buhh

“Did you know, during the War of the Funerary Flame, there was an Emperor named Valerian who got captured by the Heavenly Principles?”

Across the table, a long-suffering sigh cut through the delicate steam rising from your teacup. Valeriy sat with his massive arms crossed over his chest, his imposing stature casting a long shadow across the pristine tablecloth of this high-end Snezhnograd cafe. His dark hair framed a sharp face, and those eyes like a midnight sky bore into you with the weary patience of a man who dealt with your nonsense daily.

“Yes,” Valeriy replied curtly. “You asked me the same thing when I first escorted you to a ball at Zapolyarny Palace.”

A delighted laugh slipped past your lips, and you took a slow sip of your tea. “Well, it’s because your name is quite similar to his. Though I doubt Emperor Valerian would willingly bend the knee and work for someone like my father.”

Though your tone made it sound like a jest, it was a pointed arrow aimed directly at the armor he wore so proudly. You didn’t know much about Valeriy—he was famously tight-lipped about his past—but you had a few guesses here and there.

The way he carried himself, the rigid discipline he exercised, and that unshakable sense of duty; it was that of a knight’s. One who fell from grace perhaps, or one deeply misguided. Although it did make for a fascinating paradox: a clearly honorable man fiercly loyal to a noble whose hands were stained black with the underbelly of Snezhnaya.

Because you knew exactly what your father was.

You had lived your entire life wrapped in opulence, pampered within an inch of your life. But you were far from blind. You knew the extravagant banquets thrown for your name days were bought with tainted money. You were fully aware that your family’s fortune relied on a predatory, underground narcotics trade and clandestine alliances with the Fatui. Every fine thread on your back and every delicacy on your plate had been bartered for the tears and slow ruin of faceless addicts.

Yet, you had never done a single thing to stop it.

“Tell me, Valeriy,” you began, swirling the amber liquid in your porcelain cup. “Does a knight’s oath still count if the king you’re protecting is a villain?”

The silence that followed was terse, broken only by the distant chatter of other patrons and the clink of silverware. Anyone else in your social circle would have laughed it off, or worse, reprimanded you. Whenever you had subtly tried to voice your unease to your peers about where your families’ wealth came from, they treated you like a pariah. To the Snezhnograd elite, questioning the blood on the Mora was a distasteful social gaffe. The rich always protected their own wealth before all else; they expected you to smile, drink your fire-whiskey, and ignore the bodies the empire was built upon.

But Valeriy didn’t scold you. Nor did he offer a shallow defense of your father’s syndicate. He simply stared at you, though a small, sharp muscle twitched in his jaw.

You didn’t know why, but you felt entirely certain that underneath that quiet exterior beat a heart with some semblance of a moral compass. Which was a ridiculous assumption. The man had quite literally agreed to guard a family notorious for sitting at the very peak of the Snezhnayan drug cartel. He was paid by a monster, to protect the child of a monster.

But a week ago, your father had hosted a private gala at the manor, a gathering of wealthy distributors and certain Fatui Harbingers. You had stepped out onto the grand balcony to escape the suffocating smell of expensive perfume and greed, watching the heavy snow fall over the courtyard. Down below, a young kitchen maid had accidentally tripped on the icy cobblestones, dropping a crate of imported vintage wine meant for the Tsaritsa’s elite.

Your father’s chief overseer—a cruel, bloated man who handled the street-level enforcements—had immediately marched out fuming, his vision pulsing with aggressive geo energy. He was going to make an example of her for ruining property. The girl had shrunk into the snow, sobbing, knowing no one would help a servant.

You had moved to call out, to stop it, but a tall shadow cut through the balcony light before you could.

Valeriy had intercepted the overseer’s wrist mid-air. He hadn’t drawn a weapon. He hadn’t even raised his voice. He simply squeezed the man’s arm with enough force to make the elemental energy sputter out, his towering frame completely shielding the maid from view.

“The Tsaritsa's guests are waiting for their security detail inside, sir,” Valeriy reminded, his voice dripping with an unspoken promise of violence. “Do not waste your energy on spilled grapes.”

The overseer had gone pale, sneered, and retreated. Valeriy hadn’t comforted the girl—the guard merely turned and walked back to his post in the shadows—but he had saved her. He had drawn a line in the snow that your father’s learned culture of cruelty wasn’t allowed to cross.

“You're doing it again.”

Valeriy’s voice suddenly pulled you back to the present, shattering your memories of the gala.

You blinked, realizing you had been staring at him for a solid minute. “Doing what?”

“Looking at me as if I am some specimen you find utterly fascinating,” he said, uncrossing his arms and sitting up straight, the leather of his armor creaking faintly as he checked the perimeter of the cafe with a sharp glance. “I am a guard. Nothing more. If you continue to look for ghosts in my past, you will only end up disappointed.”

“Oh, I highly doubt that,” you replied, leaning back into your plush chair with a slow, knowing smile. “I think you’re the most interesting thing in Snezhnaya at the moment, Valeriy. And I have a very high tolerance for disappointment.”

Valeriy grunted, the faint tightening around his eyes the only indication that your stubbornness had registered. He reached for his own cup—a black blend he had ordered purely for the caffeine, ignoring the delicate pastries you had pushed toward him—but his hand froze an inch from the handle.

The low-humming chatter of the cafe abruptly died.

In the span of a single heartbeat, a cloaked shadow detached itself from the heavy winter coats hanging by the entrance, moving with a frantic speed that bypassed the cafe’s front counter entirely. Before Valeriy could even move, a man reeking of cheap alcohol lunged over the back of your plush chair.

Then, a cold, jagged blade was pressed against your throat.

“Don’t move! Nobody damn well move!” the man shrieked, his hands trembling so fiercely the cold steel bit shallowly into your neck. “I know who you are! I know whose blood runs in your veins, you little parasite!”

The other patrons gasped, knocking over porcelain cups as they scrambled backward to flee the establishment.

“Y-You—guard!” the attacker hissed, his wild, bloodshot eyes locking onto Valeriy. “You tell his lordship that this one is going to bleed out on this rug unless I get five hundred thousand Mora in cash. Right now! Pack it in a case, or I’ll slit their throat!”

Obviously, this was a high-stakes, life-or-death hostage situation. A single twitch of the man’s trembling hand could end your lavish, boring existence.

But you remained perfectly still, leaning back against the chair, completely unfazed by the sharp metal threatening your life. Instead of panic, a strange, thrilling rush of anticipation washed over you.

Because even when Valeriy masqueraded as a well-behaved dog loyal to his master, you knew what he really was. He was a apex predator. A bear waiting for the slightest, most logical excuse to be unchained. And right now, his charge was being threatened.

Which gave him permission to kill.

Valeriy didn’t rise slowly nor did he even try to parley. The air in the cafe plummeted past freezing as he moved, a burst of speed that defied his massive, armored frame. Your guard was on his feet as his hand shot forward, clamping down directly over the blade of the knife. He didn’t care about the steel cutting into his glove. With a brutal grip of his fist, Valeriy shattered the weapon into pieces.

The assailant screamed in shock as he staggered backwards, but your guard was already moving. He gripped the man’s collar, lifting his entire body off the ground, and threw him through the cafe’s large glass storefront. The window shattered into a million glittering diamonds, scattering across the snowy Snezhnograd pavement outside.

Valeriy stepped through the ruined frame, drawing a broadsword from his back as the fur trim of his cloak fluttered majestically against the swirling snow. His hair was dusted with white flakes, his eyes burning with ice-cold ire. He looked breathtakingly handsome, a dark knight silhouetted against the blinding frost.

The desperate man pulled another dagger from his boot, lunging blindly with a scream of pure terror.

Effortlessly, your guard brought the flat of his massive blade down against the culprit’s chest. The sheer force of the blow shattered probably shattered collarbone, and sent him crashing face-first into the cobblestones. Before the assailant could even get back on his feet, Valeriy’s heavy boot planted itself firmly on his stomach, pinning him into the dirt and snow.

The sword’s tip hovered mere millimeters from his eye.

“Yield,” Valeriy commanded. “Or I will ensure you never see the sun rise over the palace again.”

The man proceeded to go entirely limp, having passed out from shock.

From the sidelines, you took yet another sip of your tea, unbothered by the screaming wind or the commotion still buzzing about in the cafe. The amber liquid was losing its heat, but the warmth blooming in your chest more than made up for it.

Valeriy kept his boot on the culprit, his gaze shifting slowly until his midnight eyes locked onto you. He took in your unbothered posture, the teacup held gracefully in your hand, and the smirk playing on your lips.

“You’re helping yourself to a drink at a time like this?” he muttered.

“Well, what can I say?” you replied smoothly, stepping over the broken window to dust the snow off his hair. “My guard certainly likes to put on a show. Thanks for not killing him this time.”

Shortly after the threat was subdued, you spoke with the panicked cafe owner while the Druzhina were contacted to apprehend the unconscious assailant. The poor woman was begging for your forgiveness and weeping over the shattered glass, terrified that word of the incident would reach your father and spell the end of her livelihood.

Valeriy stepped up behind you, holding out your expensive winter coat. As you slid your arms into the sleeves, you offered the owner a small, reassuring smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Do not lose sleep over it. Blood is not always thicker than water.”

The carriage ride back to the estate was quiet, save for the rhythmic clatter of hooves against the cobblestones. Inside the cabin, Valeriy let out a heavy sigh, leaning his massive frame back against the plush velvet seating.

“Your penchant for these outings in the city is quite the occupational hazard,” he complained, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “Your family has accumulated more enemies than Snezhnaya has snowflakes. Walking into public spaces just to test my reflexes is a dangerous habit.”

You let out a soft laugh, turning your gaze away from him to watch the heavy snow drift lazily outside the frosted carriage window.

“Well, history says Emperor Valerian fought to his very last breath,” you murmured, casting a sidelong, wicked glance back at him. “You’ll do the same for me, won't you?”

His grunt of resignation was an answer all on its own.

Whether he was a dog bound tightly to a master’s leash or a black bear locked in a cage of duty, the facts remained absolutely true. Valeriy was yours to provoke, and he made your otherwise boring life somewhat of a grand adventure.

✦ afterword. i love inconveniencing a big, handsome man who seems to not even mind being inconvenienced at all. okay maybe he does mind, but he lets reader off the hook every time anyway <3 i also like to think that in this fic, valeriy is actually someone undercover who's infiltrating reader's family to get some dirt on their father. what ever shall he do when he grows attached to the offspring of someone he's tasked to eliminate! but it's whatever!! i promise to write something more substantial for him once we get to know him better. the snezhnaya trailer looks promising for all characters!! also btw emperor valerian doesn't exist in genshin i made all that up just in case you're wondering bwahahaha

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

Hephaestion, Leonnius, Perdikkas, Ptolemy, Peucesta.

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

So you decide to give this mystery boy a pass.

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

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

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

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

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

And was that the scent of wheat?

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hey."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Maybe next time then."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is so stupid.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh- eighth..."

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

"I don't know..."

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

"Um, art."

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

"Yeah I guess..."

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

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

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

You don't understand it.

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

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

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

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

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

“But there’s three of us…”

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

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

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

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

“So, what do you say?”

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

"Partners?"

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

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

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆

Age: 15

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You really don't want Phainon seeing this.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Still, you deny it. “N-No…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"See? You're getting it."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh.”

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

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

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

As your front door clicks shut, you collapse forwards on the table, simply staring at your scattered homework in silence. The living room felt strangely warm despite Phainon having already left. The scent of wheat lingered, the subtle air of his breath when he leaned in to explain something better, the feeling of his shoulder beneath your cheek- his entire presence lingered.

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

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

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

“I- No…“ Smooth.

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

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

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

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

“You seem... happy.”

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

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

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

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

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

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆

Age: 17

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Wait, you thought I was serious?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You're crying." Mydei observes.

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

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

"What happened."

"Nothing."

"Who did it then?"

"Nobody."

"I know it wasn't fucking nobody."

"Just drop it Mydei!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hey... are you okay…?" He asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You are…?” You sniffle.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What-“

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

No wait-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What did you say-”

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

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

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆

Age: 18, start of university

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wha- I mean yes-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Debatable.” Mydei scoffs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Unfortunately for you, confidence looked really good on Phainon. 

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆

Age: 18 (a few months later)

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

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

“Hey, found you.” 

It’s Phainon.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mydei has friends?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And? What did you say?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆

Age: 18 (Winter break)

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

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

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

All of Mydei’s friends were gorgeous.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hyacine-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The little star plushie stares back at you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And, I wouldn’t blame him.” 

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

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

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

“So… I’ll see you soon, right (Y/n)?”

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

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

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

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

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

You don’t end up answering her.

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

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

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

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

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆

Age: 19, second semester

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

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

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

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

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

Well, only for the first ten minutes.

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

Phainon? Here of all places?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Phainon huffs a quiet laugh. “Anytime.”

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

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

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

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

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

Wait…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You almost kissed him.

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

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

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆

Age: 19, Summer Break

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s ironic how noticeable an absence can be. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Instead, you ask him a more direct question-

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

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

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

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

Still…

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

It still felt wrong to you. 

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

“So?” 

“So... he’s your best friend.”

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

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

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

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

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

"Maybe next time then."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Phainon: Thanks for inviting me 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Done what?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But I want to know.”

Phainon’s breath catches in his throat, genuinely speechless for a moment at your response. He simply looks at you, the noises of the evening starting to disappear. His blue eyes seem strangely brighter than usual, like they were seeing every past version of yourself. And now here you were, your present self saying words that mirrored his own when he first met you, yearning to know more about each other. Just a girl standing in the hallway, waiting for someone to notice her, and a kind boy simply smiling back at her, who always has. He suddenly lets out a chuckle, small and breathless as he finally surrenders his noble front.

“Come here then.” He coaxes softly, his lashes seemingly fluttering in slow motion as his eyes open. You blink in surprise.

“What?”

“Come here.” Phainon repeats, his expression softening. His smile doesn’t falter, in fact- only getting wider and making the corners of his eyes crinkle in that boyish way you’ve always known. Somehow, you understood, and you start to surrender your own noble front as you move closer to him, unashamedly smiling just as bright as him. 

Phainon’s eyes trail your own as your thigh touches his. His hand comes up carefully to cup your cheek. There was no more hesitation in either of your movements. No more almosts and no more waiting- only the split second pause where you both realize this was the closest you’ve ever been, breaths mingling and eyes hazy as if you both couldn’t believe this was happening. You lean in even more, just the same as you did that night, and Phainon does too, just like you always knew he would. 

He leans down, and presses his lips to yours, letting his restraint crack just to taste what he’s been waiting so long for. You both close your eyes, savouring soft warmth of each other’s lips. Even the little smiles and chuckles, and now your hands softly laying on his chest were enjoyable. 

You pull away for a brief moment, yours and Phainon’s lips leaving with a soft smooch sound. There was a flicker of disbelief in your eyes, with Phainon’s looking equally as stunned. But the easy smiles that come after make you realize how it came so effortlessly for Phainon- nothing but affection. 

You both stare at each other, a little breathless and a little shy as if it was a way to come back down to Earth. But neither of you seem to want to let go. Phainon’s hand remains near your cheek, while yours remains loosely gripping onto the hem of his shirt. 

“I’m glad you wanted to know.” Phainon says softly with an awkward but loving smile. He gets a laugh out of you too, and even now he finds himself craving the sound more. He’d like to make you laugh like that more in the future. Now if only… “Shit- your brother’s gonna kill me.”

You watch as Phainon looks away slightly, his face going pale except for a sheepish blush. The consequence dawns on you as well, but in this moment as you’re still high on dopamine, you couldn’t bring yourself to feel it. 

“He’s gonna kill me too.” You shrug, trying to make him feel better. “And you say it as if you’re not one of his favourite people.”

“You’re his sister, he can’t be mad at you. Not for long at least.” Phainon says while sighing. Even though this guilt eats him up, he can’t help but smile. “Me though… I might need to pay in my next life.”

“But he’s never threatened to disown you.” You challenge. Phainon lets out a hearty laugh at your honesty, knowing his best friend could get quite creative with insults.

“Maybe not, but I feel like I’m about to find out.” Still, even if you both were about to be disowned by Mydei, you don’t think you’ve ever seen Phainon look this happy to be disowned. 

“We should head down now.” Phainon says softly, as the laughter dies down. You nod, though neither of you really move, both still sitting on your bed, smiling like dopes. You both laugh again, until Phainon stands and offers you his hand to stand up as well.

You take it without hesitation, and he pulls you up gently. And he doesn’t let go- neither of you do actually.

His fingers fit between yours easily, like it was meant to be this way. You and Phainon begin to walk towards your bedroom door to exit, though he seems a little hesitant.

“(Y/n)- how exactly are we going to explain to Mydei about this…?” He asks nervously, looking mildly embarrassed. You shrug, still not really caring.

“He’s just gonna have to deal with it.” You say casually, reaching for the doorknob. “Also, maybe don’t mention my brother within five minutes after we kiss.” 

A cheeky grin spreads on Phainon's face, finding your response utterly defiant yet endearing. He chuckles, shaking his head while smiling helplessly. A thousand teasing responses are circling within his head, though he opts to sprinkle a little sarcasm in there. “My bad. I’ll try to do better next time then.”

“Oh? There will be a next time?” 

A guttural scream tears through your throat (again?). MYDEI?!

Your’s and Phainon’s jaws both go slack, speechless as you both remain frozen in the threshold of your doorway. There stood your brother, deadpan with his arms crossed… wearing an apron and oven mitts. 

“Wh- MYDEI!!” You scream, mortified. You want to throw something at him, but the only thing beside you was a Phainon. “How long have you been standing there?!”

“How long have I been standing here? I think the better question is why you both aren’t downstairs.” Mydei’s tone reeks of sarcasm, very much not in the mood to take any bullshit from either of you. 

You realize Mydei was right- the entire house smelled delicious with the smells of good food was wafting everywhere. 

“There are steaks being grilled outside. I made honeycake...” Mydei lists, looking genuinely perplexed. Then his eyes look between you and Phainon, looking absolutely disgusted. “And yet here you both are… …kissing?”

You think you see Mydei shiver and gag slightly when he says the k-word, which should have been funny but right now you feel too defensive to think about that.

“MYDEI!!” 

Mydei barely has time to react when you suddenly decide to launch yourself at him.

“Hey-” Mydei sputters, grunting as you smack his arm, and then his shoulder. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

“What is wrong with you?!” You snap back and hit your brother more though it doesn’t really affect him since he was holding you back. 

Meanwhile, Phainon watches the petty catfight of a sibling argument with a fond smile on his face. With Mydei looking disgusted while wearing an apron and oven mitts, fighting against you who was aggressively clawing at your brother like a cat, Phainon internally declares that he has never seen a more stupid thing in his life. Goodness, was this the glory that Kremnoans were known for? Somehow, it endeared him even more. 

“I don’t get why you’d be busy kissing when there’s good food downstairs.”

“STOP SAYING IT!”

“I made you a honeycake… for this?”

“I know you made honeycake! You mentioned it fifty times in the past two minutes! Is this seriously your priority?!” 

“My priority?- Look at yours!”

Was there really any point to this argument anymore?

After a few more lovely seconds of arguing, Phainon sighs fondly and clasps his hands, one of yours and the other on your brother’s shoulder. You and Mydei oddly stop bickering, both looking at Phainon’s expression which could only be described as fond disbelief. This entire scene was ridiculous, but somehow also his favourite.

“Alright alright, let’s just go down now. Hm?” Phainon smiles, hoping to ease the playful bullying. Mydei continues to glare at him. Right message, wrong messenger…

“...I’m gonna kill that guy.” Mydei seethes, looking straight at Phainon yet addressing you.

You want to start fighting your brother again, but to your surprise, Phainon laughs harder before you could react. Then, with the same gentle amusement from years ago, he reaches over and lightly pats Mydei’s shoulder. 

“I’ll hold you to it.”

The words feel familiar, because they are. You look at him now- his eyes crinkling with mirth as he said nearly the same thing months ago. For some reason, as you watch Mydei glare at Phainon- the bastard you just kissed had the audacity to smile at him, the silent look they gave each other somehow explained something you were secretly worrying about this whole time but never had to. 

Mydei probably knew, you think. You’re not sure how long he’s been suspecting it, though when you look back at your own antics it was probably obvious anyway. You cringe internally, not wanting to think about your brother knowing about this thing with Phainon for who knows how long. 

“Now- can we go eat before someone gets murdered?” Phainon asks tenderly, interrupting the chaos. It’s ironic how Phainon seems the happiest here, while you and Mydei both grumble and surrender. He’s still smiling, still patient with you and your brother. Phainon laughs again, and you all head downstairs together- though this time, Phainon doesn’t let go of your hand. 

And naturally, you don’t think to let go either. 

Your porch lights seem to glow with the same warmth that you’ve felt over the years. Your mother lovingly scolds Mydei for disappearing, and Mydei only grumbles saying nobody appreciates his cooking. 

You feel thirteen again as your memories overlap with reality. The smell of home cooking, summer air drifting through the windows, your brother being broody… And Phainon- a boy who started out a mystery, a teenage boy who simply sat at your table smiling like he already belonged there. You come to realize something: Phainon had never been a guest at this house. 

All those years, while you were busy mourning things you thought weren’t meant for you, something else was growing beside you the whole time. He became so much more to you, simply because he wanted to be, and because you finally let him.

And for Phainon? Of course it was easy for him. He had always been reaching for home in the first place.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

Notes:

For reference, this fic is called Seventeen :)

I rewrote a couple of parts so I will reblog some of those here later so they don't go to waste

Anyway thank you for reading! I hope you all enjoyed <3

Passage, Law, Time, Earth, Ocean, Sky, Reason, Romance, Strife, Death, Trickery and Worldbearing - these were the concepts which held the world afloat.

The humans, which were woven with such delicate care with the golden threads of the Titan of Romance, made of clay with the power of the Earth Titan, and blessed with Reason, would come together and commemorate their creators on certain days of the year. Flowers, gifts, prayers and desperate tears would be given to these gods, as their creations chanted and sang in tandem, begging for their words to be heard and answered.

Some of the gods did not mind the words of their creations, finding them to be delightfully charming. The Titan of the Sky, in her ever gentle nature, was always one of the first ones to respond, bestowing a soft rainy dew upon the land. Meanwhile, the proud one bearing Strife was the stark opposite, often not heeding the calls of the bloodthirsty warriors, finding their cruel desires repulsive.

It was all the same song and dance, over and over again, especially to the Deliverer.

He went by various names - Deliverer, The Worldbearer.

Or, as the humans had liked to say, Khaslana.

It was all the same to him.

His duty was to hold the world in his strong hands, ensuring that no harm befalls upon the vast land which he and his comrades took such great care to nurture. His grip was powerful and mighty, akin to a father holding his firstborn child on the day of its birth.

Khaslana adored the humans with every fiber of his mighty being, something which the Titan of Reason liked to mock him for. It was not as if Lord Anaxagoras was a cruel creature, but Khaslana's sheer passion and intensity were simply staggering.

Anaxagoras often pondered that if it ever came to it, Khaslana might just stain his hands with blood for all of the humans they had created. He was a gentle creature deep in his core, and the shine in his bright eyes was impossible to ignore. Like the sun, it shone with pride and tenderness, and he never complained about the burden of holding the world all alone on his back.

Never. Not even once.

And yet, there was an ache in him. It began as something small, an insignificant feeling which could be swept away with a snap of a finger. The Worldbearer always kept his head up high, his grin never faltering as he kept the world safely tucked away on his strong back, fingers gently pressing into the earth, as to not startle any of the critters who may wander in that land. The Titans of Trickery and Passage would come his way to pay him a visit, boasting and sharing their stories of adventures in the human realm, and Khaslana ate up their words as if they were the most delectable sweets.

The cracks were visible even way back then... And no one had truly noticed. Tribbie and Cipher did not pay attention to the way in which Khaslana's eyes seemed to glow brighter than usual, his eyelids dipping for a fraction as a hint of darkness took over, all the while his fingers tightened upon the world for a moment too long.

He had inadvertently caused an earthquake that day.

This notion saddened Khaslana once he realized what he had done. The Gods had been worried briefly, but small slip ups can happen, and the harm was minimal in the long run.

All was well, or that was how everyone had said.

That was not what the Titan of Strife thought. He had kept his lips shut during that emergency meeting, his mind wandering all over the place as he eventually came to the conclusion that Khaslana would never, not in a single lifetime, make a mistake as egregious such as this.

Something was amiss.

And Mydei was going to find out exactly what was troubling the Deliverer.

He was curt and brief with the Deliverer, claiming that it was pointless for him to lie. The Titan of Strife wished to understand what it was that caused the Deliverer to slip up... But he had said nothing, as he laughed humorously in Mydei's face.

"It is as our comrades say." Khaslana spoke, the vibration of his mellow tone ringing like chiming bells in the warm summer air.

"All is well."

Mydei could do nothing but huff and leave - there was nothing for him there... At the moment.

Even when the Deliverer was at his best, like recognizes like.

Strife knows strife.

Khaslana was hiding something from them, and it would take a while for him to speak up - it was simply how he was.

It was his nature.

So be it then, thought Mydei to himself, a bitter and worrisome feeling settling inside his chest.

"You will crack." was Mydei's last word to Khaslana before he departed from that conversation.

And oh, how the Deliverer started to crack from that day onward.

In due time, he became much more reclusive than he typically was, which stunned the other gods. His tense shoulders would freeze whenever one of them would stand before him and speak, those molten eyes of his searing into their forms as if he wished to evaporate them all right there on the spot. This transformation was slow and gradual... And to the Titans of Romance and Strife, it eventually became completely and utterly unbearable.

Khaslana was never angry with them, not necessarily. He had never told them to leave, never once uttered any curses or foul words their way, but what struck a cord with them happened around the time of the summer solstice.

Humanity was buzzing with excitement, as were the titans as well. Khaslana typically was most fond of this specific solstice instead of the winter one, as he found the shining sun on his godly form far more pleasant than the cold air which greeted him in the darker days of the year. The prayers of the humans also would make his heart swell with pride, as he took far too much joy in the silent whispers and cheerful songs which were sung in his honour.

This year, something had just... Changed.

A fortnight before the solstice, Lady Aglaea had paid him a visit, her golden form radiating the path towards the Worldbearer, the sound of her heels clicking against the stars as she greeted Khaslana fondly, her blind eyes settling down on him.

But even if she could not see, her golden threads could feel everything within the universe - and Khaslana was no exception.

His mind kept wandering, and even if she could not physically see, the way in which Khaslana was tripping over his words made Aglaea worry. However, she decided to not say anything directly, lest she alarm the beast before her. Quietly, her delicate fingers wrapped themselves around the golden thread she had woven all those aeons ago and tugged, carefully monitoring the beating sensation of Khaslana's heart.

A chill went up her spine as her mellow eyes suddenly widened, making Khaslana trip over his words even more, as he had no clue what could have possibly disturbed the Lady Goldweaver so much.

"That sensation..." thought Aglaea to herself, recognition settling inside her as her fingernails dug deeper into the invisible threads, the heat of Khaslana's heart only making them even stronger.

It was unlike anything she had ever felt. Love was a feeling, a choice between mortals. It could cause them both blessing and ruin, hope and despair. It was all a tapestry of madness and illusion, some which would gladly take on no matter how much they bled or cried.

A human being was nothing without love. They were made to want, to yearn for something other than their own existence.

Right here and now, the almighty god which held the world at the tips of his fingers was burning with desire.

Aglaea did not dare to question him, fearing what his reaction might be. She knew all too well just how powerful Khaslana was, how if he so desired, could turn all of the gods into dust with the snap of his fingers.

Who was he even, if he did not burn?

That was a question which Khaslana had asked Aglaea centuries ago, as the pair chattered for what she thought was mere leisure at the time.

His heart, the magnus opus of his whole existence, scorched with nothing that could be described as a pure and naked want. It was something akin to a warrior gazing at a bathing nymph, Aglaea could practically taste how Khaslana's sanity was slipping with each passing moment. It was a charred tang which was stuck on the tip of her tongue, threatening to swallow her on the spot.

She departed not long after that.

The Titan of Romance was completely out of her depth here, but she simply must take action. She had to discover just who was this mortal which Kahslana was so taken with, and then decide what the appropriate course of action was going to be.

