Little Corner Of Fandom

The entire table froze.

"…your what?" one knight asked carefully.

Lohen lifted his head just enough to glare at them with offended exhaustion.

"My wife." he repeated, slower this time. Almost reverent, as though the word itself tasted familiar on his tongue.

Then, as if that single admission had cost him everything he had left, he let his head fall back down again.

Nobody moved for a moment. Even the Grand Master Varka seemed to have sobered up from the sudden confession.

Then the whole tavern erupted into surprised screams.

"THE VICE-CAPTAIN IS MARRIED?!"

The investigation began immediately. Because this was catastrophic information.

First of all, the Vice Captain had never mentioned a wife before.

Which led to the second issue. None of them could even imagine a woman willing to marry him voluntarily.

This was a man who once smiled during a battle against a ruin guard. A man who described battlefields as 'refreshing.' A man who once broke an interrogation chair because the prisoner was 'taking too long.'

And yet, somewhere in the kingdom existed a woman who apparently looked at this terrifying creature and thought,

'Yes. I want that one forever.'

It was unbelievable!

The knights first approached the grandmaster for information.

He only exhaled, rubbing a hand down his face. "I have no clue. That was the first time I’ve ever heard him say it. "

He was about to continue, but froze when he saw the scheming looks on his subordinates faces.

"You are not spying on the vice-captain." he warned flatly.

They spied on the vice-captain.

Three days later, six fully armed royal knights crouched horribly behind bushes near a small house at the edge of town.

The hiding was atrocious.

One man was still wearing polished silver armor directly beneath the afternoon sun. Another had somehow gotten his cape caught on a tree branch ten minutes ago and was suffering in silence because nobody dared stand up to help him.

None of them were trained for espionage. Especially not against their vice-captain.

Lohen had entered twenty minutes earlier carrying grocery bags.

Grocery bags.

It was a horrible sight. The image alone had permanently damaged their ability to fear him correctly.

"He was smiling while looking at the carrots." one shuddered as he remembered the memory.

"The apples were the scariest. I still remember he made me do shooting practice with them!"

The men stared into the distance, rethinking every interaction with the vice captain when a sudden crash erupted from the house in front.

The entire group jolted violently.

"What was that?!"

A loud bang followed by another heavy THUD that rattled the windows rang.

One of the younger soldiers immediately grabbed the man beside him by the shoulders, eyes wide with panic. "She’s killing him!"

"No," another whispered reverently. "She’s... winning."

They seemed like they were on the verge of tears.

Inside however, you were laughing.

A chair had toppled somewhere behind you during the struggle, scraping loudly across the floor as you leaned over the table with a victorious grin, pinning your husband beneath you with both wrists trapped in your hands.

To anyone else it would have been a shocking scene. To you, it was just Tuesday with Lohen.

"Darling," you mused, pressing a kiss on Lohen's cheek. "I told you to bring potatoes, riiight?"

Lohen looked up at you without the slightest trace of remorse. "Did you? Must’ve slipped my mind."

You narrowed your eyes immediately, tightening your grip around his wrists. "Lohen."

His smile only widened.

"I distinctly remember warning you," you continued, voice dripping with amusement, "that if you forgot something again, I’d have to punish you."

"My wife is truly terrifying," he sighed dreamily, sounding far too delighted about that fact.

You scoffed, unable to stop yourself from laughing softly under your breath.

Sometimes you genuinely wondered if he provoked you on purpose simply because he enjoyed being handled like this.

Rolling your eyes, you finally loosened your grip, intending to let him up. But before you could pull your hands away, Lohen caught them.

Slowly, he guided your palms back against his chest, pressing them there until you could feel the steady thud of his heartbeat beneath your fingers. "... What about my punishment?"

"You -" you started.

"Come on," he murmured softly. "I’m waiting."

His fingers slid lazily along your arm, before he tugged you forward.

You stumbled against the table with a startled laugh, and he met you halfway, kissing you before another word could leave your mouth.

Outside, the knights heard nothing except another loud noise and became increasingly convinced you were the only human alive capable of defeating him.

They waited outside for nearly an hour, determined to finally glimpse at the mysterious wife.

But when the front door opened again, it was Lohen who stepped out.

The entire group froze.

His gaze swept calmly across the yard before stopping directly on the bushes they were hiding behind.

A terrible silence followed.

Then, very slowly, Lohen spoke. "...You are loud. Shut up."

The knights felt their souls briefly leave their bodies. One man immediately started praying under his breath. Another simply collapsed face-first into the grass as if accepting death in advance.

Lohen stared at the bushes with visible disappointment, as though deeply offended that these were somehow Mondstadt finest soldiers.

From inside the house, your voice called out. "Lohen! Help me with the dishes please!"

Instantly, the stern expression on his face melted. The transformation was genuinely horrifying.

"Yeah," he answered, voice gentler than any of them had ever heard before. "Coming."

He turned back to the doorway, but paused before glancing at the bushes.

The warmth disappeared instantly. "Leave," he said flatly. "Before I bury you here."

The knights did not need to be told twice. They fled immediately.

The next day, they approached you while Lohen was away on official business. You were in the marketplace buying vegetables when six grown knights appeared around you.

"…can I help you?" you asked slowly, holding a bundle of carrots mid-air.

The eldest knight bowed immediately. "Madam."

The others followed suit, slightly less coordinated, as though none of them had practiced basic human interaction before.

"We merely wish to understand…" another began carefully.

The youngest one finished. "How did you tame the vice-captain!?"

You blinked, smiling awkwardly at the suddenness of the question. "Tame?"

Another knight chimed in. "Yeah! We heard you defeat him yesterday!"

Your grip on the carrots loosened slightly. "Yesterday, I-"

"We were near your house! We heard EVERYTHING!"

A faint heat crept up your face. You were not fighting with him that day, in fact you were doing...something else entirely. "Oh well, that was not-"

"PLEASE TEACH US!"

Somehow, one thing had led to another, and now you were standing in the center of the training grounds with a sword in your hands.

You were fairly certain this was not how your morning was supposed to go.

Yet, the training grounds became utterly packed. Word spread through the city in under an hour.

'The vice-captain’s mysterious wife is going to duel him.'

Knights climbed fences. Servants placed bets. Someone sold pastries as though this were an official festival.

Varka stood at the sidelines with the expression of a man trying very hard not to encourage this while also clearly enjoying it.

Then, finally, Lohen entered.

The crowd immediately fell silent.

He had just returned from a mission, blood smeared across his coat. And seeing you standing in front of him with a sword in hand was a sight he had not expected.

"...Why are you holding a weapon?"

"Your subordinates asked me to duel you." you smiled brightly, swinging the sword to show off your non-existent skills.

He stared at you. Then turned his head slightly toward the gathered knights.

"…After this is over," he said calmly, voice almost pleasant, "you are all dead."

The knights immediately looked anywhere except at him.

The duel began.

Or rather, you attacked while Lohen simply existed.

The crowd watched in growing disbelief as the kingdom’s most terrifying warrior lazily parried your strikes while staring at you like a man witnessing divine revelation.

Every strike you made was reckless with confidence, mimicking the techniques you had once watched him perform with terrifying grace. You knew he would never let you fall.

And he never did.

Whenever your footing slipped against the dirt, his hand was already there at your waist or your arm, steadying you before you could stumble.

His touch lingered just long enough for him to guide your body back into balance before allowing you another hit against him—as though the duel existed solely to indulge you.

The Vice Captain wasn't even trying. Every lazy parry carried restraint. Every blocked strike looked suspiciously gentle. The knights watching from the sidelines began exchanging horrified glances as realization dawned upon them.

Their vice-captain was not losing because you were stronger.

He was losing because he adored you.

Then you moved suddenly.

Your foot swept behind his ankle, your body twisting with sharp precision, and before anyone could react, Lohen crashed onto his back with enough force to shake the dirt beneath him.

You planted your foot against his chest, pinning him down as your sword tilted beneath his chin, gleaming beneath the sunlight.

"You lose, Lohen."

The arena exploded behind you, people screamed, some clapped, some threw their helmets to the sky after seeing someone beating the most feared warrior.

But Lohen heard none of it. Not when you stood above him like this.

The sun framed you in gold, wind tangling through your hair as you smiled down at him with triumphant amusement. His heartbeat pounded violently beneath your foot, and to his own embarrassment, he realized this might genuinely be the happiest moment of his miserable life.

His gloved hand slid slowly around your ankle. Not to move you, but simply to touch.

His thumb brushed against the fabric gathered near your calf before trailing higher in a teasing stroke that made your breath hitch.

"We should do this often..." he muttered.

You tried to pull your leg away, but his grip only tightened slightly, trapping you there with infuriating ease.

His gaze dropped lazily to the foot pressing against his chest, "I think," he said, voice rough with laughter and something warmer, "I just discovered I enjoy being humiliated by my wife."

You snorted, tilting his chin back slightly with your foot. "You are so weird, Lohen."

Still, you indulged him. Because no matter how ridiculous he was, no matter how utterly hopelessly devoted he became around you...

you never got tired of him either.

His grin softened at your insult. "And yet, you married me anyway."

Unfortunately, that was true.

Sensing the sudden romantic atmosphere, the crowd slowly dispersed.

Knowing if anyone interrupted whatever deeply concerning moment this had become, Lohen would happily gouge their eyes out for witnessing it.

And from that day onward, the knights accepted two undeniable truths.

First, Vice-Captain Lohen was catastrophically and humiliatingly in love with his wife.

And worse....

She was somehow even more dangerous than he was.

Fin

ANOTHER LOHEN FIC CUZ HE'S RELEASING SOON!!

We don't know Lohen's age but I do believe he is older than 20. Obviously they aren't married in this, but it's just that Lohen wants to call her his wife. So all this is just a misunderstanding from the knights part 😝

Leon’s sitting on the couch, flipping through mission paperwork and nursing his third cup of coffee of the day. When you walk by, his eyes flick up automatically. “Hey.”

You pause. His water bottle is sitting untouched on the coffee table. You point at it.

“…You should drink some water.”

His face immediately twists, eyes rolling. “Don’t start.”

A sweet smile comes to your face. The kind that you know gets him to do whatever you want. “Drink your water.”

He sighs dramatically and reaches over, taking a few obedient sips.

Your face lights up. “Good job.”

Leon blinks. “…What?”

“Good hydration.”

“…Are you making fun of me?” His eyes narrow.

You smile wider. “No.”

You absolutely are.

.

.

.

The second time, he notices.

He’s in the kitchen making dinner. You lean against the counter, eyeing him up and down. His shoulders are tight. There’s heavy dark circles under his eyes. You know for a fact he slept four hours, if that. Probably even less.

“…Did you nap today?”

“No.” He’s in the middle of chopping some vegetables, eyes still trained on the knife in front of him.

You lay your hand over his, pausing his work. “Go sit down for twenty minutes.”

He gives you an offended look. “No? I don’t need to.”

Your hand doesn’t stray. He simply stares at you for a second, like it’s a challenge. Three minutes later he’s on the couch, you throwing a blanket over him. 

You pat his shoulder, kissing the top of his head. “Good job.”

“…Are you rewarding me?” His head tilts up at you. His eyes look heavy with exhaustion. 

You blink. “…No.”

.

.

.

Third time. He’s stretching after training.

Not because he wants to, no. But because his back hurt and you threatened violence. When he finishes, a bead of sweat tracing down his hairline, he looks over to you.

You look up from your phone, face softening. “That’s my guy.”

His ears turn pink. He immediately scowls. “…Stop.”

You smile. “Good stretching. I’m happy you’re taking care of yourself.”

His face changes. Just slightly. Like his brain did something weird. You make sure to file that away.

Interesting.

.

.

.

A week later, you’re making tea.

Leon walks into the kitchen. Opens the fridge. Pulls out water. He takes a long pull from the bottle, swallowing it and turning to look at you. Almost expectantly, even.

You blink. “…What?”

“…Nothing.” His head shakes a little, eyes downturning to the floor. 

He leaves.

… Huh.

.

.

.

Three days later, you’re folding laundry. 

You don’t bother looking up when Leon steps into the room, an empty plate in hand. It makes you smile. The man never eats a full meal, and when he does, it’s never at what could be considered a good time. Today is different, apparently. 

“…You ate lunch?”

His shoulders shift, chest puffing out a little. Is that… pride on his face? Has to be. “…Yeah.”

You smile automatically. “Good job, sweetheart.”

His expression changes a little. His posture relaxes a touch, the briefest of smiles flickering on his face. Then he immediately leaves, face flushing.

Good. Your plan has been working. Now, it’s just time to test it more.

.

.

.

That evening, Leon comes home after a meeting. He’s quick to kick his shoes off, jacket already hanging up next to the door.

Your arms envelop him before he can do anything else. “Good job, dear!”

His eyebrows lift. “…For what?”

You shrug. “General maintenance.”

.

.

.

The next day, he takes his vitamins. You’re quick to kiss his cheek. “Excellent work.”

He rolls his eyes. But, he smiles. 

.

.

.

Next, he goes to bed before midnight. He makes sure to roll over to face you, a dumb smile on his face.

You kiss his forehead. “That’s my boy.”

His entire face goes red.

.

.

.

He realizes what you’ve been doing two weeks later.

You’re cooking. Leon wanders into the kitchen, clad in clean pajamas. He opens the fridge, and instead of pulling out booze, he goes for water instead. He drinks. Looks at you. Waits.

You slowly lower the spoon, smirking. “…Leon.”

