with enough believers, lies become reality

you hey number neighbor! hope youre having a good night :) xxx-xxx-xx3 Please stop texting this number.  you huh xxx-xxx-xx3 I'm a 45 year old male and this is my work number; I don't have time to deal with unemployed people like you.  Do not contact me again. you fuck im so sorry message failed to send

ah. he actually blocked you.

you let out a breathless laugh into your pillow, face burning from embarrassment. “oh my god.”

well. that went horribly.

but now you're fully awake, and the adrenaline of getting instantly rejected by some 45 year old man (you hope he isn't too peeved about that..) has you feeling reckless. 

after all, there's still the 5.

you copy the number, change the last digit – again, a five this time – and send the text before you can overthink it.

you okay i hope you arent a 45 year old man this time too because my other number neighbor just blocked me lmao anyway hi number neighbor !! (take two) xxx-xxx-xx5 ?? who is this?? and why are you texting me at 2am about middle aged men ^-^ you im your number neighbor 😔 our numbers are the same except the last digit xxx-xxx-xx5 hold on you holding xxx-xxx-xx5 WAIT OMG THEY ARE you see im not insane xxx-xxx-xx5 debatable you disliked this message and wow your other neighbor blocked you immediately? that’s embarrassing for you you i don't need another person to tell me 💔💔 xxx-xxx-xx5 too bad i'm telling you you okay dude xxx-xxx-xx5 you know what vibe you give off (^-^) you what xxx-xxx-xx5 small and grumpy

you snort quietly into your blanket.

if you have to say so, there's something stupidly easy about texting this person, even if it's only been a few messages. the texts come quick, like they're typing the second they get yours instead of leaving you on read for a bit. half teasing, half genuinely interested it appears.

you hesitate, fingers stalling on the keyboard before hurriedly replying.

you first of all  im not grumpy xxx-xxx-xx5 if not grumpy you texted strangers at 2am that, btw, automatically makes you a little weird you says the person answering xxx-xxx-xx5 touché ;) you liked this message but what made you text me well me and the 45 yr old man you couldn't sleep you? xxx-xxx-xx5 my practice ran late bones aching and muscles sore brain is still awake you practice for what and what the fuck is that a fucking haiku xxx-xxx-xx5 secret ;) fucking and fucking yes fucking it's fucking a fucking haiku you i literally said it twice. you are so dramatic 🫩 xxx-xxx-xx5 thank you! ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) 

you roll your eyes – dramatic is honestly the perfect word for them. and as for those blasted emoticons, kaomojis, whatever you call them-

in any case, every message sent through from them somehow feels like they can't help making everything sound theatrical, even through text.

your phone vibrates again before you can answer.

xxx-xxx-xx5 WAIT what if YOURE actually a 45 year old man trying to lure me into a false sense of security!? you yeah definitely that's exactly what's happening xxx-xxx-xx5 i knew it you CON ARTIST you go to sleep grandma xxx-xxx-xx5 grandma??? 😨 i'm youthful and radiant actually (≧◡≦) and i'd be grandpa you gramps, only old people say youthful and radiant xxx-xxx-xx5 and you have experience with that you omfg no xxx-xxx-xx5 wow this relationship is becoming toxic  you swear like a sailor (⇀‸↼‶) you this is not a relationship 😭 arr me hearties xxx-xxx-xx5 wow okay way to friendzone me you we're not even friends xxx-xxx-xx5 YOU'RE SO CRUEL you goodnight annoying neighbor you changed xxx-xxx-xx5 to annoying neighbour 🙄 annoying neighbour 🙄 get rid of that emoji i’m begging you that is gruesome you no i’d rather not annoying neighbour 🙄 well then annoying neighbour 🙄 changed xxx-xxx-xx4 to oh so lovely neighbour (˘ ³˘) annoying neighbour 🙄 now we're matching you i actually don't mind that tbh annoying neighbour 🙄 liked this message

you fall asleep smiling at your phone despite yourself.

the next morning, you wake up late. obviously not because you went to sleep past three am.

your phone is at 12%, and there's a text waiting for you.

annoying neighbour 🙄 good morning! •⩊• did the 45 yr old text you back yet?

you snort, a little huff of laughter escaping your mouth.

you no 💔 he blocked me remember annoying neighbour 🙄 oh yes i should do that stranger danger you know.. you oh stfu why are YOU awake this early annoying neighbour 🙄 stop with that attitude some of us are productive members of society you i don’t believe that for two seconds annoying neighbour 🙄 then believe it for one

the next few days, texting him weirdly becomes part of your routine, first nature.

well, you still don't know their name, or age, or what they look like (a boy, apparently), but you know quite a lot at the same time.

like how they're the type to talk with their hands because they spam texts in bursts instead of one message, and you know they complain dramatically when they're hungry, you know they're competitive about literally everything, and-

yeah, you could go on.

annoying neighbour 🙄 just beat my friend at mario kart btw im basically a professional athlete you that is not athleticism. annoying neighbour 🙄 that's wrong actually! my thumbs are incredibly talented you that sounded gross annoying neighbour 🙄 OH MY GOSH NOT LIKE THAT?? why is your mind so dirty (¯ ¯٥) you reacted ! to this message 

you never send selfies, but they never ask either. however, sometimes you catch yourself wondering,

wondering if their grin is as smug as it sounds through text,

wondering what kind of expression they make when they type all these stupid dramatic messages, 

wondering if your luck is crazy enough that they have an extremely attractive face.

judging by your luck so far, though, probably not.

one friday night, you're brushing your teeth when your phone buzzes from where it lies on the sink counter.

annoying neighbour 🙄 EMERGENCY you what annoying neighbour 🙄 i need you to settle an argument you why me :/ annoying neighbour 🙄 because i trust strangers on the internet  obviously you that sounds unsafe who would even think! of texting on in the first place?? annoying neighbour 🙄 liked this message annoying neighbour 🙄 my friend says mint chocolate chip ice cream tastes like toothpaste tell him he's wrong you LMAO i'm brushing my teeth right now what a coincidence your friend is right actually annoying neighbour 🙄 blocked.

you grin.

you wow first the 45 yr old now this everyone keeps abandoning me 🤧 annoying neighbour 🙄 you deserve it for your horrible opinions you you're so dramatic annoying neighbour 🙄 you've said!  you do continue texting me every day though ⸜( ˙˘˙)⸝ now go brush your teeth, i bet they're stinky.. you oh shut up

then you pause, because he’s right; every day. without really meaning to, it's become constant.

whether it's during class, or late at night, while shopping, when he's apparently ‘at practice’.

you're still not one hundred percent sure what sport he plays, but you're beginning to suspect volleyball purely because of how often he complains about his shoulders, since you're somewhat knowledgeable on the sport.

and also, because one time he texted:

‘if one more person tells me serves are easy i'm going to lose it.’

this time, you're sitting in your kitchen eating cereal straight from the box when another text comes through.

annoying neighbour 🙄 i think my teammate is trying to kill me. you HELLO?? annoying neighbour 🙄 he spiked a ball directly at my face i'm sure it was on purpose (◑_◑) you oh so you do play volleyball .. wait did i guess right annoying neighbour 🙄 shit you HAHAAHAHHA annoying neighbour 🙄 don't laugh at me i liked being mysterious and all that you there is nothing mysterious about the way you text 😭😭 annoying neighbour 🙄 wow.

you stifle a laugh, then return to your cereal.

not even a minute later, though-

annoying neighbour 🙄 for the record i'm very mysteriously good looking ᵔ.ᵔ

you nearly choke on cereal. the confidence on this man..

that night you're walking home from the convenience store when your phone buzzes – again.

annoying neighbour 🙄 bad news you what now annoying neighbour 🙄 i think my teammate stole my knee pads you just confirming this is the same teammate who spiked a ball into your head and said mint chocolate chip ice cream tastes like toothpaste right annoying neighbour 🙄 YES you cool why would someone steal knee pads tho 😭 annoying neighbour 🙄 jealousy  envy obsession need i go on you no thanks  annoying neighbour 🙄 you wound me (╥﹏╥)

you smile, fingers typing back a snarky response, but then, then-

someone bumps into your shoulder, hard, and your phone nearly slips out of your hand as you nearly faceplant onto the concrete.

“sorry,” the stranger mutters, barely glancing back before continuing down the sidewalk.

you frown, then glance at your phone. you type out a response again.

you bro someone walked into me and nearly knocked me over

and at the exact same time you send it-

annoying neighbour 🙄 OMG i just saw someone almost eat shit on the sidewalk ⊙﹏⊙

you stop dead in your tracks.

that.. can't be a coincidence, right?

slowly, you look up.

across the street, near the crosswalk, a tall guy in a white hoodie is staring at his phone.

then he looks up too.

and even from this far away, you can see the way he freezes up.

no. way.

your heart starts pounding, frantically panging against your chest in a quick rhythm.

nope. absolutely not. there's no fakaashing way.

you start to type again, but slower this time, fingers hesitantly pressing each letter.

you if you're wearing a hoodie by chance what colour is it annoying neighbour 🙄 white you oh my god that better not be you standing there.

you stare across the street in horror, and the guy lowers his phone slowly.

then the light changes, and instead of crossing toward you-

he immediately turns around and starts walking fast the opposite direction.

like, fast. really fast.

your jaw drops, not at the speed (although shit, it is insanely quick) but at the fact he's literally running away.

you DID YOU JUST RUN AWAY?? annoying neighbour 🙄 SELF DEFENSE you WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN annoying neighbour 🙄 this is too much pressure suddenly Ծ_Ծ i wasn't emotionally prepared to find out you're like actually real

you burst out laughing. people stare, but you don't even remotely care.

annoying neighbour 🙄 so you were the one that nearly ate shit.. you oh hush you changed annoying neighbour 🙄 to run(a)way queen run(a)way queen i would complain but that's sort of genius you i know run(a)way queen changed oh so lovely neighbour (˘ ³˘) to shit eater :p you im not playing you better fucking change that right now before i chase after you. run(a)way queen oh please like you could catch me you YOU HAVE 5 SECONDS run(a)way queen OKAY OKAY run(a)way queen changed shit eater :p to run after queen you really run(a)way queen hey i had no ideas it's better than shit eater you you mean akaashiit had no ideas akaashiit oops run(a)way queen what the

after that, things get worse, or better – you're not entirely sure.

because now there's a face attached to the texts.

okay, well. sort of. you really only saw him for maybe.. three seconds?

tall, brown hair (you believe; it was hard to tell from only the faint light of the streetlamps) and that white hoodie.

also,the most obnoxiously smug posture you've ever seen in your life.

you you literally fled the scene like a criminal omg are you a criminal run(a)way queen listen i panicked you mhm sure  run(a)way queen AND YOU WERE SHORT??? like i've been calling you short but damn you really are this is the best day of my life you blocked. run(a)way queen NO WAIT

you still don't exchange names though. mostly because now it's become weirdly funny not to.

he calls you gremlin, menace, shortstack, the likes.

you call him drama queen, pretty boy, loser, read more.

he reacts quite strongly to pretty boy, which is suspicious.

one night he randomly sends:

run(a)way queen be honest am i your favorite person to text you absolutely not run(a)way queen you replied in 4 seconds btw （˶′◡‵˶）

and with that, you promptly yeet deposit throw your phone across the bed.

sometimes, he disappears for hours, usually after ‘practice’, but that's understandable since you're busy too.

then he comes back texting like nothing happened.

run(a)way queen im alive you congrats here's a golden star ⭐️ run(a)way queen wow no concern for my wellbeing?? you ?i gave you a star what more do you want dude run(a)way queen heartless (ᗒᗣᗕ)՞ you whered u go anyway run(a)way queen match you did you win?

the pause that follows is long enough that you think he won't answer, then:

run(a)way queen yeah :) you good job then i'm sure you played well 

three whole minutes pass.

run(a)way queen careful there! you almost sounded nice (≧◡≦) you JUST LET ME COMPLIMENT YOU 🫩

a few days later, you're sitting in class half asleep when your phone vibrates under the desk.

run(a)way queen EMERGENCY PART 2 you if this is about ice cream again i'm blocking you for real this time run(a)way queen dead sirius?? ( ͠° ͟ʖ ͡°) you you didn't. run(a)way queen ANYWAY worse i think one of my classmates has a crush on me and is planning to confess later

you blink.

why does that annoy you a little..

you okay? run(a)way queen okay?? that's all u have to say? you what do you want me to say 😭 run(a)way queen idk maybe cry a little (˶‾᷄ ⁻̫ ‾᷅˵) you and why would i cry run(a)way queen good question actudnf fkrmtm

you stare.

yeah.. he definitely got his phone taken away.

frowning, you lock your phone harder than necessary.

stupid. that's stupid. you don't even know this guy!

later that evening, he texts again.

run(a)way queen sorry i got my phone taken (◑_◑) you yes i could tell run(a)way queen i rejected her

your fingers pause over the keyboard – it's funny how you know what he's talking about straight away.

you why are you reporting this information to me like i'm your manager  run(a)way queen because secrets aren't good in relationships! you there's that word again..

you hate how warm your face feels.

the first actual real conversation happens accidentally.

you're out in the rain, trying to get home, safe and sound, when your umbrella honest to god snaps inside out from the wind.

you stand there in disbelief, getting more drenched by the second. surely your day can't get any worse.

run(a)way queen you alive

you send a picture of your destroyed umbrella, and his reply comes immediately.

run(a)way queen LMFAOOO that umbrella gave up on life you this is not funny run(a)way queen it's a little funny wait where are you rn

you pause, then send a vague picture of the street.

run(a)way queen oh wait i know where that is you what run(a)way queen don't panic but i think im like 5 mins away you that sounds threatening when you say it like that run(a)way queen LMAO do you need help or not

you glance up at the pouring rain and instantly get pelted in the eye, which makes up your mind straight away.

you fine but if you murder me i'll be really annoyed you know run(a)way queen liked this message

five minutes later, more or less, a black umbrella appears beside you.

you turn your head, and-

oh.

oh, he's pretty.

the first coherent thought that hits you.

still fluffy brown hair damp from the rain, stupidly sharp eyes that are crinkled up,. taller than you by an infuriating amount, an athletic build.

and smiling at you like this is the funniest thing that’s ever happened to him.

“you are shorter than i imagined,” he says immediately, and you roll your eyes.

“you ran away last time,” is what you answer with. you try to keep the tremble out of your voice, and pray that if he does hear it, he'll believe it's from the cold.

shit. you understand why that girl had a crush on him now.

he shrugs, still grinning at you. “fight or flight response.”

“and.. you chose flight.”

“obviously.”

his voice embodies his texts somehow. dramatic and smooth and teasing all at once.

you stare at each other awkwardly for two seconds.

then at the same time,

“you really are pretty–”

“you really do talk too much–”

you both stop, and he blinks. then grins slowly.

“waaaait,” he says, an even larger smile spreading across his handsome face. “what was that first part?”

you flush. “nothing.” oh, why did you have to open your mouth?

“no no, say it again, i insist.” he's still grinning.

“absolutely not.”

“you think i'm pretty–”

“oh my god shut up.”

he laughs loudly enough that two people walking by glance over, and you swear one of them leans over and murmurs about ‘what an adorable couple you are’.

you clear your throat, tapping your foot against the pavement. “ i do not talk too much. i've literally barely spoken – if anything, you’re the chatterbox here.”

he continues to stare at you, an amused expression on his face.

“what?’ you demand.

“that was sixteen words in one sentence.” he beams. “point proven.”

“it was two sentences you nincompoop-”

walking home beside him under one umbrella feels like it's the only right way.

which is dangerous – walking next to him is dangerous, breathing the same air as him is dangerous, just being near him is dangerous. 

that's the only conclusion you come to during the fifteen minute walk home.

before this, he'd just been texts on a screen, annoying messages at 2am. 

dumb kaomojis. dramatic complaints about volleyball and life and mint chocolate chip ice cream.

now he's this actual, living breathing person beside you holding an umbrella, slightly more over your side than his without mentioning it.

and unfortunately, he's pretty enough to be a genuine problem.

“you're staring,” he says casually.

you'd think he's being cocky if you didn't chance a look at him to see the red snow peaking his ears.

god, he knows exactly what he looks like – of course he does.