With the help of the Titans of Passage and Time, Aglaea had descended down the Earth, her sensation completely masked by Reason, as to not alert the Worldbearer. In the blink of an eye, she had turned herself into an elderly, mortal woman. Her full, flowing gowns were replaced with old and tattered capes, as her once delicate and soft skin now became ragged with human age. To the naked eye, she was no better than a old traveler, but the heavens knew better.

Thus her quest began - and just as swiftly as she set off, her search had ended by the time the sun had set.

She was shocked with where the golden threads had led her. Picking them apart was easy as breathing to her, particularly since Khaslana always had his special sort of trail everywhere he touched. Aglaea had expected her journey to take her to a beautiful castle, with a gentle lady waiting at the top, a pearl comb in her hand as the noblewoman would most likely be singing ancient hymns at the reflection in her mirror.

Instead, she had found herself in a quaint village in the west. As far as the eye could see, golden wheat fields filled the scenery, the scent of faint, earthy cooking lingered in the air, while happy children roamed the cobblestone streets, their parents working in the fields which would bless them with a great boon soon.

Aglaea made sure to stay hidden in the crowd, as she continued to pull and tug onwards, all the while gently minding to not run into anyone. Her threads suddenly became sharp, causing her to wince. Trickles of golden blood split down her hand as she went her way, determined to put a stop to this all.

In the distance, there was a house.

It was a simple constriction, the aesthetic of it matching the entire village but the air there was different. Various colorful blooms filled the grass in front of the wooden house, while the fruit on the tiny trees were nothing short of delectable. Even with her lack of vision, Aglaea could sense just how much care was put into every corner here.

Suddenly, a creak was heard, and Aglaea gently dipped behind a bush as her threads roared with vigour, their stiffness now bordering on maddening.

A soft hum filled the air as a young woman stepped out of the home, a small basked of berries in her hand as she made a straight beeline towards the bustling town, but not before turning her head upwards. Aglaea pressed herself as close as she possibly could, as the thread in her arms dug deeper than ever before, the golden blood searing hot against the summer sun.

From the distance, she could make out the woman chanting gentle prayers to the Worldbearer, the sound of her voice being carried by the wind all the way to Khaslana's eager ears.

Even from here, Aglaea could sense how hard he must be smiling at this exact moment.

A pained gasp suddenly escaped her, as Aglaea fell to her knees. Horror filled her being as the once soft threads only continued to plough through her immortal veins, as if they wished to just embrace and take whatever they could. It took all of her willpower to not shriek at the gruesome pain which was forced upon her, as she tugged at the threads around Khaslana's heart.

How long has this been going on?

This mighty Titan was at the mercy of a human woman - her word was gospel to the Worldbearer.

And she was not even aware of it.

With a powerful gust of wind, Aglaea had made herself scarce from the human world, begging the Titan of Passage to return her back to their immortal real of gold.

A council must be held. Immediately.

According to legend, these sorts of meetings were typically held for the events which held the utmost importance. Such events usually would include some possible world shattering event, humanity was falling apart or some other cataclysmic horror was gnawing away at the universe. If they were lucky, the gods would perhaps come together and feast on the delectable offerings from the mortals, with a cup of sweet wine to cleanse their pallet as well. If the occasion called for it, they would dance together until the sun would set and rise once more, but these soirees were hardly ever held in tandem, let alone with all of them present.

In that moment when Aglaea summoned them all, she pondered if she could throw the Worldbearer a proper celebration, a last hail Mary in order to soothe him and his aching soul.

In all her glory and comfort, she never took time to consider the fact that no one had truly been celebrating Khaslana - let alone loved him.

She sat at the head of the table as her dull eyes landed on each and every guest, the wine in her aureate cup suddenly turning sour the moment her woven threads pulsed once more.

Khaslana said nothing - what could he even possibly say?

Seeing his usually sun kissed face turn sombre was a sight to behold at this table full of gods. There was no denying it, and neither did he try to do so.

Wordlessly, Khaslana had pressed his hand right on his chest, pressing the palm of his hand straight across his heart. The gods started at him with fear, as Khaslana's agony became more and more unmistakable.

He was in love.

Helplessly, as if held captive against his own will, Khaslana had become chained to this little human who could be turned to dust if any single person at this table snapped their fingers. He shuddered in his seat, as Khaslana took in a deep breath through his nose.

"She has pierced my soul..." said the god, his voice heavy with unearthly devotion. The spark in his golden eyes seemed to come to life, as if he was picturing her standing right before him. It was a sickly sweet sight, as if bitting into an overly ripe fruit, the jucies dripping down ones chin as Khaslana spoke once more.

"I am half agony, half hope... I have loved none like her."

That night had been arduous and heavy, no one was pleased with anything which was exchanged. After epochs of servitude, Khaslana had requested the unimaginable - to be released from his post in order to properly meet this human. He truly wished to let go of this earth, just for a brief moment of time.

He has been nothing but perfect - he cannot handle his quiet suffering anymore.

Khaslana will burst like a flame, and die as one, all alone in the darkness if he keeps this up.

No one could refute this. None dared to counteract this argument of his.

A consensus was made that night, not necessarily by choice but all would comply with the will of the Worldbearer. This was the one thing he would not bend on, no matter how much he may bleed and hurt. He would take on the form of a man and finally see the mortal woman with his own two eyes - this was his one and only wish.

Khaslana wished to feel her with his own flesh, gaze at her wish such warmth that the sky would be jealous, and devour her on the spot with nothing but his teeth and greed. For the first time in an eternity, he had granted himself the luxury of greed.

His comrades had helped him create a human body, tailor made to his preferences. Snow white hair, sky blue eyes and a powerful physique to match his otherworldly strength - all this was made by the clay of the Titan of Earth, and was bestowed with the gifts of Romance and Reason in order to fit in with human society. All of his comrades had lend him a helping hand, something he was deeply grateful for.

Perhaps the most helpful hand was the one no one could have predicted - Strife had volunteered to hold up the world for as long as Khaslana was absent. Mydei was aware of this grueling task, but he was more than prepared for it.

His comrade needed him now more than ever - who was he to deny him? Even with this just reason, he could not help but to recall the hints of fury in those eyes back when he first approached Khaslana.

It was only a matter of time before he would snap in half.

The Titans had made a pact - Khaslana had one year to stay with his beloved. Not more, not less.

All he did was nod wordlessly. With the flourish of his new cape, he had set off.

Come sunrise, a new man now walked across the earth. He called himself Phainon, and he was always ready to lend a helping hand to any person in need. The hero had settled down in a quaint little village, which often baffled the locals but none took offense to him - in fact, he was greeted with open arms into their community.

Phainon smiled at them all, as he ate their food and followed their traditions as one ought to - but his heart knew what it longed for.

She was always there by his side, always so close and sweet. The two would spend countless hours in the golden wheat fields together, giggles and laughter breaking the tranquil silence as Phainon's new heart became stronger than ever before.

More. He needed more.

Strife was taking its toll on holding this world together, that much was evident. Wars and bloody battles had become more common now, as travelers who went in and out of the village would share tales and accounts of how brutal monsters and warriors would clash, their ends always seemed so nigh.

People chanted and offered sacrifices to the Worldbearer, asking whether or not had they done something wrong, and Phainon listened to them all. The world was cracking due to his absence - and in a strange sense, he could not be bothered to care.

Not here, not now. Not when he had finally discovered his own slice of heaven, always there right at his fingertips.

Time was cruel. Time was against him, the year was coming to a close too soon, too fast.

But what Time did not know was that Khaslana fought dirty. Before he departed, he snatched the a coin from Trickery. It was not a piece of mortal currency, but rather a minted lie - a shimmering token Cipher had forged to pay passage through the laws of the universe. To a mortal, it was gold - to a Titan, it was a loophole.

If he could not beg Time for mercy, he would use Trickery's coin to buy a debt which could never be collected.

When the time had come to send him home, Phainon had playfully said that he ought to flip a coin to see whether or not he could stay longer. Finding his despair charming, and frankly bittersweet, the Titans who came to collect him wished to humor Phainon.

All of them were rendered speechless once the coin was stuck in mid air, thus making both their words and his mute.

He was staying - the coin could not make a decision, and they had all allowed this wager to occur. And the Titans were not allowed to backtrack on their promises, no matter how miniscule.

Phainon had heard the sky creak that day, a warning from Mydei. He knew that his brother in arms was suffering, and he felt guilty. He truly did.

But he could not let this go. Not now.

He was not ready.

For the time being, Phainon was to remain in this world, not as a god, but as a man. He had the wits, the strength and the power.

His one and only foe was time.

So be it then.

He would destroy that as well. Over and over, he was willing to shatter the passage of time and space just to have his love by his side.

The only force in the universe which could stop him, was Death.

The moment I saw that fan art... I was just so, so INSPIRED! There was also a sudden influx of specifically Kahslana fics on my feed, and I could not help but to add my own two cents to this trend. Heavens above, I adore Phainon. This man is in my head rent free 24/7. This is also a big birthday gift for myself - June 25th is my birthday, and in 2026 I turn 24 years old! Wow! What a serious number for such an unserious person!! I also rushed the end because I REALLY wanted to hit my birthday deadline... I hope you can all forgive me for that.

Art credit: @box-artist. Your art is so amazing, and I want to thank you for granting me the privilege of using it in my silly little fic. You are the best.

Divider credit: @uzmacchiato. You poor soul, if you end up reading this, I can only imagine how annoyed you must be with me, because I keep using your dividers LOLOLOL. That's your own fault though, for making these dividers so cute and perfect.

Thank you all for reading! Comments and ideas are always welcome! Stay flamin'!

And in the next few days, Reo avoided Nagi entirely and would give his passes to Chigiri or Agi instead. Sometimes he’d avoid the route where he and Nagi used to walk by, leaving the white haired giant to standby and leave it as is. It was also sweet of Reo to even sneak in pastries you mentioned once. What for? Your thanks for making him see clearly, and at least for you to warm up to the team a bit, well he hoped that you would. 

Next is you and Anri chatting in Ego’s office, Aryuu and Chigiri walking by as they chat about haircare products and routines.”Don’t you think it’s a bit distracting for some players to run around the field with long hair?” They froze, hearing your voice inside the room with the door slightly opened. “Really? I think some of them can still play perfectly on the field...” The older woman questioned you, not sure where you’re going with. You glanced at the far left corner of the screen near you, the camera showing Aryu and Chigiri eavesdropping at your conversation as you continued.

“Well, they can, but…I just hope that it won’t be the reason it 'll hinder their performances. If you get what I mean.” You pretended to sound concerned, the two men discovering a new tone coming out from you as they stood their feeling conflicted, you weren't talking about them right?

“It’s just a suggestion, but I’m sure they’ll look better with shorter hair, It might freshen them up.” Now you switched your tone to a lighter one, pretending to be joyful, a disguise to convince them into getting a haircut. 

Something inside of them had snapped that moment and suddenly– Chigiri and Aryuu stood in front of the mirrors inside the comfort room, scissors in hand as they stared at their reflection looking hesitant. “...It was fashionable having my hair like this, but I think I’d ought to try a new style for a change.” Aryu commented before he took one last look at himself, holding onto his hair as he snipped it off, cut after cut, the black-haired man watched his soft locks get shorter until it reached his nape, hoping that you’d like their new look. 

Chigiri watched Aryuu’s luscious strands fall off the sink and floor, creating a mess as he looked at his reddish hair then back to the scissors in hand, it had been awhile since he had a haircut. So there he followed suit, cutting off the length and thought about your comment earlier. Stuck in his head as he reached the length he thought you preferred. Their performances wouldn’t be a hindrance to them anymore right? Just like you said, just like you wanted.

Now came in Nanase, the sweet young man ranted about how doubtful he is towards himself as you read through his files, plays, and emotional state. He needed someone who’s a leader and would push him to his limit, so you had to improvise. 

“Nanase, if you can’t sacrifice what makes yourself better, then someone else will take your spot, and suddenly–..” You stare at him with unblinking eyes as he shifts uncomfortably, feeling suffocated like he was pinned to the corner by you. “You wouldn’t be the best anymore…You don't want to be that fucking worthless do you?” 

You were testing him, and that alone made him feel threatened– hurt even. But that's what you wanted to make him feel, because there are no such things as losers in blue lock. So he bowed and scrambled out a ‘thank you’ for the “advice”, your words haunting him in his sleep after that.

It indeed was quite a pleasant week for you helping out.

“Ah, Miss (L/n)! Mr. Noa’s asking for you..” Anri peeped her head from the other room, phone held on her left hand as she was on call with another sports brand asking for sponsors. She was like the auntie who watches over you behind your back, concerned about your well-being and the methods you go under to make the perfect “one”. You hummed back and stood up from the desk, trusty tablet on your arm as you left Ego's office to help out whatever the man needed.

—---

“I'd like you to handle them in training before their first match against Barcha.” The tall man before you requested while you took notes on your tab, the whole BM team were just on the field as some of the blue lock players watched you converse with Noa. Feeling intrigued about how you'll handle a bigger and separated pond with the masters asking for you after every training session with different teams.

“So you've tasted her tortuous ways in coaching you?” A nasty tone came from Kaiser as he approached them again. He noticed the way they looked at you and it pissed him off, you were his Munchen’s coach first, not them. 

He remembers the familiar taste of brutal sessions, the taste of your insults grasping into his head like home. Yes, he was familiar with what he's raised with, remembering that one time where he lashed out towards you after giving his all. “What makes you think that you’re greater than your expectations compared to mine?” You asked the blonde haired man and there he realized that someone like you didn’t view him the way he did. 

And that dark pit on his chest grew, with the mix of adrenaline having to experience your sessions gets him riled up– feeling more “egoistical” even, like a dog knowing a treat hidden behind his owner's back without telling him to sit. Just demanding for the acknowledgement to come at him in a second, but for now, all he got was a blank stare from you, in which he hoped it would change as he trained like he was held at gun point to force the adrenaline rush before you could come back to their team again.

“I bet they haven't seen her get serious yet. I wonder how long they'll last” Ness added with a scoff, which irked Isagi along with the others. The German duo wanted them out of your range, but since this whole thing is just a project to them, they just gave off a warning.

“Oh and I bet you haven't seen her approve of you yet huh?” Isagi barked back which caused Kaiser to stare at him, a pause erupting before a snarl came up his face. Isagi was unknowingly flexing what he always wanted to get from you, and how dare he say that, ‘He’s lying.’ Kaiser had thoughts raised inside his head because there was no way– no way that you'd approve of a newborn and underdeveloped team first before him. Just what did you see in them before he had to claim his spot second? 

Just 4 steps up-front and he grabbed Isagi by the collar aggressively, turning a few heads in their direction. The tension formed as Isagi stared at him in shock, surprised about his sudden switch-up as he furrowed his eyebrows in annoyance, but then it clicked in his head. He found Kaiser's weak point.

“What? Triggered a spot inside?” He laughed at him, grabbing into his wrist tightly– almost the same way Kaiser held onto his collar to initiate some dominance against him. “Keep shitting out lies from your mouth and you'll see what I'm capable of, you shit freak.” Kaiser spat against his face which angered him more. There was no backing down from this as Isagi grit his teeth and forced his weight down to make Kaiser back off from him a bit, his grip on his wrist getting tighter every second. 

“Why don't you see it for yourself when I score a goal then? I'm sure that’d humble you enough you egotistical fuck.” 

You don't favor them more than him right? Was what Kaiser thought of, his jaw tensed as the both of them were having a stare down, “Hey let's not start off like this..” Yukimiya immediately had to step in and raise his hands to ease out the tension, while Raichi and Igaguri were cheering on him at the back. Kunigami was behind watching all of this unfold, questioning the changes on his teammates after his training in wild-card, not aware that the cause had started because of a certain coach.

Ness on the other hand couldn't believe the boldness Isagi had, he doesn't even believe the words coming out his mouth. Because you? Praising them? For what exactly? He noticed the crowd forming in, then glanced towards you and Noa's direction as the both of you were still talking at the far bench area. 

He doesn't want Kaiser to get in trouble again, yet, he couldn't just let this slide either. So he placed a hand on Isagi, aggressively shoving him back without warning to take the blame as Kaiser let go of his collar, causing him to hit his back followed by his head on the ground harshly. 

Isagi groaned in pain, squeezing his head on the ground to ease the throb buzzing inside. “Man what the hell!?” Raichi pushed Ness as hard as he could as the purple haired boy stumbled back. He glared back at him as the aggressive man was being held by Gagamaru from behind. 

The atmosphere suddenly shifted as other teammates from Bastard started belittling the Blue lock team, Isagi slowly sat up with Kiyora’s help as Kaiser glared at him. Forcing it in his head that he’s lower than he is, placing him where he should be– nowhere near your favour. 

Yukimiya gently placed a hand on Kaiser to back off which blocked his view as Hiori and Kurona were about to unwillingly deal with other Bastard teammates surrounding them, a fight starting to brawl.

“I turn around for one second and you pigs already roll around in shit.” All of them turned around to see Noa with his arms crossed, along with you beside him carrying a disappointed look. An expression that they didn't want you to look at them with. 

“Kaiser, Ness, double time and meet me outside, training session's over.” Was all he said as he left. Making Ness’s sacrifice deem useless. Noa nodded towards you as thanks while you stayed on the field to help aid whatever happened before Noa called them out. 

“What the hell happened..” you muttered under your breath as you eyed Kaiser and Ness walking past you, their eyes not leaving your figure, “Just doing you a favor, Meine Engel.” he whispered near your ear, minty breath warm against your neck before smoothly trailing behind Noa. You ignored him, aware of how he acts towards different players, disappointed but not surprised as you approached Isagi and the rest of the members.

“Are you alright?” You asked, kneeling beside him while putting your tablet on the grassy field to check on his head, your fingers slowly finding its way towards his scalp which caused him to flinch, then slowly relax against your touch. If only this moment could last forever with him in your arms. You felt a bump form on the back of his head as you gently massaged the spot which made the man beneath you snap out and lightly squirm in pain. 

“Someone bring him to the infirmary, he needs rest.” you looked at the men surrounding you as Kiyora and Kurona volunteered and held Isagi up, “I-I’m fine I swear!” Isagi stumbled, but you knew well. You gave him a look which made him zip his lips as he was guided out the field.

“All of you get out of the field, we’re starting early tomorrow. And I expect situations like these won't happen again." you told them off as they gladly fucked out off the area, mainly the BM team as blue lock followed by, except for one player.

Hiori stayed behind, hands resting behind his back calmly. “Yes?” you raised a brow at him as he looked at you, waiting for the rest to leave as the 2 of you were now left behind. You couldn’t pinpoint what was held in his eyes as the cyan-haired man walked close to you. The space between the 2 of you got smaller and smaller until–.. his face was a few inches close to yours.

“Regarding this whole project ma’am…It’s about being perfect in your view. Right?” He breathed out in your space, your eyes raising to face him. You were surprised about what he was talking about, but on your side, this wasn’t even entirely your whole doing. “Your point, Mr. Hiori?” you answered back, eyes not leaving his as the two of you stood still in the corner of the field.

 “You’re pushing us where we stand to fit your vision. But are you aware of what you do to us?”

He leaned closer, shoving it into your face of what he observed ever since you came into Blue Lock. “I’m sure you know that.” he mumbled, your act of manipulation to create the perfect little egoist great enough to be on the #1 pedestal was your intention, your motive, one of the reasons why you're here. But anything else than that? ..You've seen it, just refusing to acknowledge what you've done.

You stood still while his finger twitched, the urge to put his hand on your face and hear you say shit to him. “And who’s at fault for that?” You argued back, voice stable as he bit his cheek inside, effortlessly countering him. The corners of his lips went up as your answer rang in his head. “Touchè.” It was indeed their fault in the first place, their fault for fucking up multiple coaches yet, it's a perfect fuck up to get a coach like you.

He lifted his head, a few steps taken back before he went to his regular self again. Pretending like it never happened, “Well then, thanks for the clapback Miss (Y/n).” He gave you a smile before leaving, you stared at his back as he turned the corner and disappeared, leaving you alone.

You were aware of your stay here at blue lock was causing some type of shift, because look at your finger where they're wrapped around with, Hiori and Yukimiya couldn't help but shiver every time you gave them that look, Rin and Bachira would grasp at your hand when they needed the feedback or attention, Isagi and Nikko calling for you but hesitating whenever you talk back to them. 

Raichi, Aryu, Igaguri, and Gagamaru would try to occupy your time with whatever bullshit they have. Karasu, Chigiri, and Otoya won’t stop stealing glances in your direction until you have to call them out because it was annoying you. Tokimitsu, Nanase, Kiyora, and Kurona even started to get more upfront with you whenever they have the chance to talk to you. Hell, Kaiser, Barou, and Shidou always worked out the most when you told them not to after an intense workout session, even if you didn't mean any of it. 

Reo, Nagi, and Kunigami have some issues of their own but Reo talks to you the most out of the three (while Nagi shuts himself out in his dorm.). The sound of your voice leaving your lips whether it would be a praise or an insult, it doesn’t matter to any of them anymore. They learned to like it along the run.

Your looks hypnotize them, you have the upper hand, the guts to talk back and change people with your words. You have it all in one, and a smart person exploits it to get what they want, right?

—---

The whirring sound of the monitors and air conditioning whirled around Ego’s office, the two adults watching every session, every match, every training getting tense day by day. The players molded by you became monsters on field, their aggression was starting to bleed out off-field while you attended meetings with the masters, impressed by your progress with pushing their best out of themselves even if they were close to passing out. More, more, and more, these men were not the same ones 2 months ago, they were evolving, breaking themselves all to be under your so-called praise.

It was a pure display of fetishising perfection.

That’s what Anri had seen the men go through under your care, you drive them crazy to reach their extent so painfully it slowly makes them lose themselves in the process just to get small bits out of you. She couldn’t help but pity them, Ego on the other hand, was watching the potential brew like a volcano close to erupting. He couldn’t help but smile at the progress growing faster by the day.

“Should we…let them have a week break after this?” Anri suggested, her concern growing for them as Ego stared at the screen without blinking. The lights hurt his eyes as he took the stinging pain like it was nothing.

“Let's all do our best and have you put where you deserve to be.” The woman looked at him confused, what's with the sudden motivational quote coming from him?

“That's what she said from the start wasn't it?” Ego had to remind her about you. Why was this all happening? Because Anri placed the dominos as you pushed yourself with Ego's help to fall and create the effect. That's the answer. “But wha–” He raised his hand to shut her up, surprised at herself for doing so as he just stared at the screen. 

All the 5 teams were under pressure, majority of them but the blue lock team were resenting you like you trained them as if they're heading towards the military. “Because of you, we wouldn't have to struggle about losing, because I see a striker rising to the top.” The man grinned, watching all the players sweat their ass off from you and the Master's experimented training schedule. Ego just couldn’t wait till the world cup, if this was the outcome in a few months, how much more will these polished coals evolve in a few years?

Thinking about it would bring him to tears, well not really. But it could. Anri only stood by and watched, she was very proud with the progress, but it was eating her at the back of her head, how long till one of them would break? So next time, she’ll ask you to convince Ego to have the men take a break, because he seems to listen to your suggestions due to the both of you being on the same terms of creating a weapon on the field.

—----

Today was the last match between Bastard and PXG. Everyone behind the screen was watching intensely as the timer was ticking out. A few more minutes to determine the winner as every player from the 2 teams bathed in sweat, ultimately showing off all their hard work they went under. And there you were, sitting at the bench beside Noa, your expectations settled in high for both teams, as every single player had pushed themselves as they weighed heavy under your gaze. The score was tied to a 2-2, a few yellow cards pulled out, arguments started to erupt, and worse of all was when Isagi had called Noa a “Shitty master” for using him to awaken Kaiser right after the star-change system ended.

You watched all of this happen in front of you, all this because you helped open up their inner-self as they gratefully lapped up the crumbs of praises you spilled out your mouth. Just 2 more minutes before the round ends, and you were waiting for it to end as they all stood in the field until Isagi teamed up with Kaiser. Hell you were surprised about Kaiser cooperating with him rather than Ness as the new duo took over the field.

—---

Cheers and screams around the indoor field had echoed, Bastard won against PXG, but to Kaiser, he’s still waiting for your acknowledgement of him. Standing still as the rest of the team celebrated, Isagi had scored the final goal as you watched with a smile. Making it clear for Michael of who you favoured, and it definitely isn’t him.

“What if the greatest striker was already in front of you– that the next one gets discouraged from becoming one of the greatest strikers? Hm?” Kaiser questioned, he was desperate about not getting discarded under you as you stared at him for a second. You didn’t want to entertain him any further, so you took a sip of your drink as he was eyeing the glass touching your lips before setting it down. “The next greatest striker would never be discouraged, Michael.” Because he wasn't the greatest to you. Another thing you kept inside.

And the hidden treat he was waiting for was snatched away from his face, the owner offering it to a street pup covered in shit and stains as he watched him gobble his awaited prize like he deserved it. That’s what Kaiser felt like, a big “Fuck you” was displayed right in front of him as you congratulated the blue lock team. Treating him like he was invisible, like he wasn’t the first man to experience your brutality and be the best to overcome it unlike the others. 

Was his best too little for you to see? No that can’t be, you saw him, you watched him tire himself out beneath your feet, gasping for air as the rain was pouring on him, your umbrella was out of his reach as you stood dry on top. He was waiting for the magic words to come out of your mouth, your acknowledgement that he was the best-- or at least your acknowledgement that he existed, but all he heard were your heels walking away in a distance. His head raised up to see you slowly vanish from his sight.

And soon the realization had come to hit him, Michael Kaiser was afraid to admit the insecurity he had of letting you down, that he wasn’t enough for you. The familiar feeling of home had settled inside his chest as he became the little boy he was once again, reminding him of what he used to be at the end of the day.

—---.

A day had gone by, and all of the blue lock members were at the canteen chatting normally as the other foreign players had already left. “Did you guys see her reaction yesterday?” Bachira was reminiscing about you letting out a warm expression when BM won. 

Their hard work paid off as the whole table was occupied by the whole team, main and side dishes placed everywhere steaming out in front of them “It wasn't surprising, but it sure is nice to look at” Otoya hummed out, picking on his meal. And he was right, even if BM hadn't won that day, you'd still be glad about PXG winning because you know it would be Rin who'd shoot his shot in the last few seconds if the ball was brought to him.

“And Mr. Two-Gun volley over here bathed in all his glory with it.” Karasu sarcastically pointed towards Isagi as all eyes were set to him. “Get on my level.” Was all he said before he munched on his food, proudly showing off, making them grit on their teeth. They were… jealous that you personally thanked him for it, the others just standing by as you gave him a pat on the shoulder. “Ugh– it's just a compliment.” Rin let out, but inside he was still bitter about yesterday, another goal stolen from him whilst watching your hand placed on Isagi's shoulder as he sat on the grass sweating. 

“Ahh…whatever, have y'all seen her? I haven't heard any announcements from her since yesterday.” Hiori let out as the whole table wondered where you've been, expecting your presence with them as usual.

“She's leaving.” Ego walked inside the canteen, finally appearing physically rather than on screen like usual. All their heads turned towards him like whiplash, for sure you could hear a few necks snap as they stared at the director with wide eyes. “What.”

“You heard me.” Ego sat down facing them. Pockets in hand as he crossed his thin legs with effortless confidence, “She’s temporary remember?” He reminded them painfully as they stayed silent, completely forgetting about your short-lived stay with them. The lively presence was immediately drained out of the canteen as they sat still from their spot. 

Ego felt distraught about you leaving, it would probably take months for them to find a one of a kind coach like you again. He glanced up and noticed the long silence occupying the area, no one complained about you leaving, but he saw the way how tense their jaws are, their knuckles turning white from how hard they gripped on their utensils as he internally scoffed.

“Is there something all of you want to admit that I need to know of?” You, they wanted you. A hint of masochism grew inside them, they were just too ashamed, in denial, or not aware to admit that they were obsessed with you perfecting them, but Ego knew that. The line you crossed with your methods were blurred out for them, too blind to see which was wrong or right. They didn't care anymore.

“We want her to handle us.” Chigiri spoke out boldly, his hands gripping on the hem of his shirt instead of fiddling his long hair like he used to. Creating an opening for the rest to speak up. 