His eyes widen immediately. He has that big, dumb smile on his face again. “…What?”

“…Were you waiting for me to say good job?” 

“No.”

The word comes out too fast. You look up from the stove. The man’s face has gone beet red, hands clutching the water bottle close to himself.

He looks away from your face as he speaks, blue eyes downturning. “…Maybe.”

You lose your fucking mind. The man looks sheepish as you double over in laughter, almost falling back into the chair next to you. 

A flash of emotion comes to his face as he realizes what you’ve done. “Did you- Did you fucking condition me?!”

You’re wheezing. “You trained me first! It’s only fair!”

His eyes widen. “EXCUSE ME?”

“YOU CLICKED AT ME LIKE A DOG!”

His hand gestures wildly. “YOU SAID GOOD JOB WHEN I DRANK WATER!”

You stare at him for a second, before smirking again. “…Good job communicating.”

Leon throws a kitchen towel at your face.

.

.

.

That night he drinks water. Looks over.

You grin. “Good job, baby.”

You wake before him on most days.

The house is too big to feel empty, but you fill it anyway. Some music from your phone. The scent of butter in a pan. Fresh coffee brewing. You walk around in one of his oversized shirts, hair still messy, humming quietly to yourself.

You cook like you love.

Eggs just how he likes them. Toast golden. Fruit cut neatly. Bacon crisp. You set everything out carefully, even when he insists you do not have to.

You like taking care of him.

When he finally appears in the doorway, hair tousled, shirt slightly wrinkled, he stops.

“You don’t have to do all this,” he says, voice still rough with sleep.

You smile at him.

“I know, but I want to.”

That is what makes it different.

He walks over and wraps his arms around you from behind. His chin rests on your shoulder. He inhales slowly, as if he is grounding himself.

“You’re spoiling me,” he murmurs.

“You deserve to be spoiled, old man.”

He snorts softly at that.

“Old man, huh?”

You turn in his arms and cup his face.

“My old man.”

His expression changes at that.

Soft.

He kisses your forehead instead of your lips.

You moving into his house happens gradually.

A toothbrush.

A drawer.

Then your favourite blanket draped over the couch.

Then your shoes by the door.

You start rearranging little things.

Putting flowers on the dining table. Swapping out the harsh white bulbs in the lamps for warmer ones. Leaving handwritten grocery lists on the fridge.

He never tells you to stop.

In fact, one evening when you apologise for “taking over,” he looks genuinely confused.

“It’s your house too,” he says simply.

Your chest tightens.

“You never said that.”

“I didn’t have to.”

He is not good with big speeches. He shows it instead.

A closet was cleared out without you asking.

A spare key is placed in your hand.

Your favourite tea stocked in the cabinet without comment.

The quiet evenings are your favourite ones.

Leon sits in the armchair by the window, a book in his hand. One leg crossed over the other. Glasses low on his nose.

You swear he looks unfairly handsome like that.

You pad into the room with a tray. Two cups of tea.

“For you, old man,” you say gently.

He looks up immediately, eyes softening.

“C’mere, Sweetheart.”

You set the tray down and climb into his lap like you have done a hundred times before. His free hand settles automatically on your waist.

You fit there like you were made to.

He kisses your temple.

“You’re gonna make me soft.”

“You already are,” you reply, resting your head against his shoulder.

He hums under his breath, pretending to read again. But his thumb starts tracing circles against your hip.

Possessive in the gentlest way.

You lift his tea to his lips for him. He takes a sip without looking away from the page.

“Good?” you ask.

“Perfect,” he answers.

He does not mean the tea.

-

You know he loves you.

He does not say it often.

The words get stuck somewhere between his scars and his pride. But he looks at you like you hung the moon. He relaxes in a way he never does with anyone else. He sleeps through the night when you are curled against him.

That is enough.

“Leon?” you whisper.

“Yeah, Sweetheart?”

“Are you happy?”

He does not hesitate this time. He closes the book and sets it aside. Both arms wrap around you fully now, pulling you closer until there is no space left between you.

“With you?” he says quietly. “Yeah. I am.”

You press your face into his neck and smile.

He might be your old man.

But you are his heart.

And every morning you wake up in that big house, every cup of tea you bring him, every time you curl into his lap while he reads, you know the truth.

You are not there because he pays you.

You are there because he loves you.

~Masterlist~

• Leon takes a while to open up after falling in love, but once you earn his trust, he becomes vulnerable with you in ways no one else ever gets to see, and the walls he spent years building slowly and finally comes down, and suddenly you're the only person he tells about his fears, his regrets, the things that keep him awake at night: which always get your breath stuck in your lungs, because the coldness in him starts to melt slowly.

• Being in love is something new to Leon, he used to think, he had never experience it, hell he never even thought he was ever deserving of it, and then utmost quite suddenly you came into his life and everything he used to think about it was ruined: every misconception, whatever it was, completely changed, and only thing he knew was you were the definition of love for him.

• Leon in love will always make sure you don't just know that he loves you — but he will make sure you feel it too, inside your bones, and no matter what, he'll always find ways to make you feel special, loved, and chosen even in mundane moments of life.

• Leon in love would randomly tell you, "how much he loves you", "how much you matter to him," at totally ridiculous moments (when you are completely a mess) or feeling like a burden, and he is always gonna say it at the right time, which will ease all the tension you carry inside your chest.

• Leon in love would not just heal himself but heal a part of you too.

• In love: Leon makes sure you are being provided for, being taken care of completely.

• In love Leon's going to worship the ground you walk on. Leon will make sure you know your worth, not just through his mere words but through the way he treats you every single day.

• he'll compliment the little things about you that everyone else overlooks, notice details you don't even think are important, and constantly remind you of how important you are, and eventually you will start to love yourself that way too.

• when leon is in love he will find himself staring at you doing most mundane or random thing and in his eyes it will be so precious , let it be -- you reading a book, cooking food, or just existing near him, or being cuddled up to him -- those moments would be rare and everything to him, and he had beam at your presence nod his head, like a complete fool, god he would truly be a fool for you, a complete addict of your--love--of your presence, and over time he had make sure to see yourself through his eyes, to help you see your strength, your qualities and how fucking extraordinary you are.

• To him, your happiness is his mission: and the only thing that matters to him, a bit cliché isn't it? But its the only truth that your happiness matters to him more than his own.

• Leon in love is utterly attentive, let it be something you had said years ago, he had remember it as clear as yesterday, he had know your favourite color, your favourite song, to every trauma you have had, and he had be careful with it (not walking on eggshells around you kind of careful) but more so treating you with more care than he does, and he had find ways to make you happy to help you heal.

• he would always boost your confidence by complimenting every little thing of yours: you got a new hair cut? He had notice that, you applied some new sort of lipstick? He loves that--because he becomes way-too detail oriented when it comes to you, moving on--you wore make up? He would notice it right away, you did something new? He had see it and compliment you for next few months lol.

• in love leon becomes touchy, like he had hold your waist, caress your arms, holds your hand in public even if its something he usually dont do, but with you? he had do every little thing you like, just because you like it, and he loves to see you happy.

• he is way too protective in love, once you are his, you are his, and god dont you love that.

• When Leon is in love, he doesn't just love the big romantic gestures -- he finds peace in the small, quiet, domestic moments with you. For him, it's the little things that matter most. That doesn't mean he won't do grand gestures, but what he values above all else is your presence. Honestly, he'd be happier living in a tent with you than in a mansion without you.

• lord, leon rarely falls in love, but once he does he falls harder than any thunder striking the earth, and once you become his, you are the only future woven into his skin, and the only forever for him.

• in love leon, he finds it hard to open at first, but still; he had seek comfort in your cuddles and hugs and for him that's the only moment he could be himself again.

• So, that's how Leon fall in love: completely, miserably and forever.

In the background of the tavern, the band's lead singer sang a song about unrequited love. How ironic. Mydei thought, as he took a huge chug of his beer. If he was going to have to play the role of an unlicensed therapist then he'd need a drink. 

Mydei caught the bartender’s attention from across the tavern. “Another beer please.” After a brief pause, he added “Preferably several more.”

“I just..” Slamming his mug down on the wooden table, Phainon let out a defeated sigh. “What am I doing wrong?” He asked, genuinely perplexed.

“I wish I knew so we can put an end to my misery.”

Phainon’s lower lip jutted out into a pout. The ladies out in town might have taken pity on him. But Mydei couldn't be bothered. Especially not when Phainon simply refused to take his advice. “Just tell her! Say those magic words. How hard can it be?”

“Well.. Actions speak louder than words!” 

“Yeah? And how's that working out for you?”

“Its….” 

The memories flooded back into Phainon's alcohol induced mind. 

A month ago

The orphanage yard buzzed with cheerful noise beneath the warm afternoon sun. Children ran across the grass in chaotic little groups, enjoying the simple freedom of childhood. 

Somewhere nearby, someone screamed triumphantly about winning a game of tag. Mydei winced as his ears began ringing. He was starting to regret coming. 

“Remind me again,” Mydei deadpanned as two boys climbed all over him, one currently dangling from his arm like it was a monkey bar, “exactly why did I agree to this?”

Beside him, Phainon sat on the grass, nimble fingers braiding a little girl's hair into French braids, all while she played with her dolls on his lap.

“Moral support.” he answered immediately. Mydei stared at him flatly. “You’re volunteering at an orphanage. What part of this requires moral support?”

Silence was his only answer. Mydei followed Phainon's line of sight instinctively and immediately understood the reason for the lack of response.

There you were.

You were all smiles as you chased several children through the grass. 

A little girl suddenly grabbed onto your skirt. “Big sister!” Her muddy little handprints stained the fabric instantly but you didn’t seem to mind in the slightest.

Instead, you bent down to her eye level with that same gentle smile that always left Phainon feeling all warm and tingly on the inside.

“Yes, my dear?”

Your fingers carefully adjusted the crooked butterfly clip nestled in the little girl’s hair.

“For you!” she chirped proudly, holding up several badly arranged wildflowers. Your entire expression softened. “These are lovely.”

An angel. You were an absolute angel. If he stared long enough, he swore he could almost see a halo glowing above your head.

Beside him, Mydei sighed quietly.

“She’s beautiful,” Phainon murmured before he could stop himself.

The little girl in his lap perked up, her wide brown eyes darting between Phainon and you curiously. Then, taking a deep breath, she shouted at the very top of her tiny lungs. “BIG SISTER! THERE’S A MAN HERE WHO THINKS YOU’RE BEAUTIFUL!”

The entire yard fell silent.

“M-me?” you squeaked. Your startled gaze landed directly on Phainon. Beside him, Mydei nearly choked trying to suppress his laughter.

Meanwhile, Phainon had gone completely red.

“You’re always so encouraging,” you said shyly, your cheeks turning the same shade of red. “Most people aren’t usually that kind with their words.”

Only for you.

“…Encouraging,” Phainon echoed weakly.

Completely oblivious to his suffering, you smiled brightly at him. “Yeah!”

Mydei pinched the bridge of his nose. “Alright,” he muttered while grabbing Phainon by the back of his collar. “We’re leaving before you embarrass yourself any further.”

“I wasn’t embarrassing myself,” Phainon protested weakly while being dragged away. Mydei glanced back at him. “You confessed in front of thirty children.”

“…That’s fair.”

A week ago

“Repeat it again.” Arms crossed over his chest, Mydei looked every bit like the serious immortal warrior that he was. “What should you say when you meet her?”

“I bought these specifically for you.” Inhale. Exhale. Breathe. “Because you mentioned liking them before and I - ”

“Phainon?”

This was it. Mydei was certain of it. This was the moment that his friend would succeed, so that he could stop being a wingman and carry on with his life.

“For you because you like it.”

A brown paper bag was shoved into your hands. Even closed, you could smell the freshly baked pastries within it. And not just any pastries, but the ones from a little bakery across town that often sold out within minutes.

“You remembered?” You beamed, your face lighting up with joy. “Your memory is amazing!”

Phainon’s expression softened immediately at your smile.

“Well,” he said quietly, “things about the people important to me tend to stay on my mind.”

Beside him, Mydei nodded approvingly. Sure he had botched it with his flimsy opening but he had recovered well. Surely this time you'd get the hint. 

“Ah. You truly are a member of the Chrysos Heirs for a reason.” You mused, impressed. “I can't even remember what I had for lunch yesterday.”

Phainon stopped functioning entirely.

Mydei needed a drink.

A few days ago

“Oof”

“Oh. Phainon? I-I'm so sorry”

Phainon looked down to see you - mascara smudged, eyes red and nose runny. You looked absolutely devastated. Phainon felt his heart ache at the sight of you. He reached out, hand hovering in mid air, before it settled gently on your head. 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

The both of you ended up at that tavern. Phainon listened patiently as you spilled your heart out about the disastrous date. “My date said I talk too much. That I eat too much…” You sniffled. “Maybe I really am not that likeable..”

THUD.

Phainon slams his drink down with so much force, half of it spills across the table. Your eyes widened. 

“He doesn’t deserve your tears.” His voice came out sharper than intended.

Phainon inhaled slowly before continuing quieter this time. “You deserve someone who treats you properly.” His gaze lifted toward yours. “Someone who loves you exactly as you are.”

Your expression softened and for a moment hope surged through him.

“You’re right,” you said brightly, wiping away your tears with the back of your sleeve. “I should find someone like that.”

Phainon’s heartbeat quickened, anticipation building inside of him.

“Someone like you” 

Phainon held his breath.

