🌊

…

It doesn’t take long for your daughter to update you.

Honey Hi mommmm We r getting ice cream  Dad is rewarding me for acing my test !! You That’s good, honey. Make sure to drink water after, okay? [ <3 ] reacted by Melina

…

You Make sure she drinks water. Mydei Wouldn’t forget it. [ thumbs up ] reacted by You

…

The rest of the week goes on just like that. Mel would update you, Mydei would clarify some things for her schedule, you and your daughter would call when she gets stuck in one of her advanced mathematic questions—she’d fall asleep on call saying she’s only ‘resting’ and you’d chuckle when you hear her snore after a while.

You decide to message your ex-husband after a while of just admiring your daughter, your heart blooming for fondness as you gaze at her through the screen. 

How could one foster such longing for a daughter so loved?

You sigh and type out the message.

You Mydei, can you carry Mel to her bed? She’s gonna get a crick in her neck when she wakes up.

Mydei She fell asleep at her desk again?

You Yep.

Mydei I’m coming up now.

…

It doesn’t take long for the doorknob to twist and open. You hear him sigh in amusement through the phone as he picks her up carefully and tucks her in bed.

You stay quiet through all of it and just… watch.

Mydei does, too. After tucking her in properly, he pauses—looking content.

It’s normal, you suppose. With her studying as hard as she can for her upcoming entrance exams—she’s 17 now. Almost an adult, and growing ever so fast. Neither you nor Mydei have the time to know everything she did like when she was a child.

He must not see her asleep often—being busy with cases and paperwork. Only having time to pick her up from school, cook dinner, and go back to working on the documents.

But he’s changed.

He isn’t the same as before.

And it does little to soothe the pinpricks of your heart bleeding out through your chest.

Mydei sucks in a breath through the phone and when your eyes flit back to your phone, you find that he’s already looking at you.

“You miss her already?” He asks in a hushed voice.

You swallow—trying to make sure your voice won’t croak, “Yeah.” Your eyes turn to Mel who was sleeping peacefully on the bed behind him, “Yeah, I do.”

That makes your ex-husband sigh softly, “It’s only Friday, two more days and she’s yours again.”

“I know,” you murmur, scrolling idly at your laptop—browsing through your students’ essay submissions.

You say nothing for a while and neither does Mydei as he starts to tidy up the papers, books, and pens on Melina’s desk.

You don’t know the right word for it. 

You don’t know how to describe the feeling of it.

Domestic, maybe—but how is being on call from your daughter’s phone with your divorced ex-husband considered domestic? You don’t know. Maybe it’s just the familiarity of it all.

Maybe you’re just tired.

“Hey, Mydei, I’m going to end the call now, I have a few calls to make and a dozen papers to grade,” you tell him to catch his attention and you see him raise an eyebrow through the screen.

“This late at night?”

You swallow hard, caught in the lie, “Y-yeah… you know how it is with Cas and Aglaea, I need to consult a few things from the kids’ submissions.”

You pray to Nikador he believes your bullshit and doesn’t push. 

He won’t. 

He never does, but with how his brows are furrowed together—you know he doesn’t buy it at all.

Still, he relents, “Okay, goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

The moment the call drops, you deflate into the ergonomic chair he bought—a matching set you and Mel have. You press your palms into your eyes.

God, five years in, and everything is still about him.

You don’t know how to feel anymore.

Ever since the divorce finalized, nothing felt right anymore. Mydei was respectful. Always have been. You never divorced because of any abuse, but because you felt… Well it doesn’t matter how you felt.

In the end, no matter how many times you’d try to talk to him, to think of a solution, to attend countless couple’s therapy sessions. It didn’t matter, none of it did. Because at the end of the day, he still didn’t have time for you nor Melina.

It was always case after case after case. His work always came first.

You had tried to understand at first, after all you were both chasing promotions at the time. You with your professor’s thesis, and Mydei with his heavy cases. You told yourself it was just a busy week.

Until a week became a month, a month became a season, and before you knew it, your daughter turns nine without her father by her side and he’s only been there for about half her life.

He’d come home, folders stacked under his arm, apologies spewing from his mouth as he tells you, ‘it’s the last time, I promise’.

The last time he forgets to attend a parent-teacher conference.

The last time he comes home late to a dinner long-gone cold.

The last time he puts work first.

It never happened.

And when one day, you give him the divorce papers, he doesn’t even ask why. Doesn’t even try to reason. He doesn’t fight you for it. Just stares at the papers you’d given him for a whole minute before moving to get a pen and signs his name on all of them.

That was it.

Eleven years of marriage, a daughter that’s ten years old, signed away in a minute, not even being fought for one.

Maybe that’s what hurts the most about it all.

Mydei’s a lawyer.

He fights for his client at the court almost every day.

He’s a fucking lawyer and yet he didn’t even fight you for the divorce papers.

Just looked like he’d long known about it. He just… accepted it. And signed away without a second thought, not even looking at you, just downing his black coffee and left.

It took you four hours to even move from your spot and even then your legs shook so much that you had to call your brother—Phainon—to take Melina to school and preferably for the rest of the afternoon.

…

The next two years following that were even harder.

Not only did you have to face him multiple times at court just to prove that you both really did want this divorce—you had to face multiple counselling sessions, the worried stares of all your friends and family, and juggle your job to prove that you can have custody and take care of your daughter.

But you were also faced with the daunting task of trying to explain divorce to a ten year-old child. 

You let her ask whatever she wants—making sure you hold her in your arms or some part of her as she does. You try to answer as best as you can, Mydei answering some questions she asks him, too.

You just didn’t know her next question would make both your hearts stop.

“Does Daddy still love us, Mommy?”

Oh, how you wanted to know that, too.

“I’m sure he does,” you try to reassure her, trying not to look at the man behind her, and holding her hands, “It’s just… Daddy and Mommy need to… need to have a break from each other, okay?”

“Forever?”

You try to blink back tears, “Yes, honey. It’s… It’s kind of complicated.”

“But why?”

“Because… because Daddy and Mommy have different goals in life right now…”

Mel is quiet for a while—fidgeting with her toys on the floor as you rub your thumb on her knee in a circle, trying to reassure her in the subtlest way possible just so you couldn’t disturb her train of thought.

“Are…” her voice breaks—and you think a piece of your heart does, too. 

“Are we still going to be a family?”

You swallow down your own tears and hold Mel as tight as you could.

“Yes, sweetheart,” your words catch on the hitch of your breath, “always, baby, we’ll always be a family.” 

And she sobs. Melina sobs for the first time since she started asking questions and the way she does lets you know that she was trying so hard to be brave and mature about the whole thing.

You truly did not think your heart could break any further.

Until she calls out daddy in such a broken voice that you do all you could, shut your eyes and sigh quietly—just so you don’t break down, too.

Mydei comes up and embraces the two of you tightly, a pained inhale comes from him as Mel switches her position and buries her face in his neck instead. He tightens his grip around the both of you. 

You think of it as him apologizing—maybe trying to offer some comfort for your daughter.

You tuck the thought that maybe this was as close to an apology that you were going to get from him to the very back of your head.

…

After the lawyer and social worker talked to Melina, the divorce agreement was drafted with a few new additions from your daughter.

Both parents must remain in continuous contact.

Custody exchange is scheduled weekly.

All of Melina’s events are to be attended by both parents.

You sign the papers without hesitation. 

You’d give anything for Melina to be happy.

…

It was hard at first.

Melina didn’t want to adhere to the custody schedule during the first few months. She’d cry, she’d scream, flail around, saying she didn’t want to leave your house when Mydei came to pick her up, or that she didn’t want to leave his when you did, or when he had to drop her off. Instead, she kept asking ‘why?’

“Why can’t we just live in one house anymore?”

“Why can’t Daddy live with us again?”

“Why can’t Mommy just come over?”

It was… a lot. 

Every time Mydei had to come in front of your doorstep, holding your sobbing daughter in his arms, he’d look so… mournful. Tired, even.

There are times he’d call you over at night—telling you that Mel refused to go to sleep without you beside her. You’d come over, only to leave a while after she falls asleep. He’d offer to drive you back and you would refuse, and he’ll leave it at that.

But eventually, it got better.

Mel got used to the weekly switches, you’d attend every event she had with her father, and just like your daughter’s terms in the agreement, you stayed in contact with Mydei.

He’d send updates about her, or even tell you when he’ll be picking her up and dropping her off.

Mydei changed.

He’s early to all Mel’s events—on time for pick-up and drop-off, has all her stuff accounted for, takes her for ice-cream or any sweet treat she loves every time she achieves a goal she’s set. It’s something she’s gotten from him, must be a genealogical trait or something.

The most surprising thing is—Mel tells you that he’s picked up cooking again.

It was something he stopped doing when she was around six and had gotten busy with work. It surprised you to learn that he picked it up again.

He’d cook their dinners and even send her some to take home. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t miss him his cooking.

And sometimes—quietly, unwillingly—you wonder if this version of him had always been there.

And you hate that a part of you keeps circling back to the same thought—that maybe it was easier for him to become this man when it was just him and Mel.

That maybe you were the variable that made everything harder.

The thing that didn’t quite fit.

If maybe… it just never showed up when you were still part of the equation.

You try not to think too much about what that might mean.

No.

You shake the thought off before it can settle.

You didn’t walk away for nothing. You didn’t leave because you were the problem—you left because the relationship was. Because love, on its own, hadn’t been enough to make it work.

And maybe things are easier now. Maybe he’s better now.

But that doesn’t rewrite what the two of you were.

If he can show up for Mel the way she deserves, then that’s all that matters.

That’s enough for you.

…

Months pass in a way they hadn’t before—steadier. Not exactly easier, but… manageable.

You fall into routines you didn’t think you’d ever get used to—Work. Home. Mel. The empty spaces in between.

Therapy becomes one of them.

At first, it feels strange—sitting in a room and saying things out loud that you’d spent years swallowing down. But eventually, the words come easier. You learn how to sit with the silence after them. Learn how to name things for what they are, instead of what you wished they could’ve been.

Some days are heavier than others.

But you get through them.

Mel does, too—though in her own way.

She throws herself into archery with a kind of focus that reminds you a little too much of Mydei, shoulders squared and eyes sharp with determination. What starts as a hobby turns into something she actively pursues, something she talks about over dinner with bright, animated gestures.

Somewhere along the way, she picks up taekwondo, too—for fun, she insists, even as she drags you along to watch practices and shows off new moves in the living room.

She’s… happy.

And that makes everything else easier to bear.

Things with Mydei settle into something else entirely.

Not what you had before—never that—but something functional. Something steady.

You talk when you need to. About schedules, about Mel, about the little things that come with raising her between two homes. The sharp edges between you two dull over time, worn down by distance and routine.

And somewhere along the way, without really noticing when it happened, you stop hoping.

Stop waiting for something that isn’t coming back.

You learn how to speak to him again without it meaning more than it should.

It’s… normal.

Or at least, close enough.

…

You’re in a lecture room when Mydei texts you on a random day during your turn of the custody exchange.

Mydei I have to drop Mel off for a few hours.

Your brows furrow at the message, Mydei was supposed to pick her up from archery and spend a few hours with her today since he had a less busy week than you did. Neither of you wanted her to be alone as finals week loomed around the corner.

Immediately, you text back—worried something had occurred.

You What happened?

Mydei Nothing concerning her, don’t worry. Just some stuff at the office came up. It’s quite a gruesome scene of documents and images and I’d just rather she not see that You Alright, no problem. She can hang out in my office or here in the lecture with my TA. Mydei You’re teaching right now? I can have Phainon take her if you’re too busy. You No, it’s okay. It’ll be easier for us when we go home, too. Mydei Alright. We’ll be there in 10. 15, if she wants to get food. [ haha ] reacted by You

…

“Can anyone tell me what the derivative of this is?” you ask as you finish writing on the whiteboard.

Coincidentally, the bell rings at that moment and you laugh at your students who breathe a sigh of relief.

“Alright class, hahaha, let’s circle back to this next week, reminders that your final projects are due next month—so please make progress on it. Your weekly exam is already posted online and will be due this Sunday. We will not be having a final exam so do well on your project outputs. See you all next week.”

While your students trickle out the door, a familiar face pokes her head in the door.

“Hi, Mom!” she greets and runs through the door, tackling you in a hug.

“Hello, sweetheart,” you press a kiss into her hair, looking up to see Mydei walking in.

“I’m really sorry to drop her off like this,” he tells you, running a hand through his bangs, his low ponytail in a bit of a frazzled state. It was obvious the case in his hands had gotten him shaken up. Yet, Mydei seemed composed if anything.

You wave him off, letting your daughter go so she could set up her books and iPad beside your Teaching Assistant—Polites. 

“It’s no problem, besides, I’ll be going home after this next class. It’d save us both the trouble.”

He nods and fishes out his phone from his pocket, answering a message before it rings.

“Ah, I gotta go, I’ll see her for pickup next week. Bye, sweetheart!” He calls out to her before he rushes to take the call outside.

…

It’s only when you’re in the car and on the way home that your daughter tells you a very interesting and mildly concerning piece of information—interesting for you, and you being mildly concerned for Mel’s reaction to it.

“A client came over to Dad earlier.”

“Mh?” You answer absentmindedly, focused on switching lanes to not miss your exit.

“She was all up in his personal space, Mom, I swear, even I was uncomfortable watching them, and Dad wasn’t making that face he always makes when he wants to strangle Uncle Phai and he has to be polite because we’re in a public place. No, Mom, he was polite and smiling.”

Your attention splits and your brows furrow. That wasn’t like Mydei at all. He’d usually have no problem telling someone to respect his personal space—even if it was a client.

“Maybe he was just trying to be respectful, honey,” You reasoned with her as you took a right turn, turning off the blinker after you did.

Mel shakes her head at you, her hair and braid shaking as she did so, “Mom, that’s not even what I wanted to tell you—that’s just the context.”

You raise your eyebrow at her dramatic storytelling tendencies, “Go on…?”

“Mom, Dad turned her advances down and told her he was married.”

You let out a chuckle at that, you’d long given up on making it work with Mydei. You’d hoped that years after the divorce, he’d snap out of it and get his life together and win you and Mel back, but that was too far-fetched of a fantasy even for you.

“It’s just an excuse, sweetheart. I know what you’re trying to imply and your father definitely does not see me that way anymore.”

She sighed dramatically, “But Mom! I swear, if you were there you would’ve seen the look in his eyes.”

You actually snort at that, “You little missy, have been reading too many romance books. I gotta tell your Dad to limit your spending at Jayce and Viktor’s (this fic’s version of Barnes and Noble lol).”

“W-huh? Mom, you wouldn’t!”

You just laughed at your daughter.

…

Later that night you texted Mydei, making good on your promise to ask him to limit her budget on romance books. You fear your daughter might get too swept up in book romance and forget that real-life guys should be straightforward—none of that ‘playing hard-to-get’ game they try to play. Girls should be the one doing that, not the men.

You Mel told me something today.

Within seconds, the typing bubble already appeared.

Mydei I already told her not to tell you and it was an excuse, I swear.

Ah.

You Yeah, I figured. No worries. She’s been reading too many novels, I think… Mydei Oh.

It stays silent for a few moments.

Mydei Got it. I’ll lessen our trips to JnV’s. I’ll probably take her somewhere else that doesn’t involve romance books, huh? What do you think she’d enjoy other than the sports center? You Please don’t bring her to the sports center anymore. I will actually be sighing constantly if she picks up another sport. I’m worried she’ll injure herself again. Mydei My thoughts exactly. I was thinking of maybe bringing her to a farm or something. Let her run around a field. You I’m raising an eyebrow at you right now. [ haha ] reacted by Mydei Do you think our daughter is a dog? TT Mydei Hey, it’s what my Mom did to me as a kid to burn off all my stress and energy. You Mydei, please do not. Mydei Got any ideas?

You think about it for a little while, then you get a few.

You You could teach her how to bake? Or to cook, as long as you don’t leave her long enough to burn the kitchen down… Mydei That’s actually helpful. I’ll do that, thank you. You Make sure she won’t burn your house or herself down. Mydei Copy that. [ <3 ] reacted by You

…

It’s a few weeks after that talk—during Mydei’s turn of the custody exchange—that Mel updates you with a video. You take a break from grading the final projects and watch.

“Okay, okay, wait, Dad, don’t start yet!”

The camera shakes as she fumbles with the phone, propping it up against what you later find out is a jar of flour, “I need to film this. Mom’s soooo gonna be proud of me when she sees how good these turn out.”

It turns out, Mydei actually did try to teach her how to bake to spend more time with her and give her something to do to burn off her energy—while increasing her dopamine when she accomplishes something.

You hear him huff from beside her as he comes into the frame—tying an apron around his waist, “If yours turn out bad, do not blame me,” He jokes.

“Excuse me?” she gasps dramatically, “I am the creative director here.”

“You’re the one who almost set the toaster on fire last month.”

“That was one time!”

He snorts, but there’s a softness in it now. An ease that wasn’t there years ago.

“Hands washed?” he asks.

Mel rolls her eyes but holds them up anyway, “Yes, Dad.”

“Properly?”

“Yes, Dad.”

“Show me.”

“Okay, now you’re just being annoying—”

“Melina.”

She groans but trudges to the sink again.

And later—when the kitchen smells like sugar and something slightly overbaked, when flour dusts the counter and her cheek, when she laughs at how lopsided their cupcakes look—She sends you a picture.

Honey [image] we cooked !!! well… baked LOLL they lowk look ugly but taste good I PROMISE ILL BRING SOME HOMEE

And then a few minutes later, to which you assume the pause is because she started snacking, she sends another message.

Honey Dad said I didnt even burn anything im so proud of myself !!!!

You stare at the photo longer than you should.

At the messy kitchen island, flour everywhere, metal and glass bowls still sitting on the counter, countless utensils in the sink, and the fridge left ajar.

At the uneven frosting on the cupcakes, some dripping on the island, some out of the cupcake liners.

At him, behind her—slightly out of focus, but there. Smiling.

You don’t realize you’re smiling too until your cheeks hurt.

…

Towards the end of the year, your students mention their siblings are applying for colleges now and that they would love to let them have you as a professor. The compliment makes you think about Mel and where she’d be applying for college in the summer.