“You saw us Ego, you watched us everyday, so you know that we’re capable of having her as a coach.” They were desperately convincing the man to not let you leave. Sounding a bit pathetic as the men in the room protested about your departure left and right. “There won't be any other coaches as great as her, what if our performance decreases?” Kiyora voiced out as they agreed with him.

“We’d be on a losing streak! All our efforts would just head down the drain if we don’t have her with us.” Word per word, all the things they voiced out were valid, just straight up facts as Ego just sat there and let them complain, having their point get across to him when he’s well aware. He only let out a pleasant hum, because these men have completely lost it to want someone beat the shit out of them disguised as training. And that's how he wanted it to be if it means to win. 

Ego had internally applauded you. Because you've done it, you've officially messed them up where they pick themselves last and their hunger for winning first, they didn’t know who they were anymore but weapons ready to spill blood on the field. Detaching and using each other whenever they need to, to get that score, to make you proud, to honour them and see you smile.

“Did you ladies hear that?” Ego had called out, as the screen across the room had lit up, revealing you and Anri sitting on one of the chairs behind the glass window.

“I sure did.” You spoke up, sitting smugly with your legs crossed as they all looked at you in shock, they’ll never get a break from you surprising them like this huh? “See Anri? You don’t have to worry about them, they confessed it themselves. So relax your ass and go take a break, I think it’s you who needed a vacay.” Ego stood up from the chair, finished with interrogating the men who then again, was still processing everything. 

“Well I guess it can’t be helped..” Anri defeatedly sighed out. She was close to calling off the project for the sake of these men’s mental, emotional, and physical state till Ego had to walk out and prove her wrong. 

“Do you boys really enjoy your stay here at the blue lock facility?” She gave them one last question, one last try to convince these men that what they’re going through is not ideal nor safe for them in her view. 

All of them looked at you for permission, completely acting like dogs looking for their owner as they saw your face resting at the back of your hand, equally staring back before giving out a small smile with a sadistic hint lingering in your eyes. ‘You know what to say.’ Was written all over your face, and they do. Voluntarily locking their chains in your hand and letting you drag them around, definitely giving no room for saving or any amount of therapy to get them back from reality as these men are happy where they are. 

Because in blue lock, with your presence around, there aren't any goddamn answers other than-- “Yes.”

Lowk not proud of this one but whatever + there's no such thing as part 3 in my google doc files 🤩 Ok? And legit Anri’s the only normal person in here

Also here's a small thing I made for Kaiser cs y not, TW!

Anyways Siri play Crackbaby for the Kaiser fans, TYSM FOR READING MY FICS I LEGIT DIDN'T EXPECT IT TO BLOW UP I LOVE Y'ALL 🤩🔥💖

“500 mora.” 

“300 mora.” 

“400 mora.”

“350 mora!” This was getting beyond ridiculous. How could anyone demand so much for a mere book. Your jaw ticks, quite visibly flexing as you make your final offer. Coming to Mondstadt during the Windblume Festival practically means walking into a trap—one where they strip you of all your possessions, and you’ll leave with nothing but empty pockets. 

From a distance, you can hear bells chiming a tune, and bright laughter fills the air, adding to the cheerful melody, that is, until the woman opens her mouth again. “It’s a good price!” Annoyed, she lifts the book off the table and points at the price tag glued on the cover with her index finger, impatiently tapping against the sticker, as if to prove her point. “I even gave you a discou–”. You have a hunch about which direction this is going to go and decide to cut her off before she makes any more snarky remarks. “Es ist einfach nur unglaublich dreist so viel zu verlangen!”

“It’s just incredibly brazen to demand this much!”

For a split second, the woman’s eyes slightly widen in reaction to your words, her eyes fluttering rapidly in surprise. “Bist du aus Mondstadt?” She asks hesitantly and squints her eyes together to study you; her watchful gaze makes you shift on your feet. 

All you can do is meekly nod, awkwardly averting your eyes from her. To your surprise, she claps her hands together in delight, a newfound sparkle emitting from her eyes. “Warum hast du das nicht von Anfang an gesagt?” Her eyes take the form of crescent moons as she cocks her head to the side, smilingly, with her hands politely tucked behind her back.

“Are you from Mondstadt?” / “Why didn’t you say that from the beginning?”

You offer her a half-hearted smile, one that twitches at the corner of your lips on close inspection in irritation. If she hadn’t singled you out as a tourist right from the beginning and tried ripping you off—she might have known, but you don’t tell her that. 

It takes everything in you to simply laugh at her sudden change of attitude. It’s blatantly obvious—the favoritism she shows to people who are from Mondstadt. It’s not your business to meddle with but you doubt that this is how an earnest trade is supposed to look like, but it works out in your favor, so who’s to blame?

“Hate the game, not the player.” As Kaveh would say. Whenever he’d win against you during a game of cards, he’d blame it on anything else than the player’s ability (with the sole exception of Alhaitham, perhaps who’d taunt him first).

You can’t help but chuckle fondly as you think of the two back in Sumeru. Kaveh would’ve surely complained about the price too as he’d bargain for it to be lowered.

Only when her voice softens as she hands you the see de in exchange for the mora (which was all along not worth more than 200 mora) you snap back to reality. She attempts to converse with you, proudly slipping in her admissions about how many people she’s already ripped off today and eventually wishing you a good day, in an unexpected sweet manner, as you start to walk away.

“Danke Ihnen auch!” You shout over your shoulder before stepping further into the hustle and bustle, passing by people and skimming through the pages of your newly purchased book. 

“Thank you, you too!”

It’s a catalogue about typical Mondstadtian architecture throughout the centuries, each chapter telling the story of another architectural period that shaped Mondstadt. There are several terms you recognize—facades, cornices—things Kaveh has mentioned once before. As for the ones unknown to you, you make sure to ask Kaveh when you return.

When you get back home, you’ll make sure to wrap it up nicely and give it to Kaveh as a Mitbringsel (souvenir) from your little trip back to your hometown. At the very least you were relieved, because you were quite certain that Kaveh would be happy with his gift. 

In comparison to your other friends from the Akademiya Kaveh was the only eager one to receive a gift and you figured that this might be the best thing to give him. 

Thinking about it now, you might get something for yourself too. How often is it that you visit Mondstadt? You weren’t there for the last two Windblume Festivals, fearing that this place would evoke certain memories, but you suppose it should be fine now. 

After all, it’s been a while, so all the matters you left behind—the ones that were left unresolved, like a letter where the signature is missing—all you could do was pray to Barbatos that they flew away with the wind.

In all honesty, you didn’t plan for this trip to be long, thus you attempted to limit yourself to bringing only essential things, which meant that personal items became a second priority. 

Not even a full day has passed since you arrived in Mondstadt with all your luggage in hand. Truly, you love Mondstadt, you grew up here and spent a good portion of your life here, but if there was one thing you dreaded, ignoring how silly it sounds—the rough cobblestone paved floors. They were a pain to walk around on, especially with how bumpy the ways were.

But if there was one place in the entirety of Mondstadt that could ease this exhaustion it had to be Angels' share. The first thing you did when you stepped foot back home wasn’t going to your housing and unpacking—no—it was rushing to Angel’s share. Yes—with all your luggage.

After all, there was only one thing that could save you from the fatigue this trip gave you—a good wine brewed from the finest grapes in Mondstadt, and who else but the Ragnvindr’s could provide you that?

Upon arrival, you immediately rushed to the bar stools at the counter, propped your arms down and slumped your head against them to rest, practically hiding your face. All you heard was a huff from above and you could already paint out the image of a certain redhead rolling his eyes in disbelief at you. “Auch schön dich wiederzusehen.” Diluc said flatly, as he slid a glass filled with water over the counter towards you, before stepping away to prepare your drink. 

“Good seeing you again too.”

Although for the majority of your Akedmiya years, your studies kept you busy, in your leisure time you still made sure to find enough time to write letters to everyone. Despite the years you were away from Mondstadt, everyone treated you the same—your heart swelled at the thought and a small smile found its way on your lips. 

Diluc still knew your go-to drink and didn’t pester you with any infuriating small-talk, because he knows that you’re not in the mood to talk when you haven’t drunk yet. 

It’s almost like you never left. Everything was the same—the lively ambiance, groups of young friends encouraging each other to drink more while others had to drag their friends out before Diluc could catch them. You were under the impression that time had stopped and only continued when you were back here again, sitting with a certain someone every day after his shift ended. 

Being lost in your thoughts made you unaware of your surroundings that you almost didn’t notice the amused chuckle that came from right above you. “Oh, wen haben wir denn hier?” Hearing the familiar voice, with that tilt of tease to it, your head shot up, along with your widening smile. 

“Oh, who do we have here?”

In front of you stood Kaeya, practically grinning from ear to ear. “Mind if I sit next to you?” He didn’t even wait for your response before pulling the bar stool out and made himself comfortable. 

It was subtle, but the way his gaze shifted to Diluc's back and a somber shadow clouded his eyes, told you enough and you gave him a compassionate glance which he quickly brushed off with a reassuring smile. 

He’s quick to change the topic. “So how's it in Mondstadt?” He set his arm down the counter, before resting his face in the palm of his hand and stared at you in anticipation. “Well if we ignore that I arrived merely a few hours ago, I’m good.” You chuckled as you took a sip from the glass. 

Kaeya shot you an entertaining look. “Is that so?” His words left you confused and you furrowed your eyebrows. But it seems like he had no intention of answering, as his gaze wandered over to the group of adventurers who were sitting right beneath the table at the staircase and you followed him. Within the blink of an eye the group turned silent and ducked their heads together. Weird.

“Weißt du, wer letztens zurückgekehrt ist?” His sudden question took you aback. “Nein, wer denn?” You replied lost. “Großmeister Varka ist zurückgekommen, unter anderem mit der fünften Kompanie—du weißt, was das bedeu–”

“Do you know who recently returned?” / “No, who?” / “Grand master Varka came back, among others the fifth company—you know what that mea–”

Before you know it Kaeya’s words started to fade into the background as you got distracted by the touch coming from behind your shoulder. It was only then when you noticed that someone attempted to get your attention.

WIth ease you swivel around on your stool and face the person standing in front of you. On closer look, he was built quite slender, still you could see the lean muscles of his body peeking out from his clothes. 

He quickly noticed that you were scrutinizing him and quickly fixed his disheveled hair, before he coughed into his fisted hand as if to prepare himself to say something.

“Äh, hallo.” He starts off awkwardly. “Ich hab dich von da hinten gesehen und fand dich echt hübsch und wollte nur mal fragen, ob du vielleicht morgen zusammen das Fest verbringen möchtest?” 

“Uh, hello.” / “I saw you from behind there and found you to be really pretty and just wanted to ask if you’d maybe wanna spend time together tomorrow during the festival”

No wonder Kaeya was staring at the loud group of adventurers that were sitting at the back so intently. Whether it was a mere guess or intuition, you’re not sure, still you were impressed that Kaeya was so quick to connect the dots that one of them would come up to you.

Granted, he wasn’t quite your type or at least the kind of person you’d usually go for, but so was someone else. It wouldn’t hurt to give him a chance, you presume.

“Das ist sehr nett von dir und sicherlich können wir morgen Zeit verbringen.” You shoot him a polite smile. 

“That’s really kind of you and surely we can spend time together tomorrow.”

Whether it was the pressure of having his adventure peers looking at you, the exhaustion and your brain completely giving up on you or genuine feelings that made you agree, you weren’t quite sure. Admittedly, he didn’t look quite bad and seemed very nice, so why not give it a shot? 

It's only one date. He asked if he could pick you up and you’d just walk around a bit at the festival and then go eat dinner. There’s little that could go wrong, and even when things might take a turn for the worse, you’d only be staying here no longer than a few more days and return to Sumeru quicker than Kaeya would be able to open his mouth to order his next round of drinks. As for it if it turns out for the better—you’re still unsure. 

In all honesty, you weren’t sure if you had healed enough from your last relationship. However, you also don't want to spend your entire life mourning after a relationship that has sunken, so it’d be no harm to start a new one.

Just as you spotted a boutique where you could buy nice clothes to wear for your date tomorrow, a voice suddenly appeared from behind you, as if it had hidden itself within the shadows and jumped out at the right moment to scare you.

"Was ein Zufall, dich hier zu sehen.” An icy voice cuts through the atmosphere—the same voice that greeted you every morning and put you to sleep every night when you still lived in Mondstadt. It’s as if time has stood still, freezing everything into one place as you stopped in your tracks. “Lang nicht mehr gesehen.” The owner of the voice—Lohen—positions himself in front of you.

“What a coincidence seeing you here.” / “Long time no see.”

It’s only a natural reaction that the hairs on your nape would stand up in tension. Fear was an emotion that he could sniff out like no other, especially when it came to you. When he receives a whiff, he’ll already have his eyes set on you. The fear won’t disappear—you’ll be fearing for your life instead. 

Considering how close he stood to you, you were aware he wouldn’t turn a blind eye to the anxiety surging through your body. Not to mention your staggered, uneven breathing that was no different to someone catching their last breaths. You knew better than to ignore him, but how are you even supposed to begin?

Despite all the time which has passed, you didn’t even dare to look up to meet his eyes.

“How’d you know I was back?” Mere seconds which feel like an eternity pass and you muster up the courage to ask. The words are quiet, but you can practically feel his smug grin as he looks down at you. Involuntarily, but as if on instinct, you raise your head—Lohen is quick to act—squishing your face in the palm of his gloved hand, to keep you looking at him. 

Shame fills your senses, being treated like this in public by Lohen where everyone could see you, is beyond humiliating. Also, you’d never admit it, especially to him, but you missed him the most and out of all the times the feeling could’ve hit you, it had to resurface in a moment like this.

Fed up with him, you gesture for Lohen to let you go which only makes his grip tighten. “A little birdy told me.” He whispers sweetly, although the mockery his words are laced in doesn’t go unnoticed by you either, before finally letting your face go.

In response to his words you furrow your eyebrows together in irritation. “Kaeya.” You bite the inside of your cheek, as you recall your conversation with the cavalry captain from yesterday. 

Even if he’s pretending that he hasn’t heard you he doesn’t make it noticeable, instead he just gives you a tight lipped smile. At this rate you weren't sure if you’d be able to be around him any longer without  wiping that shit-eating grin off his face. 

Alas, you forgot how draining it is to talk to Lohen when he behaved like this—all innocent and oblivious, even though he’s always first to discover what's being hidden behind the curtain. 

It didn’t take long for you to grow restless. To make matters worse, you didn’t know how to remove yourself from the situation without Lohen leaving a dumb comment that'd go along the lines of you being afraid to talk to him.

“Lohen.” You call out his name, a cold sweat running down your nape. The reaction his mere presence has on you is akin to a blizzard that rages inside your entire body, causing it to shudder. “I think I left my stove on.” A measly excuse, you were aware and from the way his ruby eyes cast a glance at you in disbelieving curiosity, he knows you are lying.“I’d better go home to check. Excuse me.” Your lips press into a fine line as you nod your head politely at him and attempt to leave.

It happens so fast, you realize way too late that he’s seized your arm. “Lohen, let me go.” You warn him through gritted teeth. His gloved hands do a poor job at shielding your skin from him pressing his thumb further and deeper into your wrist.”Please.” You wince desperately. 

“Now, now, don’t be like that.” It’s immediate—the moment his eyes light up as you plead him and his smile widens, showing off his white pearls. 

More people start to gather around the two of you, standing still for a few moments before walking away as Lohen shoots them a look that screams no go away. Freshly returned Vice Captain of the fifth company Lohen causing a scene in broad daylight and quite literally holding you captive. 

Before his hands can slither any further, you firmly push him away. Lohen doesn’t even look surprised—amused would be befitting, as if he already knew that you’d do something like this. “Lass mich in Ruhe!” You snap and turn away from him. Deciding you’ve finally had enough you storm away.

“Leave me alone!”

It doesn’t take long for you to look back—pathetic, you know—would it be wrong of you to say that you were disappointed that Lohen didn’t run after you? All he did was brush over his coat to make himself look more presentable after what had happened just now. Not once did he look at you when you were walking away, you’d know, because your eyes were practically glued to him.

Whenever the two of you had your little play fights, you’d squeal and laugh while he’d insist on hugging you until you had to beg him to release you or else he’d squish you in his embrace. 

Well, you know the answer to your question yourself—you’re no longer together—you were the one who broke up with him. Taking that into account—you being the one who ended everything, you had no right to feel this way.

Just as you wanted to tear your head away from him, you see a young girl approaching him from your peripheral vision. In her right hand, pressed in between her index finger and thumb is an envelope, while in her left hand she holds a glowing red Windwheel Aster. That sheepish smile adorning her lips and her rosy tinted cheeks make you swallow thickly. Standing a few meters away from her are her friends giggling to one another and exchanging knowing glances as she chats up Lohen. 

For your own sake you turn away quickly before he reacts. An all too familiar feeling rises up in your chest—a puddle of disgust and jealousy—something ugly and one which you got rid of a long time ago—at least you thought so.

— 

Sure, you might not have had high hopes for the date, but you didn’t expect to be forgotten, like an important piece of advice that gets disregarded without a second thought. The clock keeps ticking in the background, as if mocking you that your date hasn’t come to pick you even though he promised to be on time.

Half an hour ago, you told yourself that you’d wait thirty minutes more, and maybe you should. After all he might’ve had difficulties finding your home and got lost on the way and has to ask for directions now. Maybe he stepped into a puddle and got his clothes all dirty, meaning he had to go back home to change. What if he was just too nervous and in reality he’s been standing in front of your door the whole time, trying to muster up the courage to ring the door be–.

The two-toned chime of your door bell jolts you out of your thoughts. He’s finally here, you think to yourself happily, as you walk up to the door and open it, inviting him in.

“Lohen?!” You yell in bewilderment, eyes widening in shock, as he stands in front of you with his hands neatly put behind his back. It wasn’t unusual for Lohen’s work clothes to be stained with all kinds of different substances. Be that mud, ash or even blood. Still there was something off. “Fancy seeing you here.” Lohen declares with that scheming smile on his face.

Hearing his words, you scrunch up your eyebrows. “I live here.” As soon as the words leave your mouth you regret them, because they sound more like a question rather than a statement. “I know.” He simply shrugs before barging into your house. 

“Hübsch siehst du heute aus.” Lohen says as if it's the most obvious thing in the world, while you’re left speechless. He does it so effortlessly, as if he hasn’t just walked into your home; he came back into your life, and turned it upside down. “Wegen des Treffens oder warum?” He smiles slyly before shrugging off his coat and hanging it up on your hook.

“You look pretty today.” / “Because of the date or why?”

It’s only then that you notice the vermillion color staining his jacket and seeping into the dark fabric. The fluid runs smoothly down the piece of clothing, practically becoming one with the coat, and that’s when the gears in your head start turning.

“Lohen.” You say his name with a shaky breath. “Was hast du getan?” Your jaw tightens in anger and your clenched fists grab the material of his vest, pulling him closer for inspection. In hopes of finding any trace of regret or mercy, your eyes flicker over his face. His pale skin was dusted in brown ashy colors and without thinking twice you brush your fingers over his cheek to rub the dirt away.

“What did you do?”

Noticing what you did, you immediately try to pull away, but Lohen stops you. He moves your hands, the one you just pulled away and the one whose grip started to loosen on his vest, around his neck, pressing them into the flesh of his throat. You tried to pull away, but that only urged him to squeeze your hands tighter around his neck. 

“Suffered from external pressure to the neck which restricted the blood circulation.” Lohen expresses in choked out laughs. “Led to a deprivation of oxygen and the victim passing out.” He continues with an eerie smile on his face. It almost seemed like he wanted this. “And not to forget, suffered from long-term trauma and throat damage.” He took control over your hands and pressed them further into his neck. “Ich meine mich dunkel an sowas zu erinnern, du auch?”

“That rings a bell for me, for you too?”

Taken aback you try to pull your hands away from his neck, but he doesn't let you. Instead he tightens his grip that he has around your hands. “I’m having a good time. Why stop?” He chuckles dryly. However to your surprise he finally frees your hands from his hold and you fall back, stumbling behind in shock. 

Seeing that you’re in no position to talk, Lohen seizes the opportunity. “This is unlike you.” He takes a step forward and you can’t help but stare at him. You don’t move, you don’t shudder, you don’t flinch—nothing, all you can do is watch what he does next.

“Seriously, am I not just returning the favor?” He smirks and puts his gloved index- and middle finger beneath your chin to lift it up.”Did you seriously think that moving away, and starting a new life, would make you forget that you murdered someone?” He tilts his head to the side, the corners of his lips twitching upwards.

“I didn’t kill her!” Shivers run down your spine as you defend yourself frantically and Lohen lets go of your chin. “She was still alive, I made sure of it.” You whine. “Barely.” Lohen chuckles, seemingly amused by your panicked state. You can feel the way your heart rapidly beats in your chest, picking up at a faster pace every second. “I just wanted her to stay away from you.” You finally admit quietly.

Upon hearing your words, Lohen’s eyes start to glint with mischief, as if this was everything he ever wanted to hear from you, and maybe it was. “There she is.” He sighs in a relieved dramatic manner. “That’s my girl.” Your arm that rests stiffly at your side—Lohen takes it into his hand and brings your wrist to his lips. He then kisses the inside of your wrist slowly and deliberately while looking at you through half lidded eyes, as if to observe your reaction. 

Would you melt into him? Would you push him away?

After he lets go of your wrist he places your arm over his shoulder to get better access to you, closing the gap between the two of you. From this vicinity you could practically feel Lohen's warm breath fanning against your face. “You know, no one would have suspected you.” He mutters in a tone that could only be described as faux pity. 

“No one would ever get the idea that either you or me would kill mere civilians.” He whispers before kissing up your forearm until his lips eventually find the skin of your neck. You can feel the way he’s already latching his lips at your skin, nibbling on the part he wants to sink his teeth into. 

However you stop him by grabbing a fist of his hair, forcing him to look up at you. “That means you didn’t kill him?” You ask hesitantly. “Who?” He raises his eyebrow, seemingly unimpressed by your question. Only when you shoot him a knowing look does he sigh in exasperation. “Oh, him.” He eventually says. ”Yeah, of course not. Just taught him a lesson.” You wonder how Lohen is always able to act collected, even in situations like these. “He’s not in life threatening danger or anything.”

You’ve got the answer you wanted. Admittedly, you’d be lying if you said that Lohen’s actions didn’t stir something inside of you. The greed to keep him all to yourself came back—it never left, but now that you’re back with him—how are you supposed to live without him? He’s the only one who makes you feel like this—the only to give you this high. 

“I’m glad then.” You let out a breath you’ve been holding for a while and press your lips against the crown of his head. “Why are you thinking of someone else when I’m here?” Lohen jokes, but you feel the tinge of honesty in his words. “Niemals.” You reassure him by pressing a kiss onto his head, before giving him access to your skin again.

“Never.”

He continues on what he’s left off. With precision he latches his lips onto your skin and suckles on the spot, waiting for it to bloom in a pinkish color. “Did you think two years would wash away your actions?” He looks at the mark in satisfaction and licks over it, before moving his lips upwards to your jaw. “Don't forget, you're mine.” Subconsciously you start moving your arms around his neck, your hands now resting on his nape. “I’m yours.” He declares, before pressing a chaste kiss to your jaw.

“We share our sins.”

Subject K was once a man, a laborer if I am to guess, for he has that sort of a constitution, hearty and hale yet a touch underfed. His hair is pale and his eyes, upon inspection, are a blue shade not unlike veronicaflowers; I am sure that in his life, he must have been quite admired. Ah, what a pity, then, that he died so young! My own heart does pang when I look upon him, but I cannot afford to be so distracted by the feebleness of my empathy. The good professor does not take kindly to delinquency, either.

How slowly the time did pass in Professor Anaxagoras’s class — even you, ordinarily so fascinated by the theories he described, found yourself frequently bored by the mundane, frigid monotone of his lecturing. It was worse for the others, you supposed, many of whom only attended out of compulsion, not choice, and thus could hardly remain focused as he rambled about the concepts of Nousporism. Abiogenesis, he would tell you all, and at your side Mydei would yawn, though he tried very hard to hide it, covering his mouth and giving you one of those gentle, hapless looks of his. ‘Life’ was once ‘not-life.’

Occasionally, someone might raise their hand, might ask him to clarify meaning or vision, but inevitably they were met with the same response: a blank, pinched look, the professor’s lips pursed into a frown, his singular eye narrowed as he considered the inquiry carefully. By the time he mustered up a response, it was well past the time for anyone to care what it might be, and besides, he spoke in such a winding, insufficient manner that one was only ever left with more questions, anyways.

“I don’t understand what interest you find in Nousporism,” Mydei said to you once, after a particularly dry session in which Professor Anaxagoras had explained the construction of the gaseous compounds he had used in his most recent experiment. “There’s far more exciting research to be done in Helkolithy, and far better professors, at that.”

“You’re only saying that because it is your own discipline, and so you are bound to convert as many promising candidates to its pursuit as you can,” you said. He gave you a sheepish grin, and you rolled your eyes. “You’re better off persuading someone else.”

“It’s not persuasion if I’m only pointing out the truth,” he said, holding open the door to the dusty lecture hall for you, waiting for you to wave at Professor Anaxagoras as was your custom, though he never reciprocated. “I can’t fathom anyone more deserving, more dedicated, but the only Nousporist lab is Professor Anaxagoras’s, and everyone knows he doesn’t accept assistants. You’re wasting your potential, that’s all. It doesn’t have to be Helkolithy, but…you know.”

“Thank you,” you said when he trailed off with a shrug. “I appreciate it, Mydei, really I do, but it’s alright. Studying Nousporism has been my dream since I was young, even if it is a slog at times, and I am willing to wait if that is what it takes. I will wait years upon years if I must, but I shan’t be dissuaded, not by your good intentions or the professor’s bad temper.”

“Well,” he said, patting you on the shoulder. “Let us hope it does not take nearly that long.”

Had he shown any continued skill at prophecy, you might’ve told him to become a Venerationist, but unfortunately this was his one and only divination, in that the very next day, when the two of you made to leave as you always did, Professor Anaxagoras looked up when you waved at him. Then, slowly, with a twisted sort of comprehension dawning upon his sallow face, he held out his hand and motioned for you to wait. 

“You can go, Helkolithist boy,” he said to Mydei, who had paused when you had. “I only wish to speak with her.”

Perhaps you might’ve been excited, but indeed all you could think was that you had done something wrong, that you had acted overfamiliar or otherwise offended he who had such peculiar sensibilities. Your stomach dropped, and you glanced desperately at Mydei, as if he could do anything but look at you in return, as bewildered as you were anxious, before you nodded at the professor.

Nousporists did not believe in gods, but you found yourself praying to some unknown entity as the door shut behind Mydei and you were left alone in the great, looming cavern of the lecture hall. It was an entity which was not exactly a deity but would, if you had to guess, resemble one, should you give further thought to the matter; as it was, however, you could only repeat your frantic pleas in your mind and wait, frozen, for Professor Anaxagoras to speak.

“It has come to my attention that you have some notions of becoming a Nousporist in full,” he said. When you were silent, he raised his eyebrows. “Did I misinterpret you? My hearing is keen, but I suppose advanced age catches up to us all.”

“Not — not at all, sir!” you said. “Yes, it was — it is my dream. Ever since I was very young, I’ve wanted to be a Nousporist. That’s the entire reason I came to this university, you’ve always — I mean, I really admire you and your work, is what I’m trying to say—”

“Enough,” he said, mercifully cutting you off before you could continue to stumble and worsen what was no doubt already a poor impression. “Very well. Come with me.”

He was a long-strided man, walking with a clear and distinct purpose, and you felt rather like a little chick toddling after its mother as you raced to keep up with him through the winding, candlelit halls of the university. Even after so many years in attendance, you and Mydei frequently found yourselves lost in the twisted mazes of the academic buildings — sometimes together, mostly apart — but Professor Anaxagoras navigated them with such a haunting, careless ease that you were impressed, having never expected it from him of all people.

“What do you know of the principles of Nousporism?” he said, cutting through the silence with the dulled knife of his voice. He was livelier now than he ever had been in his lectures, and for a moment you were simply taken aback at the thought that these two aspects were of one and the same man.

“Very much, sir,” you said, eager to impress him now that he was giving you the chance. “The foundation is the phrase ‘life’ was once ‘not-life.’ All of Nousporism stems from it.”