“You’re so kind and emotionally mature,” you continued earnestly. “Any girl would be lucky to date someone like you.”

Phainon stared at you in complete silence. He wanted to scream. To shout. To pull his hair out.

Instead, he forced a stiff smile onto his face.

“Right.. Someone like me”

As the flashbacks ended, Phainon's shoulders slumped in defeat.

“Well its… Not working out” 

“Exactly!” Mydei slamed his mug down in frustration. The loud commotion drew a few curious glances their way. 

“Well I can't exactly just walk up to y/n and tell her that I love her!” 

Mydei's gaze focused over Phainon's shoulder, at the figure that was slowly approaching their table. His lips twitched slightly. 

“And confess that I've been in love with her for months! How creepy is that?”

“Phainon?”

Mydei snorted, grabbed his mug, and gave his friend a clap on the shoulder. “Good luck.” Phainon sat frozen at the table. Eyes wide. Mouth opening and closing soundlessly. Very much like a goldfish.

“I don't think that it's creepy”

Phainon wasn't sure if it was the alcohol or the warm tavern lighting. But your cheeks were dusted with the prettiest shade of red. He prayed that this wasn't a drunken hallucination. 

“I think that it's really romantic” 

The rest, as they say, was history. Or so Mydei thought, as he found himself seated across Phainon in the same tavern once again. Between them sat a velvet box that was far too small for the outrageously large diamond that Phainon had somehow chosen.

“She just doesn't get it. I've been trying so hard to propose!”

Burying his face in his hands, Mydei groaned. 

You’re more of a sunflower who basks in his sunlight and greedily soaks up all his affection. You’d hate to be the moon, for this meant you’d only rise when Phainon is gone – you prefer staying right by his side, a sidekick he can always count on. 

A sidekick wearing your heart on your sleeves, shy but never quite ashamed of the sincere feelings you’ve held for him growing up. A flower bud that slowly unfurls into a full bloom.

As your mother would lovingly refer to you both, you are: “Two birds of a feather!” 

Your childhood memories of Aedes Elysiae, blurry some of them may be, are bathed in everlasting gold. While Phainon dragged you off to go play heroes or look through Cyrene’s cards together, you remember dropping pollen of your romantic affection, scattered across planes of time like trails of breadcrumbs left for him to decipher. 

While the sun dipped into the horizon, you inched closer to him day by day, the fluttering in your heart evolves into a palpitation you can never stop, and small gifts handcrafted to show your admiration all gently whispered to him to ‘please, take the hint’. But reminiscent of an immovable stone, Phainon remained blissfully oblivious to the signs.

Cyrene certainly got them; her narrowing eyes and poorly hidden giggles as she sent you and Phainon away were enough of a testament. “I’m not feeling well today, you two can go on without me!”

You’d linger at the edge of her front yard, unsure how to proceed with her help. At Phainon’s call however, you move to follow him – “okay, phai!” – trying to contain the dandelion seeds dancing around in your stomach when he leads you by the arm, not letting go despite arriving at your destination. You didn’t want to let go either, even with the sweat building up in your palm. 

High school sprouts in your backyard as a tall and looming beanstalk that would force you both to grow up even more. 

Phainon’s high-pitched voice starts cracking like eggshells, making way for a deeper tone yet still carrying that warm lilt he always had. You grow taller, still incomparable to Phainon’s own growth spurt, but a good few inches nonetheless. Your sense of style reshapes itself, old interests thrown out for newer ones, and the patch of land where you’d all play heroes together becomes forgotten, the trampled blades of grass outgrowing their original length. 

You start favouring the comforts of your room over the blazing heat of the sun, beginning to find sweat as something you can’t stand and only coming out when Phainon pleads with you to do so. 

He shines brighter in High School – his presence a beaming beacon of light as he walks through the hallways and enters classrooms. Being the sunflower that you are, you faithfully stayed by his side. Fawning crowds come and go, you don’t. 

Your infatuation is exposed to those who aren’t Cyrene; childish people who never grew past the mental age of twelve tried to pick on you for always ‘Sticking to phainon like some damn leech! Don’t have any other personality traits or something?’ – the teasing didn’t last after Phainon punched one of them square in the face. His heroic act only dug your cove of feelings a little bit deeper. 

He’s your best friend and first love, a pillar of comfort you grew up with – you can’t imagine your life without Phainon. You pick up more hobbies, he joins more clubs he never expected he would, and you share your new life experiences with each other during lunch. Sometimes separated, but never for too long. 

Several months flicker by, and during one of your high school Valentine’s, you received gifts from men who aren’t just Phainon. 

Despite his locker overflowing with pink, glittery love notes and heart-shaped chocolates handmade out of sincerity, his gaze was pinned to the white envelope and bouquet of flowers you carried - neither of them is from him. His own gift is already hanging off your backpack, the cute sunflower keychain that it is. 

“From a friend?” He asks, finally closing his locker before he risks more glitter explosions on the ground.

“I doubt it,” He’s the only friend you have in this school, embarrassing it is to admit. Cyrene studies elsewhere. “But they’re cute.”

You see his tongue in cheek, and you dare let a seed of hope plant in the root of your heart. Is he… jealous? That makes you giddy. Tentatively, you ask, “You think so too, right, Phainon?”

He grimaces, glancing one last time at the items in your embrace before smiling, “Yeah, they are. Anyway, done with your locker? Let me carry your bag now.”

You nursed that seed of hope from then forth, slowly but steadily hoping more and more for the plausibility that he returns your feelings. It wouldn’t be too far off, surely – even if you’re not meant for each other in the end, you still want to try with him. You water that seed by dropping more subtle hints to Phainon, and you fertilize it by observing your best friend like an animal in a zoo, analyzing his minuscule actions and trying to correlate them to the mannerisms of ‘a guy with a secret crush on his best friend’.

To be young is to be naive. 

You didn’t need much. A simple ‘you should go for it! I’ve been rooting for you two since we were all children!’ from Cyrene carved out your decision to confess to Phainon near the end of high school. 

In the end, ripped straight from the dramas you watched out of curiosity, you confess to Phainon at the height of spring after getting your high school diplomas; the scent of flowers in full bloom makes you sick with nostalgia and nerves simultaneously. Your family is off conversing with his parents, while you dragged him to a secluded spot in the school. 

“Uhm… I’ve liked you for a long time now, Phainon. I’m not expecting you to return my feelings but…” You leave it open-ended, too afraid to settle your confession definitively. You love him, actually - but love is a strong word that some don’t like to acknowledge. For his sake, you won’t either. 

A warm, gentle spring can never stay for too long. In the same breath, you, too, are forced to abandon the sunlight you’ve known for several years at the sound of his discordant chuckle – the awkward smile etched on his face as his eyes could only look down at you in what you assume to be pity. You avert your gaze from his blue eyes, opting to stare into his birthmark instead. 

“Hey, of course I like you too - you’re my best friend! But we can always stay as friends, (Y/N). You’re dear to me, you know  – maybe not… like that, I just don’t want things to change between us.”

You experience the first and biggest heartbreak of your life just hours after graduating from High School. Your best friend Phainon does not reciprocate your feelings and instead wishes for your relationship to stay the same, locked into the tight box of ‘close friends’ he never plans on breaking. The seed-turned-plant of hope in your heart withers down to a sad, pathetic, dried-out flora. 

That’s okay. You’ll be attending the same college as him, located far, far away – even if it’s not, you have to be okay. 

After a few tense seconds of utter silence, you smile – the most carefree smile you can muster in that moment before enthusiastically nodding at him, “I get it! Don’t worry, Phainon. I totally get it. Uh, hey, I think Cyrene’s calling me. I have to take this phone call for a bit, okay? Let’s meet again later!” 

You bury that confession six feet under in your backyard, covered and only seen by inches of soil as you maintain your close friendship with Phainon. Best friends, close friends, friends - you are not to cross these labels unless you want to lose your close companion. 

The months of free time leading up to college are nothing unusual, you spend it as you would in the past: Phainon picking you up on the front porch to spend the entire day together. It’s either his or your room where you’ll pour sweating buckets over study materials and banter over multiplayer games on his console.

Your heart still beats like drums just being in his vicinity alone, and it took you days of preparation to act like you’re unbothered when he invites you to his room – the walls and shelves containing time capsules from years before. Pressed white daisies you gifted him on his 10th birthday peeks out as his bookmark, and your kindergarten doodle of him as the sun proudly hangs above his bed, displayed as if it’s an artifact from the Belobog museum. 

The most heartwrenching item is the printed photo sitting on his desk: it’s little him kissing little you’s frosting-smudged cheek at your 10th birthday party. The shock on your face is captured and frozen in time, a memory you both laugh about every month or so. 10th birthday… It’s the same age you realized you see him as more than a friend. 

Seeing it for the umpteenth time never fails to steal the air from you; the ache never gets easier. You wish you could truly put these romantic feelings to rest in a coffin and seal it shut with a lid, never to be opened again. 

“Phainon, next time… let’s spend the day in my room.”

Seeing bits and pieces of you scattered around his room hurts more than him verbally rejecting you. 

He grins, all teeth and gums, “Sure!”

Even branches grow into a tree of their own, just as a fledgling must leave its nest. 

Spring came and went, high school a chapter closed, and you’re now faced with attending school – college, you remind yourself  – an ocean away from the familiar warmth of Aedes Elysiae. The wheat fields that were once taller than you, and Phainon’s house right next door, are all left behind momentarily. You can’t pocket your hometown to bring with you in Penacony, but at least you still have Phainon. 

“Everything all settled?” He gently lets go of your dorm’s wooden table, finally in its correct position, “This layout is fine, right?”

“It is,” You hand him a towel, itching to help with wiping off his sweat, “Thanks, Phainon. You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to, anything for you.” Anything for his dear best friend. He bumps your side before sitting down on the living room couch. You wanted him to stick around for a while longer, but he’s already out your door the moment he hears knocking – (‘Oh, your roommate is here! I need to go now, remember to call me if you need help, okay?’ he pats your shoulder on the way out). 

The patch of skin he briefly touched is still tingling when you see someone walk into the living room, luggage trailing right behind. A tall man with shoulder-length gray hair and kind yellow eyes bows at you in greeting. He’s wearing a white cardigan with a blue sweater layered on top, the color alone reminds you of your best friend despite the difference in shades.

“Hello, pardon my sudden entrance.”

“...Hi.” You don’t know how to talk to people beyond Phainon and Cyrene - standing around here is making you shy. “Uhm, my name is (Y/N)... And you are…?”

“I am Sunday,” His hand extends for a handshake, and you hesitantly follow suit. “It’s nice to meet you. I sincerely hope we get along.”

You nod, staring back into pools of liquid gold while shaking his hand,  “...Yeah, let’s. And please don’t mind the succulents on the windowsill.”

II. A close-knit friendship withers in winter, in its place is a new one.

Much to your relief, your late-night fears of college drifting you and Phainon apart never come to fruition. It has the opposite effect, to your surprise. While not overdramatically countries away, Phainon’s dorm room is located a floor above - a notable difference from when he lived right next door to you. The added distance often has him visiting your dorm room unprompted (you kindly gave him a spare key in case of emergencies) and easily greeting a confused Sunday who just finished his classes for the day.

“Call me your third roommate – don’t worry, I help around!” He’d joke. Using your headband to push his hair back, wearing a baggy tee and gray sweatpants, he makes himself at home. Sometimes doing his own homework or brings his gaming laptop along. 

After the initial surprise, Sunday doesn’t mind his company – you certainly don’t. 

Phainon waits for you outside your room to walk you to your class. He makes sure you sit next to him in the classes you share. He insists you join the same org as him, and predictably, you do. 

You thought you buried your less-than-platonic feelings in your backyard; you truly did. But Phainon has your heart racing in excitement, rekindling the dying plant of hope. You still like him – truthfully, you never stopped liking him. But he’s closer to you now, a feat you previously thought to be impossible. The distance of just one floor away makes the heart grow fonder. Dare you say, clingy? 

But he still remains your best friend. A clingy, touchy one – but your best friend. 

Sunday discusses the topic on a slow, school-less night. You’re in the living room finishing up the last plates needed to be washed when he suddenly chimes in, tone so sure of his words, “Ah yes, I remember now. Please tell your boyfriend to stop entering our dorm past 11 PM. The faculty recently deployed a curfew; it’s best we follow it.”

The ceramic plate in your grasp almost crashes headfirst to the floor. Out of embarrassment, you refuse to turn around and face your roommate. Boyfriend. Boyfriend – only one person is a repeat visitor in your dorm room, and he’s nowhere near being your boyfriend.

Meekly, you set the plate down and correct him, “I’ll inform him, but… Phainon isn’t my boyfriend.”

The silence that wafts through is more humiliation added onto your person. What is Sunday’s facial expression right now? Shocked? Ashamed? 

He answers it for you: “I see… This is quite mortifying, my sincere apologies.” 

But he continues, “You’re both seen together, and he visits you so often, not to mention the look you give him, I got the idea that…– I’ll be sure to be more observant in the future. Again, my apologies.”

You’re wiping the table clean when you reply, still angling your face away from his eyes, “It’s cool, don’t worry! No harm done! He and I are best friends, yes… the bestest of friends!”

You feel him raise a brow at that, “I don’t mean to pry, however…”

Cyrene always chided you for being a pushover to those around you. In this instance, you hear her disapproving frown when you fold like a wet blanket, “Whatever it is you’re thinking –! I-it’s probably right.”

Wilted sunflower that you are, you mournfully face him with your eyes cast to the floor. 