“you talk exactly like you text,” you mumble into the collar of your jacket.

he smiles. “is that a compliment?”

“not really.”

he stops, causing you to stop too. “ouch,” he says, quirking an eyebrow at you that you snort at.

you glance at him sideways. “sooo.. what do i call you now?”

he gasps dramatically, putting a hand to his forehead. “wow. after all we've been through together, you still don't know my name?”

“bye, i'm leaving-”

“hey- wait-” he reaches out and grabs your wrist just as you turn to leave. you weren’t really going to, but..

when you turn to him with wide eyes, he clears his throat and lets go, albeit reluctantly.

you don’t know that, of course.

he laughs again, all loud and easy but sort of.. breathily? this time. “you can keep calling me number neighbor. or runaway queen. whatever is to your liking, maam,” and flourishes a bow.

you heave a sigh and cross your arms. “that’s stupid.”

“says the person who still hasn’t told me their name either.”

a smile pops onto your face, and you hastily pull out your phone.

he frowns now. “what.. what are you doing?”

you only hum. after a moment, you hold your phone up, turn the volume all the way, and an automated voice comes out, like the one used for google translate. 

“touché,” the robotic tone says.

he bursts into a fit of laughter.

when you reach your building, neither of you say anything as rain taps against the umbrella softly.

he shifts his weight awkwardly.

“well,” you start quietly, “thanks for rescuing me, i guess.”

“you’re welcome, tiny gremlin.”

“die-”

he grins and wags a finger at you. “hey, don’t make jokes like that.”

“oh, i’m not joking.”

then his grin wavers, then softens when he realises you're only teasing.

“text me when you get upstairs,” he murmurs. “so i know you didn’t slip and- die, or something.”

you sigh. “i solemnly swear i will not slip and die.” you turn to walk away.

“wait.”

you glance back, confused.

he’s rubbing the back of his neck now, looking oddly nervous for the first time since meeting him.

“you- er, still- still think i’m pretty, right?”

you stare at him blankly.

then immediately walk off without answering while he shouts offendedly behind you.

guess you’ve both pulled a walky-offy now.

you don't know it they're coincidences or not, because now he starts appearing everywhere. not intentionally, probably, but it's situations like you'll be walking past a shop or on the street and suddenly get a text.

run(a)way queen look left ;)

and there he is, across the street holding up an energy drink with that stupid grin.

or, you'll be in line at a café and hear, ‘wow, fancy seeing you here!’ like he didn't absolutely text you twenty minutes earlier asking where you were, all innocent and ‘oh, no reason!’

but, he still refuses to tell you his name, which honestly would annoy you more if you weren't equally stubborn, like two peas in a pod.

instead, your.. relationship settles into this weird in between.

not strangers, and not exactly friends either.

maybe flirting – although you're trying not to think about that too hard.

for all you know, he does this with everyone, or he could be in a relationship. for now, you're content to stay whatever you are.

you're lying in bed one night, contemplating whether to sleep or text your number neighour, when he beats you to it and suddenly sends:

run(a)way queen can i ask you something you depends if it's weird knowing you yes run(a)way queen rude you liked this message do you think we wouldve talked if we met normally? you wdym by that run(a)way queen idk like if we met randomly somewhere would you have talked to me

you think about seeing him for the first time in the rain.

his stupid smile, the confidence, the way everyone probably notices him immediately, and honestly? you probably would've assumed he was out of your league and avoided eye contact.

but you don't say that.

you maybe if you weren't annoying 🥹 run(a)way queen im never annoying?? (>o<) you would you have talked to me? run(a)way queen yeah i think i would've noticed you anywhere actually

when you eventually learn his name, it's completely by accident, which feels unfair considering how long he (and you) dragged it out.

you're at one of his volleyball matches – he'd convinced you to come after spamming you twenty four seven.

so there you are, sitting, pretending not to care‐

except you absolutely do care, because he's..

well.

annoyingly good.

and the girls behind you won't stop talking about him.

“oikawa-san's seriously so cool.”

“who? number 1?”

“yeah! him!” comes the following reply, then a dreamy sigh.

your head snaps up.

oikawa? oikawa.

of course his name is something like oikawa.

he's about to serve again when he looks up directly into the stands, and the girls start squealing.

but he finds you instantly, and smiles a real, genuine smile that warms you from the inside out.

later after the match, your phone buzzes just as you're leaving.

run(a)way queen you came!! ヽ(^。^)ノ you against my will run(a)way queen you still watched the whole game though ≧☉_☉≦ you yes well unfortunately your volleyball propaganda is working on me run(a)way queen that's because i'm amazing darling you don’t call me darling run(a)way queen sorry darling you okay you changed run(a)way queen to oikawa.. oikawa.. YOU FOUND OUT what's with the .. though it looks threatening you your fangirls were squealing your name it was kind of hard not to find out oikawa.. oh how nice of them well it's only fair i know your name now?? you hm l/n oikawa.. pretty name for a pretty person (o^ ^o) you boy 😭😭 oikawa.. changed run after queen to darling l/n (づ￣ ³￣)づ oikawa.. perfect you wtf is that kaomoji bro oikawa.. change my name to pretty boy oikawa (≧◡≦) you only because you won't shut up if i don't you changed oikawa.. to pretty boy oikawa.. pretty boy oikawa.. okay seriously what is with the .. you reacted 😊 to this message

the more you text, the more oikawa starts calling instead of texting, and it gave you the shock of your life when he first did it.

usually late at night, and you'll answer half asleep with a groggy voice to hear,

“l/n-channn.”

“why are you saying my name like that.” is your default response. and his will be, “because i'm suffering.”

“dramatic.”

then he'll ramble for twenty minutes while you listen sleepily, occasionally offering your mumbled inputs like ‘mhm’ and ‘uhuh’.

sometimes he talks about volleyball, or school, and most of the time random things that don't matter.

and sometimes, there are quiet pauses where neither of you says anything at all.

those are your favourite.

whenever you're upset or in a bad mood, you don't bother telling him – mostly because you're used to dealing with things alone. 

but one night when you answer his call, he notices that you're.. different, straight away.

“what happened?”

you frown, knowing he can't see it since your camera's off. “nothing.”

“liar.”

“wha- i’m serious.”

oikawa sighs softly through the phone, and you shift uncomfortably, pulling your blankets closer to your neck.

“did someone hurt your feelings?”

you laugh weakly, tilting your head. “that sounds so kindergarten.”

“answer the question.”

you stare up at your ceiling, vaguely making out the dying glow in the dark stickers that are stuck up there.

“i- it's no big deal- but um.. sort of.”

there's rustling on his end like he's sitting up.

“who?” oikawa says urgently.

“it doesn’t matter.”

“it matters if you sound sad.”

your throat tightens unexpectedly – that's the thing with oikawa.

he jokes around constantly, acts unserious all the time. but that only means moments where he suddenly becomes serious hit way too hard.

“my friend cancelled plans again,” you admit quietly. “for her boyfriend. and- i know it's selfish of me to be sad about that, but it always happens, and last minute.”

“wow. that sucks.”

you smile faintly. “thanks.”

it's silent for a few minutes after that, save for the sound of your combined breathing, then he breaks it.

“wanna come watch me practice tomorrow?”

you blink. “what?”

“you heard me loud and clear.”

“that's your solution?”

“well, yeah. if your friend sucks then i'll just steal you instead.” you can almost hear him grinning, and if he turned his camera on you're sure he would be.

it only takes a second to make up your mind.

“you know what, sure. i have nothing better to do anyway.”

so, the next day you go.

you almost turn around three separate times before even making it inside the gym.

you spot oikawa through the open doors and unfortunately remember how attractive he is. great.

he's standing in the middle of the court when he notices you. one second he's talking to one of his teammates, the next his whole face changes and he straightens up so fast, like a dog spotting its owner in public.

you barely have time to process that (did he just do that?) before somebody else notices too.

“oi.”

a guy near the net squints at you for a moment, then his eyes widen. “wait.”

you pause awkwardly near the entrance, hovering and not sure if you're supposed to go in or not.

another guy turns around at the tone of his voice and immediately points at you. “NO WAY.”

your stomach drops instantly, because why do they look like they recognize you??

“that's them, isn't it?” the first guy says.

“the phone person?” another one blurts out loudly.

you choke. “sorry, the what?”

oikawa visibly pales.

“mattsun,” he yells, horrified. “WHY WOULD YOU CALL THEM THAT.”

“because that's literally what you call them,” the guy – mattsun, apparently – says flatly.

“not to their face–”

you stare at him, expression beginning to turn amused.

“..phone person?” you repeat slowly.

silence for about four seconds, then another teammate snorts. “yeah, because you were ‘mysterious phone neighbor’ for like, months.”

your brain completely stalls.. “months?” you echo.

oikawa closes his eyes like he's in physical pain.

“okay,” he says carefully, already walking toward you, “before they start exaggerating–”

“you literally talked about them every day,” someone cuts in.

“alright, that is such a lie–”

“you asked us if using two exclamation marks looked desperate.”

“i-”

“you made iwaizumi read over your texts once,” mattsun adds with a lazy smirk.

you whip your head toward him so fast your neck almost cracks, eyes wide and glaring. “you what?”

oikawa looks genuinely cornered now, holding up his hands sheepishly. “in my defense, i didn’t know if saying goodnight twice was too clingy.”

you stare at him blankly.

and it hits you then, that this idiot has apparently been talking about you to his teammates for months while you thought you were just some random person he texted when he got bored.

now you can't even properly make fun of him for it!

oikawa stops in front of you, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly like he did the first time you met face to face. “listen, they're making it sound worse than it is.”

“you made your teammates help you text me?”

“once..”

“three times,” somebody corrects from the back.

“nobody asked you.”

you bite the inside of your cheek hard trying not to laugh, but ever so observant, oikawa he notices the moment you do.

his eyes narrow. “don’t.” that only makes it worse.

“you were workshopping your texts?” you manage between chortles.

“okay, wow,” he says, looking betrayed. “this is a vulnerable moment for me, you know? don't rub it in.”

you lose it a little after that, enough that a laugh slips out before you can stop it.

and the thing is, the second it does, oikawa just.. stares at you, like he forgot there are other people in the room.

the way he's just looking at you causes your laugh to falter, and the two of you lock eyes for a long moment until he clears his throat. 

“l/n-”

and the moment is gone when someone smacks the back of oikawa's head while walking past.

“quit flirting and practice,” the guy says bluntly, prompty smacking him again but harder.

“OW– iwa-chan!”

you laugh again, louder this time, and oikawa turns toward you looking extremely offended.

“you're enjoying this way too much.”

“because it’s funny.”

“my suffering should not amuse you.”

“your suffering is the funniest thing about you sorry to say.”

he gasps like you've personally stabbed him in the chest, then points dramatically. “see? this is what i deal with.”

you roll your eyes affectionately and cross your arms. “you love me, really,” you say offhandedly.

oikawa's ears dust a bright red.

it doesn't occur to you how important he's becoming to you until oikawa slowly starts disappearing.

it starts as slower replies, missing calls, and shorter messages. you tell yourself he's busy.

until nothing at all.

you hey. you alive? seen

and oikawa always replies – even if it's just to be annoying.

three days later, he finally texts.

pretty boy oikawa.. sorry been busy

and that's it. your stomach sinks.

you everything okay? pretty boy oikawa.. yeah dw about it

which is an obvious lie, but every time you try asking after that, he just brushes it off.

eventually you just stop asking.

you find out through social media; some volleyball account posts clips from a tournament.

the caption says:

‘aoba johsai eliminated after intense semifinal loss’.

that's oikawa's team.

and it all makes sense now. you stare at your screen, and immediately text him.

no answer, so you call.

straight to voicemail.

and you don't have to think before grabbing your stuff and heading out where you think he's most likely to be.

the gym is dead silent when you arrive, lights dim.

you almost think he's not there and are prepared to leave until you hear a volleyball bouncing somewhere inside.

you follow the sound, and find him alone.

he doesn’t notice you at first – he seems to be serving repeatedly at the far wall, hard enough that the impact echoes through the gym.

again

again

again

agai-

“oikawa.”

he freezes, and the ball rolls away slowly across the floor.

for a second he just stands there with his back to you, then laughs quietly.

except it sounds wrong, forced and twisted and sounds so unnatural coming out of the brown haired boy.

“you, ah- weren’t supposed to see this.”

your throat tightens, and oikawa finally turns around.

and oh,

he looks awful. eyes tired, eyebags hanging, smile plastered on and barely there.

“why didn't you tell me?” you ask softly.

oikawa shrugs like you're not even there, not worth talking to you. his shoulders hang low, drooping. “didn't really feel like talking.”

“you.. disappeared.”

“sorry.” he says lightly, like it doesn't matter.

you step closer, footstep sounding loudly against the wooden floorboards and state, “you lost one match.” not gentle.

his jaw tightens, eyes fiery. “it wasn't just one match.”

right. of course it wasn't.

for him, volleyball is everything.

you suddenly remember all those late night calls, all the pressure he puts on himself every single day, all the moments where he'd laugh something off before changing the subject too quickly. all the times he acted overly confident like he was trying to convince himself just as much as everyone else. that maybe, just maybe, if he stopped moving for even a second, everything would finally catch up to him.

then, quietly, he murmurs, “i'm so tired.”

and oikawa never says things like that. he complains dramatically all the time, sure, but never seriously. never in a way that sounds this honest. this exhausted.

you don't know what to do. standing there suddenly feels awkward, and maybe you shouldn't have come after all, like maybe this is something private and ugly and painful and hurting that he never wanted you seeing. 

but then he laughs again under his breath, except it still sounds wrong, jagged around the edges, and you realise he's waiting for you to treat this like a joke so he can pretend he's fine again.

instead, you walk toward him slowly until you're close enough to see how his shoulders shaking.

his eyes flick up to yours, surprised. 

you could melt, drown in them and be happy. 

so before you can think too hard about it, you wrap your arms around him.

oikawa goes completely still like his brain short circuited, like he wasn't expecting comfort from you at all. you can feel the sharp inhale he takes against your shoulder, and for one horrible second you wonder if you crossed a line.

then his arms wrap around you, leaning in and burying his head into your shoulder.

he's still shaking.

you close your eyes. “hey,” you mumble quietly.

he lets out this weak little laugh, muffled into your shoulder. “don't. this is kinda embarrassing for me.”

“i don't care.”

“i do.”

“good thing this isn't about you then.” you wince; maybe that wasn't the right thing to say. 

thankfully, another laugh escapes him at that, and he doesn't let go. if anything, oikawa's grip tightens more, fingers bunching in the back of your hoodie like he's afraid you'll disappear if he loosens his hold even slightly.

the gym is completely silent around the two of you now except for the faint buzzing of the overhead lights.

after a long moment, he says in a tiny voice, “i really wanted to win.”

and god, that hurts.

he feels so painfully human. just a boy who wanted something so badly and still couldn't reach it.

you embrace him tighter. “i know.”

he exhales shakily. “i hate losing.”

“i know.”

another pause. then he mutters against your shoulder, again. “oh, you're gonna think i'm pathetic after this.”

you pull back immediately just enough to glare up at him. “don't say that.”

“i'm serious. i'm literally standing here having a breakdown over volleyball.”

“yeah,” you answer, frowning. “because it matters to you.”

his expression shifts. the exhaustion is still there, heavy under his eyes, but something else slips through now too. surprise, maybe. or relief. like he expected you to brush this off the same way he always tries to.

instead you're still here.

oikawa stares at you for a long minute before speaking again. “you came all the way here.”

you blink. “obviously.”

“why obviously?”

you open your mouth automatically, ready to answer, but nothing comes out.

why obviously?

because hearing he lost made your stomach drop.

because the thought of him sitting here alone hurt worse than it should have.

because over the last few months, he somehow became the first person you want to tell things to. the first notification you look for when your phone lights up. the person you think about constantly without even trying or wanting to.

because somewhere along the way, you fell in love with him.

oh.

oh no.

your face must give something away because his entire face changes.

“l/n-chan?”

you can’t breathe properly all of a sudden.

this is bad.

actually terrifying.

because what if you ruin this? what if you care too much? what if all the flirting and jokes meant more to you than they ever did to him?