“Good,” he said. “Then, assuming the theory is correct, there must be a natural process for ‘life’ to be born of ‘not-life’, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Yes, it’s true,” you said. “Though no one has ever managed to learn what it is…”

You entered a small, dark room, a flickering lamp in the corner serving as the only source of light. When your eyes adjusted to the bleakness, you found that it was all but empty save for an operating table in the middle, upon which a single form lay, the length and breadth of it covered by a white sheet.

“What makes ‘it’ different from you and me?” Professor Anaxagoras said, gingerly rolling back the sheet to reveal a smooth, handsome face, its expression frozen in repose. You gawked at it for a moment, unable to entirely comprehend what you were looking at, and when you understood, you flinched backwards. “‘It’ was once a ‘he’, after all. In this way, death is the inverse of Nousporism.”

A million questions brimmed in your mind — whose body was it? How had Professor Anaxagoras come across it? How was it preserved in such flawless condition, untouched by decay and rot, as if it were merely trapped in slumber, not kissed by death? But one glance at his firm, cautious expression made you falter, for suddenly you recognized this for what it was: a test. If you showed any fear, any uncertainty, then you would prove yourself unworthy of the designation of Nousporist. So, swallowing down your hesitation, you banished your alarm and nodded at the professor.

“Death is ‘life’ becoming ‘not-life,’” you said, and when he smiled — only slightly, but surely — you were heartened to continue. “That’s why ‘it’ is different from ‘us’ — it isn’t alive. It can’t think or feel or understand, not anymore. It’s no different than a statue.”

“Very good,” he said. “So what would it take to restore it to its original condition? That is the basis of the experiment I want you to take over for me.”

“What?” you said, because everything was moving so fast and you could hardly comprehend it. A part of you — and not a small part, either — was still on the first floor, leaving the lecture hall with Mydei, unacknowledged by the professor yet again. So what did it mean, this entire concept of taking over his experiment? What was he saying?

“Make ‘life’ from ‘not-life,’” he said. “That is my condition, if you are serious about Nousporism and wish to join my lab. Resurrect this corpse, and turn ‘it’ into ‘him’ once again; only then will I accept you as worthy of working alongside me.”

“When we no longer look at an organic being as a savage looks at a ship, as at something wholly beyond his comprehension; when we regard every production of nature as one which has had a history; when we contemplate every complex structure and instinct as the summing up of many contrivances, each useful to the possessor, nearly in the same way as when we look at any great mechanical invention as the summing up of the labour, the experience, the reason, and even the blunders of numerous workmen; when we thus view each organic being, how far more interesting, I speak from experience, will the study of natural history become!” (Ruan Mei, The Origin of Species).

“He wants you to bring a dead body back to life?” Mydei said incredulously. Of course, to he who was so interested in the study of anatomy and physiology, Helkolithist as he was, the very thought must have been nothing short of blasphemous, but you could only shrug in the face of his shock.

“Nousporism is that kind of a field, after all,” you said. “I know you must view it as a sort of desecration, but that’s not exactly the case. The body is being used for advancement and progress. Isn’t that something that its owner’s spirit should be proud of?”

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” he said. “How are you supposed to manage that? Such an impossible condition he’s given…you’d almost think he doesn’t want you to succeed.”

“He would never do that,”  you said immediately, in what he would, if he knew, likely dub a reflex. “Why would he go to all of that trouble in the first place? He could have just as easily ignored me. I don’t argue that this is meant to be a test of the utmost difficulty, but certainly it is possible. He would not have asked it of me if it weren’t.”

“If it is possible, then why hasn’t he done it himself?” Mydei challenged. You sighed, because he always was such a contrarian. It had been optimistic of you to expect him to take this victory at face value, not when he was so prone to this — this — this arguing, this fault-finding.

“Perhaps he is simply too busy to dedicate the proper time to research,” you said. “Such undertakings are not light, after all.” He opened his mouth to argue again, but you gave him a withering glare, cutting him off before he could. “You might be happy for me, if you were so inclined.”

“I am,” he said. “Really, I am. Wasn’t I the one who said you deserved it, before the professor even took note of you? I just didn’t expect it would come about in such a manner.”

“I didn’t, either,” you said. “But this is a rare opportunity. I cannot let it go, even if it isn’t the most favorable. Professor Anaxagoras has extended me his hand, and so I must endeavor to take it.”

“Alright, alright,” he said. “I won’t speak against it anymore, so don’t be angry. Tell me about this dead body of yours.”

“You’re incorrigible,” you said when he burst into a fit of laughter right afterwards, ruining his contrite image entirely. “It’s quite strange, actually. I can’t figure out what must’ve happened to it; it’s in entirely perfect condition, at least based on my preliminary examination.”

“Is it a man or a woman?” he said.

“A man,” you said. “Oh, Mydei, you’d gasp if you saw it. I can hardly believe how beautiful it is. He must’ve been so charming when he was still alive.”

“Beautiful isn’t exactly the first word I’d use for a corpse,” Mydei said, wrinkling his nose. “Or the second. Or the third.”

“I didn’t think I ever would, either,” you admitted. “But like I said, this one is odd. I’ve never seen anything quite like it, dead or alive. It belongs in a painting or a story, not an operating table or lab. Actually, it makes me quite sad whenever I happen to glance upon it; I don’t think he was any older than you or I when he died. What a horrible life he must’ve led, to end up like that, without a single person there to mourn him.”

“It’s a shame,” Mydei said. “Well, maybe his second life will be better than the first.

“Second life…” you said, trailing off in thought before giving him an earnest, worried look. “So you think that I can do it, is that what you mean?”

“Naturally, I don’t think anyone can do it,” he said, but then his brow furrowed into something sweet and pondering. “It violates the very basics of Helkolithy, wherein that which is dead must remain dead. But, if it is possible, if it can be done…then the one to manage it will definitely be you.”

07 OCT 79 — I cannot quite fathom where to begin in the resurrection of Subject K, so I have instead thrown myself into the careful and methodical categorization of the body. Perhaps this is ultimately an exercise in redundancy, but at least it wears the guise of productivity, and so I do not feel nearly as guilty as I would’ve, were I wasting my free time simply reading textbooks.

It is dead and yet undying at once, which is an inexplicable thing to say but is true nonetheless. Sometimes, I can delude myself into imagining the rise and fall of his chest, the beat of his heart beneath my palm — but, then, the skin of the corpse is cold and it is motionless in a way no man ever would be. I have never heard of anything like it, not in all my years of study, and none of the books I reference describe such a phenomenon. Ruan Mei, Ratio, Screwllum, Yang…if none of these great minds have encountered something like this, what does that mean? Doubtless Subject K is special; I wonder if Professor Anaxagoras understood this when he chose the body, if that was why he chose it, or if it is a mere and happy coincidence.

Without fail, you would cough upon entering the lab where Subject K — as Mydei had jokingly dubbed the corpse – was kept. It was dark and dusty and matched Professor Anaxagoras’s dour countenance exactly, but for someone like you, who was not yet used to such conditions, it was a valiant fight to accustom yourself. Yet you persisted, for if you could be vanquished by dank air and dim corners, then how could you ever consider yourself a proper researcher?

It was eerie, being alone in that room with only a body to keep you company. You liked to pretend that it was a sleeping man instead of a dead one, for it comforted you a little to think that there was someone other than mice and spiders huddled in floorboards alongside you as you pored over the various journals Professor Anaxagoras had left opened on the desk he had bequeathed you in the handing over of the lab. Once or twice, you considered begging Mydei to come and sit with you, you even came close enough to asking him for a favor with that intention, but at the last moment you grew wary and simply told him to make dinner for you, if he was not opposed.

What would the professor think? How could he accept an assistant who clung to a Helkolithist out of fear of her own experiment? Subject K was yours, so you ought not to be frightened of it, and you doubly ought not to be so reliant on someone whose philosophy was so opposite to your own. You had to learn to stand by your merit, and so you did not dare ask Mydei to stay by your side, knowing he would relieve you too well and thus would stunt your development too thoroughly. So, instead, to ward away the complete and total seclusion of the lab, you took to speaking with him: Subject K.

“Good evening,” you would say when you entered, smiling at the table through your coughing fit, a stabbing pain in your throat and lungs, tears welling in your eyes. “I hope you have been well in my absence, Subject K.”

Of course he did not answer, he very well couldn’t, but you imagined he might, if he had the capability, say something like this: I have been well, yes, albeit a little lonely. And what of you?

“Hm,” you would say, and then you’d launch into a recounting of your day as you settled in your chair, lighting your lamp and arranging your things around you. “Today was not so horrible. Mydei said he would leave dinner at my house for me, so at least I have one less thing to worry about and can spend longer here. I am near to a breakthrough, I have complete faith…do not worry, you will be back soon, and then Professor Anaxagoras will be forced to acknowledge me.”

Sometimes, you would complain to him, for few were as sympathetic of listeners as he was, and even fewer could keep secrets quite as well as he could. Perhaps no one in the world existed like that, and indeed there was a sort of freedom to this: you could speak as you wished without fear of judgment or reproach, and you abused the privilege, laying every petty grievance at his feet as you updated your records.

“Professor Anaxagoras has asked after my progress again,” you said once, punctuating it with a particularly harsh stroke of your pen. “I don’t know what to tell him. You are the same as ever, which in and of itself is a mystery, but one I am no closer to solving than I am to bringing you back to life.”

He continued his slumber, that pale-haired figure, unwitting of your distress, and with a sigh you got out of your chair and began to pace. What would it take? What were you missing? You could still hear Professor Anaxagoras’s clipped voice ringing in the back of your mind — ah. Not done yet? Such a pity. A disappointment, that was what you were, though he had not said as much. You had been entrusted with such a task, and instead of proving yourself capable, you had only served to fail repeatedly. How could you ever become a Nousporist now? If you were Professor Anaxagoras, you would never accept yourself, not after so many botched attempts, not after so many chances left unfulfilled.

“What if I ruin you?” you said, a new fear striking you as you pulled Subject K’s covering down his torso, taking his limp hands and moving them so that they were folded over his stomach. Such large hands he had, the skin worn and rough, littered with cuts and callouses, but arranged in such a way, they seemed princely and fine, as if clasped in wait. Despondency rolled over you in waves the longer you stared at him, imagining him rotting away, lost forever to worms and flies because of your own ineptitude. “I might ruin you. Oh, I will ruin you, I will ruin this experiment and you will become just another mound of dirt in the ground — I never should’ve accepted Professor Anaxagoras’s offer, I never should’ve believed I could do it — how you must hate me! If it were him, if it were anyone else, you might already walk amongst us once more, but instead you are here, trapped with me as your only hope.”

You did not know when the first tear fell, only that suddenly, you were kneeling with your face in your hands as you began to bawl, heaving and fitful. You could not do it. You could not do it. Why had you ever dreamt of becoming a Nousporist? It was too difficult, it was too difficult, you did not know how anyone managed, you should have given up long ago. You should’ve listened to Mydei, you should’ve become a Helkolithist — well, you still could, couldn’t you? But the thought of going to Professor Anaxagoras and telling him you were giving up was the most agonizing thing you could conceive of, so you allowed yourself only one more minute of tears, and then, wiping at your face, you straightened, brushing off your knees and arms.

“My apologies,” you said, adjusting your clothing so that it sat just so, professional and gathered once more, as if nothing had happened, nothing at all. “Let us continue, then, shall we?”

“The Lament for Khaslana” by Sunday Oak

Work Type: Painting   

Medium: Oil on canvas

Measurements: H 182.9 x W 155.6 cm

“This picture shows the dead Khaslana from Amphorean mythology. He is surrounded by lamenting sea-nymphs. His mother, the tailor Aglaea, made wings out of wax so that she and her son might escape from the island of Okhema. But, overcome by pride, Khaslana flies too near to the sun, the wax melts, and he plunges to his death. This is Sunday Oak’s most famous picture. He belonged to the generation of Penaconian artists that was influenced by Belobogian Impressionism, but Oak devoted himself to the historical and literary themes of Lushakan artists such as Mikhail Char Legwork.” 

There was something held under his tongue. You found it many days into your research, when you had given up hope and resorted to simply gazing at his face, willing him to give you some answer, some clue, one hint or several about what you had to do — if not the entirety, then at least the next step. His face belied nothing, not at first, but the longer you stared at it, the louder that persistent nagging in the back of your mind grew, that insistence that something was off, something was wrong about him. It took you a while to realize what, but then, in a flash of clarity, you understood: his mouth, his pretty mouth, curved into an unnatural crescent, just shy of a smile.

“Forgive me,” you said, smoothing his hair back from his forehead, your fingers itching with discomfort before you took his cheeks in your hand, prying his jaw open slowly, cringing back as you prodded about in the dry cavern, trying to remember to breathe so that you did not faint. You were somewhere else. You were a Helkolithist. You were in the library with Mydei. You were anywhere but here, doing anything but this. “Forgive me, please, forgive me—”

There it was, a stone the size of your thumb, gleaming crimson with an intrinsic fire that no ruby or garnet could ever hope to possess. You did not dare pull it from him, not when you recognized it immediately from the illustrations in one of Professor Anaxagoras’s journals: a philosopher’s stone, which did not, as was claimed in the myths, grant eternal life, but which did, according to the professor’s research, have extraordinary preservative properties. You did not yet understand how it worked, but you were sure, as you gently nudged his mouth closed, that this was the reason why he remained in such perfect, pristine condition.

But for him to be exactly as he was at the moment he had died, the stone would’ve had to have been placed right then, pressed under his tongue with precision at the very second he passed away. What did it imply? You didn’t want to think it, not of a man you had always so admired, but you could not stop your mind from ending up at that natural conclusion: Professor Anaxagoras had — he had — Professor Anaxagoras had —

You could not even make it to the wastebasket by the door; you threw up on the floor, hunching over as your stomach spasmed, gripping the edge of the table for stability. You counted to five — one, two, three, four, five — and then you pushed yourself up, wiping the corners of your mouth and your fingers with a handkerchief you produced from your pocket.

Then you retrieved a mop from the corner and began to clean the sick up, scrubbing at the stone until your hands were raw, as if that could do anything, as if this was something you could ever possibly hope to efface.  

14 OCT 79 — ‘Subject K’ is such a clinical name, is it not? It feels so detached when I am speaking to him and must refer to him as that. And to think it is short for ‘Subject Killed’...such a cruelty, poking fun at his unfortunate state! I ought to have chided Mydei my colleague for the suggestion. No, no, it cannot do. I will give him a different name, a better, more apt one.

He is like a tragic hero from old. I am quite sure, now, that there was some foul play involved in his death, foul play that Professor Anaxagoras no doubt had a hand in, but I do not dare confront anyone, not as of yet. I am frightened, and besides the philosopher’s stone, I do not have enough proof — only a strange feeling, a protectiveness over his body, as though by bringing him back I can defend him from whatever happened to him in the first place.

Mydei My colleague did suggest, upon learning of this experiment, that perhaps his second life would be better than his first; that perhaps I could, in this way, save him from his horrible fate. How did he end up in Professor Anaxagoras’s clutches, anyways? Maybe it is that he was once like Khaslana, flying too close to a sun meant to burn him, always meant to burn him…

Khaslana. Yes, that name is familiar to me, I saw him in a painting once, his golden, winged form, his fine, seraphic features. Ah, now that I think about it, he was not so different from Subject K, was he? Well, perhaps it is fate, then, that even their names begin with the same letters. Henceforth I will know him as such, as Subject Khaslana — or, if I may be so informal, as simply Khaslana, like I would if we were close and particular friends.

“I worry for you,” Mydei said, and then you felt it, the ghost of his palm against your cheek, traveling to your shoulder and shaking you until you awoke, blinking up at him and wondering when you had ever fallen asleep in the first place. “When was the last time you slept for an entire night?”

“Hm?” you mumbled, your mind slow and groggy from exhaustion. “I don’t know.”

“What do you mean, ‘you don’t know?’” he said.

“The night is the only time I have to myself,” you said. “Thus, it is the only time I have to spend with him.”

“Him?” Mydei said. “Who? Do you — have you been courted, really?”

“Courted?” you said, and now it was your turn to give him an incredulous look. “Whatever do you mean? I speak of Khaslana — er, Subject K, as you know him.”

“Khaslana?” he repeated. “You mean…your dead body has a name now? And you are losing sleep because you are…spending time with it?”

“I don’t know why you act like he’s a puppy I’m raising,” you said. “It’s a genuine scientific undertaking. Professor Anaxagoras has already asked after my progress twice, and each time, I’ve had nothing to show for it but a few textbook articles that I thought might be of some relevance. Of course I have to spend time with him. How else will I figure out how to bring him back?”

Suddenly, it was as if every bit of compounded exhaustion you were feeling was suddenly thrust upon Mydei, leaving you light, leaving him overburdened. He raised his hand as if he might touch it to your brow, but then he did not, he only ran it through his hair and closed his eyes, like you were some great disappointment he could not understand how to fix.

“Very well,” he said. “If this is what you think is the best path, then of course I will believe you. Shall I leave dinner in your room once again?”

“If it doesn’t trouble you,” you said, and he did not seem angry, but you could not help wanting to tip-toe around him anyways, for although you had never once seen Mydei snap, that did not necessarily make him incapable of it.

“It doesn’t trouble me,” he said. “But in exchange, please promise you will rest.”

“I can’t promise that,” you said, which made you feel pitiful, but you could not bring yourself to lie to him, to give him that empty reassurance. His face fell, and how peculiar it was, that you were growing more and more tenured to Professor Anaxagoras’s dismay, but Mydei’s still brought you to fumble for an explanation. “He only has one body, Mydei, so I have to proceed with the utmost of diligence. What if I ruin it?”

“You are the one who is still alive. There will be other corpses, there will be no shortage of them, but there can never—” Mydei broke off with a heavy exhale, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Never mind.”

The callousness was so unlike him that you were visibly taken aback, which caused his eyes to widen, too, but he did not move to reassure you as he once might’ve. He only waited as you gathered your thoughts and your things, carefully placing each book in your bag before clearing your throat.

“There may be other corpses, but they won’t be his,” you said. “He is the one I have been trying for so long to resurrect. I don’t care about the others, Mydei. He is the only one I want to bring back.”

“Grandfather’s funeral was today. Mama has been crying and crying since we left the parlor, but when I looked at him in his casket, I was just a little curious. He didn’t look any different than when he would sleep on the sofa-bed at home, though when I tried saying that, Papa told me to hush. It made me very angry that he did that, but Mama was already close to tears, so I decided I would be good this time and listened very quietly.

“When we got home, I asked my uncle why it is that dead bodies resemble sleeping ones so greatly. He is always more willing to answer my questions than Mama and Papa alike. Both of them are so unreasonable, I am cross again thinking of it! But my uncle is different, he always tries to think over my questions and answer them seriously. 

“He said to me, ‘Darling, it is because death is not separate from slumber — rather, it is a form of it, the eternal kind.’ So I asked him what eternal means, and he said it was some vast quantity beyond my imagination. I said — greater than one million? He nodded and said — many, many times greater.

“‘So if death is only a form of slumber,’ I said to him, because of course this new fascination he has introduced only made me more curious, ‘So if it is a form of slumber as you say, then could you not bring someone back as easily as waking them up?’

“He squinted at me, can you believe it? The thought of me confusing him! Well, he squinted at me, and then he sighed out his response the way Papa might, which would’ve made me cross again but it is not as offensive, coming from him: ‘You sound like a regular Nousporist.’

“A Nousporist! I have never heard of such a thing, and I tell him as much. He pats my head and tells me that of all the people in the world, only a Nousporist would ever ask as many questions as I do — although they are praised for it, where I am scolded.

“‘You would make a right proper Nousporist, thinking of it,’ he said, and now I am entirely taken with this idea of a place where I can ask as many questions as I want without Mama crying or Papa yelling or my uncle sighing at me. So I will be a Nousporist, then! It is settled, and in truth I feel a little relieved to have this plan for my future, since I have been unsure until now.” (Unknown Author, “A Girl’s Diary”)

“Khaslana,” you said. “This is what I have named you. Are you opposed to it? Do you know the story? It’s an old Amphorean myth, so there are nearly as many versions as there are stars in the sky. I guess you may have heard it, but heard a different version than the one I know.”

You moved your chair so that you were sitting beside him, propping your journal in your lap and continuing to take notes as you spoke idly, boredly. It was comfortable, the easy conversation, and more than a little unfamiliar, too, for you were used to your audiences cutting you off before you could complete your thoughts. Khaslana never did anything like that; he listened to you kindly, silently, without coldness or boredom with your rambling, winding ways.

“I suppose the story doesn’t matter as much as the ending, which is always the same,” you said. “He flies too close to the sun, and then he falls to his death. What a fool I have named you after! I am sure that is what you must be thinking to yourself, but that is not why I have dubbed you as such. Well, really, it’s a silly reason, I’m almost embarrassed to tell you…”

Khaslana did not say anything, and when you glanced up from your notes on one of Dr. Veritas Ratio’s papers, you found him as he always was, smiling slightly around the philosopher’s stone tucked away under his tongue, his body cold, his face set.

How had Mydei done it the other day? You extended your hand, patting Khaslana’s cheek, skimming it along his neck so that you could take him by the shoulder and shake him. Gently, barely, afraid of hurting him as you were, but you still did it, you still shook him as Mydei had shook you, out of some childish hope that maybe, maybe it would be enough. Maybe you had wasted your time thus far, maybe the secret really was just this, maybe all you had to do was beg him to wake up until he did.

But Khaslana did not stir, and eventually you gave up. Heat flushed your face, and you shrank back into your chair, hugging your journal to your chest and laughing miserably, wretchedly.

“How could you have allowed me to do that?” you said. “Now I look a greater fool than Khaslana himself.”

What would his laugh sound like? You figured it would be a handsome noise, musical and rich, befitting his stature and expression. You wished that you had already succeeded, that you had already brought him back to life, so that you could make these jokes and listen to his amusement in full, instead of relying on your imagination, which could never properly capture reality in any meaningful way.

“I don’t think Khaslana was a fool, though,” you said finally, your voice meek and downcast. “Who amongst us would not keep going, were we in his place? How could he ever be satisfied with the mediocrity of the clouds when the grandeur of the sun was within his reach? I cannot imagine which is a worse fate, failing in the pursuit of that greatness or contenting yourself with mediocrity. Well, I don’t know. If it were me, I would never accept either option.”

You paused, looked up at Khaslana, and then smiled yourself, your lips forming the same crescent-curve as his own mouth. Perhaps you were biased in loving that old story, when the rest of your classmates had preferred more romantic myths, but it was not such a bad bias to hold, or so you thought.

“They said he was terribly beautiful, which is why in some myths he was the sun’s lover, instead of just its victim,” you said. “They paint him as they paint angels; there is no other symbolic meaning for why I gave you this name. It is only because you are the only man I have ever met who comes close to resembling him.”

21 OCT 79 — Something of an idea is forming in my mind. I must consult some papers which our university does not hold copies of, so I have sent mail orders and eagerly await their arrival. Until then, I must continue as I have been, with what materials I have had access to thus far. Of course, I am too nervous to do anything to Khaslana himself, not when he is so delicate, so rare, and so I have resorted to finding little dead birds to experiment on. There is no small amount of these creatures, they are perpetually running into windows and doors and finding themselves in such a mess! I apologize to them when I find them, and then I cradle them in my hands and bring them to the lab. 

I must work quickly on the little birds, because they do not have the philosopher’s stone preternaturally slowing down their decay as Khaslana does, and so they go bad quickly. Thus far, I have not managed anything, but I think that I am growing closer and closer to a potential solution, although I am loath to write it down in case it does not work and I am left looking like something of an idiot.

Maybe it is a strange comparison to make, but in a certain manner, Khaslana reminds me of those little birds. The bones of his face are exactly as fragile as those of their wings; the strands of his hair are as soft as the down of their chests; the slope of his nose is not unlike their beaks, just as straight, just as small. I wonder what he would look like with the wax wings of his namesake….if only I had the time, I might fashion a pair…but alas, the day is only so long, and I spend much of it in the lab as it is. I have other priorities, that is to say, and so I will have to content myself with picturing the ‘Lament for Khaslana’ and pretending that it is him in that hero’s place.

“Wait,” Mydei said when your lecture was dismissed and you shot out of your chair, preparing to hurry to the lab, to walk down the hallways you had long ago memorized, your feet traversing them without reliance on your mind’s commands. “Hey, wait!”

You had not realized he was talking to you until that second dictation, barked out with a sort of desperation. Furrowing your brow, you turned to look at him, because you could not fathom why he might be asking you to wait for him, and when you saw how crestfallen he looked, you did falter.

“Yes?” you said. Your response seemed to embolden him, for he moved so that he could stand beside you — you had not realized until he did how long it had been since you last walked like this, and somewhere deep within you, something like sadness brewed. You buried it, though, because what did you have to feel sad about?

“Why do you keep running off?” he said softly. “Is that body so important to you?”

“He is,” you said promptly, because of all the halfwitted questions he had ever asked, this was the most halfwitted of all. Was Khaslana so important to you? He was. Undoubtedly he was.

Mydei shifted from foot to foot uncomfortably, like he was steeling himself against something, and then he took a deep breath. You watched him curiously, passionlessly, finding yourself unable to understand what he might mean by.

“Am I allowed to see it — him?” he said.

“What?” you said, and his encouraging grin felt akin to the first peek of sun through cloudcover, a dawn breaking through the fog of your mind. Momentarily you thought to yourself, what am I doing? Really, what am I doing? But you pushed these thoughts aside, because if you gave in now, when you were so close to the end, then you would never forgive yourself. 

“I want to see what you’ve been working on,” he said. “You don’t tell me much when I ask, but I’d like to know. This experiment is important to you, and you—”

“Okay,” you said, surprising even yourself. Professor Anaxagoras had never explicitly forbidden visitors, and anyways the lab was under your jurisdiction now, so his opinions mattered little, but you had never considered taking anyone to meet Khaslana. For one, you were not so beguiled as to think that another person might not be appalled by him; for another, the thought of anyone else coming near him made you feel distressed. You wanted to keep him in the lab forever, safe from that cruel world which had killed him once, which would surely, if given the chance, kill him again. But Mydei was not anyone else, was he? He had always known the truth about the experiment, the body. Mydei did not want Khaslana to die again, not anymore than you did. So you did not mind as much, not if it was him, and you nodded to affirm this to the both of you. “Yes, I can show you, and explain it if you’d like.”

“As long as you are willing,” he said.

“I want to,” you said, and you meant it genuinely. You really did want to. “It’s not so complicated, really, but you have to understand a little more than just the basics of Nousporism that we discuss in lecture…”

You spoke the entire way to the lab, explaining the things you had written in your journals, what you had read and reviewed and pored over for the past few weeks, the minute details of Khaslana’s body and even the philosopher’s stone under his tongue. Mydei took it all with a level, quiet calm, interjecting with questions only when he truly did not understand. It was nice, and you wondered if this was how it used to be, if he really had always been so straightforward without your noticing.

“Here we are,” you said, opening the door for him, feeling a sudden and girlish nervousness. What would Mydei think? You did not know, and you weren’t sure if you wanted to know. What if he told you that you had been dramatic in your recounting? What if he considered Khaslana to be painfully average? You could not bear the former, and the latter might shatter you. Still, you led Mydei in after you, and you decided that this once if never again, you would trust him.

“I can hardly see anything,” he said, and on your left, he began to blink rapidly, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the light. You lit the lamps for him with a soft chuckle, and in the candlelight, he appeared all but spectral, shadows flickering over the planes of his face, deepening in the angles and paling along the edges. Then you motioned him over to the desk; he tiptoed towards you, taking each step carefully until he was peering over your shoulder at the flock of birds propped up neatly along the wall.

“I’m still too worried to do anything to him,” you said. “So whenever I have an idea, I test it on them first, just in case. Good thing, too, because as you can see, I haven’t been very successful yet.”

“Where do you find them?” he said.

“Ah, just around,” you said. “They’re not exactly in short supply.”

“I see,” he said.

“But you’re not here to look at birds,” you said. “You’re here for him. Khaslana.”

Mydei did not move from his place by the desk as you swept over to the center of the lab, where the table and the body were as undisturbed as ever. You murmured your typical greeting under your breath, for you did not think Mydei would take kindly to it, and then you removed his covering with as much tenderness as the brusque motion allowed, revealing him to the world once more.