You hadn’t really had the chance to talk with her about it. With her getting busier with her sports and extracurriculars and with you trying to improve your syllabus for the next term, you and Mel only spend time at home and when she needs help with her homework.

For a lack of information, you decide to text Mydei if he knows anything about it since Mel is in his custody this week.

You Has Mel told you where she’s applying yet? Mydei No. Has she told you? You Nope. Mydei We should be concerned. You We are concerned. I just don’t know if she’ll apply to Okhema U or maybe GoE. Mydei I’ll ask her tonight. Maybe she’ll apply to Gibranipar U, like we did? You It’s Garbaniphoro now, don't forget. Also.. Don’t interrogate her. Mydei I don’t interrogate? You You’re literally a lawyer. Mydei Unfair. [ haha ] reacted by You

…

The day Mel’s supposed to switch back to yours, Mydei is called into a meeting into the office. Something about a client requesting him, specifically. When he explains this to Mel, she grimaces in discomfort.

Mydei picks up on this—but not for the reason he thinks it’s for.

“Sorry, honey. It’ll be quick, I promise,” he reassures her, “I’ll go over some parts of the contract with her, then we can get a sweet treat at The Orchard before we go drop you off to your Mom’s, okay? How does that sound?”

The girl all but shrugs, fixating on the fact that her Dad said ‘her’ and feeling queasy.

Mydei ruffles her hair, “Alright, go pack up your stuff, we’ll leave in an hour.”

…

Melina sits on a desk in view of Mydei’s office—he put her there so he could see her at all times, and she could see him—earbuds in, pretending to study and do her homework, but she’s watching her Dad and his female client.

The woman across his desk leans in too close, laughs too easily, touches his arm like it’s nothing, and it makes Mel narrow her eyes. 

That’s definitely not how clients should act.

And the worst part of it all, is her Dad doesn’t react the way she expects. He doesn’t lean away dramatically, doesn’t snap—He just… shifts slightly and doesn’t do anything about it.

It… unnerves her. Like watching them feels… wrong. It shouldn’t be—they’re technically not doing anything bad, but her mind does nothing to dissuade the uneasiness in her guts—like the feeling that she ate something that didn’t sit right with her digestive system. The whole thing doesn’t sit right with her.

Then she hears the woman giggle through the glass.

“What is so funny that she has to laugh so loud and high-pitched?” she whispers to herself as she turns her attention back to her AP Geography homework.

And then she hears her Dad speak.

“Let’s keep this discussion relevant to your case,” he says evenly.

The woman speaks like she has a pout in her voice, “You’re no fun.”

“I’m not here to be.”

Mel fights the urge to snort. 

It does little to lift the uneasiness in her stomach, but she’s glad her Dad is being professional about it.

…

Later, in the car, she squints at him.

“You know she was flirting with you, right?” she tells him, looking directly at him as he fumbles with the seatbelt and looks for his parking ID.

He gives her not much emotion about it, not even a raised eyebrow like he always does, “I’m aware. Put your seatbelt on.” 

Mel huffs, quickly pulling her seatbelt on and facing him again, “And?”

“And nothing.”

She looks at him in disbelief, and tilts her head, “Dad.”

He sighs, knowing she won’t let this go until he answers all of her questions and complaints, “Mel.”

She crosses her arms and it reminds him of you.

“You didn’t even look annoyed!” Mel starts to gesture wildly with her hands now.

“I was working,” He stresses and puts both hands on the wheel.

She studies him for a minute. In silence.

Then she deflates and looks out her side of the window—arms still crossed, not even looking at him anymore.

Mydei doesn’t know what to tell her—how to reassure her that it really isn’t like that. The client is just a client, and that…

That he…

…

He still loves you.

But before he can even articulate any of his thoughts properly and move his mouth to speak, he hears her sniffle.

Then mutters—“Mom would’ve done something instead of just letting it happen.”

He stills, just for a second.

It sinks into him, then.

He did let it happen.

Mydei starts the engine.

…

It’s a very quiet ride home.

When Mydei asks Mel what she wants from The Orchard, she shrugs and tells him to get whatever he feels like. Eyes not meeting his and instead focused on her phone—texting who he saw was Phainon.

He sighs and tells her he’ll get her a strawberry cream cheese danish. If she has any indication that that’s what she wanted, she never gives it, and Mydei is left to order something for Mel, him, and you when he gets to your house.

He picks up a treat for Phainon, too, when he realizes Mel might’ve asked him to come over.

Mydei is no stranger to this. He’s dealt with Mel’s stubborness—something she got from both of you, and anger more times than he can count. And the best solution? Wait for her to be okay enough to talk about it.

He knows she’ll talk to him about it when she’s ready. 

It’s something you’ve both taught her from a young age. She just needs to feel it out and gather her thoughts together before she tries to confront the problem she has.

If her eating the danish on the way to your house was any clue, he’d say he and Mel are doing just fine.

…

Phainon lets you know through text that he’s coming over as per the request of his favorite niece through text.

Most Annoying Brother Ever <3 I’m coming over. You ??? Why?? Not that you’re not welcome… It’s just so completely random. Most Annoying Brother Ever <3 My favorite niece has told me she requests my presence. You … Phainon, she's your only niece. Most Annoying Brother Ever <3 I know. Obviously, she’s gonna be my favorite. Duh. You (eyeroll emoji) Whatever, get me a drink while you’re out. Most Annoying Brother Ever <3 (eyeroll emoji) Fineee. [ <3 ] reacted by You

…

To your surprise, he gets there earlier than Mydei and Mel get home, which really confuses you since he lives 25 minutes away, and he was able to get you the drink you wanted.

“Do you know why she’s asking for you?” You poke at him as you lounge on the couch behind him, sipping your drink as he flips through the TV channels with the remote.

“See, I would tell you, but that would render me a traitor to the Cool Uncle Club.”

You roll your eyes, “You’re sooo corny.”

Phainon flashes you a smile, “You can’t trick me with that anymore. You may be my little sister, but my cool status comes first.” 

Finally, he settles on a channel that’s showing Andrew Garfield’s The Amazing Spiderman, and you both get quiet.

Then you lean against him a little more, your head resting against his shoulder.

“Hey, Phai?”

“Mh?”

“Thanks for always being there for Mel,” you murmur, “and for me.”

Your brother huffs out an amused smile, “Always.”

Just then you hear the honk of Mydei’s car—a signal you both gave out to let the other know you were there. You stood from the couch to open the door only to see your daughter already approaching.

“Hi, Honey. I missed you,” you say as she buries herself in your embrace.

“I missed you, too, Mom. Is Uncle Phai here already?” she pulls away, asking.

You jerk your head softly towards the living room, “He’s in there, what happened, you okay?”

She nods absentmindedly, “Yeah, Mom. Don’t worry about it.”

Mel then pivots to greet her Uncle and gives him a hug, “I’ll be down in a minute, let me just change my clothes.”

You exchange a look with Phainon as he shrugs, not knowing why she’s in such a rush to get out of the house. It’s at that moment that Mydei’s trunk slams shut and he appears in the doorway holding Melina’s luggage.

Quietly, he hands over her stuff and a paperbag from The Orchard.

You thank him and go to put it away in the kitchen before you ask, “Did… anything happen?”

Mydei stays quiet for a moment—like he’s debating whether or not to tell you, his hands fidgeting with the bracelet on his left arm, a nervous habit he never got rid of.

“Mydei?” you ask again.

Yet, before he can even answer, your daughter comes down the stairs and straight to Phainon.

“C’mon, Uncle Phai,” she tugs him up by her arm and your brother easily relents, telling her to slow down, there’s no rush.

Your eyes flit towards her father and you can obviously see it in his eyes that something happened. You watch as he chews on his bottom lip, like he’s trying to say something but is holding back from doing so.

“Aren’t you even going to say bye to your dad?” Phainon asks, making Melina stop in her tracks, three steps away from Mydei.

The air is charged with something you can’t quite name.

Then slowly, lacking enthusiasm, Mel hugs him and you hear a muffled, “Bye, Dad, see you next week.” 

Mydei’s arms curl around her almost instantly, one hand petting the crown of her head, “See you next week, sweetheart…”

And that was it.

Phai then leaves with her dragging him out of the house—telling you he’ll bring her home before nine because it’s a weekend after all, with her hollering a different tone of goodbye to you, telling you she and Phai will be safe.

Leaving you and Mydei standing inside the house.

…

Mel doesn’t talk to her uncle at first. They walked around aimlessly to the park at first—Phainon asked her if she wanted him to drive them somewhere but she shook her head, asking if they could walk around instead.

Your brother was all too reminded of the way you’d walk around with him when you were young to refuse.

At the 30-minute mark, he suggested they get ice cream like they always do—her’s pomegranate-flavored and his would be caramel and vanilla, and she only nodded, still not talking.

When they got the cold treats, he dragged her over to sit on a bench by the riverside, and just… waited. Phainon watched her quietly as she pokes at her ice cream instead of eating it.

“That bad?” he finally asks.

Mel shrugs.

“You usually finish that before I even sit down.”

She sighs, pushing the pink cream around, “Not hungry.”

He leans back on the bench, “I thought we already established years ago that you can’t lie to me? Try again.”

She sighs.

“They’re… fine,” she starts, “Mom and Dad.”

“That’s not what I asked, Meli.”

The girl presses her lips together.

“They’re good parents,” she insists, “like—really good. They show up, they talk, they don’t fight… They’re following my rules in the divorce, everything’s in place, everything’s good and steady…”

She trails off and Phainon waits.

“But it’s just…” she mutters, staring at her melting ice cream, “It just feels… wrong.”

His voice softens, “Wrong how?”

She swallows.

“Like… it’s almost right. But not really. Like when you make eggs a little too runny and you’re thinking, no—it’s okay, it’s been cooked under a fire, but you get the feeling that you might get salmonella. You know? Like, it’s supposed to be right, but it feels so… off.”

A pause.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it.”

Phainon sighs. He knew this day would come eventually, when the divorce would actually affect her in a way that she can fathom—not as a kid who only thought being a family was enough.

“Uncle Phainon?”

“Yeah?”

She sets her ice cream cup down on the bench and curls her fists in her lap, “Can you… Can you not tell Mom or Dad about this?”

Then she looks up at him, eyes teary and red—like she’s been holding them back. Looking the same way you did when you told him that you were divorcing Mydei and asking him if it was the right decision.

Phainon had always been weak towards you. 

And with how Mel definitely inherited your crying face? He was weak towards her, too.

So he relents.

“Of course, kiddo.”

…

Back at your house, Mydei purses his lips and you just observe. When it starts to look like he’s going to turn and leave, you stop him.

“Still drink pomegranate juice?”

His gaze snaps to you, “What?”

“Pomegranate juice,” you repeat, “Melina got her preference for it from you, I guess—she’s always keeping a carton of it in the fridge. Do you want some while we talk about whatever that was?”

Mydei nods, low ponytail bobbing a bit as he does so.

“Take a seat.”

…

When you finally settle on the couch, you take a bite of the pastry he bought from The Orchard, “Okay, spill, what happened?”

And he does, Mydei talks so much, you think it’s the first time he’s talked to you face-to-face this long since you served him divorce papers. It baffles you, if you were being honest.

He lays out every detail from start to finish—leaving out the part where he can’t say that he still loves you. And when he ends, he deflates into the couch.

You sigh as you ponder over the information he just gave you and shake your head softly as you come to a realization.

“She’s scared you’ll find someone else, start a new family, and lose time for her.”

Mydei snaps back up, “No, no, I wouldn’t do that, I would never lose time for her, not again.”

Not again, the words echo in your mind.

You shrug, “That’s how she sees it.”

“It’s not like that!” 

You put your hands up in the air in mock-surrender, “Hey, I know that because you told me just now. But you haven’t told her.” 

Mydei sighs again, deeply this time.

You know exactly what he wants. Advice. A solution. A way to make your daughter understand that you were still going to be a family no matter what—even if her father might find someone else. You knew he wanted to know how exactly he would tell her that.

You murmur his name softly from across the couch and he responds with a tired, defeated “Mh?”

“Talk to her,” you urge, “maybe not now, since I’m sure Phai is taking her out of her bad mood and if you talk to her now, you’d probably just undo everything he did.”

He keeps quiet.

“She’s just a kid, Mydei. She’s just scared, you didn’t fuck up your relationship with her. You two will be fine as always.”

He exhales.

“I know.”

“You two will be fine.”

…

The following weeks were strangely quiet in a way that unsettled you more than any outburst ever could. Melina would come home from her father’s place with that same faraway look she used to have when the custody exchanges had just begun—back when she didn’t understand why she had to leave one home for another—only now, there were no tears, no protests, just a tightness in her smile and a heaviness in her silences. 

It was subtle, easy to miss if you weren’t looking closely, but you were. 

You always were. 

You considered asking Mydei if he’d said something to her, if anything had happened, but something told you he was just as in the dark as you were. 

So you tried asking her instead, but she only waved you off with a tired laugh, insisting it was just stress from college applications, nothing more, nothing to worry about. And you wanted to believe her. You really did.

But something was bugging you, so you texted Mydei again.

You Hey. Mel wants us to be at the Foundation Fair for her school. The family day thing, just like last year. Mydei Hey, yeah. I saw it on the school forum. I’ll be there. You Also… Have you noticed Mel’s been… off lately? Mydei Yeah. She’s been quieter. You She said it’s just application stress. Mydei Do you believe her?

You stare at the message longer than you should.

You I don’t know.

No message comes through for a moment.

Then the typing bubbles come up again, and—

Mydei We’ll keep an eye on her.

There’s a pause.

Mydei We’ve got her.

And for some reason, that steadies you more than it should.

…

It’s noisy at the Foundation Day’s Fair. Kids ran around everywhere, balloons of different colors strapped to their wrists. The student band playing had really cool live music. 

You and Mydei arrived together, he picked you up from your office when Mel texted him that there was limited parking and it would be better if he picked you up to save time trying to find a space to park in.

She let you know through text as well that her Dad was coming to pick you up. Which to be completely honest, saved you the time of going home and parking your car then hailing a ride to her school.

The moment you got there, Mel was already waiting for both of you at the entrance, dragging you off to… well, everywhere. She rode on scary rides and insisted that you both ride with her. She asked Mydei to buy her cotton candy, win her prizes, and all the sort.

It made you smile, seeing how happy she was just to run around the fair with the two of you. Her weird attitude towards her Dad disappeared, and it was just like before. Like you were a family. It brought a warmth to your chest as you can only sigh in content as she enjoyed the day with you both.

Then she got hungry.

“Dad, please, I wanna eat nachos, please, please, please, please,” she repeated over and over, tugging at her father’s arm as his other carried all the prizes he won for her that afternoon while her other hand was looped around yours.

“You will eat real, actual food, Meli,” he replied.

“And then nachos?”

Mydei sighs in defeat, “Yes, and then nachos.”

The girl can only squeal in triumph.

When you got to the food caravans, you both told her to go find a seat somewhere for the three of you while you and Mydei ordered food—taking all her prizes with her.

You only shook your head in fondness when she asked if she could get ice-cream, too.

“She takes after your sweet tooth too much,” you jokingly scold Mydei and he raises his eyebrows, an amused smile on his lips.

“Please, like she didn’t get your taste for cold drinks?”

“Hey!” you swat him on the arm, “That’s a need in this weather, you know.”

“Uh-huh…” he nods like he believes you even though the grin on his face tells you he doesn’t buy it one bit.

…

From a few tables away, Mel had her eyes on the two of you—finding a seat in the cooler area of the venue. She saw the two of you talking and even laughing.

Even without the romance books, she knew that look in her Dad’s eyes.

There was something.

And then she hears it a few tables over, someone from the Parents’ Association was talking about the two of you, about her family.

“It’s a shame really, I mean, come on, Mydeimos Gorgo is a gorgeous man,” the voice starts, “The ex–wife isn’t that too bad looking either.”

What?

“But obviously, she’s done something wrong for them to divorce.”

Mel stays silent, she couldn’t believe someone would talk about her parents that way without even knowing the full story—actually, no! They shouldn’t talk about them like that at all!

Her eyes darted around, ears straining to hear where exactly the voice was coming from over all the noise.

Then another voice speaks.

“I don’t know whether to feel bad or embarrassed for them, I mean, they’re not even a real family anymore, why would they attend Foundation Day when it’s obviously known for being a family day? They’re just prolonging this charade for their daughter at this point.”

Melina stands up so abruptly that her chair scrapes the ground and the voice stops talking. She realizes the voice was coming from behind her all along—and the horrified look on the woman’s face when she sees that the daughter she was talking about was right there? Priceless.

But not enough to undo the damage.

“Next time, keep your comments to yourself,” she spits out before walking away.

…

It doesn’t take long for Mydei to notice your daughter missing.

The moment he scans the area when you finish ordering, he tells you immediately.

“Melina’s gone.”

Your attention takes a 180 and you scan around immediately, “What? Gone?”

Then Mydei spots the bag of prizes she had—now laying on a lonely table a few ways away and holds onto you to take you there.

“I’ll look for her, between you and me, we know I have better eyesight, I need you to be here in case Meli comes back, okay?” He tells you and you nod, panic steadily creeping up your back.

Mydei takes notice of this, places a hand behind your head, and pulls you in to place a kiss on top of your hair as he wraps a hand around you in a hug.

“I’ll find her, don’t worry,” he reassures, “I won’t let her slip away this time.”

You nod—still in a daze—still processing what the hell he just did, and watching as he walks away in search of your daughter. Phone in hand as you wait for any text that Mel might send you.

…

Just like it didn’t take long for Mydei to notice she was missing, it didn’t take him long to find her either.

He breathed a sigh of relief and texted you that he found your daughter, waiting for you to reply before pocketing his phone.

The field is loud in the way only campus events can be—whistles cutting through the air, laughter spilling over from picnic blankets, parents calling out to their kids with easy familiarity. It’s bright, full, and alive.

And somehow, that’s what makes it feel so quiet when Mydei finally spots her.

Melina sits alone on the bleachers, a few rows up, elbows on her knees, chin resting on clasped hands. She isn’t on her phone. IShe’s just picking at the skin beside her fingernails. Just… watching.

Watching the families gathered below, the ones that fit together without effort.

Mydei slows his steps.

