Fanficton

“Why are you touching a plant after claiming you don’t know what it is? It could be poisonous, even deadly.” Empty amethyst eyes stare at you.

Your hand drops instantly. Are colorful things usually the most dangerous? “Right. Sorry, but where are we? I don’t even know the last time you took me out for a hike.” 

“When you were eleven.” 

“Oh. So, where are we?” you stress. It’s hot. You’re tired. 

“I don’t know.” 

Your mind briefly goes blank until your foot catches on a root, causing you to trip forward awkwardly. You stumble slightly but quickly regain your balance. As the realization sinks in slowly, your eyes widen. “Dad! Oh my god, you’re not a nature person either.” You rub your face grimly. “Did you get us lost? I don’t have cell service here. Do you at least have a map? You know how to use one, right?” you ask, a knot of concern forming in your stomach.

 “Yes, I am aware of how to use a map.” 

A small hint of hope twists amid the concern. “Great, and do you have a map?” 

“No.” 

Then something else occurs to you. “Dad, no one will be looking for us if we disappear. Did you tell anyone we’re going out? I don’t have friends.” Your eyes open wide in horror. “Nobody is going to notice we’re gone.” No friends. No family. Which was always okay for you, until now. University isn’t like high school. No teachers or administrators will investigate if a student goes missing. They’ll likely just think you dropped out.

You glance around the strange environment and realize something else. “We don’t have any food or tents—just water bottles.” You squeeze your eyes shut, feeling the weight of the situation. “Mine’s half empty. Dad, we really need to find more water. We can’t last more than a few days without it.”

Vaeris, as a kind and supportive father, nods in agreement. "Approximately three days for a human,” he states calmly. “If you use my water, you will survive for another two days. Unless you prefer to risk drinking from natural sources we encounter." There is a pause. “However, that entails significant risk—parasites, bacteria—a slow, painful death.”

You stare back at him. “Thanks, Dad. As comforting as always.” 

Taking slow, steady breaths, you walk slowly. Getting upset with him only affects you. Just stay calm and focused. As you continue walking, the trees gradually thin out, revealing a faint glow ahead. “Maybe we should turn back and retrace our steps? We’re almost at the edge of the forest..."

“There is no clear path. It is possible we would become more lost attempting to walk back.”

Your stomach sinks at his words, and you can’t tell if his blank expression is more reassuring or unsettling right now. Would he show a little emotion if he thinks we’re in danger?

After about twenty more minutes of walking in what seems to be an open field, a being appears. 

You freeze.

It’s turned away from you, but even from a distance, it appears massive—purple skin, four arms, and a large, muscular build. 

You reach out for your father’s hand in panic, fear swirling throughout your body. Do we run? you want to ask him. But what if it hears you? 

When it turns around, you curse yourself for jinxing yourself.

From the front, it looks even more disturbing—three eyes, and it seems... bothered. Oh my God, it has five eyes. You gulp nervously as two additional eyes open, one beneath each of the normal ones. Running isn't an option; it could easily catch you. You're so terrified that you're paralyzed, unable to move even if you wanted to. 

Despite your grip tightening on your father’s hand, his hold remains cool and loose. He gazes ahead, expressionless, as the being approaches. Strange blue, or maybe dark purple, lines twist around its hands, arms, and neck. 

As it draws nearer, you notice its eyes are a striking gold—pretty—but the eye on its forehead is frightening. Instead of white, the sclera is a deep red. 

Vaeris turns his head to watch you as Shiva approaches, then shifts his attention back to the god, assessing him before giving a small, decisive nod that neither you nor Shiva notice. He pulls his hand from yours once Shiva is within reach.

“A demon!” he yells, trying to sound panicked—fearful. It seems to work. Both you and Shiva snap your heads toward him. Shiva looks irritated, while even more fear floods your eyes. Despite the tone, his expression doesn’t quite match. “Don’t eat me!”

He places a hand on your shoulder and forcefully pushes you. You wince slightly as you are uncomfortably shoved into the being’s chest, causing him to stumble backward while instinctively wrapping four arms around you.

Vaeris only watches for a second as Shiva stumbles back. Then turns to run. 

You freeze, the fear of being in the demon’s grasp replaced by confusion and betrayal. He sounded scared. Then it dawns on you…if even your father was scared, you’re in serious danger. You panic, desperately trying to push the purple demon away, but its arms tighten momentarily before it pushes you back, uttering something in an unfamiliar, demonic language. “Oh my god, I, uh, please don’t eat me! I’m sorry!”

It stares blankly at you.

Oh no, does it understand English? "Do you understand English?” You speak slowly, trying not to sound mocking as you step back cautiously. "Please don’t hurt me, I’m sorry, sir... demon?" You guess it’s male. Yeah, it’s gotta be a guy. An odd, invasive thought to have when you might be about to die.

“Demon?” His tone is dry as he narrows his eyes at you, the lower two closing as he crosses his upper arms over his chest and rests the lower pair on his hips. He looks annoyed.

Shit, did I make him angry? But he’s gotta be a demon. What else could he be? “Uh, aren’t you a demon?”

He glares.

Yes, I have made him angry. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to upset you! Are you going to hurt me? Uh, if you aren’t a demon, could you tell me what you are before you kill me…” Your curiosity gets the best of you.

He steps closer and raises a hand. Panicked, you lift yours—like you can stop him. His fingertips barely brush your skin.

White-hot pain explodes through you.

You drop before you even realize you’re falling, a scream tearing out of your throat. It’s everywhere—under your skin, in your bones, burning through your chest like something is trying to rip you apart from the inside. You can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t do anything but feel it.

Shiva also falls, experiencing more intense pain than you—not that you’d notice. The pain continues relentlessly, extending endlessly and pushing you to the brink of wishing it would end, no matter the cost.

He lifts his head, glaring at you, ready to kill you—anything to make it end. He reaches over you but pauses, his expression shifting as he realizes you are in the same state. His hand then drops to your upper arm.

It stops.

Just like that.

Slowly, you lift your head. It’s gone. No ache, no burn—nothing. The being across from you is still on the ground.

You open your mouth to speak, but everything goes black.

Shiva slowly sits up, observing you as your head drops to the ground. Intrigued, he reaches for you once more, this time cautious not to go too far if it occurs again.

Nothing.

No pain.

The only sensation is the soft skin beneath his fingertips. He pulls away, glancing at his hand, then at you, before standing and giving you another irritated look. He starts to walk away, but only makes it five steps before pausing and glancing over his shoulder.

The human is still on the ground, passed out, in an area that is not safe for humans to be alone. He can’t feel any other gods or beings nearby—for now.

“I don’t care,” he mutters, shaking his head. She called him a demon. A rude human…She was scared.

Shiva exhales sharply, turns around, and walks back. He drops to the ground before you, crossing his legs and resting his chin on his hand. Though he may not care much for humanity as a whole, leaving a human alone in Valhalla... if someone discovers her. “I’m too nice,” he grumbles to himself.

A gentle breeze greets you as you open your eyes, and as your fingers move, you notice you’re lying on soft grass. Your vision gradually clears, revealing an open plain, and confusion begins to set in. Why are you sleeping outdoors? Sitting upright, you look around. Opposite you is the tree line. You blink multiple times, staring while trying to recall what happened. “Where is Dad?”

“Already forgot he ran away after offering you as a sacrifice?” a voice scoffs.

You freeze, then slowly turn to look behind you. The same being from before sits a short distance away, legs crossed, chin propped on his hand. He looks far less threatening than you remember, watching you with a faint, bored expression.

“Oh.”

He snorts. “Oh?” He straightens. “Where are you from? You’re a living human—you shouldn’t be here. How did you get here?”

You stare at him, unable to speak. He sounds normal, and despite the four arms, five eyes, and purple skin…he kind of looks normal. You open your mouth, but it feels like it’s full of cotton. You can’t get the words out, and even if you could, what would you say? You have no idea how you ended up here. Still, hearing him say you’re a living human brings a small sense of relief, given where you supposedly are. “My Dad…” 

“Abandoned you,” he reminds bluntly. His eyes lock onto something behind you, all five open as he sighs. “…This day keeps getting worse.”

Something warm and tight wraps around your shoulders.

Your eyes snap open as you attempt to sit up, but Shiva is already over you, causing you to headbutt him. “Ow, you’re too hard-headed,” you groan, rubbing the spot, but it intensifies the pain. “What are you doing?” you ask, pushing against his chest to get him off, but he doesn’t budge. 

“Waking you up.” 

“Get off me, you’re heavy.” 

His eyes drop to your waist before flicking back to you. His knees are planted on either side of your hips, keeping most of his weight off you, until he shifts slightly and presses his weight onto you this time. “If you want to complain, at least have something really to complain about," he says with a grin, looking down. 

“I hate you sometimes,” you mutter, your hand gently slapping his outer left thigh, warm and slightly firm under your palm. His lower hand quickly catches yours, fingers intertwining. His grin broadens. “I don’t care.” 

You open your mouth to make another snarky remark, but it turns into a yawn. “What time is it? Why did you wake me up?” You sit up as he moves to your left. The alarm clock on the bedside table shows 6:39 AM through its LED lights. “It’s too early. Is the match against Odin finally happening today or something?” That's the only reason you can think of for him waking you up so early. 