“Come closer,” you said, beckoning Mydei over. He had gone white, whiter than usual, but still he trudged over, though he remained nervously behind you, looming over your back like an enormous shadow as he looked upon Khaslana’s still figure for the first time. “Isn’t he the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen?”

“I didn’t realize how dead he would look,” Mydei said, his voice turbulent with unease. “I mean, he’s really just a corpse, isn’t he?”

“He’s not dead,” you said, looking up at him, stroking his arm to soothe him — and then you were overcome by how warm he felt, his skin blushing beneath your petting in a way Khaslana’s never could. “He’s just sleeping, and I will be the one to wake him up.”

He looked rather like a puppy, his eyes large and trusting, an agreeable tilt to his head as you continued to hold onto his arm, because you could not bear to let go of his heat just yet. So animated was he, a furnace in the cool of the lab, and you looked at Khaslana even as you clutched Mydei, wishing that it was him who had this vitality, wishing it was him who stood beside you.

“Do you want to touch him?” you said, and you did not wait for Mydei’s response, your palm moving from bicep to forearm to wrist, interlocking your fingers over his and guiding him to lay his hand against Khaslana’s cheek, holding it there in a gentle caress.

For a moment, none of you moved, and you began to shiver, because you could feel the blood spiderwebbing beneath Mydei’s skin, his pulse, every minute twitch of his muscles, the sound of his breath and the fever-pitch of his hand in your own — yet it was not him you were so consciously aware of. It was Khaslana you attributed these things to, Khaslana whose ardor you could suddenly conceive of with an aching closeness. Khaslana, Khaslana, he was alive, you could sense him begging to be freed from the confines of his slumber, Khaslana was waiting for you to save him from that which had been done unto him. There was no one else, there was no Mydei, there was only him, only Khaslana, you could feel it. You could feel it. You could —

Abruptly, Mydei wrenched his hand away from you, and without another word, he turned and left the lab. For a moment, you did not react, did not even comprehend what had happened, but then you startled, spurring yourself into action and racing after him, calling his name over and over.

“Mydei! Mydei, come back, please, Mydei, I didn’t mean to scare you—”

There was no answer. Mydei, who had always waited for you; Mydei, who had always listened to you; that Mydei, he did not respond. You stood in the doorway for you could not say how long, and then you closed it after you, collapsing into your chair and hugging your knees to your chest.

“You are the only one I have left,” you said to Khaslana’s slumbering form. “Please wake up soon. I am so lonely…”

“Abiogenesis, the idea that life arose from nonlife more than 3.5 billion years ago on Earth. Abiogenesis proposes that the first life-forms generated were very simple and, through a gradual process, became increasingly complex. Biogenesis, in which life is derived from the reproduction of other life, was presumably preceded by abiogenesis, which became impossible once Earth’s atmosphere assumed its present composition.”(Veritas Ratio, Encyclopaedia Intelligentsia).

You stared at the small thing in your palm in complete astonishment, tears welling in your eyes the longer you gazed upon it. The bird blinked at you, and then it chirped, ruffling its wings cheerily as it hopped about before pecking you slightly, ostensibly famished as it was.

“You’re alive,” you breathed. The bird chirped once more before pecking at you again, a little more demanding this time; you ignored it in favor of clamping your fingers over its wings and tearing off towards Professor Anaxagoras’s office, taking the steps two at a time in your haste.

You had done it. After all of the meetings he had called you to where you had had nothing to show, you had done it, you had resurrected this songbird, and soon would be Khaslana. Khaslana! He would be alive, he would be a person again, he would be yours and you would never be as lonely as you were now, as you had been for some time.

“Professor Anaxagoras!” you said, bursting into his office, out of breath from how fast you had run, hardly even remembering to knock. He was sitting at his desk, a pair of glasses low on the bridge of his nose, and he hardly looked up from the papers he was grading to greet you.

“What is it?” he said, and to anyone else, even to you on another day, it would’ve seemed unnecessarily curt, but as it was, you were too dizzyingly overcome with intoxication, too inebriated on your own success to care

 You held your hands out before you proudly, brandishing the bird and waiting for him to say something. He narrowed his eyes at it, took off his glasses, narrowed his eyes even more, rubbed his shirt along the lenses as if to clean them, and then put his glasses back on, poking the bird in the chest before leaning back.

“You’ve brought me a bird,” he said. “Why have you done that, exactly?”

“Not just any bird,” you said. “A dead bird.”

His countenance shifted; suddenly, it was dark, malevolent almost. “What?”

“I did as you asked, sir,” you said. “I have resurrected this bird. I have made ‘life’ from ‘not-lie’ — now, I only have to replicate the same experiment on Khaslana — on the body you gave me, and then…”

“Vain girl,” Professor Anaxagoras hissed, and then he was snatching the bird from your hands, holding it up fearfully to the light. “Vain, arrogant, imprudent girl, you were never meant to succeed!”

“What?” you said. “But you said that if I didn’t, you wouldn’t allow me to work as your assistant?”

“It was a test!” he said, and then he opened the window and cast the bird from it without even waiting to see if it could fly. You shrieked as it fell and he began to pace the length and breadth of the room, his face in his hands. “A test, you simpleton, I wanted you to accept your failure. I wanted you to learn from it!”

“But isn’t it better that I have succeeded instead?” you said, genuinely confused at his reaction. 

“Who are we to decide who lives and who doesn’t?” he said. “Who are you to go around bringing people back from the dead at your whim? No, it’s not any better. It’s worse! I only wanted to see how you might react when faced with an impossible task. The moment you accepted that it was too difficult for you…I would’ve taken you as my assistant then and there. Irresponsible, mindless, laughable girl!”

“You ought to praise me!” you snapped, struck by a sudden flash of irritation. So many nights you had spent laboring away, so many days you had wept, all out of fear — fear of him! Professor Anaxagoras, who had held your dreams in between his careless fingers, who had dangled them above you like bait on a fishhook, and now he was saying it was for nothing? Now he dared to say that there had never been any risk, that you had never needed to care about him or Khaslana or any of it? “What I have done is impossible, and you — you —”

He grabbed you by the shoulders and glared at you with such frightening intensity you almost cried out, though you knew that no one would hear you and, even if they did, they would not dare venture into his office to see what was the matter.

“It is impossible for a reason!” he said. You shoved him away from you, and he stumbled backwards, though he remained uncowed. “Do you think there aren’t people I wish to bring back? But we cannot go about acting like death is unnecessary, like we are the ones who allow it or don’t. You have to understand that!”

“You say that I cannot resurrect people as I will,” you said. “But how am I any different from you, professor? I know what you did to him.”

“And what, exactly, do you mean by that? Pray tell,” he said.

“The man in the lab,” you said. “I found the philosopher’s stone under his tongue. You killed him, and you preserved his body at the very moment he died. How can you say that I am in the wrong for restoring life, when you take it away for nothing but an experiment that was never supposed to succeed in the first place?”

Professor Anaxagoras did not say anything for a long while, before, all of a sudden, he burst into laughter. You watched him warily as he cackled and cackled, tears streaming down his face, the sheerest joy that you had ever seen lighting up his demeanor as he howled without acknowledging you until, finally, he exhaled in defeat.

“Oh, you really are an imbecile,” he said. “I went to the hospital and asked the head nurse which patient was the closest to death. She took me to the room of a laborer sick with consumption and told me it was him; I asked the man if he cared what happened to him once he was gone, and he told me no. So I instructed the nurse to place the stone under his tongue as soon as he died, and to call me afterwards. I didn’t kill him — he was already dead.”

“I will bring him back,” you promised. “I will not fail him.”

“You will do no such thing,” Professor Anaxagoras said, and there was no hint of humor left in his expression, not any longer. His grip grew gentle, but his words grew steelier as he took you back by the shoulders, impressing his seriousness upon you through the force of his hold. “Listen to me. Promise you will destroy that body tonight. Destroy the body and your research and never speak of any of this again. I will take you under my wing, I will teach you everything you need to know about Nousporism, but you have to promise me you will do that.”

“Very well,” you said, your tongue heavy with lead and lying. You did not know if he believed you, but you continued anyways, even as he took one step backwards and then another, incredulity etched across his face. “As you wish, Professor Anaxagoras.”

28 OCT 79 —  Professor Anaxagoras is waving Nousporism in front of me as if it is some great incentive. He tells me he will teach me, but what is left for me to learn? I have made ‘life’ from ‘not-life.’ I have touched the philosophy’s core, and I have come back unscathed. He cannot take this from me. He cannot take Khaslana from me. Khaslana, who is the only one I have left…I will do it. I will bring him back to life. This I swear, here and now: I will definitely do it.

He is larger than a lark, so I will have to adjust the measurements. That accursed professor! If only he had not cast that bird from the window, I could’ve been exact and precise in my work. But as it is, I must estimate using the bird’s brethren. I do not think I have much time before the professor grows suspicious and comes to check on me — I am not as much of an idiot as he claims. I know he didn’t believe me when I swore I would destroy all evidence of my research, so I must work quickly and bank on his continued underestimation. 

I would like to practice on a few more of the smaller creatures before daring to touch Khaslana, but again, I do not have the time for it. Even now, I write this in haste, for I am ever wary of the professor’s impending approach. I must simply have faith in my theory, in my experiments, in him. He will wake up for me, I am sure of it. He will wake up for me, and I will never, ever be lonely again.

Khaslana’s eyes, when he opened them, were no longer the same shade of veronicaflowers that they had been in his death. It was the first thing you noticed, that where once there was blue, now there was gold, as warm and incandescent as lamp-light, framed by the black flutter of his lashes. His hair, too, had darkened with the stain of alchemy, the pure white soiled by the resurrection, softened into a glistening cream shade. Yet beautiful he remained, and if anything, he resembled that mythical Khaslana even more now, forever touched by the eternal sun of his undoing.

“There’s something under your tongue,” you said when he gave you a wide-eyed, panicked look. You tried to sound reassuring, so that he did not shy away from you, and you must have succeeded, because instead of flailing about he simply waited for you to continue, watching you while taking fast, sharp breaths. “Can you open your mouth? I can remove it for you. You won’t be needing it anymore.”

He dutifully obliged, parting his lips and allowing you to press your middle finger against his tongue, nudging it out of the way and pinching the philosopher’s stone between your index and thumb. Carefully extricating it, you held up a glass of water to his lips, pouring it down his throat and watching to ensure he swallowed each drop.

“Are you able to speak?” you said. He scowled in thought, but you waited, giving him the time to consider it until, finally, he coughed and rasped something out.

“Who are you?” he said. The words came out slow and unhurried and scratchy, but now that he was alive, you had all of the time in the world to do with as you pleased, so you did not rush him.

“I’m the one who brought you back to life,” you said, offering him the glass of water. He took it in shaky hands, the contents sloshing about as he raised it to sip on, but the more he drank, the steadier he became, until he could hold it without wavering in the slightest. “That’s all you need to know.”

“Back to life?” he said. “I was dead?”

“For at least a month, yes,” you said. He lifted his hands, flexing his fingers experimentally, blinking at the way they bent and then straightened again. “Do you remember any of it?”

“No,” he said. “It’s as if I’ve just awoken from a long dream, the contents of which I can hardly recall. Even my life from before is growing dim, and I think I am soon to forget it entirely.”

He took your hand and held it to his cheek, which was so warm you nearly sobbed, running your thumb along the firm bone without worrying about whether it might shatter. Closing his eyes, he leaned into you, and this did make you pause, because you hadn’t expected it — though it wasn’t unwelcome, exactly. The sweet kiss of his breath against your wrist made you feel unreasonably flustered, so, tentatively, you used your other hand to comb your fingers through his hair, trying to distract yourself but ultimately only worsening the effect.

“You aren’t distressed by your amnesia?” you said. “Don’t you miss the people you used to love? Don’t you wish you knew who they were?”

“I cannot miss what I don’t know exists,” he said, and the unimpressed flatness was your first indication that he was lacking something a bird would never have in the first place, your first indication that you had not brought ‘him’ entirely back, whoever ‘he’ had been before his death. “I should, right? There are people in the back of my mind, begging to be remembered, but yet I cannot manage it, and it does not hurt me as it should.”

“You were a laborer,” you said. “Sick with consumption. That is all I know.”

“A laborer,” he repeated. “I know nothing of it, but it seems a miserable existence, if I died so young.”

“It was,” you said. “I am sure it was, but you will never have to go back. I will take care of you. Your life is mine, my greatest experiment, and I will defend it from the world if that is what it takes. I promise you I will…Khaslana.”

“Khaslana? Was that my name?” he said.

“I don’t think so,” you said. “But it is the name I gave you in the absence of any further knowledge, and I have grown used to it.”

“Then it is better,” he said. “I will keep it as a gift from you. Khaslana.”

“We should leave,” you said, because suddenly the blankness in his eyes made you more nervous than awed. You had brought back something, but whether he was a man or not, you were not quite certain, and leaning towards the negative — which begged the question of what exactly had you created? “Khaslana, the professor may yet—”

“Can’t it wait?” he said. “I have only just stepped into this realm of living for the second time, and I am so numb to it all, it’s like the world doesn’t exist — except for you. Your hand is the only warmth I have felt since you roused me from my slumber…everything else is freezing, and I am so unsure…”

Before you could reconsider, you embraced him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and holding that shell of a man — because now you knew for sure that he was not whole, that you had only managed a partial success and left the greater piece of him to rest, either in peace or in agony — close to you, his bare chest against the material of your shirt, his hair silky where it grazed your neck. With a soft, nearly inaudible whimper, he wound his own arms around your waist, clinging to you tightly as the gooseflesh along his back finally faded.

“What have you done to me?” he whispered. “I wasn’t supposed to come back like this, was I?”

“I don’t know,” you said. “I was going to run more trials before I attempted anything on you, but Professor Anaxagoras commanded me to destroy your body and my research alike, and Khaslana, I could not bear it. I could not bear the thought of discarding you like that, and so I gambled, and I supposed I lost. I brought only this piece of you back, but…”

“But?” he said, nuzzling against the hollow of your throat in a manner that felt like an instinct more than a proper and conscious decision.

“But some of ‘you’ is better than none of ‘you,’” you said. “Even if it was the smallest fraction of ‘you’, I could not bring myself to regret it if it meant I could have that fraction with me forever.”

He lifted his head only slightly, batting his eyelashes at you, and then his arm snaked from your waist to your chin, which he held without any real force, gazing at you contemplatively. You did not dare move, and anyways his other arm was still around you, so you waited to see what his next action might be, finding that that aspect of unpredictability was nearly as exciting as it was agitating. You did not know what he would do; you did not want to know, either. You just wanted him to do it.

For a while he only studied you as you had once studied him, carefully, methodically. Then, with a brazenness that could only come from someone so overeager and long-deprived, he brought his lips up to meet yours, the hand on your chin moving to your neck. He tasted a little like how you imagined death might, but this was not a bad thing — it was coppery and minty and sweet, so sweet you did not ever want him to pull away, although of course eventually he did.

“I am a little more alive now,” he said as he caught his breath, and then he kissed you, again and again and again. “And still more, and even more.”

You had been standing before him, but he pulled you into his lap so effortlessly you forgot how weak he had been mere minutes ago. It was gone, all concept of that earlier man, who had been debilitated and puny. Now he was neither man nor decrepit, and when you adjusted your position as best as you could in the midst of his searching, searing lips and their quest for your own, you brushed onto something hard that drew a gasp from the both of you.

“I didn’t know you could still—” you began, which only made the pink of his face darken until his cheeks resembled twin apples. “I mean, I wasn’t expecting it to — to feel so—”

You broke off, because you found no value in continuing, and instead ground into him again. And perhaps he had lost his soul in death, but he could still understand pleasure and shame as well as any other man, so he did hide his face in the crook of your neck even as his hips bucked up into yours in response.

“I’m sorry,” he said in an endless refrain as he continued almost frantically, like he might wither back into death if you made him stop. “I’m sorry, is this — is this what it’s like to be alive, it feels so wonderful, thank you — thank you for bringing me back, thank you for letting me — I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”

You wanted to tell him that you should be the one apologizing, but how could you? When he was bare save for the thin sheet his body had been covered with and he was so intent on proving his existence, how could you not allow him? You had never felt this way, and briefly you thought — might it have felt nearly this nice if it had been Mydei against you? Your old friend, who had not spoken to you in so long, was surely frightened of you now, there was no other reason for the continued avoidance…you wondered if it would have been anything like this with him, with a man instead of a monster beneath you.

Then Khaslana’s fingers sought permission just below your navel, helping you out of your pants, pulling aside the lace of your undergarments when you did not resist, and any thoughts of Mydei, of anyone or anything, were all forgotten. You did not care that Khaslana was a monster of your own making when he pushed inside of you, too overcome by the size of him; you did not care that his eyes were gold and empty, that his hair was stained and he tasted like death. You did not care for any of it, you only knew that he was alive and he was inside of you and he was yours. He was yours and he always would be, he groaned as much against you, and you — you did not say it aloud, but you could not deny that you thought about it until you could think no longer, the world turning as white as the sun when you came around him and collapsed into his waiting embrace.

“Khaslana, my Khaslana, how beautiful you are; how tender is your flesh, warm and flushed with vigor; how golden is your blood, now that it flows unfettered; and how terrible you are, too, a man — if you can even still be called that — returned from the dead without soul or mind, a heartless husk of a thing. Oh, Khaslana, how you frighten me so! Yet I love you, I am sure of it, for whenever I do think of destroying you as I ought to, I find I am unable.” (Unknown Author, “Letter to a Cherished Experiment”).

You don't like how your entire body seizes at the way his voice curls around that title, and you despise even more that you can't hide it.

If you had any clue that he’d entered the room somewhere in the midst of your reverie, you sure have no recollection of it. The coarse surface of the railing scrapes against the tips of your fingers when you curl them.

You can hear the way the ends of his cape kisses the floor, it's not difficult to in the vacuum of the uppermost chamber.

What is difficult is mustering the courage to turn and face him, which, much unfortunately for you, is exactly what he wants.

You can't resist shifting under the pressure of his presence, one needs no vision to perceive the way he oppresses the air in the room.

Before you could get lost in it though, a sharp tap-tap-tap pierces through, those dreadful claws stirring a reminder that you cannot ignore.

You almost hate it more than when he grips unto silence and forces you to squirm in it — almost, because when he indicates like this instead, at least you know that he's been tiptoeing impatience.

It's not a victory though, because still, you must turn.

That aggravating noise comes to a halt when you twist your body, slowly, not because you know how to torture, but because you fear being scorched under his attention should you shift too quickly.

“If I am?” you risk a direct glance at that masked being, before letting your gaze glaze over to look nowhere in particular.

It takes everything in you to not clutch at your skirt and shrink further into the shadow which he casts over your seated form.

Heavens, you don't know where that sudden surge of audacity came from, and the Flame Reaver notices. Of course he does, though he validates it by no more than a faint tilt of his head.

He does that a lot, as you’ve observed.

What he does not do often is crouching on the floor before the chaise. You trace the sheen of light on his pauldron with an askance stare, heartbeat rudely interrupted when he taps the floor again.

Typically, he’d deign instead to tower over everything that crosses his path. So this behavior… you can say for certain, if this is his way of seeming more approachable, it is not working.

“Well,” human hearts are wild things, that is why they're caged — you feel this sentence to your atoms at the first prick of that sharp talon.

The monster leans into his previous head-tilt in tandem with your flinch, “We both know how that ends, don't we?” unwilling tingles travel to your marrow as he circles over the swell on your ankle with the tip of one nail.

As if on cue, a sting of pain shoots up your leg and suddenly, you're paralyzed in place. The blacks and streaks of gold of his mask blend and swirl, swirl, swirl ; like a spiraling staircase. Shadows reach up and attach to your legs like tar, yank you down and down the infinite stairway—

“Y-you came back early today…!” you heave, almost choking on a gasp, the Flame Reaver’s nail hinges precariously on the lifted hem of your skirt and on the jut of your now bared knee.

You do not want to reminisce about your failed escape attempts, and luckily, the Flame Reaver recognizes it.

“Are you upset?” your relief doesn't even last a millisecond, because he keeps on inching up your dress.

If you could take your eyes off that motion, you would've thrown a much justified tantrum.

This— this monster in the shell of a man who loves to pretend like he understands nothing of human customs, but knows every trick in the book to keep you in his choke-hold, just with his words.

It infuriates you.

You want scream and break a few things.

For with what audacity does he question if you're upset or not? Upset that he keeps you locked in the sky? Upset that he didn't kill you? Upset that he stole you from your wedding altar?

(But you don't yank your leg away like you very much could, and perhaps that says more than your increasingly aggravated look.)

Against all your instincts, you force yourself to take a deep breath, twisting the worn fabric of the cushions under your nails.

It's hard to pinpoint the monster’s expression due to that mask — if he even has one, but you can feel that he's staring right at that motion.

“You are.” he answers his own question, clothes rustle as he shifts slightly in his crouch.

You cross your arms across your chest, “Am not.” your attempt at averting your gaze is thwarted when you feel a long scratch being drawn up your thigh, forcing you to inhale.

And when you look back, you find the Flame Reaver an inch away from stealing your next breath.

Gravity slips from your grasp. You have to plant a firm hand on the chaise to hold yourself up when his proximity forces you lean back.

Whatever light there was in the chamber is swallowed by his presence, a wisp of the afternoon sunbeam glints over the metal tip of his mask.

“Why…” you have to force yourself to swallow the way your heart twists in tandem with the circle he draws on your thigh, “Why does it matter to you…?”

The Flame Reaver dares you to push him off by leaning even closer, “Can it not matter to me?” the timbre of his voice buzzes against your ear.

Trick question. He's a master at those and in reducing your two decades worth of education to mere stutters.

How do you even begin to respond to that? When those wicked fingers rest alarmingly close to your core and your brain is electrocuted by how easily his claws engulf your entire thigh?

“I—I’m cold!!!”

If the Flame Reaver had a face, you could imagine him blinking dumbfoundedly at this exclamation. Your chest heaves alongside your breaths and you can't find the courage to open your squeezed eyes.

It's not exactly a lie, a poor excuse borne of a frayed brain, maybe, but it's the truth.

You feel hot, feverish to the point where chills have begun to crawl up your toes, and you're so, so afraid of what that will prompt you to do.

A few moments pass in awkward silence, in which you try to calm yourself and the Flame Reaver just watches.

Titans, you hate it when he watches. Like he knows your skin better than you do.

The next events occur a bit too fast: the claws retract, you're freed from the impromptu captivity of his arms and at last, wrapped in his cloak.

You blink once at the way the fabric settles over your shoulders, and again as he retreats, standing to his full height this time.

The first thing you notice is the faint smell of charr now enveloping you, next is that its warm, far warmer than what you’d expected from a being who always looks so cold ; the ends of the cloak reach all the way to floor.

The Flame Reaver meets your befuddled gaze with another one of his tilts, difference this time being the strands of silver that shift with the motion now that the hood no longer hides them.

He stands still like that, and you're taken aback by how much it resembles an obedient hound awaiting praise.

You can only hope that you read that cue right when you let out in hesitance, “Thank you…?”

You really wonder if half of the things you see in this tower are real or not, because the Flame Reaver’s shoulders seem to loosen.

The Flame Reaver traces your form again, lingering a second longer on the way your fingers subconsciously clutch at his cloak.

Perhaps he finds the sight of how it seems to swallow you ridiculous, or humorous how you cling to the clothes of your captor.

“Hmph.” he makes sure to express that loudly enough that you hear it, and then, just as silently as he came, he vanishes.

You pull your legs up to your chest when the smoke of indigo fades. His is of a power unrivaled in this world, hands that can command the Black Tide itself to their whims, and leave behind nothing but ashes.

It's a miracle that you're still alive in his den, you think.

Though why you are is still a mystery to even yourself ; a futile one to dwell in, as you've discovered, since the source of the mystery is ever elusive where it is concerned.

So, you can do nothing but curl up in yourself — in the cloak of your captor, no less.

The fact that there are blankets at arm’s reach teases you, and you're disturbed from your sinking mind when you realize how uninterested you are in reaching for one.

It chills you more when the events that’d preceded this silence resurface, and you remember, how not even once, had you pushed the Flame Reaver off.

Spine straight, shoulders relaxed, eyes so soft they melt someone's heart like wax, always smile with your lips pursed — those were only a few of the things that were drilled into your head since you learned to walk.

Your life was as eventful as that of any princess in Amphoreus. Learn by the books, master the arts, do not peek into political matters and be a lady befitting of your husband ; you're certain even your comb remembers how many times it’s heard this dialogue from the lips of your mother.

Life was not harsh by any means for you, so you remained a good child and were grateful for every comfort you’d received. Even when chatters of the most anticipated event of your life stirred, you had no leeway to complain.

Phainon of Aedes Elysiae. The Hero whose name is sure to be sung in paeans of the future.

Kephale's chosen, the Goldweaver's protege, the Sage Anaxagoras’ most exceptional disciple, the Slayer of the Flame Reaver — how could anyone ever seek fault in a man like that?

He's a warm, valiant, kind and courteous soul, despite the depth of horror he’d endeavored ; you verified this much quickly in just the first glance.

The priests passed solemn vows that you were his most perfect match, and the rest was a mix of hurried dress fittings, gossip filled with excitement in every corner of the city, and trysts sneaked between the chaos of the century’s most anticipated wedding.

You do not dislike Sir Phainon by any means. Even before your engagement, you distinctly recall him being present in the front rows during your harp recitals, smiling so proud that it left you wondering if he’d been the personification of Aquila's joy instead.

Sir Phainon always bowed first with the utmost humility to you, he never spoke harshly or disrespectfully, and he always had half his wits fixed in looking after your clumsy self.

Perfection. If there exists anything close to it in this world, it is lord Phainon, you think.

And perhaps, that is the … problem.

“See that round white bird on that branch? The one with the grey stripes?” you recall him pointing once in one ‘date’, and you’d followed his eager finger with all your trust.

“That is called a Sousourada.” the smile he sports is the picture of pure childlike glee, so unlike the serious image he usually paints.

Your mouth forms an ‘O’ upon the way the songbird flits to and fro across the trees of the palace garden, “It’s so cute.” you clasp your hands atop your lap, afternoon sunbeams glinting off of the jewels in your hair.

If possible, Phainon's smile widens. “Right?” he tilts his head to better catch the shine in your eyes.

“Back in… Aedes Elysiae, I'd see these little guys in hoards during harvest season.” he leans back against the bench, smile softening.

“The new wheat was so good that they couldn't resist having a taste I suppose…!” his chuckle this time is noticeably forced.

“They’d keep the air alive with their songs all day long,” his voice quietens and his shoulders macerate with an unexpected slump.

“And I'd fall asleep in the middle of the wheat fields listening to their chirps… though Snowy would always sniff me ou— ah! I'm extremely sorry, my lady— I shouldn't have began monologuing like that.”

A crease forms between your brows as the hero busies with apologies, rubbing the nape of his neck. You know why the memories of his homeland make him solemn.

After all, the Black Tide left nothing but the weight of them for him to carry — not the wheat fields, not Snowy, not the Sousouradas of Aedes Elysiae.

You shake your head, stopping him from spiraling with a raised hand. An idea strikes you, making you lean closer towards the hero.

“What do say, my lord, we visit Aedes Elysiae after the ceremony?” your lips twitch in a hopeful smile, “I’d like to formally mourn the departed with you.”

Phainon's hand drops from the nook of his neck, those cyan eyes widen and his lips part in shock.

Was that a rude proposal to make? It's now your turn to be anxious. “Uhm…” you raise a hand, palming the air in uncertainty.

Before you could retreat or spell the apology on the tip of your tongue though, the hero snatches that hand, prompting your breath to hitch.

“Are you certain that you… want to do that with me, my lady?” Phainon looks at you with so much hope it breaks your heart, clasping your hand in his gloved ones with all his fragile might.

There's no way you could say no to that look, “Mhm, I am.” you can only hope your smile is reassuring enough.

A trembling breath leaves the hero’s lips and brushes against your cheek, the heat of which makes the scarcity in proximity between you and him sink, and jolts you into realizing the quickened pace with which the hero's lips inch closer to yours.

Phainon blinks as your palm covers his mouth, you chuckle coyly, though it's more nerves than anything.

