn’t lie if you said it didn’t intrigue you…

“Oh (Y/N)- that one matches your jacket!” Hyacine exclaims, pointing at the similarity.

“Huh? Oh yeah, it does.” You glance down at your attire and the coincidence that the plush you grabbed was the same colour. You didn’t even realize, but it was as if it was a subconscious gesture.

You stare down at the little star’s cute face and dangly legs. It was cute, and you certainly appreciate the maker’s craftsmanship. But you sigh, putting it down. “Mydei would probably scold me if I bought another one.”

“Aw, really? But he’s gonna be lonely. He even matches you!” Hyacine pouts, then shows you her unicorn plush. “You could match like me!”

You’re about to give an apologetic smile, but you think about the giant horde of stuffed toys you have at home and in your dorm and you feel like-

“What are we looking at?” Phainon’s voice comes from behind you, and you turn your head a bit too fast to where he was peering between you guys. Phainon bends slightly to take a closer look, snow dusting the shoulders of his coat. You get a whiff of his cologne and you have to look away. He looks relaxed in that unfairly easy way of his, even for doing something as basic as looking at stuff.

“We’re looking at stuffies!” Hyacine says joyfully. You shrink into your scarf a little, hoping Phainon doesn’t find it childish that you’re looking at plushies. “(Y/n) likes the star.”

“Hyacine-”

“The one with the little legs?” Phainon says simply. His eyes then flicker down to the one in your hand. “Were you gonna buy that one?”

“Oh-” You’re almost startled at how quickly Phainon noticed the plush in your hand, and you set it back down on the table. “Yeah- I mean… it’s cute, but I already have a lot of plushies at home.”

Phainon seems to be deep in thought as he stares between you and the star plush, but doesn’t say a word. You’re hoping he accepts your excuse and moves on. 

“Where were you? And everyone else?” Hyacine pipes up, tilting her head at Phainon.

“I was looking at the ceramics. I lost everyone else a while ago, but- oh, Cyrene said to regroup at the seats near the hot chocolate stand.” Phainon explains. A shiver runs through your spine as you briefly remember what your roommate said about this hangout being straight out of a shoujo manga. “You ladies can head back there when you’re finished. I’m gonna try looking for the others.”

“Okay, see you in a bit!” Hyacine waves to Phainon, then turns back to you. “Are you sure you don’t want to buy anything?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.” You say with a bittersweet smile. “I’ll probably forget about it in a few days.”

Hyacine nods, not wanting to pressure you. You turn away from the booth and walk with her towards the designated meeting place within the food vendor area. It was getting later, but from the way you were bumping shoulders with people, it felt like the amount of people were increasing. You both eventually find a few of the others at one of the picnic benches and join them to wait for the rest to arrive. You sigh, as you finally get a chance to sit down. Simply walking around a marketplace somehow exhausted you more than you thought.

For a moment, you close your eyes to rest from the clamour. Suddenly, you hear a little jingle coming from near you and you open them at the soft sound. 

“Hey.” Phainon stands in front of you, one hand holding a small fabric gift bag tied with sparkly string and tiny metal ornaments. From the lighting of this area, you could finally see the snowflakes clinging to his hair- even though they were the same colour. He sits down beside you, looking almost amused at your startled expression. 

“Hey, did you find everyone?” Hyacine leans over from the other side of the picnic table. 

“Most of them. I think Cyrene found the others I didn’t.” Phainon replies. On cue, Mydei and a few others walk past and take their own seats at the table. Phainon’s attention shifts back to you, still holding out the bag.

“What’s this?” You ask suspiciously taking the bag. You felt your heart beating faster, not believing it was what you thought it was. 

“For you.” Phainon replies simply, waiting to see your reaction.

“What did you get her?” Hyacine gasps with glee, leaning closer in anticipation. The curiosity overwhelms you too, and you freeze as you peek into the bag. 

The little star plushie stares back at you.

“You- You bought it?” You ask softly, though your eyes going wide gave away that you were surprised. Phainon watches your expression carefully, and tries not to smile too much. “Phainon, you didn’t have to.”

“You liked it, didn’t you?” He counters, leaning his elbows on the surface of the table. And oh, how you hated how his casual response mirrored what your friends said to you a few weeks before- about something as simple as this being reason enough. Phainon never seemed to stop, like helping you was the easiest thing in the world. 

You stare down at the plushie, then between him and Hyacine. “I told Hyacine I’d forget about it eventually.”

Phainon tilts his head slightly. “Would you have?”

You idly look at Phainon, whose eyes seem to burn into yours with intensity, turning the question into a challenge. It makes you more flustered.

“I-” You stammer, your jaw going slack, not being able to form an answer. You end up sighing with a smile, realizing any excuse you might make would be null in the end. You clutch the plush a little tighter in your hands. “...I guess I wouldn’t have.”

Phainon grins softly at your surrender, the market lights reflecting off his face beautifully. 

By this time, the entire group had finally come together and decided to chill out here. You continued talking to Phainon, and for a while, you forget that you were here as a group- like it was just you two.

“Are you doing okay?” He asks you. “You seemed a little distant earlier.”

“I’m fine.” You say automatically. Phainon hums, not convinced. Somehow the tiny pout he sports makes you want to be vulnerable and tell him the truth, so you continue. “I just- it’s hard keeping up with everyone.”

Your reason sounded strange, but Phainon understood what you meant. He nods, but doesn’t push you, giving a reassuring grin. “You can just hang with me.”

The offer is casual, yet it makes you feel warm in the cold weather. And once again it’s like deja vu- where you felt like there was absolutely no reason for him to include you or make you feel comfortable in any way or for any reason. Yet he does. He always does.

“How did first semester treat you?” He says, changing the subject as he bumps his knee lightly against yours. 

“It was pretty normal.” You shrug. “I made a few friends, complained about professors and group projects a little. Exams were stressful, but nothing too out of the blue.”

“Complained enough to write a bad review on them?” He asks, clearly instigating. You watch as Phainon’s eyes twinkle mischievously, and you knew the website he was referring to. You snort before you could stop yourself, and Phainon grins faintly at the sound, visibly pleased he was able to pull it from you. 

“How else do you think I’m gonna spend my break?” You ask with a bit of sass. He laughs, nodding with approval. Phainon then shifts closer to you a little, his posture becoming more upright. It was subtle, but enough that he was creating a space where his attention felt undivided now. 

“You know…” He starts lightly. “We used to hang out more before university started.”

You’re caught off guard by his sudden observation. You didn’t expect him to speak up about the weird distance between you guys, but he was right. The last time you properly saw him was… before that day you bawled your eyes out and then shoved him away when he tried to comfort you. You cringe at the memory. God, you hope he forgot about that and remembered a different day when the two of you and Mydei were happy and playing games or something.

“I- have we…? What about… orientation?” Your grip on the plush tightens a little out of nervousness. You knew damn well orientation didn’t count for shit. Still, you attempt to feign obliviousness to ease some of the discomfort you felt inside, but Phainon chuckles, catching on immediately. 

“Yeah? And you probably saw the mascot more than me.” He pouts jokingly.

“No I didn’t-” You stammer, but suddenly stop yourself when you realize he could be right. You internally beat yourself up at the thought. 

“I’m just teasing.” Phainon laughs softly, then continues in a quieter tone. “Still… I kinda miss talking to you.”

And there it was. For once your heart wants to remember what it feels like to be wanted like this. You watch as Phainon straightens and closes his eyes for a second too long before continuing, as if he was trying to gather some confidence to prove the intention behind it.

“So,” His smile returns, charming as you’ve always known. “Do you wanna hang out sometime? Just us.”

Just as you thought your heartbeat could slow down, Phainon always seems to do something to prove that it was alive- that something inside was existing. Despite your shock and silence, Phainon doesn’t corner you with his proposal.

“We could go to a cafe, and I could buy you dessert… Or we can play video games over the break… Anything that doesn’t involve that stupid mascot.” He adds easily. Phainon gets another laugh out of you, and you somehow feel lighter. A beat of silence goes by again, and you watch as Phainon looks at you in anticipation.

“Yeah, I’d love that.” You say breathily, a smile escaping you. Phainon exhales, looking strangely relieved, like he-

“Phainon-” Another voice suddenly interrupts, and you both whip your head to the source from across the picnic bench. It was another pink haired girl- albeit a slightly deeper shade of pink than Hyacine’s. Her name was Cyrene, if you remembered correctly. “Wait, are you blushing?” The girl tilts her head at Phainon, and you almost choke on air. Phainon bursts out laughing. 

“I’m not.” He turns to Cyrene, insisting with a charming smile, putting his hands up in mock surrender. You take a closer look at his cheeks now that his face was turned more to the side. You swear you saw a bit of pink… was he- no, surely this was just the cold getting to his skin.

“Well you sure blush like you were just caught flirting.” Cyrene snaps back with a bit of attitude. You’re not really sure what to do in this situation, and seemingly neither does Phainon as he looks like he’s being teased by his friend. Cyrene then turns towards you with a soft smile.

“My name is Cyrene. You’re (Y/n), right?~” Cyrene asks, and you nod in response. You found it peculiar how everything she said sounded both playful and sweet- like a song. She looks at you with her eyes bright and cheerful. “You’re really pretty, you know that?”

“I-I am…?” Your cheeks go warm as you short circuit at the sudden compliment. Hyacine who had been off engaging with the others returns to insert herself in this conversation, and nods along, agreeing. Wait, Hyacine- she was supposed to be on your side! 

“Mhm~ So…” Cyrene drags out her words with a devious smile, wagging a threatening finger at Phainon. “If you are flirting, you do know Mydei would beat you up, right?”

“I would.” Mydei lazily chimes in from a few seats down, diagonal to you. You almost forgot he was here. Phainon’s skill at isolating you guys was certainly effective. Your brother’s two little words give you mixed thoughts: one making note of how little hesitation or humour there was in his tone, and another where you seriously have concerns of your brother threatening to beat someone up again. Perhaps a trip to a rage room was due soon. 

“See? He just said he would kill you.” Cyrene enunciates, clearly understanding that her friend didn’t seem to register the what she was implying. Oddly enough, Phainon just chuckles.

“And, I wouldn’t blame him.” 

The rest of the conversation becomes a blur. You start losing track of what they were saying after Cyrene groaned at Phainon for being an oblivious puppy in knowing the consequences. What a bizarre answer… …Consequences of what?

You think back to the compliments Hyacine and Cyrene paid you, saying you were cute and pretty. You thought it was just girls hyping another girl up- as girls do. But then you think of Cyrene calling out Phainon for blushing and threats for him potentially flirting, and wonder if she was teasing him… or if she actually meant it. There was a part of you that was in disbelief, inching closer to the fact that… you might actually have a chance.

On top of all that, there was Phainon’s own reply, confirming that he’d take a beating from your brother if he actually did cross a line. You tell yourself you were reading too much into it again. 

“So… I’ll see you soon, right (Y/n)?”

That night after everyone bid their farewells, and you and Mydei returned home in your childhood home, you quickly crash into the warmth of your bed and whip out your phone. You contemplate whether calling your roommate was gonna lead to her lovingly bullying you again, but you end up telling her everything anyway.

“I don’t know what else to tell you, girl.” Your roommate sighs endearingly at you through the phone. “He made an effort to invite you, he looked for you, bought you a present... I don’t think you’re imagining things… so what do you have to lose?”

You notice that you’ve gotten too excited from how high your heart rate must be. Your smile falters (not realizing that you were even smiling this whole time in the first place), and you remember your own consequences. 

“...That’s just the problem.” You sigh back, sitting up properly now. “I don’t want to be delusional again. I can’t just launch myself into… whatever this is and make up assumptions that aren’t real.” You grab your little star plush Phainon got you from your bag. You glance down at your star plushie again, fiddling with its stupid little legs, thinking- why does a star even need to have legs? 

Your roommate’s voice softens. “But it feels different, doesn’t it?”

You don’t end up answering her.

“I’m not expecting anything.” You say finally. Despite these months of your stubbornness with the topic of Phainon, your roommate doesn’t argue. She just smiles knowingly on the other side of the line, and lets it go.