“hey,” he says again.

oikawa's hand lifts hesitantly, fingertips brushing against your sleeve as if he's not fully sure you'll let him.

“what happened?”

you stare at him helplessly, and apparently that's enough.

his eyes widen slightly before cracking in a way that completely wrecks you.

“oh,” is the only thing that comes out, his mouth an ‘o’ shape.

“don't,” you blurt out before he can say anything else.

oikawa blinks. “don't what?”

“make it weird.”

“make what weird?”

you gesture vaguely between the two of you, mortified. “this.”

oikawa merely looks at you. then the corners of his mouth lift a little.

“a bit too little too late for that.” ayo laufey reference

your throat burns, and it hurts to swallow. “oikawa–”

“i think i started liking you the first time you insulted me.”

now it's your turn to stare at him. “huh?”

he smiles weakly. “you called me grandma.”

despite everything, a laugh bubbles out of you. “that's your romantic origin story?”

“don't judge me,” he mutters. “i was charmed. you were charming.”

you shake your head, still laughing breathlessly, and when you do something in his expression relaxes. maybe he was nervous too, and that maybe he thought imagined the whole thing.

oikawa reaches for you again, giving you enough time to pull away if you want to.

you don't.

his arms wrap around you, almost cautiously now, like you're something fragile in his eyes. you can hear his heartbeat through his thin shirt, fast enough to make warmth spread through your chest.

“hey,” he murmurs into your hair after a while. “are you.. crying?”

“no, shut up.”

“this might be the best day of my life.”

you laugh wetly into his chest. “you're so annoying.”

“yeah,” he says gently, tilting your chin up to gaze into your eyes. “but you like me anyway.”

when oikawa pulls back, he's smiling properly for the first time since you got there. tired still, but smiling. his eyes flick down toward your mouth for a split second before darting back up again, and he looks.. nervous.

is he.. is he going to–

“..can i kiss you,” oikawa asks carefully, “or are you gonna bite me.”

you blink at him in disbelief. “that is genuinely the worst thing you could've said.”

“sorry,” he says immediately. “i got i want to kiss you disease.”

you snort, heart melting on the spot at the same time.

because this is oikawa. loud, confident, obnoxious oikawa who flirts with literally everyone without blinking. and somehow, he's standing in front of you looking like the answer really matters to him.

so before you can overthink it anymore, you grab the front of his hoodie and kiss him.

he makes a startled sound against your mouth before kissing you back instantly, one hand coming up to cup your face like he's scared you'll disappear halfway through it.

truthfully, a kiss worthy of the fairytales.

and when you pull away, oikawa's staring at you like he just won the lottery.

“wow,” he breathes. “i- wow.”

you point a warning finger at him. “don't start.”

“you're literally in love with me.”

“you love me more though.”

oikawa's grin widens so fast, almost blinding.

“hey, y/n-chan?”

“what.”

“remember when you hoped i wasn't a forty five year old man?”

you groan so loudly it echoes through the gym, and oikawa laughs hard enough that he has to lean against you to stay standing. 

hearing that sound again feels like finally being able to breathe.

you wake up to your phone vibrating nonstop against your mattress. you're surprised it isn't leaping into the air.

still half asleep, you blindly grab it, fumbling and squinting at the brightness.

tooru 🤍 good morning my amazingly amazing significant other >’v’< hm that sounds off sorry sorry good morning situationship  that sounds worse actually ignore that you're not my situationship.. i love you good morning love of my life  good morning DARLING ;))

you drop your face back into your pillow, groaning. he’s so endearing.

another text follows.

tooru 🤍 HELLO??? are you ignoring me this relationship is so toxic you oh my god shut up why are you awake tooru 🤍 i’m experiencing great joy and whimsy! darling you reacted 😐 to this message you tone it down a little tooru 🤍 never

dating oikawa turns out to be exactly as exhausting – in a good way — as you expected, now that he’s officially decided you're his person.

he gets dramatically offended if you take too long to answer texts (“i’m your top priority!”) he throws himself across your shoulders whenever he sees you after practice like he's been separated from you for years instead of six hours (“reunited at last!”). he complains constantly that you ‘don’t compliment him enough’, despite the fact you called him beautiful once and he looked so emotional about it for the rest of the day.

but there are quieter things too, things he does without noticing.

saving the seat next to him automatically, and walking on the outside of the sidewalk. tugging you closer absentmindedly whenever crowds get too big like it’s second nature, and falling asleep on calls because he says your voice helps him unwind and relax after practice.

one afternoon, while you're sitting across from oikawa in a café, you zone out so badly you don't even realise he's talking to you until he flicks your forehead lightly.

“ow? what was that for??”

“you're doing the thing again,” oikawa replies, chin in his hands and elbows propped on the table as he gazes at you with those eyes you could drown in.

you blink twice. “what thing?”

“the overthinking thing!”

“uh, that’s not helpful at all,” you grin, amused, stirring your tea. the scent wafts up, drifting into your nose, and you inhale deeply.

“is it not true?”

oikawa reaches across the table, hooking his fingers loosely around yours. he’s been doing that quite a lot lately. 

“what’s going on in that scary little brain?” he asks, tracing little shapes onto the back of your hand. imagine he wrote will you marry me lmao

you hesitate before shrugging nonchalantly. “nothing.”

oikawa frowns, stopping his thumb movements and causing you to jut out your bottom lip. “you know you don't always have to do that, right?”

“do what?”

“pretend everything's fine before you've figured out if it actually is.”

you look away toward the café window, a little annoyed.

“you do that too. and i just don't wanna ruin stuff.”

“ruin what stuff? y/n, darling-”

you gesture between the two of you.

oikawa stares at you for a second before snorting.

you narrow your eyes at him. “tooru. what now?”

“sorry,” he says, already laughing. “i just remembered you literally texted me because a forty-five-year-old blocked you.”

you groan, drawing it out as you thud your head down on the table. “can you stop reminding me? my gosh, that was ages ago.”

“and now we’re here.”

his thumb brushes lightly over your knuckles.

“you're not gonna ruin us, idiot.”

us.

like there's never been another option.

a week later, you discover he has screenshots of your texts saved.

“YOU SAVED THESE?”

oikawa, sprawled comfortably across your bed, looks completely unashamed. “of course i did!”

“why.”

“because they’re cute, why else?”

“they are not cute.”

he gasps dramatically before turning on his phone and reading one aloud.

“‘go away you're literally annoying.’ wow. true romance right there.”

you immediately lunge for his phone while he yelps and nearly falls off the bed cackling.

“give it!”

“never!”

“tooru–”

“wait wait, this one's my favorite.” his voice softens slightly while he reads. “‘text me when you get home okay?’”

you stop moving. you remember sending that, late at night after practice when he sounded exhausted over the phone and you got worried.

but you didn't realise how much it meant to him.

oikawa glances up at you with his stupidly fond little smile.

“that was one of the first times i thought i was completely screwed.”

whenever oikawa has a game, he never directly asks you to come. instead, he send things like:

tooru 🤍 match tomorrow btw you okay tooru 🤍 okay??? thats all??? you good luck? tooru 🤍 woah i can really feel the support you reacted 😊 to this message

it's worth it, though, when you show up regardless, and his entire face lights up as he spots you in the stands.

like he's surprised someone came for him specifically, even though he has a million fangirls that giggle his name.

oikawa only cares about you.

naturally, iwaizumi talks to you first about it.

one day after practice he falls into step beside you while oikawa's distracted arguing with kyotani, probably about something stupid.

“thanks,” iwaizumi says suddenly.

your brow furrows, and you turn your head. “er- for what?”

“for dealing with him.”

you snicker. “that sounds concerning.”

“oh, you have no idea.” he has an exasperated expression on his face, but then it shifts. “he's happier lately.”

before you can answer, oikawa appears out of nowhere and throws himself dramatically over your shoulders.

“iwa-chan, are you talking shit about me?”

“always.” iwaizumi deadpans.

oikawa gasps mockingly. “fake friend.”

“shittykawa.”

“shittyzumi.” then oikawa turns to you pleadingly. “save me.”

“nah. go on, iwaizumi. how many others you got?”

“no!”

it's funny how one stupid, impulsive text at two in the morning somehow flipped your entire life around – now your days are full of him. oikawa. your boyfriend. it still feels surreal to say.

his voice. his laugh. his constant whining. his hand finding yours automatically.

oikawa loves loudly, openly, like he's physically incapable of hiding it. he talks about you constantly, drapes himself all over you every chance he gets, looks at you like you're the best thing he’s ever found.

one night after practice, the two of you end up lying on the floor of his bedroom while he complains dramatically about training.

“i'm dying,” oikawa groans, letting his long legs flop over your stomach.

“you said that half an hour ago.” you half-heartedly attempt to push his legs off, to no avail.

“it's a slow death.”

you snort quietly, glancing over at him. his hair's still damp from his shower and there's a bruise forming near his knee. 

you reach over and brush your fingers lightly against his hand, and he immediately intertwines your fingers together without even opening his eyes.

automatic, like breathing.

“hey,” he says after a minute.

“hm?”

oikawa lowers his arm to stare at you properly before smiling brightly.

“thanks for texting me after. imagine if you’d only texted the forty five year ol–”

you burst out into a fit of laughter. “oh my god–”

he grins sleepily before rubbing his thumb absentmindedly across your knuckles just like he likes to do.

“seriously, though,” he says more softly. “meeting you kinda changed everything for me.”

pursing your lips, you murmur, “that's disgustingly cheesy.”

“yeah?”

“yeah. for me too, though.”

“aww.”

you squeeze his hand tighter, smiling helplessly. “good thing you answered, then.”

“best decision i've ever made.” followed by, because he physically cannot stay serious for more than ten consecutive seconds:

“also, thank goodness i'm hot.”

you grumble and shove his face away while he laughs hard enough to nearly fall onto the floor completely. sadly, he didn't and his heavy as fuck legs are still laying on you.

tooru 🤍 i love you my number neighbour you i love you too my number neighbour that isn’t the forty five year old man 😚 tooru 🤍 you ruined it 😠 you EMOJI tooru 🤍 so what anyway what if i text MY other number neighbour you oikaw fucking tooru tooru 🤍 OKAY you liked this message

“tooru?”

“yes, my darling?” 

“why are we texting when we're right next to eachother?”

oikawa smirks at you. “romance.”

i wrote this on google docs so the quotation marks look so different.. but anyway fucking hell that was a ride to write!! sorry, kat. i tried to make it 6.7k words for you but there was so much i wanted to fit in there so it ended up um exceeding that by 2k 😚

© akaashiit

You’ve been roped into their little spats time and time again, whether it be to help break a tie or to argue against one that the other somehow didn’t qualify to win. But today really is your last straw with letting them both work on your last nerve with these childish games. 

After a long day of work, you’ve reserved a private room for yourself in the bathhouse, steam filling the air as you sink into the hot water, allowing it to wash away your weariness and aches. Your hair is pinned up to prevent it from getting wet and you sink down comfortably on the bench until you’re submerged to your chin. The air is humid and heavy, making you draw in a sigh for a breath that better satisfies your lungs. 

You’ve been anticipating this moment of respite all day, and because of it, this mundane bath is the best you’ve ever experienced in your life despite it being no different from the dozens you’ve had before. Until it isn’t. 

The door slams open and before you can even register the words that are being shared you recognise the voice of the man speaking: Phainon. When you cast a glare over your shoulder towards these invaders of your sanctuary, you’re not surprised in the slightest when you see Mydei by his side. 

“I’ve booked this room for the hour. Get lost.” You bite out, your patience level at zero for their shenanigans today. 

“Ah, but we thought you wouldn’t mind.” Phainon begins with that disarmingly charming smile of his, “Mydei seems to think he can withstand a bath hotter than me but I highly doubt that.” Great. Just great. Another damned competition. 

“Well go somewhere else, I’ve had a busy morning.” You reply curtly. Mydei seems willing to leave but Phainon pouts like a petulant brat.

“But all the other private rooms are booked up.”

“Do it another time then.” The deliverer’s posture seems to deflate at your unwillingness to budge on the subject. Your gaze flickers to Mydei, hoping he’ll take your side and see the sense in postponing their little bet, but his golden eyes don’t meet yours. They’re instead following the path of condensation running down your neck, how beautiful you look like this with your damp hair haphazardly pinned out of the way with your smooth shoulders on display-

And that’s when you remember that you’re naked beneath the foggy surface of hot water. Phainon, ever gold of heart and dumb of ass – as you and Cipher have coined for him – is so fixed on proving himself a victor that he has yet to acknowledge your state of undress too. In a public bath, you wouldn’t feel so bashful as you’d be amongst others in the same state, but it feels different in the privacy of a room that you’ve reserved for yourself. 

Your jaw clenches so hard at his obliviousness that your eye begins to twitch, and Phainon finally notices the combination of flusteredness and irritation upon your face. His lips form a small o of surprise and he glances over to Mydei who has now closed his eyes to save him from the fact that he’s not entirely sure he can set his gaze upon you respectfully right now. 

Once more, you sigh and sink down further into the steaming pool. Phainon’s fingertips drum against his belt for a few moments as he seems to be pondering something, teeth sinking into his lower lip as though he’s thinking really hard… that can’t be good. 

So you’re pleasantly surprised by his next words: “Then forgive us for intruding. How about we fetch you some food to enjoy to make up for it?” 

“Very well…” You agree. Having some things to snack on while you relax does sound lovely, after all. The two Chrysos Heirs head out and you resume your relaxation, sinking back down into the water.

“What are you playing at?” Mydei growls lowly as soon as the door closes behind them, having waited until he was sure you’d be unable to hear. 

“I have a new bet, let’s scrap the bath idea.” Phainon replies.

“Oh? Because you’ve realised you’ll lose?” The crown prince raises a brow with a teasing smirk.

“Ok, then let’s postpone the bath bet. What I mean to say is that I think this idea is far more interesting…”

Mydei considers how to answer for a moment. Phainon has stirred up plenty of trouble for the two of them before with his ideas… but no one’s ever been hurt before so what could be the harm in hearing him out, “I’m listening…” 

“I saw you looking… and so did she-”

“What does that have to do with-?” Mydei barks before Phainon can even finish, wanting to save face.

“But did you see her looking?” The question makes Mydei pause.

“... Was she?” 

Phainon nods with a little hum, grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Oh she absolutely was, friend.” Mydei ponders this fact for a few moments and swallows his doubts to inquire further:

“So what is it you’re proposing?” 

The pair of men return, Phainon carrying a tray while Mydei has a bottle and glasses. There’s some cheeses, cured meats, fruits, and some wine. You wonder if perhaps they’ve finally realised just how grating it is to be caught in the middle of their contests all the time, and if they’ve cashed in a favour with the kitchen staff to at last show their remorse. Maybe your bath isn’t ruined after all. But there is an awful lot of food, so much that you’re not sure you can finish it yourself with your current appetite.

“Thank you.” You say as Mydei opens the wine for you, then tentatively you add: “Will the two of you perhaps join me? There’s a lot here to eat and I’m sure you can use the bath for your bet once I’m done, hm?” Mydei glances towards Phainon with an unreadable expression, but the deliverer is grinning from ear to ear. 

“Sure we will! That sounds great!” Phainon turns to his strawberry blond companion, “Shall we go change, friend?” Mydei grunts at his cocky grin, a part of him hating how everything is going according to Phainon’s plan so far and yet another part is eager to see just how far you’ll let the two of them take this. You keep your back turned to them and let your head tip back against the towel you’ve folded at the edge of the bath to use as a makeshift pillow, cushioning your head to allow you to relax more. Your eyes remain closed as you feel the ripples of Mydei and Phainon sinking into the water. 

Your eyes only crack open again to reach for a cracker and piece of cheese to pop into your mouth. Phainon and Mydei seem to fall under the same influence as you within the heat of the private pool – perhaps having them join you might actually change your day for the better? You certainly think so as Mydei pours a glass of wine and hands it to you. 

“Thank you.” You let the sweet taste of pomegranate pour down your throat and notice how Phainon practically inhales his cup and then refills it… odd. You hope the two of them haven’t made a new bet to see who can outdrink the other… again. Mydei won last time, if you recall correctly. 