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything—just takes it in. The way her shoulders are slightly hunched. The way her gaze lingers a second too long on a father lifting his kid onto his shoulders, on a mother brushing grass off her son’s shirt.

He exhales quietly and walks up the steps.

The metal creaks softly under his weight, but she doesn’t turn.

He lowers himself beside her anyway.

Not too close. Just enough to give her space if she wants that, and enough that she can lean on him if she wants to. For a while, he lets the silence sit between them, lets the noise from the field fill the space instead.

Then, gently, he tries.

“Did I do something wrong?”

Melina blinks, like she hadn’t expected that, but shakes her head quickly, “No, Dad, you didn’t…” her voice falters, just slightly, “It’s just… I heard some people talking.”

Mydei hums, low and patient, eyes still forward, waiting for her to continue.

She shifts then, leans—just a little—until her shoulder presses against his arm. Not quite a hug. But close. It’s enough for Mydei.

And then it all spills out.

“You and Mom have been nothing but good to me,” she starts, words rushing over each other like she’s afraid she’ll lose them if she slows down, “you both didn’t do anything wrong, it’s just…”

Her voice wavers.

She swallows hard, shoulders trembling like she’s holding herself together by sheer will.

“It’s me.”

Mydei’s arm comes around her without hesitation, pulling her closer, anchoring her to him and Melina presses her face into his side, fingers curling into the fabric of his sleeve.

“I feel like it’s wrong,” she admits, the words muffled but heavy, “I know you and Mom divorced years ago, I know that, I get it, I should be over it, but—” her breath stutters, “—but here, today, it just feels like…”

She squeezes her eyes shut.

“Like we’re not really a family.”

The words land heavier than anything else.

“Like we’re just… pretending. Like we’re faking it for me.”

Mydei’s chest tightens.

He doesn’t interrupt.

Doesn’t correct her.

He just listens.

“And I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel,” she continues, voice cracking now, slipping past the point of control, “because I am happy, I am, I swear, but then I see them and it just—” she chokes on the rest, shaking her head against him. 

“It feels wrong that we’re not like that.”

A pause.

A breath.

And then—

“Why can’t you and Mom try again?”

Mydei stills.

For a moment, the world narrows down to just that question.

His throat tightens and the corners of his eyes sting. He takes a moment and inhales slowly, deeply—like he’s bracing himself against something unseen.

When he speaks, his voice is quieter than before, rougher, like it pains him to try to answer it—because it does.

Is there anything so undoing as a daughter?

“Meli…”

She doesn’t look up.

So he continues anyway.

“From the moment I lost you and your mom… I never found anyone else.”

Her grip on his sleeve tightens.

“It’s always been her for me,” he admits, the words sitting heavy on his tongue like something long kept in, “there wasn’t anyone after. There isn’t anyone now. There won’t be anyone else.”

He lets out a small, breathless exhale.

“That woman you saw at the office—she meant nothing. Truly. I was just doing my job.”

Melina sniffles, but she’s listening.

“I love your mom,” he says, more firmly now, even if it costs him something to admit it out loud, “I still do.”

A beat.

“But…” his voice dips, quieter, “I don’t think I’m right for her anymore.”

Mel pulls back just enough to look at him.

Really look.

And then—smack.

Her hand hits his bicep. Not hard, but definitely not gentle.

“If you love her, then tell her that!” she bursts out, eyes still wet, frustration cutting through the tears, “You can’t just decide that for her, Dad!”

Mydei blinks, caught off guard.

“Meli—”

“No!” she cuts him off, shaking her head, “You always do that! You just… decide things on your own and don’t even ask! That’s probably why you ended up here in the first place!”

That one lands heavily.

It makes him wince.

She sniffles again, wiping at her face with the back of her hand, breathing uneven but steadier now that it’s all out.

For a moment, neither of them speak.

Then slowly…

Mydei exhales.

A small, almost helpless smile tugs at his lips, “…Okay.”

Melina frowns, “Okay?”

“I’ll tell her,” he says, softer this time, “I’ll… try again.”

She searches his face like she’s making sure he means it.

Then, she nods.

They fall into silence again, but it’s different now, lighter, like something that had been pressing down finally shifted. The wind picks up slightly, brushing against their faces still sticky with tears.

Mel leans against him again, this time without hesitation.

Mydei glances down at her, then sighs quietly.

“You know,” he starts, tone shifting just enough, “we really have to limit your book purchases at JnV’s.”

Mel groans immediately “Oh, be quiet, Dad.”

And just like that she sounds like herself again.

…

Whatever happened on those bleachers, neither of them told you.

Melina came back first, eyes a little red, nose still pink from sniffling, but smiling softly, like something inside her had finally settled. Mydei followed a few steps behind, expression calmer than you’d seen it in weeks, the usual tension in his shoulders eased just enough to notice.

You didn’t ask.

You didn’t need to.

There are some things a parent learns to recognize without words—and the way Mel slipped her hand into his sleeve for a second before letting go, the way he rested his palm briefly against her head as he passed by—you could make a pretty good guess.

Whatever it was, it helped.

The strange distance that had crept in over the past few weeks seemed to dissolve after that day. Mel laughed more, talked more. Fell back into that easy rhythm between the two of you, and with him. The quiet heaviness that had followed her around finally lifted, replaced with something lighter. Something closer to how things used to feel.

Things were good.

Melina ended up applying to The Grove of Epiphany University in the end, where Phai went—after weeks of deliberation, second-guessing, and late-night rambling about pros and cons that changed every other day.

When she finally told you and Mydei, she looked… proud and certain.

“That’s a good school,” you told her, squeezing her shoulder.

Mydei nodded, something unreadable flickering across his face before it softened, “Your grandmother would’ve liked that.”

Mel tilted her head, “Grandma Gorgo?”

He hummed, “She always wanted me to go there.”

“You didn’t.”

“I didn’t,” he agreed, a faint smile tugging at his lips, “We went to—” he paused, frowning slightly like he was trying to recall it properly, “Gibranipar—no, wait—”

“Garbaniphoro,” Mel corrected immediately, grinning.

“Right. That one,” he said dryly.

She snorted.

You found yourself smiling too.

It was easy, in moments like that, to forget everything that came before.

…

It’s one of those quiet evenings during your week with Mel.

Nothing particularly special—just the hum of your home settling into the night, papers half-graded on your desk, your phone lighting up every now and then with notifications you don’t feel like checking yet.

Until it buzzes again.

You glance down.

Honey Imma be sleeping over at uncle phai’s !!  for movie night 😎 Pls say yes

You smile, shaking your head slightly.

You Don’t stay up too late. Honey no promises THABKU LOVEU [ <3 ] reacted by You

You let out a soft huff and set your phone down—only to pick it up again a moment later, already opening your messages with Phainon.

You Is this true or is she plotting something?

It doesn’t take long for him to reply.

Most Annoying Brother Ever <3 Wow… no trust. I'm hurt. [ haha ] reacted by You No, yeah it’s true, I invited her over. I’ll pick her up from school in a bit. [ <3 ] reacted by You You Alright. Have fun, just keep her alive please. [ <3 ] reacted by Phainon Most Annoying Brother Ever <3 No guarantees. [ ?! ] reacted by You

You roll your eyes, but there’s a fondness in it.

You set your phone down again, and a few minutes later, it lights up once more.

Mydei She texted you too?

You blink, then pick it up.

You Yep.

There’s a pause.

Just long enough for you to think the conversation’s over.

Then—

Mydei Can I see you?

You freeze.

Your fingers hover over the keyboard, unmoving.

Almost six years.

Six years of schedules, of updates, of polite conversations that begin and end with Melina at the center of them.

And this… This is the first time he’s asked for something that isn’t about her.

The cursor blinks.

Waiting.

You What is this about, Mydei?

There’s a pause. Longer than usual. Long enough for your chest to tighten in a way you don’t want to acknowledge.

Mydei It’s important.

You stare at the message.

Important.

Your fingers hover again, hesitation curling at the edges of your thoughts. Somewhere deep down, something stirs—something you buried months ago, something fragile and dangerous and entirely unwelcome.

Hope.

You press your lips together.

No.

You’ve already made peace with this. With him. With what you are now.

You shouldn’t.

And yet.

You Okay.

…

He arrives twenty minutes later, ringing your doorbell with a bag of ingredients slung over his shoulder like this is just another normal night. Like he hasn’t just tilted something off balance with a single message.

You stand at the door and he stands there, staring right back at you.

“…Hi.”

“Hi…”

God, it’s awkward.

You step aside anyway, letting him in.

He moves through the house like he remembers it—like muscle memory guides him more than thought. Straight to the kitchen. His kitchen.

Just like he used to.

Before…

You linger by the doorway for a moment before closing it and following after him. He’s already unpacking the bag, pulling out ingredients, setting them down with quiet efficiency. You lean against the counter, watching as he does so.

“You didn’t change anything in the kitchen,” he comments, taking note that it looked just like how he customized it.

You shrugged, “Didn’t have the chance to back then, you know. I never really set foot in here until maybe a year after it all.”

He keeps quiet about it and starts to wash the ingredients.

“Now, I don’t really see a reason to change it, I don’t think there’s a need to.”

Mydei takes a look at you and hums, “I see.”

“…Did you just come here to cook?” you ask, unable to keep the curiosity out of your voice, “Is that the important part?”

He huffs softly, not quite amused.

“No,” he mutters, focusing a little too hard on chopping, “I’m… working up the courage to say it. Okay?”

You blink.

Mydei? Working up courage?

That’s… new.

“…Okay,” you say slowly.

You don’t push.

Instead, you give him space—moving back to the island where your papers are spread out, laptop open, red pen in hand. You sit, trying to focus on grading, but your eyes keep drifting up to him, sneaking glances every now and then.

And every now and then, his eyes drift back to you.

It’s quiet.

Not uncomfortable, exactly.

Just… charged.

Like something is waiting to happen and neither of you knows when it’ll break.

…

“I’m almost done,” he says eventually.

You blink, snapping out of your thoughts.

“Oh, okay.”

You stand, moving automatically, grabbing plates, setting them on the table. The motions come easy, it’s familiar. Pause. Too familiar, actually… It feels… domestic.

Again.

And yet—there’s something different now. Something cautious. Like the two of you are circling each other, careful not to step too close too fast. Like you’re both trying to test how far the other is letting this go on for.

You decide you’ll wait for his move. The ball is in his court and it’s his turn to do something.

But for now, you sit, he serves, and you’ll both eat.

The lasagna comes out of the oven still bubbling at the edges, the surface a perfect, blistered gold where the cheese has melted and browned just enough to crisp. The smell hits first—rich, slow-cooked tomato, garlic softened into sweetness, a deep savory warmth that wraps around you before you even take a bite. When he cuts into it, the layers give way with a soft, satisfying slide—tender sheets of pasta, velvety bechamel, and a thick, meaty ragu that’s been simmered long enough to taste like time itself.

Steam curls up from the slice on your plate, carrying that same intoxicating aroma, and when your fork sinks in, it’s almost effortless. The first bite is warm in a way that settles deep in your chest—the cheese stretching slightly before melting on your tongue, the sauce rich and full, balanced with just a hint of acidity that keeps it from being too heavy. It’s indulgent, comforting, and familiar.

It tastes like something made with patience.

Like something made for someone specific.

Like home.

“This is really good,” you compliment with a smile, “I haven’t had your cooking in years.”

He pauses mid-bite and raises a brow, “…I’ve been packing food for Melina to bring home,” he says slowly, “What do you mean?”

Oh.

You wince, shrugging a little. You couldn’t tell him that you couldn’t stomach the thought of his cooking back then, because you were… you were angry. At him. But that was back then, therapy had made you come to terms with these feelings, so you try to pivot the conversation back into a safe area.

“I just thought they were for her specifically,” you say lightly, like it doesn’t matter, “You know… I’m not your responsibility anymore.”

The silence after that is so thick and heavy it’s as if the air’s been knocked out of the room.

“Myd—” you try to start and he interrupts you quietly with your name on his lips.

You immediately backtrack, “Hey, it’s okay, I didn’t mean anything by it, I just—”

“It was always for you.”

You stop.

You blink.

He’s looking at you now.

Really looking.

“I cooked extra because I knew you’d be there,” he continues, voice tight, “I just thought… I thought you knew.”

You let out a small, nervous laugh, shaking your head, “It’s fine, I’ll—I’ll eat the next one you send, okay?”

He looks… pained, as you tell him that.

“I thought we were okay.”

“We are—”

“Then why does it feel like you’re avoiding me?” he cuts in, frustration slipping through, “I know we’re not… great, I know I fucked up, but I thought we were okay enough to… to—”

He trails off and you sigh, rubbing your temple. 

“Mydei,” you say softly, “why did you come here tonight?”

That stops him.

Completely.

For a moment, he just sits there.

Then he exhales and something shifts.

“I didn’t fight for you.”

The words hit you like a blow.

Your heart stutters.

“…What?”

“When you gave me the papers,” he continues, voice low, steady only by force, “I didn’t fight you. I didn’t ask you to stay. I didn’t even try.”

You shake your head slightly, “Mydei—”

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” he says, a bitter edge creeping in, “I thought… if you were unhappy enough to leave, then the least I could do was not make it harder for you.”

Your chest tightens.

“I told myself it was respect,” he continues, “that I was respecting your decision. Your autonomy.”

He laughs dryly, “But really, I was just a coward.”

You stand up from your seat, the chair scraping off of the floor and you back up, “Don’t—”

“No,” he cuts in, sharper now, standing as he does so, “you don’t understand.”

You take a step back, “Don’t do this, Mydei.”

“Please—”

“No, please,” you echo, your voice breaking, begging, as months of therapy start to unravel at the seams, your heart bleeding out in your hands once again in this very kitchen, “please don’t do this.”

“It’s you,” he says, stepping forward.

You shake your head, another step back.

“It’s always, only ever been you.”

Your back hits the island.

You didn’t even realize you’d been retreating.

He’s there in front of you now.

Close—Too close.

“Despite everything,” he murmurs, voice dropping, hands coming up—hesitant at first, then certain and gentle as they cradle your face, “it’s still you.”

You feel dizzy.

Like the ground’s been pulled out from under you.

His forehead presses against yours. His scent flooding your senses.

The sensation too warm, too familiar, and eternally devastating.

“Please,” he whispers, breath uneven, “tell me what I have to do to win you back.”

Your vision blurs.

This is—This is everything you ever wanted.

For him to fight, to choose you, to try. 

And now that he is—you don’t know what to do.

“I’m scared, Dei.”

The nickname slips out before you can stop it, and it breaks something in him.

You feel it.

The way he inhales sharply. The way his grip tightens just slightly.

“…I know,” he murmurs.

You shake in his hold, barely able to contain the tears that spill out from your eyes.

“How do I know it won’t end the same way?”

It’s barely a whisper, but it carries everything.

Every late night, every empty chair, every broken promise.

Mydei’s hand trembles as he brushes a tear from your cheek.

He leans in and presses a soft kiss against it.

“I won’t let it happen again,” he says, voice fierce despite the quiet, “I lost you once. I won’t—” his breath catches, “—I won’t let it happen again.”

His hand slips down, finding yours, intertwining your fingers.

He brings it up between your face as he looks up at you—despite being taller—and presses a kiss to your knuckles.

Gentle.

Reverent.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers, “if you’ll have me.”

Your chest heaves, your eyes burn, and you nod.

Just once, but it’s enough.

He lets out a shaky laugh, the sound wet and broken.

He’s crying too.

You realize that distantly.

And then—softly—just like the first time.

“I, Mydeimos Gorgo, take you,” he continues, voice steadier now, like he’s anchoring himself in it, “to be my lawfully wedded wife.”

“I don’t have perfect words, I never did. But I know this—every version of my life that meant something had you in it. And every version without you… didn’t feel like mine.”

“I vow to come home to you—not just in place, but in heart. I vow to make space for you in every part of my life, the way I should have from the beginning.”

“You are not an afterthought. You never were. You are my first choice.”

“And if you let me again—I will keep choosing you. Every day. For the rest of my life.”

Your breath catches.

He remembered.

After everything—he remembered.

A breath.

“I do.”

“Do you,” he begins, voice trembling, “take me, Mydeimos Gorgo, as your lawfully wedded husband?”

“I do,” you sob, nodding through tears, the words breaking on a hiccup.

He smiles at that and slips a ring you didn’t even know he had into your ring finger. His face soft as his heart remains aching.

“I know this may be sudden, but I think this is long overdue, what about you?”

Your hands come up, cupping his face like you’re afraid he’ll disappear.

You answer him by pulling him down and crashing your lips against his. Like you’re dying of thirst in the desert and he’s the only thing that can save you.

It feels the same.

God, it feels the same.

And that’s what breaks you.

You sob into the kiss, your fingers tightening against him, and he smiles—smiles—against your mouth, holding you like he’s afraid to let go.

When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours again and presses a soft kiss to your nose.

Your breathing is uneven. Your chest is aching. Your mind spinning from trying to process everything, but you feel lighter.

So much lighter.

“…Meli’s going to be ecstatic about this,” he murmurs.

And despite everything—you laugh.

…

Meli DAD UPDAET Plss im dying of anticipaton here Meli HEY DONT LEAVE ME ON DELIVEREED DADD !!! On nikador bro i swear u are taking So longgg read at 8:04 pm Meli HEY I SEE U READ IT Dad reply pls oh my strife Uncle phai and i are dying here Meli Give update to revive pls pls pls Dad [ sent a photo: ring in someone’s finger, hand covering her face as she’s leaning against someone’s clavicle ] Got her back. [ <3 ] reacted by Melina Meli THATS WHAT IM FUCKING TALKING ABOUT !!!! Dad Language. Meli God forbid a girl is happy she's no longer a child of divorce. [ haha ] reacted by Mydei

…

Bonus scenes!