You conclude the call by telling her the rest of the whole marketplace experience, and her own winter break shenanigans. Later, when your room is quiet, you lie back on your bed, holding the star plush up to the ceiling. 

You look at its silly dangly legs, finding something so out of place cute that makes it different from the rest. Stars were supposed to stay high above everyone else, beautiful from a distance. 

But perhaps this star had been made to reach people anyway.

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆

Age: 19, second semester

Winter break came and went pretty fast. You and Mydei spend it mostly at home, spending time with your mom. Phainon went back to his hometown for the break as well. Like you said yourself, you weren’t expecting anything to happen during this time.

That is, until, a week after your second semester started, you started receiving texts from Phainon already. You remember your eyes widening at your phone screen when Phainon asked you if you wanted to do something during the weekends. From something as small as asking to join him in playing video games, to him insisting on accompanying you to a bookstore for your manga series, you said yes. Some small part inside you craved spending time with him, and you realized you did miss him a lot all this time. You felt like you reconnected with Phainon- just like when you were kids.

At the end of the semester, one of your peers decided to host a mixer and invited everyone in the class. The invitation sat in your messages for a while before you accepted it. A mixer… Just the thought alone of being invited sent a quiet thrill in your spine. 

Now, standing in front of the mirror, there was a brief moment where you wondered if you looked like you were trying too hard with your outfit… or too little. You wore something that showed a little more skin- a little more mature and confident, something you didn’t usually wear. Still, you decide not to dwell on the issue for long and head out. 

By the time you reached the location, there was already music and familiar people from your class there. People were clustered up, animatedly talking, hopefully having fun after the stress of final exams. A girl from your class waves you over, and passes a light drink to you. Soon enough, you overcame the initial anxiety and it felt freeing to mix in with the group.

Well, only for the first ten minutes.

You were going to excuse yourself to say hi to another acquaintance when a white-haired mass suddenly came into view- a particularly tall and handsome white-haired mass. 

Phainon? Here of all places?

Your stomach drops and you quickly duck near a corner, careful not to spill your drink or look crazy sneaking around. You peek over and see Phainon with his back turned, leaning against the kitchen island as he engages in conversation with other people. 

Your pulse was getting frantic, but you take a deep breath to try and calm yourself. Oh, but who were you kidding? If Phainon saw you here, you were sure that he would report you to Mydei within the minute. 

Phainon walks away from the kitchen counter, going off somewhere else, and you go the same direction as him to not cross paths with him. Could it be possible to avoid him this whole time? God, it was stupid when you thought about it. You basically just got here, and it shouldn’t even be scary to see Phainon here. But you weren’t really in the mood to see his smug grin or get lectured by your brother. Maybe you could hang with someone else and hide-

“That’s an interesting strategy.” A voice murmurs in your ear.

Phainon was already standing behind you, bending down to your height and way too close as amusement curls at the edge of his lips.

“Ah- Phainon! You scared me!” You hiss, your face going warm with embarrassment as you jolt backwards. Phainon only grins wider at your startled reaction. You become defensive, eyeing him up suspiciously. “What- why are you here?”

“I know the host.” Phainon says easily, then cheekily fires the same question to you. “What are you doing here?”

“Nothing.” You grit. Phainon chuckles and shakes his head at your answer, and you internally smack your forehead. Out of all excuses, you had to say the most suspicious one? 

“Nothing but drinking, you mean?” Phainon inquires, pointing at your cup and clicks his tongue in mock disapproval. “Mydei won’t be happy to hear this.”

Your face freezes at the mention of Mydei potentially knowing you were here. “I-It’s only five percent alcohol!”

“Ooh, how scandalous.” Phainon laughs, and you puff your cheeks in frustration of him teasing you.

“Oh shut up. I came here by myself so I’m not here to get drunk.” You say, rolling your eyes. 

“Even more scandalous.” He says with a whistle, and you groan. Phainon’s eyes soften, sensing he’s teased you enough. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell Mydei.”

Phainon’s words surprise you a little. Oddly enough, he let's you have fun and doesn't report you like you thought he would.

As the night went on, you were pulled into conversations and stupid debates, laughing at some of your peers’ weird dance moves. Every now and then, you’d catch sight of Phainon somewhere across the house- sometimes talking to other people, sometimes smiling at you, and sometimes bumping your hip beside you as he indulges the conversation with you. 

The buzz of the music gets louder as the night goes on. You participate in the fun, but eventually you start feeling tired. Phainon notices and he taps your shoulder, leaning down, telling you something… but you don’t hear anything. Because he was so close, you suddenly realize the golden sun tattoo on the side of his neck- when did he get that? As Phainon spoke, you felt a little rush inside you, making you space out. You tried making sense of your surroundings but you soon realize that he was taking over all your senses. What you could see, what you could smell… muting all of them into one: him. Was he experiencing the same buzzing feeling? You watched as his lips curved up into a grin, whispering something to you. You stare at his lips- a faint blush colour, soft and plump… you wondered what it would feel like if you…

You nod plainly in response to him, though his words clearly weren’t getting through to you. Phainon realizes you were spacing out and he chuckles lightly and stands back up, holding his hand out. You blankly take it and he guides you out of the party. Also, did you just think of-

“You okay? I asked if you were getting tired.” Phainon breathes out, his voice finally reaching your ears.

“Hm- oh, yeah, I’m fine.” You perk up as you snap out of your daze. “I am a little tired…”

“I’ll drive you back then.” He says, already taking his car keys out. He phrases it not even as a question, like he would do it for you regardless. “Do you have everything?” 

You nod, and you both get into his car. The drive back to your dorm was strangely quiet. It was slightly awkward since your peer’s house wasn’t even that far from your residence, so the ride was gonna be short. However, it felt like there was something else underneath. It was something heavy, but not an uncomfortable-pit-in-your-stomach type of heavy. It was something more charged.

The blinker clicks lightly while the streetlights gradually slide across Phainon’s face in fleeting moments. His jaw, his mouth, the curve of his hands gripping the steering wheel. You looked away before you could get caught staring. God, you were going crazy for sure, you think. 

Your pulse still hasn’t settled. Was it adrenaline from the party? Maybe so, but even then it shouldn’t make you think of kis- 

“We’re here.” Phainon softly sing-songs. You get out of the car, and Phainon decides to walk you to your door. Again, not a question. 

When you both walk into the building together, you realized it was sort of awkward with the both of you being silent this whole time. Even more so as you arrived in the narrow hallway just outside your door. Phainon walks behind you, close enough that his presence alone fills your space. As you stop at your door, you decide to say something, though he’s closer than you expect when you turn to him. You clear your throat, your hand fumbling inside your purse to find your keys to regulate yourself. 

“Thanks for the ride.” You say, looking up at him gratefully. “And… thanks for not snitching on me.”

Phainon huffs a quiet laugh. “Anytime.”

You smiled despite yourself, like it was a subconscious thing- maybe it even a contagious thing, knowing Phainon was here. Even as you briefly look down to take your keys out, Phainon was already looking at you, like he had something to say, but he doesn’t. 

You were about to unlock your door and say goodbye, but somehow your body doesn’t want to listen. You don’t feel like doing it. Your dreamy daze continues, your eyes dipping over Phainon’s outfit. You suddenly felt aware of how good he looked in a white skin-tight shirt and jeans- did he always wear things like this? You catch a glimpse of the sun tattoo you saw earlier beneath the collar of his shirt, and you even swear you see a broad gold ring on his chest- another hidden one beneath his shirt. It makes you even more curious- but more than that, it made you want him. 

Before you knew it, your body had a mind of its own, leaning in without shame with your hands shyly but certainly reaching for him- to be closer to him. Your fingers brush his, and your breath hitches, the sparks making you second guess if you should even be doing this. But when you finally bring yourself to look up at him, his gaze was already looking down to your mouth.

“(Y/n)...” HIs voice drops, barely louder than a breath. His expression softens, yet his pupils were blown wide, as if there was something unguarded slipping through. He leans in, slow and careful, giving you time to pull away. Your breathing and your heart beats faster than ever. This definitely wasn’t just the adrenaline from the party.

Suddenly, a small click is heard and Phainon mutters a curse and pulls away quickly.

Wait…

You were stunned for a few seconds, watching as he pulled back. Before you could think of how to react, your door swings open to reveal Mydei looking sleepy yet confused. Oh yeah, your roommate already went home for the summer, so now you had a giant cat invading your space. You told Mydei you were gonna go out with some friends and then go back home with him after- you forgot you left him lounging here for a while. 

“Where were you?” Mydei quirks an eyebrow at you, and gives an even more skeptical look at Phainon. “And what are you doing here?”

“I was just dropping her off.” Phainon says lightly, though you could tell he was trying his best to not sound shaky. You weren’t sure how it was possible for him to reply and make up something so calmly.  Especially since the skin of your hand was still buzzing where you touched his just seconds ago. “She just got caught up saying bye to some friends.” Mydei gives him a weird look, but doesn’t question you both, and you give a sigh of relief.

Your brother and Phainon make small talk, both asking if they were heading home for the summer. Meanwhile, you remained silent, in your own little bubble unable to calm your racing heart.

“Get some rest.” Phainon addresses you with a simple wave, and just like that, he was gone. God, you wanted to… you wish you could…

“Why is he even still here on campus?” Mydei interrupts your train of thought as he holds your door open for you.

“O-Oh… I dunno. I bumped into him on the way back.” You say casually, walking into your dorm. Lies. “Why are you here so early…?”

“It’s night time.” Mydei retorts back. “Anyway, are you done packing your stuff?”

You nod, and quickly grab your bags and head back home with Mydei. 

The drive was silent, but for you it wasn’t. Even though you were exhausted after the mixer, you couldn’t seem to be able to rest during the long drive home. You look out the window, a small smile plastered on your face as you replay that brief yet charged moment in your head. The way he leaned in, the way you could feel his breath on your lips as he whispered your name…

You almost kissed him.

Was it always like this? Your heart was beating fast as it always did, but for once you didn’t feel surprised. It felt more like… you were finally letting yourself do something you always wanted to do. Like you’ve been waiting and wanting something, and that it was okay to want things. 

Maybe it was just the realization that Phainon was always perfectly within your grasp. 

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆

Age: 19, Summer Break

Phainon: Good morning. Phainon: I’m sorry about last night. 

It’s been a good twelve hours since you and Phainon almost kissed. At first you thought you had hallucinated it, and that you became delusional for real. Just as you had believed that this was just a figment of your imagination, Phainon never texted you- until this morning. 

(Y/n): Phainon, I don’t understand. (Y/n): Was it something I did…? Phainon: No, god no. Never. (Y/n): Then why are you apologizing?

You felt your smile drop, the warmth from last night following suit, slowly leaking away. 

Phainon: Because I'm sorry if I crossed a line. Phainon: You didn’t do anything wrong. I just didn’t want things to be awkward between us.

And it’s just so funny, isn’t it? How you’ve kept yourself safe on your own little island, with walls built so high and an army to guard your heart. And the one time you decide to let them down and embrace the sunlight, it hurts so much more. 

Confusion seems to consume you, making you anxious. The thought that you might have been too forward and was reading it all wrong feel like deja vu, specifically the same bitter feeling that you were so used to. The mere thought that Phainon didn’t want this to happen, makes your stomach coil. However, underneath the dreadful feeling was something else- because this wasn’t about you. Although you had this uncomfortable twinge of fear you refused to admit out loud, it wasn’t for yourself, but for Phainon. You stay rigid in your bed, staring at your phone. What exactly was Phainon thinking of that you weren’t?

A week later, you start getting antsy because you realize how quiet your summer vacation began. You continue to get nothing from Phainon. You gave him the benefit of the doubt, assuming he was probably busy with things back home. But as your phone sits on your desk, the screen continuing to be dark and empty, you find yourself constantly checking it, and it didn’t take long for your mind to spiral.

It’s ironic how noticeable an absence can be. 

Later, just past noon, you start to smell food being prepared, so you go down to investigate. You realized your mom was going all out for some reason, seasoning steaks and cutting vegetables as your kitchen became a room with groceries stacked high. There seemed to be something in the oven already as well. You get curious and decide to ask Mydei what your mother was preparing for.