Either way, you fall right back into pace, unwinding in the steamy room, now joined by friends who have brought food and wine – what could be better than this? 

Mydei’s arm stretches out along the edge of the pool behind you but you take little notice as he’s a big guy and takes up a lot of room as a consequence, sitting even upon his throne with his thick thighs spread far apart. He just takes up a lot of room, you dismiss. But Phainon isn’t quite as subtle… 

“Ah, you have some-” He reaches forwards to brush some non-existent crumbs from your mouth, thumb tracing the plush curve of your bottom lip. His bright blue eyes are half lidded behind thick lashes, and they linger on your wine-tinted mouth. 

Mydei’s jaw clenches when you don’t pull away – fuck, he might actually lose this one – and so he intervenes. His fingers gently trace spirals on your nape, sending shivers down your spine. It gives you an excuse to turn away from Phainon’s heated gaze and so you take it readily. But he’s now closer than he was before, olive skin glistening with the humidity of the bath house, red tattoos a stark contrast to the lightly coloured tiles around you all. 

“He’s just being an idiot, don’t mind him.” Mydei says with a slight smirk, his words aimed at you but his taunt aimed at the deliverer. Phainon huffs at having his win snatched out from right under his nose and he leans in a little closer, his bottom lip jutted out in a pout when you turn back to get a look at him. 

“We’re sorry we’ve been annoying you lately.” Phainon apologises, looking for sympathy, forgiveness, pity, just any form of your attention right now. This isn’t just about winning, dammit! He yearns for the prize itself, not just the bragging rights this time. You let out a little sigh. 

“It gets to a point… but the pair of you aren’t all that bad, you’re my friends.” You offer him some reassurance with a gentle smile. The way he grins and perks up in response makes you feel that his tail would be wagging right now if he had one. 

Mydei seizes the opportunity you’ve just presented him with, lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he speaks in a low, husked tone: “Just friends?” His calloused fingertips trace the curve of your shoulder. You’ve been feeling the tension weighing down on the air like steam, but the crown prince beside you has just catalysed it. 

You open your mouth to reply but nothing comes out. How can you reply to that?! You’d have to be blind to not see how utterly handsome the pair of them are, oblivious to having failed to notice how protective they are of you. Has it always been this way? It just feels so much… more now. But what exactly does Mydei mean by that? Are they both confessing and asking you to choose one? You don’t think you ever could. He seems to sense the myriad of questions charging through your mind. 

“You don’t have to think about it right now if you don’t want to… just feel, yeah? You keep saying we’ve been working your last nerve so now it’s only fair we make you feel all relaxed and good, don’t you think, Phainon?” 

Phainon’s bright blue eyes light up and he nods eagerly, leaning in so close that his breath fans over your cheek. Mydei’s chest brushes against your shoulder and you realise you’re sandwiched between the two of them who are looking down at you like you’re the ripest fruit their starving senses have ever encountered-

Oh. Oh. 

You’re ashamed to admit that you’ve been ignoring their blatant desire up until this moment and now you’re forced to come face to face with it. It’s not that you don’t want this, just that you’re not exactly sure where they intend to take this-

But Phainon is more intuitive than his smiley self often lets on and he registers your hesitance. 

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to… and if you do then we don’t need to make a big deal of it.” He murmurs, open to whatever it is you might want to or not get out of what they’re proposing to you here in the heavy air of the bathhouse. 

Mydei tucks away a stray strand of hair that’s come undone from your hairstick, guiding it behind your ear where it sticks to the side of your neck, damp. It’s gentle and affectionate, a gesture that they want you but things need not be taken any further than this should you express that right now. 

You practically gnaw on your lip as you consider the opportunity on a silver platter in front of you. Mydei and Phainon are undeniably gorgeous, admired by men and women alike all over the Eternal Holy City. Is this really something you want to pass up? And surely it doesn’t have to mean a ruined friendship, right? Perhaps just… friendship and a little something more. 

Well now you’re not sure who to kiss first. 

Mydei seems to know he’s at a disadvantage with you facing Phainon and not him so he makes himself known with fingertips tracing the length of your arm, provoking shivers in you despite the building heat of tension and steam. But Phainon sees his window of opportunity, relishes in how your line of sight fixes on his mouth, and leans in to press his lips to yours, firm yet tender all at once. 

“HKS…” Mydei grumbles under his breath, hand hiding its way to your hip and squeezing. The prince settles instead for kissing just below your ear, seizing the opportunity to mark you before the deliverer can. With a pleased hum, one of your hands reaches back to tangle in Mydei’s long strawberry-blond and red hair while the other sets itself atop the mound of Phainon’s pec. You can taste the pomegranate wine on his tongue when it swipes against your lower lip. The water ripples around you when Mydei looms over you from behind, his broad chest pressing to your back, teeth sinking into your soft flesh just enough to leave indents behind. 

Phainon’s mouth grows more demanding, tongue pushing insistently at your lips until you allow him access to explore you like this. But Mydei matches his energy and breaks your kiss in order to haul you into his lap, provoking a little noise of surprise from you when you feel him pressing insistently against your lower back – all of him. The prince now cups your chin in his large hand to make you look at him over your shoulder. For a moment, he smears a mix of yours and Phainon’s saliva across your bottom lip before he leans in and catches it between his teeth, tugging teasingly, before letting his tongue glide against yours. 

With you seated on Mydei’s lap, you’re lifted more out of the water now and so Phainon has a front row seat to the perfect view of your bare tits. With a whine-tinged sigh of longing, he kisses his way across your collarbone and down to the plump flesh of your breasts. He laps eagerly against your nipple before sucking down on it harshly, bringing his hand up to grope the other before it can feel left out. 

“Such pretty tits, baby.” He murmurs as he teases each of your peaks into stiffening for him. Mydei’s hand has meanwhile wrapped around your throat to keep you from turning away from him, a dominant action that preludes his intentions with you. 

“You gonna let us see how pretty the rest of you is?” Mydei’s voice rumbles against the shell of your ear that he then teasingly nips and tugs between his teeth. 

“Fuck-” You pant out as Phainon’s mouth suctions around your nipple that’s now growing puffy from his eager attention. “Yeah- yeah I am.”

“Atta girl.” Mydei hoists you out of the water, sitting on the edge of the pool and setting your thighs over his so that your legs are forced to spread with how he sits with his knees so far apart. His hand glides down your side and gropes the plush flesh of your thigh, already picturing all the different positions he wants to push them in. He’s at a better angle now to grind his swollen cock against the cleft of your ass now too, and it’s something he takes advantage of. 

Phainon has followed the two of you, but doesn’t rise up from the water. You lift a hand to beckon him closer, but he’s already three steps ahead of whatever you had in mind. His thumbs reach forward to peel your pussy open, watching the twitch of your clit in the heated air and how your hole clenches slightly at being viewed so blatantly by his hungry eyes. 

“Yeah, Mydei, you were right… she’s just as pretty here.” He sighs in bliss before leaning in to lap a wide lick up your slit, kissing your clit tenderly as though to preemptively apologise for all he’s about to put the poor bud through. He latches onto it like he did your tits, tongue flicking against it as his hands find your hips to still you from bucking and squirming too much. Mydei lets out a grunt at how it only pushes your plump ass more firmly against his dick. 

The prince is pretty much humping against you now, leaning back just enough to watch his angry red tip leaking pre against your wet skin. Your hands are now tangled in the damp locks of Phainon’s snowy hair as he laps at you like a fountain, those bright blue eyes looking up at you with hazed lust, watching for all your reactions as he finally gets to learn what makes your body tick. He moans once his tongue begins to dip into your hot cunt, savouring your bittersweetness. Mydei presses one hand to your abdomen while he spits on his thumb and brings it to your clit to rub little stars against it. 

“You taste sho’ sweet, beauti-mmph…” He lets out muffled whines at a tug on his hair when his voice sends reverberations throughout your most sensitive parts. You’re now pushing on the back of his head to essentially smother him against your cunt, but it’s the last thing on this planet he’d ever wish to complain about. 

Between Phainon’s tongue, and Mydei putting just the right amount of pressure on your abdomen and friction on your clit, you find yourself nearing an orgasm embarrassingly quickly. Phainon’s fingers are digging into the squish of your thigh while Mydei’s lips drag against the side of your throat. You’re panting already and you try in vain to lie to yourself and believe it’s mostly because of the steam in the room and not because your two friends are playing your body like a lyre. 

Phainon is near literally making out with your cunt now, lapping up your wetness like it’s ambrosial wine. Meanwhile, Mydei’s hand cups the underside of your jaw to make you tip your head back enough to look at him, hand pushing upwards more until he’s pushing two fingers into your mouth, letting them slide over your tongue. Instinctively, you wrap your lips around the digits and suck on them, tongue swiping across and between them within the warmth of your mouth. Mydei groans, a smirk tugging at his lips as you let out a muffled whine from how Phainon is eating out your cunt like a feral man. 

“Aren’t you skilled with this mouth, sweetheart?” He leers and pushes his fingers towards the back of your tongue, “Why don’t you show me what else it can do, hm?” With that, he lifts you from his lap and turns you over so you’re instead bent over the edge of the pool, your ass and the very tops of your thighs highlighted by the surface of the hot water lapping at your legs. Mydei is kneeling in front of you now and he drags over the towel you’d been using as a makeshift pillow earlier, sliding it under you to cushion your elbows. 

“Fuck, look at you, pretty baby~” You hear Phainon huff under his breath as his hands cup the curve of your ass and squeeze firmly, spreading you enough to reveal your slick holes, puffy pussy squished enticingly between the fat of your thighs. 

Mydei’s hand lifts your chin while he uses the other to tap the leaking head of his thick cock against your cheek twice, watching the clear precum smear against your flushed skin. You’d never expected his tattoos to extend to the shaft of his cock, and yet you find yourself yearning to trace the red lines with your tongue. The crown prince sucks in a hiss between his teeth when you do just that. 

“That’s it, sweet girl, look how hungry you are for it…” He groans, fingers raking through your hair to brush it away from your face, keeping it from your eyes and making sure he has an unobscured view of that lust-glazed sparkle in your pretty eyes. 

Phainon, meanwhile, reminds you of his presence with a whimper as he glides his cock through the cleft of your ass, thumb pressing down over the length to make sure he can really feel the squish of your plush flesh. His hands are otherwise splayed across your hip and asscheek, humping against you. 

By the time your lips are pouting against Mydei’s reddened tip, letting him press in, Phainon’s cock is gliding through your sticky slit, making sure his cockhead catches your clit with every stroke. You can taste Mydei on your tongue as his cock nudges against the roof of your mouth and you push your tongue against the thrumming vein on the underside. He lets out a drawn out groan and his fist tightens in your hair. 

Having teased himself enough with gliding his length through the plush lips of your pussy, Phainon finally nudges his cock against your entrance. He’s not as thick as Mydei, you think as he stops at just the tip stretching your snug walls, the deliverer panting softly as he narrows all of his focus onto not finishing early – but you’re just so wet and warm and tight! His head falls back as he pushes forwards in one smooth motion until his hips are flush to your ass. 

You nearly choke on Mydei’s cock that’s jutting its way to the back of your throat – you were wrong to underestimate Phainon! You didn’t manage to get a good look at his dick when he was eating you out as he was still mostly submerged in the water, but what he lacks in girth he more than makes up for in length! His tip is already squished up against your cervix, like he’s trying to ram right past it. But he doesn’t quite seem to realise just how much you’re taking for his sake as he’s still buried to the hilt, hands curling into your hips as he pants and whimpers, twitching at each clench of your pussy on him. 

“Open wider.” Mydei commands your attention back to him. You relax your jaw, tongue outstretched as he bullies his way to the back of your throat with a groan of pleasure. “That’s it, so good at taking orders, aren’t you?” He teases with a leering grin as he encourages you with a hand in your hair to start bobbing your head on him. While your moans are muffled into wet gags around Mydei’s fat cock, Phainon finally finds his focus and begins to fuck into you with shallow thrusts, hands sliding from your hips to your waist and back, unable to pull out more than a few inches before being drawn back in by the snug embrace of your hole, gaze fixed to the jiggle of your soft body each time he bottoms out. 

“So good, so, so good, you feel so-” He whines, his thrusts jackhammering you like a rabbit, the light splashes of water over the edge of the pool mixing into the cacophony of grunts, moans, gags and the lewd squelches of your pussy. 

“What’s noisier, that pretty cunt or this sweet mouth, hm?” Mydei’s golden eyes flick up to meet Phainon, but the younger Chrysos heir seems drunk on your pussy, rutting into your gummy walls like he’s no better than a dog. He’s eager and his length is merciless against your poor hole that’s being made to accommodate his size again and again with each pump of his hips. Your thighs are being squished between his body and the edge of the pool, having pushed you as far forwards as possible, causing you to take more of Mydei’s cock down your throat in turn. 

Your pleasure increases tenfold though, when Phainon reaches under you to find your swollen clit, rubbing the little pearl in sticky circles while smearing your slick over it. Your legs tremble under you and Mydei picks up on your shaky arms. He moves from being on his knees to sitting down with his legs outstretched on either side of you, letting you lean down and not put so much balance on your arms. It becomes easier to instead focus on Phainon ramming into you from behind and the tart taste of Mydei’s pre smearing across your drooling tongue. 

“Shit! You tightened up so much-” Phainon whines, cock throbbing as he feels his release nearing. Mydei has his bottom lip caught between his teeth and his gaze flickers between your glassy eyes and the bounce of your ass each time Phainon plunges into you. 

“You hear that? I think you’re going to make him cum~” He croons from above you, grinning at how you’ve got the fearsome deliverer whimpering like a pup while he pumps into your cunt at rapid pace. Your back arches sweetly and Phainon lets out a broken whimper as it allows him a little deeper into you. The next thing you register is the hot spurt of his cum spilling deep into you. He leans over your back, forehead pressed between your shoulder blades as he pants and whines, grinding his tip against your abused cervix with a death grip on your hips to make sure he doesn’t slip out of you – not that there’s anywhere you could go given how you’re sandwiched between his toned figure and the edge of the pool. 

To your surprise, Mydei pulls out of your mouth, his thumb tracing the plush curve of your bottom lip to wipe away your drool. The action makes you feel even more debauched and it has you clenching on Phainon. But the white-haired man whines when you’re pulled out of his arms and into Mydei’s lap instead. 

“You can take another load, right, sweetheart?” He asks in a gravelly tone as he seats you onto his thick cock. He doesn’t reach quite as far as Phainon did, but the thicker stretch as you keening and arching into his broad chest. He pushes into your clenching insides, groaning as Phainon’s creamy spend runs down the shaft of his red-marked cock. His calloused hand comes down on your ass, making you squeal. “I asked you a question.” He tilts his head to the side, braid falling over his shoulder as he looks at you pointedly, eyes of molten gold penetrating your very being. 

“Y-yes! Can take ahh~ another load!” You babble as he starts to bounce you on his dick. After only a few strokes Phainon – not wanting to be left out – presses himself to your back and reaches around your front to begin to paw at your plump tits, teasing the nipples and tugging on them. Mydei could shoo him away but they’ve done well enough at sharing you so far, and every pinch to your sensitive nipples makes you squeeze deliciously on his fat cock. 

With Mydei’s grip on your ass being used to haul you up and down on his shaft like a doll, Phainon takes it upon himself to let one of his hands glide down your front and to your clit once more, swiping across it in rapid motions, wanting- needing to see you orgasm. It’s successful in getting your head to fall back against his shoulder, moans pouring from your lips that will undoubtedly be heard should anyone stand too close to the door-

But he swallows down all your noises with a heated kiss when he feels a spray of your juices against his fingertips, Mydei growling at how you tighten up on him just right. 

“Fuck, fuck! Milking me like that, I’ll-” The crown prince cuts himself off in favour of gritting his teeth to muffle his grunts as he spills his load into you. You’re left mewling into Phainon’s mouth at the hot spill in your sensitive pussy. You’re all left panting when Phainon eventually breaks the kiss in favour of nuzzling into your neck, Mydei’s hands stroking up and down the curve of your waist to soothe your shaking figure. Only once he thinks you can take it does he steadily lift you off his cock and let you fall into his sculpted chest. To let you stretch your legs from where they’ve been folded to straddle him, he leans back against the tiled floor, palm smoothing up and down your back as you steadily come down from your high. 