“Patience, my lord?” you loosen the press of your hand.

The gold in Phainon’s eyes glint as they widen, before glazing in fluster when he realizes his mistake.

“Of course —! I apologize again, I—” he grips your hand before it could slip away, “I don't know what came over me there, it's just that…” he sneaks a glance at your puzzled face before attempting to hide his expression in your hand.

“Ugh… excuse me, I was just being an idiot.” he clears his throat and presses a kiss on the back of your hand.

When you try to pull back your hand though, he clings to it. “I’ll be as patient as you order me to be,” his lips slide to your vacant ring finger next, “— For as long as you want me to be.” he seals the vow with the softest kiss there yet.

Yes, you are the lucky woman who’ll walk down the aisle with this perfect man, bind your body, heart and soul with his. Petals will rain down from the people's hands at the wedding parade, trumpets will resound the victory of Phainon again.

Or at least, that's how it was meant to go.

There's that falcon circling the parameters of the tower again, round and round, unflinching under the heat of the midday sun.

“Are you planning on luring it to you with that bread?” the Flame Reaver's voice echoes from behind you, something like mockery and amusement mixed in his words.

You don't turn to face him this time, attention fixed on tearing pieces of the bread and tossing the crumbs whenever the falcon passes by your window as if to say — what if I am?

The Flame Reaver huffs, “Are you aware that they're carnivores?”

That irks you enough to shoot him a glare over your shoulder, “I know that. But what if I can interest it in coming closer with bread? I’ll give it meat after!”

The Flame Reaver taps a talon against one of his folded arms, body leaned against the doorframe of your chamber.

“Foolish princess. Do you not know that half of a predator’s meal is the thrill of the hunt?”

You don't listen and hold your stubborn pout, tossing another bread crumb in the air, which merely drops to the ground with a sad plop.

“Ahh, or perhaps,” your shoulders tense as he takes that tone, “You’re leaving breadcrumbs for that hero to follow? Your confidence in that brat’s skills is rather pathetic, princess. Impressive in a way, but pathetic nonetheless.”

“Don’t speak of my fiance like that.” this time, you hold your glare for a second longer than the last.

Strands of silver, bared still as a result of him lending his cloak to you yesterday (though now neatly folded on the table), shift as he tilts his head. “… Or else?”

“Or… or else I—” you clutch at the loaf of bread, scrambling for a riposte that never surfaces. “I’ll…!”

Your verbal struggle, and consequent fluster greatly pleases the monster. And you wonder if it's normal to be able to catch that when you can't even see a smidgen of his expression.

“Hm. Can you stop wasting food and eat your lunch now, princess?”

You hate hate hate how much that sentence reminds you of the condescending remarks of your mother, and it snaps whatever was left of your frayed composure.

“I don't know, can you take off your mask and face me like a man?”

Your fists tremble as you realize what you just did, breath lodged in your throat as the Flame Reaver goes utterly still.

You stutter again, mind backpedaling in fear, but it's too late to take it back.

A gasp is forced out of you, the world tilts as gravity is swept from under your feet, the greys of the ceiling mesh and mix before settling again.

You take a sharp gulp of breath as the world calms ; as you look around, you realize that you're seated on the wooden chair before the table and five of the Flame Reaver's Shadows surround you like hounds.

One takes the half wasted loaf of bread from your hands, one grips your jaw, one scoops up a spoonful of stew and the other two glower at you enough that you open your mouth to take the food without a thought.

There's no way you could've protested against that, you huff as another spoonful is pushed to your mouth, doesn't make it any less humiliating though.

Thumps against the floor make you glance back to see the Flame Reaver's advance.

“What?” he jabs upon noticing your puffed cheeks squished in his Shadow’s grasp, “Shall I get you a bib as well?”

Heat rushes to your face, an indignant protest dies at the tip of your tongue upon the approach of the Flame Reaver's claws.

“Don’t touch me!” you recoil in the Shadows’ grasp, brows pinching together in a frown, deepening more and more when the monster doesn't stop.

The edge of one metallic nail brushes past your hair, “I’m warning you I—” you watch in terror as his thumb grazes your cheek and then moves past towards the folded cloak which sat upon the table.

Fabric rustles as the Flame Reaver shakes the cloak open, you blink dumbfoundedly once, before embarrassment seizes your psyche.

The Shadow pushes another spoonful to your lips, which you accept this time with much humility.

No one even mentions the mishap, and that makes it worse.

Unable to stand the silence of your humiliation, “Uh, Flame Rea—”

“Khaslana.”

Right. You’d nearly forgotten that, the monster's strange insistence on you using that name instead of the title he’s known by, one which you’ll pretend like you can't hear for as long as you can.

“Ahem, uhm, I was wondering —! Are these… do these clones of yours have free will?” you see from the edge of your vision as he halts mid-motion, cloak hung on his shoulder.

“… Why do you ask?” you know he's looking down at the sight of you getting fed like an ignorant newborn, his tendency of answering your questions with one of his own isn't surprising either.

Because I want to dig a hole and crawl in there? You swallow another mouthful of stew, a bead of the dish escapes from the corner of your lips.

You have half a mind to blow a raspberry at him and a quarter to keep your mouth shut in offense. But the logical part of you supplies, “I’m bored.”

“What?” the Flame Reaver sounds genuinely baffled.

It gives you the modicum of courage to glance up, “Boreeeeeed! I’m so bored I want to jump from that window sometimes!” you clench your fists, dodging the Shadow’s attempt at pushing another bite to your lips.

A faint sag overtakes the Flame Reaver's shoulders, “You’re eating, bathing, sleeping. Is that not entertainment enough?” there's so much exasperation in his rugged voice it would've convinced a lesser man.

“What do you mean entertainment?! Those are basics of—mmph!” the Shadow holding your jaw swings you back to accept the rejected spoonful.

You push through to make your point anyway, “Leevewing! Baysics of leevinh!”

The Flame Reaver watches as stew smears across your lips and chin, the sudden heat of defense in your eyes completely at odds with how you look more like a stuffed hamster than an elegant princess.

He forces out an annoyed sigh, “Alright then, princess.” crossing his arms over his chest, the Shadows stop shoving food to your mouth upon catching the faint command. “What is ‘entertainment’?”

The heat in your eyes morphs to sparkles, “Like! Reading! Books!”

A glint of light reflects off of the metal of his mask as he tips his head back, “While eating?”

“Yes!”

“That’s childish.”

“Whoa—” you lean back as though scandalized, “Have you ever tried reading a good book while eating?”

The Flame Reaver's response comes flat, “I don't need to eat.”

He watches with some fascination as all the offense drains from your body at that single line.

You blink a couple of times, as though recalibrating everything you've thought about the monster.

“That’s… quite sad.” your gaze flits from his masked face to the hooves of his boots.

Silence parades the chamber once again, the air humid with pity. You fiddle with the fabric of your skirt, pale pink paint from your wedding day fading from your nails, you shift in your seat in uncertainty.

All the indignation that’d lit your pride on fire before suddenly nowhere in sight.

You're jolted from the deluge of reverie at the press of a familiar thumb, though unlike before, it refrains from scratching at your skin and instead, wipes away the mess of stew from your lips. The residue at your chin is swiped away by his knuckles.

You blink up just as the Flame Reaver retreats, pulling his hood up.

“Come down after you’ve finished eating. Five floors down from this one, the door with a bronze infinity symbol.”

—

You were raised a child of the books ; from moulding your inner world to shaping you posture, books were present in every step of the way.

It was considered integral to the image of ladies of the upper class to be able to hold conversations on historical and contemporary texts, hence, the popularity of reading in this era.

Not to mention, it was one of the only ways to pass the obdurate days for noblewomen.

Legend of the Dawn Hero, The Chimera's Patronage, The Sun and the Morning Glory — were some of the most popular titles you grew up with.

It was easy as well, to get lost in the vibrant worlds where brave heroes heralded pilgrimages to save the world, in the folds of drama and thrill and adventure.

When you were nine, you were handed a copy of Legend of the Dawn Hero by your governess, a popular romance featuring the ‘Deliverer’ who saves the world from an opprobrious monster.

“Which part moved you the most?” she’d asked in that terse tone of hers.

You distinctly recall hesitating, your little hands fumbling with the book (which earned you a glare from the woman). “The part where… the monster's past was revealed.”

“Oh? Do elaborate.”

“Uhm,” it takes everything in you to not stutter more under her curiosity, ”It was simply unexpected to me. I never thought villains could have bad starts as well. It made me rather sad.”

The woman graciously ignored your last sentence, “And what did you think about the Deliverer?”

You stared at the painted sun on the book’s cover for a second, and then shrugged. “He was okay.”

That took her visibly by surprise.

“Huh. What an odd child.”

The books that filled the ‘library’ the Flame Reaver opened for you were far from the shiny books you’d read back at home.

Since your arrival — or should you say, manhandling by the Shadows to this place — you’ve become increasingly hesitant to even call it a library.

The rows upon rows of dusty tomes and unkempt pages, tall cabinets storing who knows what give this chamber more the impression of a mad scholar’s secret study.

And you would've been charmed by the vellichor of it all, had this been a different circumstance.

The one saving grace of this labyrinthian library is the chaise by the window, illuminated by the rays of the sun as it dips to the west horizon. Everything else is graced by scattered candlelight, a small mercy by him, is what you conclude.

It's not like you're in the position to complain, and honestly, it's a much better experience than counting clouds from your chamber.

You pause, eyes stuck on the spine of a book labeled ‘basics of meteorology’ in Styxian script. The coincidence prompts you to fish it out of the row.

A Shadow flickers in your periphery just as your turn the front page, almost making you flinch.

You can't even begin to describe your aggravation with those things. They appear to be as — if not more — emotionless than their master, but if there was something in this world synonymous with being hellspawns, you think it’d be them.

It's just that you have no way to actually prove that, so all you can do is ignore them.

Unlike the books you'd browsed in this chamber before, you find the one in your hands to be actually readable, with small illustrations accompanying the rules.

With a newfound spark in your gait, you turn with the intention of reaching the chaise — the jump in your step halted upon the collision with something hard.

A yelp escapes you, hand reaching on instinct to rub your nose. When you crane your neck to look up in irritation, you see the candlelight glinting off of the metal of the Flame Reaver's mask.

He, just watches the flow of emotions on your face, as he usually does.

You’ve discovered interrogating him on this habit to be futile, so you take a step back and another to your left to pass him by.

Which he meets.

You throw him a furtive glance and then step to the right the next second.

He copies it.

You go back towards the left and he meets you there, resulting in your temple colliding with his chest again.

And then, he huffs in irritation like you are the hindrance.

“Hey, can you—” your request is catapulted midair, you gasp, hands seeking to clutch at something, anything for balance as the Flame Reaver hauls you up his shoulder.

The first thing you register, is how far the floor suddenly is from your reach, and the next is the uncomfortable sensation of your chest being squished against his shoulder blades.

The dark lines of the floor swirl and twirl with his steps, forcing you to squeeze your eyes shut lest the motion makes you sick.

When your hand finally manages to clutch onto his cloak for some semblance of balance, they're removed from it just as fast.

You blink, hair ruffled and breaths erratic as the Flame Reaver's hands grasp your waist, the chaise bounces from the force of your drop.

His retreating step is loud in the library, an intentional move to snap you back to reality.

Instead of vanishing like he usually would've done though, he lingers for a moment longer on how this simple thing disheveled you from top to bottom.

When you catch his stare, he turns away with a click of his tongue. A snap echoes, and the book you had in your hands drops to your lap — you didn’t even realize it’d fallen from your hands.

When you look up next, the Flame Reaver is no longer there ; only you, the sibilant Shadows, and the weight of this fluster you have no control over.

“There lives an evil monster at the far north of Amphoreus — we call it the Flame Reaver. He brought with him this wretched Black Tide. It corrupts and mutilates everything that it touches beyond saving.”

“And the Chrysos Heirs are our heroes, they work tirelessly every day to fight the Black Tide and slay that monster.”

“Lady Goldweaver of Okhema, Lady Tribios of Janusopolis, Mydeimos of Castrum Kremnos, Castorice the Hand of Shadow, Hycinthia of the Twilight Courtyard, Anaxagoras of the Grove of Epiphany, Imperator Cerydra, Hysilens of Styxia… and lord Phainon of Aedes Elysiae, the Blazing Sun who’ll bring dawn to this world one day.”

You remember the edge of pride on your governess’ face as she’d introduced them, fourteen years ago. It was only the beginning of her long history lessons.

Fourteen years later, on the year 4931 of the Light Calendar, Phainon of Aedes Elysiae would defeat the notorious Flame Reaver.

On the year 4931 of the Light Calendar, you would become the lady of his house…

Steam cloak’s the room, even a whisper sounds as though it were an exclamation. Somewhere, there's an ictus of falling water.

A sigh escapes you as your back meets the marble of the bathtub, the waterline caresses your clavicle, where damp strands of hair brush past.

The temperature is just a bit on the hotter side, but it's bearable, a small reprieve in your prison. You think life to be so strange, things you had never thought twice about back home are luxuries beyond its gates.

Things are prepared without even a trace of another life in the tower ; food, clothes and even this bath — you can only conclude it to be the result of magic.

For the past weeks, you’ve had scarce sleep. Your eyes only close when your mind is tired out from worrying all day, and even then, the rest you get is sporadic.

But the warmth of the bath numbs your restless mind, the fragrance of wild herbs lulls it further.

In this lapse of time, even an enclosure feels like a sanctuary, makes you feel as though you've brushed past freedom once more, and before long, your breaths have slowed.

Though it doesn't last long.

You feel tingles spreading from the backs of your knees first, then tickles at your nape as though your hair was being swept aside.

Probably just the water, you reassure yourself in your half waking state.

The edge of the bathtub grazes against your head, you think you hear a faint splash, ghosts of touches gliding over your chest, weighing your breasts and sliding down your belly.

A sting shakes you awake.

The gulp of breath you're forced to take is pulled taut by the firm press of something against your lips, it takes you more than a few frantic blinks to look over the veil of the fog and at last, you see it.

At least a dozen of those Shadows, all sporting the form of that Dark Swordmaster, their edges flickering like flames ; two palm your breasts, one holds your head in place, another parts your dew soaked legs and the rest fight for even an inch of your skin.

Your gasp is smothered by the hand on your lips and you nearly choke when it covers your whole face for a moment, before planting one thumb to keep your sounds from echoing.

Your flailing arms are seized next, you can't even see what's going on there past the curtains of those shadows that allow not even scant light to touch your skin.

The sounds of splashing water rattle the walls, everything is too hot, too hot, too hot — from the wisps of choked breaths they mercy upon you in betwixt the unkind twists of their fingers across your core, to the burn of their claws digging and drawing indents of their hunger on your body.

Tears prickle the corners of your eyes, another sound that you dread to be a whine is muffled as the shadows coil tighter around you.

By some cruelty, the thumb on your lips shifts just enough to let the next cry echo.

On top of the water that laps at your skin, there's something else too, parting the petals of your clitoris and plunging deep with one rough swipe.

Their talons attach like barnacles, holding you in place, and in obedience by your hips.

You do not know how to explain the sensation, it's like a knot is being crafted in your belly with every swipe and twist, every squeeze and pinch, stretched taut til your breaths are no more than broken whimpers.

You catch one Shadow looking directly at you from your peripheral, it betrays no emotion, just floats quietly behind the crowd.

Your head tips back further when the shadows part your legs to scavenge for more room and from the small crack in between them, you see more apparitions through your blurry vision.

It clicks suddenly, there's another wave of them, awaiting their turn patiently.

A line of drool slips past your lips and smears your chin, the Shadow which was covering your mouth wipes with one swipe of its thumb ; your toes curl midair as the knot in your lower stomach snaps.

Steam cloak’s the room, even a whisper sounds as though it were an exclamation. Somewhere, there's an ictus of falling water.

A groan escapes your lips as you stir, vision shrouded with enervation, your joints complain when you shift in the bathtub.

The water’s heat is now faint, but every candle is lit as you recall.

Slowly, you come to, gripping the edge of the bathtub for support. You’ve never felt more disoriented in your life, not even when the Flame Reaver pointed his blade at your throat and then let you off from tasting its sharpness.

Right. The Flame Reaver. The captivity.

… His Shadows.

You sit up straight, glancing frantically at your hands and body as the memories resurface.

There isn't a single scratch on your skin, but you can still recall the feel of their greedy touches, the way they moulded you to their liking.

The bath water is now completely cold, sending chills down your spine but you could not care at all.

Your teeth work at your bottom lip as the scenes flash through your mind again, a droplet of water slides down your cleavage.

A faint tremble seizes your body.

What was that? Was that real? Was that a dream? Why was it so vivid if it were one? And why does your body feel so heavy if it weren't one?

And most importantly, why can you not stop replaying it in your mind?

Sharp thunks echo as pages flutter to the ground, in your frenzy (for what exactly, you can hardly pin down), you bump against shelves and cabinets more times than you have the mind to count.

You just know that you need a distraction, and in pursuit of it, your feet have led you to the only other place you're (somewhat) allowed entry to in the tower ; the ‘library’ — without any intervention of the sentinel Shadows.

Those cursed Shadows, you heave, leaning against a cabinet.

If breaking your ankle the last time you’d tried to escape wasn't bad enough, they’d decided to shift to toying with your sanity next.

Every night, without fail, you're certain those hellspawns have been doing something to you. But for some, some reason, by dawn you only have blurry memories to recount.

As such, the Flame Reaver never takes your complaints seriously — he doesn't even answer any questions you might have about his powers, let alone those cryptic clones.

But does his dismissive scoffs help you at all? No! With every moment alone with those Shadows, you feel as though you're being pushed closer and closer to the edge of an abyss ; one that dulls your inhibitions, and makes you desire for things you’ve been taught your whole life to loathe.

The Shadows cease reaching with their grabby hands in the presence of their master, but he only makes that pinching feeling in your heart worse.

You're scared to even observe it for long — and you absolutely, absolutely can't afford to linger on it, not when your family is still waiting for you, not when your fiance has foregone half of his sanity in search of you (you're sure he has).

Your confidence in that brat’s skills is rather pathetic, princess. You flinch as that monster's words resurface in your mind.

Rust coats the voice in your recollections, that easy condescension which pulls at the steady strings of your heart, Impressive in a way, but pathetic nonetheless.

You bite your lip, hands gripping the handle of the wooden cabinet ; all at once every instance where he’d reached too close cluster forth in your mind, every time the edge of his mask brushed against your cheek, everytime you were a breath away from feeling those silver strands of his hair.

The edge of the handle bites into your hands, you wonder, as the recollections of the Shadows’ whispers mesh with the cadence of his tone in your mind, how would it feel if it was him whispering those filthy things in your ear while coaxing tears out of your eyes?

Just as quickly as the flood of thoughts came, they wane.

You blink, the first thing you notice when you come to reality is that your cheeks feel hot, the next is that the cabinet’s door has somehow come loose from its hinges in your hands.

The door clutters to the ground when you drop it. For a second, you palm at the air in uncertainty, and then, you decide to duck and peek inside the thing almost mindlessly.

A cough escapes you as a deluge of dust emerges from the stack of worn notebooks in the cabinet.

You wave away as much of it as you can, squinting in the dim candlelight to get a better look.

Something in your gut tugs at you, tells you that you probably shouldn't go farther than this.

You did come down without permission here, and the logical thing to do would be to not test the Flame Reaver's graces more.

… But the prospect of finding out how he’d react to this act of rebellion is undoubtedly tempting.

Dust smudges your fingertips as you pull out (what seems to be) a notebook. You blow on the cover, perhaps it was just the faint light from the candles’ fault, but you remain unsuccessful in deciphering the cover page.

The contents within the notebook though, were a different story.

You tilt the pages toward the candles, eyes squinting, shifting, widening with every word.

ENTRY - - -: Attempt #28,371,274

• LIGHT CALANDER — 4894, MONTH OF JOY •

The Black Tide field test in the frontier village, Code: AE6 was a success. Two survivors emerged from the rubbles. One’s location is still unidentified. The other remembers himself to be called “Khaslana“. … Aged approximately eight. Some minor injuries but otherwise in good health.

…

ENTRY 001: NEW EXPERIMENT. In Juncture With Attempt Count #28,371,275

• LIGHT CALENDER — 4894, MONTH OF EVERDAY •

Admittance of subject “Neikos496”. Age : 8, Male. Shows signs of being resistant to the corrosive properties of the Black Tide. Further observation required.

..

ENTRY 003: Attempt #28,371,276

• LIGHT CALENDER — 4894, MONTH OF - - - - - - •

Subject Neikos496 shows intense impulses. Has been refusing meals.. Consistently asks for the whereabouts of “brother Phainon“. Further observation required.

…

ENTRY 034: Attempt #28,371,- - -

• LIGHT CALENDER — 4896, MONTH OF FREEDOM •

Subject Neikos496 shows extreme tolerance towards the Black Tide. Procedures for Experiment: Imbibition are in order.

..

ENTRY 035: Attempt #28,372,- - -

• LIGHT CALENDER — 4896, MONTH OF WEAVING •

Subject Neikos496 has lost his sense of taste. Note: The Black Tide has not yet hindered his growth in any way.

..

ENTRY 050: Attempt #28,500,- - -

• LIGHT CALENDER — 4899, MONTH OF MOURNING •

Subject Neikos496 can fully harness the destructive properties of the Black Tide. A revolutionary breakthrough in - - - -..

ENTRY 051: Attempt #29,- - -, - - -

• LIGHT CALENDER — 4899, MONTH OF FORTUNE •

Subject Neikos496 shows signs of rapid physical growth… Form growing distant from that of… umans… Further observation required.

..

ENTRY 101: Attempt #33,- - -,- - -

• LIGHT CALENDER — 4909, MONTH OF EVERNIGHT •

Subject Neikos496 can fully control the Destructive properties of the Black Tide phenomena. Procedures to unleash… Heavy observation required. Subject shows tendencies of rebellion.

Overseer : --.. .- -. -.. .- .-.

ENTRY - - -: Attempt #33,550,36

• LIGHT CALENDER — 4910, M- -TH O- - - - - •

Subject Neikos496 is suspected to rebel. The tower’s defences have been set. Operation: Irontomb will soon lau..nch.. do not panic. Everything will b.. —

“I thought princesses knew.. how to maintain curfews?”

Your heart kicks against your ribcage violently as it registers that voice. The old, worn paper in your grasp is soaked from your sweaty palms, your desperate grip on its words.

You open your mouth to respond by instinct, but nothing tangible comes out.

The edge of the Flame Reaver's hood brushes against your hair as he leans down to catch a peek — not at the notebook that you shouldn't be holding, but at the abject horror painted on your face.

His hands hover by your skirt, and with every breath you're forced to take, you get more and more acutely aware of the fact that his chest is flush against your back.

“Answer me, princess.” you’re yanked back before you could spiral in your thoughts, but you can hardly make your mind cooperate with his demand.

The Flame Reaver, graciously decides to assist you.

You jolt as his hand comes up to grasp your chin, “What’s wrong?“ condescension drips from his words and into your ear, “You weren't so scared when you waltzed into the obituary of a madman.“

“I…” you scramble your mind for something, anything to respond with amidst the sillage of bulrush and smoke that encroaches in your space. “I’m—”

Your treacherous heart jumps again as the Flame Reaver clicks his tongue, not because it's loud in the narrow space, but because it sounds indulgent.

“Are you about to apologize, princess?” he moans against your cheek. “Save me the charade. I have no interest in the fact that you found this.”

That makes you blink as some clarity returns.

Just as you're about to urge him to elaborate though, the Flame Reaver squeezes your cheeks together with enough force to make you yelp, the nails of his thumb and forefinger dig into the meat, hard.

“I’m sure you know where my interest is in.” you could've never, in the twenty years of your existence, ever expected the Flame Reaver to sound so coy, so elated — at mushing your cheeks to oblivion or to the underbreath of the unfolding events, you can hardly care.

“But the question is,“ his left hand finally makes its presence known in the shape of grasping your waist, “Are you brave enough to indulge me?” he cranes your neck up to meet his heated breaths, face to masked-face.

You don't dare to open your eyes and stare into that nothingness, but you don't do anything to break out of his grip either, not even as he threatens to paint your cheeks red in your own blood, or how his claws tear into your dress.

You know what he's pushing you towards.

Phainon — you saw Phainon's name with absolute clarity in the notebook now crumpling in your hands, and you’d wished, with every re-read that those words morph into something else or vanish altogether.

“You…” you shudder as he parts your ankles with the tip of his boots, squeezing the words out through the death-grip he has on your face. “You should stop touching me like this. I— I'm betrothed to someone else!”

In the end, you're not brave enough to take his bait.

But the Flame Reaver doesn't appear discouraged, in fact, he seems even more pleased, if possible.

“Oh? Betrothed you say…“ he loosens his grip just before his claws could puncture your cheeks, shifting to rub at the abused flesh with the pads of his fingers.

“But did you remember that the past few months?“ something in your stomach flips as his knee nudges between your legs, “Or, do you only like using that excuse when I confront you about your flighty little morals?“

You would've never guessed air could feel this heavy, nay, it bends to the monster's every breath, threatening to take you with it under, as well.

You can hardly think through the jolts coaxed by the way he strokes your heat with his knee, but of course, the monster wouldn't allow you the reprieve of sinking completely — so he uses the grip he has on your hip and yanks you to crash against his chest, sending a sharp jolt through your core against his knee.

The Flame Reaver chuckles, it's rough and rugged like the edge of a cliff, “I’m curious, princess,”

He trails his left hand up from your waist, letting the claw of his pointer finger drag up your heaving chest, “Would your ever chivalrous hero even take you back if he knew about how much of yourself you’ve given to me already?” he circles around where your heart has concocted a crazed prance, humming in pleasure when it answers with a loud kick against his hand.

“Even now,” he twirls a strand of your hair on the tips of his claws, “You don't tell me no, not even once.”

That, that snaps you out of the maddening trance he’d illustrated so far. The realization sweeps away half of the heat from your gut, settling like an anvil on your conscience.

No, not at all. You don't want Flame Reaver to stop. You would've kicked, flailed and fought your way out of his hold by now like the first day, the day he stole you in the dress of a bride — if you wanted out of this suffocating embrace.

So, how dare you still speak of a fiance?

The Flame Reaver hums at your stunned silence, letting your hair fall from his hand. “I have a proposal, princess.”

“Instead of living like a prize on that brat’s shelf,” he tests the jolts of your pulse with the tip of his thumbnail, “Why don't you become mine instead?”

Your shoulders macerate with a slump as that singular sentence steals all the fight from your bones.

Guilt begins to crawl up your conscience, just like how those Shadows did on your body, and how you allowed it — enjoyed it even.

And now, even as the weight of your hypocrisy presses down on your heart, you find yourself wishing that the Flame Reaver — Khaslana, would do something, anything to make you forget that, forget your past and transgressions and let you to sink into the abyss he’s only been teasing you with touches and words.

Princess, oh dearest princess, what have you become?

There was once a time in the 'Flame Reaver's' life where he loved the shade of blue.

It was in the midday sky of Aedes Elysiae, in the waves of the sea — in his eyes.

His innocence stretches as far as he can recall that color, the days spent chasing fairies, napping in the wheat fields and drifting wish-in-a-bottles in the ocean.

And then, one day, red swallowed that lovely blue, burned everything that ached to hold that color to ashes.

When Lycurgus found him, wounded and bruised, stranded all alone in the middle of nowhere, he promised the boy a home.

Though the tall, dark tower at the edge of the north didn't seem to be anywhere near as warm as the roads of Aedes Elysiae, it was shelter, it was protection, and for a while, that was enough.

Until, the mad researcher asked, “Don’t you want revenge?”

Revenge. A word too lofty for a little boy of his age to fathom. He only vaguely recalled reading it in those fairy tales of Cyrene, the ones about heroes and villains and magic.

At his silence, the scholar urged, “For your ruined hometown? For your family?”

That, that’d struck him.

Though he couldn't fathom the weight of the word, somewhere in his heart, there burned this little fire of fury.

That fire was fed slowly and steadily with every experiment, every failure and every subsequent success.

But no matter how much Khaslana resisted, how much he endured, the pain never dulled.

“The pain and the anger are your life forces.” he’d been told, “Nurture it, cling to it and wield it.”