“Ah. You like him?”

You slowly nod, a small part relieved that you now have someone other than Cyrene and Phainon to confide in. “Don’t tell him, please…”

“I won’t.”

His bird-patterned socks enter at the edge of your vision. You slowly look up. Sunday is smiling at you, although a bit tense. 

“Perhaps it’s a bit presumptuous of me considering we’ve only known each other for months, but… They say I’m a good listener. If you don’t mind, could you tell me more?”

Sunday is a Borage you unknowingly planted, only just now peaking when you need him most. Sitting side by side on your dorm’s small couch, you gain an outsider’s perspective on your years-long pining toward your best friend. He hears of your rejection and your still-persisting feelings. In the end, the advice he offered to you is:

“He may not be stringing you along, but you still foster optimism in your heart. So long as you have it, you will never move forward past him. If you ask me… confess your love a second time; see if his opinion has changed.”

You gulp, “And if it doesn’t?”

He smiles, gentle as clouds, “Broaden your horizons permanently. Distance yourself if you must; your friendship will pick up once you settle your feelings.”

Winter break is soon; you’ll need to go back to Aedes Elysiae in a few months’ time. However…

“If it’s not too much. A-and I understand if you don’t want to! But, could I ask you to…”

Sunday’s words continuously ring in your mind, repeating circles of “confess your feelings” and “move on,” bouncing off of one another. Coincidentally, Sunday is out for the afternoon when Phainon barges in a week later. Something about groupmates and ‘I wish you were in my group’ going one ear and out the other as you nod at him in autopilot. 

He picks up on your unusual behavior not even ten minutes in: brows raised to the sky and eerily getting close and personal with you, surveying your face like it’d shed off all the information he wanted. He retracts a few seconds later, less joking when he inquires, “Something on your mind? Missing Aedes Elysiae?”

Hanging out in your small room like this, laptop opened to play some pirated action movie, and his class notes scattered around your bedsheets like autumn leaves… 

You shake your head, feeling the moment to follow Sunday’s advice is now. This is the perfect timing – no one else around to see your heartbroken face for a second time, and no Cyrene to find out you’re still hung up on him. 

“Phainon, I…”

He shuffles closer to hear you better – traitorously, your heart clenches in affection. 

“Yeah?”

You take a deep breath, screwing your eyes shut, “I think I still like you.”

You downplay your feelings for the sake of self-preservation.

His breath hitches, “Ah, that’s–”

“I’m sorry.” You apologize, remorseful at how uncomfortable he must be right now, “I really tried, but…” A deep breath, “I’ll move on from you soon, I promise.”

“Oh,” He pauses, staring anywhere but you, “Uhm… sure… I’m glad to have you, you know?”

You nod, too fragile to face him. 

“...You’re my first and dearest friend. I truly, really liked you, Phainon.” You love him so, so much.

“You’re dear to me too, (Y/N). Forever and now.”

You’ve heard of an overseas concept where a person in an unrequited love begins to sprout flowers from within. You feel like that’s happening to you right now with how unbearable heartbreak is – yellow carnations form from your bleeding heart, wormwood seizes your lungs in a tight embrace, and pink roses mix with your innards. You’d cough out the feeling if you could; empty your stomach from all the flowers and be done with it.  

Predictably, he’s quiet for the rest of the movie – immediately coming up with an excuse to leave your dorm room once the end credits begin rolling in. You break down into tears the moment the lock clicks in place. You cry for hours, long enough for Sunday to come knocking on your door, just knowing you managed to do it when he readily offers you one of his giantmoa pudding tarts. 

Eyes puffy and snot stubbornly running down your nose, you take a bite and thank him through a mouthful of pastry. It’d taste better if you weren’t so heartbroken. He gently rubs your shoulder in comfort. 

“It’ll be alright.”

He’s right– But Phainon has always been by your side, rain or shine. The following months of his absence from your life will be akin to traversing a dark forest with no light source.

But there’s light at the end of the tunnel; a rainbow at the end of the storm. When Sunday bans you from helping with chores that night, you know your heart will heal in time.

“Thanks a lot… sunny.” 

He sighs in mock exasperation, “I see you’ve picked up on that nickname too.”

The sun: Hey

The sun: I came by to pick you up, but for some reason, your roommate’s lying?? He said you’re not going back to aedes elsysiae this winter break??? And even denied me entry??? 

The sun: crazy right

The sun: I’m right outside waiting for you rn

The sun: do you need help packing up? :) 

You: No

You: He’s telling the truth.

You: I won’t be visiting for now. Maybe next semester break?

The sun: what

You haven’t read his one-word reply when your phone screen transitions to his contact photo with the text ‘The sun is calling…’ displayed below. You sigh, reluctantly sliding to accept.

Even with speakers turned off, you hear him without pressing your phone against your ear: “What do you mean? Did something happen? Don’t tell me you and Auntie got into a fight…! Don’t worry! I’ll act as the middleman like usu-”

“Uhm, Phainon.” You cut him off. 

“Yeah?”

“It’s nothing like that, please don’t worry.”

He makes a sound of confusion, painfully close to a whimper, “So then… why aren’t you visiting our hometown with me?”

‘Because you’ll be there’. “I’m busy with some personal matters here, don’t worry about me. Say hi to Snowy for me, okay?”

“No, I’m absolutely worrying about you – why not? We can visit them next week instead if you’re busy! Why… why miss out on the entire winter break? Won’t you be lonely here?”

“No need, really! Enjoy aedes elysiae for me. And I won’t be lonely… so stop worrying so much, you softie. I have sunny with me.”

“Sunny…? Your… roommate? Sunday? He’s staying here for winter break, too?” He sounds choked up from disbelief; you’d laugh if you weren’t battling against your resurfacing feelings from talking to him on the phone. “Sunday?”

“Yes, he’ll take care of me. I swear!”

“...”

“...Phainon? Hello?” Did the call end already? You glance at your screen, frowning in confusion when you see that the call is still ongoing. Is he lagging on his end? But he’s outside of your dorm. 

“If you need anything,” He suddenly speaks up, “Anything – call me, please. If your roommate makes you sad or uncomfortable, tell me right away, okay? I’ll call you again the moment I’m back in aedes elysiae. Stay safe, I love you.”

You flinch at his admission, knowing he didn’t mean it like that. “I know… safe travels, Phainon.”

“Phai.”

“Huh?”

“Call me Phai. Isn’t that what you used to call me when we were kids? Why’d you stop? Let’s bring it back.” 

You lie on your bed, pondering. Why did you stop? Perhaps since it was a nickname from childhood, you let go of it and hoped Phainon would see you more than just… his friend since diapers. It didn’t work, clearly. So you don’t mind calling him that shortened version of his name again. 

“Okay… Safe travels, Phai.”

Despite your emboldened decision to ask Sunday to stay with you for winter break, you are still, at your core, a floundering, unsociable person. You have your moments of being bold and talkative, but it’s covered by leaves of quietude and slight stutters. Socializing is not your strong suit. You’re not at the stage of being totally buddy-buddy with your roommate, but you’re slowly getting there. 

You’re glad you met Sunday. Had it not been for him, you’d still be stuck hopelessly waiting for a day that’ll never come: a phantom of the past who’s deathly afraid of the future. 

In the span of your one-month winter break, you get to know him better. Your roommate, who’s a good listener is also an older brother to an idol trainee, has a trio of friends who roomed together a floor below, likes sweet treats, and ran away from his adoptive home after graduating high school.

Your profound respect for him only continued to grow, stalking across your shared living space like vines. While Phainon’s frequent messages, consisting of photos of Snowy and with your family, make your heart twinge in longing, you start ignoring them for the sake of progress. He’ll understand why a year from now, and you’ll both laugh about it like the pair of best friends that you are. 

It’s not college that severs you and Phainon – it’s you yourself, but cutting off a branch from your tree does not mean it’s not allowed to grow a new one elsewhere. 

III. Regret burgeons when everything is said and done.

Phainon: I feel like you’ve been ignoring me lately

Phainon: did i upset you?

Phainon: :( 

The Gen Ed courses you took unfortunately landed you in some shared classes with Phainon, the ‘sunny’ side is that they’re coincidentally shared with Sunday and his friends too. While anxious to meet them, he thoroughly reassured you that they’re nice people.

“Just a bit… loud sometimes, I hope you don’t mind.”

You don’t – anything to physically get away from Phainon. The one-month winter break may have taught you to rely on him less, but seeing his face again might cause you to fold like paper. You see his unanswered texts when you close your eyes, and you hear his voice right before falling asleep. You miss him, but you know what must be done. When he visited you on the day he left Amphoreus, you and Sunday worked together to pretend that no one was home when he came knocking. 

He stayed for hours before going up to his own floor. 

Sunday sits on your left, and Stelle (A kind woman who is equal parts loud and quiet) on the other. Your new acquaintances, Dan Heng and March, are a row ahead. 

“I’m telling you, (Y/N)! His nickname really is cold dragon young!” March cackles in glee, making sure to point at Dan Heng in case you mistake him for someone else.

He sighs, pushing down her finger, “That was years ago, ignore her.”

Stelle chimes in, lazily putting her arm around your shoulder and whispering, “Because he had a gachalife phase.”

Cold dragon young hisses at her to shut up, only to serve as fuel for their cackling. Entertained, you let out a few quiet chuckles at their display. You can never be happy for too long – the classroom door soon creaks open, familiar tufts of white hair peeking in not a moment later. The realization that it’s undoubtedly Phainon has you clammoring in your seat, sitting rigidly in attention. 

Sunday gently rubs your back, eases you back to your current circle,  “Sorry…!”

“It’s okay,” Sunday whispers back, sharing a glance with you. 

“Ah, (Y/N)! There you are! …And everyone too, hello!” Phainon greets from up front, hastily picking up his pace to approach your group. Facing you, he wastes no time firing question after question, “Where were you yesterday? I waited around and tried the key you gave me, but it never worked. Did your phone break? I couldn’t contact you at all, I was so worried!”

You smile at him, “Phai, it’s nice to see you again. Sorry, we replaced our door lock with a new key for uhm… security reasons, I’ll try to get you a copy sometime. And no… my phone isn’t broken, I was just busy, that’s all!”

He audibly sighs in relief, “...Really? That’s good, I’m glad – I missed you a lot, you know?” Adjusting his bag strap, he nods to the unoccupied seats in the first row, “Come on, let’s sit.”

Stelle speaks for you, “Oh, she’s sitting with us.”

“Hm? Right! Thank you for taking care of my best friend, but we’ll get going now–”

“No, I mean she’ll be sitting with us for this class.” 

Phainon cocks his head, “Sorry, can you repeat that?”

You meekly affirm, “I’m… sitting with them. Uh, they’re really nice people, Sunny introduced me to them!”

“Huh?” He looks like a lost puppy on the verge of being abandoned, “...But our seats?”

“I’ll try to sit with you next class!”

You never do: you sit next to Sunday in every single one of them and ignored the bewildered look on his face each time. 

He beelines for you after dismissal, blue eyes so eager and pleading when he asks you,  “Let’s get dinner together – my treat? It feels like I haven’t seen you in centuries.”

Only for you to scratch the back of your neck while shyly glancing at Sunday, “Uhm… we already made plans after school. Sorry, Phai.”

“Oh.” He steps back, letting you and Sunday pass by him to exit the room. His blue eyes follow you until they can no longer. He’s left with himself when he mutters a bitter:

“I get it.”

“Let me carry that for–Ah, Sunday…?”

He’s a second too late, but Phainon stubbornly clings to your bag’s front pocket, the very bag that the other man is already carrying. You’re still in the bathroom when the professor dismisses the class.  Wanting to do his usual duties, Phainon intended to carry your bag, but… someone already beat him to it. He smiles at him, polite, “Thank you friend, but this is my thing, if you’d kindly–”

Sunday’s lips curve into what seems to be a subtle mocking smile. He adjusts the bag closer to him before replying in a composed manner, “How chivalrous of you, Mister Phainon. However, it’s not needed. See? I can carry it for her.”

Phainon sees it as clear as day. 

Childishly, Phainon thinks he can carry it better than he can. It’s what he always did for you since he still had some front teeth missing from his smile; it’s his duty, not your roommate’s. 

He reluctantly lets go when you come up to thank Sunday, blatantly ignoring him just a few feet away. He enthusiastically greets you, but he still exists as an imaginary concept in your eyes. What’s going on? He ponders, watching you chat the world away with Sunday. What happened before that winter break that caused you to grow so tremendously close to that guy? 

You said you’d give him a new copy of your dorm room, but you’re ignoring his texts, his existence, and now – letting someone else do his usual tasks. Seriously, what gives?

Sunday’s like a parasite attached to your hip, it unnerves and angers him. 

Are you… trying to replace him? His heart threatens to drop just thinking about it. 

You are.

You really are trying to replace him. 

Sunday sits next to you, Sunday lives with you, Sunday eats with you, Sunday talks with you, Sunday texts with you, Sunday laughs with you – Sunday, Sunday, Sunday. Every time Phainon is graced with your presence, it’s quick to sour from your notable companion by your side. Your new circle of friends too, Phainon sees it clear as day: you don’t want to be around them all the time, but you’re peer pressured into doing so. If Phainon was by your side… he would never let that happen to you. He’d punch them into blindness should they dare to make you inconvenienced. 