But Phainon isn’t done with you just yet, pushing one of your thighs aside to spread them again. He cups the sides of your ass to coax you into a gentle arch, just enough to let him access your creampied pussy when he lays down on his front. 

“Phai! Can’t take any-” He cuts you off with a cooing tone:

“Shhh, pretty girl, just cleaning you up.” He murmurs against your slit as he laps up the cum and slick that’s dribbling from your used hole. He’s firm but gentle with each roll of his tongue, swallowing down the mess the three of you have made of your poor cunt. 

“Let’s get a robe for you.” Mydei murmurs, lips caressing the shell of your ear, “Wouldn’t want the next booking to come in and find you all ruined like this, hm?” 

⋆ :₊ ꒰ banner by @/snvvo on X ꒱

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You sit up slowly, letting your eyes adjust to the dimness, listening to the sounds of your home at night. Your daughter breathes softly in her crib beside your bed. Little sighs and the rustle of blankets as she shifts in sleep.

She’s always been the deeper sleeper of the two, which is why her crib stayed in your room while your son’s moved down the hall. Separating them keeps them from waking each other through the night.

Your son should be sleeping too, safe in his own crib in the twins’ room.

But Phainon’s warmth is gone from beside you. And you know, with that instinct that comes from months of shared parenting and even longer years of knowing him, that your son is awake too.

Your heart jumps. Not with fear exactly, because you trust Phainon with everything you have, but with sudden alertness. That shift from sleep to awareness that every parent knows.

You slip out of bed as quietly as you can, bare feet touching cool floor. You wrap a shawl around your shoulders against the slight chill of night air and follow the faintest trail of sound drifting through the hallway.

A voice.

Gentle and soft and familiar.

Almost singing.

You exhale with a smile you didn’t know you were holding back, relief and affection flooding through you in equal measure.

Of course.

You pad down the hallway on silent feet. When you reach the twins’ room, you push open the door just enough to see inside, careful not to let the hinges creak.

And there he is.

Phainon sits on the floor beside your son’s crib. Legs folded beneath him in that easy way he has, white hair completely mussed from sleep and falling across his forehead, shirt half-buttoned like he threw it on in the dark without bothering to check.

The light from the small lamp on the dresser catches on the planes of his face, highlighting the gentle curve of his smile, the softness in his eyes.

In his arms is your son, small body curled against his chest, tiny fists gripping the fabric of Phainon’s shirt near his collarbone. The baby isn’t crying, just awake, wide-eyed in that solemn way infants have sometimes, staring up at his father’s face with rapt attention.

Phainon’s hand moves slowly across the child’s back in soothing circles, and his voice continues in that low, melodic murmur:

“…and down through the market we go,” he’s saying, weaving a story like thread, “past a stall where a lady shows us all her clever inventions, and the fruit vendor who always gives us too much because she says growing heroes need their strength…”

Your son makes a tiny sound. Half-whimper, half-curious coo.

Phainon’s smile widens, eyes crinkling at the corners as he adjusts the baby more securely against his chest, one hand cradling the small head with practiced gentleness.

“Oh yes,” he whispers, voice warm as sunlight, “heroes like you. Heroes like your sister sleeping so peacefully right now. And your mother, of course—” His voice drops even softer. “She’s the bravest one of us all. The strongest. The kindest. Everything good in this world.”

You press your hand against your mouth, throat suddenly tight with emotion. Lean your forehead against the doorframe because your knees feel weak.

He continues, voice dipping into a gentle rhythm that’s half-song, half-story:

“…and we’ll hunt for treasures only heroes can find. Shining pearls hidden in market stalls, little crystals that catch the light just so. And we’ll bring them home to show Mama, won’t we?"

Phainon laughs quietly and clears his throat. "She’ll smile that smile that makes everything bright. Then we’ll eat sweetbread still warm from the baker’s oven, and go to the bathhouses because even heroes need to wash after big adventures…”

The lullaby is entirely made up, you realize. Improvised from the fabric of your daily life. The market trips, the appraisal work Phainon does, the simple domestic rhythms that make up your world together.

He’s turning the mundane into magic for your son, making heroic quests out of grocery shopping and bath time.

Your son’s eyelids are drooping now, blinking slower and slower, small head dropping more heavily against Phainon’s shoulder. Fighting sleep with the determination of the very young. Losing the battle.

Phainon hums now instead of singing words. Soft and melodic and steady as a heartbeat. The tune is sweet and simple, something he’s making up as he goes, but it carries all the love in the world.

You step inside finally, moving quiet as breath.

Phainon looks up the moment he senses you. Those impossibly blue eyes finding yours across the dim room, and they’re warm, tired, but absolutely glowing with contentment.

He doesn’t speak, doesn’t want to break the spell. Just smiles that soft, private smile he only ever shows you. The one that says you’re home, you’re everything, I love you.

After a long moment, when the baby has gone boneless and peaceful against him, Phainon rises with fluid grace despite his exhaustion. He moves like water, like he’s done this a thousand times, cradling your son with such careful reverence.

“He didn’t want to wake his sister,” Phainon whispers, voice barely more than breath as he crosses to you. “Woke up fussing, and I thought—well. I thought we’d go on a little nighttime journey instead.”

His free hand rises instinctively, thumb brushing your cheekbone in a gentle sweep. Tender, protective, a little worried.

You reach up and brush a strand of white hair back from his forehead, fingers lingering against his skin. “A very heroic one, I hear.”

His cheeks flush faintly even in the dim light, that endearing embarrassment that comes when you catch him being sweet. “I may have embellished our adventures for dramatic effect.”

“As you should,” you murmur, affection making your voice thick.

Phainon carries the baby back to the crib with steps so careful you can barely hear them. He leans down slowly, pressing a kiss to your son’s temple, before laying him gently back into the soft blankets.

The little boy sighs in his sleep, a sound of pure contentment, and curls onto his side. His breathing evens out immediately, deep and peaceful.

You both watch him for a moment, making sure he’s truly settled. Making sure he’s safe and warm and dreaming sweet dreams.

Then Phainon turns to you, and his expression melts into something so tender it makes your heart ache.

His hands find your waist, fingers spreading across the fabric of your nightclothes, and he pulls you close, slow and careful and deliberate, like he’s savoring the feeling of you against him. Like even after all this time, touching you is still something precious.

“You should be sleeping,” he murmurs, forehead dropping to rest against yours.

“I woke up and my other half was missing.”

Phainon laughs quietly. That warm, breathy sound that always makes your heart flutter and stumble. “I’m sorry, my love. I tried not to disturb you.”

“You didn’t. I just missed you.”

Something in his expression cracks open at that. Softens further.

Then he kisses you.

Soft and sweet and unhurried, tasting like sleep and affection and home. His lips move against yours gently. Like he’s saying thank you for choosing me, for making this life with me, for giving me everything I never knew I needed.

Your hands slip up his chest, fingers finding the fabric where your son’s small fists had clung to him moments before. The shirt is wrinkled there, warm from tiny hands.

He breaks the kiss only to lift you in one smooth motion, arms secure and solid beneath you. One under your knees, one supporting your back.

You yelp softly, startled. “Phainon!”

He only grins, eyes sparkling with mischief and love, voice dropping into that sweet, teasing warmth that you’ve loved for years:

“Shh. You’ll wake the little heroes.”

He carries you down the hallway, moving through the darkness of your home like he knows every inch by heart. Light from the nightlamps brushes over you both as you pass windows, painting you in shades of blue and silver.

At your bedroom door, he pauses. Shifts you slightly so he can press a kiss to your forehead. The promise of protection and love and I’ve got you.

“Back to sleep,” Phainon whispers against your skin. “Let me take care of you, too.”

He lays you down with such reverence you might be something sacred. Tucks the blankets around you with careful hands, smoothing them over your shoulders, making sure you’re comfortable.

Then he slides in beside you and immediately pulls you against him with a soft, contented sigh.

“There,” Phainon murmurs, nose brushing your temple. “Much better.”

You settle against his chest, breathing in the scent of him. Clean and familiar and home. His heartbeat is steady beneath your ear, a rhythm you know as well as your own.

For a moment you just lie there together, warm and safe and quiet.

Then Phainon shifts slightly, tilting your chin up until you’re looking at him in the dimness.

“Hi,” he whispers, and there’s something playful dancing in his eyes despite the late hour.

“Hi,” you whisper back, smiling.

He kisses you. Soft at first. Gentle and sweet, lips moving against yours with tender familiarity. But then he deepens it slightly, hand sliding up to cup your face, thumb stroking your cheekbone as he kisses you like he has all the time in the world.

When he pulls back, it’s only far enough to press his forehead to yours, breath warm against your lips.

“I missed you, dawnlight,” Phainon murmurs. “Even just for those few minutes.”

Your heart does something complicated in your chest. “You were only down the hall.”

“Still too far.” He kisses you again, quicker this time, almost playful. Then again. Little butterfly kisses across your cheek, your nose, making you smile helplessly.

“Phainon,” you breathe, trying not to laugh and failing.

“Shh,” he teases, lips brushing the corner of your mouth. “You’ll wake our daughter.”

You bite your lip, shoulders shaking with silent laughter, and he grins. That beautiful, mischievous grin that makes him look years younger.

“You’re ridiculous,” you whisper.

“You love me,” Phainon counters.

“I do,” you say, bringing your hand up to touch his face. “So much it counts as otherworldly.”

His expression melts at that. All the playfulness softening into something tender.

“Not as much as I love you,” he whispers, and kisses you again.

This time it’s slower. Deeper. His hand slides into your hair, cradling the back of your head as he pours everything he can’t say into the kiss. Gratitude and devotion and wonder that you chose him, that you built this life with him, that you gave him a family he never thought he’d have.

You kiss him back, fingers curling into his shirt, pulling him closer.

When you finally break apart, you’re both breathing harder, and his eyes are almost glowing in the soft light.

“I love you,” Phainon murmurs against your lips. “I love you, I love you, I—”

You kiss him quiet, smiling against his mouth, and he makes a soft, pleased sound.

Then he shifts, pressing you gently onto your back so he can lean over you, propped on one elbow. His free hand finds yours, fingers lacing together, bringing your joined hands to rest against his chest.

“Thank you,” Phainon whispers, and his voice cracks slightly on the words. “For this. For them. For—” He stops, swallows hard. “For everything.”

You squeeze his hand. “Thank you for singing to our son in the middle of the night. For being so gentle with them. For loving us the way you do.”

He closes his eyes briefly, overwhelmed.

Then he leans down and kisses your forehead, long and lingering.

“Always,” he promises against your skin.

Phainon settles back down beside you, and this time when he pulls you into his arms, it’s with complete surrender. Tucking your head beneath his chin, wrapping both arms around you, legs tangling with yours beneath the blankets.

You can feel the moment he fully relaxes. The last tension draining from his shoulders, his breathing evening out, his body molding perfectly against yours like you were made to fit together.

“Comfortable?” Phainon murmurs, lips brushing your hair.

“Perfect,” you whisper back.

His arms tighten fractionally, and he presses another kiss to the top of your head.

You curl into him, hand resting over his heart, feeling the steady thump-thump-thump beneath your palm.

You’re drifting off, warm and safe and loved beyond measure, when you hear it.

Him humming again, so softly you almost miss it.

The lullaby.

But this time it’s different. This time the melody shifts and the words, barely breathed against your hair, are about you.

“…and the bravest hero of all,” he sings, voice barely above a whisper, “who gave me everything… who made me whole… who shows me every day what love means…”

Your heart clenches with so much emotion you can barely breathe.

You smile into his chest, tears pricking at your eyes, and press a kiss over his heart.

Phainon's arms tighten around you one more time. Secure, protective, infinitely gentle.

And you fall asleep to the sound of him singing you into dreams.

Safe.

Loved.

Home.

⋆ ✦ ⋆

A/N: Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed it. :) Likes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated. ☺️

His hips relentlessly piston against yours, his bare torso on display and golden in the sunrays that filter through the window of your living room. There's a crazed, heated look in his eyes as he watches you fall apart underneath him, hands grabbing the pillows so tight that you might pop a vein in your wrist. His are wrapped tight around your spread thighs, pushing one against the backrest as the other is flat against the cushion, your knee hanging off the edge, a perfect fit for his torso to slot on top of yours.

"P-Phain- nggh!" You whimper as skin slapping permeates the atmosphere.

His tip relentlessly bullies into you, and he looks so hot ruining you from above, you can't help but arch your back in pleasure.

"You feel so good," he murmurs between bated breaths, "t-taking me so well on our brand new couch."

He groans when you clench around him particularly tight, fingers holding onto you even harder as the dents in your skin deepen with his lack of control. You're definitely going to wake up to bruises along your inner thigh tomorrow, and he'd kiss over the spots with that apologetic, kicked-puppy look.

His poor jumper, you're probably leaking all over it. He had folded the thick thing and placed it underneath you when you expressed concern about soiling the couch, and you were right to be worried.

You could feel your juices coating his dick unabashedly, and with his thrusts, some had even dripped down your ass and stained his clothes. Not that he cared, the sight of you spread all over him made him lose all sense, wanting nothing else but to ruin you even more.

His blue eyes were glued to where the both of you joined, watching with shameless fascination as his dick disappeared into you again and again. There was a ring of fluid forming at the base of his cock, and titans, he needed to feel you cum around him right now.

So, he readjusts himself, angling just right to have you singing out his name again and again, whining for more, begging to let you cum.

How could he ever deny you of that? With a particularly harsh thrust, the building knot in your gut finally snaps and you come with a shriek.

"Phainon," you whine as you finally peak, your eyes rolling back in pleasure as it hits you in relentless waves. He moans at the way his name rolls off your tongue, and he wanted to kiss you senseless, stealing all the words from you so the only thing you knew how to say was his name in the sweet way you always do.

"I'm gonna cum- gonna cum inside, okay starlight?" He doesn't wait for your response before warmth floods into your womb, and his dick throbs as ropes and ropes of cum decorate your walls.

Full, so full. You whine at the feeling of his heavy cock twitching in you as the ringing in your ear fades, your vision gradually returns to normal, and your mind finally clears from the haze of your orgasm.

Phainon slowly presses kisses into your neck, going up to the side of your jaw, coaxing you back to mindfulness.

When you wrap an arm around his neck, he happily obliges, looking up at you with that attentive, concerned gaze of his.

"Was I too rough?" He asks.

"A little, but is' okay," you play with the tufts of hair at the bottom of his neck, words slightly slurred together. "Someone's enthusiastic about us moving in together."

His cheeks flush red and he hides his face in your neck, embarrassed. How Phainon can go from fucking your brains out to clinging to you like a koala is beyond your comprehension, but you love him all the same for it.

Well, until you're hiked over the cold kitchen counter, body pressed against the cool marble counter that digs into you at the wrong angle. Your toes just barely touch the floor, and Phainon's hands are slowly dragging your underwear down, fingers toying with the fabric.

You were just getting some water, how has it lead to Phainon's warm breath grazing along your now-exposed folds?

"Have you not had your fill today?" You whimper, the activities from just hours prior still lingering in your body.

"I don't think I'll ever get enough of you," he says back, sounding absolutely bewitched. You can't see him, but you can imagine the stars that shine in his eyes all the same, and you dig your face into your hands, slightly embarrassed that he's having a staring contest with your pussy.

When it clenches around nothing, Phainon leans in and begins with a large, hot stripe up your cunt.

You tense and hit the kitchen counter with your fist. His hands go from the side of your thighs to holding your ankles, stopping you from kicking them reflexively.

"Tastes so good," he murmurs, the words hitting your glistening folds before he seals them against you with another ambitious lick. Then another, and he's basically making out with your cunt, slurping everything you give with barely-held on constraint.

It's so debauched, the way he devours you, eating you out like a madman starved. You haven't even used this kitchen counter to cut vegetables or prepare lunch, and you're already being bent in half on it while Phainon eats you like his favourite meal after a month of starvation.