But why should one live for pain and anger? No one would answer the shackled boy in the cold lab. No one would tell him why the Black Tide consumes and doesn't cease, no matter how much he’d asked.

Then, by chance or misfortune, Khaslana discovered the conductor of the threnody that haunts this world.

“For the utter destruction of Reason itself, this world must burn, it must end!” Lygus had exclaimed in delight, “And you— you… will make that fire roar! You will bear the Destruction itself!”

Even till his last breath, his last spasm on the floor, Lycurgus had laughed.

Khaslana had thought that killing that madman and his lackeys would've been enough to satiate his fury. He’d be content to bear all of the Black Tide in himself so that the world could drift on in peace, even.

But of course, why would it be so kind to him?

“Have you heard? There's a monster that lives in the north. They say that he's the reason for the Black Tide!”

“The Chrysos Heirs have rallied from all corners of Amphoreus to defeat him!”

“He must be defeated!”

“Off with his head!”

“Death to the monster!'”

“BURN HIM BURN HIM BURN HIM!”

Zandar, despite posing as a scholar of class, was one petty manchild.

As such, he’d used whatever was left of his consciousness, and had modeled the lie that Khas— Flame Reaver of the Deepest Dark, was the source of the Black Tide.

And the result of this propaganda was a thousand passionate ‘heroes’ sent at his door to bring glory back home. Pathetic, so pathetic he couldn't even care to give them a proper duel.

… That was until, he came.

Silver tresses and that cornflower blue still shining so bright in those sunlight eyes, a legendary sword in his hands and comrades at his sides — every bit the hero from those stories he’d read with him in childhood.

A mirror of himself, if he’d still retained anything of his former image.

Perhaps, that is why Phainon didn't recognized him.

Flame Reaver would've been fine with that much, to go the rest of his existence as a dead memory — but the stupid, stupid hero and his troop of fools just had to disturb his peace, had to shoot him down with that weapon.

And then, Phainon had the audacity to parade around the city in victory, bask in the cheers and salutations of everyone who now fell at his feet ; offering their homage, their lives and all their treasures for a smidgen of the hero's ‘favor’.

You were one such ‘treasure’, the beloved princess of Stygia who’d been hidden since childhood from the world.

Rose petals had begun to pile up on the baths of the Holy City as a result of the people's excitement. The century’s most anticipated union, a pair chosen by the gods themselves!

How could they not rejoice? For their icon looks at you like you're a piece of heaven itself, a piece he shall not lose or let go of.

It was supposed to be a perfect, sun-lit day. The lilies were in full bloom, thousands had gathered outside the chapel to witness the moment when the beautiful princess and the hero of legends would become each other's.

So easily? Just like that?

The panicked screams of the crowd as Flame Reaver's Shadows tore down the venue were music to his ears.

The skittering people, the chaos, the silken banners burning in flames — now that was pretty.

And amidst the ensuing ruin, there was you.

Stranded from the others in the commotion, clutching at the skirt of the pristine ivory dress as rubble rained down around you.

You’d looked so scared, so uncertain while trying to work your puny human brain for a way out.

So, he took you.

Was it a bit of an impulsive decision? Yes. But the look of absolute horror on Phainon's face as he whisked you away a breath from his arms was so, so worth it.

In the beginning, he’d been fully set on just giving you a swift, painless death.

But something had stopped him, something… yes, that ruffled look on your face, how you’d scrunched up your face and glared at him like letting your displeasure known would be of any help.

He thought it was amusing — and amusement, to a man so used to pain and obdurate days, is intoxicating.

So, he decided to let you scurry around in the cage instead.

The way you flinched at every little thing, stayed curled up in a ball by the corner of the uppermost chamber of the tower only made him more and more intrigued.

See, Khaslana had known scarce interaction with humans throughout the forty five years of his cursed existence. However much of it was real, happened far too long ago, and those cold exchanges with the researchers were no interaction at all.

So, everything that you brought with you was new to him, and he shamelessly, wanted to see more of it, all of it.

Every squeak, every frown, every down turned gaze, every tsk of annoyance and most surprising of all, every moment of fluster.

It took him a while to catch on, but you would get flustered around him whenever he got close to you or taunted you.

And that brewed a new plan in his mind.

He would tempt you slowly and agonizingly, fill that little head of yours with nothing but desire.

Until you’re so fed up with the push-and-pull that you reach for him yourself and give all of you to him.

And you will play right into his hands.

He’ll make sure of it.

Twilight is still yet to bleed into the east when you awake, the sporadic chirps of birds outside keep you tethered to the waking world.

When you turn to your other side, the first thing your eyes fall upon is the Flame Reaver brooding on the chaise, the faint light of the burgeoning morning illuminate his silhouette.

Mindlessly, you get up, rubbing your eyes as a yawn moistens their corners.

Your steps are groggy as a result of your restless slumber, and they click loudly in the quiet morning.

With each step, the heaviness of last night returns, slowly, and then all at once.

You’d tossed and turned enough times to rumple the bedsheets beyond saving, screamed into your pillow when the thoughts grew cacophonous, cried into the same pillow when the guilt got too monstrous.

Where are the Shadows when you actually need them? You’d even found yourself wishing at times, to your surprise.

But what can you do? You’ve vacillated between believing that you have not sinned, that you would be welcomed back into the arms of your fiance — and the heavy, bone-chilling realization that you won't, that you have no way to face that man anymore.

Do you even want to go back to Phainon? You halt in front of the Flame Reaver's legs. Would a man who never came looking for his own brother, never even recognized his twin, even recognize you?

Let alone cherish?

The Flame Reaver lifts his head with a jolt when you swing your leg over his, settling on his lap.

An exhale leaves his mouth, coarse and penetrating in the dead quiet. You can feel his gaze following your fingers as they glide up his arms and over the gaping sun on his chest.

“What are you doing?“ he asks rhetorically. You're not sure if it's just your sleep addled mind, but you could've sworn that the muscles of his thighs tightened under you when you pressed your palms flat on his chest, and trailed them up his throat.

Is this stupid? Most definitely, the smidgen of rationality in your mind supplies.

But you can't bring yourself care, you can't bring yourself to think amidst the roaring thoughts, the doubts, the guilt, the desire and the thirst to end this push-and-pull, to silence every voice echoing in your mind.

The pointy edge of the metal frame of his mask brushes against your fingertips, “You said,” your own voice is hoarse from sleep and bone-deep fatigue, “That you could make me forget it all.”

You press your forehead against his, knees planted on either side of his hips on the chaise. “But I don't know if I want that without even knowing the master of that magic.” warm breath mingling with his.

The Flame Reaver makes a sound that almost sounds like an intrigued hum, if it weren't for the faint tremble in it that you manage to catch thanks to the proximity.

“Correction, princess.” he doesn't move a breath, but he doesn't lean into the touch either. “I offered you to become mine.”

Your brows pinch slightly at that, your clouded mind struggling to care about semantics in the wake of him raising his hands, and just letting them hover above your back.

You lean back just enough to look at his masked face, chest heaving in irritation.

“Become yours without even seeing ‘you’?” you rest your right palm against where his cheek should be at and let the other trail over his shoulder.

Metal bumps against your wandering hands, the grooves and stiffened muscles stretched taut against the fabric of his clothes. You’d only gotten the sillage of it before, but you can feel the sheer rigidity of his body right under your hands, against yourself, now.

(You force yourself to swallow whatever tingle that’d brought to your mouth.)

His sigh makes you blink, “You’re an impulsive creature.” he admonishes, tapping a claw against the chaise.

“Does it never cross your mind that some boundaries are set for your own good?” his hood drops as he tilts his head in your hand.

You purse your lips in confusion, “Is your face radioactive?”

The taps pause, “Worse.” he says breezily.

“How worse?” you push closer.

“Enough to make a sheltered little princess recoil?” there's derision in his tone, at you, or himself — is uncertain.

You cup his face, drawing a circle on his cheek over the dark fabric. “Try me.”

A long beat passes, a bird announces the start of its day with an exclamation outside the premises of this scene, twigs snap under worried boots.

The Flame Reaver's shoulders slump in surrender, though the huff he exhales suggests (feigned) annoyance.

It's enough permission for you.

Carefully, so, so carefully you peel back the metal ornament ; its sharp corner scratches against your fingers when you're unable to control the tremble in them, but you can hardly care about that.

A breathy exhales escapes you, blending with his own as the mask clutters to the floor.

Porcelain. That's the first word that comes to your mind when you see him. Gold pulses from the cracks of his porcelain-like body, blue and violet swirl in the abyss of the left side of his face, beckoning you closer, far closer than you’ve ever dared to venture.

Khaslana turns his head away — in disappointment, not surprise, and suddenly his previous derision makes sense to you, why he always caved into himself when you brought it up, why he always avoided this.

It makes something in your heart pinch to the point of suffocation.

You shift your grip, tilting his turned head back to you in the cradle of your hands — and kiss him.

Khaslana's next breath is pulled taut by the abruptness of it, the cushion under his hands is teared as he swipes at it with his talons in surprise.

His lips are cool under yours, unlike the rest of his body which has set the air around you ablaze.

You chase the chill, keeping his lips locked against yours by holding onto his jaw and you're only encouraged to continue when his hands spring up to grasp you by the waist.

It's your turn to gasp as he yanks you close, the force of the pull makes your nose bump with his and your chest press against his clavicle.

You taste mint and heat in his breath as his mouth parts against yours, the tip of his tongue teases the corner of your lips —

“PRINCESS [NAME]!!!”

A sharp flinch jostles you both, labored breaths fogging the thin distance between your mouths.

“LADY [NAME]?!!”

Every nerve in your body tenses. You know that voice, you’ve heard it declaring promises of patience in your hands, wishes and hopes of a serene dream in your ears, sneaking whispers of how beautiful you look in your wedding dress before the altar—

Khaslana's chuckles breaks the daze, it's a rugged, intrigued thing against your ear.

“Ahh…” he noses in the little nook under your earlobe, “Looks like your hero— no, your fiance is here to pick you up.”

Your treacherous, treacherous heart kicks against its cage, and then churns at his lazy acknowledgment. You can see glimpses of soldiers flittering across the parameters of the tower down the drop and then— him.

A bead of sweat rolls down from your temples, Khaslana adjusts his hold on your hips, shifting you forward to aide you in seeing the scene better (cruelty).

“Well then? Princess?” your eyes crinkle as you feel something wet lave over your cheek, “What will you do now?” a thin sheen of drool smears on your cheek to your chin as Khaslana catches that bead of sweat on his long, serpentine tongue.

You would think that the monster would try to cling to you, but instead, he goads you on, like this is a game to him and all he cares about is feasting on your moves.

It wouldn't take much to alert the troops, a small item thrown, maybe one of the pillows — you could even scream, it wouldn't be unexpected of the Phainon to be able catch its pitch despite the distance.

…. However.

“I don't want to go.” your eyes dim as you see the rays of the early morning light playing catch with the hero’s armory, those silver strands — ones you now know so intimately, ruffled by worried hands.

It almost makes you not notice Khaslana's eerie silence.

“…What?”

You sneak a peek at him through your periphery, “I don't want to go ba— oof—!”

A wheeze is forced out of your lungs at the force of the push, your surprised blinks are shadowed by Khaslana's looming form.

“I don't believe you,” he fists at the chaise on either side of your head, it's difficult to see his expression despite the flickers of the blue flame.

You keep on searching for it though, “Tell me what will make you believe then.”

He sneers, “This is just a game to you.”

“It is not.” frustration creeps in betwixt your brows.

But he doesn't listen, “You don't even understand— you don't even understand what I feel for you! What I want to do to you—!” he tugs at his hair.

You open your mouth but his exclamations drown out your words, “You naive, stupid girl. You think you could know me?” his voice fades to a coarse whisper, and your patience snaps. “There is absolutely no way! Nothing! Nothing you could do that—”

You grab him by the collar and swallow the rest of his complaint with your mouth.

Something in Khaslana's brain sizzles, makes him forget that he can breathe as you pull him closer, closer than anything he’s dreamed, and all so willingly, eagerly.

His normal eye softens impossibly for a second, before flashing with a jolt of wicked blue.

Your exhale is pulled taut by his hand snaking up the back of your head, gripping at the roots of your hair to keep you locked in the kiss.

His free hand wanders down to your legs, and parts them by gripping one knee. Your hands reach out to clutch at his cape when he throws one of your legs over his shoulder, making room for himself — and when you're dizzy from the lack of breath and space, he rewards you by biting down your lower lip.

“You’ll leave me.” he gasps against your cheek, talons gripping restlessly at your pulled up skirt.

Despite your mind being in a swirl of nothing but heat, you find the strength to shake your head no, clinging to him.

Khaslana squeezes his eye close for a moment, as though pained. “You’ll abandon me at the first chance you get— like him, like everyone —”

Your nails dig into his shoulders, “Never. I won't ever abandon or betray you, Khaslana.”

A shudder quakes the monster's whole body. He drops his head to your shoulder, taking lungfuls of your scent, his claws threaten to draw blood at the dip of your waist.

“Tell me…” his nose traces a line from your jawbone to your clavicle, halting at the neckline of your dress to take the edge in between his teeth. “Tell me to stop, princess.” he begs, dragging the neckline down with his bite.

Your knees press around him as his scorching exhales brush against your now bared chest, “Don’t— don't stop, Khaslana.”

A long, heavy breath leaves his lips, littering your skin in gooseflesh. A squeeze seizes your heart as Khaslana nuzzles against it with his cheek.

“Could you… kiss me again?” you almost don't hear his request through the erratic march of your heart, “So that I know this isn't a dream?”

He doesn't dare to meet your gaze when he says, “… Please?”

If there was even a fraction of doubt in your mind before, it vanishes to oblivion with that one word.

This time, the beginning of the kiss is much gentler than all the previous ones. You tilt his head up with your hands and for a moment, just breathe against him, before pressing your pledge against his lips.

Khaslana loosens his vice grip on your hair to let it trail down your back, pushing you closer in time with his tongue parting your lips.

The hand that was on your hips comes up to hold your face — though, with its size, it has to settle on your throat instead.

The leg that was hoisted over his shoulder bends to squeeze around his back when his tongue pushes inside your mouth and licks at the cavern.

Tears prinkle the corners of your closed eyes as you choke, you’d caught a glimpse of it before, but the Flame Reaver's tongue is long, it takes up your whole mouth, rendering your feeble attempts at returning the kiss futile with one swoop — till stars burst behind your eyeleads from the lack of air.

Your toes curl against his back when he presses you closer into the kiss with a squeeze around your throat, your cry is broken when he sinks his fang into your lip again.

When he finally, finally pulls away, silver bursts color your vision and your heartbeat hammers against your ears — you feel lightheaded in the best way.

“Hah…“ he wipes the string of drool with the back of his hand, you can hear the vague smirk in his words. “Sick of me already?”

At that, your vision clears and you pout, shaking your head. You tug him closer, a plea smoldering in your eyes.

It makes him croon.

Your world is hurled to the side as he pushes you down on the chaise again.

“You’re one greedy princess, aren't you?” your jump when he takes your exposed nipple in his mouth, coaxing a whimper out of you with a hard suck.

You press the heel of your palm against your mouth as he continues his torturous ministrations, his hands slide down your sides, pushing up the hem of your dress again to part your thighs.

His tongue wraps around the taut bud for a second, before letting go to pinch it with his fang instead. He controls your spasming body effortlessly, bringing your ankles to lock around his neck with ease.

His eye flickers up to the sight of your desperate attempts at muffling your whimpers and he lets go of your nipple with a displeased pop.

“What’s wrong? Don't you want your hero to hear how mine you are?” he taunts, pulling back the elastic of your panties and letting it snap back against your thigh — but he doesn't just stop there, and hooks the pointed nail of his forefinger under it when he pulls it again, the sound of tearing fabric defeats your ragged breaths.

He sits up slightly to drink in the sight of your debauched state, the glint in his eye shifts in a way that makes you feel as though he's patting himself in the back for reducing you to a quivering, needy mess.

“Well,” he smoothes over your right leg with one hand, the metal of his talons creating shivers on the skin. “It doesn't really matter to me either way. Because…”

He turns his head to press a kiss on the ankle hooked over his shoulder and before your could blink the next one — he dives in.

You're certain your soul had left your body there, only to be pulled right back by the Flame Reaver's death-grip.

Your hand offers no support in stopping the cry that's pulled out of you. First, he scares you halfway to death by swooping down like a vulture ; next, he parts your petals with his tongue with a slow lick, coming full circle by plunging it deep inside you the next second.

Now, you realize that he was holding back in the kiss. His tongue alone reaches crevices inside you that you weren't even aware of, his teeth brush against your clit sporadically with every harsh suck and twist.

Your body rebels against the assault by instinct (even as your mind craves it), but Khaslana keeps you close and obedient to take his starving mouth by holding your hips, his nails create bloody scratches on the sides of your thighs with every thrash and pull.

He's done this before, the realization passes by your your dazed mind between gasps and moans.

Though you're not allowed the leeway to ponder on it as the building pressure in your lower belly abruptly snaps, making your back arch from the force of the orgasm.

You blearily consider reaching for Khaslana's shoulders to anchor yourself as waves after waves are drawn out of you, but you can't even reach that far, forcing you to fist your hands against the chaise’s surface.

The Flame Reaver doesn't pause for a millisecond of reprieve — no, no, he feasts on the necter of your release, like this is what he's been starving himself of for all of his life.

The sounds are obscene, both of his sucks and of your tearful moans.

But you can hardly bring yourself to care about anything as the pain subsides and invites that pleasant cotton-like haze in your mind, smoothens your taut muscles until they grow numb.

Khaslana rubs his cheek against your inner thigh, rubbing circles on the other to bring you back. His breaths only send jolts through your oversensitive core.

He peeks from between your parted legs, tracing the rise and fall of your chest, your bruised and red lips and the absolutely blissed out blankness in your eyes.

“Beautiful.“ he says, though it sounds vague through the ringing in your ears.

The kind thing to do would be to stop his worship at this juncture, let you adjust to having his most intimate servitude slowly.

But Khaslana is nowhere near being done with you today.

It takes your ecstasy induced mind a while to register the fact that you're being moved around.

You blink through your tear-smeared vision as your back presses against something cold — and then all at once, the distance between you and the floor crashes down on you.

You cling to Khaslana by instinct as he adjusts your legs to rest on his hips ; over his shoulder, you catch a glimpse of your toes hovering a good five feet above the ground, the tattered hem of your dress brushing against the asphalt.

“Princess,” he snatches your attention by turning your head to him with a finger, you're taken aback — mesmerized by the tenderness and desire swirling in his eye and in the void.

“You’ve given yourself to me so sweetly.” your heart thumps at the praise, “So,” he presses his forehead against yours, “Won’t you let me give myself to you, in return?”

You don't understand why, your mind is far too intoxicated in him to even think of saying no, but somehow, for some reason, the corners of your eyes moisten — perhaps at the unexpected vulnerability he’s offered.

You nod, “Y-yes,” wrapping your arms around his shoulders, “All of you— I want all of you, Khaslana.”

Khaslana's eye flashes at your demand, “Last chance, princess— if you don't push me away here, I'll never, ever let you go, not even if Thanatos themself came to take you away.”

Your eyes widen, and then crinkle in delight, “Good.”

This time, Khaslana kisses you first and oh, does he not hold back in making sure all you can breathe is him, him and him.

Your fingers slide into his silvery hair, you squeeze your legs around his waist when he dips his tongue inside your mouth again.

Your head tilts back against the wall as he shifts one hand to support you by the buttocks. Amidst the muffled sounds of your mewls, a sharp zip pierces through.

Your brows furrow at the sound, but you're far too distracted by the way Khaslana nibbles on your bottom lip to care.

One of your hands falls to grip his cape, you try to adjust your leg when it spasms at the feeling of something big entering your core.

Your gasp is loud and Khaslana doesn't have the coordination to muffle it in any way this time.

Tears prick the corners of your eyes again as a flash of pain sizzles up your spine — your mind goes utterly blank as the feeling of intrusion burns against your walls.

“Tsk…” Khaslana keeps you in place by gripping your hips, “I thought the Shadows had loosened you eno— ugh…”

Your jaw slackens as he maneuvers you to push you down on the appendage, the veins of it pulsing against your insides, slowly, painfully, carving itself a home within the innermost part of you.

Khaslana gasps with you when he bottoms out, his claws draw marks all over your hips as he struggles to not throw his control out of the window and take you in brutal sweeps.

And then, a chuckle escapes him — snapping you out of the numbing jolts.

You see through your blurry vision as he laughs against your cheek, it is a free, happy thing ; like the confession of a man who's tasted heaven so intimately he cares little about being banished to hell.

In all honesty? You feel the same.

“[Name], [Name], [Name]…” he chants wildly against your ear, dragging his fangs down your throat.

“Kha..as…—!” you attempt to reciprocate, but your vocal chords don't cooperate.

“Shhh…” Khaslana reassures you, catching a stray tear on his tongue. “I know, I know. Breathe with me, princess. No need for words.”

You try to follow his instructions, but it's easier said than done when each thrust of his rattles your bones, the cold wall scrapes against your back and it feels as though he's created a crater for him to crawl into inside of you.

With each push, pull and drag against your insides, you find yourself being distanced farther and farther from everything that you used to be.

In fact, he moves and moulds your body body like he's trying to remake you to his liking, like he will make you forget whoever you once were.

Khaslana pulls back slightly to look at where you're joined together — your body works overtime and is stretched to its ultimate limits to accommodate him.

If he died right here, he thinks, he’d die a very, very happy man.

The violent jolts of euphoria in your mind halt for a moment when you feel your hand being lifted.

Through the veil of your blurry vision, you see, just as you feel the familiar coil nearing its end in your belly.

Khaslana presses your hand against his cheek, holding you upright to him by his other.

Then he tilts his face in your palm and takes your ring finger in his mouth, letting his teeth sink into the skin and sucking until a crescent like hot mark has bloomed on your finger.

And you know then, at that sting and string of bloody drool stretching as his lips detach, that you are exactly where you’ve always yearned to be at.

—

Dawn has broken out into the east when you awake, the chirping of birds keep you tethered, keep you from succumbing to the sleep once again.

When you roll to your sides, you're immediately jolted awake by the sharp flashes of pain that erupt from various parts of your body, making you gasp and then groan.

It takes a few more minutes for you to be able to open your eyes, the early morning light bleeds in from the corners of your vision, and at the center of it, is him.

Khaslana kneels by your bedside, arms folded beside your body. You don't know why, but you get the vague feeling that he’s spent all night in that position.

For a moment, you do nothing but stare at him — at his unmasked face.

Tenderness dusts the porcelain edges like the brushworks on a beloved painting, the burgeoning dawn makes his silver hair sparkle.

He reaches to take your smaller hand in his, his thumb traces circles on the faint swells on your wrist, before he leans down to press his lips against the mark on your ring finger.

You don't flinch, or recoil, rather, you relax in his hold and it makes his whole soul preen in victory.

You chose him, you chose the monster instead of the hero.

You’ve decided to stay with him instead of his brother, you’ve become his and you’ve accepted him in return — all with a smile.

And really, what better revenge than this?

… So, you’ve made it this far, huh? Have this badge 📛 of the Freaklings™️

The base of this fic is taken from a very old brainrot I shared when Flame Reaver was first leaked and the “twist” is taken from a Phantom of the Opera au I had in my drafts (featuring Phainon and Flame Reaver as well). But I kind of lost interest in that project, so, I decided to use it here instead 😔

This is very, very different from my usual works, I knowww. The objective of this fic was really only to dump all of my Flame Reaver thirsts in one place because oh my god, they were driving me CRAZY every ovulation season and I just really really needed to get them out somewhere once and for all.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this! Thank you for reading<3 I’ll now go reconnect with nature 🗿

P. S. SOUSOURADA SUPREMACY 🔥

Edit 06/05/26: I initially had this fic tagged as only Dubcon because that is what I had in mind when I wrote this and because, I'd assumed that the warning of Noncon-Elements were already implied in the Dubious Consent warning. But a few people pointed out that giving that clear-cut warning would be more appropriate and, I agree. Extremely sorry for any misdirection ;—;

TAG: @naraven @yandere-romanticaa @mewn1verse @demigod-of-finality @mochinon-yah

You’re more of a sunflower who basks in his sunlight and greedily soaks up all his affection. You’d hate to be the moon, for this meant you’d only rise when Phainon is gone – you prefer staying right by his side, a sidekick he can always count on. 

A sidekick wearing your heart on your sleeves, shy but never quite ashamed of the sincere feelings you’ve held for him growing up. A flower bud that slowly unfurls into a full bloom.

As your mother would lovingly refer to you both, you are: “Two birds of a feather!” 

Your childhood memories of Aedes Elysiae, blurry some of them may be, are bathed in everlasting gold. While Phainon dragged you off to go play heroes or look through Cyrene’s cards together, you remember dropping pollen of your romantic affection, scattered across planes of time like trails of breadcrumbs left for him to decipher. 

While the sun dipped into the horizon, you inched closer to him day by day, the fluttering in your heart evolves into a palpitation you can never stop, and small gifts handcrafted to show your admiration all gently whispered to him to ‘please, take the hint’. But reminiscent of an immovable stone, Phainon remained blissfully oblivious to the signs.

Cyrene certainly got them; her narrowing eyes and poorly hidden giggles as she sent you and Phainon away were enough of a testament. “I’m not feeling well today, you two can go on without me!”

You’d linger at the edge of her front yard, unsure how to proceed with her help. At Phainon’s call however, you move to follow him – “okay, phai!” – trying to contain the dandelion seeds dancing around in your stomach when he leads you by the arm, not letting go despite arriving at your destination. You didn’t want to let go either, even with the sweat building up in your palm. 

High school sprouts in your backyard as a tall and looming beanstalk that would force you both to grow up even more. 

Phainon’s high-pitched voice starts cracking like eggshells, making way for a deeper tone yet still carrying that warm lilt he always had. You grow taller, still incomparable to Phainon’s own growth spurt, but a good few inches nonetheless. Your sense of style reshapes itself, old interests thrown out for newer ones, and the patch of land where you’d all play heroes together becomes forgotten, the trampled blades of grass outgrowing their original length. 

You start favouring the comforts of your room over the blazing heat of the sun, beginning to find sweat as something you can’t stand and only coming out when Phainon pleads with you to do so. 

He shines brighter in High School – his presence a beaming beacon of light as he walks through the hallways and enters classrooms. Being the sunflower that you are, you faithfully stayed by his side. Fawning crowds come and go, you don’t. 

Your infatuation is exposed to those who aren’t Cyrene; childish people who never grew past the mental age of twelve tried to pick on you for always ‘Sticking to phainon like some damn leech! Don’t have any other personality traits or something?’ – the teasing didn’t last after Phainon punched one of them square in the face. His heroic act only dug your cove of feelings a little bit deeper. 

He’s your best friend and first love, a pillar of comfort you grew up with – you can’t imagine your life without Phainon. You pick up more hobbies, he joins more clubs he never expected he would, and you share your new life experiences with each other during lunch. Sometimes separated, but never for too long. 

Several months flicker by, and during one of your high school Valentine’s, you received gifts from men who aren’t just Phainon. 

Despite his locker overflowing with pink, glittery love notes and heart-shaped chocolates handmade out of sincerity, his gaze was pinned to the white envelope and bouquet of flowers you carried - neither of them is from him. His own gift is already hanging off your backpack, the cute sunflower keychain that it is. 

“From a friend?” He asks, finally closing his locker before he risks more glitter explosions on the ground.

“I doubt it,” He’s the only friend you have in this school, embarrassing it is to admit. Cyrene studies elsewhere. “But they’re cute.”

You see his tongue in cheek, and you dare let a seed of hope plant in the root of your heart. Is he… jealous? That makes you giddy. Tentatively, you ask, “You think so too, right, Phainon?”

He grimaces, glancing one last time at the items in your embrace before smiling, “Yeah, they are. Anyway, done with your locker? Let me carry your bag now.”

You nursed that seed of hope from then forth, slowly but steadily hoping more and more for the plausibility that he returns your feelings. It wouldn’t be too far off, surely – even if you’re not meant for each other in the end, you still want to try with him. You water that seed by dropping more subtle hints to Phainon, and you fertilize it by observing your best friend like an animal in a zoo, analyzing his minuscule actions and trying to correlate them to the mannerisms of ‘a guy with a secret crush on his best friend’.