“Hey.” You ask as you walk into his room, seeing him lounging and playing a video game lazily.

“Hey.” He responds. Mydei eyes you a little for a second then goes back to focusing on his game. “You’ve been in your room for a while.”

“Yeah…” You sigh a little sheepishly as Mydei points it out, straightforward as always. “Do you know what mom is preparing all that food for?”

“We’re barbecuing tonight, remember?” Mydei replies smoothly without looking up from his game. “I’ve got a honeycake in the oven too.”

Mydei was in charge of the cake apparently, and already had it in baking in the oven. You soften at the thought. And then you don’t because he might have put boogers in there. 

“Oh… that’s a lot of food.” You remark. Something feels off for some reason, ironically like an emptiness despite the feast being prepared. 

When you walked into his room, you considered asking your brother what he would do if he was hypothetically faced with the situation you were- with Phainon that is. But then you already think of his response and- “I dunno, they both sound like idiots to me.” Yep, no help at all. To think you almost considered bucking up the courage to ask your brother for advice, when it should be better to question his reliability. 

Instead, you ask him a more direct question-

“...Is Phainon coming?” You ask. Your cheeks get a little warm, but satisfying your curiosity was more important.

The mention of Phainon seems to get Mydei’s attention a little more. “...No?”

It’s ironic how one little word could get you to frown so easily. But it simply didn’t sound right to you. Ever since you were teenagers, Phainon has came over consistently to your house, showing up to practically everything. Barbecues, birthdays, movie nights… or even the simple weekends where nothing special was happening, he ended up staying longer than expected. And when you all became older and busier, he always made the effort to show up at least once. There had never been a question of whether he was coming. 

“Oh…” The disappointed response tumbles out of your mouth before you even thought about it. You tell yourself that Phainon wasn’t obligated to come over, that he had his own life and responsibilities. Heck, he wasn’t even your friend first- he was technically Mydei’s but…

Still…

“Why do you ask?” Mydei asks, pausing his video game, sensing that you were concerned about something deeper.

It still felt wrong to you. 

“Because… I thought he’d be coming. He always comes over during the summer…” You reply cautiously. 

“So?” 

“So... he’s your best friend.”

“Isn’t he also yours?” Mydei retorts back skeptically. 

“Well yeah… but usually you invite him over.” You say meekly. 

“I asked him already.” Mydei sighs.  “Said he was busy.”

A lump forms in your throat. God, what were you supposed to do now? There were too many things unsaid, and even more things you wanted to ask. A part of you felt like Phainon’s response was an excuse- that if you didn’t get him now, that he’d just get farther from you. Were you going to have to wait until who knows when to talk to Phainon again? 

As your hand idly trails along your brother’s bedroom wall, it was like you’ve experienced this before. You, at thirteen years old, gathering all the courage you had (none) to nervously enter in your brother’s room to get your charger back- all at the expense of meeting Phainon. You remember how shy you were when Phainon tried talking to you that time, how weirded out you were when he tried to include you out of the blue. You were at the same place you were then- at the threshold of Mydei's doorway until Phainon stole the last word, calling out one last thing.

"Maybe next time then."

Before you could overthink it, you push yourself off the wall and face Mydei again.

“Can you ask him again?” You ask, and Mydei gives you a weird look.

“Why would I- he’s gonna say no again.” Mydei says. Now, why would his dear sister actively request Phainon’s presence? Even you, the sister, do not know. 

“Tell him I want him there.” You reply. The quiet determination in your eyes almost shocks Mydei. 

He blinks at you for a split second, like he understood the meaning behind it. Your brother doesn’t question you for once. He doesn’t get suspicious, or feel the need to protect you.

“...Fine.” Mydei sighs and picks up his phone again, and you watch as his fingers tap the screen to send the new text to Phainon. You stand there biting your lip, not even sure if this would work. You can’t even believe that Mydei actually agreed to do it. 

You thank your brother, and finally walk out of his bedroom, knowing the response might take time. But not even a second after you step into your own room, a buzz comes from your phone.

Phainon: Hey, I’m on my way. I’ll be there around 5.

Phainon: Thanks for inviting me 

A glimmer of hope finally starts to exist within your mind. Phainon was coming, simply because you asked. And maybe you were right about him- maybe he was just waiting for you, just like he always has. 

A few hours later, your doorbell rings. Your mom is the first to dash to the door, dropping everything to greet Phainon with a bone-crushing hug. Of course, Phainon’s used to it so it does little to affect him. 

“Phainon! Oh my goodness, look at you!” Your mother coos, the same endearments making Phainon chuckle. She continues gushing about Phainon as if he was family already- which in a sense he was. “You’ve grown so much- and so handsome too! Mydei, can you believe it?” 

You can smell your brother’s eyeroll from here. Meanwhile, Phainon smiles easily, nodding and murmuring something polite and charming. You haven’t even gone down to greet him yet, but little does anyone else know, hearing his voice- the mere existence and knowledge that he was here sent a thrill through you.

You hear your mother tell the boys that the barbecue will start soon, and they should wash up. The boys insist on helping your mom and they argue in a good-natured way. They split up and start preparing different things, with Mydei helping your mom prepare the grill. You hesitate for a moment, but take this as a cue to finally talk to Phainon.

You walk out from your bedroom, and as you linger at the top of the stairs looking down, Phainon seems to subconsciously pause mid-motion. Your heart still skipped when he looked at you- hands tucked into his pockets and white messy hair catching the sunlight from outside your backyard’s door. He subtly turns his head to you, and his smile was still there- soft, slightly hopeless, and nervous, like he was bracing himself for this moment just as you have.

“Hey…” He says lightly. It’s only been one week since you last saw him, yet it feels like it’s been a year. He even greets you like it’s been a year, and you knew he was feeling the same thing you were. You step closer, and you watch as his eyes attempt to hide the tension. 

“Hi…” You take a deep breath, the feeling of determination not helping you steady your nerves. But truthfully, you cared more that he was just here with you. His hopeless smile seems to be contagious as you start to sport the same one as you sigh with relief. “You made it.”

“Yeah…” Phainon breathes out. Oddly, his smile gets wider, like he was happy to end up coming to your home.

“...Can we talk?” You ask hesitantly. As always, Phainon surprises you, as he willingly walks closer to you, as if to follow you wherever. 

“Of course.” He replies smoothly. You give him a nod and slowly lead to towards your bedroom for a more private conversation. 

You close your door after Phainon walks in. He seems to curiously look around your room, noticing the little trinkets and photos that have changed over the years. He hasn’t been here for a while.

“Can I sit?” Phainon asks, patting your bed. You nod and say yes, and you both sit on the edge. You didn’t know where to start- diving straight into the obvious thing seemed too heavy.

“Mydei told me you were busy…” You remark. “I thought you weren’t gonna come.”

“I know.” He admits sheepishly. You felt the honesty beneath his words as he tries to ease any negative feelings you might harbour towards him for his initial excuse.  “I just thought that… I had crossed a line.”

“Crossed a line?” You repeat. Phainon pauses, then sighs endearingly. Your question was innocent, yet posed a different meaning for Phainon. For the first time in weeks, he feels the weight of what he’s kept inside.

“Remember what happened after the mixer?” Phainon asks. You nod, and he continues. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Done what?” 

“You know what.” He says with a light chuckle and nudge to your arm to ease the tension and awkwardness. “I… I almost kissed you.”

“But I almost kissed you too.” You remark guilelessly. Your gaze was unwavering, and you can feel him register the resolve behind it. You weren’t going to drop this were you? Of course you weren’t. So Phainon exhales slowly, giving a small awkward smile as he lowers his guard a little.

“...And that’s the problem. You’re Mydei’s sister. You’re not just anyone to me (Y/n)- you’re important. I can’t risk ruining what I have with you and Mydei.” Phainon sighs, rubbing his forehead like this was making him sweat. With how he was behaving, you get the feeling that he likely felt guilty- like a bastard who shouldn’t be liking his best friend’s sister, making it equivalent to a sin. Phainon seems to know something you don’t. Phainon sputters a little as he’s stuck between going off on a nervous rant and being gentle. Then he finally brings himself to explain further. “I-I mean… what would you have done if we really leaned in? Do you even know how to kiss?” 

“No…” You admit. “But you seem like you’d be good at it.”

“You really think so?” Phainon laughs softly, seeming curious at your remark. Oddly enough, his tone gets softer like a whisper as he presses you for another question. “Why do you say that?”

“You’re… you know…” You stammer, trying to latch onto something specific, but truthfully you could say anything. You take a good look at him and he’s still perfection incarnate. Phainon laughs softly again.

“I think you think way too highly of me.” He smiles, his tone slightly teasing like he found your answer amusing. You might even go as far as to say that he might’ve sounded a bit shy when he said that. Phainon’s hand lays on the bed, his pinky millimeters away from yours. He leans back a bit, as if to get a better look at you too. “How would you know if I’ve kissed anyone?”

You think again for a moment, except this time you didn’t have an answer. Phainon looks back at you patiently.

“I don’t know.” You admit quietly, but determination lingers in your eyes. Did you really know? No, of course not. No matter how perfect you thought he was, there was no way you could know if he had that kind of experience. So there was only one way to.

“But I want to know.”

Phainon’s breath catches in his throat, genuinely speechless for a moment at your response. He simply looks at you, the noises of the evening starting to disappear. His blue eyes seem strangely brighter than usual, like they were seeing every past version of yourself. And now here you were, your present self saying words that mirrored his own when he first met you, yearning to know more about each other. Just a girl standing in the hallway, waiting for someone to notice her, and a kind boy simply smiling back at her, who always has. He suddenly lets out a chuckle, small and breathless as he finally surrenders his noble front.

“Come here then.” He coaxes softly, his lashes seemingly fluttering in slow motion as his eyes open. You blink in surprise.

“What?”

“Come here.” Phainon repeats, his expression softening. His smile doesn’t falter, in fact- only getting wider and making the corners of his eyes crinkle in that boyish way you’ve always known. Somehow, you understood, and you start to surrender your own noble front as you move closer to him, unashamedly smiling just as bright as him. 

Phainon’s eyes trail your own as your thigh touches his. His hand comes up carefully to cup your cheek. There was no more hesitation in either of your movements. No more almosts and no more waiting- only the split second pause where you both realize this was the closest you’ve ever been, breaths mingling and eyes hazy as if you both couldn’t believe this was happening. You lean in even more, just the same as you did that night, and Phainon does too, just like you always knew he would. 

He leans down, and presses his lips to yours, letting his restraint crack just to taste what he’s been waiting so long for. You both close your eyes, savouring soft warmth of each other’s lips. Even the little smiles and chuckles, and now your hands softly laying on his chest were enjoyable. 

You pull away for a brief moment, yours and Phainon’s lips leaving with a soft smooch sound. There was a flicker of disbelief in your eyes, with Phainon’s looking equally as stunned. But the easy smiles that come after make you realize how it came so effortlessly for Phainon- nothing but affection. 

You both stare at each other, a little breathless and a little shy as if it was a way to come back down to Earth. But neither of you seem to want to let go. Phainon’s hand remains near your cheek, while yours remains loosely gripping onto the hem of his shirt. 

“I’m glad you wanted to know.” Phainon says softly with an awkward but loving smile. He gets a laugh out of you too, and even now he finds himself craving the sound more. He’d like to make you laugh like that more in the future. Now if only… “Shit- your brother’s gonna kill me.”

You watch as Phainon looks away slightly, his face going pale except for a sheepish blush. The consequence dawns on you as well, but in this moment as you’re still high on dopamine, you couldn’t bring yourself to feel it. 

“He’s gonna kill me too.” You shrug, trying to make him feel better. “And you say it as if you’re not one of his favourite people.”

“You’re his sister, he can’t be mad at you. Not for long at least.” Phainon says while sighing. Even though this guilt eats him up, he can’t help but smile. “Me though… I might need to pay in my next life.”

“But he’s never threatened to disown you.” You challenge. Phainon lets out a hearty laugh at your honesty, knowing his best friend could get quite creative with insults.