He moans your name, along with appreciative groans of the way you taste. With how unabashed he was being in expressing his excitement, you couldn't help but groan in embarrassment before rewarding him by grinding against his face, assisting his ministrations. He'd moan even louder, clearly enjoying the moment before returning the favour with even more vigour.

His lips then wrap around your clit, and you jolt. "Phainon- ahh- s-slow down!"

After a particularly harsh suckle that has you keening, he returns to eating you out. "Can't. Don' wanna, you're so sweet, babe."

It ends with you making a mess on the kitchen floor, and him making a mess in his boxers as a certain wet patch as you raising your eyebrows at the man.

But you should have known that the day was not going to end there, because when Phainon said he had ideas of 'settling in', he had ideas and he was going to make sure all of them were accomplished. 90% of the time, it involved you being bent in half over some poor surface that was the victim, 5% of the time you were lying down with him as close as humanly possible, the other 5% of the time you were bent into unorthodox positions.

Like in the hallway, when you both returned from a quick shopping trip to get groceries for dinner, he had, unsurprisingly, jumped on the opportunity. When you bent down to take off your shoes and felt him run a hand down your back, you audibly sighed.

"Phainon…"

All protests died on your tongue the second he gave you those pleading eyes, and you found yourself agreeing to another filling as he takes you against the wall.

It's cold and rough against your back, but Phainon held you up against him so well, your legs wrapped tight around his waist as he thrust into you wildly. You were helpless in his grasp, moaning as your breasts bounced relentlessly, but each sound you made was swallowed by him.

He was kissing you at every given chance, hips stilling when you would return it so he could enjoy the feeling of your lips on his. You don't mention it when you feel him twitch when you licked his nose, but the teasing smile you gave him was enough to send him into overdrive as he begun fucking you harder.

"Baby, touch yourself for me, please," he whines and you do as told, sneaking a hand down from his neck to your clit. It's embarrassing to feel how wet you are, but he moans so appreciatively at the sight of you playing with yourself, eyes focused on where the two of you meet.

"I-I'm close, Phai," you whimper and he presses a lingering, wet kiss to your cheekbone, smothering his spit over your skin. "Harder, p-please."

"Anything for you," he readjusts his hold and begins thrusting with newfound fervour, reaching even deeper than before, tip continuously kissing your cervix as you kept rubbing circles on your clit.

He falters every time your pussy clenched around him extra tight, squeezing his eyes shut before forcing them open to watch you come undone.

And he thinks you're beautiful when you finally unravel. Your eyes roll back before closing, mind freezing from the pleasure, and the spasming of your own walls brings him to his own high. He forces himself to stay strong as his cum enters your womb, and he shudders when he feels fluid trickle down his cock and drip onto the floor beneath you.

Beneath you was a puddle of mixed essences, and thank goodness for wooden floors. You're concerned Phainon thinks the sight is hot, not because you think it's gross or anything, but because you don't think wall sex is great on your back. Being pressed against such an unforgiving surface gets uncomfortable after a while, and you really don't want him to get any more ideas.

You had to wrestle him off you while you were cooking dinner, insisting that the kitchen had already been 'settled into' and the 'vibes were already established!' while Phainon whined loudly, clinging to your waist.

You already known that Phainon was always going to be a big ball of energy that would never shy away from showing how much he loved you, and you adored him for it. However, for the goodness of your own body and legs that shook a little too much whenever you stood up, you can't keep accepting his advances, otherwise you'll become a literal puddle of limbs.

Where his stamina came from, you're unsure, because you've sucked a great deal of energy out of him too,

That lasted for two hours before he took you again in the bathroom. Your moans reverberated off the ceramic tiles while the running water was practically forgotten about. In the haze of pleasure, neither of you thought too hard about the water bill, or neither of you had the mindspace to care.

How can you think of anything else when he was fucking you so well? His dick mercilessly hitting your spongy insides every time, finding the right place with every thrust.

Him knowing your body so well just spells trouble for you, because you couldn't get enough of him if you tried, and Phainon's craving for you may never get fulfilled, leading to a dangerous game.

You leave the shower squeaky clean, but with even sorer legs, more hickeys blossoming along your chest, and a satisfied Phainon behind you.

Well, almost satisfied.

"No more!" You exclaim, pushing his head away when he tried to kiss you.

Phainon frowns as if you stabbed him through the chest. "What, why?"

"I'm tapping out, I can't take anymore!" You turn to face away from him.

"No, my light, don't turn away from me," he paws at your hip to try and get you to face him again. "Just turn around, please? Pretty please?"

"No, I'm establishing boundaries for the night, no funny business at all, Phai."

"I'm not doing anything!"

"Good, because you doing anything will lead to funny business!"

"My love," he whines, "can't I at least get a goodnight kiss?"

"You don't deserve one?"

"What? Yes I do!"

For how many times he made you come today, he did, but also for that exact reason, you stubbornly withheld your kisses from him. "No kiss for you."

"Nooo!" He was all up against you now, practically begging in your ear as he jostled your hip back and forth like a brat. "Please, I won't be able to rest otherwise, I think I'll have the worst night of my life."

A chorus of various, dramatised claims spilled from his mouth, and you eventually snapped. Turning over, you grabbed the back of his neck and pulled his face down to yours, slotting his lips against yours in a kiss that started out firm, but melted into something more gentle.

He hummed against you in quiet delight, but you pulled away before he could even savour the moment, turning around coldly again. "That- that wasn't enough!"

"That was plenty, otherwise you'll get funny ideas, mister." Thinking about the 'funny ideas' was already making your legs sore.

"Fine," he grumbles, "can you at least sleep facing me?"

Phainon always did take his favourite sleeping position very seriously. He preferred to have you facing him with your head dug into his chest or vice versa, keeping you flush against him as he refused to let you move an inch during the night. It was a tad creepy, the way he had a sixth sense for it. Every time you so thought about shuffling away a little bit, he would seek you out and close the distance in an instant, all while staying sound asleep.

You've learnt now that if you ever needed bathroom, kitchen, or snack trips at midnight, you could expect to hear his footsteps if you took too long.

So denying him of this privilege was the best way of showing him you were serious.

"No."

He all but wails, throwing himself over you as he tried to coax you into relenting, whether that be a kiss to your cheek, or pulling you flush to his chest, you refused to budge.

"I'll have nightmares, I won't be able to sleep like this, please Y/n, my one, my only, my lifeline, I love you so much, don't deny me of this," begs the white-haired who invades more and more of your space with each passing second.

You still your heart and don't give up the act, even if he was pressing on you so hard that you were smushed against the mattress. "No."

"This can't be good luck on our first night in our new home," he mumbles, "we're messing up the vibes that I've been establishing so well."

"Your vibes are pretty messed up too, I'd say."

He shakes his head, "my vibes are full of love, because I made love to you at every corner of the house."

"You're just making that up to try and appease me."

"No- really!"

"Phainon, just go to sleep."

"I can't."

"Will you shut up if I turn around?"

He nods from above you and you relent. Phainon's small cheers can be heard before he's pulling you around and dragging you to his warm chest, toned, beefy arms constricting around you like vines. "Goodnight, Phai."

"Goodnight, my love," he says with a kiss to your hairline.

You had to push him off you the following morning when his hands were getting dangerously close to your core.

(You also love his hair—though for slightly different reasons.

Reasons that involve your fingers buried in it, tugging when moments get heated. The kind of tugging that makes him inhale sharply, look at you with half-lidded gaze, and mutter something low enough that you hope the walls are thick enough so your daughter wouldn’t hear.)

Mydei loves his hair because you love it.

Mydei loves his hair because your daughter loves it.

The man’s life revolves around two people and apparently a single yet crucial aesthetic choice.

However… his hair is longer than what he would prefer it to be right now.

It keeps falling into his eyes. It takes forever to dry. The clips have also multiplied to concerning glittery quantities. You’ve even started seeing him absentmindedly twisting the ends in mild annoyance.

He doesn’t hate it long, but it’s definitely on the edge of too long. So naturally…

Mydei cut his hair.

It was supposed to be a “minor trim”. At least that’s what he claimed as he stands in the living room, shoulders tense, and hands awkwardly at his sides as if he’s just done something catastrophic. And in a way, it is—his once long, braidable, clip-holdable hair is now short. Stylish, handsome, still tuggable, but undeniably short.

You blink at him.

He swallows.

Your daughter stares.

There is a long, terrible silence. And then—

“You’re not my papa.”

You watch the color drain from your husband’s face.

“Swe— sweetheart,” he sputters, pointing at himself as if reminding her who he is. “It’s me. I’m papa.”

She narrows her eyes at him suspiciously. “Papa has long hair. You’re an impostor.”

Mydei—son of Gorgo, the nonchalant-est man that you know could ever nonchalant, the man who’s only ever cried once and it was during the day of your wedding—looks like he’s about to cry and you try not to laugh. You press a hand over your mouth, trying to stifle the giggles.

He mouths at you. Do something, he says.

You kneel beside your daughter. “Sweetie… that is papa. He just cut his hair.”

“But why?” Your daughter crosses her arms with a pout.

Mydei winces as if stabbed. “I didn’t mean for it to be this short, sweetheart. Papa’s hair may be short, but it’s still beautiful, right?”

“No!”

He steps forward, kneels, and gently offers his head. “You can still put clips in it?”

She studies his hair skeptically. “It’s too short.”

You see Mydei’s lips wobble. You finally take pity.

Leaning down, you kiss his cheek. “Don’t worry. I still recognize you.”

He relaxes a little—not until your daughter climbs into your lap and whispers, just loud enough for him to hear, “Mama, that’s not papa. Papa would never betray me.”

Unable to contain yourself any longer, you burst out laughing.

© 2025 kominigiru.

EXTRA:

heh so uhh,,, i lowk rushed ts chapter because I was mad sleepy (i was planning on including more context like how the union is what's literally keeping yn alive: oops spoiler alert) but ehhhh,,, hope ya'll like it tehee, adios

It starts on a night when you should already be asleep. The kind of December evening where darkness falls too early and the cold makes everything feel more isolating.

Not a bad day, exactly. Just one of those long ones that drains something quiet from you. Errands. People. The ache behind your eyes that never quite lets up.

You lie in bed staring at the ceiling, phone screen dimmed, the room too quiet to rest in, too loud to breathe in. Music doesn’t help. Silence doesn’t help. Your thoughts keep circling back to every small thing you didn’t say, didn’t do, didn’t fix.

So, you do what you always do when sleep refuses to come:

You search for background noise.

Scrolling. Scrolling.

White noise. Old podcasts. Rain recordings. None of them feel right.

Then…

A tiny station appears in the list. One you’ve never seen before.

AM 3355: The Midnight Frequency

Live now.

The thumbnail is nothing but a dim blue light, almost like a lantern in fog.

You hesitate—because the hour is strange, and the title feels like something you’d find in a story, not your actual radio app—but something in you clicks play anyway.

The static hums. A soft chime.

Then a voice.

Warm. Soft.

A voice impossible to ignore.

A voice that sounds like it was made for the quiet hours of the night.

A voice that says:

“Good evening, night wanderers. Or perhaps… good morning, depending on how long your thoughts have held you awake.”

A pause. You can hear the faint shift of him adjusting the microphone. A soft inhale. Steady, unhurried.

“You’re listening to The Midnight Frequency, broadcasting to anyone who finds themselves awake at an hour they did not choose. The hour of confessions. Of clarity. Of quiet truths we avoid in daylight.”

Your heartbeat slows without meaning to.

“Tonight, I want to talk about cycles.” A breath, and you can hear the smile in his voice.

“Not the washing machine kind. Though I’m sure some of you are doing laundry at this ungodly hour. No, I mean the patterns we find ourselves caught in. The same thoughts at 2 AM. The same feelings we can’t name. The same comfort we seek in the same places.”

He lets that sit for a moment.

“Do you ever feel like you’re running in circles? Like no matter how far you go, you end up right back where you started?” His tone shifts—lighter, almost playful. “Pun absolutely intended, by the way. We’re on a radio frequency. Cycles are kind of our thing.”

Despite yourself, you smile.

“But here’s what I’ve been thinking,” he continues, voice warming. “Maybe cycles aren’t traps. Maybe they’re opportunities. Each time we come back around, we bring new understanding. New perspective. We’re not the same person we were the last time we stood in this spot.”

A soft laugh. “Or maybe I’ve just had too much coffee and I’m philosophizing at midnight. But if you’re awake right now, caught in your own cycle of thoughts… maybe that means something.”

He pauses, and the silence feels intentional. Intimate.

“Most of you are here because something is heavy tonight. Something unnamed. Something that sits in the chest where words don’t reach.”

His voice dips lower, tender. “If you’re listening to this, then perhaps you have too many thoughts too.”

“So tell me… what kept you awake tonight? Was it a heavy heart? A restless mind? Or something you wish you could say to someone but can’t?”

“If you feel brave, call in. If not, stay with me awhile. I’ll keep the light on.”

A brief pause. Intimate, almost like a hand extended toward yours.

“This is Phainon. And for the next three hours, I’m here with you. Let’s see what the night has to say.”

He pauses. “Tonight we open with Satie’s Gymnopédie No. 1. Let it wash over you.”

The piano begins. Simple, spare, achingly beautiful.

You close your eyes. You don’t even realize you’re smiling.

You lie there, stunned, listening to every note.

You weren’t expecting this. You weren’t expecting him. This eloquence. This warmth. This unshakeable gentleness undercut with something quietly aching.

You don’t call in. You just listen.

And something inside you loosens.

· · ·

It happens three days later. You’ve listened to his show every day, becoming attached to the quiet rhythm and the familiarity of the host, Phainon.

So you’re listening in today too. The soft piano fades out. There’s a gentle click. A light hum as Phainon leans toward the mic.

“We have our first caller of the night.”

Your stomach flips. You didn’t mean to press the call button. You really, truly didn’t.

But your thumb slipped. And now the automated voice says: You’re live.

Phainon’s warm timbre fills your headphones.

“Hello there. You’re on the air.”

You inhale, too sharply. “…Oh. Um. Hi.”

There’s a beat of silence. Phainon always sounds like he’s listening with his whole body.

“You sound surprised to be here,” he says, gentle amusement threading his voice.

“Yeah,” you admit. “I didn’t plan to call. My hand betrayed me.”

A soft laugh plays through the speaker.

“A treacherous hand,” Phainon muses. “But perhaps a wise one. Often the part of us that reaches out first is the part that needs something.”

Your breath stutters.

Why does he speak like this? Why is a radio host allowed to sound like this?

He continues softly. “What kept you awake tonight?”

You exhale slowly. “It’s nothing dramatic,” you say, suddenly self-conscious. “Just… one of those days where you feel wrung out for no reason. Like everything took more energy than it should.”

He hums. “Ah. Yes. The invisible heaviness. That kind of weight is often worse than obvious pain, because it gives us no story to point to. No reason to justify why we feel the way we do.”

Your throat tightens. He articulates it perfectly.

“Exactly,” you whisper. “It feels stupid to be this exhausted.”

“Exhaustion is never stupid,” Phainon counters softly. “It is an honest reaction to the demands of being human.”

You blink rapidly. You weren’t expecting to feel seen at 1:14 AM by a disembodied voice.

Phainon shifts, the microphone catching the faint brush of his sleeve.

“Tell me,” he says gently, “has your mind been loud today? Or quiet in that empty sort of way?”

You hesitate because it’s uncanny how close he gets without knowing you.

“…Quiet,” you admit. “But not peaceful. More like drained.”

Another hum. This one deeper. Empathetic.

“Then you’re not lacking energy,” Phainon says softly. “You’re lacking replenishment.”

“Quiet is not rest. Stillness is not restoration. Tonight, your mind is asking for gentleness.”

You close your eyes. He’s right. He’s so right it almost hurts.

There’s a pause, then you hear his voice again. “Do you usually sleep well?”

“Not really,” you confess. “Especially not on nights like this.”

“Then let me ask something simpler.” There’s a shift of paper, as if he’s leaning forward. His voice lowers, soft as silk. “What would help your heart feel less heavy tonight?”

You inhale shakily.