Shiva’s eyes trace yours. He dismisses your glare with a scoff. You didn’t sleep until after one, so you've only had about four to five hours of rest. “Shiva, I am human. At least eight—” 

“Do you remember what you were dreaming about?” He already knows. It’s obvious—he cares more about whether you remember the dream.

You look at him for a moment, confused by his question. Slowly, blurred details from the dream start to return. The dream was actually a memory. “Oh.” 

“Oh.” He mocks.

“Be quiet. Yeah, I remember.” You drop your head onto your pillow, eyes heavy with sleep, staring at Shiva. “How do you know what I was dreaming about?” 

Shiva shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe it was the demon and the ‘please don’t eat me’ comments. You were pretty sure I was going to eat you.” He leans closer. “Hard to forget when your best friend’s words were ‘please don’t eat me.’” 

“I said sorry.” 

He shakes his head, then leans forward and presses his lips to yours. “Yeah, yeah.” He pulls away and lies back down. “Go back to sleep. Stop dreaming about things that make you yell. Next, you’ll start hitting me.” 

“I never hit you then…I was too scared to.” 

A slight frown crosses his face as he lies down beside you. His lower-right hand wraps around your wrist, pulling you against him, while his other three arms wrap around you. “You’ve made up for it,” he scoffs. “Hitting me, biting me, yelling at me…”

“Wait, no, that sounds really bad—”

One of his lower hands grips your jaw before you can complete your words, pulling you into a more lingering kiss. It’s deeper and slower this time, with his lips parting against yours as his hold beneath your chin adjusts slightly. For a moment, nothing else matters except him.

“You just told me to go back to sleep,” you mumble against his lips.

Shiva snorts softly. “Then stop trying to get the last word.”

Multiple hands trace along your thighs and ribs, through your hair.

“You have too many hands,” you yawn, not yet opening your eyes. They’re still heavy with sleep. “What time is it?”

You feel soft lips press gently against your shoulder, a warm sensation spreading across your skin before it’s replaced by the faint bite of teeth on the sensitive flesh. The sensation is barely on the edge of pain.

“Shiva.”

“It’s 10:30, time for breakfast.” 

“What’s for breakfast?” You swat one of his hands away as it inches toward your stomach. 

“What do you want?” 

You lean into his arms, loosely wrapping yours around his shoulders as he sits upright. His lower arms encircle you, pulling you into his lap. “I don’t care—your hair is a mess.” You run your fingers through his soft hair and then adjust the yellow band.

His golden eyes linger on yours for a moment before he gently presses you back against the bed. He follows. Before you can speak, his lips meet yours again, warm and deliberate. The kiss quickly intensifies as one hand slips into your hair and the other braces your waist, holding you close.

“Shiva—”

The sound barely leaves your mouth before he tilts his head and kisses you deeper. The slow glide of his hand along your waist sends heat rushing through your chest. His tongue brushes along the seam of your lips, and when you part them, the lingering taste of spices lingers.

You place a hand in the center of his chest, pushing him away, though he doesn’t go far, his nose brushing yours. “What about breakfast?” 

All five of his eyes open as he gives you an unimpressed look. 

“Don’t look at me like that! You’re the one who asked what I wanted for breakfast.”

He clicks his tongue in annoyance, then glances at the phone on the side of the bed. Without moving off you, he reaches for it and places an order in his native language. You can only catch a few words, mostly the names of the dishes he ordered. He hangs up before turning his attention back to you. 

“I feel like you might’ve ordered too—” 

Your words disappear against his lips.

This time, the kiss doesn’t end after a few seconds. One hand slides into your hair while another settles against your thigh, fingers slowly dragging higher beneath your shirt. Shiva shifts against you, pressing you deeper into the mattress as the kiss deepens, slow enough to leave you dizzy.

“Shiva…” you murmur against his lips, though it lacks any real protest.

He hums softly before kissing you again, slower this time, almost teasing. His teeth lightly graze your lower lip before his mouth briefly traces your jaw and returns.

A sharp knock echoes through the room.

Shiva stills above you, clicking his tongue in annoyance, his forehead briefly pressing against yours before he turns to glare at the door. 

You snort softly, still slightly breathless. “You ordered food. What did you expect?”

He grumbles something under his breath in his native language.

“If the God of Destruction ordered from me, I’d try to get it done as fast as possible, too.” You push lightly against his face as he leans back down. “You are literally the God of Destruction, sir.”

“Lord Shiva?” a timid voice calls from behind the door, and you shove Shiva’s chest and grin. “Go get the food, Lord Shiva.” 

“Are you ordering me around?” he raises a brow.

You sit up, crossing your legs and pointing towards the door. “Yes, go get the food.” 

Before Shiva can make an argument, there is another knock on the door. Shiva glances at the door, then, with one hand, pops you on the back of your head before standing up. 

A servant bows low to Shiva as Shiva opens the door. When he lifts his head, he gestures toward the cart beside him. “May I set it up for you, Lord Shiva?” 

Shiva steps to his right, allowing the god to enter. 

Shining emerald eyes meet yours for a moment before he lowers his head again in respect. “My Lady.” He quietly greets, then turns his attention to the table. 

As you start to stand, Shiva shoves you back onto the bed. “Idiot,” he hisses at you, tucking the blanket more tightly around you. “You aren’t dressed.” 

“…yes I am.” 

He motions to your purple shirt. Sure, it’s a sleep shirt, but it covers everything. It falls just above your knees and covers more than some dresses, honestly. You end up saying the thought aloud.

“It’s not a dress.” He drops onto the bed beside you, his lower hands on either side of your thighs. 

“Are you jealous someone else will see me in my sleep shirt?” 

“It’s not jealousy.” He tsks, flicking your thigh. 

On the other side of the room, the servant gulps and moves more quickly. Shiva clearly isn’t happy about someone else in his room, or rather, about someone in his room with his human, and the servant doesn’t want to stay any longer than necessary.  

“Lord Shiva, your breakfast is ready.” The servant bows quickly, extending an arm toward the table. “Would you like anything else?”

Shiva turns his attention to the servant. “Huh? Oh, no, we’re fine. Thanks.”

“Did you get a latte?” 

Both Shiva and the servant freeze. Panic spreads across the servant’s face. Had he forgotten something? Shiva looks away from you, fingers digging into the sheets.

“Did you forget my latte?” you press Shiva.

The poor servant looks like he might cry, on the verge of dropping to his knees to ask for forgiveness. Shiva drags a hand down his face. “You didn’t tell me you wanted a latte.”

Letting out an awkward cough, you mumble, “You were being distracting.” 

“Would you like me to bring a latte too, Lord Shiva?” 

Shiva nods. “Please.” 

The moment the door closes behind the servant, Shiva grabs your jaw with his lower right hand. He gives you an annoyed look, as if he might scold you or grumble. Instead, he pulls you closer, and his warm lips meet yours. “Idiot,” he huffs against your lips. “You want other men to see you like this?” He runs his hand through your messy hair and lifts your shirt to your waist. 

“It isn’t like it’s lingerie….but I guess I can kind of see your point.” Different scenes from movies flash through your mind. Women with messy hair, wearing a T-shirt. Yeah, some have sensual undertones. 

Once the latte arrives, Shiva slightly reorganizes breakfast. You notice the silverware the servant left is now on the bar, out of reach. You glance at the fork and spoon, then back at the dishes on the table. "Can I get a fork for this?” you ask, pointing to a dish that would be easier to eat with one. 

Shiva stares blankly at you, his golden eyes burning into yours as his lower hands reach for one of the many types of bread he ordered; you aren’t sure of the names of half of them. He tears off a piece of appam, dips it into one of the bowls, then holds it out toward you, eyebrow raised.

“You can have this.”

You narrow your eyes before taking the coated bread from him and taking a bite. For the first couple of seconds, it’s slightly sweet and thick enough to coat your mouth. Only after it settles on your tongue does it start to burn. You gasp, but it does nothing to help. “Shiva!”

He looks unimpressed. “What?”

You reach blindly for your latte, hoping the milk will overpower the spice. It doesn’t help much; it almost makes it worse. Shiva casually slides a glass of lassi toward you. “It shouldn’t be that spicy. I told them to cut back on the spice.”

“There’s no way this is toned down,” you huff at him between gulps of the lassi, the yogurt-like drink cutting the heat. You nearly moan into the glass.

Shiva tears off another piece before dipping it into the same bowl. He gives you a blank stare as he casually eats it, showing no reaction to the heat. “Humans are so weak.”

“It’s too spicy for breakfast!” you groan, setting the cup on the table. “This is what I’d eat for lunch or dinner, not for breakfast.” You sink into the chair. “My body isn’t built to handle this much spice this early.” 

Shiva snorts softly, “You’re being dramatic.” 

The rest of breakfast goes by normally, with other spicy dishes, none of which compares to the first. You end up focusing on the jalebi. The sweet syrup from the fried spirals helps ease the lingering heat. 

It’s when you just settle on the sofa that there’s a knock on the door. One single knock. You turn your head to the right, staring at the door. “It’s Dad.” Shiva grunts in annoyance. “We just sat down.” His upper arms cross over his chest. “Does he have something to tell him the worst times to appear?” 

You shrug. “Now you’re being dramatic—I’m coming, Dad.” You stand, glancing down at Shiva. 

“If he had knocked two minutes earlier, it wouldn’t be annoying.” Shiva clicks his tongue. “We literally just sat down.”