“Maybe not, but I feel like I’m about to find out.” Still, even if you both were about to be disowned by Mydei, you don’t think you’ve ever seen Phainon look this happy to be disowned. 

“We should head down now.” Phainon says softly, as the laughter dies down. You nod, though neither of you really move, both still sitting on your bed, smiling like dopes. You both laugh again, until Phainon stands and offers you his hand to stand up as well.

You take it without hesitation, and he pulls you up gently. And he doesn’t let go- neither of you do actually.

His fingers fit between yours easily, like it was meant to be this way. You and Phainon begin to walk towards your bedroom door to exit, though he seems a little hesitant.

“(Y/n)- how exactly are we going to explain to Mydei about this…?” He asks nervously, looking mildly embarrassed. You shrug, still not really caring.

“He’s just gonna have to deal with it.” You say casually, reaching for the doorknob. “Also, maybe don’t mention my brother within five minutes after we kiss.” 

A cheeky grin spreads on Phainon's face, finding your response utterly defiant yet endearing. He chuckles, shaking his head while smiling helplessly. A thousand teasing responses are circling within his head, though he opts to sprinkle a little sarcasm in there. “My bad. I’ll try to do better next time then.”

“Oh? There will be a next time?” 

A guttural scream tears through your throat (again?). MYDEI?!

Your’s and Phainon’s jaws both go slack, speechless as you both remain frozen in the threshold of your doorway. There stood your brother, deadpan with his arms crossed… wearing an apron and oven mitts. 

“Wh- MYDEI!!” You scream, mortified. You want to throw something at him, but the only thing beside you was a Phainon. “How long have you been standing there?!”

“How long have I been standing here? I think the better question is why you both aren’t downstairs.” Mydei’s tone reeks of sarcasm, very much not in the mood to take any bullshit from either of you. 

You realize Mydei was right- the entire house smelled delicious with the smells of good food was wafting everywhere. 

“There are steaks being grilled outside. I made honeycake...” Mydei lists, looking genuinely perplexed. Then his eyes look between you and Phainon, looking absolutely disgusted. “And yet here you both are… …kissing?”

You think you see Mydei shiver and gag slightly when he says the k-word, which should have been funny but right now you feel too defensive to think about that.

“MYDEI!!” 

Mydei barely has time to react when you suddenly decide to launch yourself at him.

“Hey-” Mydei sputters, grunting as you smack his arm, and then his shoulder. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

“What is wrong with you?!” You snap back and hit your brother more though it doesn’t really affect him since he was holding you back. 

Meanwhile, Phainon watches the petty catfight of a sibling argument with a fond smile on his face. With Mydei looking disgusted while wearing an apron and oven mitts, fighting against you who was aggressively clawing at your brother like a cat, Phainon internally declares that he has never seen a more stupid thing in his life. Goodness, was this the glory that Kremnoans were known for? Somehow, it endeared him even more. 

“I don’t get why you’d be busy kissing when there’s good food downstairs.”

“STOP SAYING IT!”

“I made you a honeycake… for this?”

“I know you made honeycake! You mentioned it fifty times in the past two minutes! Is this seriously your priority?!” 

“My priority?- Look at yours!”

Was there really any point to this argument anymore?

After a few more lovely seconds of arguing, Phainon sighs fondly and clasps his hands, one of yours and the other on your brother’s shoulder. You and Mydei oddly stop bickering, both looking at Phainon’s expression which could only be described as fond disbelief. This entire scene was ridiculous, but somehow also his favourite.

“Alright alright, let’s just go down now. Hm?” Phainon smiles, hoping to ease the playful bullying. Mydei continues to glare at him. Right message, wrong messenger…

“...I’m gonna kill that guy.” Mydei seethes, looking straight at Phainon yet addressing you.

You want to start fighting your brother again, but to your surprise, Phainon laughs harder before you could react. Then, with the same gentle amusement from years ago, he reaches over and lightly pats Mydei’s shoulder. 

“I’ll hold you to it.”

The words feel familiar, because they are. You look at him now- his eyes crinkling with mirth as he said nearly the same thing months ago. For some reason, as you watch Mydei glare at Phainon- the bastard you just kissed had the audacity to smile at him, the silent look they gave each other somehow explained something you were secretly worrying about this whole time but never had to. 

Mydei probably knew, you think. You’re not sure how long he’s been suspecting it, though when you look back at your own antics it was probably obvious anyway. You cringe internally, not wanting to think about your brother knowing about this thing with Phainon for who knows how long. 

“Now- can we go eat before someone gets murdered?” Phainon asks tenderly, interrupting the chaos. It’s ironic how Phainon seems the happiest here, while you and Mydei both grumble and surrender. He’s still smiling, still patient with you and your brother. Phainon laughs again, and you all head downstairs together- though this time, Phainon doesn’t let go of your hand. 

And naturally, you don’t think to let go either. 

Your porch lights seem to glow with the same warmth that you’ve felt over the years. Your mother lovingly scolds Mydei for disappearing, and Mydei only grumbles saying nobody appreciates his cooking. 

You feel thirteen again as your memories overlap with reality. The smell of home cooking, summer air drifting through the windows, your brother being broody… And Phainon- a boy who started out a mystery, a teenage boy who simply sat at your table smiling like he already belonged there. You come to realize something: Phainon had never been a guest at this house. 

All those years, while you were busy mourning things you thought weren’t meant for you, something else was growing beside you the whole time. He became so much more to you, simply because he wanted to be, and because you finally let him.

And for Phainon? Of course it was easy for him. He had always been reaching for home in the first place.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

Notes:

For reference, this fic is called Seventeen :)

I rewrote a couple of parts so I will reblog some of the deleted parts and extra notes here later so they don't go to waste in case anyone wants to see the alternative direction

Anyway thank you for reading! I hope you all enjoyed <3

The ceremony hall is filled with hushed whispers and quiet chatter as your small legs walk down the aisle. Your shoes pad softly against the pristine, white rug that runs through the center and leads you to the altar where the priest and your future fiancé await you. The room and people within are so huge compared to your little body; the large space sends a wave of unease down your body and yet you trudge on until you're face to face with the boy you're to be engaged to.

Mydeimos is not much older than you: he's around your height, prepubescent with the baby fat still clinging to his round cheeks, strawberry blond hair pulled back into a ponytail with a plait into the side of his head, and a clean, white suit adorning his little body. With the way he's dressed so proper, you're shocked that his eyes, molten gold as if the sun had given up its light to his irises, pierce through you in a stare that seems too mature, too weathered, from an 11 year old boy.

Intimidation seeps into your bones, sending a wave of cold dread through every nerve in your body as reality hits you—you are a stranger in territory that is foreign to you. There is no family for you to run back to, no familiar aides or maids to find comfort in. No friendly smiles or voices calling for you, beckoning you back to safety.

You are alone in the kingdom of Castrum Kremnos.

The advisors of your home have warned you about this before; that this engagement is necessary for the kingdom and it is your civil duty as the daughter of one of the most prestigious families to continue the royal bloodline and familial relations between your family and the royal family of Castrum Kremnos. You don't have to get along with your fiancé, you just have to tolerate him for the rest of your life and hope that he is indifferent to you at worst.

You know that this union between you and the young boy with unmoving eyes is strictly for business, that you two are supposed to start off as strangers and end your lives as acquaintances if all things go accordingly.

And yet, anxiety solidifies your blood into lead as you stare into the stoic face of your soon-to-be fiancé.

"I promise to remain by your side until the day that we wed and forevermore," Mydeimos says, his voice curt and stoic, reciting the promises that were tradition for engagements in the kingdom of Castrum Kremnos. His eyes never leave yours—you don't know if it's a good or bad thing.

"I also promise to be by your side, to always take your side no matter the consequences or conditions, as your lawful fiancée," You recite yours after his.

And with rehearsed movements, you slip on the golden bands over each other's ring fingers.

"Until death do us part," the both of you iterate as the ceremony comes to a close and the priest before you signals the end of your vows. The voices and chatter begin to pick up in volume now as hushed voices grow louder and the praises for the future of Castrum Kremnos echo through the giant ceremony hall and successfully deafen the impending cynical whispers that have already begun to swirl around you.

The remainder of your engagement banquet is a blur that you don't remember. There were too many faces to greet and too many voices that rung in your ears that slowly they all merged into each other. You didn't bother to differentiate them at one point of the night as you quickly realized they all said the same thing: wishful thoughts for the longevity of Castrum Kremnos and nothing but the best for you and your fiancé.

Thankfully, your speaking was to a minimum as Mydeimos thanked everyone with that terse tone of his before guiding the both of you away from others.

The maid attending you slips off your engagement gown with ease; the white silks are quickly gathered up as a soft nightgown is fitted over your small frame before you dismiss her for the night. As she bows and takes her exit, you can hear the heavy door of your chamber close with a quiet thud.

And you find yourself alone again.

Your bedroom is large, much too big for a small child like you to have to yourself. And yet, even with the expensive furniture and decorations that settle in the room to welcome you in for the first night, the reality of finally being alone in a foreign city settles heavily on your tiny, young shoulders.

Your feet pad softly against the tiled floor and you peer out the large curtained window; the beautiful scenery of the castle gardens greets you. Lush shrubbery line the outskirts of the garden with flowers blooming at every inch. Their petals are colorful and bright against the various shades of green foliage, bringing a splash of life to the quiet gardens. There's a trail leading within the gardens that leads to a marbled gazebo hidden between the bushes yet sits clearly in view from your window.

It's beautiful, you cannot deny that.

But this is a place you do not know and that terrifies you. Something sharp strikes through your chest as your eyes begin to burn with tears that threaten to spill down your cheeks. The voices of your advisors echo in your mind reminding you of the duty to your people and that this decision was for the greater good.

You don't know how much time had passed until you feel a hand on your shoulder. The sudden touch shocks you with such an intensity that a shrill yelp leaves your lips and you jump a near meter high; your heart races rapidly against your chest as you turn to look at the culprit.

Those piercing golden eyes peer back at you, wide with just as much surprise from your sudden reaction. Mydeimos is dressed down from the prior event, his nightshirt a tad bit too big for his young frame and makes him look smaller than before. His blond hair has been undone now, falling over his shoulders in a sea of messy gold save for the plait that falls at the side of his head. It's neat, much neater than the rest of his appearance.

"Um…" He begins. There's something different in the way that he's speaking to you now; his tone is much quieter, much softer as if anything terse would scare you away. It could be because you're both alone in this large space together, or because of the state he had found you in. Either way, the change is something that comforts you.

"You didn't hear me the first time I check in on you," Mydeimos speaks, his eyes glancing down for a briefly before meeting your gaze again. "Mama always had the maids make pomegranate juice when I was sad."

It's only then do you notice he's holding something in his hands: a small cup filled most of the way with a milky, maroon hue. He places it on the table beside you before reaching up to wipe away your tears with the sleeve of his big shirt—his movements are uncoordinated and a bit awkward, fitting for a boy his age.

"I apologize if I made you cry. Mama said I'm not the best when it comes to other people," Mydeimos confesses, pulling his hand away from your face. "She says I'm too 'rough around the edges', though I'm not quite sure what that means."

"…No it's okay. I appreciate the effort." Your own voice is quiet, a little hoarse from crying mere moments before, but audible enough for your fiancé to hear. "Thank you."

He doesn't leave your side, rather chooses to silently sit with you while you drink the cup filled with pomegranate juice. The tartness of the fresh pomegranate juice leaves a sour taste in your mouth but the addition of milk lessens the bite with a creamier texture, and you find your heart slowly being mended by the bizarre mixture of flavors.

"Milk?" You ask, setting the porcelain cup gently down on the table. "I've never had juice with milk before."