Two birds of a feather – that’s what your mother called him and you; A pair of friends so close you might as well be surgically joined together in the middle. When Seven-year-old Phainon first reached his hand out to you, his brain made the unconscious decision then: you’d be the sole irrevocable part of his life. Flowers bloom and wilt; they experience a death of their own, but under Phainon’s sunlight, he promised that he’d never let a sunflower like you be anything less than thriving.

He leads and you follow, only so he’d be the one to be hurt when braving the unknown. Scraped knees and bruised patches of skin are nothing because you’re not hurt. He shines so you can comfortably hide under the shade – you’re not one for people, he’s fine with the way you are. He adjusts around your existence, a mold of comfort that perfectly fits none but you. He’s your fighter and protector; sword and shield. 

Skipping rocks on a nearby lake, teasing Cyrene together, learning from her cards, and discovering a poor abandoned puppy who’d eventually be named ‘Snowy’ are all flashing strings of gold in his memories. Moments carefully planted in his own backyard and given regular maintenance lest he start neglecting them. 

He loves you, of course he does. There is nothing purer in this world than his love for you; a flower specially nursed and plucked with the greatest care, a beauty unparalleled for it’s fertilized from the attention you give him. 

His room is centered around you; every item given is meticulously stored and given a special place. The polaroids, your kindergarten doodles, the yellow crayon you gave him, your pressed flowers – he still has it, even brought it along to his dorm room, where he’s embraced by your presence every night before sleep. 

He loves you, he knows this well in his heart. But Phainon is simply not worthy of you. His love for you is pure, but he, as a person, is not. A Sun can also be damaging to a sunflower – he is the filth to your pure, the actual darkness to light. 

Is it because he refused your confession?

He preserves you because no one in this world deserves you, but must you go ahead and leave him for dead after finding a different sun to seek sunlight from? Sunday… What does he have that Phainon does not? Is he the better him? Does he treat you kinder than he does? 

Sunday is far from holy. If anything, he’s the snake trying to lure you to ruin. You don’t know any better, hence why Phainon is around to protect you. 

This is the biggest hurdle you’ve ever faced together, and with his heart being torn to pieces by your own gardening tools, he’ll make it right. He always goes. He’ll make it right, he’ll get you back, and you two can go back to the way you were before – just more. Friends, best friends, lovers, and everything in between, he’ll really give it all to you. 

Sunday… he’s poisoned your mind and rotted your pure soul. 

IV. Desperation is a seed planted long, long ago – still, spring has come.

“Thank you for sticking around me, Phai.”

He’s in the middle of starting a pathetic fire using twigs and stone when you blurt out cryptic words beside him. He hums, continuing his work, “What do you mean?”

“Can’t I just say thank you!?” You fluster, quickly standing up and pacing around the edge of the forest you’ve both designated as your ‘camping spot’. “Mama said it’s nice to thank people! So, uhm- Thank you for being my friend, please never stop being my best friend!”

“‘Course I won’t!” Phainon toothily grins, fluffy white hair gaining a slight bounce from his motions, “Actually, I’ll never abandon you. Ever!”

You perk up like a sunflower dancing in the wind, “Really!?”

The fire finally sparks to life, small and flickering, but there. At the same time, he gazes deep into your eyes, only knowing nothing else but sincerity at such an age, “Yeah! I swear!”

A yelp, “Swearing is bad!”

Phainon’s eyes blearily blink open. His dorm room ceiling greets him first thing in the morning.

Phainon stalks and waits like a deep-rooted willow tree. He strikes you when he knows you’re alone. It all falls into place: Sunday’s trainee sister is dropping by a different part of the city over the weekend; logic dictates that he won’t be coming back to his dorm room until then. Your close proximity to Sunday will momentarily halt, and Phainon is free to slither in.

He’s waiting right outside your dorm room when you come walking down the long hallway, body language all languid, even resting against the paint-chipped-off stone pillar while scrolling through his social media feed,

You’d spot him a mile away, and seeing him without Sunday by your side makes you hesitate all the more. Your stupid heart starts speeding up. 

“I just want to talk,” He calls out, pocketing his phone to spread his arms wide open for a hug, “I miss you, is that too much to ask?”

You slowly approach him, “...No, I missed you too.”

You miss him. You miss him. You miss him. You’ve been holding your sunflower keychain as your nightly comfort or else you’d end up calling his number at 2AM. 

Phainon smiles, “Really?”

“Yes… I just got… busy, that’s all.”

He smiles wider, blue eyes turning into blue crescent moons, “Really?”

“...Yes.” His hand gently pries the keys out of your hand; you let him.

You hear Sunday screaming on your shoulder, telling you that your blase facade is quickly falling apart at the seams. Unaffected, unmoved – you’re nothing of the sort right now. You’re a sunflower who’s been starved of sunlight for too long. 

With a click, he opens the door for you and softly murmurs, “You’ve been hurting me a lot, (Y/N). You know that, right? But I understand, it’s not your fault.”

You step inside, letting him lock the door behind you, “Not… my fault?”

He shakes his head, hands firmly grasping your shoulders to sit you down on the small couch, “No, it’s mine.”

Immediately you protest, “That’s not true. We just drifted apart–”

Once more, he shakes his head before dropping to his knees before you. The sudden action makes you flinch, growing more uncertain when he holds your hand in his. Phainon’s eyes remind you of butterfly peas from up this close. 

He’s quiet when he speaks, a deep rasp overtaking his voice, “...You don’t understand: I miss you.”

You understand what he means. Parting from Phainon is disorienting. Sunday and his friends may have managed to fill the gaping hole in your heart, but it’s incomparable to Phainon’s presence. 

Are you a bad person for not finding satisfaction in your new friends? Are you sick in the end to still crave Phainon after being rejected two times? Is this what you get for sticking by his side for so long?

It probably is. 

He continues speaking, “I’m sorry for pushing you away; that was never my intention. I wasn’t lying when I said you’re dear to me – you truly are. I never wanted to pursue a relationship with you because, I– I’m too lowly for you. I would only taint you.”

You run your fingers through his hair, reminiscing on all the nights you spent crying over him – it still bleeds like fresh wounds, “That’s ridiculous, Phainon. I’m not some holy figure to taint. I was just a girl in love with her best friend.”

“I know, but you… you don’t understand. You’re everything to me.”

“You’re everything to me, too, that’s why I loved you.” You still do.

“I think of you first thing in the morning. I brush my hair wondering how I’ll spend the day with you, I eat breakfast, thinking what yours was at that moment, I kept the homework you threw out. I always hate it when I talk to people who aren’t you. I still have the twigs you gave me during our 6th-grade camping trip. The reason the pressed flowers you were planning on giving out during high school graduation went missing is that I stole them – I didn’t want anyone else owning a piece of you. I make sure you’re always too shy to stand up for yourself, so I can save you. I… I hate Sunday for getting into your head – it should only be me. I should be the one you hate and love. I – you’re everything to me.”

His grip tightens, blunt fingernails leaving indents on your own fingers, “I’m sorry, please take me back. I’m unworthy, but I don’t want you to be happy with anyone else. I started cutting myself when you refused to go back to Aedes Elysiae with me – I don’t want to live in a world where I’m not by your side. Please. I’ll kill myself if you leave me. I really will.”

You swallow the saliva pooling in your mouth.

If Phainon is the sun that will incinerate you and your sunflower petals for getting too close, the question it poses is: Do you let it consume you whole? To forgive and forget, starting a new chapter anew in the process?

kill yourself or let (y/n) have friends and move on from you

Everyone seemed to know that by now, except for you.

Cliché? Yeah, a curse Leon hadn't managed to break yet.

You were clueless about it, even when it was the most obvious thing in the world. He was the sweetest man you'd ever met, always spoiling you with flowers and letters, and don't even get me started on all those little details he somehow always remembered. Not to mention he was always by your side, hugging you like a lifeline, reaching for your hand every chance he got, and even kissing your cheeks or forehead every now and then.

But in your mind, that was because he was Leon.

Your Leon, your best friend, and now, your roommate.

Because what perfect timing from the universe that you got offered a job in Raccoon City right around the time he graduated. It was a divine sign for him, all the stars in the sky aligning to give him the perfect excuse to live with you. By now, he had pictured living with you a hundred times. You two would be happily married, all laughs and kisses and hugs and kisses and more kisses. Maybe two or three children would come along with all those kisses, who knows?

Yeah, well, this was not exactly as imagined, you were not married, and you definitely hadn't kissed...

Yet... Hopefully.

And then there was one extra problem for him to add to the list.

He never knew how freaking hard it would be to live with you.

You were not a bad roommate. You paid your share on time, you made food for both of you, the apartment was magically always clean and smelled good. You were perfect, and that was the damn problem.

Walking around wearing your pajamas, didn't you know he was still a man? That was tempting his natural instincts. Oh, and also your hoodies, your sweatpants, your jeans, your shirts, oh, don't forget the shorts, and Leon's clothes, and... yeah, you get the point.

Everything you did felt different now, at least for him. Watching you do mundane chores had his heart hammering against his chest like crazy because it felt so domestic, and you looked so gorgeous when you cooked and mopped and swept and fuck, Leon was losing his mind.

The best part, for him of course, was when everyone thought you were a couple, when someone confused you for newlyweds, like the time your neighbor, an old lady who lived upstairs, called you the most adorable young couple she had ever met. You had barely opened your mouth to deny it when Leon just smiled like a lovestruck puppy and simply said, "Thanks," with the proudest tone on Earth.

That should have given you a clue about his feelings.

It did not.

Even when that was not an isolated incident. It happened every time someone got confused or assumed the two of you were together. You thought maybe it was because Leon probably didn't want to bother with explanations.

He agreed because he did think you were the most adorable young couple.

Or at least you could be.

Your apartment was always adorned with bouquets, and he called them "friendship flowers" every time you asked what the special occasion was.

What everyone saw was a man so in love he was willing to spend half his rookie salary on you without a second thought.

What you saw was just Leon being as sweet as always.

Your doubts arrived the first time you saw him jealous.

Leon was not the type to get mad at anyone. If he ever did, it would probably last less than an hour. But then he saw you arrive home with a box of chocolates from work.

A heart-shaped box of chocolates.

"Huh," he murmured, trying to hide how jealousy was twisting his guts. "Chocolates?"

"Yeah," you answered casually. "Some guy from work brought me these. Very kind of him."

"You hate chocolate," he said, rolling his eyes.

How could someone not know that interesting little fact about you? He had memorized it back in kindergarten.

"Yeah, but it seemed rude to tell him that," you said, leaving the box on the counter.

Leon reached for it and opened it, looking at the chocolates inside like they had personally betrayed him.

"They look awful. You should throw them away. They might be poisoned."

Very subtle, Leon.

"Huh, really?" you asked, getting closer to inspect them. They looked perfectly fine to you. "I was planning to give them to you."

Fuck.

How could he be so jealous and still manage to blush like a teenager just because of that?

"I don't want them," he hurried to say, crossing his arms over the counter and looking literally anywhere except at you. He could feel even his ears burning right now. "Some jerk gave you those. Freak doesn't even know you don't like them."

He seemed to think for a moment, the idea alone making his blood boil.

"You know what? Maybe I should eat them. That would teach him a lesson."

"A lesson?" you asked, completely confused. "For what?"

"For giving my girl damn chocolates. I bet he doesn't even know your favorite flower. That's why he got you a generic box of chocolates. And it's pink. You don't even like pink."

Now he was just rambling.

But you were still stuck on the my girl part.

"Yeah, he should've brought you flowers. Those make you smile, not these stupid chocolates."

"Leon?" you called softly, finally starting to put the pieces together.

"I was going to throw them away, but I think I'll eat them just to piss him off. You'll go tomorrow and when he asks if you liked them, you need to tell him I ate them. Me. Leon. Your boyfriend. Your Leon."

"Boyfriend?"

Oh fuck.

"Um, yeah, like... guy best friend?"

There was no way out of this.

This was the end.

He was ready to abort the mission, maybe fake a fainting spell, maybe have a real one. His face was burning, his eyes squeezed shut as he tried to disappear, begging for the world to swallow him whole. Everything was spinning around him. You were going to be mad. You were going to leave. You were never going to look at him the same way again.

And then you were kissing him.

Wait, you were kissing him.

Fucking hell, you were kissing him.

It took a solid minute for him to understand what was happening before his hands found your waist like his body had been begging him to do that for years.

And then he kissed you back.

You felt warm and real and somehow even better than every impossible fantasy he had built in his head over the years. The kiss was everything he had spent so long dreaming about and somehow it still managed to exceed every expectation.

His brain completely short-circuited.

That day, his dreams came true.

Not the married part, not the kids...

Yet.

The kissing part, a lot of it.

you don't bother replying - the message you wanted to give has already been sent, no point in dragging out a conversation. you delete your chat history with phainon, remove him from your recent messages, and toss your phone back to your bedside table, perfectly in line with your boyfriend coming out of the bathroom - hair all damp, wearing a baggy t-shirt and basketball shorts.

your lips curve at the end, you lift the comforter and pat the spot next to you, "hurry up, i'm sleepy."

he quickly settles under the comforter until he's right next to you, languidly kissing and tracing over the bruises and love bites on your body that he thinks he left behind. you let him live with that fallacy, why break his perceived truth?

instead, you pleasantly hum, fingers caressing his face. you patiently wait until you're feeling drowsy.

right before you fall asleep, you mumble, "hey, i won't be available this friday... meeting with a friend."

yawning, your boyfriend nods in acquiescence.

you dream of white hair, a charming smile, and a persistent voice that rings throughout your mind.