You Meli and I are on the way to the grocery store. Do you want anything? Dei <3 My beautiful wife and daughter home safe You Corny. [ <3 ] reacted by Mydei

…

Favorite Niece 5Ever Can u sneak me out and drive me to a party It starts at 11 On the 12th Pls pls pls u would be blessed with a gf w a big ass Coolest Unc 5Ever Girl what ?? Your mom AND dad will kill me. Favorite Niece 5Ever Soo is that a no…? Coolest Unc 5Ever If your mom catches me we are soo dead. Send me the addy. [ <3 ] reacted by Melina Favorite Niece 5Ever THX LUVYEW 5EVER !!!! [ <3 ] reacted by Phainon

…

Mom Melina Hera Gorgo. Where are you. You are so grounded when you get home.

usagi's note: can u guys pretty please tell me what melina looks like for u guys PLEASEEE i begggg, anyway i have another mydei fic coming up soon, can u believe i did this in 2 days? me neither. i am so insane wtf. stream dawtde!

@usagiarchive 2025. do not repost, translate, or use for AI. reblogs, likes, and comments are very appreciated!!

“Oh, I do,” you shot back with a wink. “I just choose not to. Especially when I see a hot, brooding warrior who—”

“For the love of all the Titans, STOP.” Phainon groaned from the sidelines, looking as if he had aged several decades in the past five minutes. “This is a battlefield, not a tavern! Quit trying to seduce the deadly assassin!”

“But Phaiii,” you whined, twirling out of the way of another attack with infuriating ease. “What if he’s my destiny?”

Flame Reaver’s sword halted mid-strike, his entire form stiffening. If you could see beneath that mask, you just knew he was internally combusting.

You beamed. “See? He’s thinking about it.”

“I want to walk into the Black Tide.” Phainon clutched his head. “I need a reset. A full system reboot.”

However, the moment of chaotic banter was short-lived. Something shifted in the air—an unseen force pulsed around you, the battlefield trembling under an unseen pressure. It was faint at first, a sensation curling at the edges of your consciousness, but then—

You felt it.

Something familiar. Something eerily familiar.

Your eyes narrowed slightly as you studied Flame Reaver. The way he moved, the way he carried himself, the way he hesitated—not out of uncertainty, but out of something else. Recognition? Familiarity?

It clicked all at once.

“No way.” Your weapon lowered ever so slightly, a grin spreading across your face. “Oh, this is rich.”

Flame Reaver, who had clearly not been expecting this reaction, straightened slightly. “What?”

“No, no, I’m just—” You actually had to take a second to process the sheer absurdity of this revelation before you burst into laughter. “Of course. Of COURSE my taste in men is never wrong.”

Phainon, who had been one inconvenience away from a mental breakdown this entire time, blinked. “What. What does that mean. What did you just figure out.”

You took a dramatic step forward, eyes glinting with absolute amusement. “So, let me get this straight.” You gestured vaguely at Flame Reaver. “You—mysterious, brooding, dangerously attractive Flame Reaver—are Phainon.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Phainon’s brain audibly short-circuited. “I’m—WHAT.”

Flame Reaver visibly flinched. “That is—” He hesitated, voice tight. “Not entirely incorrect.”

You gasped, clasping your hands together in pure, unfiltered delight. “So I fell for the same guy TWICE?” You twirled a strand of your hair between your fingers, biting your lip playfully. “Damn. Maybe I have a type.”

Phainon, meanwhile, looked like he was going through all five stages of grief at once. “You—he—ME? HIM? FLAME REAVER IS ME?” He pointed aggressively between himself and Flame Reaver. “FROM ANOTHER TIMELINE?”

Flame Reaver, who was absolutely not equipped to deal with this level of sheer chaos, cleared his throat. “A different version of you, yes.”

Phainon made a strangled noise. “I hate this. I hate this so much.”

“Oh, come on, Phai,” you teased, nudging him. “This just means I have EXCELLENT taste. I mean, think about it. Twice. Twice, my heart went ‘yep, that’s the one.’”

Flame Reaver, the terrifying executioner feared across realms, looked incredibly unsure of how to handle the fact that he was being actively flirted with by the same person in two different lifetimes.

“I—” he started, but then immediately stopped, seemingly at war with himself.

You leaned in slightly. “Oh? Speechless? Flustered, even?”

“I am NOT flustered.”

“You hesitated. You totally hesitated.” You smirked, leaning on your weapon. “C’mon, just admit it. I’ve got you all hot and bothered, don’t I?”

Phainon groaned, burying his face in his hands. “I AM GOING TO COMBUST.”

Flame Reaver exhaled sharply, visibly collecting himself. “Enough. This changes nothing.”

You hummed, tilting your head. “Oh, I think it changes everything.” You shot him a wink. “After all, now I know my type is literally across timelines.”

Flame Reaver, for all his legendary composure, looked moments away from combusting himself.

Phainon simply stared up at the sky like he was begging the Titans to strike him down.

You ignored him, still beaming. “Anyway, that settles it. I have two boyfriends now.”

Silence.

The battlefield, the remnants of shattered structures, the very air seemed to collectively pause at your words.

Both Phainons blinked at you, as if waiting for some sort of clarification that you were joking.

You were not.

“I beg your pardon?” Flame Reaver finally asked, his usual composed demeanor absolutely crumbling under the sheer audacity of your statement.

Phainon actually looked offended. “Excuse me, what?”

“You heard me.” You shrugged. “I mean, it makes sense, doesn’t it? You’re technically the same person, but like, from different timelines. So if I like one of you, I obviously like the other, too.”

Flame Reaver looked way too flustered for someone who was supposed to be an emotionless killer. “That is not how this works.”

“Why not?” You crossed your arms, pouting slightly. “It’s efficient.”

Phainon gestured wildly at you. “Efficient?”

“Yeah! One boyfriend for soft, wholesome moments and another for broody, dramatic tension. It’s a perfect balance.”

Flame Reaver’s eye twitched. “I am not your boyfriend.”

“You literally let me flirt with you for an entire battle and barely fought back,” you pointed out. “That’s boyfriend behavior.”

Phainon turned to Flame Reaver with a look of absolute betrayal. “You what?”

Flame Reaver stiffened, his posture straightening as if trying to regain some level of dignity. “It was strategic hesitation.”

“It was flustered hesitation,” you corrected.

Phainon groaned, dragging his hands down his face. “I can’t believe this. I literally lost to myself. I hate this timeline.”

Flame Reaver was still recovering, his mind clearly short-circuiting. “…Two boyfriends?”

“You’re getting stuck on that?” Phainon snapped at him.

You just clasped your hands together, looking at them expectantly. “So. Where are we going for our first date?”

Phainon screamed internally. Flame Reaver still looked like he hadn’t fully processed reality yet.

what the fuck is happening

────────── ᯓ★ ──────────

till has started to realize something.

in the last seven years of life he's had prospering in newfound freedom, he started thinking about how he needs to find a way to fully let go of everything. his shame, his hatred, and his pain.

not as if he needed to feel ashamed of his past or completely ignore it. after all, they were just kids... but he should let loose. he should embrace his past because it was a part of him, living this life by creating new and better memories.

like hyuna. sure, he never knew her personally, never got to meet her or talk to her before her death. he had only ever heard stories, but he knew enough that the people in the rebellion looked up to her a lot. heard enough that his impression of her was that she had a strong heart and the face of a leader.

they all had this hope, to move on. to live life and let loose because at any moment they could die for a cause bigger than them that wasn't even promised to them.

it was their human nature to believe that their efforts wouldn't be in vain. just like ivan's death wasn't in vain.

at first, he had been keeping himself distant, just doing what was required of him so he could be helpful.

he didn't really talk, let alone try and befriend anyone, in fear of history repeating itself.

in fact, he didn't talk for the longest time to anyone else.

however, you hadn't been making it any easier for him in his early years as a rebel.

at least you were cordial and gentle with him, treating him like anyone else, despite the fact that your eyes looked scarily familiar to a special someone from his past.

but if he was being honest with himself? you were a weapon fashioned against him.

a weapon that he wished he could own, have just for himself.

he knew it was wrong. he barely even learned your name and he already had thoughts about you touching him in ways he wouldn't utter. him taking you like you were some sacred treasure and being greedy with it, molding himself in a shape that he wished embodied you. but you couldn't blame him, because you were just so gentle, too gentle.

it was as if you were afraid you'd break him. if you ever gave him a hug or tried to touch him, it was always so soft, never abrupt. most of the time, you asked before even doing so.

and something about that, though, should have bothered him. he wasn't a child. you wouldn't break him at all.

but with everything he'd been through, just the fact that you had boundaries made him feel more comfortable than probably anyone else he'd ever met before.

the only problem was that he questioned a lot about the type of love he felt for the people around him. the way he had loved mizi... was this just another thing like that because she was gone? was this just some sort of selfish infatuation to keep him feeling peace in some unknown world?

then again, he never did have vivid fascinations about mizi.

he blamed dewey for all of this. he already knew everything he needed to know about the human body from his school days, as it was required for everyone to know. but dewey kind of dragged him into some rather "questionable stuff" in hopes of relieving tension and bringing his voice back.

safe to say, it only made till more tense. And when he hide off because the situation became a little too much, his mind ended up drifting to you.

he was terrible. he knew it. even though he didn't actually know if what he did to relieve himself was wrong or not, it was like something in his chest tightened with guilt.

he felt nasty, but you really couldn't blame him. plus, he kept to himself, left your boundaries completely untouched so that you'd let him come closer eventually. so much so that others might've assumed that you both were just cordial acquaintances that went on missions sometimes instead of friends.

and because of this, after he was able to set his trauma aside and slowly heal so he could learn to smile more, he finally asked more about you.

to which issac found himself laughing, and dewey gawked before daring him to say some shit about you. till replied with his notepad, saying he wouldn't and that he was just curious. but that only spurred dewey on more, finding it odd and hilarious that the person who couldn't talk was asking about the person who couldn't hear.

apparently, dewey had assumed till was only a boy kisser, because everyone was usually infatuated with you, this electric woman that chose to help the rebellion.

till chose not to reply to dewey's boy kisser comment, simply raising an eyebrow. which, in turn, caused issac to smack dewey upside the head for bragging on your behalf. however, issac admittedly agreed with dewey, saying that if till were what he called a "gay person" and he wanted to stay that way, he'd better stay clear away from you before that changed real quick.

again, what was with this "gay boy kisser" stuff? it irked him a bit, hearing it everywhere and knowing damn well just what they were referring to. but still, he didn't worry about it.

because till had been thinking about you more than he cared to admit.

it was quiet in his head most of the time, empty in a way that felt safe. but lately, the quiet had been filled with you. the way you looked when you signed something with your hands, the way your eyes softened when you were trying to understand him, the way your soft laugh seemed to cut through the constant heaviness that had followed him ever since the events of alien stage.

he didn’t know what to call it. maybe he didn’t want to. every time he tried to put a name to it, his chest tightened, and he felt fragile all over again. it was scary, this feeling. like standing at the edge of something and knowing you could fall with just the smallest step forward.

five or six years in the rebellion, side by side with you and many others, and still he couldn’t tell if he wanted to run from the feeling or hold it closer.

he would catch himself imagining what it might be like if he just... told you. if he opened his mouth and let the words fall out. what if you smiled? what if you didn’t? what if you felt the same and he could finally let go of the tight coil in his chest? what if you didn’t and he broke all over again?

he hated how vulnerable it made him feel. like he was that same emotionally unstable boy all over again, afraid of what the world might do to him if he reached for something he wanted.

and while he wrestled with these thoughts in silence, unbeknownst to him, issac and dewey had already decided to take matters into their own hands.

it wasn’t because they were particularly invested in love stories. it was just because they could. dewey was the most excited, whispering ridiculous schemes when till wasn’t looking, convinced that he could nudge the two of you into something more. issac, on the other hand, only got involved to make sure dewey didn’t get himself punched or exiled for meddling too much.

"i'm telling you," dewey had said once, half-whispered behind his hand as if till could read lips. "they’re perfect. like, disgustingly perfect. he just doesn’t know it yet."

"have you ever thought that maybe he already knows and is just taking his time?" issac questioned, rolling his eyes before muttering, "you don't always know everything, moron."

still, he didn’t stop him.

meanwhile, till stayed oblivious, his heart full of cautious hope and quiet fear. somewhere deep down, he wished that if he ever gathered the courage to reach out, you might be there waiting, ready to reach back.

it wasn't like dewey hadn't already tried. in fact, he'd tried more than a few times to set till and you up in situations that he swore would "work like magic." sometimes issac helped, sometimes he didn't, but he never stopped dewey entirely.

once, dewey managed to convince you both to check inventory in the storage tunnels at the same time. it was cramped, quiet, and the air was thick with dust and the faint hum of the old ventilation. till could barely focus on the boxes in front of him because you were so close he could hear the soft brush of your clothes whenever you moved. nothing happened, of course. but the tension stayed, thrumming like a low, constant note in the back of his mind.

another time, dewey had "accidentally" sent you both on a supply run together when it was supposed to be a three-person job. issac claimed he was "sick," though till was pretty sure the only sickness involved was dewey's grin when they returned. nothing unusual happened that day either, but it didn’t matter. till could still remember the warmth of the sun against your shoulder when you leaned over the map, close enough that he could smell the faint scent of a flower maybe, and soap clinging to your skin.

every one of dewey's attempts ended the same. nothing bold, nothing reckless. just that same lingering tension, like the air between you both was holding its breath.

and for till, it was both torture and comfort. he didn’t know if he wanted it to break or last forever.

till found himself thinking about it long after the moments had passed. he’d be sitting on his bed or leaning against the walls of the base, and the memories would creep in. the soft brush of your hand when you passed him something. the way your eyes caught the light when you looked at him. the way his chest tightened, but it wasn’t fear anymore, not entirely. it was something warmer, something he still didn’t know how to name.

then his mind wandered to the reason he could even talk to you in the first place. the reason he could make you laugh without ever opening his mouth.

sign language.

he'd started learning it for you.

or, at least, he told himself it was for communication, for missions, for convenience. but in his heart, he knew it was because every second he spent learning from you felt like a small piece of something he'd never had before.

you were patient. so patient that it almost hurt. every time he fumbled a sign or forgot a motion, you would just smile and guide his hand through the movement. slow, gentle, like you were touching something fragile.

maybe he was imagining it, but it felt like you weren’t just teaching him words. it felt like you were teaching him how to breathe again. how to exist without the constant fear of breaking.

sometimes, he wondered if you knew. if you knew that every little lesson carved a space for you in his chest that no one else had ever reached.

and sometimes, in the quiet moments after, when he lay awake staring at the ceiling, he thought about what it would be like to sign something more to you. not mission updates or simple words. something like how he was happy you were there or how he thought about you more than he should have ever allowed himself too.

but he always swallowed it down.

for now, it was enough to fumble the signs and feel your fingers brush his as you corrected him.

so much so that he even practiced his confession to you in sign language. it was much easier to write down the words, but if he ever were to admit it, he'd want you to know that he cared deeply about you.

but then, he got an even better idea one day.

the base was already alive with sound that morning, boots clattering on metal walkways and distant voices echoing through the halls. the smell of ration coffee lingered in the air.

till sat next to you on the long island counter top tucked into the corner, his notepad already open, pen tapping idly against the paper. he watched you sip your drink, your eyes scanning the room without urgency.

he hesitated before finally scribbling a line and tilting the page toward you.

"can you not hear at all? or are your ears just really damaged?"

simple words, but ones you didn't think of a lot. your hands paused around the cup before you set it down gently. your fingers moved in smooth, steady signs that he had grown familiar with, though he still needed to focus carefully to catch every word.

"just damaged", you signed. "when i was little… i had an owner. he..." you hesitated, your eyes dropping for just a moment. "he caused me to lose most of it."

till froze for a second, his pen hovering above the paper. he wanted to ask more, wanted to know how an alien could do that to you with how nice you seemed, but he caught the way your gaze flicked away, it was distant. so instead, he simply nodded, jotting something new.

"do you wish you could hear better?"

you blinked at the question, your expression unreadable for a heartbeat. then you shook your head slightly, signing with a small shrug.

"it’s not smart to think about things that won’t happen."

till’s chest tightened. he nodded like he understood, but his pen lingered, unsure of what to write next.

then, after a few seconds, your fingers moved again, slower this time. "but yes." a small smile followed, and you quickly added, "so i can actually hear you if you ever use your voice."

till felt heat rush up his neck, his face burning as he quickly ducked his head toward the notepad. his pen hovered uselessly over the paper before he gave up, a bashful grin tugging at his lips instead.

you laughed, light and genuine, and the sound made his chest feel like it was holding sunlight.

And so the next day, till was leaning against the wall of the workshop, hands shoved into his pockets as he muttered to issac, voice barely above a whisper.

"i... still want to make something for her, today if possible" he said. "to help her hear better."

"... oh..." issac raised a brow, setting his book down. "like... something to aid her hearing? i thought you were just talking about a gift or something."

before till could respond, a loud, delighted snort erupted from the corner. dewey spun his chair around, grinning like he'd just won the lottery.

when the fuck did he get here!?

"oh, so that’s what you were blushing about yesterday with issac, that's hilarious" he said, wiggling his eyebrows. "you didn’t want to tell me because you knew i'd tease you, huh? too bad, i heard everything."

till groaned and covered his face with one hand, regretting speaking almost immediately and reaching for his notebook instead to write out, "please don’t."

"nope," dewey giggled like a giddy teenage girl. "this is my favorite thing now. i'm helping. i have to help. anything mechanical goes through me anyway, so you're stuck with me, lover boy."

issac rolled his eyes but clapped till on the shoulder. "hey, look on the bright side. at least you'll get it done faster with him involved. and, you know… she'll probably love it."

till didn't answer, but a shy, barely-there smile tugged at his lips. despite the teasing, the thought of her one day hearing his voice made the hours of work and dewey's relentless chatter worth it.

maybe, just maybe, she'd even speak to him in return. he wondered what her voice would sound like.

about a week later, they were at it. the workshop smelled faintly of oil and metal shavings, the faint hum of old machinery filling the background. evening light slipped in through the cracked window, painting soft lines across the workbench where scattered tools and loose parts lay.

till sat on a stool, elbows resting on the table as dewey rummaged through a box of wires with far too much enthusiasm.

"alright, lover boy," dewey teased, tossing a coil of copper wire onto the table. "if we’re doing this, we gotta start simple. hearing aids aren't exactly my specialty, but... hey, i can probably cobble something together." he paused, smirking. "unless you just want to gift her a pair of tin cans on a string. i can make that work too."

till rolled his eyes and shook his head, scribbling something on his notepad instead of answering out loud before turning it to face dewey.