"It tastes good together," Mydeimos responds almost immediately. There's a small twinkle in his eyes, perhaps illuminated from the small lamp lit in your bedchambers or because of the excitement of sharing something special with you. "It's my favorite drink; Mama used to always make it for me until she…"

Your fiancé trails off for a brief moment and you catch in real time the twinkle in his eye fading as he casts his gaze elsewhere. In the dimly lit room, Mydeimos looks way smaller than he did in the hall earlier that evening. His larger nightshirt drapes over his small frame and emphasizes just how tiny he is. Underneath the gentle glow of the moon, his young features are highlighted: big, eyes that shine golden in the light, chubby cheeks that seem to get rounder when he angles his face downward, and thin, lanky limbs that seem uncoordinated with the rest of his body. There's a splash of faint blue dyed on his skin, but the large sleeves of his nightshirt cover it when he shifts.

Mydeimos, no matter how intimidating he may seem to you, is just a small child. Just like you. You wonder why fate has been so cruel to make the both of you pawns to the elders in this way.

Your finger twitches, an innate urge to ask the young boy what was wrong begins to bubble in your chest. But what do you know; you're a stranger that was barely welcomed into this new country. Why would he share private matters with you on your first night in his palace?

"Mama said that you would be lonely here," Mydeimos begins again, breaking the heavy silence and changing the topic with a few simple words. His little fingers twiddle in his lap and his eyes remain cast downward. Hesitation eats away at his posture, that you can tell clear as day, but when his golden eyes lock eyes with yours, his gaze never wavers.

Sincerity in the form of aureate pools.

"I meant what I said in the ceremony earlier. I'll take your side, always." The strawberry blond boy raises his hand up, sticking his small pinky up; an oath. "So, don't cry. You won't be alone here, I promise."

You link your pinky with his—his skin is rougher and more calloused than a young boy his age should ever have—but his words, his vow dedicated to you, plants the seed of hope in your small chest.

—

It doesn't take long for the norms of Castrum Kremnos to be ingrained in your head. The customs here are much different than your own; for one, society here focuses more on skills related to combat regardless of if it's fighting experience or a strategist. There wasn't a week that went by where you didn't hear whispers of some underground ring where citizens, nobles and commoners alike, would test their limits with on another with only one victor who won nothing but some gold coins and honor for the week.

Even the young aren't exempt from this, you know this well enough by now. Not because you became subject to the societal norms of a foreign land, but because your fiancé is the face of the nation.

The moon has long risen high above the sky, surrounded by the stars that gleam and glimmer around it. The empty heavens above are filled with the light shared between the cosmos, illuminating the earth underneath in its silvery, cool light. The evening breeze is brisk and bites against your cheek as you stand in the windowsill of your bedchambers.

Alone.

Your fiancé would have arrived long before the sun had completely set; every evening since you got here was spent with him because he promised that you wouldn't be alone so long as you stayed in Castrum Kremnos. And, now knowing him better than you had before, you realize that Mydeimos is a man—boy—of his word.

The gentle chirp of crickets in the gardens below and the occasional 'hoot' of an owl nearby are the only things you hear aside from the quiet clicks of the ornate clock on the wall of your chamber. One chirp, two… Where could Mydeimos could have gone?

Quietly, your small feet pad gently against the tiled floor of your bedchambers until you're met with the large, gilded door leading to the grand hallway outside. It would be quicker to call for a maid to check on your missing fiancé, but there's always a chance that they wouldn't even listen to you; they could easily lie to you and say Mydeimos was simply asleep in his room and usher you back to your bedroom.

You had to see for your own eyes.

With a quick tug of the large door, you're out and into the empty hallway before you know it. It doesn't take long to find Mydeimos' door. Despite the daunting size of the large halls, you find his door with ease; his chambers are not far from yours and, with the lack of any aids roaming the halls, you're able to slip easily into your fiancé's bedroom without so much as a creak from the door.

And you're met with the sight of something so heart wrenching for a young child to ever witness.

Drips of blood taint the tiled floors of Mydeimos' bedchambers, leaving a trail of ruby droplets from the door to the bedside. There, laying haphazardly on the bed with barely enough of his small body on the mattress, lay your fiancé with scratches and scrapes littering his poor body from what you can see. His blond hair is a mess over his head; the tousled strands cover his face and are matted in some places from dirt and sweat. He's breathing heavily with his eyes closed, as if it were hard to get any sort of breath into his small frame.

One step.

Two.

Your body moves on its own before you could will it, the only thought in your mind being to get to his side.

"Crown Prince." Your voice is barely a whisper, fear bubbling at the edge of your throat as if anything louder would break your fiancé into a million pieces. "What happened to you?"

He doesn't respond.

Your hand, small and unblemished, gently brush aside his hair from his face. Dirt and blood cake his skin and the source of the blood on the floor comes from his nose. With caution, you slowly turn Mydeimos to the side as to prevent the blood from going back up.

Your small heart hammers against your chest as you frantically glance around the room for anything to help the small boy curled up at the side of his bed. In the state of your panic, your legs lead you to the washroom where you grab a spare towel stored in the cupboard and quickly dampen it before returning.

With the limited supplies that you had, you manage to clean up the wounds that litter Mydeimos' skin. Luckily, no wound was deep enough to cause any worry and were majority scrapes, minus the nosebleed that scared you half to death. As your eyes scan over your fiancé's small frame, you prepare to leave his side for a brief moment; though you trust your judgement for his wounds, there's no harm in a second opinion from someone who knows the human body better than you do.

However, as your body begins to slip off the side of the large mattress, a hand clings to the end of your nightgown.

"Don't leave me," Mydeimos whispers out quietly. "Please."

And so you do, remaining by his side while his hand gently grasps the edge of your nightgown. It's quiet; not a word or sound is heard from either body in the room.

"Could I ask what happened?" You break the silence, turning to look over at the boy who lay beside you. When he doesn't respond, you continue to speak. "If you want to tell me, that is. I will not pressure you."

Mydeimos averts his gaze from yours; this is the first time since you've come here that he has willingly shied away from your eyes. There's a hint of pink that threatens to burn at the tip of his ears and a gloss that shines over his golden eyes. "My father said there's no such thing as empathy in the ancient Kremnoan language. I'm a failure to him for fearing death, and I will gain nothing by having kindness in my heart.

"I'm not fit to be Crown Prince of Castrum Kremnos."

His words shatter your own heart, not because they hurt you but because who could say that to anyone, let alone your own son. You can hear the tears fall from his face before you could see them; the break in his small voice was enough to tell you everything.

"…There might not be any words in ancient Kremnoan to describe empathy," You begin. Your hand slowly reaches over to hold onto Mydeimos' in an attempt to comfort whatever you could. A wave of relief washes over you when he takes it into his own—the rough callouses on his palm tell a story you could never imagine living through. "But there are in mine.

"We're fiancés, aren't we? What's mine is yours, and if the Kremnoan language cannot offer you the comfort you seek, then please find it in mine. We made a promise to be by each other's side, did we not?"

Aureate seas finally meet your gaze and for the first time you're really hit with the reality that Mydeimos is only a few years older than you. He is a child grieving that he will never live up to his father's expectations no matter how hard he tries and a child forced to endure severe punishment for simply living.

You made a promise to yourself that night as Mydeimos cried holding your hand in the large expanse of his mattress—to return the oath he made to you until the day the two of you willingly part ways. He will not suffer alone so long as you remain by his side.

NOONTIDE.

The flowers have bloomed, opening up their beautiful and bright petals and stretch towards the sun to let its golden rays warm up their stems and bring them life. The birds have woken from their slumber by now and sing merry songs that fill the brisk morning air as if they, too, were celebrating this day.

Spring welcomes the birth of Mydeimos with flora and fauna alike.

To honor his 18th birthday as the Crown Prince of Castrum Kremnos, King Eurypon has thrown a coming-of-age ceremony. In the name of the royal family, King Eurypon had ordered it to be the grandest of this century for the Sun had blessed the day Mydeimos was born. Thus, the palace has been in a state of hectic panic; maids bustle back and forth as they clean and polish every nook and cranny while butlers and aids double check the inventory for decorations and place them where they deemed fit.

You barely have time to even see your fiancé in passing; whatever little time you had already with him has dwindled down to quick greetings in the halls before Mydeimos is called elsewhere for lessons on etiquette or meetings about the kingdom's politics or perhaps another training session for the young prince.

Luckily, your evening meetings in each other's bedchambers remain untouched. No matter how high the moon hung in the sky, as soon as Mydeimos finishes his laboring schedule, he would always find his way to your chambers with two glasses of milky pomegranate juice to share as the two of you wind down for the evening, divulging in one another of the day's drama or news.

The night of Mydeimos' birthday banquet is barely beginning and yet the palace has never been in such a frenzied state; every body residing in the main palace scurries to get all the finer details set in place while the ones in your annex rush to get every clothing and accessory pinned to your body before it is too late for the guests expecting you.

Eleni, one of your handmaidens, cinches the the back of your dress, pulling the ribbons that cross your lower back taut to accentuate your waist. Her hands, worn with use despite her young age, are deft and skillful as they dance across the silks that drape over your body.

"My apologies, My Lady," she says in a soft voice when she tightens part of the dress a little too tight.

Angeliki, another of your handmaidens, brushes soft creams against your skin to accentuate the beautiful features already gracing your face and to ensure that you will be the most beautiful flower blooming beside your fiancé tonight. Her own weathered hands treat you with such tenderness, as if you would wilt if she pressed the bristles of the brush too hard into your skin.

"You'll look most precious tonight, My Lady," Angeliki coos as she coats your lips in a beautiful hue of pink. "The Crown Prince will awe at your radiance tonight."

"Do you think?" you ask curiously, peering down towards the shiny silks being tended to by Eleni. "I think I'll be quite plain next to my prince. Nothing catches his gaze besides a sharp sword to play with during training."

"Nonsense, my lady!" Eleni pipes in, standing up almost immediately. Her emerald eyes gleam with determination and you're taken aback by the fire blazing in her soul. "Have you not seen the way the Crown Prince gazes at you?"

"Like I'm a nuisance?" You jest, but that only fires Eleni up even more.

"Don't say that, My Lady! I see the way the Crown Prince looks at you; it's nothing but-"

"Eleni," Angeliki interjects sternly. She shoots the younger handmaiden a sharp look , a warning, and Eleni closes her mouth.

"My apologies for yelling, My Lady. But I will stand by what I said. You're most magnificent tonight."

When you finally look in the mirror, you can hardly recognize yourself. Staring back at you is a completely different woman. Your hair is tucked neatly into a loose bun with strands cascading down the side of your face to frame it delicately. A branch of golden laurel sits behind your head, emerging from your bun like a ray of golden sun peaking through the horizon.

Red silks drape over your body in an elegant dress; the sleeves begin off of your shoulders and cascade down your elbow in a beautiful sea of crimson satin and the skirt falls from you waist like a deep ruby waterfall. There are gold accents lining the edges of the refined fabric as if painted with the brush of a skilled calligrapher.

In short, you look fitting to be Mydeimos' betrothed, the fiancée of the Crown Prince of Castrum Kremnos. For tonight, at least.

As Eleni and Angeliki finish the final touches on your outfit for the evening, there's a firm knock at your door and a voice that you're way too familiar with announces his arrival. With hurried steps, Angeliki rushes to open the door, and you're met with your fiancé face to face.

He's much taller than he was when he was a child; his height now towers over you and his body has grown much broader as he continues to hone his skills as a Kremnoan warrior. His usual messy blond hair is tied back neatly, the hair that usually frames his face is plaited back and pinned by a golden laurel that resembles your own and leaves his handsome features open for everyone to see.

Crimson fabric adorns his body, matching your shade in every which way; it wouldn't be hard to connect two and two together when you walk in with clothes that complement one another. Despite the grace of the exquisite cloth over his skin, it serves as a nice contrast to the defined muscles, pure proof of his discipline as the Kremnoan prince, hidden underneath.

And eyes of amber that you could recognize anywhere in a sea of unfamiliar faces settle on you and only you.

"Excuse my intrusion, My Betrothed," Mydeimos speaks, the timbre of his voice already brings you comfort to the nerves beginning to spike as the birthday banquet grows nearer. "But it's time for us to part."

He holds out his hand for you to take it.

And you do.