Ignoring his grumbling, you open the door and step aside. “Good morning, Dad. You just missed breakfast.” 

His amethyst eyes flick to Shiva. “There was no need. I have enough data to cover you two eating a meal together. Sharing a meal with you two would be inefficient, given that the God of Destruction is irritated by my presence.”

He pulls a book from the bag at his side. “I have come to ask if you would like this.” Like his other notebooks, it’s black, plain-looking, and a bit worn. There’s no telling what’s inside it.

“Wait, no," Shiva quickly slips off the sofa, moving behind you and pulling you against his chest. The warmth of his skin seeps through your shirt and into your back.

You tilt your head up, curious about his sudden reaction. Vaeris stares blankly at him. “I was not speaking to you. Why are you interrupting?” 

Wait. Not long ago, Shiva was bothered by your state of dress. “Is it because I’m in my sleep shirt?” You tug lightly at the bottom of the shirt.

Shiva gives you a look of disbelief. “What? No. Why would you think that? _____, I swear—” 

“Because you got upset about the servant—” 

“Vaeris is your dad…never mind.” His lower-left hand clamps over your mouth as he turns back to Vaeris. His upper-right hand points at the book. “What is that?” 

With his tone as empty as ever, he gives Shiva a brief glance. “It is none of your concern what this is. I am speaking to _____.”

Shiva’s jaw tightens at the complete dismissal. “I’m going to kill you.” 

You sigh lightly, stuck between Shiva’s anger and your father’s lack of emotion. “Dad, what is it?” You reach for the book, ignoring Shiva’s grumbling behind you. 

“Information.” 

“About?” 

He stares at you for a moment before nodding toward Shiva. “It is information I have gathered on the two of you.” 

What information has he gathered? You glance up at Shiva behind you. He tilts his head back down to you, mirroring your confused expression. Without hesitation, he plucks the book from your hands. 

“It’s in that language again.” He scowls at the book as he flips through the pages. 

Huffing, you snatch the book from him. “All of it?” You flip it open. 

The first page is written in English. Your eyes quickly skim the words. It's about you and your father in the forest.

Arrived in Valhalla at approximately 14:06. ______ remains unaware of our location.

Your head slowly lifts from the page. “Wait.” You narrow your eyes at your father. “You knew where we were going?” You hold up the book. 

Vaeris doesn’t break eye contact. He ignores the shaking book. “Yes.”

Irritation begins to run through your veins as you remember what happened. You were scared. You thought you were going to die and nobody would find you. Yet, he knew where you were the whole time?

“Dad, why did we go to Valhalla? Why did you shove me into Shiva? I thought I was going to die multiple times that day.” You flip the page, and your stomach drops. You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. “All the answers are in this language, aren’t they?” 

“No.” 

You give him a blank stare. 

“But many are.” 

“How are we supposed to get the answers? I don’t know this language, and Shiva doesn’t either. Does anyone other than you know it?” 

He maintains strict eye contact. It feels like he is dissecting and reconstructing you. He nods once. "I selected Shiva for you. However, you have adopted some of his undesirable habits."  

"What does that have to do with anything?”

A notebook materializes in his hand. “Unfortunately, quite a bit.”

You watch as he opens the door and walks out. There’s no point in arguing with him. “He selected you for me.” You tilt your head up to look at Shiva, who gives you an unimpressed look before covering your face with his hand. 

“Shut up."

Swiping his hand away, you step forward to turn and face him properly. “So, what do we do? The answers we want are probably in the language you can’t read.” 

“We? Why do I want answers?”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Okay, fine. You don’t want answers. But you’re my best friend; you’re supposed to support me in situations like this, right? Anyway…aren’t you curious about what happened?” 

“No.” 

“Shiva.” 

“_____.” 

“Okay, fine. You don’t care about that. But what about what Dad said? He said he selected you for me! You’ve got to be curious about that, right? Why was he selecting someone? Why you? For what? Right? You wanna know.” 

Shiva crosses his upper arms and breaks eye contact, glancing off to the side, looking torn. “I hate you.” 

“So how are we gonna translate it?” 

The fact that Buddha acknowledged you, while the other gods hadn’t, still lingered in your mind. After Buddha dropped you off in your room, the peace that had washed over you vanished, replaced by a twisting fear in your stomach. If Buddha noticed you, did that mean the other gods might notice you as well? The next day, you clung to Vaeris, grabbing his arm like you had as a kid, terrified that stepping out of the room would attract a god’s attention. They were really pissed that an unknown human had killed a god like Poseidon. You were scared of what they might do if they noticed you. 

“He wished to be your partner; I had to determine whether he was a good match.” 

You look at your father with narrowed eyes, feeling frustrated. Why me? After blinking and shakingyour head in annoyance, you quickly close the book. “I can assure you, he didn’t wish to be my partner from day one.” 

Buddha was the first to consistently acknowledge you after meeting you. Most people looked through you sooner or later, their attention sliding away no matter how hard you tried to hold it. You noticed it as a child—the way teachers forgot you were standing there, classmates overlooked you in conversations, and strangers couldn't remember your face minutes later. It bothered you at first, but over time it became so normal that you stopped caring much about attention. Your father experienced the same thing, so you accepted it as some strange trait buried in your DNA and stopped questioning it. But Buddha kept noticing you. Kept approaching you. Kept looking directly at you. Really weird when I think about it.

Honestly, you couldn’t blame your father for immediately pulling out the notebook after seeing Buddha interact with you. If you were as obsessed with documenting things as Vaeris was, you probably would have started one too.

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice your father taking more notes. “Am I doing something worth noting?” You raise a brow.

His eyes don’t lift from the paper. “I have already documented your lack of confidence multiple times since arriving. There is no need to note it again.”

“Hey—”

Vaeris quietly stands, a book suddenly appearing in his hand. Before you can question where it came from, he casually tosses it across the garden.

Buddha narrows his eye as Vaeris tosses one of the notebooks across the garden toward him. He raises his hand and easily catches the book.

Shiva

The name is written in silver lettering across the center of the black cover. His brow furrows slightly before he opens it. The first entry recounts the moment you met Shiva, but before Buddha can finish the first sentence, the words begin to fade from the page. His eye sharpens immediately as ink vanishes line by line.

He quickly turns the page. Blank.

Buddha flips back. The previous page is already empty too.

A sick feeling twists in his stomach as he flips through the notebook, trying to read faster than the words can disappear. Fragments vanish mid-sentence, ink stripping itself from the paper before he can process them.

The god of destruction—

Gone.

______ displayed visible distress when separated fr

Gone.

Within seconds, he reaches the final page. Empty. Every sheet is perfectly pristine, as though a pen had never touched them at all.

Buddha snaps the book shut.

Shiva’s name is gone.

He lifts his head, but Vaeris is already gone.

You watch quietly as Buddha flips through the notebook, whatever your Dad threw at him, it must be important. You stare at the spot your father had been. He didn’t say a word before vanishing. How does he disappear like that? Shaking your head, you turn your focus back to Buddha. “Are you okay?” He has a strange look on his face. 

Buddha doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he reopens the book, quickly flipping through its pages. It’s blank. He closes it, then reopen it as if expecting something to suddenly reappear.

A strange knot forms in your stomach as his expression tightens slightly. “Siddhartha, what did Dad do?” You stand, curious what book he just gave Buddha says. All the notebooks he’s gone through, he’s never had a reaction like this before. 

You only get a few steps before he closes the book again, turning his attention to you and walking to you in long strides. “Sorry, Honeybee,” Buddha wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you close to his left side and pressing his warm lips against your temple before holding out the book to you. 

Accepting it, you flip through a couple of pages. It’s blank. Why would he react like that over this book? You tilt your head, flipping through more slowly to see if maybe you missed something. 

Nope.

“Is there something specific I should be looking for?”

His grip tightens on your waist, fingers digging in until it’s almost uncomfortable. He takes a deep breath, then lets you go. “No, I’m just a little tense because I ran into some gods,” he scoffs. “Then Vaeris throws this book. I was wondering if I missed something. I guess your dad just likes throwing empty journals at others.” 

“You’re tense after running into gods?” You tilt your head up at him. “You fought that demon from hell—the one all the other gods were afraid of—”

He presses his soft lips against yours, swallowing the rest of your sentence. “It’s more than that,” he murmurs against your lips. “I was annoyed. Zeus, Odin, Shiva…” He pulls away slightly, eye burning into yours.

You picture all three gods and cringe. “I’d probably cry if I were in the same room as Odin,” you admit quietly, picturing him. The power he displayed when Buddha announced he was fighting for humanity…honestly, you still don’t know how you managed not to break your father’s wrist when you grabbed him. 

“I wouldn’t let him hurt you.”

“Okay.”

He pulls back slightly, brows knitting together. “Wait, why did that sound uncertain?” A faint pout tugs at his lips. “You’d think the love of my life would have more faith in me.”

“Odin is really scary…” 

Buddha gives you a flat look before releasing you, crossing his arms over his chest. Your eyes immediately follow the motion, catching the subtle flex of his biceps and the tightening of his forearms beneath his tan skin. His eye narrows slightly.

He did beat Hajun… Even the higher-up gods looked unsettled when the demon appeared. Some of them even looked impressed—but mostly concerned, as if they already knew Buddha was supposed to die the moment Hajun appeared. Hajun was way scarier than Odin.