"no. it has to work. she deserves this."

dewey's grin faltered for just a moment before softening into something more genuine. "yeah, yeah. i get it. we'll make it work."

as dewey began laying out the parts, till’s thoughts drifted. he imagined you sitting across from him, watching your face as you heard his voice for the first time. would your eyes widen? would you smile? he thought of all the words he’d swallowed down over the years, the things he never had the courage to sign or write.

he thought about saying your name. just your name, out loud. he wondered how it would feel, how it would sound to you.

"you’re daydreaming," dewey teased without looking up, his hands busy twisting wires.

till blinked, snapping back to reality. he shook his head, but his ears burned anyway.

"ohhh, you totally are," dewey continued, grinning like he'd caught him with a love letter. "just don’t start drooling on the blueprints, alright?"

till ignored him and picked up a small screwdriver, focusing on the little pieces in front of him. but even as he worked, his chest felt warm. for the first time in a long while, the idea of being even closer to you didn’t feel so impossible.

god, dewey was right. you were an electric woman for sure, one that put a goddamn curse on him.

you lived in his head twenty four seven. and the rent was low, comfortable low.

You don’t think you’ve had a moment of rest since you started working in Night Raven College. These boys would get into a scuffle. Every. Single. Day. Of course, there would be the occasional little mishaps and students faking their headaches to get out of class (and totally not because they wanted to see you).

Adding onto that, a certain colleague of yours has disliked you for whatever reason. Divus Crewel, that overdressed, monochrome, self-centred peacock! He decided that he didn’t like you the moment you stepped foot into the school. You remember your first conversation with him during staff orientation.

He undermined your ability to take care of the students, something about being a hindrance to their education. He claimed he was only trying to mind you from the students’ unruliness. Obviously, you were pissed. The both of you went back and forth until it grew into a full-blown argument.

“The students in Night Raven are anything but courteous,” argued Crewel.

“Sounds like this faculty has an issue with negligence,” you retorted, smirking and turning your nose up at the man. You assumed he was targeting you because you’re a woman. You mean, Crowley is right there!

He begged to differ, “Please, I can just tell you lack backbone. These whelps will eat you alive.”

It took an hour lecture from Trein just to get you both to shut up.

And then there were those… little events that happen every now and then. A centuries-old ghost bride kidnapping one of your students, a quick-talker fox-friend who tried to sell your students, a young man who tried to eradicate all magic from the entire world.

Yeah, good times.

While all of these were perfect reasons to go up and hand over your two-weeks notice, nothing could top the (what was supposed to be) impossible amount of Overblots that have occurred in the span of a few months.

Of course, alongside the fact that you had to keep quiet about it. That idiot headmaster had to threaten you.

“Ah, nurse! I’m sure you understand as to why this has to be kept under wraps, hmm? We wouldn’t want any misbehaviour to be written up, do we?” he says in an obnoxious saccharine tone. You wish you had the courage to slap the man who thought dressing up like a cracked up rooster would get people to take him seriously.

These kids were lucky none of them got seriously injured, or worse. You had spent weeks trying to help them heal from the trauma, although you could argue that there is no fully recovering from this. It is also worth mentioning the poor magicless student, Yuu. They practically have nothing to their name, they lived in a dingy house that violated multiple health codes for the first few months, they’re forced to be Crowley’s little errand boy, they were present in each and every Overblot all while having to juggle their school work and trying to survive. You felt so bad that you would cook them meals just so that they won’t have to struggle with getting funds for food or being in Crowley’s debt, it is the least you could do to help.

You should’ve quit. You should’ve packed up and left. Turned your back to this hazardous school and went and found another job. ‘Prestigious Arcane Academy’, your ass.

But you didn’t. You won’t. You can’t. All because you decided to get attached to your boys. You are angry at yourself for it. And let’s not get started on the hefty amount of money you get paid for working in such a school.

You still have a lot of heart-to-heart talks with students. Students who struggle with studies, their self-esteem, their lives. You would add “unpaid therapist” to your job description if you were able to.

Every now and then you’d get a visit from Riddle Rosehearts, holding a treat in his hands baked by his Vice-Housewarden, Trey Clover. It would be quick, as Riddle wasn’t too fond of being away from watching over his fellow dormmates. Once, he trusted you enough to tell you about his mother. He needed advice as to what to do. Despite all of the things she has done to him, you could he still held some semblance of love for her. But he wanted to spread his wings now. It almost looked like he was… asking for permission. You told him that he won’t stay under her cage forever, and that he will get his chance. His mother will be forced to accept that.

“I’ll try talking to her. Though, I highly doubt that she’ll accept me. Thank you,” he smiled.

Leona Kingscholar. He’s a stubborn one. Which means that, unfortunately, you had to be a bit harsh on him. You see that he is severely depressed, with the way you’d overhear professors moan and complain about his laziness. You’d always catch him napping in the botanical garden while you were picking up some medical herbs and he’d occasionally nap on one of the infirmary beds whenever he wanted a change. Of course, there was no use trying to convince him of anything, he was one stubborn ass lion. But then again, he’s a grown man. If he wishes to turn his life around, he’ll be the one doing it himself. And he knows that very well. For now, you just sit in silence with him whenever he comes over while you type away at your computer. Sometimes, when you accidentally make too much food for Yuu, Leona would offer to take it off your hands.

“I know a rascal who’d inhale these in seconds,” he’d say.

It’s not often that you get visits from Azul Ashengrotto, him being busy with Housewarden duties and managing an entire lounge restaurant. But when you do, it’s either because he’s having to personally throw Floyd in or students that were victims to him. After his Overblot, he, like the others, was forced into sessions of medical check-ups and counselling. It took a while for him to open up, which you’re fine by. You gave him two options, he let the past be the past or use it to build his self-worth. It was a trick, really. There was no ‘right’ answer. He tells you that you’re free to visit Mostro Lounge any time you were free (as if).

“The first order you place will be on the house,” he raised his glasses with his fingers.

Jamil Viper. An enigma, he was. He hid a lot, which ultimately led to his Overblot. Even during his counselling sessions, he didn’t say much. He spoke, yes, but only said things on the surface. It was only after the whole fiasco with S.T.Y.X. did he allow himself to be a little vulnerable with you. He had a little chat with someone, he said, and it made him want to try and change his mentality. During after-school times or when Kalim is away with Housewarden meetings, he’d drop by and chat. Most of the time, though, he’d give you tips and new recipes for the next time you cook meals for Yuu.

“Yuu was too shy to tell you, but they don’t like boiled vegetables. Don’t tell them I told you that,” he’d chuckle.

Admittedly, you felt a bit nervous when facing Vil Schoenheit. If there was one thing you knew about people like him, it was that they had standards. You guess that the only reason you aren’t crumbling under his intense gaze was the age difference. He cooperated with no protest when it came to attending all his check-ups and counselling sessions. He, surprisingly, was open with you unlike the others. When you asked him about it, he only smirked and told you that it was because of doctor-patient confidentiality. And, if you were to open your mouth to someone that was not him, he won’t mind involving his lawyer.

Ah, right.

He’d barely visit after that. But he does send little gifts such as self-made perfumes or skincare creams and serums, made personally to suit your skin. Though, the next time he drops by, you think to talk to him about the ‘messenger’ that he uses to send said gifts. You’ve felt being watched ever since your first encounter with him.

“Oh, Rook? He has his… hobbies. But he means no harm, do not worry. If you are uncomfortable, I have no qualms about warning him,” he’d sigh.

You’ve seen the reclusive Idia Shroud only twice. And that was because he had his little android brother drag him into your office for a medical check-up and a counselling session. During the session, he was completely shut off and mumbled short sentences. It was clear that he hated being here. That would not do for you, so you asked him if there was any way to make him comfortable. The next few sessions, he’d appear as a floating tablet and would speak through the microphone or text. But even then, he still wasn’t very open. You suppose it’s fine. If he doesn’t wish to open up, you’ll just make him talk about things he was confident in.

That was when you found out what a huge otaku he was. He would ramble about different storylines, the current ‘metas’ in the multiplayer games he’d play, and some other gamer terms that you had to ask for the definitions. You’ve had your fair share of games and anime, but you’d say your tastes are a bit outdated. He only giggled and said it was fine, since he also liked retro media.

…Retro? You’re not that old, are you?

“Whee-hee-hee, you’re just like those veteran gamers that only stick to the games they grew up with for the sake of nostalgia. You should expand your game pool,” he’d laugh.

Whenever you see Malleus Draconia, he would always be accompanied by his friend, Yuu. Your first meeting was when Yuu was dropping by to pick up his food. You greeted the Draconia and offered cookies you had in your mini-fridge, but that’s about it. Then he asked you if you were new, since he’s never seen you before.

Well… You’ve been here for months now. And the entire student body knows your name and face. But sure, you’d say that you’re new.

He hums and looks off into the distance. You had to be a very perceptive person to notice it, but you could swear his eyes held embarrassment in them. Each time he and Yuu would visit, you’d greet both of them with a soft smile and let them go on their way. You see that he almost looked appreciative of you, for whatever reason.

“My Child of Man admires you. You have shown nothing but kindness to them in a place like this,” he’d smile.

You don’t think you’ve had a moment of rest since you started working in Night Raven College. These boys would get into a scuffle. Every. Single. Day. Of course, there would be the occasional little mishaps and students faking their headaches to get out of class (and totally not because they wanted to see you).

Adding onto that, a certain colleague of yours has disliked you for whatever reason. Divus Crewel, that overdressed, monochrome, self-centred peacock! He decided that he didn’t like you the moment you stepped foot into the school. You remember your first conversation with him during staff orientation.

He undermined your ability to take care of the students, something about being a hindrance to their education. He claimed he was only trying to mind you from the students’ unruliness. Obviously, you were pissed. The both of you went back and forth until it grew into a full-blown argument.

“The students in Night Raven are anything but courteous,” argued Crewel.

“Sounds like this faculty has an issue with negligence,” you retorted, smirking and turning your nose up at the man. You assumed he was targeting you because you’re a woman. You mean, Crowley is right there!

He begged to differ, “Please, I can just tell you lack backbone. These whelps will eat you alive.”

It took an hour lecture from Trein just to get you both to shut up.

And then there were those… little events that happen every now and then. A centuries-old ghost bride kidnapping one of your students, a quick-talker fox-friend who tried to sell your students, a young man who tried to eradicate all magic from the entire world.

Yeah, good times.

While all of these were perfect reasons to go up and hand over your two-weeks notice, nothing could top the (what was supposed to be) impossible amount of Overblots that have occurred in the span of a few months.

Of course, alongside the fact that you had to keep quiet about it. That idiot headmaster had to threaten you.

“Ah, nurse! I’m sure you understand as to why this has to be kept under wraps, hmm? We wouldn’t want any misbehaviour to be written up, do we?” he says in an obnoxious saccharine tone. You wish you had the courage to slap the man who thought dressing up like a cracked up rooster would get people to take him seriously.

These kids were lucky none of them got seriously injured, or worse. You had spent weeks trying to help them heal from the trauma, although you could argue that there is no fully recovering from this. It is also worth mentioning the poor magicless student, Yuu. They practically have nothing to their name, they lived in a dingy house that violated multiple health codes for the first few months, they’re forced to be Crowley’s little errand boy, they were present in each and every Overblot all while having to juggle their school work and trying to survive. You felt so bad that you would cook them meals just so that they won’t have to struggle with getting funds for food or being in Crowley’s debt, it is the least you could do to help.

You should’ve quit. You should’ve packed up and left. Turned your back to this hazardous school and went and found another job. ‘Prestigious Arcane Academy’, your ass.

But you didn’t. You won’t. You can’t. All because you decided to get attached to your boys. You are angry at yourself for it. And let’s not get started on the hefty amount of money you get paid for working in such a school.

You still have a lot of heart-to-heart talks with students. Students who struggle with studies, their self-esteem, their lives. You would add “unpaid therapist” to your job description if you were able to.

Every now and then you’d get a visit from Riddle Rosehearts, holding a treat in his hands baked by his Vice-Housewarden, Trey Clover. It would be quick, as Riddle wasn’t too fond of being away from watching over his fellow dormmates. Once, he trusted you enough to tell you about his mother. He needed advice as to what to do. Despite all of the things she has done to him, you could he still held some semblance of love for her. But he wanted to spread his wings now. It almost looked like he was… asking for permission. You told him that he won’t stay under her cage forever, and that he will get his chance. His mother will be forced to accept that.

“I’ll try talking to her. Though, I highly doubt that she’ll accept me. Thank you,” he smiled.

Leona Kingscholar. He’s a stubborn one. Which means that, unfortunately, you had to be a bit harsh on him. You see that he is severely depressed, with the way you’d overhear professors moan and complain about his laziness. You’d always catch him napping in the botanical garden while you were picking up some medical herbs and he’d occasionally nap on one of the infirmary beds whenever he wanted a change. Of course, there was no use trying to convince him of anything, he was one stubborn ass lion. But then again, he’s a grown man. If he wishes to turn his life around, he’ll be the one doing it himself. And he knows that very well. For now, you just sit in silence with him whenever he comes over while you type away at your computer. Sometimes, when you accidentally make too much food for Yuu, Leona would offer to take it off your hands.

“I know a rascal who’d inhale these in seconds,” he’d say.

It’s not often that you get visits from Azul Ashengrotto, him being busy with Housewarden duties and managing an entire lounge restaurant. But when you do, it’s either because he’s having to personally throw Floyd in or students that were victims to him. After his Overblot, he, like the others, was forced into sessions of medical check-ups and counselling. It took a while for him to open up, which you’re fine by. You gave him two options, he let the past be the past or use it to build his self-worth. It was a trick, really. There was no ‘right’ answer. He tells you that you’re free to visit Mostro Lounge any time you were free (as if).

“The first order you place will be on the house,” he raised his glasses with his fingers.

Jamil Viper. An enigma, he was. He hid a lot, which ultimately led to his Overblot. Even during his counselling sessions, he didn’t say much. He spoke, yes, but only said things on the surface. It was only after the whole fiasco with S.T.Y.X. did he allow himself to be a little vulnerable with you. He had a little chat with someone, he said, and it made him want to try and change his mentality. During after-school times or when Kalim is away with Housewarden meetings, he’d drop by and chat. Most of the time, though, he’d give you tips and new recipes for the next time you cook meals for Yuu.

“Yuu was too shy to tell you, but they don’t like boiled vegetables. Don’t tell them I told you that,” he’d chuckle.

Admittedly, you felt a bit nervous when facing Vil Schoenheit. If there was one thing you knew about people like him, it was that they had standards. You guess that the only reason you aren’t crumbling under his intense gaze was the age difference. He cooperated with no protest when it came to attending all his check-ups and counselling sessions. He, surprisingly, was open with you unlike the others. When you asked him about it, he only smirked and told you that it was because of doctor-patient confidentiality. And, if you were to open your mouth to someone that was not him, he won’t mind involving his lawyer.

Ah, right.

He’d barely visit after that. But he does send little gifts such as self-made perfumes or skincare creams and serums, made personally to suit your skin. Though, the next time he drops by, you think to talk to him about the ‘messenger’ that he uses to send said gifts. You’ve felt being watched ever since your first encounter with him.

“Oh, Rook? He has his… hobbies. But he means no harm, do not worry. If you are uncomfortable, I have no qualms about warning him,” he’d sigh.

You’ve seen the reclusive Idia Shroud only twice. And that was because he had his little android brother drag him into your office for a medical check-up and a counselling session. During the session, he was completely shut off and mumbled short sentences. It was clear that he hated being here. That would not do for you, so you asked him if there was any way to make him comfortable. The next few sessions, he’d appear as a floating tablet and would speak through the microphone or text. But even then, he still wasn’t very open. You suppose it’s fine. If he doesn’t wish to open up, you’ll just make him talk about things he was confident in.

That was when you found out what a huge otaku he was. He would ramble about different storylines, the current ‘metas’ in the multiplayer games he’d play, and some other gamer terms that you had to ask for the definitions. You’ve had your fair share of games and anime, but you’d say your tastes are a bit outdated. He only giggled and said it was fine, since he also liked retro media.

…Retro? You’re not that old, are you?

“Whee-hee-hee, you’re just like those veteran gamers that only stick to the games they grew up with for the sake of nostalgia. You should expand your game pool,” he’d laugh.

Whenever you see Malleus Draconia, he would always be accompanied by his friend, Yuu. Your first meeting was when Yuu was dropping by to pick up his food. You greeted the Draconia and offered cookies you had in your mini-fridge, but that’s about it. Then he asked you if you were new, since he’s never seen you before.

Well… You’ve been here for months now. And the entire student body knows your name and face. But sure, you’d say that you’re new.

He hums and looks off into the distance. You had to be a very perceptive person to notice it, but you could swear his eyes held embarrassment in them. Each time he and Yuu would visit, you’d greet both of them with a soft smile and let them go on their way. You see that he almost looked appreciative of you, for whatever reason.

“My Child of Man admires you. You have shown nothing but kindness to them in a place like this,” he’d smile.

Ace Trappola

When Ace finds out you’re dating Riddle, he physically malfunctions. He catches the two of you in a rare soft moment. Riddle brushing your hair out of your face in the rose garden, murmuring something sweet… and Ace just… stops functioning.

“WAIT. HOLD UP. HOLD… ARE YOU DATING RIDDLE?! OUR RIDDLE?!”

You nod slowly. Riddle stiffens. “Yes. We have been for some time.”

Ace just throws his hands up.

“You mean to tell me you've been willingly dating a walking rulebook this entire time?!”

Then it clicks.

“Wait… THAT’S why you keep surviving his tantrums. And why he let you off with warnings. I knew something was sus!!”

Cue Ace groaning dramatically while muttering about how

“first the overbolts, now you, what’s next?… Cater adopting a child?!”

Deep down, he’s genuinely happy for you. But he’ll never stop teasing.

Deuce Spade

Deuce finds out about your relationship with Riddle by overhearing you call him “love” behind the dorm kitchen, and he nearly drops a whole tray of tea.

“Wait. Waitwaitwait! Did you just call Riddle love?! LIKE IN A ROMANTIC WAY?!”