As Mydeimos guides you through your annex and into the main palace, your hand clings gently to his strong arm as your heels clack against the cobblestone beneath your feet. His bicep is firm underneath your grip, and your mind wanders elsewhere; how did he get so big before your own eyes? He couldn't have grown in his sleep had he?

A hand, large and rough from years of swordsmanship and combat training, settles over your forearm, grabbing your attention.

"What's on your mind?" Mydeimos asks, his voice carrying the soft tone that's always present when speaking to you.

"Nothing much," you muse with a soft smile. "It's just hard to believe you're already coming of age, Your Highness."

"How so?" You don't have to look, but you know his gaze is on you. You can feel the tender smile that gradually grows on his lips, only widening when hesitance dances on your tongue.

"It seems like yesterday you were the size of a measly shrimp. Tell me, how'd you get so big?" You gently squeeze his arm to emphasize your point. "Though, in my eyes you're still that scrawny little boy who comes into my room with new scrapes for me to tend to."

Mydeimos chuckles softly beside you, bumping into you in response to your teasing words. "Funny. I don't recall you ever changing. You still look at me as if you're about to cry like when we were younger."

You roll your eyes with a scoff. "Please. At least I'm pretty now, aren't I?" You bat your eyelashes at the end of your sentence to emphasize your statement. His expression doesn't move, and instead you're met with the soft exhale of his breath and a hand that gently fixes the stray hair that flies from your head.

"You always have been."

Expecting him to continue your lighthearted banter, his quick and earnest reply shocks you. Yet, all you see is the gentle, sincere sea of gold peering back as if urging you to wade deeper into them. Heat rises to your face but before you could say anything in return, the doors leading into the banquet hall open and you're thrust into the clamor of the party.

It doesn't take long for you to be separated from Mydeimos the moment you stepped into the banquet hall. With many nobles desperate to get a good word in from your fiancé, they clamber over him and when push comes to shove you're pulled away from your one anchor of safety.

The hall is beautiful and pristine; the maids and butlers did a wonderful job ensuring that its beauty truly shone through. The grand chandelier hangs gracefully above the center of the hall with its crystal like charms stretching across the ceiling like the web of a spider. The thousands, if not millions, of candles cast a warm, sparkling light below where other nobles chatted among themselves or dance in the arms of another.

As butlers and maids scamper quietly here and there to refill any snacks or drinks where the refreshments were, a small chamber orchestra made of primarily strings fill the hall with their sonorous harmonies. There's chatter among the guests; most are lighthearted and others drunk off of their minds, laughing boisterously at the unfunny jokes the older nobles tell.

And there are some that whisper behind your back. As expected of someone of your current standing, your position is only temporary and not quite protected by law. Fueled by spite and jealousy of being betrothed to the one and only Crown Prince of Castrum Kremnos, of course poisonous words would drift through the crowd and into your line of hearing.

"How did she remain as the Crown Prince's betrothed?"

"Isn't she the daughter of an unnamed noble family? How embarrassing."

"I would do better as the Crown Princess, wouldn't you think?"

"What a hideous Princess we have."

Princess. The name settles into your skin like toxins flowing into your body, making you shudder. It's all bark and no bite; at the end of the day you remain the fiancée of Mydeimos and they are not. But their words hurt no less.

Your palms begin to clam up from the unwanted attention and you squeeze your fingers on the skirt of your dress in hopes of appearing calm and poised. You will not stoop to their level, not yet.

The melody sung by the violins begins to soar, reaching the highest crescendo as it signifies the climax of this waltz and the curious eyes belonging to a stranger that happen to catch yours from across the hall. There's a glimmer in his gaze that unnerves you; a chill shoots down your body and the hair at the back of your neck prickles almost immediately. You quickly avert your attention away from the unfamiliar man in hopes of losing his interest.

Yet, fate laughs hysterically in your face as he strides over with confidence overflowing in every step and your heart drops.

"My Lady," he greets you, bowing with a gloved hand on his chest. As he lifts his head, there's mischief dancing in his eyes. It does nothing to stop the pit from growing in your stomach. He tells you his name, but behind the string orchestra and your nerves frayed beyond compare, it flies over your head. "It's a pleasure meeting you." He reeks of alcohol.

"As is mine," you reply tersely. Apprehension seeps through your bones as the unfamiliar man offers his hand to you. Not causing a scene is your biggest priority here, but to have your first dance with a man that isn't your betrothed and to ignore every fiber of your body yelling at you to get away from him was another story.

But before he could even muster his dreadful question, a hand you're way too familiar with wraps around your own. He tugs you behind him and all you can see now is the broad expanse of your fiancé's back as he stands between you and the stranger from before.

And you find yourself relieved.

At the sight of your betrothed, the strange man steps back, stammering a half-hearted apology before scampering away to the other side of the hall where he would be farthest away from the two of you. When the coast was clear, you could see Mydei's posture relax for only a mere moment before he turns back around.

The first thing you see are his golden eyes sweeping over your body as if surveying for anything the unknown man could have inflicted on you in his absence. When he finds you unscathed, he finally meets your gaze again. Contrition swims in the endless seas of gold and sends a wave of warmth cascading over your skin. To know that he cares this much is a surprising feeling.

But it isn't unwelcome.

"Forgive me, My Betrothed," Mydeimos begins, stretching out his hand to you in a pose you're all too familiar with. "Can I redeem myself for being late with a dance?"

Your fiancé leads you through the exuberant, upbeat tempo of the polka played by the string orchestra. His hand is bare against your own and every callous is felt underneath your skin. It's rough, evidence of every single weapon he has learned under the direction of his father, but they are nothing but gentle and careful when pressed against your palm.

Both of your feet move quickly to the cut time of the music; left foot forward, then right follows, stepping back with your left, and then repeat.

"Shouldn't you focus more on your dance partner?" Mydeimos murmurs in front of you as the polka comes to its final cadence, and it was only then do you realize that your eyes were locked on your feet rather than the man dancing with you.

"Oh, I apologize. I was so focused on not making a fool of myself that I may have neglected you," You say quickly, bowing your head. Your betrothed hums in response, taking your hand in his when the chamber orchestra begins their next song; a slower waltz.

As your fiancé guides you through the andante of the next dance, your eyes meet his and it's hard to ignore the glimmer in his own. Was it from the lustrous chandelier twinkling above you or from something you don't want to recognize, you don't know and you don't plan to.

"Are you alright?" Mydeimos inquires, his gaze never leaving yours as the two of you sway gently to the soft lilts of the waltz. The music swells up and Mydeimos swings you away from him, only to pull you back when the strings settle back at the downbeat. There's a gentle squeeze to your palm and your heart lurches at the feeling.

"Nothing, just," You take a breath before responding, "Just a bit overwhelmed."

Your fiancé doesn't say anything, only opting to watch over you as if reading through the thoughts in your mind. A couple beats of rests, and like an anacrusis pivoting into the final phrase, he asks you one simple question.

"Why don't we leave after this dance?"

—

The night air is cool and it nips at your skin as you rush down the winding halls of the main palace. It's a bit dark, only a few candles here and there illuminate the never ending halls with barely enough light to see where your feet are stepping. The ethereal glow of the moon shines through the sheer curtained windows of the halls as if guiding you to your destination.

There's nothing but the quiet steps of your feet against the rug lining down the hall; the chatter of the party a mere memory now with the distance created. And yet, even as the chill of the night brushes against your cheeks, you're nothing but warm from both the exhilaration of escaping the stuffy banquet hall and from the hand holding yours through it all.

Your uneven breaths seem to catch the Crown Prince's attention, only then does he begin to slow down for your sake. Your fiancé's pace matches yours with ease and as you loosen your grip from his hand, the fear of being left behind in the dust now dissipating, his grip doesn't.

And it never does until he finally leads you to a small room on the higher levels of the main palace. It's especially quiet now with only your breaths filling the emptiness of the hall. The door is a bit older than the rest of the main palace, perhaps a forgotten storage space because of how isolated it was from the main bustle of the building. The wood has seen better days and it creaks to life once your fiancé opens it with ease.

Mydeimos helps you into the room, warning you of the step to get in. The room is dark and a bit cramped; piles of old books clutter the floors of the old room alongside two aged, leather chairs in the middle beside a low coffee table. There's a laced doily decorating the table and a vase with a small bouquet of white flowers resting within. Despite the timeworn appearance of the finer details, the room seems well taken care of.

Approaching the white blooms, your fingers gently graze the petals that fade to a soft pink hue.

"Cretan tulips," Mydeimos breaks the silence as he steps beside you. "My mother's birthday gift for me."

"How is she faring?" You inquire, pulling your fingers away. "Last I heard, she was bedridden and couldn't make it to your banquet."

There's hesitance in your betrothed's movements. He doesn't say anything at first, lips parting as his eyes glance downward deep in thought. His eyes trail to one of the aged chairs in the room; the leather is worn with use, but even you could tell the memories it holds in every crease.

"She's not well, truthfully," Mydeimos begins. His voice is small, an unfamiliar timbre. "I worry she won't make it to the next spring."

The news is heavy as it settles over your shoulders. Your hand reaches over to hold Mydeimos' once more; you squeeze his gently in comfort. There's something somber swimming in his eyes, one that you know you will never be able to chase away no matter how much you try.

Alone and scared, like he was all those years ago trembling in his room.

"I still mean what I said when we were younger," you tell him in the quiet of the night. Your voice, small yet deafening at the same time. "I'll be by your side until forever. Your worries will be mine to share as to alleviate the weight on your shoulders."

Mydeimos doesn't say anything and instead offers you a smile; it's not one that reaches his eyes, but it's enough to show the sincere gratitude for your comfort.

"Forgive me, I did not bring you here to sully the mood," Mydeimos tells you. With a gentle tug of your hand, your fiancé pulls you through the homey clutter of the room and to the window built into the stone walls.

As your eyes gaze out into the horizon, you're met with the most significant view. Outside lay the entire city of Castrum Kremnos; the city sprawls across the horizon where life bustled beyond what they eye could see. The lights of city life twinkle vibrantly, rivaling the endless sea of stars that dance above you.

"It's beautiful," your words are a mere whisper as you stare in awe at the exuberant city life below you.

"Isn't it?"

Turning from the window, you're met with seas of gold peering back at you, unmoving yet shining with something you can't quite put your finger on. His gaze flits around you, dancing on every inch of your face as if unsure of where or what to look at. Whatever he was trying to convey makes your heart flutter and you're the first to break away from his stare.

"That reminds me," you begin as the warmth floods your chest and face, "I got you something for today." Your fingers pull out a small, velvet box and hold it out for your prince. He takes it in his own hands and, with gentle fingers, he opens it.

Inside lay a pair of earrings; gold shaped in the form of a diamond encasing a deep, azure sapphire and golden streams dropping below the blue gem. It's beautiful and shines brilliantly even with just the soft light of the moon glowing through the window.

"Happy birthday, Mydeimos."

With delicate movements, your betrothed lifts up one of the sapphire earrings. "May I?" Confusion eats away at your expression, but you give a slight nod and Mydeimos is moving with slow, calculated movements. His fingers brush against the skin of your jaw as he quickly fastens the earring to your right ear. When he's finished, his fingers trail down the drop of the earring until it slips from his fingertip.

"So that I will be reminded of who has my other half… Thank you, I will cherish this birthday forever, Princess."

Princess. The word echoes in the chamber of your mind and does little to settle the accelerando of your heartbeat or to the heat that threatens to reach every inch of your body.

You don't mind the way it sounds coming from him.

—

The day Mydeimos' mother passed was a depressing day. It seemed like even nature itself was mourning the life of Gorgo, the late Queen of Castrum Kremnos, for the sun did not shine for a whole week and rained through most of it as if shedding tears over her passing. The kingdom was oddly quiet; the bustling city life now dwindled down to nothing but quiet streets and hushed chatter winding through twisting roads.

The entirety of Castrum Kremnos was grieving, and yet your fiancé did not receive that luxury.

You witness this in real time; the way King Eurypon glares at his son with unabashed hatred. His regiment becomes more difficult and physically taxing with the excuse of 'political tension' and 'coming of age.' Mydeimos rarely has time to visit you at nightfall due to his unbearable schedule and on the few chances that he did come to visit you, the once vibrant seas of gold that twinkled in delight at your mere presence have dulled significantly.