You shrug lightly, trying to find the right words. “I don’t think you would let him hurt me…however, it isn’t like you’re always around—”

“So,” Buddha cuts in smoothly, “what you’re saying is that I should never leave your side?”

Heat creeps into your face almost instantly. “You really love twisting my words, don’t you?”

He raises his hands in defense, though he can’t suppress the smirk tugging at his lips. “Honeybee, I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re the one who pointed out I’m not always around.”

You puff your cheeks, another recent conversation immediately coming to mind. “You did the same thing about wanting kids—”

“No, no.” Buddha shakes his head. “You’re the one who wondered whether your dad would be a good grandfather. Considering you’re his only child…” He shrugs. “You want him to be a good grandfather, so tell me how I was wrong about the kids thing?”

Before you can argue, he reaches forward and lightly flicks your forehead. “You’re not allowed to get annoyed with me just because I actually listen and remember everything.”

You huff, slightly frustrated that he’s right. “Why are we talking about this?” 

He pulls a lollipop from his pocket, humming lowly. “You brought it up, I was only concerned for your safety.” He rolls the lollipop around his mouth as he waits for your answer. 

Raising your hands in defeat, you sigh. “Right, sorry. Anyway. Do you want to go to my house?”

“Have you spoken to Shiva?” 

The question throws you off guard, confusion washing over you. Shiva? Flashbacks of Shiva’s fight flash through your mind. It’s the last time you saw the god. Four arms, purple skin, five eyes. Smug grin. “I haven’t spoken to any god…did he say he spoke to me? That’s kind of random, maybe slightly concerning.” You glance up at him. “You’re the only god who is aware of me.”

“______, you—” Buddha cuts himself off. A heavy weight settles in his stomach as his gaze drifts to the notebook in your hands. The empty notebook. Shiva.

The name had been there.

Now it wasn't.

His eye shifts back to you, studying your expression carefully. Nothing seems strange to you. You're confused by the question itself, but not by Shiva. Not by the idea of never speaking to him. As if the answer is obvious.

Buddha slowly pulls the lollipop from his mouth. “Never?”

You raise a brow. “No? I mean, I watched his fight. Poor guy lost three arms…I mean, it sucks we lost again. I really thought that sumo wrestler had it.” You had been on the edge of your seat. “But after the fight, I did feel a bit bad that he lost three arms.” 

A cracking sound seems to fill the space as he bites into the lollipop. “Right.”

Standing in front of your apartment door, you reach for the key, slowly opening the door. “I really prefer my apartment over the colosseum.” You sigh as the feeling of home washes over you. There is a certain warmth to your home that the colosseum just doesn’t have.

Buddha pauses. “You’re staying in the colosseum?” he asks cautiously. 

You toss Buddha a look over your shoulder. “Yeah, because Dad didn’t tell me I could go home.” You scoff. “Remember?” 

When you don’t go into more detail, Buddha hums, letting the topic drop.

He follows you into the apartment toward your bedroom, passing your father’s room. The door is open, and as before, it looks unlived in. He stares at it for a moment before following you into your room. It looks exactly the same as it did yesterday. 

Standing beside your dresser, you stare at the bed for a moment before turning back to him. “Are you hungry? Dad said he bought groceries this morning. I don’t understand him. It seems kind of random.” You tap your fingers on the dresser. “Sit down. I can cook something. What do you want?” You pause. “Actually, let me check what he bought first.”

Before Buddha can answer, you disappear toward the kitchen.

He follows immediately.

“I told you to sit down.” You side-eye the god as he leans against the bar that separates the living room from the kitchen.  

He pulls out a stool, sits, and rests his arms on the bar, leaning toward you. “I’m sitting, Honeybee.”

“You know, for a god who likes being alone,” you casually comment, remembering Heimdall’s opening introduction of Buddha. “You like to stick to me.” 

He nods without hesitation. “I do.” 

You can’t suppress the grin spreading across your face. “Do you want a cola?” You turn toward the fridge, pretending to be interested in its contents. It’s embarrassing to be so flustered over two words. You reach for a cola on the fridge door. Before you grab it, you notice an unlabeled jar. It's clear, revealing a brown powder inside. You shake it lightly. Not only is it unlabeled, but it looks used.

“Honeybee?” Buddha frowns slightly at the sight of you frozen, eyes wide and staring blankly at something he can't see beyond the fridge door. “What's wrong?” He starts to stand, but before he can move around the bar, you lift it higher so he can see.

“There's a weird powder in the fridge. I—” You pause when you notice another jar. This one is filled with some kind of orange paste. “And another one.” You pull out the second jar and hold both up. “They aren't labeled, and they look used?”

Buddha's eye settles on the jars, then on you. Confusion is written plainly across your face as you turn them over in your hands, searching for some indication of what they are.

His stomach sinks, not because of the jars, but because you don't recognize them.

“Did Dad buy these at some kind of market?” You frown. “Why wouldn't there be a label on them?” You stare at them briefly. Should you open it? Is it safe to open? Dad didn’t buy these…there’s no way he did. They’re halfway empty.

Buddha remains silent for a moment. Shiva. The notebook. Your reaction when he mentioned Shiva. Now this. What did Vaeris do? His brow furrows as he tries to think of something. Is it just memory erased? Could something jog your memory? Does Shiva remember you? 

You go against the voice in the back of your mind telling you not to open it and twist the one holding the orange paste open. You bring it to your nose and flinch at the overwhelming spice, coughing a bit. “This isn’t Dad’s.” You cough a couple more times. You hadn’t been prepared for how strong it would be. “He’s never cooked with anything this strong.”

Buddha's gaze fixes on the jar. Then on you. Then back to the jar. “...I brought it.” The words slip out before he fully thinks them through. Your eyes snap to him. For a brief moment, he considers taking it back. “I wanted to cook for you yesterday.” He gestures vaguely toward the jar. “I forgot about it.”

“Oh.” You glance between him and the jar again before putting them back in the fridge, trying to remember him bringing something over yesterday. “Well,” you grab a cola and slide it down the bar to him. “Did you want to cook now? I guess if you want, you can cook dinner, and I can bake cookies or—” 

“Cookies?” He grins. 

You laugh lightly at his reaction, then turn back to check what you have in the fridge. “When Dad was gone, I worked on a recipe.” You reach for the butter and a couple of eggs. “I didn’t have anyone to taste-test them, but I tend to be my own biggest critic, so...” You grin. “I think I nearly perfected it. You can be my first taste tester, though you probably even love Chips Ahoy, yeah?”

The silence is immediate. Your grin slowly fades. Weird. You glance over your shoulder. Buddha is staring at you, not in the teasing way he normally does. His grin is gone. A strange feeling settles in your stomach. "Are you okay?"

"You didn't have anyone?" His voice is flat. Cold. The words make you blink. "Well..." You look away, reaching for a mixing bowl. "Dad was gone for two years."

The stool scrapes loudly against the floor.

You jump slightly.

"Nobody?" His eye remains locked on you. "For two years?"

The question makes even less sense the second time. "Siddhartha." You laugh nervously. "You're being scary again." You set the bowl down and turn fully toward him. "You know Dad disappeared." You gesture vaguely with the whisk. "You know you're the first person who noticed me." Your brows pull together. "What's wrong?"

He walks around the bar, never breaking eye contact and places his hands on your shoulders. “He was gone completely for two years? You were completely alone for two years?” His tone is strained as his hands tighten on your shoulders.

“Siddhartha.” You place your hands on his chest, pressing lightly. “What’s wrong? You’re a lot more upset than you were the first time we talked about this. It’s weird.” 

He blinks twice, his expression softening as if he's snapped out of a trance. The tension in the kitchen eases enough for you to breathe again. His hands slide from your shoulders to your upper arms, rubbing them gently. “I’m sorry.” He takes a deep breath, closing his eye for a moment before opening it again. The lily pattern covering it before he leans down, his warm lips pressing against yours, his lower teeth lightly pressing against your lips. “I love you.” He drops his forehead to yours. “I’m sorry. Let me cook you dinner.”

“Siddhartha, I can cook, if you don’t feel—”

He cuts you off with a kiss. One hand slides around your waist, pulling you against him, while the other rests against the side of your head. The lingering sweetness of the strawberry lollipop still clings to his lips.

When he finally pulls away, he doesn't go far. His forehead rests against yours, his thumb tracing slow circles along your side. “Honeybee.” His voice is quieter now, softer. “Let me cook.”

You stare at him for a moment, then sigh. “You know, you could’ve just said no.” 

“And miss an opportunity to kiss you?” A faint grin tugs at his lips. “Sounds inefficient.” He presses a quick kiss against your cheek before pulling away. “Okay, why don’t you make the cookie dough? I’ll start dinner.” 

You open the cabinet above the bar. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine, I just—” 

“I don’t mind being alone.” You interrupt as you pull down both the brown and white sugar. The old, worn plastic of the round containers feels heavier than usual in your hands. “I’ve always been comfortable alone. I really don’t understand why it bothers you. You’ve been alone a long time, right?” 

Buddha stares at you, biting his tongue, keeping himself from saying it’s not because you were alone, it’s because you weren’t. “I wasn’t alone until I was older than you.” He sighs, turning to grab something from the fridge. “Being alone so young, so suddenly, I chose it. You didn’t.” 