You blink at him, guilty. Riddle clears his throat.

“Yes, Deuce. She’s my girlfriend. I’d prefer if you didn’t drop the teacups.”

Deuce looks like he’s about to have a full blown meltdown.

“Wha—I—Is that allowed?! Wait, no… of course it is! I’m just… YOU?! And RIDDLE?!”

He’s trying to process everything like it's a pop quiz he wasn’t ready for. He salutes you both out of sheer panic.

“I promise to uphold your secret honorably! WAIT!! Do I need to call you ma’am now?!”

Riddle: “…No.” You: laughing too hard to answer.

Jack Howl

Jack walks in on you and Leona napping under a tree in each other’s arms and nearly flips.

“…You’re kidding.”

When you’re alone he will catch you, staring you down like a judgmental big brother.

“You’re really dating Leona-senpai? Like, our dorm leader? The one who skips meetings and naps through drills?”

You nod cautiously. “Yes. We’ve been together for a while.”

Jack exhales through his nose.

“…Huh. Can’t say I expected that. But I guess if anyone could handle him, it’s you.”

Still, he’s lowkey worried. Leona’s not exactly emotionally available. But when he catches Leona actually smiling at you, Jack gives a small approving nod.

“Fine. Just don’t let him get lazy about treating you right. I’ll be watching.”

Jack becomes your unspoken protector after that. Big loyal wolf energy.

Epel Felmier

You mention “Vil” a little too affectionately during lunch and Epel spits out his juice.

“YOU’RE DATING VIL-SENPAI?!”

Everyone in the room turns to look. You cringe. “Epel, shhh—”

“LIKE… LIKE ACTUALLY DATING?! HIM?!”

You nod. “We’ve been keeping it quiet, but yeah…”

Epel’s jaw drops.

“He lets you TOUCH him?! Without a ten-step cleansing ritual first?!”

He’s genuinely floored. There’s a mix of shock, admiration, and disbelief in his eyes.

“Okay but… good for you, I guess? You must have magic-level of patience.”

He’ll never stop side eyeing you during self-care nights now, whispering:

“Blink twice if you’ve been force fed.”

Secretly though, he respects you immensely. Anyone who can tame Vil’s perfectionist side is a legend.

Sebek Zigvolt

You and Malleus try to be discreet, but Sebek’s too sharp. The second he catches you smiling at each other a little too long during dinner…

“…What is the meaning of this strange atmosphere?!”

You try to brush it off, but Malleus just calmly states:

“She is mine, Sebek. We are courting.”

Sebek’s brain breaks.

“YOU’RE WHAT?!?!”

Cue thunder and dramatic music playing in his head as he drops to one knee in despair.

“MALLEUS-SAMA HAS FOUND LOVE?! AND I DIDN’T KNOW?!”

He’s in full crisis mode. Rambles for ten minutes about how “he should’ve been notified by royal decree,” and how “no ordinary human could ever be worthy!!”

But when you squeeze his hand and call him “family,” he turns red and shouts:

“I SUPPOSE I SHALL… TOLERATE THIS!”

From that point on, he guards you like you’re also royalty

..............................................................................................................................

It was supposed to be a quick errand. Deuce Spade had just finished delivering a package for Professor Trein and was heading back toward the dorms when he spotted someone unfamiliar, sitting alone on a stone bench near the courtyard fountain.

You.

You looked like a student, but your uniform wasn’t NRC’s… it was tailored, stylish, and very expensive looking. There was a small, pristine handbag beside you, and your posture was perfect, legs crossed, back straight, hands folded in your lap.

But what really struck Deuce was the way you kept glancing around. Not frantic or nervous, just… waiting. Patient, but clearly alone.

He paused, frowning slightly. Did she get lost?

After a beat of hesitation, he approached you, clearing his throat.

“Um—excuse me?” he said carefully. “Are you okay? Do you need help finding something?”

You looked up, surprised—but then gave a soft smile. “Oh—no, thank you. I’m just waiting.”

“Oh.” Deuce rubbed the back of his neck, ears tinting pink. “Sorry. I just saw you sitting here by yourself and thought… I don’t know, maybe you were lost.”

You tilted your head, amused. “That’s sweet of you.”

He sat down on the far end of the bench after a second, feeling awkward but not wanting to walk away just yet.

“I’m Deuce, by the way,” he added, offering a hand. “Deuce Spade.”

You shook it. Your hand was soft, elegant. “Nice to meet you, Deuce. I’m Y/N.”

“That’s a really pretty name,” he said before he could stop himself.

Your smile widened slightly, just enough to make his heart skip.

“Thanks. I get it from my mother,” you said with a playful tilt of your head. “Though my brother insists he got all the charm in the family.”

“Older brother?” he asked, curious.

You nodded. “He goes here, actually. We’re having dinner together tonight. Or we were, but he’s late.”

Deuce laughed awkwardly. “Yeah… punctuality’s not exactly this school’s strong suit.”

Before you could respond, a smooth, unmistakable voice called from behind:

“Y/N.”

Deuce blinked. The temperature around him dropped just a little.

He turned to see Vil Schoenheit approaching. Tall, elegant, and very clearly not pleased that someone was sitting next to you.

“Ah! Vil.” You stood up, smiling warmly. “There you are. I was just getting to know one of your schoolmates.”

Vil raised a sharp brow as his eyes swept from you to Deuce.

“…Spade,” he said, nodding curtly. Deuce immediately straightened up.

“Good evening, Vil-senpai!”

You turned to Deuce and gave him a small nod. “Thank you for keeping me company.”

“It was no problem,” he said quickly. “Really.”

Vil stepped beside you, placing a gentle but firm hand on your back. “I hope he wasn’t a bother.”

“He was lovely,” you replied, just to make your brother twitch.

Deuce rubbed the back of his neck, grinning nervously. “Well, uh—enjoy your dinner.”

“We will,” Vil said coolly, already steering you away.

You gave one last smile over your shoulder.

Deuce watched you walk off, elegant, radiant, and completely out of his league.

And yet…

His heart was doing flips.

Later, in the restaurant…

“You know him?” you asked Vil with a sideways glance.

Vil sighed, exasperated. “He’s well-meaning. And hopelessly honest.”

You smirked. “Cute, too.”

Vil’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to….”

You really should have told someone you were coming.

But where’s the fun in that?

Tucking your hands behind your back, you walk up at the grand rose covered gates of Heartslabyul, heart fluttering. It had been months since you'd last seen your big brother, and surprising him at Night Raven College felt like the perfect way to catch up.

Of course, you didn’t anticipate running into him first.

Ace Trappola had been slacking off lounging on the dorm steps instead of helping Trey set up for the weekly tea party when you strolled into view. And he immediately short circuited.

Who was that? Not a Heartslabyul student. Cute uniform. Cute face. Big, bright eyes, a mischievous smile, and a bounce in your step that had Ace sitting bolt upright like a cat spotting a red dot.

He scrambled up, brushing nonexistent dust off his pants, suddenly very aware of how he looked.

You met eyes. Smiled. Waved. He waved back before realizing he’d turned into a flustered idiot.

“…Who is she?” he muttered, heart pounding.

Over the next few hours, Ace watched you like a hawk from behind the hedges, lurking through every tea table, hiding behind Trey and whispering to Deuce:

“Dude, she’s adorable. I think I’m in love. She smiled at me like twice. That’s gotta mean something, right?”

Deuce squinted. “You don’t even know her name.”

“Yet.”

It wasn’t until later that disaster struck. You had finally found your brother. Riddle blinked, processing your sudden presence.

“Y/N?! What on earth are you—?”

Before he could even finish, Ace came bounding in, practically glowing.

“Riddle, Riddle—dude, listen! I saw the cutest girl ever today. She’s got red hair like yours, super pretty eyes, and this adorable laugh! Like she’s probably new or something? But I swear, I—”

He stopped dead.

Because you were standing right there. Next to Riddle. Waving.

“Oh, Ace,” you said, recognizing him with a teasing smirk. “You’re the guy who’s been stalking me behind hedges all day.”

“…No, I—I was—THAT WAS—WAIT.”

Riddle turned to Ace very, very slowly. His voice dropped a whole octave.

“You have a crush on my sister?”

Ace turned white as a meringue. “Sister???”

You nodded sweetly. “Hi! I’m Y/N Rosehearts. Nice to meet you.”

The silence was thick. Ace stood between his brain and his doom.

“…I’m gonna die,” he whispered.

Riddle’s eye twitched. “You certainly might.”

Later…

To your surprise, Riddle didn’t banish Ace to the Shadow Realm. (Yet.) You ended up sitting on a garden bench next to Ace, who still hadn’t fully recovered.

“…Why didn’t you say anything?” he asked, voice cracking. “You knew who I was.”

You grinned. “I did. But it was funny watching you melt down.”

He groaned, burying his face in his hands. “I think I’m gonna throw up.”

You bumped your shoulder against his. “You still like me?”

He peeked out at you. “Maybe.”

You tilted your head, voice soft. “Then I’ll be waiting… after you survive my brother.”

“…I’m doomed.”

The last thing Ace expected when he got dragged into an elective art class was to develop a huge, ridiculous crush on the teacher.

It all started on a sluggish Tuesday afternoon.

Ace flopped into the nearest stool in the art room, dramatically dragging his sketchpad behind him.

“Ugh. Can’t believe I had to fill an elective slot. Why couldn’t it be something easy like… broom flying or potion tasting?”

Deuce, ever the responsible one, sat beside him with better posture and a furrowed brow.

“You already failed broom flying, remember? And you can’t ‘taste’ potions if you blow them up.”

Ace rolled his eyes. “Still better than drawing. What am I gonna do? Doodle some hearts and hope I pass?”

Deuce sighed. “Just try not to get detention.”

But before either could complain further, the door opened.

And you walked in.

You were smiling. Softly, genuinely. Wearing a pastel-toned blouse smudged slightly with paint, hair tucked back with two clips, and a warmth that filled the whole room. The soft clink of your earrings and the smell of oil paint and florals preceded your calm voice as you greeted the class.

“Good afternoon, everyone. I’m Y/N, your new art teacher. I’m really happy to be here with all of you.”

Ace sat up straighter.

You were… cute.

No—hot.

No—hot and cute?!

“Let’s start with something simple today,” you continued, motioning to the front of the classroom. “You don’t need to be perfect. Just draw what you feel. Art’s more about expression than execution.”

Ace’s brain short circuited at the way you smiled. Did your eyes just sparkle or was that the overhead lights?

You passed out supplies and complimented each student in some way. You were patient with Cater when he drew a selfie instead of the still life you’d assigned. You didn’t even get mad when Grim spilled paint on the desk. And when you stopped by Ace’s desk, leaning slightly over his shoulder to look at the messy sketch he’d done of a half finished apple, your voice was soft and encouraging.

“That’s a great start. Try adding some shadow here, just like this…” You gently guided his pencil with yours. “See? It gives the apple a bit more dimension.”

Ace, who normally hated being corrected, stared at you with wide eyes and a pounding heart.

He was in trouble.

When you moved on to help another student, Ace blinked down at his paper. For the first time in his life, he actually cared whether a drawing turned out okay. Not because he loved art, but because you told him he could do better.

He nudged Deuce with his elbow.

“Dude.”

Deuce didn’t look up. “Hmm?”

“She’s like… super cute and hot.”

Deuce paused, pencil in midair. “Don’t.”

“I think I’m in love.”

“You’re not.”

“I am. This is fate.”

Deuce finally looked at him, visibly alarmed. “Ace. No. She’s a teacher.”

“She’s not that much older.”

“She teaches us. That means she’s off-limits. There are rules. Probably laws. Probably murder attempts by Crowley if you even try.”

Ace grinned smugly. “You’re just jealous.”

Deuce groaned. “This is your worst idea ever. And that includes the time you tried to smuggle chocolate frogs during potion exams.”

Ace didn’t answer. He was too busy glancing at you across the room like a heart eyed fool.

•

You, meanwhile, had noticed Ace’s stares. And while you were used to the occasional flirty student like Cater had already jokingly asked if you were single, there was something particularly obvious about Ace Trappola.

He wasn’t subtle.

At all.

He’d stared for most of the class, and when you gave him a simple suggestion, his face turned red and he just… blinked at you like you’d cast a spell on him.

You didn’t blame him, students his age were bundles of hormones. You’d seen this kind of thing before. It was sweet, and innocent, and—

Entirely inappropriate.

But harmless.

You smiled to yourself as you continued circling the room, deciding not to make a big deal of it.

Kids would be kids.

Besides, it would fade.

Right?

•

After class, Ace lingered behind while others packed up.

“Um. Miss Y/N?” he called out, casually leaning against a nearby stool like it owed him money. “So… how long have you been drawing?”

You turned, pleasantly surprised. “Most of my life, really. I started with charcoal, but I’ve come to love oils and pastels too.”

“That’s cool,” Ace said, trying to act smooth. “You must be, like, really good.”

You laughed lightly. “I’d hope so, otherwise I wouldn’t be teaching you guys.”

He gave a sheepish grin.

You tilted your head. “Do you enjoy drawing?”

Ace shrugged. “I dunno. Never really tried. But today was… not bad.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear that. Hopefully I can make it even more enjoyable for you.”

Ace smiled, and for a moment, his heart actually thudded. Like, hard.

Maybe this wasn’t just a little crush.

Maybe this was the real deal.

Maybe—

Deuce suddenly appeared in the doorway, arms crossed and scowling.

“Let’s go, Ace. Lunch isn’t gonna wait.”

Ace blinked, startled. “Oh—right. Yeah.” He gave you one last smile. “See you next class, Miss Y/N.”

You nodded. “See you, Trappola.”

Once they were out of earshot, Deuce grabbed him by the collar. “Get a grip!”

Ace just grinned, heart still hammering in his chest.

“I’m doomed.”

•

The bell rang, signaling the end of another long art class. You stood at the front of the room with your usual warm smile, thanking the students as they walked out. Most of them nodded back or mumbled a goodbye, eager to head off to their next class or some club activity.

Ace Trappola, however, lingered by the door, fidgeting with his sketchpad and pretending he was in no rush. You noticed him immediately, he’d been unusually chipper all class, sneaking glances at you and asking questions he already knew the answers to.

“Trappola,” you said gently. “Is there something you need?”

Ace stepped forward, trying to look cooler than he felt. “Yeah, actually,” he said, stuffing one hand into his uniform pocket and giving you a half smile. “I was wondering if you wanted to go on a date with me.”

You blinked, then tilted your head with a light laugh. “Absolutely not.”

His smile faltered just a little. “Wha—what? That’s it?!”

“I mean that kindly,” you added, your tone still calm and gentle. “You’re a sweet kid, Ace, but you’re a student, and I’m your teacher. Not to mention the age difference. So no, not now, not ever.”

Ace stared, slightly slack jawed. “You called me a kid?”

“You are,” you said simply, walking past him to stack a few leftover brushes in the sink. “I appreciate the honesty, though. That took guts.”

You thought that would be the end of it.

You were wrong.

The next day, Ace was back at it again, another compliment here, a cheeky grin there. And again, he waited until the end of class.

“Hey, how about that date?”

“Still no.”

Then again the day after that.

“I’m thinking maybe dinner and a walk by the school lake? Very romantic.”

“Absolutely not.”

And again. And again. It became a strange sort of routine. He didn’t seem discouraged in the slightest, even if his attempts kept getting shot down.

•

By the time lunchtime came around one week later, Ace was at the cafeteria table with his usual crew, slumped over his tray like a man defeated.

“She smiled at me today,” Ace groaned, stabbing a piece of sausage like it had offended him. “But then… boom! another rejection. ‘Absolutely not,’ she says. Again!”

Jack shook his head. “That’s because she’s your teacher. Of course she keeps saying no.”

“She’s also, like, an adult,” Ortho chimed in, blinking. “Biologically speaking, the odds of compatibility—”

“Please, Ortho,” Epel muttered, sipping his juice. “You’re not helping.”

Deuce sighed and rubbed his temples. “Ace, we’ve been listening to this every lunch for the last eight days. You keep asking, she keeps saying no. Why are you doing this to yourself?”

“Because she’s hot, and sweet, and cool!” Ace protested. “Have you seen the way she talks about art like it’s magic? Have you seen her smile when someone finally gets the shading right? I’m telling you, it’s fate!”

Epel stared. “Bro, this is either the dumbest thing you’ve ever done or the most hopeless romantic one.”

“Why not both?” Ace muttered dramatically.

Deuce looked between the others, then back at Ace. “Okay, listen. You need a distraction. Let’s head into town after class. We’ll hit up the game store or something.”

“Or eat ice cream!” Ortho added. “That helps with heartbreak, right?”

“Y’all are acting like I got dumped,” Ace grumbled, but he was already sitting up straighter. “Alright, alright. Maybe getting out will help. But just know I’m not giving up.”

“Of course not,” Jack said dryly. “Because you never listen.”

As the boys made plans, Ace found himself smiling again. He’d take the break. But deep down, he was already planning how to ask you again, maybe with flowers next time.

•

The town buzzed with its usual weekend energy, vendors shouting, students roaming, and shopkeepers setting out signs. It was the perfect place for a distraction, and Ace actually found himself enjoying it.

“Okay, I’ll admit it,” Ace said with a grin, popping a candy in his mouth. “This was a good idea.”

“I told you,” Deuce said, arms crossed. “It’s nice to just chill without… you know, heartbreak.”

“You sound like I got dumped.” Ace rolled his eyes. “I never even got a yes.”

The boys had already hit up the arcade, where Ace had gone on a dramatic winning streak that included beating Epel at every racing game and losing horribly to Ortho in a rhythm battle.

They grabbed some snacks, wandered a bit, even found a cute photo booth. For a moment, Ace had stopped thinking about you entirely.

Until Ortho’s voice broke through the crowd.

“Uh-oh.”

“What’s ‘uh-oh’ supposed to mean?” Ace asked, half-laughing. “You break something again?”

Ortho didn’t answer. He and Deuce were frozen, standing like badly coded NPCs trying to block Ace’s view of the other side of the street.

But it was already too late.

Ace leaned to the side and his heart stopped.

You were there, standing in front of a boutique. Dressed in something soft and elegant, makeup done just enough to highlight your best features. You looked like you belonged on the cover of a magazine. You were scrolling on your phone, casually unaware that you had just become the center of someone’s universe all over again.