"leaving already?" sweet kisses are peppered on your sweaty backside, sometimes teasingly bitten, phainon's own way of asking you to stay without saying the words out loud. he stopped asking head-on after you turned him down the first few times.

you remain undeterred, brows merely raised as you continue texting your boyfriend. your clingy boyfriend is already waiting for you back at your apartment.

"yes, sorry."

phainon whines, persistently nuzzling his head into your neck, huffing the mixed smell of sweat, sex, and your perfume. "but i haven't seen you for two weeks... i missed you so much. you were the only one on my mind while i was doing my internship, you know?"

he moves to suckling your skin, once again leaving you with the hassle of tricking your boyfriend into believing that he was the one who left you these marks.

you sigh, suppressing the urge to smile, "we'll see each other on campus."

you feel him pout against your skin, "you always say that, but you ignore me whenever i try to talk to you."

you shrug, bending down to gather your shoes strewn on his apartment floor. his body follows in perfect sync as if merged with yours.

"just trying to keep this arrangement alive, phainon, it'll be annoying if he gets suspicious."

phainon's greedy grip on your body tightens, blunt fingers close to leaving indents; he's getting riled up from the thought alone - selfish man that he is. he mumbles something incoherent to your ears.

"i'll make it up to you, i promise," you reach behind you to pet his messy white hair, cooing when he leans in. you stay in that position for a minute or two. thinking that he's placated, you begin to gently remove his arms from your body, only to huff when he returns his iron-tight clasp, desperate and pleading.

he faintly murmurs, "just leave him already..."

your heart excitedly races, threatening to break past your sternum - phainon always pulls this move every time you're about to leave. from the start, you had made it clear that what you have with him is fleeting, rooted in non-permanence - quick, sleazy fun between two assholes. you and him.

but phainon has made the bold declaration that he cannot live without you and your touch; you're simply doing the world (and you) a favor by giving him what he wants. but never giving in completely.

a gracious soul you are, in that regard.

your long nails sink into his toned arm. you can't afford any more seconds stalled, unfortunately. "i'll be going now, phainon."

deep down, you know you're lying about nearly everything.

the truth is far simpler: you like his desperation for you, you wear it like a statement piece, and cherish it as one would with a priceless treasure.

unknown number: we're good this saturday, right?

unknown number: and save my number this time! :(

you: yes

you: and no, i'm not stupid enough to do that.

you feel your boyfriend rest his chin on your shoulder, curiously looking over your chat. you swiftly set down your phone to give him a sickly sweet smile that's far too artificial. you are quick to speak, "finished with your worksheet already?"

subtly, you push your phone away from his line of sight. your fingers ache to tease the unknown number, you want to read the texts he sent you, and store them in your mind.

he shakes his head, "no, i got bored. who were you talking to just now?"

looking at his unfinished geometry worksheet, you hum innocently, "some delivery guy. oh, here, let me help."

you swiftly deleted the unknown number from your message history the moment your boyfriend wasn't looking. but phainon's texts are stored in your mind all the same.

cipher asks you if your boyfriend is 'the one' while you're hanging out with phainon in the campus library. it's such an abrupt question that you visibly feel phainon lag right beside you, mind stunlocked into the keyword that he abhors with all his being:

boyfriend.

once he processes the question cipher posed, his blue eyes are suddenly hyperaware of your every move - more than usual, that is. every blink, breath you take, swallow you do, and twitch of your fingers are caught under his keen radar. he's completely abandoned the textbook he was studying seconds ago. instead, phainon is waiting for your answer, alongside cipher's catty eyebrow raise.

he tries to play it cool, but the frayed sentence is all too telling of his true feelings, "well? don't. keep us waiting!"

should you tease him and pretend that you are enchanted by your boyfriend's eyes (you don't remember his eye color) and amazing hobbies (which are none)? or shall you throw him a bone and soothe the wound you've been slowly prying open out of his skin over the course of months?

you decide to play nice today. it's what phainon earns after the number of times you had to delete his contact details from your phone.

you pretend to ponder aloud, humming a bit before settling with a simplistic: "no, i don't think so."

phainon visibly perks up, lips turning into a wiggly smile as his legs begin bouncing from excitement. he's too obvious, you like that about him.

cipher is unamused, blinking back and forth between you and phainon.

you can't resist the urge to add on as an afterthought: "but feelings can change, right? maybe he will be after a few more years."

as if rain were poured down on him, phainon visibly deflates, triggering cipher to laugh.

unknown number: tuesday?

you: yes.

unknown number: got it!

unknown number: how was your day btw? :)

you leave him on seen before deleting your history.

you kick your feet as you think of him whimpering around his apartment, licking the wound you keep making on his heart, and waiting for your reply as he drives himself mad.

unknown number: i haven't seen you in two weeks, i miss you :( are you busy with your midterms? if i can help with anything, just let me know!

seen.

unknown number: saw you across the campus today, you seem troubled. everything okay?

seen.

unknown number: did you really have to kiss your boyfriend on the cheek just for the kisscam lol.

unknown number: i'm so jealous. i wish i was your boyfriend instead.

seen.

unknown number: cyrene told me you've been fighting with your boyfriend. i'm right here, you know? just tell me and i'll give him a good talking! ( •̀ ω •́ )y

seen.

unknown number: i miss you :( don't overwork yourself!

seen.

unknown number: just came in a sock thinking of your tight pussy

unknown number: fuck

unknown number: i miss you so much i think i'm beginning to hallucinate you

seen.

for once, it's you who reached out first.

you: i'll be one of the volunteers for the incoming college students' orientation tomorrow.

you: will you come see me?

always and always, his reply is instantaneous, never, ever ashamed to show you just how deep he is in all of this.

unknown number: hi

unknown number: of course i'll go

unknown number: anything for you

seen.

you don't bother replying.

it's a miracle in itself how you managed to hold back your smile when you feel phainon's burning stare when you come to greet him with an unexpected companion in tow. was he expecting that this volunteer work would be a secret date, free from your boyfriend's grubby hands?

he definitely was, judging by how hard his smile fell the moment he spotted said unwanted party - ironic, considering phainon is the outsider in your relationship.

with a smile on your face, you begin introducing them to one another.

gesturing to phainon first, you throw him a brief, playful wink, "baby, this is my junior, phainon. we often work together for college events, ah, i think i mentioned him in the past?"

from your peripheral vision, phainon's lips are crudely pointed downwards - a sign that his patience is at the precipice of capsizing. he does not enjoy the show you're putting on, but you do.

your boyfriend greets him back, but you're too focused on your adorable junior to care. his anger and well-hidden sadness are akin to a fresh meal served upon a silver platter to you, and you lap it up with no qualms.

your hand finds purchase on your boyfriend's bicep (not familiar, so unlike phainon's), giving it a gentle squeeze. you tilt your head to the side,

"and this is my boyfriend," you say his name, whatever it may be, "this is your first time meeting him in person, right, phai? well, thi-"

your fingers forcibly detached from your boyfriend as you're led by phainon who expertly weaves through the crowd of newbie college students. the orientation hasn't even begun, they still need you out there - your boyfriend needs you out there.

the curt apology, monotone and clipped, phainon gives out to every student he makes contact with, rids you of such thoughts, and turns your mind into a puddle that can only think of 'phainon phainon phainon'. your junior, and love affair for over a year now, has an exceptional talent for endearing himself to your eyes. dumbly, you let him.

"where are you taking me, phainon?" you sing-song, eyes trained on his silky white hair that you love to tug on during your trysts.

he sharply inhales, a sound you still pick up on despite the overwhelming background noises.

"(y/n), i-" he makes a sharp turn, and you know now that he plans to exit the auditorium.

"you what?"

effortlessly, he swings the exit doors open before abruptly shoving you into a secluded corner just outside. the sun is beginning to set, you belatedly note, before your vision is rudely obscured by his tall figure.

you coo, "what's wrong, baby?"

he snarls at that. you reach out your hand, but it's cruelly slapped away by him.

"stop. don't," he closes his eyes and inhales, "don't touch me with the same hand you touched that guy with. stop it..."

ah. you get it now, your love affair is jealous. it's so, so cute of him, and just what you'd expect from inviting him all the way out here.

"you know i didn't mean it," you try to touch him again, a different hand this time. to your relief, he lets you cup his face. "he can never compare to you, phainon."

he gnaws at his bottom lip, a whirlpool of conflicted emotions present in his eyes, "so why aren't you leaving him?"

"it's complicated." it's not. it's really not. your vision is clear, and the man of your dreams stands right before you.

"what..." he murmurs, the desperation you often see on his face once again donning him like a well-worn t-shirt, "i don't understand."

you hum.

"you don't have to," then, you remember, "let's head back inside, someone might catch us here."

he slowly shakes his head, burrowing his face into your chest in petulance that only you would know and speaking with a sense of finality, "i knew you'd say that."

you cock your head to the side.

"senior," he addresses you with a nickname he once used to tease you with, "you're graduating in three months, right?"

"i am," you nod, watching him with rapt attention. he's building up to something.

"what will happen to us then? will you break up with me?" then he smiles, forlorn, "but i'm not even your boyfriend, right? it's not official."

"that's true..." you play with a lock of his hair, glancing around to ensure no one else is roaming around outside the auditorium.

phainon pinches you, calling back your attention to him.

when you look back at him, he looks like a man who has it all planned out.

"(y/n), i... i've been poking holes in the condoms, i'll trap you with me, i swear. you won't be graduating with a baby in your stomach. then you can leave your boyfriend for me, right? then we'll be a real- a real couple. we can hold hands in public and go on dates. and- and shop for baby clothes too."

you blink, eyes widened in awe, left breathless at the measure he took just to drag you down to his level of depravity, locking you with a handcuff and throwing away the key.

no one else would do this - only him. no one else is as deeply entrenched; you love that. you love that he loves you.

you really, really like his desperation, no matter how ugly it may seem to outsiders.

besides, he's right where you want him - a puzzle piece that rightfully slots next to you.

(y/n): idgaf

phainon: i got you pregnant.

(y/n): omg husband 😍😍😍

Rather, Phainon is your good friend; he takes on his role to chuckle and say, “Easy on the PDA now, you two.”

Your boyfriend, certainly not Phainon, laughs in embarrassment. He withdraws his arm from your shoulder to play with the anniversary necklace hanging off your neck. He shuffles closer to your side, always so shy when he’s reminded of the fact that he’s dating you, you, out of eight billion people. A lucky bastard who can’t seem to grasp miracles even when he’s hit in the head with one, Phainon sourly thinks.

Staring at him any longer will make him retch, so Phainon faces you instead and points at the drink you’re holding. All teasing, he remarks, “The party started an hour ago and you’re already running to get drunk, I see. I see!”

You bristle, now cradling the drink close to your chest - Phainon wishes he were it, “Oh, zip it. Weren’t you whining in my texts about unfinished homework earlier today? What happened to that?”

Caelus chimes in in his stead, “Don’t remind me of uni work at a party, (Y/N)...”

You roll your eyes, “Blame him!”

Phainon sticks his tongue out at you. A lighthearted scowl to take residence on your face while you flip him off. 

You’re so cute like this – the heavy weight on his heart begins to ease up, savoring the current time he has with you. If he squints enough, he can pretend you’re not seated next to a parasite who gets to call himself your boyfriend. 

It’s a moment cut too short, unfortunately. Not even a minute later, with the speakers blaring in the background, your boyfriend leans over to whisper into your ear, completely pulling you away from Phainon (and Caelus). A conversation limited to the lovebirds begins while your other friends settle into their own conversations and cliques, voices occasionally rising above the pop music circling throughout the house. 

Phainon is still stuck on you. March taps his shoulder, but he can never tear his eyes away. 

Wistfully, he wonders (he always does) what it’d feel like to be in his position.

Two hours in, a few friends have already excused themselves from the party hosted by March and Caelus. 

Aglaea said she had an internship tomorrow, Hyacine and Anaxa had lab reports due, Sunday and his sister, Robin, must prepare for their theater troupe, Castorice needs to take care of her sister, and now… 

“Going home?” Phainon asks when Mydei strides up to his spot on the living room couch. His friend nods, eyeing his lone beer sitting on the coffee table. 

“I have a morning shift,” He quirks a brow, “You aren’t? You have an exam tomorrow.”

Phainon shakes his head, discreetly jabbing a thumb in your direction. “(Y/N)’s still here, I can’t leave her.”

He needs to keep watch of you since your jackass of a boyfriend is getting shitfaced drunk at record speed. The rotten, vile man that he is. If Phainon were your boyfriend, he’d be the one staying sober so he can keep watch of any potential creeps who wants to catch you off guard. But not everyone has your best interests in mind; he knows this well enough.

Mydei can only sigh, as if to tell him, ‘you’re hopeless’. Frankly, he doesn’t need an outside perspective to acknowledge the blatant truth: Phainon’s world has and will always revolve around you. His close friends know this as they’ve been subjected to the horrible depressive period in Phainon’s life after he found out you’re taken. They’ve seen him bounce back good as new in the aftermath, too.

Still, Mydei relents, knowing that Phainon’s reasoning is quite logical. Patting his shoulder, he murmurs, “Well, keep her safe.” 

It’s a needless order; Mydei does not need to state the obvious. 

Waving goodbye, the blond man exits the living room shortly after. 

No longer occupied, Phainon picks up his beer can and resumes watching you from his place on the couch. You’re stuck in an IPC monopoly game with a few acquaintances while your boyfriend drunkenly babbles stupid, incomprehensible shit right next to you. It flares up irritation in Phainon’s chest - gives him such a profound feeling of disgust that he wills it down, if only to ensure that the hatred isn’t obvious on his face.