“…Music,” you say. “Something calm. Something that makes it feel like the world isn’t spinning.”

A soft exhale escapes him. “You have good instincts. I have just the thing.”

You hear the faint clicking of him cueing a track.

But before he plays it…

“Thank you for calling,” he says quietly. “Even if it was accidental.“ A moment passes. You can only hear his breathing.

“Some conversations don’t wait for permission. They arrive exactly when we need them.”

Your cheeks warm. “And thank you for talking to me,” you murmur. “You’re very easy to talk to.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then a subtle shift. A quiet, almost-surprised laugh.

“You’d be astounded how seldom I hear that,” he admits. His voice has gone even softer, almost intimate. “I’m glad you feel that way.”

“I do,” you say before you can think too hard. “Very much.”

A pause.

“Then call again,” Phainon murmurs, low and unhurried. “Any night you can’t sleep. I’ll be here.”

Your heart stutters. “O-okay.”

“Now breathe for me. Let the song hold you. This is Turning Page by Sleeping At Last. A quiet piece for quiet hearts.”

Music swells. Soft, steady, healing.

Phainon speaks one last time before the song fully takes over:

“Rest. The night has room for you.”

You lie back in bed, pulse fluttering like wings.

You didn’t mean to call. But now? You think you might call again.

Because the voice on the other end felt like someone turning on a light in a room you didn’t know was dark.

· · ·

You, absorbed in the intimacy of the night and the fragile illusion of anonymity, call again the next day.

“You’re on The Midnight Frequency. Who am I speaking with tonight?”

You inhale. “Uh…hi. It’s…”

You don’t even get to finish.

Phainon’s entire tone changes. That soft little oh in his breath. The microsecond of silence. “…You.” Warm.

He clears his throat, tries to recover. “Good evening. I didn’t expect you back so soon.”

You laugh softly. “I couldn’t sleep. Again. Too many thoughts.”

That laugh does something to him. If listeners could see his face, they’d see his eyes soften instantly.

“I see.” His voice drops. “Then I’m glad you called.”

Your breath falters.

Phainon definitely hears it. “What’s on your mind this time?” He clears his throat. “…If you’re comfortable sharing,” he adds quickly, a touch flustered.

You hesitate. “I’ve been thinking about potential. About all the things I could be doing but I’m not. Like… am I wasting time? Am I in the right place?”

Phainon hums thoughtfully. “You know, that ties into tonight’s theme perfectly. Possibilities. Reaching for the unknown. And sometimes…”

His voice softens. “Sometimes we don’t even know which part of us has been slumbering or can come into existence until someone reflects it back to us.”

You hadn’t thought of it that way.

“Can I ask you something?” he says gently. “When you’re in a crowded room, do you ever feel like a stranger? Like everyone else is speaking a language you can’t quite hear?”

Your breath catches. “…Yes. Exactly like that.”

“And yet,” he murmurs, “here you are. Talking to a voice on the radio you’ve never met. And somehow that feels less strange than being surrounded by people you see every day.”

You can’t speak for a moment.

He continues, softer now. “I think that’s because real connection isn’t about proximity. It’s about recognition. Sometimes we meet someone—even just a voice—and feel like we’ve known them from another life. Like the universe bent just enough to let your paths cross exactly when they needed to.”

“Do you believe in that?” you whisper. “Past lives?”

Phainon laughs quietly. “Who knows? Maybe I’ve been a Greek warrior in some past life. Or a sparkling orator. Or a lonesome wanderer who didn’t belong anywhere. Depending on the day, I feel like I could be any of that.“

He pauses for a moment. “I think I believe in resonance. Whether it’s from this life or another… does it matter? The feeling is real right now.“

Your heart does something complicated.

“So what you’re saying,” you venture carefully, “is that I shouldn’t worry about wasting potential because maybe I’m exactly where I need to be?”

“Perhaps,” Phainon says, and you can hear the smile. “Or perhaps I’m just trying to keep you on the line a little longer.”

You laugh, startled. “Are you flirting with me?”

Silence. Just long enough to be interesting.

“Would it be terribly unprofessional if I said maybe?” His voice has gone warm, teasing.

“Probably,” you manage.

“Then let’s call it… philosophically adjacent flirting. Much more dignified. I‘m merely adapting to such depth.”

You’re grinning now. “That’s definitely not a real thing.”

“It is now. I just invented it. Radio host privileges.”

“Does that mean you can just make up words whenever you want?”

“Only when I’m trying to impress clever callers who catch me off guard.” A beat. “Is it working?”

Your cheeks warm. “…Maybe.”

His laugh is soft, delighted. “I’ll take that.”

Phainon clears his throat, feeling as if he’s said too much. “How about you tell me something that frustrated you this week? Sometimes it helps to just speak it aloud.” He pauses. “Or so I’ve been told.”

You tell him something small. A little moment from your week. Something seemingly mundane but honest. Something that occupies your mind even at night.

Phainon listens and answers with gentle humor, philosophical riffs, little insights that land perfectly because he hears between your words.

“Your voice sounds less tense tonight,” he says without thinking.

You freeze.

He freezes.

Radio silence for 0.7 seconds.

“…You can tell?” Your voice is tiny.

“Of course,” he says sincerely. “I‘m learning your rhythms.“

A beat of stunned silence on both ends.

Then he rushes to recover. “Ah. Professionally speaking, that is. As a host. I listen closely to all my callers….”

A lie. Everyone knows it. Especially the listeners.

You stifle a laugh. He hears that too.

“Don’t,” he murmurs. “Please don’t laugh. I’m already—”

He cuts himself off.

Absolutely not because he caught himself nearly admitting he’s flustered.

You smile.

“Nothing like that. You just make laughing feel so effortless. Natural.”

He inhales sharply. The monitor lights peak. Listeners everywhere lean in.

“I’m—” He stops. Tries again. “Thank you.”

He means it. Deeply.

You talk for another minute before you go.

“Goodnight,” you say softly.

“Goodnight,” he answers. “…Call again if you can’t sleep.”

There is no professional reason to add: “Or even if you can.” But he does. Straight into the mic.

And the chaos begins.

The moment the call disconnects, the text line explodes.

Messages flood the console faster than Phainon can read them.

· · ·

[nightowl_87, 1:47 AM]: CALLER #4 IS HIS FAVORITE OMG????

[sleepless_soul, 1:47 AM]: sir. SIR. you changed TONE. we heard that.

[midnight_tea, 1:48 AM]: this is not parasocial this is FACEOFF flirtation on public radio

[starlightvibes, 1:48 AM]: who is this caller and when is the wedding

[cornflowers-and-gold, 1:48 AM]: someone check on phainon he is CRUSHING HARD

[insomniac_blues, 1:48 AM]: i was folding laundry and now i'm pacing. this man is GONE.

[in-the-wheat-fields, 1:49 AM]: "learning your rhythms" phainon????

[waiting-for-the-dawn, 1:49 AM]: i fear for him. i fear for ME. i fear for the communication services.

· · ·

Phainon glances at the screen.

His face goes faintly pink. He clears the queue in absolute silence. Doesn’t address a single message.

Which, of course, makes listeners even more feral.

The second your call disconnects, he leans back in his chair and just stares at the ceiling for a full five seconds.

His hand slides over his face.

“…Learning your rhythms. What was I thinking.”

He drags his fingers through his hair.

Undone.

He reruns the call in his head.

Your laugh. Your voice saying “You’re easy to talk to.” The way you didn’t hesitate to call again.

He exhales, soft and disbelieving.

“Another call.”

He’s smiling. Again. He can’t stop.

He rests his elbow on the desk, fingertips against his mouth.

“This is very inconvenient,” he murmurs with a smile that betrays exactly the opposite sentiment.

He tries to start prepping the next segment.

Fails.

Repeatedly.

Finally he gives up, drops his notes onto the desk, and whispers to himself:

“All right. Get it together.”

He straightens in his chair. Rolls his shoulders back. Tries to reclaim professional composure, but the second the music fades and he speaks again on-air… his voice is warm in a way that everyone notices.

“Welcome back. And to our recent caller…I hope you rest well tonight.”

The messages immediately blow up again.

It’s Saturday night. A friend canceled your plans at the last second because they got a better offer. A party, a crowd, a noise you don’t quite belong in.

You lie awake anyway. Alone with the weight of being someone’s second choice.

By now you know the ritual: open the radio app, find the dim-blue thumbnail, press The Midnight Frequency.

You call in earlier than usual. You don’t mean to. You’re simply too full.

Phainon picks up on the first chime.

You start talking.

Your voice trembles. “Nothing dramatic. Just thinking. About routine. Meaning. Dreams.” A beat. Your finger hovers over the disconnect button.

“Don’t hang up yet,“ Phainon says. “Before we dive into tonight’s topic,” Phainon says, and you can hear the smile in his voice, “I have a confession.”

You lean forward slightly. “Oh?”

“I’ve been thinking about our last conversation. About the past, whether real or imagined, and about feeling like strangers in crowded rooms.” He pauses, softer now. “It made me realize something about myself.”

Your pulse jumps.

“When I was younger,” he continues, voice warming with memory, “I wanted to be a superhero. Cape, mask, the whole thing. I used to tie a blanket around my neck and jump off furniture, convinced I could fly.”

You laugh before you can stop yourself.

“There it is,” he murmurs, delighted. “That laugh. Good.”

Your cheeks warm.

“The funny thing,” he continues, growing thoughtful, “is that I think I became a different kind of hero. Not the cape-and-city-saving kind.” A quiet inhale. “But maybe… maybe the kind who keeps people company in the dark.”

Your throat tightens.

“Tonight’s theme is childhood,” he announces softly. “Not the glossy memory. The real thing. The fragile, bewildering, beautiful thing it was. The moments that shaped us. The ones we forget until someone asks the right question.”

He lets that settle.

“So tell me,” he says, voice dropping into something intimate enough to feel like a secret, “what did you want to be when you were small? Before the world told you what you should be?”

You swallow hard. The answer comes before you can overthink it. “I wanted to be someone who mattered,” you whisper. “Not famous. Just someone who made a difference to at least one person. Who could touch someone.”

Silence.

When Phainon speaks again, his voice is softer than you’ve ever heard it. “You already are,” he murmurs. “To me.”

Your breath stops.

He clears his throat quickly. “I mean. Thank you for sharing that. It’s beautiful.”

Another pause.

“If anyone else is listening,” Phainon says, shifting back toward his host tone, though it’s still warm around the edges, “I’d love to hear from you. What did you dream of becoming? Call in. Let’s remember what it felt like to dream without limits.”

Music swells softly.

You sit there, phone still pressed to your ear, heart racing.

You already are. To me.

You call again. Not every night. You don’t want to intrude.

But often enough that the regular listeners start whispering about “Caller Four.”

Your voice is still soft, but no longer apologetic.

“I’ve been thinking about something you said last time…”

“I wanted to get your thoughts on this…”

“I liked the song you played after I hung up.”

And every single time, without fail, Phainon smiles.

You can hear it.

· · ·

One evening, snow has started to fall. You’re watching the big flakes drift quietly past your window, and for the first time in days… you feel at peace. Light. Like your lungs finally remembered how to breathe.

You turn on the show. Phainon sounds cheerful the second he starts talking. You can't stop smiling. After his introduction, he cues a song.

You immediately recognize it. Mr. Jones by Counting Crows.

Smiling without meaning to, you call the show.

“Welcome back.”

There it is again. That unmistakable tone shift. Only for you.

Listeners notice. He pretends he doesn’t.

Phainon is in a playful mood tonight, as if the snow has softened something in him too.

“I was hoping you’d call,” he says, warm and unguarded.

You nearly drop your phone.

He hears the breath you suck in.

He laughs. Low, warm, delighted. “Ah. I startled you.”

Your cheeks burn. Then, before you can think better of it, you say: “You can’t just… say things like that.”

“Like what?” His voice has gone purposefully innocent.

“Like you were waiting for me specifically.”

“But I was,” he says simply. “Is that a problem?”

You falter. “I—no, but—you have many listeners.”

“Mm. And yet somehow I can tell when you’re the one calling.” A pause. “Line 3 lit up and I just… knew.”

“That’s…” You struggle for words. “Slightly terrifying?” It‘s also flattering, but you don‘t mention that.

“For you or for me?”

“Both, probably.”

He laughs again, softer. “Touché.”

You gather courage. “So what would you have done if I hadn’t called?”

“Sulked,” he admits immediately. “Very unprofessionally. My producer would have been concerned.”

That startles a laugh out of you. “You’re telling me the eloquent midnight philosopher sulks?”

“Only about important things.”

Your breath catches. “I’m an important thing?”

Silence. Then, quietly: “You’re becoming one. Yes. I…the show would feel different without you.”

You don’t know what to say to that.

“Too honest?” he asks gently.

“No,” you whisper. “Just… unexpected.”

“Good unexpected or bad unexpected?”

“I’ll let you know when I can breathe again. So, tomorrow, probably.“

His laugh is helpless, warm. “Hah, I'll be waiting.”

After you hang up, he’s still smiling.

“That,” he tells the microphone, “is what joy sounds like.”

He cues a song. “This is Such Great Heights by The Postal Service. For anyone feeling a little lighter tonight.”

The song plays. Even after the show ends, he stays in his chair, smiling at nothing.

The next night, Phainon opens with a quieter tone. “Tonight we’re questioning everything. Life choices. The paths we took. The ones we didn’t.”

His voice turns contemplative. “I do this too, you know. Wonder if I made the right calls. If I should have done things differently. If I’m where I’m supposed to be.”

A pause.

“But here’s what I’ve learned: We can look at the bad things and ask ‘what if?’ Or we can look at them and ask: what good thing came after? Even something small.”

When you call that night, you mention a choice you regret.

He listens, then asks gently, “So what good thing came from it? What wouldn’t exist without that choice?”

You think for a moment. Finally, you whisper, “…I found your show.”

His breath catches. “Then I’m… glad you made that choice.”

He clears his throat, voice barely steady. “Let’s sit with that for a moment.”

“This is Crossroads by Calvin Russell,” he says softly. “For anyone standing at their own crossroads tonight.”

The song begins. Bluesy, raw, aching. His voice, weathered and honest.

Neither of you hangs up immediately.

You both just listen.

The next time, you sound calmer.

You ask him about philosophy. He asks you what you think about beauty.

“I think beauty is being seen. Not just looked at. Like when someone notices the small things about you that you didn’t think mattered. The way you laugh when you’re caught off guard. Or how your voice changes when you talk about something you love. Beauty isn’t just existing. It’s being recognized for existing.”

“Mm,” Phainon says, delighted. “That suits you.”

You stare at your wall for a full minute after hanging up, heart racing.

Phainon stares at the microphone for just as long.

A couple of calls later, it’s late. Later than usual. Phainon is in one of his playful moods. The kind where philosophy meets mischief.

“Tonight,” he announces, “we’re talking about honesty. The inconvenient kind. The kind that slips out at 2 AM when your guard is down and you accidentally tell the truth.”

He cues a song. “This is I Wanna Be Yours by Arctic Monkeys. For anyone feeling brave enough to be honest tonight.”

The music plays. Intimate, yearning, direct.

When it fades, he opens the lines.

You call.

“Ah,” he says, and you can hear the smile. “There you are. I was beginning to think you’d abandoned me for more reasonable sleep hours.”

“It’s not even that late,” you protest.

“It’s 2:13 AM.”

“…Okay, it’s a little late.”

“A little?” He’s laughing now. “You have an appointment tomorrow, don’t you?”

“How do you know that?”

“You mentioned it last week. And you sound like you’re lying down.”

You sit up slightly, flustered. “Are you psychic?”

“No,” Phainon says warmly. “I just listen.”

Something in your chest tightens.

“So,” he continues, “what truth are you going to tell me tonight? Since we’re on the topic of inconvenient honesty.”

You’re quiet for a moment. Then, you start talking. “You know what’s wild? I’m lying in bed at 2 AM talking to a radio host I’ve never met, and this is somehow the most honest conversation I’ve had in… I don’t know how long. I don’t know what that says about me.”

Phainon laughs. Not his elegant public chuckle. A real laugh. Unguarded, startled, soft.

Silence follows.