“Oh crap…” Epel muttered.

“She looks… whoa,” Jack said with a sigh, already bracing for the incoming disaster.

Ace didn’t hear any of them. He was already crossing the street.

“Hey, hey!” he called, waving. “Fancy seeing you here!”

You looked up and smiled. That smile. It still had the power to melt anyone’s heart.

“Well, look at you boys,” you said sweetly. “Having fun?”

“Y-Yeah! Totally!” Ace grinned, flicking his hair back like he didn’t spend most mornings messing with it in the mirror. “But wow—you look amazing today. Like, drop-dead gorgeous. Special occasion or just naturally that stunning?”

Behind him, Deuce groaned into his hands. Jack facepalmed. Ortho was trying to calculate the fastest way to drag Ace out of the line of fire.

You were just about to respond when the door behind you swung open, and a familiar voice followed

“Apologies for the delay, Love. That employee was more clueless than a freshman on his first potion.”

Professor Crewel stepped out, dressed to the nines in an immaculate suit and silk gloves, like he had just walked off a fashion runway. His sharp eyes landed on Ace and the boys… and he froze.

There was a beat of stunned silence.

“Oh no…” Epel whispered.

Crewel raised an eyebrow. “Students?”

You gave a sheepish sigh and looked at the group with a soft smile. “Boys, I guess I should’ve said something sooner. Crewel and I are dating.”

Ace blinked.

He blinked again.

And then he laughed, but it sounded like it might also be a sob.

“You’re dating Professor Crewel?!” he asked, voice cracking like a broken guitar string.

“You’re a literal child, Trappola,” Crewel said dryly, though he didn’t sound angry. “Be grateful your taste is excellent.”

“I mean—yeah—but seriously?!”

“I’m very serious,” you said gently, placing a hand on Crewel’s arm.

Crewel’s cold, stern face softened at your touch.

“Right. Sure. That’s cool.” Ace nodded, looking like someone just deleted his save file. “Totally… great. Great for you two.”

You both gave a polite farewell, and walked off hand in hand, leaving Ace staring at the back of your outfit like it had personally betrayed him.

There was a long, painful silence.

“…Well,” Deuce said, clapping him on the back. “At least now you have closure.”

Ace groaned. “My heart just got critical-hit KO’d.”

“You were going to get rejected again anyway,” Jack said bluntly.

“Yeah, but not this hard!!!”

Ortho tilted his head. “I can find you someone statistically more likely to say yes, if that helps.”

“I don’t need your pity matchmaking, Ortho,” Ace mumbled, sulking.

They were about to head back toward the café when Ace suddenly gasped.

“What?” Epel asked.

Across the street, another young woman had stepped out of a flower shop. Dressed like springtime and sunshine, fixing her hair in the reflection of the glass.

Ace straightened up, flashing a grin.

“…Or maybe it’s time for the next chapter.”

“NO!” all four boys said at once.

Too late. Ace was already strolling toward her.

Deuce dropped his face into his hands. “Here we go again.”

Jack growled. “You’d think rejection would teach him something.”

“Not Ace,” Epel muttered. “He treats love like a boss fight, keeps rushing in ‘til it works.”

Ortho blinked and said cheerfully, “I think it’s romantic.”

“It’s not!” the other three groaned.

And from across the street, Ace’s flirty voice rang out once more.

“Hey there, need help carrying those flowers?”

..............................................................................................................................

It was another normal morning at Night Raven College. The halls buzzed with idle chatter, floating gossip, and the occasional magical mishap. But the one thing everyone had grown accustomed to hearing echoing off the walls was…

“Oh, look who decided to show up for class today—King Sloth himself. Should I kneel or just applaud?”

“Tch. You again? You must be soo… obsessed with me, herbivore.”

It was you and Leona. Again.

Students didn’t even turn their heads anymore. The storm of sarcasm and remarks had become part of the daily ambiance, like Grim’s complaining.

“Shouldn’t you be asleep at somewhere like a lazy alley cat instead of wasting oxygen near me?”

Leona gave you an eye roll, arms lazily crossed at front of his chest as he leaned against the hallway wall. “You just love hearing yourself talk, huh? No wonder your grades are just as bad as your insults.”

You gasped, mostly for dramatic effect, and jabbed a finger into his chest. “Excuse you! I’m passing every class except—”

“Potions,” Leona cut in, smug. “Don’t worry, though. You’re probably brewing up a new personality instead of actual results.”

You scoffed. “And you? I heard even the spelldrive club doesn’t want you on the bench anymore because you nap through practice.”

Behind you two, standing in a safe distance, Jack and Ruggie watched the exchange like it’s another reality show.

Jack crossed his arms, brow furrowed. “This is getting out of hand.”

Ruggie nodded solemnly, chewing on a half eaten sandwich. “Yeah. They’ve been at it every day this week. I’ve seen celebrities with less drama.”

“I don’t get it. Why do they hate each other so much?” Jack muttered. “They’re always together in the same room, always yelling. It’s like they go out of their way to find each other.”

Ruggie side eyed him. “You know, when people argue this much, it’s usually ‘cause they got some kinda unresolved tension.”

Jack raised an eyebrow. “Like… rivalry?”

Ruggie gave him a look. “Like the spicy kind.”

Jack turned a little pink. “You’re making things weird.”

“I’m just sayin’,” Ruggie shrugged. “You know how cats play fight with the ones they like? Maybe it’s like that.”

Jack watched as Leona flicked a piece of chalk at you and you retaliated by dropping your notebook on his foot.

“Maybe we should do something,” Jack said. “Like… talk to them separately. Try to get them to be civil.”

“Civil?” Ruggie laughed. “Good luck with that, big guy. That’s like asking Leona to smile during dorm meetings.”

But Jack was already determined. “They’re always ruining the mood. It’s not healthy.”

“Alright, alright,” Ruggie sighed. “I’ll talk to her. You try talking to him. But I’m not betting any money on this working.”

Later That Day:

At the botanical garden you were sitting peacefully in a corner during your free period, legs crossed and book in your lap, enjoying the quiet… until Ruggie dropped into the seat beside you with a sly grin.

“Hey hey, what’s up?”

You didn’t even look up. “If this is about Leona again, tell him I’m not speaking to him until he apologizes for mocking my handwriting.”

Ruggie blinked. “Wow, this goes deep.” He said sarcastically.

You rolled your eyes. “The nerve of that man. He has the personality of a grumpy stray cat, the sleep schedule of a vampire, and the ego of a goddamn peacock. But sure! let’s make me the bad guy.”

Ruggie tilted his head, studying you for a second longer than you liked.

“What?” you asked.

He smirked. “Nothing. You’re just really passionate about someone you supposedly hate.”

You shot him a glare, trying to bury the heat crawling up your neck. “I’m passionate about justice.”

“Sure, sure,” Ruggie drawled. “Hey, would you say he’s a good kisser?”

You choked on your own breath. “W-What?!”

“I said, would you say he’s a good—”

“I heard what you said!” You glared at him like he just offended your mother. “The fuck is this question? How would I know?”

He looked way too smug for your liking.

“You two got something going on huh?” he grinned.

You gave him a stony look. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. And please… I have a taste.”

He leaned back, hands behind his head. “Mmhmm. Got it.”

Meanwhile…

Leona sprawled across the couch like a king on his throne, lazily peeling an orange while Jack sat across from him, trying to figure out how to broach the topic.

“…You and the prefect. You argue a lot.”

Leona didn’t look up. “Your observation skills are on point.”

“I’m just wondering,” Jack said, slowly. “Do you think it might be better if you two… got along? You know.”

Leona popped an orange slice in his mouth. “And ruin all my fun?”

Jack frowned. “Is it really fun though? Looks like you’re constantly on edge.”

Leona tilted his head, lazy grin forming. “You think I’m losing sleep over that herbivore?”

Jack raised an eyebrow. “Are you?”

Leona gave a long, low chuckle that made Jack feel like he’d just stepped on a landmine.

“Careful, pup,” Leona said, voice low and amused. “If you keep digging, you’re gonna find bones what’s buried for a reason.”

Jack didn’t know what to make of that cryptic reply… but something about Leona’s expression, the glint in his eyes, told him maybe this wasn’t just about arguments and insults after all.

•

The cafeteria buzzed with chatter, forks scraping plates and conversations. But in the far back corner, Jack sat slumped over his tray of grilled chicken, completely defeated.

Across from him, Ruggie casually munched on a rice ball, side eying Jack with a bit of pity and a lot of amusement.

“They were at it again,” Jack muttered, still looking dazed. “Right in the hallway this morning. She called him a sandbag stuffed with arrogance. He said her fashion sense looked like a cursed curtain.”

Ruggie snorted. “Classic.”

“I tried, Ruggie,” Jack groaned. “I really did. I thought maybe if I got them to talk, or find some common ground, they’d stop being so… volatile. But nope. They’re just going to keep fighting. Forever. Like mortal enemies.”

Ruggie reached across the table and patted Jack’s shoulder. “You’re thinking too hard, man. If they’re not trying to kill each other, maybe they’re doing alright.”

“They looked like they were about to cut each other throats…” Jack grumbled.

“Did they actually throw hands?” Ruggie asked casually.

“Well… no.”

“Did they look like they were enjoying it, even a little?”

Jack blinked. “…Enjoying the fight?”

“Exactly.”

Jack frowned, completely confused. “Who would enjoy fighting? And also. It’s sad. I’m friends with both of them, and they act like they’d rather claw each other’s eyes out.”

“Yeah, well,” Ruggie grinned. “Claws ain’t just for fighting.”

Jack didn’t get the chance to overthink that comment. The lunch bell rang.

“C’mon,” Ruggie said, hopping up and slinging his bag over one shoulder. “We’ve got classes. Try not to sulk the whole walk there.”

Jack sighed, standing. “I just want them to get along…”

They made their way through the hallway. Just as they passed one of the older, unused classrooms, tucked near the end of the east wing, they both stopped.

“Gosh…shut up for once..”

“Tch. You’re the one who can’t be quiet…”

Slam.

Thud.

Jack and Ruggie stared at the door. It was slightly ajar. Something inside was definitely not a class.

Jack blinked. “Is that…”

Ruggie held up a hand. “Wait.”

“…You gonna keep me against this wall all day, or are you finally gonna be useful…?”

“Not if you keep running your damn mouth.”

Ruggie snorted, eyes lighting up with realization. “Oh, Seven. Oh, Seven. I knew it! Those fake ass freaks!”

“What?” Jack whispered.

Before Jack could stop him, Ruggie shoved the door open just a bit more and peeked inside.

There, in the dim light of the empty classroom, Leona had you pinned against a desk. His lips were on yours like he hadn’t breathed in days, one hand tangled in your hair, the other gripping your waist. Your legs were around his hips, your hands clutching his shirt, and you looked just as into it as he did.

Leona murmured something that swallowed by your mouth.

Jack’s brain short circuited. Ruggie, on the other hand, casually pulled out his phone and snapped a photo.

Click.

The sound was soft, but Leona’s ear twitched.

You froze. Leona pulled back, eyes narrowing toward the door.

“…Did you hear that?” you whispered.

“Deam right I did.”

The door creaked open a few inches more… and there stood Jack, pale with shock, and Ruggie, grinning like the hyena he was.

You stared.

Leona sighed. “Of course it’s you two.”

“…I… I don’t…” Jack stammered. “You… You’re together?!”

You adjusted your shirt and hopped down from the desk, crossing your arms. “You say that like it’s some kind of crime.”

“But you hate each other,” Jack insisted.

Ruggie burst out laughing. “Hate? Bro, they were in each other mouths, they’re clearly in love.”

Leona clicked his tongue. “Tch. We like to keep things fun. And mostly private.”

Jack still hadn’t moved. “I need to sit down.”

“You’re standing in a classroom,” Leona deadpanned. “Pick a chair.”

As Jack slowly shuffled in to collapse into one of the chairs, Ruggie was still scrolling through the photo he took. “I knew I’d win that bet. Azul’s gonna be so salty. I’m robbing a bank tonight.”

You rubbed your temples. “You bet on us?”

“Please,” Ruggie grinned. “Half the school did. We just all thought it would be a murder before it was a make out.”

Jack shook his head. “This is so much worse than I thought…”

You reached over and tousled his hair. “Relax. We’re not toxic, we’re just… dramatic? Passionate?”

Leona pulled you close again, arm around your waist. “I’m passionate. She’s just got a big mouth.”

You elbowed him. “And you’ve got a big ego.”

He smirked. “You like it.”

Jack groaned. “Please. Stop talking...”

Ruggie was still cackling, already texting someone.

“I told you,” he muttered between laughs.

You and Leona shared a smirk.

Jack buried his face into his hands “This is messed up…”

You just giggled at his reaction, feeling sorry for him for finding out the truth in this shocking way.

But hey… leona already warned him

If you keep digging, you’re gonna find bones what’s buried for a reason.

Lilia Vanrouge

Your brows furrowed, jaw clenched as you peeked around a digital corner. “Okay, chat, they’re camping again. Literally again. Same deam spot. I swear these players don’t even blink, they just sit there like… like angry little mushrooms waiting to ruin my day.”

Chat:

chris-2220: campers = evil confirmed

jen-jen: she’s boutta lose it

best_mod: NOT THE MUSHROOMS LMAO

y/n.fan: someone save her

hanafubukki: rage incoming in 3…2…1…

You turned the corner in-game.

BOOM.

You screamed. “OH MY GOD!! AGAIN?! I JUST SPAWNED, YOU LOSERS PIECE OF—”

Your avatar ragdolled to the ground for the fifth time. Your hands flew into the air in defeat as you let out a long, loud puff. "Ugh, I hate this. I hate all of this."

You flopped back in your gaming chair, ready to launch into a full blown gamer rant when…

“You always get this dramatic when you lose. It’s adorable.”

You froze. Your heart stopped. Your soul left your body.

Because that was a very familiar voice. A very recognizable, flirty, smug, velvet smooth voice coming from just out of frame. Your eyes widened. Your hands shot up like you were being held at gunpoint.

And then…

Chat:

chris-2220: WAIT! WHO IS THAT? WHO JUST SAID THAT?! WAS THAT A GUY’S VOICE??? TELL US NOW!

hanafubukki: “adorable”??? HELLO??? WHY WAS THAT KINDA HOT

blessingofthestars: I NEED HIM TO SPEAK AGAIN PLS

jen-jen: SHE’S GOT A MAN??

masquerade-of-misery: HE SOUNDED WAY TOO SMOOTH TO BE REAL

You started laughing nervously. “Uh…I…guys, that was, um… just… the neighbor! Haha! Funny thing. Thin walls. Ha…”

You were fumbling hard. The stammering. The fake giggles. The absolute refusal to look directly at chat. From behind you, the voice returned, closer this time, clearly amused.

“Tell them I said hi.”

You turned slowly. He did not just… You whipped your head back to the camera. “I… I can explain!!!!”

Chat:

Y/N_simp: DEAD! I’M DEAD

hanafubukki: HE SAID HI I’M SCREAMING!
y/n.fan: MYSTERY BOYFRIEND???

chris-2220: YOU’VE BEEN HIDING A MAN THIS WHOLE TIME???

masquerade-of-misery: DROP HIS @ !DROP HIS BLOOD TYPE! WE NEED RECEIPTS!

blessingofthestars: WHY IS HE KINDA FLIRTY

jen-jen: DID SHE JUST GET EXPOSED LIVE LMAOOOOO

You covered your face with both hands, groaning. “I hate you,” you muttered over your shoulder.

Lilia leaned casually into frame, smirking like the smug menace he was, and gave the camera a playful wink. “Aw, come now, love. They seem fun.”

Chat:

chris-2220: OH MY GOD HE’S CUTE

y/n.fan: STOP IT! YOU’RE KILLING US

Y/N_simp: SHE’S SO RED RN I’M IN LOVE

hanafubukki: girl… good for you…

best_mod: I SHIP IT

You exhaled in defeat, cheeks glowing. “…Okay. Yes. That was Lilia. He’s… my boyfriend. Surprise…”

You shot him a glare. He blew you a kiss. “I was gonna keep it private a little longer,” you mumbled.

Lilia perched himself on the arm of your chair and rested a hand on your shoulder. “Where’s the fun in that, love?”

Jade Leech

You were mid way through a relaxed, late afternoon stream, lounging in your chair with your headset perched lazily over one ear. Chat was a chill ocean of messages, questions, and banter as you leaned back and scrolled through your upcoming schedule.

“Okay, so for Thursday’s stream, we’re doing the collab with CayCay, and then next Monday’s stream might be an IRL one… if the weather behaves,” you said.

Chat:

Y/n.mushroom: pls tell me the IRL stream is hiking again!

usernamesarehardtomake: i love the forest ones!!

jen-jen: what’s the outfit for Monday 👀

tutorialb0ss: we want the chaos collab on Thursday 


You smiled, stretching a little then…

Click.

The door to your room opened behind you, and you instantly stiffened. Your mouth hung open mid sentence. Jade walked in. Calm, composed… and visibly excited, at least, Jade excited, which meant a slight gleam in his eyes and a gentle lift to his smile. In his hands was a small, intricately carved wooden box.

“I found some new kind of mushrooms,” he said with quiet enthusiasm. “They’re a curious shade of violet and had an unusual texture when I plucked them.”

Your entire soul left your body. Because not only did he forget you were streaming, but he had walked in exactly the way he always did, soft footed, confident, and directly into frame.

Your eyes shot wide. The camera only caught him from the chest down, but still…. white sleeves rolled neatly at his elbows, forest dusted gloves, and his voice.

That smooth, hypnotic voice.

Chat:

Y/nsupport: WHO WAS THAT!?

jen-jen: “I found some mushrooms”?? HELLO??

Y/n.mushroom: voice reveal of some mystery man

wokasiv: he sounds hot not gonna lie

tutorialb0ss: THE WAY HE SOUNDED EXCITED ABOUT MUSHROOMS! IM CRYING!

usernamesarehardtomake: MA’AM. MA’AM EXPLAIN RIGHT NOW! WHOSE FOREARMS ARE THOSE???