You’re clearly inebriated, tipping from one side over to the other – movements sluggish and frequently getting your property cards all mixed up. It makes him wonder how accurate the entire game has been if your group of players is in similar states as you. 

Taking a sip of his beer, he continues to watch, no different from a loyal guard dog. 

A defeat and alcohol-imbued ramblings over who really ‘won’ later, you’re unsteadily rising to your feet with your boyfriend following after. You mumble something to him before moving forward, or at least, trying to without stumbling over your own feet. Deeming it his chance to step in and help, Phainon sets his empty beer can down before coming to you. 

Kindly pushing through dancing bodies, he smiles in the face of your (intoxicated) suffering and offers, “Let me help you with that, (Y/N).”

Completely and purposely disregarding your boyfriend lagging a few steps behind, he hoists your arm over his shoulder and nicely settles you by his side. His heart thundering, Phainon gently assists you in slow, measured steps before sitting you down on the living room couch. You grunt upon settling, mindlessly clinging to his T-shirt that you refuse to part from. He almost coos out loud – you’re too cute for his poor, yearning heart. Too adorable. 

He doesn’t want to part from you either. Phainon leans in, the imagination of being your boyfriend becoming more tangible as he asks in a hushed tone, “How are you going to go back to your dorm in this state, you dummy?”

You grumble something he can’t decipher. He sighs. You need him, you really do. Phainon can be stripped of all knowledge, and this singular thought would still be glaringly obvious to him. How can you possibly function in this world without him? You can take your actual boyfriend out of the equation, and it’ll collapse nothing; everything will stay as it is without him around. But if you take out Phainon… ah, the thought tastes too sour on his tongue. It feels indigestible, like food that’s gone bad and begun growing mold. 

When the other side of the couch dips to accommodate your equally drunk boyfriend sitting, an idea sparks to life, and he makes up his mind then. 

Rising above the speaker’s volume, he asks, “How about staying here for the night?”

Your boyfriend tilts his head in confusion - almost in slow motion, “Wha…?”

Phainon flashes him a fictitious grin, all buddy-buddy. “Hey, don’t worry. I’ll go ask March about it. I’ll even stay here too!”

Yawning, you make a noise of agreement before flopping down on the armrest. Phainon hurriedly adjusts your position into a more comfortable one, secretly savoring the feeling of your skin beneath his fingers. Once he’s also ensured that your boyfriend will fall over the side opposite to you, Phainon maneuvers through the slowly dispersing crowd to negotiate with either of the hosts. 

Who he finds isn’t the ‘all too agreeable’ March or the ‘laidback’ Caelus. It’s the ‘easy to get suspicious’ Dan Heng, who’s very much sober and reading a book in the middle of a party. Phainon hopes their friendship card will be enough to convince him.

“Hey, friend,” Phainon smiles, angelic with a hint of halo forming from the room light. “Got a moment?”

“I suppose so,” Dan Heng reluctantly replies, brows already raised as if he’s waiting for something that’ll ruin his night. “What do you need?”

Phainon leans his body on the door frame, “Those two are too drunk right now, so-! there’re a few guest rooms around here, right? Can we sleep here instead?”

Dan Heng audibly breathes a sigh of relief, deflating like a popped balloon, “I thought… Yes, they can sleep here for tonight,” At Phainon’s expectant face, he adds, “You included.”

Phainon grins and walks over to the table. He reaches his hand out, “Thank you, friend. And the room keys?”

Dan Heng digs into his pockets and fishes out two keys, the jagged edges of the metal softly dyed in a world of flashing purple, red, and green lights. The pair lightly jingles when he makes the move to pass it onto Phainon’s awaiting palm - when he withdraws, however, Dan Heng can’t help but be miffed. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Why’re there only two keys…?”

“Because (Y/N) and her boyfriend can just share a room?” Dan Heng answers, somewhat surprised that he needs to state the obvious, “Other drunkards will have to stay in the other guest rooms, too.”

Phainon’s amicable attitude drops below freezing temperature in the next second. His arm unconsciously flexes, itching to rip your boyfriend apart if he even dares to be in the same bedroom as you, “Hey… Stop messing around.”

 “Does it look like I am?” Dan Heng dryly replies, “If you want them to sleep in different rooms, then go home, Phainon. This house is not a boarding school.”

It’s a few moments later that Phainon makes his decision. He blinks, his smile settles back on his face, and then–

“...I… I can just sleep on the couch.” Once more, his hand extends out, “Sorry, can you give the keys back to me?”

Phainon’s ears feel the sudden, glaring difference of having full-speakers on blast playing the loudest pop songs the general public has ever known before it suddenly quiets down into tipsy, drunk, intoxicated individuals saying their farewells, and then, as everyone is lulled to sleep  -  a blanket of utter silence. 

But even in quietude, his ears ring, remembering the soundwaves that went on from evening to night - his eyes feel the phantom imprints of vivid, strobe lights on his eyelids. Tossing and turning around here on the living room couch, Phainon concludes that he’s in no state to fall asleep. Not when you’re just a floor above him, sleeping peacefully with that parasite taking residence in the room right next to yours. The thought alone makes his heart beat faster. 

Lying on his back, he turns his head to the side so he can look at the inconspicuous pair of keys lying on the coffee table. Reaching for his phone, located somewhere beneath the covers, the rectangular device with its blinding light displays the time to him: 

2:55 AM. 

Sitting up, Phainon stretches his body before reaching across the coffee table to nab the keys.

He observes it on his palm, thinking now is the best time to visit you. 

Phainon is admittedly a tad bit too eager when he uses the key to unlock your guest room. In a house of stillness, the door shuts behind him in creaking groans, a sound that rouses you, causing you to shuffle around beneath the covers. He stills at the sight, grabbing onto the door handle in preparation. But when you sink back into the mattress, he breathes a sigh of relief and lets go. Everything is okay, nothing is at risk. 

It’ll be hard to wake you up after your intoxicated state, he reminds himself. 

He looks around and notes that the guest room is dimly lit; moonlight seeps through the window, nearly dyeing everything in his vision a serene blue. The only exception is the night lamp on the bedside table, glowing a soft hue of orange –  brushing your face in a soft gradient between tangerines and blueberries. His heart painfully squeezes in his chest, a love so intense it hurts him. 

You look so unguarded, peaceful. Wrapped in a vulnerability that you’d never allow him (and your friends) to see otherwise. Phainon bites his lip, hastily walking around the dim room to find his way to you. He loves you. He loves you-

Crack. Ah, he accidentally stepped on something. 

Phainon lifts his foot, squinting to see a little clearer: lying on the ground is the anniversary necklace you wore to the party earlier. He remembers it still hung on your neck, even teasingly dipping into the valley of your breasts, when he settled you into this room hours ago. He chuckles to himself, did you drunkenly remove it before going to sleep? It’d explain the reckless positioning. 

The metal stringing it together is all shattered from the force he exerted. Unfortunately, the main accessory, a locket containing a photobooth picture of you with your boyfriend, stays unharmed. It’s even flipped open, as if to mock Phainon from where he stood - just mere inches away from your unconscious body. He clicks his tongue and picks up the broken necklace. 

Would you be mad if you lost this? 

He pockets it, deeming the locket to be an item that’ll further drive you away from him. Ever since you got that necklace from your boyfriend, you have stopped wearing the friendship bracelet Phainon gave you a year ago. All you do is break his heart, but his unwavering love and golden loyalty will always persevere. True love is not a painless process - it’s okay if Phainon is the only one hurting right now. Soon, you will, too. 

Discarding his shoes, Phainon climbs onto the bed and crawls over until his face looms above yours. He breathes you in, unabashedly smelling a mix of liquor, sweat, and remnants of your usual perfume. You smell so good. Licking his lips, he slowly leans down, nose nuzzling into the base of your neck where he can smell you better. He closes his eyes and drinks it all in, savoring the smell and cataloguing it in his brain - no different from a tantalizing wine. If he leans down further, your breast will press against his chest - his arms threaten to give out just thinking about it. 

Your smell, your neck, your breasts, your face, your fingers, your arms - so many wishes he wants to fulfill, yet so little time. But even neck-deep into his (Y/N)-induced haze, he knows that he can’t be caught by you or anyone else. His love story with you can’t end before it even started. 

Phainon pulls back, whimpering at the loss of contact. Blearily opening his eyes, he locks onto the apple of his eye: your lips, the main show of his romantic fantasies. He’s always wondered what it’d be like to kiss you. Foolishly, he even thought about being your first kiss before your boyfriend cruelly shattered that dream into dust. 

Kissing you now, with you deep in slumber, can serve as practice for him. So when he kisses you truthfully, you’ll be awed at how well he knows your body. And perhaps, it’s also because he’s a pervert who can no longer contain his perverse nature in his mind. 

A kiss is a kiss, regardless of his true intent. His right hand softly parts your mouth open, greedily wanting all tongue and spit for his first time with you. 

“You won’t mind, right?” He softly whispers, centimeters away from your lips. A reply never comes, but the way he devours your mouth may as well serve as a yes. It’s everything he’s dreamed of. An accomplishment that no award or credential can hope to compete with. This is his life’s calling; with you, inside you, lavishing you.

Unknowingly, clear droplets fall from his eyes, rolling down his cheekbones and disappearing into the fabric of your T-shirt. Phainon thinks you are too mean. In fact, you’re quite heartless for withholding this exhilarating experience from him. You’re too mean in the way you treat his heart carelessly, even if unintentional. It breaks even under your gentle caress and airy touch, for it knows that your own heart is not his to treasure. It beats to the syllables of your name, but you're unaware.

For that: He can’t take it anymore - he can’t. He can’t. He just can’t. Phainon cannot live as your best friend, he can’t be satisfied with anything less than being your husband. He must be your other half, else, what would be the point in life? He refuses the reality he has right now; craves the ideal one in his dreams.

Had he met you a few years earlier, the outcome would surely be different. It's not fair, he childishly thinks. Love shouldn't be first come, first serve; it should be just like the storybooks he read during his childhood, where true love waits for hundreds of years, immune to the passage of time. 

He parts from your lips, panting. Desperate for more, yet wanting to abstain from your lips, fearful he’ll be too addicted to you. 

“I love you,” his toned body collapses on the bed’s free space, limbs akin to jelly, eyes utterly fixated on you. Always has been ever since he met you during freshman year. He repeats again, “I love you, (Y/N).”

A shaky hand intertwines itself with your unconscious one. He wonders if married life will be like this.

With a faraway look in his eyes, Phainon whispers to no one in particular: “I’ll correct everything, I promise.”

Then, he dives back in to kiss you until he's shed off all thoughts irrelevant outside of this room – careful not to wake you. He must kiss you until you familiarize yourself with his saliva and lips, ridges of his teeth and heat of his tongue, the crevices of his mouth and vibration of his moan, even in your sleep. 

He stays in the guest room for an hour more, uncaring for your boyfriend sleeping all alone next door.

Months ago, the moment Mydei realized Phainon wasn’t giving up on you, even with a boyfriend in the picture, he had asked: “Are you this stubborn with your past crushes?”

Phainon shook his head and answered honestly, “I’ve never had a crush before. (Y/N) is my first and true love.”

You are the one for him; an outcome stating otherwise will have to be bent until it, too, rings true. 

Phainon is ‘studying’ in the library a few days later. Tucked into a corner with the seat next to him occupied by his schoolbag. Truthfully, he’s only here because you asked to study together, but knowing you for this long, it’s simply code for ‘I need to complain about something to you’ since you prefer to study in your apartment. 

His laptop has gone to sleep mode, notes strewn about in an illusion of productivity, while Phainon makes a growing pile of bird origamis on the table. It’s a him and you thing - tradition born from a shared class with a professor who had melatonin for a voice. 

He hears your footsteps a few meters from him at a hurried pace. He briefly speculates whether you still remember his kisses in your subconscious before brushing it off, you’ll remember soon enough. 

Right when you’re behind him, Phainon smiles and asks, “What’s wrong?”

“My boyfriend’s mad at me,” you groan, haphazardly dropping your bag on the table. You collapse into the chair, limbs sprawled out, and take a deep breath.

Phainon’s paper folding is paused, neck snapping to face you. Your boyfriend never amounts to anything, so- “Why?”

“I realized I lost my necklace the day after the party,” you begin, “I thought I just left it lying on some floor, so I asked March to check for me but she couldn’t find it. I told him, and he started lecturing me that if he can keep his necklace, then he expects me to keep mine safe, too!”

He frowns, feeling the warmth of your locket in the pocket of his jeans. “That’s ridiculous - you didn’t mean to.”

You nod vigorously, “Right!? That’s what I told him, yet…! I get it! Ugh, I really do! But he’s so worked up about this for some reason. Acting like I purposely lost it at the party - someone probably saw it and threw it in the trash by accident, so what? Nothing I can do now!”

Phainon clicks his tongue, “I never knew your boyfriend could be so immature. He’s probably sensitive from other problems in his life, but that’s no excuse to be such a jackass to you.”

It’s a good call that he pocketed your locket, then. 

“Oh, please,” you roll your eyes, mindlessly picking up one of the countless bird origamis, “Shy types like him are always the most entitled, I feel like. But wait- don’t tell him I told you that.”

“Why would I?” Phainon bellows a laugh, “I’m your friend, not his. Always on your side, you know?”