To be young is to be naive. 

You didn’t need much. A simple ‘you should go for it! I’ve been rooting for you two since we were all children!’ from Cyrene carved out your decision to confess to Phainon near the end of high school. 

In the end, ripped straight from the dramas you watched out of curiosity, you confess to Phainon at the height of spring after getting your high school diplomas; the scent of flowers in full bloom makes you sick with nostalgia and nerves simultaneously. Your family is off conversing with his parents, while you dragged him to a secluded spot in the school. 

“Uhm… I’ve liked you for a long time now, Phainon. I’m not expecting you to return my feelings but…” You leave it open-ended, too afraid to settle your confession definitively. You love him, actually - but love is a strong word that some don’t like to acknowledge. For his sake, you won’t either. 

A warm, gentle spring can never stay for too long. In the same breath, you, too, are forced to abandon the sunlight you’ve known for several years at the sound of his discordant chuckle – the awkward smile etched on his face as his eyes could only look down at you in what you assume to be pity. You avert your gaze from his blue eyes, opting to stare into his birthmark instead. 

“Hey, of course I like you too - you’re my best friend! But we can always stay as friends, (Y/N). You’re dear to me, you know  – maybe not… like that, I just don’t want things to change between us.”

You experience the first and biggest heartbreak of your life just hours after graduating from High School. Your best friend Phainon does not reciprocate your feelings and instead wishes for your relationship to stay the same, locked into the tight box of ‘close friends’ he never plans on breaking. The seed-turned-plant of hope in your heart withers down to a sad, pathetic, dried-out flora. 

That’s okay. You’ll be attending the same college as him, located far, far away – even if it’s not, you have to be okay. 

After a few tense seconds of utter silence, you smile – the most carefree smile you can muster in that moment before enthusiastically nodding at him, “I get it! Don’t worry, Phainon. I totally get it. Uh, hey, I think Cyrene’s calling me. I have to take this phone call for a bit, okay? Let’s meet again later!” 

You bury that confession six feet under in your backyard, covered and only seen by inches of soil as you maintain your close friendship with Phainon. Best friends, close friends, friends - you are not to cross these labels unless you want to lose your close companion. 

The months of free time leading up to college are nothing unusual, you spend it as you would in the past: Phainon picking you up on the front porch to spend the entire day together. It’s either his or your room where you’ll pour sweating buckets over study materials and banter over multiplayer games on his console.

Your heart still beats like drums just being in his vicinity alone, and it took you days of preparation to act like you’re unbothered when he invites you to his room – the walls and shelves containing time capsules from years before. Pressed white daisies you gifted him on his 10th birthday peeks out as his bookmark, and your kindergarten doodle of him as the sun proudly hangs above his bed, displayed as if it’s an artifact from the Belobog museum. 

The most heartwrenching item is the printed photo sitting on his desk: it’s little him kissing little you’s frosting-smudged cheek at your 10th birthday party. The shock on your face is captured and frozen in time, a memory you both laugh about every month or so. 10th birthday… It’s the same age you realized you see him as more than a friend. 

Seeing it for the umpteenth time never fails to steal the air from you; the ache never gets easier. You wish you could truly put these romantic feelings to rest in a coffin and seal it shut with a lid, never to be opened again. 

“Phainon, next time… let’s spend the day in my room.”

Seeing bits and pieces of you scattered around his room hurts more than him verbally rejecting you. 

He grins, all teeth and gums, “Sure!”

Even branches grow into a tree of their own, just as a fledgling must leave its nest. 

Spring came and went, high school a chapter closed, and you’re now faced with attending school – college, you remind yourself  – an ocean away from the familiar warmth of Aedes Elysiae. The wheat fields that were once taller than you, and Phainon’s house right next door, are all left behind momentarily. You can’t pocket your hometown to bring with you in Penacony, but at least you still have Phainon. 

“Everything all settled?” He gently lets go of your dorm’s wooden table, finally in its correct position, “This layout is fine, right?”

“It is,” You hand him a towel, itching to help with wiping off his sweat, “Thanks, Phainon. You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to, anything for you.” Anything for his dear best friend. He bumps your side before sitting down on the living room couch. You wanted him to stick around for a while longer, but he’s already out your door the moment he hears knocking – (‘Oh, your roommate is here! I need to go now, remember to call me if you need help, okay?’ he pats your shoulder on the way out). 

The patch of skin he briefly touched is still tingling when you see someone walk into the living room, luggage trailing right behind. A tall man with shoulder-length gray hair and kind yellow eyes bows at you in greeting. He’s wearing a white cardigan with a blue sweater layered on top, the color alone reminds you of your best friend despite the difference in shades.

“Hello, pardon my sudden entrance.”

“...Hi.” You don’t know how to talk to people beyond Phainon and Cyrene - standing around here is making you shy. “Uhm, my name is (Y/N)... And you are…?”

“I am Sunday,” His hand extends for a handshake, and you hesitantly follow suit. “It’s nice to meet you. I sincerely hope we get along.”

You nod, staring back into pools of liquid gold while shaking his hand,  “...Yeah, let’s. And please don’t mind the succulents on the windowsill.”

II. A close-knit friendship withers in winter, in its place is a new one.

Much to your relief, your late-night fears of college drifting you and Phainon apart never come to fruition. It has the opposite effect, to your surprise. While not overdramatically countries away, Phainon’s dorm room is located a floor above - a notable difference from when he lived right next door to you. The added distance often has him visiting your dorm room unprompted (you kindly gave him a spare key in case of emergencies) and easily greeting a confused Sunday who just finished his classes for the day.

“Call me your third roommate – don’t worry, I help around!” He’d joke. Using your headband to push his hair back, wearing a baggy tee and gray sweatpants, he makes himself at home. Sometimes doing his own homework or brings his gaming laptop along. 

After the initial surprise, Sunday doesn’t mind his company – you certainly don’t. 

Phainon waits for you outside your room to walk you to your class. He makes sure you sit next to him in the classes you share. He insists you join the same org as him, and predictably, you do. 

You thought you buried your less-than-platonic feelings in your backyard; you truly did. But Phainon has your heart racing in excitement, rekindling the dying plant of hope. You still like him – truthfully, you never stopped liking him. But he’s closer to you now, a feat you previously thought to be impossible. The distance of just one floor away makes the heart grow fonder. Dare you say, clingy? 

But he still remains your best friend. A clingy, touchy one – but your best friend. 

Sunday discusses the topic on a slow, school-less night. You’re in the living room finishing up the last plates needed to be washed when he suddenly chimes in, tone so sure of his words, “Ah yes, I remember now. Please tell your boyfriend to stop entering our dorm past 11 PM. The faculty recently deployed a curfew; it’s best we follow it.”

The ceramic plate in your grasp almost crashes headfirst to the floor. Out of embarrassment, you refuse to turn around and face your roommate. Boyfriend. Boyfriend – only one person is a repeat visitor in your dorm room, and he’s nowhere near being your boyfriend.

Meekly, you set the plate down and correct him, “I’ll inform him, but… Phainon isn’t my boyfriend.”

The silence that wafts through is more humiliation added onto your person. What is Sunday’s facial expression right now? Shocked? Ashamed? 

He answers it for you: “I see… This is quite mortifying, my sincere apologies.” 

But he continues, “You’re both seen together, and he visits you so often, not to mention the look you give him, I got the idea that…– I’ll be sure to be more observant in the future. Again, my apologies.”

You’re wiping the table clean when you reply, still angling your face away from his eyes, “It’s cool, don’t worry! No harm done! He and I are best friends, yes… the bestest of friends!”

You feel him raise a brow at that, “I don’t mean to pry, however…”

Cyrene always chided you for being a pushover to those around you. In this instance, you hear her disapproving frown when you fold like a wet blanket, “Whatever it is you’re thinking –! I-it’s probably right.”

Wilted sunflower that you are, you mournfully face him with your eyes cast to the floor. 

“Ah. You like him?”

You slowly nod, a small part relieved that you now have someone other than Cyrene and Phainon to confide in. “Don’t tell him, please…”

“I won’t.”

His bird-patterned socks enter at the edge of your vision. You slowly look up. Sunday is smiling at you, although a bit tense. 

“Perhaps it’s a bit presumptuous of me considering we’ve only known each other for months, but… They say I’m a good listener. If you don’t mind, could you tell me more?”

Sunday is a Borage you unknowingly planted, only just now peaking when you need him most. Sitting side by side on your dorm’s small couch, you gain an outsider’s perspective on your years-long pining toward your best friend. He hears of your rejection and your still-persisting feelings. In the end, the advice he offered to you is:

“He may not be stringing you along, but you still foster optimism in your heart. So long as you have it, you will never move forward past him. If you ask me… confess your love a second time; see if his opinion has changed.”

You gulp, “And if it doesn’t?”

He smiles, gentle as clouds, “Broaden your horizons permanently. Distance yourself if you must; your friendship will pick up once you settle your feelings.”

Winter break is soon; you’ll need to go back to Aedes Elysiae in a few months’ time. However…

“If it’s not too much. A-and I understand if you don’t want to! But, could I ask you to…”

Sunday’s words continuously ring in your mind, repeating circles of “confess your feelings” and “move on,” bouncing off of one another. Coincidentally, Sunday is out for the afternoon when Phainon barges in a week later. Something about groupmates and ‘I wish you were in my group’ going one ear and out the other as you nod at him in autopilot. 

He picks up on your unusual behavior not even ten minutes in: brows raised to the sky and eerily getting close and personal with you, surveying your face like it’d shed off all the information he wanted. He retracts a few seconds later, less joking when he inquires, “Something on your mind? Missing Aedes Elysiae?”

Hanging out in your small room like this, laptop opened to play some pirated action movie, and his class notes scattered around your bedsheets like autumn leaves… 

You shake your head, feeling the moment to follow Sunday’s advice is now. This is the perfect timing – no one else around to see your heartbroken face for a second time, and no Cyrene to find out you’re still hung up on him. 

“Phainon, I…”

He shuffles closer to hear you better – traitorously, your heart clenches in affection. 

“Yeah?”

You take a deep breath, screwing your eyes shut, “I think I still like you.”

You downplay your feelings for the sake of self-preservation.

His breath hitches, “Ah, that’s–”

“I’m sorry.” You apologize, remorseful at how uncomfortable he must be right now, “I really tried, but…” A deep breath, “I’ll move on from you soon, I promise.”

“Oh,” He pauses, staring anywhere but you, “Uhm… sure… I’m glad to have you, you know?”

You nod, too fragile to face him. 

“...You’re my first and dearest friend. I truly, really liked you, Phainon.” You love him so, so much.

“You’re dear to me too, (Y/N). Forever and now.”

You’ve heard of an overseas concept where a person in an unrequited love begins to sprout flowers from within. You feel like that’s happening to you right now with how unbearable heartbreak is – yellow carnations form from your bleeding heart, wormwood seizes your lungs in a tight embrace, and pink roses mix with your innards. You’d cough out the feeling if you could; empty your stomach from all the flowers and be done with it.  

Predictably, he’s quiet for the rest of the movie – immediately coming up with an excuse to leave your dorm room once the end credits begin rolling in. You break down into tears the moment the lock clicks in place. You cry for hours, long enough for Sunday to come knocking on your door, just knowing you managed to do it when he readily offers you one of his giantmoa pudding tarts. 

Eyes puffy and snot stubbornly running down your nose, you take a bite and thank him through a mouthful of pastry. It’d taste better if you weren’t so heartbroken. He gently rubs your shoulder in comfort. 

“It’ll be alright.”

He’s right– But Phainon has always been by your side, rain or shine. The following months of his absence from your life will be akin to traversing a dark forest with no light source.

But there’s light at the end of the tunnel; a rainbow at the end of the storm. When Sunday bans you from helping with chores that night, you know your heart will heal in time.

“Thanks a lot… sunny.” 

He sighs in mock exasperation, “I see you’ve picked up on that nickname too.”

The sun: Hey

The sun: I came by to pick you up, but for some reason, your roommate’s lying?? He said you’re not going back to aedes elsysiae this winter break??? And even denied me entry??? 

The sun: crazy right

The sun: I’m right outside waiting for you rn

The sun: do you need help packing up? :) 

You: No

You: He’s telling the truth.

You: I won’t be visiting for now. Maybe next semester break?

The sun: what

You haven’t read his one-word reply when your phone screen transitions to his contact photo with the text ‘The sun is calling…’ displayed below. You sigh, reluctantly sliding to accept.

Even with speakers turned off, you hear him without pressing your phone against your ear: “What do you mean? Did something happen? Don’t tell me you and Auntie got into a fight…! Don’t worry! I’ll act as the middleman like usu-”

“Uhm, Phainon.” You cut him off. 

“Yeah?”

“It’s nothing like that, please don’t worry.”

He makes a sound of confusion, painfully close to a whimper, “So then… why aren’t you visiting our hometown with me?”

‘Because you’ll be there’. “I’m busy with some personal matters here, don’t worry about me. Say hi to Snowy for me, okay?”

“No, I’m absolutely worrying about you – why not? We can visit them next week instead if you’re busy! Why… why miss out on the entire winter break? Won’t you be lonely here?”

“No need, really! Enjoy aedes elysiae for me. And I won’t be lonely… so stop worrying so much, you softie. I have sunny with me.”

“Sunny…? Your… roommate? Sunday? He’s staying here for winter break, too?” He sounds choked up from disbelief; you’d laugh if you weren’t battling against your resurfacing feelings from talking to him on the phone. “Sunday?”

“Yes, he’ll take care of me. I swear!”

“...”

“...Phainon? Hello?” Did the call end already? You glance at your screen, frowning in confusion when you see that the call is still ongoing. Is he lagging on his end? But he’s outside of your dorm. 

“If you need anything,” He suddenly speaks up, “Anything – call me, please. If your roommate makes you sad or uncomfortable, tell me right away, okay? I’ll call you again the moment I’m back in aedes elysiae. Stay safe, I love you.”

You flinch at his admission, knowing he didn’t mean it like that. “I know… safe travels, Phainon.”

“Phai.”

“Huh?”

“Call me Phai. Isn’t that what you used to call me when we were kids? Why’d you stop? Let’s bring it back.” 

You lie on your bed, pondering. Why did you stop? Perhaps since it was a nickname from childhood, you let go of it and hoped Phainon would see you more than just… his friend since diapers. It didn’t work, clearly. So you don’t mind calling him that shortened version of his name again. 

“Okay… Safe travels, Phai.”

Despite your emboldened decision to ask Sunday to stay with you for winter break, you are still, at your core, a floundering, unsociable person. You have your moments of being bold and talkative, but it’s covered by leaves of quietude and slight stutters. Socializing is not your strong suit. You’re not at the stage of being totally buddy-buddy with your roommate, but you’re slowly getting there. 

You’re glad you met Sunday. Had it not been for him, you’d still be stuck hopelessly waiting for a day that’ll never come: a phantom of the past who’s deathly afraid of the future. 

In the span of your one-month winter break, you get to know him better. Your roommate, who’s a good listener is also an older brother to an idol trainee, has a trio of friends who roomed together a floor below, likes sweet treats, and ran away from his adoptive home after graduating high school.

Your profound respect for him only continued to grow, stalking across your shared living space like vines. While Phainon’s frequent messages, consisting of photos of Snowy and with your family, make your heart twinge in longing, you start ignoring them for the sake of progress. He’ll understand why a year from now, and you’ll both laugh about it like the pair of best friends that you are. 

It’s not college that severs you and Phainon – it’s you yourself, but cutting off a branch from your tree does not mean it’s not allowed to grow a new one elsewhere. 

III. Regret burgeons when everything is said and done.

Phainon: I feel like you’ve been ignoring me lately

Phainon: did i upset you?

Phainon: :( 

The Gen Ed courses you took unfortunately landed you in some shared classes with Phainon, the ‘sunny’ side is that they’re coincidentally shared with Sunday and his friends too. While anxious to meet them, he thoroughly reassured you that they’re nice people.

“Just a bit… loud sometimes, I hope you don’t mind.”

You don’t – anything to physically get away from Phainon. The one-month winter break may have taught you to rely on him less, but seeing his face again might cause you to fold like paper. You see his unanswered texts when you close your eyes, and you hear his voice right before falling asleep. You miss him, but you know what must be done. When he visited you on the day he left Amphoreus, you and Sunday worked together to pretend that no one was home when he came knocking. 

He stayed for hours before going up to his own floor. 

Sunday sits on your left, and Stelle (A kind woman who is equal parts loud and quiet) on the other. Your new acquaintances, Dan Heng and March, are a row ahead. 

“I’m telling you, (Y/N)! His nickname really is cold dragon young!” March cackles in glee, making sure to point at Dan Heng in case you mistake him for someone else.

He sighs, pushing down her finger, “That was years ago, ignore her.”

Stelle chimes in, lazily putting her arm around your shoulder and whispering, “Because he had a gachalife phase.”

Cold dragon young hisses at her to shut up, only to serve as fuel for their cackling. Entertained, you let out a few quiet chuckles at their display. You can never be happy for too long – the classroom door soon creaks open, familiar tufts of white hair peeking in not a moment later. The realization that it’s undoubtedly Phainon has you clammoring in your seat, sitting rigidly in attention. 

Sunday gently rubs your back, eases you back to your current circle,  “Sorry…!”

“It’s okay,” Sunday whispers back, sharing a glance with you. 

“Ah, (Y/N)! There you are! …And everyone too, hello!” Phainon greets from up front, hastily picking up his pace to approach your group. Facing you, he wastes no time firing question after question, “Where were you yesterday? I waited around and tried the key you gave me, but it never worked. Did your phone break? I couldn’t contact you at all, I was so worried!”

You smile at him, “Phai, it’s nice to see you again. Sorry, we replaced our door lock with a new key for uhm… security reasons, I’ll try to get you a copy sometime. And no… my phone isn’t broken, I was just busy, that’s all!”

He audibly sighs in relief, “...Really? That’s good, I’m glad – I missed you a lot, you know?” Adjusting his bag strap, he nods to the unoccupied seats in the first row, “Come on, let’s sit.”

Stelle speaks for you, “Oh, she’s sitting with us.”

“Hm? Right! Thank you for taking care of my best friend, but we’ll get going now–”

“No, I mean she’ll be sitting with us for this class.” 

Phainon cocks his head, “Sorry, can you repeat that?”

You meekly affirm, “I’m… sitting with them. Uh, they’re really nice people, Sunny introduced me to them!”

“Huh?” He looks like a lost puppy on the verge of being abandoned, “...But our seats?”

“I’ll try to sit with you next class!”

You never do: you sit next to Sunday in every single one of them and ignored the bewildered look on his face each time. 

He beelines for you after dismissal, blue eyes so eager and pleading when he asks you,  “Let’s get dinner together – my treat? It feels like I haven’t seen you in centuries.”

Only for you to scratch the back of your neck while shyly glancing at Sunday, “Uhm… we already made plans after school. Sorry, Phai.”

“Oh.” He steps back, letting you and Sunday pass by him to exit the room. His blue eyes follow you until they can no longer. He’s left with himself when he mutters a bitter:

“I get it.”

“Let me carry that for–Ah, Sunday…?”

He’s a second too late, but Phainon stubbornly clings to your bag’s front pocket, the very bag that the other man is already carrying. You’re still in the bathroom when the professor dismisses the class.  Wanting to do his usual duties, Phainon intended to carry your bag, but… someone already beat him to it. He smiles at him, polite, “Thank you friend, but this is my thing, if you’d kindly–”

Sunday’s lips curve into what seems to be a subtle mocking smile. He adjusts the bag closer to him before replying in a composed manner, “How chivalrous of you, Mister Phainon. However, it’s not needed. See? I can carry it for her.”

Phainon sees it as clear as day. 

Childishly, Phainon thinks he can carry it better than he can. It’s what he always did for you since he still had some front teeth missing from his smile; it’s his duty, not your roommate’s. 

He reluctantly lets go when you come up to thank Sunday, blatantly ignoring him just a few feet away. He enthusiastically greets you, but he still exists as an imaginary concept in your eyes. What’s going on? He ponders, watching you chat the world away with Sunday. What happened before that winter break that caused you to grow so tremendously close to that guy? 

You said you’d give him a new copy of your dorm room, but you’re ignoring his texts, his existence, and now – letting someone else do his usual tasks. Seriously, what gives?

Sunday’s like a parasite attached to your hip, it unnerves and angers him. 

Are you… trying to replace him? His heart threatens to drop just thinking about it. 

You are.

You really are trying to replace him. 

Sunday sits next to you, Sunday lives with you, Sunday eats with you, Sunday talks with you, Sunday texts with you, Sunday laughs with you – Sunday, Sunday, Sunday. Every time Phainon is graced with your presence, it’s quick to sour from your notable companion by your side. Your new circle of friends too, Phainon sees it clear as day: you don’t want to be around them all the time, but you’re peer pressured into doing so. If Phainon was by your side… he would never let that happen to you. He’d punch them into blindness should they dare to make you inconvenienced. 

Two birds of a feather – that’s what your mother called him and you; A pair of friends so close you might as well be surgically joined together in the middle. When Seven-year-old Phainon first reached his hand out to you, his brain made the unconscious decision then: you’d be the sole irrevocable part of his life. Flowers bloom and wilt; they experience a death of their own, but under Phainon’s sunlight, he promised that he’d never let a sunflower like you be anything less than thriving.

He leads and you follow, only so he’d be the one to be hurt when braving the unknown. Scraped knees and bruised patches of skin are nothing because you’re not hurt. He shines so you can comfortably hide under the shade – you’re not one for people, he’s fine with the way you are. He adjusts around your existence, a mold of comfort that perfectly fits none but you. He’s your fighter and protector; sword and shield. 

Skipping rocks on a nearby lake, teasing Cyrene together, learning from her cards, and discovering a poor abandoned puppy who’d eventually be named ‘Snowy’ are all flashing strings of gold in his memories. Moments carefully planted in his own backyard and given regular maintenance lest he start neglecting them. 

He loves you, of course he does. There is nothing purer in this world than his love for you; a flower specially nursed and plucked with the greatest care, a beauty unparalleled for it’s fertilized from the attention you give him. 

His room is centered around you; every item given is meticulously stored and given a special place. The polaroids, your kindergarten doodles, the yellow crayon you gave him, your pressed flowers – he still has it, even brought it along to his dorm room, where he’s embraced by your presence every night before sleep. 

He loves you, he knows this well in his heart. But Phainon is simply not worthy of you. His love for you is pure, but he, as a person, is not. A Sun can also be damaging to a sunflower – he is the filth to your pure, the actual darkness to light. 

Is it because he refused your confession?

He preserves you because no one in this world deserves you, but must you go ahead and leave him for dead after finding a different sun to seek sunlight from? Sunday… What does he have that Phainon does not? Is he the better him? Does he treat you kinder than he does? 

Sunday is far from holy. If anything, he’s the snake trying to lure you to ruin. You don’t know any better, hence why Phainon is around to protect you. 

This is the biggest hurdle you’ve ever faced together, and with his heart being torn to pieces by your own gardening tools, he’ll make it right. He always goes. He’ll make it right, he’ll get you back, and you two can go back to the way you were before – just more. Friends, best friends, lovers, and everything in between, he’ll really give it all to you. 

Sunday… he’s poisoned your mind and rotted your pure soul. 

IV. Desperation is a seed planted long, long ago – still, spring has come.

“Thank you for sticking around me, Phai.”

He’s in the middle of starting a pathetic fire using twigs and stone when you blurt out cryptic words beside him. He hums, continuing his work, “What do you mean?”

“Can’t I just say thank you!?” You fluster, quickly standing up and pacing around the edge of the forest you’ve both designated as your ‘camping spot’. “Mama said it’s nice to thank people! So, uhm- Thank you for being my friend, please never stop being my best friend!”

“‘Course I won’t!” Phainon toothily grins, fluffy white hair gaining a slight bounce from his motions, “Actually, I’ll never abandon you. Ever!”

You perk up like a sunflower dancing in the wind, “Really!?”

The fire finally sparks to life, small and flickering, but there. At the same time, he gazes deep into your eyes, only knowing nothing else but sincerity at such an age, “Yeah! I swear!”

A yelp, “Swearing is bad!”

Phainon’s eyes blearily blink open. His dorm room ceiling greets him first thing in the morning.

Phainon stalks and waits like a deep-rooted willow tree. He strikes you when he knows you’re alone. It all falls into place: Sunday’s trainee sister is dropping by a different part of the city over the weekend; logic dictates that he won’t be coming back to his dorm room until then. Your close proximity to Sunday will momentarily halt, and Phainon is free to slither in.

He’s waiting right outside your dorm room when you come walking down the long hallway, body language all languid, even resting against the paint-chipped-off stone pillar while scrolling through his social media feed,

You’d spot him a mile away, and seeing him without Sunday by your side makes you hesitate all the more. Your stupid heart starts speeding up. 

“I just want to talk,” He calls out, pocketing his phone to spread his arms wide open for a hug, “I miss you, is that too much to ask?”

You slowly approach him, “...No, I missed you too.”

You miss him. You miss him. You miss him. You’ve been holding your sunflower keychain as your nightly comfort or else you’d end up calling his number at 2AM. 

Phainon smiles, “Really?”

“Yes… I just got… busy, that’s all.”

He smiles wider, blue eyes turning into blue crescent moons, “Really?”

“...Yes.” His hand gently pries the keys out of your hand; you let him.

You hear Sunday screaming on your shoulder, telling you that your blase facade is quickly falling apart at the seams. Unaffected, unmoved – you’re nothing of the sort right now. You’re a sunflower who’s been starved of sunlight for too long. 

With a click, he opens the door for you and softly murmurs, “You’ve been hurting me a lot, (Y/N). You know that, right? But I understand, it’s not your fault.”

You step inside, letting him lock the door behind you, “Not… my fault?”

He shakes his head, hands firmly grasping your shoulders to sit you down on the small couch, “No, it’s mine.”

Immediately you protest, “That’s not true. We just drifted apart–”

Once more, he shakes his head before dropping to his knees before you. The sudden action makes you flinch, growing more uncertain when he holds your hand in his. Phainon’s eyes remind you of butterfly peas from up this close. 

He’s quiet when he speaks, a deep rasp overtaking his voice, “...You don’t understand: I miss you.”

You understand what he means. Parting from Phainon is disorienting. Sunday and his friends may have managed to fill the gaping hole in your heart, but it’s incomparable to Phainon’s presence. 

Are you a bad person for not finding satisfaction in your new friends? Are you sick in the end to still crave Phainon after being rejected two times? Is this what you get for sticking by his side for so long?

It probably is. 

He continues speaking, “I’m sorry for pushing you away; that was never my intention. I wasn’t lying when I said you’re dear to me – you truly are. I never wanted to pursue a relationship with you because, I– I’m too lowly for you. I would only taint you.”

You run your fingers through his hair, reminiscing on all the nights you spent crying over him – it still bleeds like fresh wounds, “That’s ridiculous, Phainon. I’m not some holy figure to taint. I was just a girl in love with her best friend.”

“I know, but you… you don’t understand. You’re everything to me.”

“You’re everything to me, too, that’s why I loved you.” You still do.

“I think of you first thing in the morning. I brush my hair wondering how I’ll spend the day with you, I eat breakfast, thinking what yours was at that moment, I kept the homework you threw out. I always hate it when I talk to people who aren’t you. I still have the twigs you gave me during our 6th-grade camping trip. The reason the pressed flowers you were planning on giving out during high school graduation went missing is that I stole them – I didn’t want anyone else owning a piece of you. I make sure you’re always too shy to stand up for yourself, so I can save you. I… I hate Sunday for getting into your head – it should only be me. I should be the one you hate and love. I – you’re everything to me.”

His grip tightens, blunt fingernails leaving indents on your own fingers, “I’m sorry, please take me back. I’m unworthy, but I don’t want you to be happy with anyone else. I started cutting myself when you refused to go back to Aedes Elysiae with me – I don’t want to live in a world where I’m not by your side. Please. I’ll kill myself if you leave me. I really will.”

You swallow the saliva pooling in your mouth.

If Phainon is the sun that will incinerate you and your sunflower petals for getting too close, the question it poses is: Do you let it consume you whole? To forgive and forget, starting a new chapter anew in the process?

kill yourself or let (y/n) have friends and move on from you