His punishments have also grown in intensity; meals have been cut for any minuscule mistake whether it be not addressing another noble correctly or missing an opening during combat training. When the servants pity the poor prince, word would reach the King and they were swiftly dealt with; you don't remember the last time you saw Angeliki.

It happens early into the evening in the midst of your evening routine. The sun is barely setting over the horizon and casts your room in its warm, golden hue. It's rather peaceful as the day, for you at least, ended on a good note. With a book Mydeimos had recommended for you at the table by your window and your nightgown draped loosely over your body, the evening was sure to end with no conflicts and, hopefully, a late night visit from your fiancé.

Until the door of your bedchambers slams open and the young Eleni runs in, frantic and unkempt. Her eyes are wide open and strands of her curly hair stick out of her bun in every which way. If it were any normal circumstance, you would poke some fun at her for her disheveled appearance. But the worried expression on her face holds you back.

"Forgive me, My Lady," Eleni begins, her voice breathy, "but this is dire!"

"What has gotten you in such a panic?" You ask her, approaching the young handmaiden as she catches her breath. It takes her a few gulps of air but she eventually stands straight once more and meets your gaze almost immediately.

"My Lady, The King is planning to throw the Crown Prince into the forests," Eleni announces in all seriousness. "Tonight! With no weapons to bear as punishment for something asinine."

The news makes your heart drop to your stomach. Your eyes glance away for a second towards the sun rapidly sinking below the horizon outside your window; it will be dark tonight with the moon barely beginning to wax. Being out there would be a death sentence regardless of whether or not he is armed.

"Please, you have to stop him, My Lady! The Crown Prince will not survive if he goes; the forests at the outskirts of the kingdom are treacherous at night. Who knows what will be out there to get him," Eleni pleads with you, her voice growing more exasperated as seconds pass by.

"Help me get dressed, Eleni. Quickly."

The wind rushes past your ears as your feet pad rapidly against the cobbled floor leading into the main entrance of the main palace. As the heavy, ornate doors swing open, you're greeted with the knights restraining your fiancé by the arms. He looks worn, most likely from a training session that went beyond his limits along with further punishment from his father. His strawberry blond hair is a mess as it dangles messily in front of his face.

And yet you can see the gleam of his gold eyes behind the bloodied, matted tresses, warning you to leave him be.

As if.

"Your Majesty," Your voice shakes in fear, but it is unwavering for your devotion to your fiancé, "if I may, isn't this punishment too much?"

King Eurypon towers over you, glaring down with unfamiliar dark eyes. Despite the chill that runs through your spine, you lift your chin higher. No fear, you have to show no fear. With a deep breath, you continue.

"This is your son you are punishing, your own flesh and blood. Do you not worry that he will die out there? He is unarmed and night will fall."

The King looks at you as if you were a mere bug in his way; his glare is unmoving and his frown only deepens at your words. You hate how small you feel. "Are you aware of who you are speaking to?"

There's some rustling coming from where your fiancé was restrained. You could hear your name being said, but you did not falter in your conversation with The King.

"Yes, Your Majesty the King," You continue, "which is why it's pertinent. Is the Crown Prince not your sole heir to the throne? It would be futile if you punished him with a near death sentence."

"You would know best to not speak to me that way," King Eurypon's voice is low, a deep and powerful timbre that could swallow you whole if you made one wrong move. "A woman has no place in having authority over me. Send her back to her chambers, this conversation was useless."

"Your Majesty-!"

Your words are cut short as the guards pull you back and the last thing that you see before those doors were slammed shut in your face were tumultuous golden skies that only looked at you.

Even as minutes turn to hours and hours to days, nothing could soothe your nerves as thought after thought races through your mind of what could happen to Mydeimos out there in those forests. And when it came back to the scene with King Eurypon, you could feel the anger in your chest rising. The heat sears through your body, blinding your thoughts as King Eurypon's words echo in your mind.

'A woman has no place in having authority over me.'

Pitiful, that's what you are, and there was nothing you could do to make up for it. For The King was right, no woman would ever have the authority especially over him and your chest burns knowing this society could never let you have the freedom and power you so craved. Your eyes sting, and for the first time in a long while, you let your sobs rack through your body in frustration and anger for how useless you were in protecting the one person you promised to stay beside.

It couldn't have been more than a couple days when there was a loud noise outside of your bedchambers. The moon has long risen above the sky, barely turning into half of the crescent it was when Mydeimos was sent to his demise.

With quick steps, you make towards the entrance of your chambers. Opening the large, gilded door of your bedchambers, there's a body slumped on the floor. Blood soaks his clothes and there are undoubtedly wounds hidden underneath; how deep and severe they were was the true question. He's breathing haggardly, barely even conscious, and yet he musters the strength to glance up at the opened door.

You would have screamed if it weren't for the familiarity of gold peering into your own.

"Mydeimos!" You exclaim, kneeling down to his height. Your shaking hands push back the hair covering his face; it's sweaty and caked with liquid iron but at this point you truly do not care. Grabbing a hold of his face, you're careful in your inspection of your fiancé. He is careworn, exhaustion set deep in his gaze. And yet, when his eyes match your flitting eyes, his hardened stare seems to easily melt away and you're met face to face with the man who stood beside you from the first day you met him. "Oh Aeons above, you're alive…. What are you doing here of all places?! Did the infirmary reject you?"

Mydeimos parts his lips, chapped and dry from the forests, and his voice responds in a coarse whisper. "Forgive me. You were the first place I thought to go to."

"Are you mad?" You want to shake the life out of him for making an idiotic choice, but sincerity is laced in his words and you find you don't have the heart to, even when frustration eats away at every single nerve in your body. Despite the dire state that he's in, there's no fear evident on his face. Rather, he looks relieved to see you. "You definitely are, what am I saying."

"If it's madness to visit you first, then, please, call me insane."

You sigh, lifting your fiancé's arm around your shoulder in hopes of moving your wounded Crown Prince into the safety of your room. He's heavy, that you will not deny, but luckily Mydeimos retained a bit of strength to help alleviate his dead weight from your shoulders.

"Don't joke around with me right now," You hiss next to his ear. "Not in this state."

He collapses into one of the loveseats near the center of your room. In the brighter light, you're able to fully examine him now. There are multitude of wounds littering his body; most of them seem to be scrapes save for a larger laceration hidden underneath his shirt. You pray to Nikador that nothing was severely infected. If anything, the biggest concern was his hunger and dehydration.

"And if I'm not joking?" Mydeimos asks as pools of golden ichor trail after your body when you leave his side. You quickly return to him with a cup and jug of water. He eyes it, but doesn't move a muscle when you lift the fragile porcelain to his lips.

"Then I will plea insanity for your sake," You respond. Your fingers tilt the cup in a deliberate motion, careful not to overwhelm your fiancé with the fresh water. Seeing Mydeimos' throat bob as the water enters his system does wonders to alleviate your nerves and as he finishes you move to pour him some more.

"You haven't been sleeping," Mydeimos comments as you lift the cup once more. This time, his hand, large yet gentle, pushes your arm down and his gaze pierces through you. "Why is that?"

Setting the cup down, your fingers reach up and press gently into the puffiness of the eye bags that hang. Granted, his visit was a surprise to you so it wasn't like you had the time in the world to pretty yourself before seeing him. But you're sure you look a mess currently with the anxieties plaguing your thoughts and the tears of frustration that did not cease night after night.

"Care to take a guess?" You scoff lightly, not to be rude but to state the obvious.

Mydeimos does not answer immediately. Instead his hand encases your own and he tilts his head towards you. Truthfully, you do not want to meet his gaze. Despite his sincerity, you know deep down that because of your weakness to stand up against his father, he was in this position. But there's a squeeze of your hand, a whisper of your name.

And the walls that you've tried to hold together so desperately in front of him crumble down.

"You were gone for nearly a week, you know," You begin slowly, squeezing the hand encasing yours. He pulls you closer to him and you're now standing in the gap between his legs. His thumb rubs gentle circles across your hand and, as comforting as it is, it only tears your walls down even further. "And every passing day I wondered what I could've done to help you.

"I regret not being there, not being strong enough to fight against your father. Would you have not dealt with this if I had done anything else?" You take a shaking breath before you continue. There's the familiar stinging in your eyes, but you will yourself to not let them fall. Not yet.

"I failed you, My Prince," Your voice falters. "I couldn't do anything to help you and I feel so ashamed. And here I am, complaining about my measly feelings when you've come back from a near death experience as if I have any room to whine right now?"

His hand reaches up to your jaw; you don't move even as your betrothed wipes away the tears that have now shed without your knowledge. "You're hurt because of me, and I am so sorry. Please don't forgive me."

The tears sting the corner of your eyes and your hands meekly come up to wipe them away. But the Crown Prince is quicker than you are. Both of his hands delicately cup your face and his fingers brush away the crystalline tears that seem to never end. Your fingers wrap around his wrist as a feeble attempt to push him away; he doesn't move.

"My Princess," Mydeimos begins, his voice matching the tenderness of his gaze, "you have never hurt me. I cannot forgive you for a crime you did not commit."

A sob wracks through your body and something flashes across his expression, as if your cries alone were hurting him more than the wounds on his body ever could.

"Do not cry, I am alive, am I not? I promised to never leave your side." His voice is soothing, washing away your worries slowly with one word at a time. Maybe it's the way he speaks to you with a tone so soft and gentle, filled with nothing but his sincerity to comfort you. Or perhaps it's the way he's holding you like you're fragile, like you're cherished and adored. "As long as you're alive, then so will I. Do not shed tears for something as trivial as this punishment."

"Nothing is trivial when it comes to you, Mydeimos. Please never say that."

As your weeps echo in around your chamber, your fiancé remains by your side, even as the moon bids her farewell and the dawn greets you for another day. Every tear is swiftly wiped away and every apology is greeted with silent comfort. And yet, even as the grief strikes through your core, the worries that have plagued you before seem to dissipate with Mydeimos' mere presence by your side.

—

Your peace does not last long. Shortly after Mydeimos' return from the forests, the political tensions between Castrum Kremnos and the neighboring city of Okhema have grown. It does not take long before the pressure rises enough for war to be declared, courtesy of King Eurypon.

And with the cost of war comes with the price of men drafted to fight for the name of The King. Even your fiancé is not safe, especially as the Crown Prince.

The declaration of war unsettles the kingdom of Castrum Kremnos deeply; there are frantic whispers as people sit in their disbelief while others calmly accept their fate. A Kremnoan is not one to back from a fight, even if it is one they are not prepared for. The citizens are restless in their anxieties, and the castle is no less.

Due to the war preparations, Mydeimos' training has increased tenfold. Alongside his fellow knights and warriors, the Crown Prince has trained night and day to the point where you never did see him anymore. The glimpses you would catch would be during his sparring sessions if you so happened to walk past the training grounds within the palace.

And the one time you did catch him, exhaustion is etched in every crevice of his face. For a poor boy who had barely come of age, the pressures of his father and this oncoming conflict seemed to have aged him even more; it shows in the darkness of his eyes and unmoving frown carved into his skin.

But hope blooms in your chest when your gazes meet and the all familiar gold returns to his eyes as if it had never left. A beautiful, crystalline geode hidden within a rugged exterior; your childhood friend and ally underneath the mask of the Crown Prince.

On the night before the expedition, Mydeimos arrives outside your bedchambers at the usual time you used to meet. You're surprised to see him, honestly; with the send off being so close, you did not expect to see your fiancé so soon—if at all. Luckily, he's not dressed for training and has cleaned up before visiting you; his white nightshirt now fitting for his body and flowing loosely over his torso.

His hair is undone; the usual braid that drops at the side of his face is loose and his strawberry blond hair frames his face beautifully. His sapphire earring, the one that matches yours, dangles by his ear. It's radiant, luminous as it reflects the candlelit room like the eternal embers of the hearth of life. There's still a hint of fatigue sewn into his expression, like a permanent scar on his otherwise perfect tanned skin, but it immediately melts away upon seeing you at the other side of the door. Like the warmth of spring melting away the frigid winter snow, you've brought life to him with just your presence alone.