You shrug, not wanting to overthink it. “You know, my Dad isn’t a friendly person. We don’t have casual conversations. So it really wasn’t that big a change when he left.” 

“Honeybee, you’re a terrible liar," Buddha sighs, pulling out some vegetables. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.” What did Vaeris do?

Slightly relieved that it’s being dropped, you open both containers of sugar. “It took a little while to decide on the best measurements. I read a lot of articles about the ideal brown-to-white sugar ratio.” You grab a measuring cup and scoop sugar into the mixing bowl. “Also, I learned that melted butter makes a chewier cookie…Do you like chewy? I mean, I’m sure you do. But do you prefer chewy or—” 

“I want your perfected cookies.”

“Okay.” You nod in agreement. “But for future reference, what kind of cookies do you prefer?”

He pulls a knife from the block and begins chopping vegetables. “Chewy.”

You narrow your eyes slightly. “The recipe is actually more cake-like.”

“Well then,” Buddha says without missing a beat, “more cake-like is my favorite.”

A laugh escapes before you can stop it. “You changed your answer.”

“Did I?”

“You literally just said ‘chewy.’” You point a wooden spoon at him accusingly. 

He shrugs. “I received new information.”

“Right,” you pull out the all-purpose flour. “It turns out these are more chewy.” 

“Which is my favorite.” 

You pause, turning to face him. His attention is on the vegetables as he chops them with fluid precision. He’s a lot quicker than you are, though, a cut from a knife is nothing compared to what he’s gone through. You wince as the image of him walking forward towards Hajun with a spear through his chest crosses your mind. That was terrifying. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing. Just remembering when you were made into a living kabob…” 

“I’m sorry I scared you.” He sets the knife down and turns toward you, one hand settling on his hip. “I’m going to be apologizing for that for the rest of my life, aren’t I?” A grin tugs at his lips. “You’ll be telling our kids about the day I became a living kabob.”

You point the wooden spoon at him immediately. “It was horrifying.”

“You'll still tell them.”

“Of course I will.”

He laughs, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “See? I knew we’d have kids.”

“Siddhartha!”

Your face burns as he laughs louder, throwing his head back. You don’t give it a second thought. You reach for the nearest object and toss it. 

Both you and Buddha freeze as raw egg drips down the side of his head. “Oh my god, I am sorry! I—” 

“You tell the kids I became a kabob; I'll tell them their mother assaulted me with raw eggs.” He plucks a piece of eggshell from his hair. “Completely unprovoked.”

“I didn't mean to throw it!”

“That's somehow less reassuring.” He grins as you stare at him, still visibly horrified. “Don't worry, honeybee. I've survived worse than a surprise egg.”

Snapping out of it, you quickly reach for the paper towels. “Still, I threw an egg at you. I can’t believe I did that.” You step closer to him to help remove the rest of the eggshell. Luckily, most of the egg stayed in the shell, so there isn’t too much of a mess on him. “I’m really sorry.” 

His arms wrap smoothly around your waist. “It's fine.”

“It's not fine.”

“Honeybee.” He laughs softly. “You look more traumatized than I do.”

“I threw an egg at your head.”

“And somehow I survived,” he teases, pulling you into another kiss. “Now, how about I finish dinner, and you finish making the cookie dough?”  

“I threw an egg at your head!” 

“You did.” He steps back toward the counter. “I'll just keep the knives on my side of the kitchen.”

“I wouldn’t throw a knife at you!” 

“I bet you didn’t plan to throw the egg either.” When your eyes widen, he lifts his hand. “Honeybee, I’m teasing you. I know you wouldn’t throw a knife at me.”

As your shoulders relax, he cheekily adds. “But if you do, try not to take out my only eye. I like looking at you.”

Thankfully, he quiets down, giving you a chance to continue what you started. You focus on the ingredients, carefully measuring everything, even using a scale for the flour. Buddha pauses for a moment, watching how focused you are on making the perfect cookie. You add the baking powder and baking soda to the dry ingredients, then whisk everything together.

You stare at the mixture, needing it to be perfectly even. No lumps. A small ball of flour could ruin a cookie. After spending two years adjusting ingredients, testing temperatures, and changing measurements, you’d be irritated to lose to a lump of flour. You’d be annoyed about it for the next few days.

“How many cookies does this recipe make?”

You jump, completely forgetting the guest in your kitchen. “Huh? Oh, twenty-four.” You crack the first egg as you speak. “So I’d have enough cookies for two weeks every time I bake.” You crack another egg, this time taking only the yolk. “Or, you know, one night.”

 You can feel the grin aimed at you. “So, maybe you need to make the recipe for thirty-six tonight?” he teases. “Maybe even forty-eight? Probably easier to just double the recipe, right?”

“Are you planning to eat more than thirty cookies tonight, or am I sending you home with a doggy bag?” You laugh as you cut some butter to put in the microwave. 

“I could eat over thirty cookies. I guess we'll have to see how the night goes. If not, we can take a doggy bag home tomorrow.” He shrugs. “Or stay here. I'll let you decide tomorrow.”

You pause, cloth in your hand as you reach for the melted butter. “Huh?”

Buddha pours oil, vegetables, and the orange paste into a pan. “Comforts of your childhood home. Netflix. Your father. The bedroom you grew up in.” He stirs the vegetables. “Or home.”

You laugh, “So, my home or yours tomorrow night?” His bed is really comfortable, and he has that beautiful garden.

Buddha shakes his head. “Your home or our home. Could you pass the salt?”

You freeze, thrown off guard. You know you shouldn’t be; he’s referred to his home as yours before. But something about the way he casually said it this time. Maybe it’s because of the earlier conversation. For some reason, it feels more real this time, and you aren’t sure what to make of it. Numbly, you slide the salt down the bar to him, still trying to wrap your head around everything. 

“Is that really what you want?” 

He whirls around, wooden spoon pointed at you accusingly. “Don’t you dare.”

You blink. “Don’t I dare what?” 

“Question our future.” He points the spoon at the mixing bowl before you. “Finish the cookie dough.” 

Despite his annoyance with you, he still has the same calming effect on you that he’s always had. You relax, and the rest of the preparation goes by quickly until you find yourself sitting at the table with a couple of dishes in front of you.  

The dishes look and smell amazing. But the longer you stare, the more confused you feel. “I haven’t eaten Indian food before,” you admit awkwardly. “There aren’t any Indian restaurants around here. What are all these dishes?” 

When you look up his eye is burning into yours. “You’ve never had Indian food?” His tone is slightly strained as he speaks. 

“No.” You glance at the fork beside you, then at one of the dishes. Picking it up, you stab a piece of vegetable and bring it to your mouth. The explosion of spices floods your senses, leaving you momentarily stunned. “Oh, wow. This is good.” Licking your lower lip, you grin at him. “You’re a good cook.” 

His expression shifts to offense. “I told you I make a mean pad Thai, remember?” He puffs out his cheeks like a child. “You already knew I was a good cook. You didn’t believe me?”

He crosses his arms, sinking lower in the chair, and narrows his eye at you.

“Right, just not a good pastry chef, which is kind of ironic…” You hum as the conversation comes back to you. It was the first time he openly admitted he had feelings for you. The first time he started talking about future sleepovers, children, and all the reasons he would make a good husband. Unfortunately, your brain doesn't stop there. Warm lips against yours. The weight of him pinning you to the mattress. His hands braced on either side of your head as he sat on your waist. “Don’t worry, honeybee. I do plan on giving in. Just not today. Shame, though, you look really, really good under me.” Heat immediately rushes to your face.

Buddha snickers. “Whatcha thinking about, honeybee?”

You bring a cloth to your mouth, mostly to hide your blush. “Nothing.”

“Mhm.” He doesn't sound convinced in the slightest. “Sounds like you remembered something else.” 

“Nope.”

“Well, I do really want to try your perfected chocolate chip cookies. You can tell me after that.”

You shrug, trying to look nonchalant. “I don’t remember anything else.”

He hums lightly before snapping his fingers. “Ah, that's right.” A grin spreads across his face. “I remember now. I'll remind you after the cookies.”

You stab a piece of meat with your fork. Before he can tease you further, you lean across the table and press it past his lips. He accepts it calmly, chewing thoughtfully. He then slides his chair away from the table.

“Come here.” He pats his thigh. “If you want to feed me, wouldn't this be more comfortable?”

Your hand freezes. I can't believe I just set myself up for that. You stare at him.

“Come onnn.” His grin widens. “I'll feed you too.”

When you don't move right away, amusement flickers across his face, then settles into a slow, knowing smirk. “If you don't come to me, I will go to you. It's your choice.”

After you’re settled on his lap, the meal doesn’t last long. The fork he’d been feeding you with is left forgotten on the table as his sharp, fang-like teeth scrape against your throat. “Buddha.” You dig your nails into the nape of his neck. “You didn’t eat much.” 

“I want to save room for the cookies,” he says between peppering your throat with kisses. 

“You know I have to bake them, right?” 

He pauses, considering the problem seriously. He could keep you here or let you go bake the cookies and finish this later. His brow furrows slightly as he weighs the options. “Can I have some cookie dough?”

You tilt your head, acting as if you’re thinking it over before grinning. “I think it’s sinful not to eat cookie dough while baking cookies.” 

“Pretty sure that makes us soulmates.” He pauses. “Though breaking my vow of celibacy because I was in love with you was probably a clue.” He shrugs. “But who's keeping track?” He grins at your darkening face, presses a quick peck to your lips, then lets you go.