You were frozen, like a deer in headlights. “...Hi, Jade,” you managed weakly, one hand awkwardly hovering over your mouse. “You’re, uh… on camera.”

Jade blinked once, then glanced at the monitor. “Ah,” he said smoothly.

He didn’t panic… of course he didn’t. He just tilted his head slightly, curious. “Am I interrupting?”

“I—uh—yes. I mean no. I mean… I forgot to end stream before you got home,” you stammered, heat crawling up your neck. “That’s… my bad.”

Jade chuckled. “I did wonder. You said you would be finished by the time I returned.” He placed the mushroom box on your desk gently. “But you get so absorbed when you’re enjoying yourself. It’s endearing.”

Chat:

tutorialb0ss: END??EAR??ING???

neko: HE’S SO CALM WTF

jen-jen: HE PUT A BOX DOWN. WHAT’S IN THE BOX?!?

usernamesarehardtomake: BRO WHY HE SOUND LIKE A FAIRY TALE VILLAIN I WANNA DATE

wokasiv: HIS VOICE IS ILLEGAL

Y/n.mushroom: DROP HIS FACE. DROP THE CAM. WE WANNA SEE.

You rubbed your face, trying to hide your red cheeks. “Chat, this is Jade. Yes. He’s my boyfriend. No, I wasn’t planning on telling you like this.”

Jade leaned down just enough for his face to almost peek into frame, still hidden, but close enough that you felt his breath near your ear. “Would you like me to say hello properly?” he murmured.

Your brain short-circuited. “Nope! Nope, we’re good, thanks!” you blurted out, smacking the ‘Be Right Back’ screen hotkey in a flustered panic.

Chat:

wokasiv: SHE’S LOSING IT!

usernamesarehardtomake: STOP THIS IS THE BEST STREAM EVER

neko: SHE WENT ✨BRB✨ REAL FAST

tutorialb0ss: MUSHROOM BOYFRIEND REVEAL IS ICONIC

Y/nsupport: LET HIM SPEAK AGAIN PLSSSS

Y/n.mushroom: this man got her blushing and panicking I’m OBSESSED

better.twin: Ew…

You turned in your chair and glared at Jade, who smiled sweetly down at you like he hadn’t just broken your entire streamer career in five seconds flat. “This is your fault,” you muttered.

He leaned in and kissed your temple, voice like silk. “I brought mushrooms.”

“…Fine. You’re forgiven. But next time!!!.”

Epel Felmier

You were in the middle of a comfy, easy going stream, your hoodie sleeves bunched up at your elbows and a grin on your face as you held up your new prototype merch mug to the camera. “So this is the first test version. The handle’s gonna be reshaped, and the logo will probably glow in the dark. Which I think is so cool,” you said proudly, spinning the mug between your fingers.

“The hoodie samples are coming next week, and I’m thinking of doing a special pre order drop for subs first”

Chat:

Y/n.lil.apple: that mug is so cute!

waitlexist: GLOW IN THE DARK??? OKAYYY

Y/n.notice_me: take my wallet pls

glitchingmind: when’s the drop date?? 👀👀

Neko: WAIT WHO JUST WALKED BY???

You blinked. “Huh?” You glanced behind you but nothing was there. Just your bedroom door half open.

“Someone walked by?” you repeated slowly, squinting toward the hallway.

Chat:

Y/n.lil.apple: YES SOMEONE LITERALLY JUST PASSED

Y/N_simp: lilac hoodie guy! he was cute

waitlexist: HE HAD A BABY FACE

Neko: HE’S SO ADORABLE! was that your brother??? 👀👀👀

You snorted, laughing. “My brother? I don’t have a brother.” You leaned closer to read more comments, scrolling up.

“Wait… what? ‘He’s so adorable, was that your brother?’... I—huh?” You read the comment out loud.

Before you could even register your confusion fully…

SLAM.

The door flew open, and Epel marched back in like a storm in human form, glaring straight at your monitor with arms crossed over his chest and righteous fury radiating from him. “Who the fuck are you calling adorable?!” he snapped, voice sharp and thick with his unmistakable accent. “AND I’M HER BOYFRIEND!!”

You froze.

Chat? Exploded.

Chat:

Y/N_simp: EXCUSE ME?!?!?!?!?! BOYFRIEND???

waitlexist: “WHO THE FUCK” SIR HELLO???

Neko: LMAOOOOOOOOOOO

Y/n.notice_me: BABYGIRL HAS A BOYFRIEND REVEAL LIVE

glitchingmind: THIS IS THE FUNNIEST THING EVER

Y/N_simp: YOU’RE DATING THAT ANGRY LITTLE GRAPE??

Y/n.fan_: I THOUGHT HE WAS A BABY HE’S A WHOLE MAN???

Y/n.lil.apple: THE ACCENT CAME OUT HARD 😭😭😭

You turned slowly in your chair, wide eyed. “Epel… what… why did you yell at chat?!”

“They called me adorable,” he said indignantly, walking fully into the room now, jaw tense. “Like I’m some little purse puppy or somethin’… tch. I ain’t adorable, I’m tough. I work out! I chop wood! You’ve seen my arms!”

You blinked at him. “...They didn’t mean it in a bad way.”

“I don’t care, they’re wrong!” He pointed at your screen dramatically. “Tell them. Tell them I’m your man, not your deam brother!”

You slapped your hand over your mouth to hide your laughter, shoulders shaking. “Okay okay! yes, everyone, that was Epel,” you said between giggles. “He’s not my brother. He’s my boyfriend. My… very proud boyfriend.”

Chat:

waitlexist: “I CHOP WOOD” OKAY LUMBERJACK

Y/n.fan_: SIR RELAX WE GET IT

Y/n.notice_me: THE ACCENT WHEN HE’S MAD IS KINDA 👀

Y/n.lil.apple: I THOUGHT HE WAS CUTE, BUT HE’S SCARY NOW!

glitchingmind: “I’M HER MAN” I’M GONNA DIE

Y/N_simp: you got yourself a firecracker

Neko: PLS BRING HIM ON STREAM MORE

Epel huffed but looked satisfied. “Damn right.”

You finally turned to him, eyes warm. “You could’ve just said hi, you know.”

He shrugged. “Wouldn’t be as fun.”

Then, with all the casualness in the world, he leaned down and kissed your cheek, making your chat short circuit even harder, before walking off again like nothing happened.

You stared at your camera, stunned. “...So anyway, about that merch drop.”

Chat:

Neko: MAM.

Y/N_simp: WE’RE NOT DONE.

Y/n.lil.apple: GET HIM BACK HERE

glitchingmind: WE NEED A COUPLE STREAM NOW

waitlexist: HOW DARE YOU JUST GO BACK TO BUSINESS

..............................................................................................................................

The first thing you felt was cold.

A terrible, bone deep cold. It clung to your skin like a second layer of ice, chilling your fingers, your spine, your lungs. You weren’t sure if it was rain, seawater, or both, but your clothes were soaked through, and your body trembled violently against the wind.

Your mouth tasted like salt and fear.

You coughed, hard, spitting out a mouthful of gritty sand. The wind lashed against your face, bringing with it the sharp scent of brine and driftwood.

You lay on your side, half buried in wet sand, the waves tugging gently at your boots. Your hair was plastered to your face, and your gown once elegant and worthy of a royal bride was now little more than a tangle of ruined silk and seaweed.

You groaned, shifting. Every muscle screamed.

“Where...?”

Your eyes opened slowly.

A bright sky loomed above, the storm was gone but the wind still freezing you. You were on a beach, a small crescent of sand and jagged rocks nestled there.

No ships. No people. Just the sea and the warm sand.

Panic bloomed hot in your throat.

You sat up too fast, swaying as dizziness hit. Your mind raced, images flashing like lightning: Malleus furious and heartbroken, emerging from the storm. Soldiers clashing. Fire. Rain. Leona’s arms tight around you. The leap.

The fall.

The ocean.

You gasped. “Leona—”

Your head whipped around, frantic. Where was he? Where was—

Then you saw him.

A figure lay crumpled a few feet away, his hat covered his face.

Your heart stilled. You scrambled forward on hands and knees, ignoring the sharp rocks and seashells slicing at your palms, the wet sand clinging to your legs.

“Leona—” your voice cracked. “Leona!”

No response.

He lay still, utterly motionless. His long coat was soaked through, heavy and clinging to his frame. His hair, normally so wild was limp and tangled with seawater and grit. The golden earrings at his ears glinted faintly in the light. His sword was still strapped to his side, though it had half-sunk into the wet ground with him.

“No, no, no… don’t you dare…” you grabbed his shoulder with both hands and shook.

“Leona, wake up!”

Still nothing.

Panic tightened around your chest. You hadn’t wanted him to take you. You hadn’t asked for any of this. You despised him… but you couldn’t be alone. Not on some unknown shore with no shelter, no allies, no direction.

You took off his hat, bracing yourself for the worst.

But the moment you took it off, his eyes snapped open.

You screamed.

He blinked up at you, unimpressed. “The hell are you screamin’ for?”

You stared at him in stunned silence.

He yawned… A full, lazy, jaw-cracking yawn.

You couldn’t believe it. “You—You’re alive?”

Leona scowled faintly, stretching like a lion waking from a nap. “Unfortunately. You’re louder than the damn ocean.”

“You were asleep?!” you shrieked, hitting his chest with both fists. “I thought you were dead!”

“Would’ve been, if you kept shaking me like that,” he grumbled, batting your hands away. “Tch. Drama queen.”

“Drama queen?!” Your voice cracked under the weight of disbelief. “You dragged me off a ship, jumped into the ocean, nearly drowned us both, and then took a nap on the beach like it was some afternoon stroll?! AND I AM THE DRAMA QUEEN?!?”

He pushed himself up on one elbow, water dripping off him. “Hey, I saved your pampered ass. Least you could do is let me rest.”

You rose to your feet, trembling with rage. “I didn’t ask to be saved!”

Leona stood slowly, sand and seawater trailing down his soaked clothes. His emerald eyes locked onto yours, and for the first time since waking, you saw the flicker of something unreadable in his gaze. “Didn’t have to ask.”

You took a step back, your fists clenched. “You kidnapped me. Do you even know where we are?”

He shrugged. “Of course I do.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Then where are we?!”

A smirk tugged at his lips. “Wouldn’t you like to know.” Oh you wanna sleep him sooo bad.

You stared at him. “Are you serious?!”

His smirk widened.

You lost it…

All the fear, exhaustion, and helpless fury of the last few days erupted from you in a raw, blistering explosion.

“Do you think this is funny?!” you shouted, voice rising over the crashing waves. “I’ve lost everything! I don’t know where I am, what’s happening, or if anyone is even alive! You dragged me away from my home, my wedding, my life!And now you’re standing there like it’s just another day, like none of it matters!”

Your fists shook. Your voice broke.

“I was supposed to marry a prince, not be tossed around like a sack of potato by a…by a FREAKING PIRATE! I was raised to speak with grace, to walk with poise, to smile no matter how much it hurt! I was trained to rule beside a man who loved me! And now… now I’m covered in sand and salt and screaming at a man who doesn’t even care! A arrogant asshole with a freaking hero complex!!!”

Leona blinked, taken aback. You kept going.

“I don’t know how to fish, or fight, or survive in the wild! I don’t know if Malleus is looking for me or if I’m just gone now! I don’t know who I am anymore! Because every single thing I was trained to be is useless here! I was trained to be a princess! Not for all this!”

The wind whipped around you, carrying your sob laced words into the sea.

“I hate this! I hate you! I hate that I have no control, no choice, nothing! I hate that every time a man comes in and drags me to do something because “it’s gonna be the best” and guess what? NOTHING IS FUCKING GOOD! I WANNA GO HOME!”

You finally stopped, breathing hard, tears stinging your eyes, your chest heaving.

Leona was silent.

And then… he laughed… that asshole

A quiet, amused, deep-chested laugh that made you want to punch him again.

“You finished?” he asked, raising a brow.

You glared daggers. “Why don’t you go drown again?”

“I could,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, “but then who’d be around to keep you from walkin’ straight off a cliff outta spite?”

You growled in frustration. “You’re infuriating!”

“Yeah,” he said, stepping past “but I’m also the only one who knows where we are. And how to get out.”

You turned to follow, heart still pounding. “You can’t just drop that and walk away- hey!— wait!- Leona!”

But he only waved a hand lazily over his shoulder. “Better start walkin’, Princess. The tide’s comin’ in.”

•

You hadn’t spoken to him since your meltdown on the beach. And Leona, to his credit …or annoyance… hadn’t pushed.

Now you trudged beside him through low hills of wind scoured grass and stone, your soaked shoes squelching with every step. The cliffs eventually gave way to a jagged dirt path, winding down into a valley shrouded in mist. The ocean faded behind you, replaced by the distant hum of something far more civilized.

Smoke. Voices. The clatter of wheels and hooves.

A town!

Leona stopped just before the next rise, his sharp eyes narrowing as he peered beyond it.

You watched him cautiously. His expression was unreadable, but his shoulders had stiffened. Then he turned to you, speaking in a low voice. “We’re goin’ in.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Into the town?”

“Yeah.”

You hesitated. “Shouldn’t we avoid—”

“Exactly. That’s why we’re goin’ in low.”He jerked his chin at you. “Keep your voice down. Your posture soft. Eyes forward. Act like you belong.”

“Belong?” you echoed, almost laughing. “I’m a princess. I don’t know how to blend in.”

“Not my problem,” he muttered.

You scowled. “Why do we need to sneak anyway? Is someone looking for you?”

Leona gave you a long, cool look. Then, vaguely “I’ve got... reasons.”

“That’s not an answer,” you said flatly.

“Good thing I wasn’t lookin’ for approval,” he replied, and started walking again.

You grit your teeth and followed.

It didn’t take long to reach the town gates. They were …flashy… compared to Malleus’s palace. Gleaming towers of ivory and gold spiral into the sky, their roofs topped with violet crystal domes that catch and refract sunlight like chandeliers. The streets are clean, paved with polished lilac stones that shimmer faintly. It was lively. Busy. A place of tradesmen, travelers, and secrets.

The narrow streets were teeming. Market stalls spilled over with fruits, bolts of cloth, weapons. People jostled and bargained. Somewhere, a lute played a clumsy tune. It unfamiliar. And yet, it was the most alive you’d felt since the wedding.

Leona dragged you to the edge of the market, ducking between carts. Then he stopped, eyes locked on something ahead. You followed his gaze and saw a merchant with his back turned, rearranging a cart laden with simple traveling cloaks and robes.

Before you could speak, Leona was already moving. He moved like a shadow, quick and silent, snatching two folded garments from the cart’s side without a sound.

“Leona—!” you hissed.

He tossed one at you. “Put it on.”

“I am not wearing stolen clothes,” you whispered angrily.

“You’d rather get caught?”

“I’d rather not walk around like a criminal!”

Leona stepped in close, voice low and sharp. “That little blow-up back on the beach? You made it real clear that you don’t want to be some helpless royal doll anymore. So don’t act like one now.”

You stiffened.

He held up the robe. “You want to survive? Then stop flinchin’ at dirt and take the damn cloak.”

You glared at him, but your trembling hands took the cloth. It was rough, dyed a soft grey color. Smelled faintly of dust and cloves. With an exaggerated sigh, you pulled it over your gown.

Leona donned his own, flipping the hood up over his tangled hair. Then, with surprising gentleness, he reached toward you and pulled your hood into place as well.

You recoiled slightly, but he was already walking away again.

The two of you weaved through the crowds. It felt surreal passing fishmongers yelling prices, children chasing each other, merchants advertising glimmering trinkets. No one looked twice at you, not with the robes hiding your silks.

But then, you noticed them.

White armor.

Glinting.

Four soldiers, far ahead, their gait too sharp. Too clean.

Leona saw them too. He grabbed your hand without asking, pulling you down an alley.

You yanked it back immediately. “Don’t touch me.”

“Really? That’s not the time for this. Fine. Stay close, then.”

You crept through the winding backstreets, avoiding open roads, your heart pounding with every glimpse of silver.

Finally, you reached the outskirts, a quieter district with flowered windows and silver steps leading to small homes and family owned shops.

Leona stopped before a modest looking shop. The sign above read: Felmier Goods.

He stepped inside without knocking.

The inside smelled like lavender, wood polish, and drying herbs. Barrels lined the walls, filled with grains and fruit preserves. A small counter sat at the back.

And behind it… A boy with soft blue eyes and silvery lilac hair looked up sharply, eyes narrowing. “We’re clos—”He stopped mid-sentence.

Then blinked.

Then lit up like a torch. “Leona?!”

A crooked smile tugged at Leona’s lips. “’Bout time someone recognized me.”

The boy he couldn’t have been more than seventeen, hopped the counter with an agility that startled you. “I thought you were dead! No one’s seen you in months! There is a rumor that Malleus Draconia killed you and your crew!”

“Rumors of my demise were exaggerated, you know me better than that Epel.” Leona said dryly.

The boy… Epel, you assumed, grabbed Leona in a rough hug. “What the hell are you doin’ here?!”

“Need a favor.”

“Anything!”

Leona stepped aside, gesturing toward you. “Need clothes. And a place to lie low for the night.”

Epel blinked at you.

Then blinked again.

Then slowly raised one eyebrow. “Who’s she?”

There was a heartbeat of pause. You turned toward Leona, wondering how he’d spin it.

He slipped easily into a lie, voice cool “A merchant’s daughter. Trouble at the docks. She’s under my protection.”

You raised your brow at him, unimpressed. But you said nothing.

Epel didn’t look convinced, but he nodded. “Alright. I trust you. I’ve got extra clothes upstairs, and grandma out visitin’ cousins so no one’ll bother you.”

Leona nodded. “Thanks, kid.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Epel grinned, turning toward the stairs. “If she’s trouble, I’m blaming you.”

Leona smirked.

You crossed your arms, looking pointedly at Leona as the boy disappeared upstairs.

“A merchant’s daughter?” you murmured.

He shrugged. “Would you be happier if I say ‘That’s the princess I stole from a dragon prince, can we borrow your guest room?’”

You opened your mouth.

Closed it.

“…Fair point.”

Leona leaned back against the counter, arms crossed. His eyes glittered beneath the shadow of his hood. “Get comfortable, Princess. We gonna be here for a while.”

..............................................................................................................................