For a second, you get a glimpse of the bright eyed small boy he used to be and a sharp pang strikes through your heart.

"Is it too late to come and see you?" he asks you, his voice much deeper than the last time you remember it. His timbre rumbles low, almost the purr of a big cat.

"You don't have to ask, Your Highness." And, like clockwork, he walks in.

There's a comfortable silence between the both of you as you sit at the table near the window. Usually, there would be a glass of milky pomegranate juice for you to share, but tonight is different. Even the world itself knows this with the usual chirps of the crickets outside now a hushed melody and the moon hangs low in the sky with her light barely radiant as if she was too heartbroken for the next dawn.

"Do you really have to go?" You break the silence with a question, voice a mere whisper in the quiet of night. Your eyes remain locked to your lap where your fingers twist and fumble with one another.

And your heart sinks, heavy with reality, when he speaks again.

"Of course I do," Mydeimos replies, his voice alone is enough to calm you but the context of the conversation stirs the emotions in your heart. "Both as my duty as my father's son and as my pride as a Kremnoan."

There are a million thoughts that run through your mind; what if this worthless pride of his gets him killed or what if there's the chance he won't come home at all? What if the Okhemans take his life during their victory? And how much trouble would you be in if you knocked him out and ran away with him, far past the outskirts of this kingdom and away from this?

The Crown Prince exhales softly, a quiet laugh and your mind snaps back to this moment.

"Your worries are written all over your face, Princess," he speaks. You can hear the warmth dripping from his tone; there's a smile so evident in his voice and you feel your face flush from embarrassment. With that same timbre, he speaks your name as if he has known it for lifetimes. "Look at me, won't you?"

And you do.

All you can see are those endless pools of golden ichor peering back at you, molten aureate seas of candor and sincerity beckoning you to melt into them; to do nothing but have faith that you wouldn't drown in them.

"Do you remember what we vowed to each other?" he asks, gaze unwavering as he leans in closer to you.

"To always be by each other's side until the day we wed," you recite to him.

"And forevermore," Mydeimos finishes for you. "I intend to keep the promise. I'll come back victorious and meet you once again."

You bite your bottom lip as unease eats away at your nerves. Of course, your heart yearns to trust his words for he has done everything in his power to take your side in the years you've shared with him. But there will always be unprecedented circumstances that could always happen, experiences where it will lie out of both of your hands.

The thought of losing him forever terrifies you to your core.

But his eyes are unmoving and perhaps that is enough to let you fully trust him. It grounds you, reminds you of how much your fiancé has changed from the frail, thin boy who now towers over you with shoulders broader than your own. Even the loose nightshirt could not hide the expanse of muscles evident underneath and how they flex with every movement he makes.

Without a word you quickly rise from your seat, maneuvering around your chambers until you get to your nightstand. The wooden drawer slides open with ease and your fingers wrap around the white cloth inside. When you return to your betrothed's side, you realize his gaze has never left your body.

"I was hoping I wouldn't have to give this to you," you begin with bated breath. Your fingers gently play with the soft cotton of the cloth before handing it out for Mydeimos to take. "It's a little rough, but an embroidered handkerchief is considered good luck for warriors, isn't it?"

There's an accelerando in your heartbeat as a large hand gingerly picks up the unstained cloth. He unfolds it, letting the handkerchief spread open. In the corner were three embroidered elements; one golden sun and two maroon pomegranates basking underneath it.

"Of course, you don't have to keep it if it's not your cup of tea," you ramble on as your heart leaps to your throat at his silence. "I just wanted you to feel safe even when you're out-"

A whisper of your name, quiet enough to blend into the comfortable silence of the room but deafening to your ears. Your gaze snaps up to meet his and you're met with a sunset that showers you in its warmth, a heat so calming and serene that all of your worries seem to dissipate.

Gold melting into halcyon days.

"Thank you. I'll cherish it on the battlefield."

There's a moment of reprieve, a second of tranquility. And it does little to calm your now racing heart over a feeling that is far from anxiety.

DUSK.

My Princess,

How have you been doing? Has my father treated you the same? Poorly? Let me know so I can return immediately. I hope that your days have not been as busy as mine. I apologize for breaking our oath to stay beside each other, but I promise you that I will return after this war and go straight to you.

My journey has not been long, but I miss you already. The nights do not feel the same without you by my side and I always wonder what you're doing while I'm on the front lines. The only thing that brings me comfort is the handkerchief you embroidered for me, and the fact that we remain under the same sky every day.

I'll see you soon. Wait for me.

Mydeimos.

—

My Princess,

This war has been…rough for me. I promise that I will fight until my very last breath. Not because I am the son of King Eurypon and Crown Prince of Castrum Kremnos, but because I am your betrothed and we have made an oath together.

I wish to see you again, you are my only hope in this wretched war. Like the sun's rays, you will guide me back home… back to your side.

I will not fall in this war, I promise I will return to you. So do not shed any tears for me. I hate seeing you cry, and I hate it even more knowing that I am the reason.

Wait for me, I promise I will see you soon.

Mydeimos.

—

My sole Princess,

We have finally breached enemy lines and I guarantee that by the time you've received this letter we will come out victorious. I can finally put an end to this useless war and save the lives of more innocent men forced to fight for the name of their king. I've seen many disturbing sights while on this treacherous journey, and I wish you to never see them.

It will not be long before I return to you, my Princess. How has life in the palace been? It has been years since we last seen each other, will you remember how I look like? Have you changed?

Please wait for me, you will be the first person I greet when I return.

Mydeimos.

—

Four years have passed since your fiancé was sent off to war and declared victory of the war between Castrum Kremnos and Okhema. When the victory was announced, there was a moment of silence before the entire kingdom bursts in cheers loud enough that you were sure Nikador could even hear of the celebrations. But most importantly, the relief was tangible.

No more innocent lives thrown away due to a selfish and ignorant king.

News of the Crown Prince being the one to end the final battle spread like wildfire among the citizens and whispers of praise echo through the winding streets of the main city. Mydeimos is a hero in the eyes of Castrum Kremnos, and he will return with nothing but endless celebrations to commemorate the honor of victory.

The main palace is bustling with life once more as Mydeimos' celebratory banquet thrives with excited chatter and boisterous laughter. It's a happy event, much more pleasant than the previous event held in the grand banquet hall. The chandelier above remains an endless web of crystallized light and the servants are busy winding in and out of the crowd of guests eager to finally catch a glimpse of the returned hero.

"My Lady, what an honor to see you!"

"Aren't you proud of your fiancé? His honor as a Kremnoan will bring pride to us all."

"Will the wedding be held soon after this?"

"Marvelous party, My Lady. Give thanks to The King for hosting such an event."

An event you planned, but you let the empty pleasantries slide. Your hands are full entertaining guests and greeting other nobles as they crowd you with vacuous comments and hollow small talk.

Lost in the cacophonous and draining chatter of nobles you don't seem to care for, your attention is away from the announcement of a name you're all too familiar with and it isn't until the crowd surrounding you explodes in cheers that you realize who has entered the hall.

Mydeimos is much broader than the last time you saw him; though you didn't think that could be possible. He's adorned in white cloth draped over his body held in place with belts and buckles made of pure gold; a crimson cape drapes over one of his shoulders like blood smeared across a canvas. They're loose on his body, yet do nothing to hide what lay underneath. A wreath of aureate leaves sits on top of his head; a physical reminder of his status in the room and his future role as King. The blue sapphire you gifted him drops down from his left ear, sparkling as if announcing who he belonged to.

Tendrils of red ink decorate his tan skin. They're the mark of heroes, a badge of honor that only few in Castrum Kremnos get to have. Deep crimson ink make trails leading up his arms, over his chest, and dip underneath the fabric of his clothes—wherever they lead to on his body piques your curiosity. They're ethereal on him, a wonderful contrast against his otherwise perfect skin.

And your heart lurches at his eyes that are locked only on you.

The clamor of the banquet grows distant as soon as you step out into the connecting balcony and shut the large, paned door behind you. With the endless night sky above you as your only company, you finally have your moment of reprieve away from the perpetual mindless chatter of nobles and other guests. You walk towards the railing of the balcony and look over the palace gardens; paved cobblestone winding between green bushes blooming with white blossoms and a fountain built right in the center of it all.

It's beautiful, simple and peaceful with only the muffled celebrations from the banquet inside as your white noise.

"I thought I'd find you here." A familiar voice calls out to you and you turn away from the gardens to meet his gaze.

The blazing sun.

And you're burning underneath his rays.

"To think I spent all these years in war, and I didn't get a single greeting?" He's much less intimidating up close compared to the banquet hall with thousands of eyes on him. However, it could be because he's alone here with you. There's a twinkle in his eye and a small smile curls at the corner of his lips. Handsome and boyish. "Did you forget me already?"

"How could I ever?" You respond back with a smile of your own. Heavy footsteps walk towards you and you find Mydeimos leaned against the railing beside you. He's close enough where you can catch a whiff of his scent—clean, floral with hints of musk and bergamot— and feel his elbow bumping into yours. He's warm; you are too, but you're beginning to doubt if it's because you're naturally warm.

Or because he's here.

"I'm glad to see you again," you tell him as you cast your gaze back up into the night sky. The evening breeze brushes past the two of you, cool and brisk, and Mydeimos takes this moment to remove the scarlet cape and drape it over your own shoulders. His scent engulfs you; his warmth a residue of his own body over yours.

Your heart thrums against your eardrums.

"I thought about you everyday, you know," Mydeimos confesses beside you and your breath hitches.

"How so?" You stammer out, words nearly toppling over one another. "Like how I used to cry over silly things?"

"In a way," Mydeimos agrees and you frown at his response. "But more so because I missed you, and I hate seeing you cry especially if I know it's because of me."

Normally, his honesty would barely phase you, but something in the way that he speaks to you sets a storm of butterflies free in your stomach. perhaps it's from the buzz of the banquet or because you've finally reunited with him after all these years waiting for his return.

Or maybe it's because he's so close to you. When had he leaned down to hear you better and when was his face so close to yours?

"Would you hate me if I asked for a kiss to celebrate?" he asks, voice low and quiet but never has he been so clear.

Your heart beats wildly against your chest, an accelerando that has gone way too fast way too quick and you cannot stop your eyes from staring at his lips only mere inches away. You nod.

His lips find yours with ease and all of the feelings you've built up from the moment you first met seems to bloom, melting into the kiss. He feels so comforting, everything feels so perfect and so right when it comes to him. He feels like your home, your only place to be free. And you don't ever want to leave.

When he pulls away, there are no words spoken. The only sound filling the silence are your quiet breaths intermingling with one another. Molten gold peer down at you, half lidded and taking in your every movement. There's residue of your lip stain on his lips and your fingers reach up to wipe it off.

A large hand encases your wrist, holding it in place while Mydeimos turns his head and presses another kiss to the palm of your hand. Heat blooms in your chest; your heart is soaring across the heavens above and you're worried it'll never come down if he continues this.

"Mydeimos… My Prince, I think I have fallen for you." Your voice is breathy and light, almost in disbelief at the words you've just spoken.

At first, Mydeimos doesn't say anything. Instead, his brows furrow as confusion etches itself across his face. "We've been engaged for over a decade and will wed soon."

Your face flushes at his words. "I-I know! It's just… I never realized what I was feeling towards you until now."

Your prince laughs softly, a chuckle that is carried off into the wind like a melody only you are meant to hear. He releases your wrist, only to reach up and brush away a strand of hair that has gone astray. He's warm, and basking in his unyielding attention makes you warmer.

"Then the feelings are returned. For you've ruined me, I cannot go a day without thinking of you. And now that we're together again, I never wish to be apart again, my wife."

His words echo in the chambers of your mind as he leans down once more to kiss you again underneath the light of the moon. And you're reminded again and again of the love you hold for him as well as the affections harbored for you through the lifetime that you've known one another. His hand cups your jaw, holding you as if you were his last drop of moonlight in the depths of an eternal night.

For he is your eternity, his solace, and you are his.