“Can I help?”

“Sure.” You stand up from his lap, and he quickly follows you back into the kitchen. “The baking pans are down there. Grab two.” You point to the cabinet across the kitchen as you pull the cookie dough from the fridge. Opening a drawer, you pull out two cookie scoops. “So, we’ll use these to scoop out even amounts. Drop them on the pan and sprinkle a bit of this sea salt on them. Not too much. If you over-salt my cookies, I’m kicking you out.” 

Buddha glances at you, the salt, then you again. “I think it might be better if you add the salt…”

You stare at him for a moment before laughing lightly. “I’ll show you how much salt to add. You can salt a few, and we’ll see how they turn out.” You point to a cabinet behind his head. “Could you grab the parchment paper? We need to line the pans first.” 

The next steps go smoothly as you scoop the dough, filling each sheet with twelve cookies. You show Buddha how much salt to add to each cookie. He watches as if he’s about to decode something that’s life or death. As you sprinkle salt on the first cookie, you point down at it. “That’s all it needs, no more, no less. Got it?” 

Buddha tilts his head to the side. “So, like, ten grains of salt. I could count them as I add them.”  

“Don’t be a smartass.” 

“But honeybee, that can’t be more than ten grains of salt.” He shrugs. “Could go a little crazy and add fifteen.” 

“Give me the cookies.” You reach for the pan in front of him, sliding it toward you. “You’re only allowed to scoop.” 

His gaze shifts to the bowl of cookie dough—about enough for six more cookies. He opens the drawer in front of him, reaches in for a spoon, and scoops some dough into it. 

“What are you doing?”

Before you can question him further, he holds it out toward you and gently brushes it against your lips. “Say ahh.”

The spoon brushes your lips as the dough melts on your tongue. Rich butter and brown sugar flood your senses, followed by the faint bitterness of the chocolate. You hum softly in approval. “Well, the dough is perfect.” 

Buddha nods as he takes his own spoonful of dough. 

“Halfway there…” Your eyes widen. “Did I preheat the oven?” 

“You don't know?” Buddha asks.

“I was distracted.” You groan, leaning slightly to look past him toward the oven. I forgot to preheat the oven. A slight frown tugs at your lips. “Please put the pans in the fridge. It'll take a few minutes, and I don't want the dough to soften too much.”

The oven finally finishes preheating, and both trays slide inside. After that, there isn't much left to do but wait.

Eventually, the apartment fills with the scent of chocolate and brown sugar. The moment the timer goes off, you pull the cookies from the oven and set them on a cooling rack.

“Aren’t warm cookies the best?” Buddha questions, staring longingly at the cookies over your shoulder.

“Yes, but they need a moment to set. Plus, if we eat them now, not only will they fall apart, but they’re also too hot.” You point toward the living room. “It’ll only take a few minutes. Go wait on the sofa.”

He steps back and glances at the sofa. “I follow your orders, and I get kicked out of the kitchen anyway.” He sighs.

“I’m not kicking you out.” 

“Whatever you say, honeybee.” He heads toward the living room. “I’m picking the movie.”

“No horror.” 

“No promises.” 

------------------------------

“Poor kid.” Buddha sighs lightly. “He’s so in love,” he says, watching the young teen take pictures of his best friend. 

“They’re thirteen.” You laugh as you watch the girl on the screen nervously speak to the six girls in her basement, along with some guy she has a crush on. “Awkward teens. Focus is typically more on looks at that age.”

Buddha nods as he watches the girl wait in the closet for her crush. “Yeah, glad you grew out of that. You know, since I’m not your type.” He glances at you from the corner of his eye. 

You bite your lower lip, remembering that conversation. “Okay, my type changed…ancient celibate monk apparently.” 

He takes another bite of the cookie, slowly chewing it as he watches the chaos happening on screen.

“Shut up. You’re going to jinx yourself,” you scold aloud. With your luck, he’ll push you into a painful yoga pose when he gets back.

Finally opening your eyes, you turn toward the clock on the bedside table. “Eight-thirty? Well, at least it’s not six.” Maybe you’re inching back into your sleep habits? Could it be that my body needed time to adjust to being in Valhalla? 

A knock on the door jolts you from your thoughts.

Did someone know exactly when I woke up? That’s not creepy at all. You frown, stumbling off the bed. A few times when your father seemed to knock on the door as soon as you woke up flash through your mind.

Your muscles ache as you stretch, joints popping. Whoever is out there—your father, Buddha, or anyone else—can wait. You roll your shoulders, feeling stiff and uncomfortable. Maybe you need those painful yoga poses.

You pull the door open and stare at the man before you, his grin bright, his lower canines sharp and on display. “How did you know I was awake?”

Buddha tilts his head, a slight bit of confusion mixing with his too-peppy morning expression. “What do you mean?”

“Moments after I woke up, you knocked.”

Buddha shakes his head. “Honeybee, I knocked before that.”

“So you woke me up…again.”

“Sorry.” Despite his words, he can’t hide his grin.

You huff, “Finally, I’m beginning to sleep in, and people keep waking me up. I swear, you and Dad don’t want me to sleep in. Only Shiva respects my love of sleeping in,” you complain. If Shiva isn’t still asleep, he’s quiet about it—meditating or doing yoga, whatever it is he does. Either way, he lets you sleep as long as you want.

Buddha pulls you into his arms. “Aw, don’t be like that.” He presses a kiss to your temple. “You’re alone. Wouldn’t you rather have someone with you? Holding you?” he teases.

“Not really. I enjoy not having to share a bed with someone.” You lie through your teeth. Since Shiva started staying over more and more over the last two years, somewhere along the way, sleeping alone had started to feel… wrong.

Buddha hums as if he doesn’t believe you—but he doesn’t call you out on it. “Shame, I enjoy sharing a bed with you.”

“Mhm, did you need something?” You cover your mouth as you yawn.

“Just wanted to have a chat about your old friend.”

“I don’t have any old friends.”

Buddha releases you slightly, tilting his head. “No?”

“No…I mean, you and Shiva are pretty ancient, but I assume you didn’t mean it in that context.”

Buddha tilts his head slightly. “Ancient,” he repeats, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “You seem to enjoy older company.” Before you can make a quip, he holds up a book. A book that clearly has a lot of water damage. One you threw into the fountain yesterday.

“Siddhartha!” You reach for the book, but he easily holds it above your head.

“______.”

You drop your arms. It’s useless to try to get something from a god when they’re keeping it from you. You learned that quickly with Shiva. “Please tell me there aren’t any embarrassing stories—” You might not have had a crazy life or gone to parties, or whatever it is some teenagers at your school did at that age. Still, that doesn’t mean it isn’t something your father noted as embarrassing. Why did I toss it in the fountain like an idiot?

“Nothing that’s too much.” He lowers his hand and carefully flips through the book, not wanting to tear the water-damaged pages. “The biggest thing that stands out is your friend.”

“He wrote something about Shiva?”

Buddha shakes his head, points to a passage, and hands you the book.

An anomaly has approached ______—or attempted to. His presence causes visible discomfort. She appears uncertain how to respond to being fully acknowledged.

Based on research of adolescent humans, his behavior is consistent with romantic interest.

Before you can say a word, Buddha turns the page.

Following interaction, ______ exhibited delayed behavioral response.

She later approached and reported that the human had requested her presence at a cinema. I inquired whether she wished to attend. She exhibited hesitation and could not offer a definitive response.

The human has become overly familiar with ______. Continued interaction offers no additional benefit. The unnecessary anomaly has been eliminated. 

“Eliminated?” Your chest tightens as you read the words. “What does that mean? Did he hurt someone?”

“Sounds like this human asked you out on a date, and Vaeris didn’t like it," Buddha frowns. "You don’t remember the human? Even if it’s not a friendship, do you remember any human from around that time?” 

You glance at the date. “This is a month before I met Shiva—”

“The human, ______. Do you remember a human?” He cups your face, his blue eye locking onto yours.

You read the entry again, eyes scanning the page as you try to picture what he is referring to. Picture a boy approaching you, asking you to go to the cinema with him. Your dad said he became overly familiar with you. Does that mean you two became friends? Or was it possibly dating, and your dad just didn’t know how to word it? 

Again and again, you read it. Nothing comes to mind. “Buddha, what do you think he meant by ‘eliminated’? Do you think he hurt him?” You close the book. “I have no idea who this could be. You and Shiva are the only people I’ve been friends with.”

Buddha frowns as he takes the notebook from you. “Come on.” He grabs your hand.

“Where are we going?”

“Home.”

You raise a brow. “Like my home?”

“One day.”

“What?”

“What?”

“Siddhartha.”

“Let’s go,” He steps behind you, placing his hands on your shoulders as he guides you out. “We need to have a serious talk, _______.”

“Do you think Dad hurt him?” 

“No. But we still need to talk about it.”

-----------------

When Buddha brings you back to his home, blankets and pillows are laid out on the veranda overlooking his garden. Multiple books are laid out; a closer look shows they’re your father’s notebooks from over the years.

“I was surprised while reading that it sounds like he’s a good father.” Buddha sits and motions for you to join him.