You panic. “Was that… bad?”

“No,” he says, and his voice has gone gentle. “It was perfect.”

“Perfect how?”

“Because I was thinking the exact same thing.”

Your breath stops.

“I have conversations all night,” he continues quietly. “Dozens of calls. Hundreds of listeners. But when you call…” He pauses. “It feels different. Like I’m just… talking to someone who sees me.”

“I do see you,” you whisper. “Even without seeing you.”

Silence.

When he speaks again, his voice is rough: “That might be the most honest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

“Well,” you manage, “you did ask for inconvenient honesty.”

He laughs again, breathless. “I did. Though I’m starting to think I wasn’t prepared for such raw words like yours.”

“Should I apologize?”

“Absolutely not.”

It sounds like he is looking right at you.

On another evening, Phainon sounds more solemn. “Tonight’s theme: the things we carry,” Phainon says softly. “Not physical weight. But memories. Moments that shaped us. The ghosts of who we used to be.”

He shares something. A story about running through wheat fields in summer as a child, about the smell of rain, about how certain memories live in the body.

“What memory do you carry?” he asks. “What moment lives in you, even now?”

You call.

You tell him about your favorite summers. About the days spent in the garden, splashing water from the fountain around just because you could.

You tell him about discovering an abandoned gardenhouse, hiding little treasures there.

You tell him about a hill with a hidden hole where you built a secret base and had picnics with your friends later. Where you read in the quiet and idyll of nature.

You talk for 15 minutes straight without stopping.

“That’s beautiful,” Phainon murmurs. “Thank you for trusting me with that. It sounds like memories worth keeping.”

The way he says it makes you feel like you’ve given him something precious.

He pauses. “This next song always makes me think of childhood summers. To Build a Home by The Cinematic Orchestra.”

The piano begins, achingly beautiful. And you just sit there, smiling.

Two days later, you notice how his voice sounds different. Deeper, sadder. So you call, quickly talk about today‘s topic and ask how he is. He freezes. No one ever asks the host that.

After a long pause, “…I’m better right now.”

Your breath catches. He absolutely hears it.

You sit there for a moment after hanging up, phone still warm in your hand.

I’m better right now.

Because of you. He meant because of you.

Your heart hasn’t stopped racing. You press your hand to your chest and feel it beating too fast, too much, too honestly.

You’re in trouble. You know you’re in trouble.

But you can’t stop calling.

A few days later, you feel antsy. Restless. Aching in a way you don’t want to name.

You know why. You just won’t admit it.

So you call.

Your voice lifts—brightens—the second he answers.

And Phainon hears it.

You talk. You drift between small things and deeper ones. And eventually, without thinking, soft as breath, you say his name:

“Phainon…?”

You don’t even notice you’ve done it.

He does.

He goes absolutely still.

For the rest of the show, nothing can scrub the warmth out of his voice.

The inbox detonates.

One night, his theme is connection.

“Have you ever felt like you were meant to meet someone?” Phainon asks quietly. “Like your paths were always going to cross, no matter what?”

His voice is softer than usual.

“I used to think that was romantic nonsense. Fate, destiny, cosmic timing.” He laughs quietly. “But lately… lately I’m not so sure.”

He doesn’t open the lines immediately.

Instead, he cues a song.

“This is True Colors by Cyndi Lauper,” he says softly. “For anyone who’s been waiting to be seen.”

The music begins. Tender, achingly sincere.

You don’t call that night. But you listen to every word. Every note.

“I see your true colors…”

When did this happen? When did his voice become the thing you wait for all day? When did you start noticing the small changes in his tone, the way he breathes before he speaks, the specific warmth that enters his voice only for you?

You wonder if he’s talking about you.

You wonder if you want him to be.

(You know you do.)

(You’ve known for weeks.)

· · ·

[echo_listener, 0:43 AM]: he’s not even taking calls tonight

[voice_in_the_dark, 0:43 AM]: just playing music and talking about fate

[wavelength_wanderer, 0:44 AM]: “i used to think that was romantic nonsense” USED TO????

[the_hero_within, 0:46 AM]: he’s talking to someone specific and we all know who

· · ·

One day, you tell him he sounds tired.

Phainon clears his throat. “You recognize that?”

“I… notice things,” you whisper.

Phainon can’t speak for a second. “So do I,” he murmurs, softer than he means to.

Silence.

“Let’s both rest for a moment,” he says softly. “This is Flicker by Niall Horan. Close your eyes if you can.”

· · ·

[eternal-flame-chaser, 2:14 AM]: the way he said “so do I” IM PASSING AWAY

[signal_seeker, 2:15 AM]: this man has LEFT PROFESSIONALISM BEHIND

[late_night_feels, 2:15 AM]: someone call an ambulance. not for me. for HIM. he’s DONE

· · ·

It’s been three days since you last called.

Not because you don’t want to. Because you want to too much.

You’ve been listening every night, but not calling. Just hearing his voice. Learning the rhythm of his show. The way he opens, the topics he chooses, the songs he plays.

He played Finally // beautiful stranger by Halsey last night. You wondered if he was thinking of you.

You miss him. Which is absurd. You’ve never met him. You don’t know what he looks like. You only know his voice and his laugh and the way he talks to you like it matters.

But you miss him anyway.

Another night, another moment with too many thoughts circling in your mind. It’s past 2 a.m. You shouldn’t call. You do anyway.

But the moment the line clicks open, panic hits and you almost hang up.

You don’t even speak. Just a shaky inhale.

And Phainon—who has heard you breathe many times now—goes still.

“…Wait. Don’t hang up.”

Your hand freezes on the disconnect button.

His voice is soft in a way you’ve never heard:

“It’s you.”

You exhale shakily.

He hears the tremor.

“I knew it,” Phainon says, almost to himself. “Your breathing pattern changes when you’re nervous.”

You almost faint.

You whisper, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to bother you.”

He actually laughs. Small. Disbelieving. Wounded in the sweetest way. “You could never bother me.”

Silence. Only breath on the line. Yours and his.

You try again, voice tiny. “I wasn’t sure if I should call.”

He exhales sharply. “You never have to question that.”

“If the lines are open… you can always call. And I...” He pauses. “I want to hear you.”

You swallow hard. “Even when I don’t have anything important to say?”

His voice drops, warm and aching, “Especially then. Besides, importance lies with the beholder. And I like hearing you exist.”

You make a soft, startled sound and laugh openly.

Phainon’s breath catches.

“…There it is,” he whispers. “I’ve missed that.”

You manage, barely: “Phainon…”

And then, he says your name for the first time.

Soft. Careful. Like he’s afraid it might break in his mouth.

“…Stay on the line.”

The music comes in.

The episode goes to break.

But neither of you hangs up.

The “On Break” light flips red.

Holocene by Bon Iver plays. Ethereal, contemplative, suspended in time.

Phainon just sits there, staring at the console, one hand still hovering near the button that picked up your call.

His breath leaves him in a shaky exhale he absolutely did not mean to let slip.

“…it’s you,” he whispers again, like he’s trying to convince himself the moment actually happened.

He leans back in his chair.

Runs a hand through his hair.

Laughs once.

Not for the listeners.

Not for the microphone.

Just because he can’t help it.

“Of all nights… you call in sounding like that…”

He presses his thumb to his lower lip. A nervous habit no one ever sees.

He shouldn’t be reacting this much.

He knows that. He absolutely knows that.

He’s the host. You’re a voice.

But God, your voice.

The way it trembled. The way you almost hung up. The way you breathed when he said your name.

He closes his eyes.

Listens to that replay in his mind. Feels something tighten in his chest. Warm, soft, terrifying.

“…I need to get a grip,” he mutters.

He does not get a grip.

Instead, he leans forward over the console, elbows on the desk, head in his hands.

“Why did that… affect me so much?”

Because your voice always hits differently.

Because you’re gentle.

Because you’re real in a way he hasn’t let anyone be real to him in a long time.

Because he recognized you from a single inhale.

And because for one insane second, when you said “Phainon…” he felt like someone was reaching for him as a person. Not the host. Not the hero of midnight radio. Just him.

The producer taps the window, giving him a thirty-second warning.

Phainon straightens too fast. Composes himself. Tries to. Fails slightly.

His hand hovers over the console.

The music is fading.

He takes a breath.

“Alright,” he murmurs to himself. “Back on.”

He presses the button.

The show resumes.

But his voice carries a softness listeners instantly catch.

He knows they hear it. He blames it on the late hour.

(He knows it’s you.)

It’s later that same night.

He doesn’t expect you to call again so soon.

But the line blinks.

And somehow he knows.

He picks up before the second ring. “Good evening… or should I say, welcome back?”

Silence on your end. Startled, shy.

“Is it that obvious?” you whisper.

Phainon smiles audibly. “To most people? No. To me? Always.”

You make that small, soft sound again. The one that makes his heartbeat jump.

He shouldn’t ask. He absolutely shouldn’t ask. But he’s been thinking about your voice through the entire break.

So he says, too gently:

“You sounded upset earlier. Did something happen?”

You hesitate. He hears it. He always hears it.

“…It was a long day,” you say finally. “I didn’t want to bother you with it.”

He leans forward as if proximity could travel through the microphone. “If you’re calling me,” he murmurs, “you’re not bothering me. I’m here.” A pause. “Tell me what happened.”

You’re quiet. Long enough he nearly regrets the question.

Then, you murmur, “…I felt lonely.”

Phainon closes his eyes. Something in him breaks and softens at the same time.

“…Alright.” His voice is a hush now. “Talk to me.”

You tell him. Not everything, but enough. The kind of small, human hurts you don’t usually admit out loud.

He listens. And when you’re done, he says, “Thank you for trusting me with that.”

You laugh weakly. “I didn’t say anything important.”

“You said something honest. And I value honesty more than eloquence… though it seems we both enjoy the latter.”

Your breath catches. The tiniest sound.

Phainon hears it. Every fiber of him hears it.

He shouldn’t go further.

But he wants to keep you with him in this small house of midnight he’s built around your voice.

So he slips.

“Do you always turn to the radio when you feel alone?”

Your heartbeat stutters. He can hear the silence.

“Or…” He inhales, steady but trembling at the edges. “…is it just me you call?”

Absolute stillness on the line.

You finally whisper, “…Just you.”

Phainon exhales like the air has been punched out of him.

He swallows hard.

“…I‘m glad.”

His voice cracks on the word.

He clears his throat. Changes topics lightly, but the warmth stays in every word after.

· · ·

You don't call. It’s subtle at first.

Day 1.

Your usual call window passes. The line stays quiet.

Phainon doesn’t comment. He just checks the blinking switchboard every five minutes.

“We’ll be opening the lines again in a moment,” he says, smooth as ever.

But his eyes flick to line 3. Your line.

Day 2.

Still nothing.

His monologue is sharper tonight. Almost too polished. Listeners notice the lack of teasing warmth.

“Some nights feel quieter than others,” he murmurs during a break. “Even if nothing has changed.”

He doesn’t realize his producer is watching him, worried.

Day 3.

He is restless. Charming, yes. Witty, yes. But distracted.

A caller mentions loneliness and he inhales too sharply, because you usually call on nights like that.

“…Sometimes the person you expect to hear from simply isn’t there,” he says softly, voice dipping in a way that makes chat explode. “And you feel their absence more than you have any right to.”

Day 4.

Someone else uses your nickname by coincidence.

Phainon freezes. Actually freezes.

“Sorry,” he says after a beat too long, “could you repeat that? I thought… nnnh, never mind.”

When the call ends, he whispers, barely audible:

“Where are you?”

(He does not mean geographically.)

Day 5.

He opens the show with a softer tone.

“If you’re listening… I hope your week got easier. And I hope you’re sleeping safely.”

He does not name you. But everyone knows.

· · ·

It’s late. Later than you ever call. The phone blinks once.

Phainon sits up so quickly he bumps the microphone.

He doesn’t bother with intro lines. “You’re late.”

You inhale, startled. “I’m sorry,” you whisper. “Long day. “Life was… relentless this week,” you admit quietly. “By the time I could breathe, it felt too late to call. I didn’t want to intrude on your show when I had nothing coherent to say.”

“You don’t need to be coherent,” he says immediately. “You just need to be.”

“I didn’t want to bother you,“ you add quietly, feeling to raw all of a sudden.

“You don’t bother me.“ He pauses. “You steady me.”

Silence.

You talk for a while. Gently. Quietly. Your voice is softer than usual, weighted with exhaustion.

At some point, he asks: “Are you lying down?”

“…Maybe.”

“Good.” His voice has gone even softer than usual. “Stay like that. Tell me about your day.”

You try. Halfway through a sentence, your breath slows. Softens.

Phainon hears the shift instantly.

“Dawnlight?”

(He didn’t mean to call you that.)

Your breath catches. You heard it. The slip. The endearment.

But you’re too tired to ask. Too afraid.

“Are you still with me?”

A tiny inhaled sound. Then nothing.

You’ve fallen asleep.

On air.

Phainon flinches like he’s been hit in the chest.

“…Oh.”

He turns down the channel so your breathing doesn’t broadcast. He won’t let strangers hear that softness.

Then, off-air but still recorded in the studio logs:

“You must be exhausted.” His voice breaks into something unbearably gentle.

“You trusted me enough to fall asleep. Hah…”

He breathes out slowly.

“Sleep well,” he murmurs. “I’ll stay right here for a few minutes. It’s alright. You’re safe.”

He actually stays longer than a few minutes.

Just listening.

When Phainon finally disconnects the call, he touches the console with two fingers. Like he’s memorizing the moment.

Then, quietly, to himself, he murmurs, “How am I supposed to pretend this is just a show now?”

· · ·

The next night Phainon opens differently.

“Before we begin tonight’s broadcast, there’s something I need to say.”

He inhales, slow, steadying.

“There is a caller—one among many—whose voice has been a constant in this space.” His tone wavers. “Someone who speaks softly, but somehow says more to me than most people do face to face.”

He doesn’t name you.

He doesn’t need to.

“I realized something,” he continues, voice low, trembling with sincerity. “I care about this person. More than is appropriate for a late-night host.” A breath. “More than I should.”

Silence.

You are sitting on your bed gripping your phone.

He goes on, softer now. “If you’re listening—I hope you are—I missed you this week.”

His voice cracks. “I missed you in a way I wasn’t prepared for.”

He swallows audibly.

“And when you fell asleep on the line last night…I realized I don’t want to be a voice you call just because you’re lonely.”

A pause so deep it aches.

“I want to be someone you think of even on good days.”

Your breath leaves you. Completely. “So if you call tonight. I won’t pretend anymore.”

Phainon presses the button to open the phone lines.

His hand is shaking.

Line 1 flashes.

Line 6.

Line 3.

He exhales, eyes closing. “There you are.”

You don’t speak at first.

He doesn’t push. Just breathes, soft, relieved. Then, gently, he murmurs, “Tell me you’re real.”

You whisper, “…I’m real.”

A broken, quiet laugh escapes him. The kind you only make when something hurts in the best possible way.

“Good. Then let’s not hide anymore.”

Louis Armstrong’s voice comes through the speakers, warm and soft and impossibly hopeful.

“I see trees of green, red roses too… And I think to myself, what a wonderful world.”

And your life, from this moment on? Irrevocably tangled with his.

⋆✧✦✧⋆

A/N: Thank you so much for reading. :) I hope you enjoyed it. Likes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated. :)

I decided to end this oneshot here, at the moment where the connection becomes undeniable but still suspended in that midnight space between reality and possibility.

If you want a continuation where they finally meet, I'll be more than happy to write it. But for now, I think this quiet, hopeful ending is exactly where their story wants to rest. :)

-> December event Masterlist

-> Main Masterlist

___

Songs referenced:

1. Gymnopédie No. 1 - Erik Satie

2. Turning Page - Sleeping At Last

3. Mr. Jones - Counting Crows

4. Such Great Heights - The Postal Service

5. Crossroads - Calvin Russell

6. To Build a Home - The Cinematic Orchestra

7. True Colors - Cyndi Lauper

8. Flicker - Niall Horan

9. I Wanna Be Yours - Arctic Monkeys

10. Finally // beautiful stranger - Halsey

11. Holocene - Bon Iver