“That’s great and all but eliminated—”

“He threatened me, claiming he could erase your memories of me and my memories of you. However, he also claimed he’s never done it before.” Buddha frowns. “It sounds like that’s what he did to the boy who wanted to date you.” He grabs another notebook. “He also did it to other children when you were younger. The moment he felt you were unsafe, he erased their memories.” He points to an entry describing how he did it when primary school began. 

“So, he’s just been erasing people my whole life?”

“No.” Buddha shakes his head. “From what I read, it seems he’s only done it twice, completely erasing. However, he somehow made it so people don’t remember you.” He slides a notebook toward you that confirms what you both already knew. 

You sink to your knees, glancing at the notebook but not bothering to pick it up. You trust what Buddha says, and it’s been clear to you since childhood that people always seem to overlook you, forget you, and look through you. 

“So…any idea what Dad is?”

“Zero.”

“Well, that’s helpful.”

Buddha shrugs. “Maybe there isn’t any information about what he is or where he came from, but there are other interesting things. Some I wasn’t expecting.”

“Like?”

“He played dolls with you.”

You stare at Buddha, blinking slowly as the lily pattern appears, then lean forward and laugh. “I’m sorry, but I told you he tried to be a normal Dad and even faked emotions until I was an early teen.”

Buddha stares at you, silent. You frown and straighten. “You think it’s weird? I guess some fathers are weird about that kind of thing,” you murmur to yourself. There are plenty of dads who wouldn’t play with dolls, I suppose. Toxic masculinity bullshit. You blink, then stare into Buddha’s eye. “So, you wouldn’t play dolls with your daughter?” 

“Of course I would play dolls with our daughter.”

Our daughter. You puff your cheeks as you stare at the book, trying your best to channel your inner emotionless father and failing. A warm finger hooks under your chin, lifting it so you can’t avoid his warm gaze and the lily pattern blooming. He stares at you for a second before leaning in, his warm lips pressing against yours. The familiar warmth and sense of safety you always feel around him intensify. 

“Or daughters,” he whispers against your lips. “How many do you want?”

Your face burns at his words. It’s really unfair. “I can’t tell if you really want kids or if you just enjoy watching me squirm.” His teasing is worse than Shiva’s. It’s a completely different kind of teasing, but it’s obviously teasing. “I don’t want kids.” You lie.

Buddha hums softly. “Then why are you concerned about how your father will act around your future children?”

“Why are we talking about this?”

“You questioned if I would play dolls with our daughter. The answer is yes.”

“I said your daughter.”

“And I said our daughter.”

I need to stop giving him ammo. It’s unfair. “It looks like maybe you read more of the notes than I did. Anything about my maternal family?”

Buddha straightens. “No, if there is any information about them, he didn’t hand it over. Considering he takes notes on everything, I’m sure he has them. Do you know where he keeps them? Are there any notebooks in your apartment?”

“No idea.”

“Want to go check?”

“My apartment is on earth; we are in Valhalla.”

“Yeah,” He nods. “So, do you want to go check?”

“How?” You sigh, “I can’t leave—”

“Yes, you can.” Buddha gives you a confused look. “Honeybee, Shiva isn’t the only one who can take you back home. I’ll bring you right back, only a few hours.” He shrugs.

.

.

.

“All this time I could’ve been at home!”

Of course, you idiot. Shiva can easily take you to Valhalla and back—he took you home the first time. All this time, you could’ve been relaxing in your apartment. With Netflix. With anime. With fanfiction. With your oven. I could’ve been sleeping in my bed. Okay, well, the bed here might be a smidge more comfortable than your bed at home. 

Buddha watches in quiet amusement as your expression shifts from disbelief to realization, then to irritation.

“Ah, I’m going to strangle him, I swear,” you grumble, flipping through the notebook a little more aggressively than necessary. For a moment, you forget where you are—forget that you’re in Buddha’s home, with him right across from you—as you imagine hitting the four-armed idiot with a book… or maybe a frying pan. “Stupid four-armed asshole.”

You freeze.

His gaze is still on you.

He’s going to think I’m just some kind of violent human. Not that you could blame him. That did sound a little violent. Why am I so comfortable saying things like that about Shiva?

“He’s the only one—” The words slip out before you can stop them, and you snap your mouth shut. I can’t say that my best friend is the only one I casually think about strangling. That sounds even worse—even if it’s true. 

“It’s normal,” Buddha says, voice easy, like it doesn’t bother him at all.

Your head snaps up.

“To have a relationship like that,” he continues, watching your reaction more closely now. “People who are close tend to speak like that with each other.” He pauses briefly, then adds, almost as an afterthought, “Siblings, usually…”

You visibly cringe.

“…or close friends,” he finishes with a quiet sigh.

You can feel your face burning as his eye pins you. Clearing your throat, you straighten slightly. “Could you take me home tomorrow?”

“You’re so cute.” Buddha grins.

“Saying I want to strangle my best friend is cute?”

“Yeah.” He nods, completely unbothered. “But I don’t particularly like your best friend, so…that might be part of it.”

“What if I said I want to strangle my dad?”

Buddha doesn’t hesitate. “Do you want to strangle your dad?”

“No.” It comes out easily—too easily. You furrow your brow slightly.

“Have you noticed your emotions have changed about Vaeris?”

“No.”

Buddha studies you for a moment, unblinking. “Well,” he says finally, voice calm, certain, “I have.”

You frown slightly. “What do you mean?”

“You were angry.” His gaze stays fixed on you. “Hurt.”

You shrug lightly. “Yeah, well—obviously.”

“And now?” he asks.

You open your mouth, then pause. “…I’m still—”

Buddha tilts his head slightly, watching you more closely. “Are you?”

The question lingers longer than it should.

You look down at the notebook in your hands, flipping a page just to have something to do. The irritation is still there—kind of. But it’s…quieter. Duller…is it there? It feels more like you’re trying to put it there now. “I just…” You trail off, brows knitting together. “I want answers.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Your fingers still.

“I asked if you were still angry.”

You hesitate. “…I don’t know,” you admit quietly.

Buddha hums softly, not surprised. “Close your eyes, ______.”

You don’t even question it.

It’s almost automatic at this point—Shiva has pushed you into this enough times over the past two years that your body responds before your mind does. You shift slightly where you sit, letting your shoulders relax as your eyes fall shut.

“Breathe,” Buddha murmurs.

You inhale slowly, steady, letting it out just as controlled. Again. In. Out.

“Focus on it,” he continues, voice quiet, guiding. “Not the thoughts. The feeling.”

Your fingers tighten slightly around the notebook before loosening, letting it rest in your lap. You try to follow it—trace it back to what you felt over the years. The anger. The frustration. That sharp, almost suffocating pain that started when he shoved you into Shiva’s arms. For two years, you’ve felt anger and pain, like a painful roller coaster. 

“I’m not angry—I’m not hurt.”

“Do you love him?”

“Of course I do—I” Your eyes snap open as fear creeps into the back of your mind. “I love him. He is my dad.” You start to stack the books, a little more aggressively than you meant. “He’s my dad. I love him. I—”

Buddha cuts in before you can spiral further. “You love him.” His hands close gently around yours, stilling the movement. “You wouldn’t have reacted like that if you didn’t.”

Your hands falter in his grip.

“I’m sorry,” he adds more quietly, lifting your left hand and pressing a soft kiss to your palm. “Relax, sweetheart.”

“Something feels different.” You whisper as you try to sort your feelings for your father.

Buddha doesn’t answer immediately. He sweeps the books aside and pulls you into his lap, your back pressed against his warm chest as his chin settles against your shoulder.

“He interferes with how you feel,” he says quietly.

Your brows pull together. “He makes me love him?”

Buddha lets out a soft sigh. “No. Not like that.” His arms tighten slightly around you. “You were angry. Hurt. You’ve been holding on to that for two years.”

Your fingers curl slightly against his arm.

“And now,” he continues, voice low, “it’s gone. Not faded—gone.”

A pause.

“I can’t tell if he’s doing it,” Buddha adds, quieter now, “or if it happens on its own when it comes to him.”

Taking a deep breath, you relax against him, closing your eyes. “Does it sound bad if I just want to be in my bed with junk food—or desserts—to finish this conversation?” you whisper.

As safe and comfortable as you feel with Buddha, the feeling settles in anyway. A quiet, persistent ache. You’re homesick now more than ever. You just want to be in your own bed—buried under your blankets, screaming into your pillow before stuffing your face with junk food and staring blankly at your computer screen, trying to make sense of everything.

There’s a small pause.

Buddha’s breath brushes against your skin as he shifts slightly behind you.

“Are you inviting me for a sleepover?” he murmurs, nipping lightly on your ear.  

You pause, taking a deep breath. “Yes.”

He stills—just for a second.

Shiva barely makes it a step into the room before a pillow smacks him in the head.

“Shiva! You asshole, all this time I could’ve been sleeping in my own bed—in my own apartment—watching Netflix! I can’t believe you.”

He closes the door behind him slower than you’d like, one hand coming up to his head like the pillow actually did something. “What’s your problem?” he shoots back, matching your scowl.

“I could’ve been home!”

“Yeah,” he admits without hesitation.

“Shiva!”

“You never asked me to take you home.” He tosses the pillow back at you, and you catch it against your chest. “So what’s the problem?”

“You made it sound like I couldn’t go home until after Ragnarok!”

“Did I?” He tilts his head.

“Yes!” you snap, gripping the pillow tighter.

He shrugs. “Then that’s on you.”

Your eyes narrow. “I told you I wanted to go home.”

“Yeah,” he nods, completely unfazed. “You said you wanted to go home. You didn’t say, ‘Shiva, take me home between matches.’ That’s not the same thing.”

I am going to strangle him when he goes to sleep tonight. You grit your teeth in irritation, trying to remember if you asked him to take you home. You asked him if you could go home after Ragnarok, but did you ask him to take you home? Even if I didn’t, he knows! “You’re my best friend, I shouldn’t have to say it!”

“Right, I’m your best friend, not a mind reader.” He shrugs as he sits on the sofa in the living area.

Being slightly spiteful, you huff and drop onto the bed. Instead of joining him on the sofa, you sit cross-legged, glaring at him. Though the best option would be to leave, you’re already comfortable in the room. “Best friends should be able to read each other like that.”

“Sorry.” His tone is dry as he leans back against the sofa, closing his eyes.

“Are you meditating?”

“Yes.” He cracks one eye open to glance at you. “I suggest you do the same.” His gaze lingers for a second before he adds, “You’re ferocious today.”

You don’t. Should you? Yes, probably. However, you’re irritated and petty. So, instead, you lean against the bed and just glare at the ceiling. For a moment, anyway.

“There was a guy before you.”

That breaks him out of meditation, or the start of it, anyway. “What?”

“Okay, so, I’m still mad at you. However…look at this! Dad said there was a guy that I knew, and he said something about eliminating him. Do you think Dad killed a human for trying to be my friend?”

Shiva opens his mouth to respond, but you’re already moving towards the sofa and pushing the notebook closer to his face. “Look at the date.”

One of his lower hands catches your wrist, nudging you back just enough so he can actually see what you’re holding in front of him. His eyes flick over the page, unimpressed. “What about it?”

“It’s not long before I met you.”

“So?”

You blink.

The notebook slips from your fingers before you can stop it, but he catches it easily with his lower hands, glancing at you with a faint, almost confused look.

“So…” you repeat, slower this time, the word falling flat as the thought unravels in your head.

Shiva doesn’t say anything. He leans back against the arm of the sofa, all five eyes settling on you, watching—waiting—as your expression shifts from urgency to something less certain.

I didn’t think this through.

You drop your hands into your lap, clicking your tongue softly. “Uh…”

“Does it matter?” Shiva lifts the notebook slightly, pointing to the date without looking away from you. “Do you actually care?”

You stare blankly at him.

“Well?” He leans forward. “Are you upset about it?”

“I—” You hesitate, brows knitting slightly. “…I don’t know.” The words feel off even as you say them. You shift, a little uncomfortable under his stare. “I just… I want to know what eliminated means.”

“Want a dictionary?”

“Funny.” You snatch the notebook from him, tapping it against his shoulder before flipping it open again. Your eyes scan the page before you read aloud, “The human has become overly familiar with _____. Continued interaction offers no additional benefit. The unnecessary anomaly has been eliminated.”

You frown at the book. “How did he go from eliminating humans who tried to befriend me to taking me to Valhalla and literally shoving me into the arms of a god who didn’t even particularly like humans?” You huff lightly. “Within a month, it’s like he did a complete one-eighty. You threatened to kill me…”

“Maybe he hates humans.”

“Dad doesn’t have emotions.”

Shiva gives you an unimpressed look. “Right. Either way, I don’t see why it matters. Unless you’re heartbroken over losing some random human.”

“No, but he made me forget someone, right?” Your grip tightens on the notebook. “What if he does it again? What if I forget you or—” Your mouth snaps shut.

“Or?”

“…or Dad?”

“Right.” His tone turns dry.

You sink down into the sofa, frowning slightly. “Shiva?”

“_____.”

“Why do my feelings about this change when I’m around you?” When you were with Buddha, you cared, you wanted answers. You were curious about this guy that Dad eliminated. It felt more upsetting that he might’ve been eliminating people from your life.

He scoffs quietly. “They don’t.” His gaze sharpens as it holds yours. “You didn’t care before—not like this. Not until you started spending time with him.” Your fingers tighten around the cushion as he says aloud what you were thinking. His tone flattens. “It’s not me. It’s Buddha. He’s getting into your head, messing with how you think, how you feel—and you’re just letting it happen.”

You stare at him as the words sink in. “Are you saying he’s manipulating me?”

“Yes,” Shiva replies without hesitation.

“Buddha doesn’t manipulate people! He’s literally Buddha.”

Shiva snorts. “Yeah. Enlightened. Detached. No desire, no attachment—that’s the whole point, isn’t it?” His gaze sharpens slightly. “Yet he’s interested in you.”

“Well, it’s—”

“He wants you.” Shiva cuts in, like it’s obvious. “And he’s not above manipulating you to get what he wants.” He shrugs, unimpressed. “That’s why I told you to stay away from the other gods, stubborn idiot.”

“I feel like we’ve had this conversation…”

“And we will continue to have it until you realize you’re being an idiot.”

“Shiva—”

His lower left arm wraps around your waist and his upper right hand covers your mouth as he pulls you into his lap. “Shut up,” he growls. “You don’t care about that human. You don’t care what Vaeris is, where you came from, or who your mother might be.” His grip tightens slightly. “You care about your life. Your routine. Trying new recipes, going to coffee shops, watching those stupid documentaries, then turning to me and asking if any of it’s actually right.” A pause—his voice drops. “You care about me. Your dad.” His eyes narrow slightly. “And you care about humanity winning. That’s it.”

You grab his wrist, pulling his hand away from your mouth so you can speak. “I also care about my university classes.”

Shiva scoffs. “You’re really choosing lectures over me?” He tilts his head slightly. “When I could just tell you what actually happened?”

You close your eyes, leaning your head against his shoulder with a quiet huff. He’s kind of right—which makes it worse. “I hate you,” you grumble.

----------------------------

Deciding to take a break from Shiva—really, both of them—you made your way to the nearby garden. A nice, peaceful place to clear your mind, at least for twenty minutes, before amethyst eyes pin you to the bench where you sit. Once again, you have his notebooks, though this time you care less about finding answers and more about simply reading your own history.

“I gotta say, I’m glad you took notes instead of recording videos.” You close the notebook in your hand as you straighten. “With the way you document things, I can’t imagine how overbearing you’d be with a camera.”

The notebook in your father’s hand flips open, but this time there is no pen.

“I have completed my analysis.”

“Of course you have.” Your tone is dry as you stare at him. A strand of silver hair falls into those vacant eyes as he looks back at you. “Well, Dad, let’s hear what you’ve concluded.” You huff lightly. Maybe he’ll stop being weird now…at least less weird.

He steps toward you—no sound of footsteps, no rustle of clothing, nothing. It’s like he has no presence at all. It felt normal until the last couple of weeks. A lot of things had felt normal.

They aren’t.

Your nose scrunches slightly as he sits to your left without a sound. Even gods make noise. 

“I have been analyzing both.” His voice remains steady. “It is perplexing that deities possess emotions, since they are meant to be superior beings. Emotions diminish that distinction from humans.”

You stare at him, your mouth parting slightly. “I… guess?” you mumble, struggling to respond to the sudden observation.

“One is content with the present; he has not given thought to a future beyond even a month from now. However, I am aware that he wants a future with you.” He flips a page. “The other is already considering decades, possibly centuries ahead. Not only does he want it, but he’s planning for it to some extent.”

Now you’re even more confused. “What? Dad, you’re rambling—”

“A simple human affects two gods in such a significant way.” His gaze remains fixed on the page. “I find that…interesting.” A brief pause. “However, this is not the first occurrence, nor will it be the last.” His eyes lift to yours. “The involvement of Buddha is what makes this perplexing.” Another pause. “Do you know what you have to offer the enlightened god?”

“Hey—”

“I know.”

What? This conversation is getting more confusing with every sentence.

“Do you want to know more about your connection with Shiva?” His voice remains even. “Understand your present self?”

“Of course I do!”

“Or would you rather learn about your history?” he continues. “Your mother. The beginning of all of this.”

“Uhh…what?” You struggle to find the right words. “What do you mean by all of this? All of what?” Oh my god, what is happening?

“I have studied love for millennia.” A book appears in his hand. “I do not understand the emotion; however, I have observed it enough to recognize it.” He lifts the book, the back cover facing you. “Which one are you in love with? It is a deeper emotion, one required of a partner.”

“Dad, I don’t understand…”

“It is a simple question.”

Both Shiva and Buddha flash through your mind. In love? You love them both. You can’t say you’re in love with one over the other…right? It’s too soon. Right? “No. I’m not in love with anyone. I care for both of them—I love both of them—”

“Yes, but you are only in love with one.” His voice remains even. “Because both are in love with you, it would be difficult for you to admit which one you truly love. You do not want to hurt the other.” His eyes burn into yours. “It is understandable.”

“Dad—” You freeze as he flashes into your mind. Your fist tightens in your lap, and your mouth suddenly feels like it’s full of cotton.

He turns the book. The front cover has his name.

“I will always know you better than anyone else, including yourself,” he states—no emotion, just fact.

He holds it out. With shaking hands, you take it, staring down at the name.

“But what about—”

“I will eliminate him.”

Your head snaps up, eyes wide. “Wait—what? No—”

A cool thumb presses against your forehead.

Vaeris catches you as you fall forward into him.

 “Yes.”