He looks elsewhere, “Besides… Maybe it’s not my place to say this, but he really shouldn’t be talking to you in that manner.” 

“Hm? Oh, don’t worry, this is just a normal couple argument.” You reach up to ruffle his white hair, “I don’t take him too seriously when we’re fighting.”

He sighs, anchoring his head down for better access, “I just think you shouldn’t settle for someone like that.”

You smile, endeared by his thoughtfulness. “I wouldn’t. I’ll talk it out with him, don’t worry.”

That’s not what he meant. 

He takes a while before speaking again, “Well. Either way, if there’s a problem – just call me, okay?”

He mulls it over his head for an indefinite amount of time: How can he remove your boyfriend from the picture? 

If this truly played out like his childhood storybooks, then it’s easy to assign the roles: you are the princess in need of saving, the parasite by your side is the monster who threatens the livelihood of the entire kingdom, and Phainon is the knight in shining armor protected by the narrative. He needs no deep contemplations because the monster’s defeat has already been woven into the story’s ending, bound through inked letters. No matter what, it will be a happy ever after: the knight saves the princess, and they are wed. A linear process with no real complications. 

Unfortunately, Phainon is a college student who’s never held a sword in his life, and you have no royal blood. This is the cruel, harsh real life. But the monster is still a monster, regardless of setting. 

But he loves being around you too much to ever plan on removing him by the means of murder, even with his constant violent urges. 

He’d tried seducing you during your shared class together, but loyalty is a virtue you strongly hold onto. Even manufactured incidents, such as forgetting an umbrella with a storm outside, tripping into your arms, or being too clingy with you under the influence of alcohol, were all for naught. You never saw him beyond the title of friend because you’d turn your phone on, and your boyfriend would be there waiting for you on the lockscreen. 

He understands. The possibility of seeing Phainon as a dating candidate will remain zero so long as your boyfriend is within arm’s reach. But he remains selfish, unreasonably so. 

Once night falls, Phainon is absentmindedly playing with the locket he stole from you, repeating the question in his mind: How can he remove your boyfriend from the picture? 

The metal warms beneath his fingertips as it’s slowly rolled around his desk, silence in the room stretching on into uncertainty. He lays it face up to toy with the lid, the clasp making a clicking noise every time he slams it open and shut. Phainon doesn’t have it in him to look at the frankly disgusting couple photo nestled inside - he refuses to. 

Click. Click. Cli-

His finger slips, losing its momentum and forcing the locket to stay open longer than necessary. Phainon is forced to look at the atrocious couple photo as he repositions his hand. The image is still the same: your boyfriend looking at you with slimy, gooey eyes while you gave finger hearts inside the photobooth. It’s unsightly - your boyfriend taints your perfection and infects you with the mold that he perpetually carries around.

He’s tempted to ruin this locket and the printed picture over an open fire, only to see the satisfying visual of your boyfriend melting before his eyes. You don’t need this dingy thing after all - it’s all your asshole boyfriend’s fault for kicking up a fuss over it. 

Yet Phainon pauses his train of thought in favor of a new one. Remembering what you confined in him earlier, he picks up the locket and observes it up close, shadowed in its display from the fluorescent lights overhead. 

If your boyfriend is truly the immature rascal that Phainon hopes he is, then perhaps this very locket he stole may just be the key to all his problems; sent down from the heavens to answer his wish, just like they do in fairytales. So long as he withholds the locket from you, then your relationship will crumble to its own accord.

It’s less about the locket and more about the principle behind it, you find yourself explaining. 

Not even a week later, Phainon agrees to meet up with you in a cafe not far from campus, intent on listening to you complain about your most recent argument with your boyfriend. 

In your own words: “I have to speak to you because I need a guy's perspective on this.”

He nods, anchoring his elbows on the table, “Got it. I’m all ears!”

To reiterate your point: your boyfriend is hung up on the reaction you had rather than the locket as an item itself. He thought of your non-panicky reaction as a form of disrespect in your relationship, because if it were reversed, he would’ve gone crazy trying to look for it. 

“That’s still his point?” Phainon briefly cuts in to shake his head in disapproval, “He needs to let this go.”

Your boyfriend should drag it on further, Phainon hopes. 

You roll your eyes, “You’d be surprised. Every conversation we’ve been having lately is about that locket. I don’t get it, I’ve lost couple items before, even he did! But for some reason, he’s frothing at the mouth looking for that thing. I already placed my order for a new one on a different site, but he insisted that I cancel… which kind of hurt, to be honest.”

“That’s fair,” He easily agrees, “You’re trying to make up for an honest mistake but he’s refusing - that would hurt me, too.”

“I knew you’d get me, Phai,” You sigh in relief. “He told me to go back to that house and re-check it myself and if I keep refusing, he’ll be the one to go.”

“Oh? I didn’t know he had it in him.” Phainon laughs under his breath. Your shy boyfriend? Marching up to that trio’s house to survey the floors like it’s his job? He doubts that man would actually pull it off. It’s all bark, no bite. 

“He’s going crazy looking for it, I’m telling you!” You take a long sip of your ordered beverage, “That’s why I wanted to ask for your thoughts on this. What would you do if you were in a similar situation to my boyfriend?”

Phainon pretends to think about it. 

“...Well. I'm speaking as a man, you know? Man to man,” He licks his lips, “But I swear, I wouldn’t treat my girlfriend like that. This entire problem is blown out of proportion because of him.”

“You’re making it sound like he’s abusing me.” You deadpan.

“Listen! If my girlfriend told me that she didn’t mean to, then that would be the end of the situation. I wouldn’t dare to drag it because that’d bring distress to her. I don’t want her to feel anything less than the center of my world. Her happiness is my happiness… if that makes any sense.”

He, Phainon, would never sully your relationship with a pointless argument. If you were with him from the start, you’ll never find yourself in this situation. 

You blink, “Huh. That was sappy.”

His ears burn bright, retort to defend his honor at the tip of his tongue, but you intercept before he can speak.

“But really sweet. I can’t believe guys like you still exist,” A soft giggle, “Keep that up, Phainon, and maybe you’ll find yourself a girlfriend before the year ends.”

Phainon scratches his cheek, “I’m speaking from my heart.”

“I know.”

“So… Please find it in your heart to think about your boyfriend’s refusal to see your point. There’s plenty of fish in the sea. You’ll find someone else, I’m sure of this.”

This time, you visibly hesitate. 

“...I know. I don’t want to break up over an annoying locket, but I’ll keep your advice in mind.”

Your boyfriend’s reaction is unnatural; there’s more to it beyond being mad at your lack of urgency. There has to be.

Phainon re-examines the locket in his hand, eyeballs mere inches away from it as he pours time to solve this apparent mystery. He’s never been the closest to him, yet Phainon knows it’s not within his usual behavior to hold grudges against you. One of the main reasons your relationship has lasted three years and ongoing is his amicable nature - for a switch to be flipped, this locket must be hiding something important to him. 

It twists and flips in his hold, tilted left and right, front and back, opened and closed. And repeated until he finally sees something. 

There, at the side of the inner lid, read the engraved words: ‘Will You Marry Me?’

Oh.

He laughs, finding true humor in your boyfriend’s actions. He gets the fuss now, this locket is meant to be a proposal plan in motion for years. He understands that loser’s line of thinking: he gifted it to you during your 3rd year anniversary, it becomes a familiar item after a few years, and one day -  graduated and now a working man - he’ll slip the ring into the compartment with the picture while you’re not looking and he’d ask you to look inside, angle your head, and squint at the small text hidden in plain sight. 

It’ll be a proposal rooted in the sentiment of, “It’s been here all along; how could you not have noticed?”

You’d swoon at this, you certainly will. This would be the type of proposal that’ll have you retelling the story to your children and grandchildren down the line, recalling the moment with nothing else but utmost fondness. The arguments that resulted in this locket would be rendered null from the effort your boyfriend exerted. You’d forgive him in a heartbeat and leave Phainon in the dust. 

The locket is enclosed within his palm as Phainon breathes out a sigh of relief. 

With this in his possession, that proposal won’t be happening in the future. Not happening at all.

He’s fortunate. A man blessed by the Amphorean Titans, he truly must have been a world-saving hero in his past life.

“My boyfriend claimed you’ve been saying nonsense.”

Phainon raises a brow, “He knows I’ve been in the know about this entire locket situation?”

“Unfortunately,” you shake your head, “He found out after he saw your text notification on my lockscreen. You know? The one where you called him a jackass.”

“Oh… But I’m not in the wrong, am I?”

You laugh, “No. You’re not.”

A wedge driven between you and your boyfriend is Phainon’s own benefit.

Arguments don’t last forever. A week and a half later, Phainon is informed through text that you’ve made up with your boyfriend. Everything is fine now, apparently. But Phainon sees the cracks that can’t be patched up in the aftermath of that locket spiel your boyfriend had been on. Not glaringly obvious, subtly there - for him to see and exploit. All he needs is a minuscule crack in your perfect relationship for him. 

You think less of your boyfriend now, not as trusting with him anymore in fear that he’ll trip up and go on another temper tantrum over a minor issue. A situation purely in his favor, as the moment March announced another party the ‘Express Crew’ will be hosting, who you gravitate to is not your boyfriend, it’s Phainon.

“Come to the party, please!” You begged him while the professor’s back was turned. 

“Your boyfriend’s not going?” Phainon subsides the hope poking through his chest, but when you look up at him with those pleasing eyes…

“No. Not that I’d want him there,” You frown, “He might flip if I end up losing another necklace or something, so come with me! It won’t be the same without you. Be my watchguard!”

“Oh, I see,” He feigns hurt, “You just want me there to watch over you while you get drunk!”

Shamelessly, you nod. “Correct! Correct! I can’t have my boyfriend ruin this for me, pleaseee Phainon. I need you for this!”

He folds under zero pressure - his agreement to come with you was cemented even before you asked.

It’s come full circle. 

Perfectly mirroring the last party, the current one plays out as its reflection, with only one singular change: your boyfriend isn’t in the picture. Phainon is in his rightful place now - right by your side. You fall into a familiar rhythm: drinking liquor while playing board games, arguing who really won that round, stumbling to walk, so inebriated that Phainon has to coax Dan Heng for those two guest rooms once more. 

It’s so, so similar yet different in the same breath. Instead of observing you from afar, Phainon is placed front and center. A taste of what his future will be, he salivates just thinking about it. He can’t wait to be your boyfriend turned husband. He really can’t; he’s been patient enough. 

For now, he opens the door of the guest room and gently ushers you inside, treating your drunken state with the fragility of handling glass. You trip and fall into the bed, causing Phainon to yelp in surprise. Instead of stepping out to enter his own room next door, he stays. There’s no boyfriend to tell him off, it’s free rein as far as he’s concerned. He can stay here with you under the guise of genuine concern and ‘looking out for you’. 

He sits at the mattress’s edge, fondly watching you savor the plush pillows and fuzzy blankets. His happy ending is within his grasp now, no longer miles away compared to the last time he was in this room. You mumble something incomprehensible, he inches closer. 

“Hm? What was that?” 

“...ow… up…” You groan, groggily pushing yourself to sit. He steadies you with one hand, “I.. I thinkI’mgonnathrowup.” 

He helps you into the bathroom, flickering the light on and gently rubbing your back in circular motions. You had too much alcohol this time. His arms wrap around your waist to sit you down on the sink. He makes conversation with you while wiping your mouth clean, feeding you deception after deception. 

“Dan Heng only gave me one guest room. I hope you don’t mind sharing a room with me.” He lies with ease as he throws the paper towel into the trash can. You nod, not fully understanding the gravity of the situation. 

Phainon knows this, but he still smiles; grateful for your blind kindness, “Thank you, let’s go sleep.”

If Dan Heng asks, Phainon will lie again and tell him that you really wanted him to stay in your room. It’s as easy as that. The lights in the room are turned off, but the lamplight stays. Phainon discards his pants, leaving him in his boxers as he crawls inside the warm covers. You’re so close to him, it’s been too long since he’s last had you like this. 

He needs to kiss you again.

Scooting closer to you, Phainon grows bold with his actions. You’re most probably blackout drunk, unfairly tempting in his eyes, and he’s hungry for everything you have; he wants it all and then some. Testing the waters, he lifts his hand to play with your bottom lip. You don’t push him away even in your intoxicated state, it’s enough of a permission for him.

Reminiscent of the first time, he’s centimeters away from your lips when he softly whispers, “This is fine, right? You’re okay with this.”

You blink a few times and nod. His hand travels down to your neck, holding you in place as he replaces the remnants of vomit in your mouth with the unknowingly familiar taste of his mouth. It’s vastly different from the first time - your tongue isn’t limp, it’s reciprocating, albeit in clumsy motions. 

The missing locket remains in his pants’ pocket, lying pathetically on the floor a few feet away, reminding him he wouldn’t be winning had your boyfriend attended the party with you. 

A narrow crack; a single event is all he needed to tear your relationship down to the ground. 

Tomorrow, he’ll retell the events of what happened and paint it out to be an accident born from mutual inebriation, but it won’t erase the blaring problem that you’ve cheated on your boyfriend.

You’ll be so scared, he imagines, and he’ll swoop in to save you like the hero he’s always wanted to be.

It started off simple—you woke up before him.

With the sunlight beaming past your curtains, bathing your bodies in its warmth. A large arm laid over your midriff, taking away your ability to move. If you were to attempt to, Phainon would drag you back against his chest without delay.

After an incident of waking up and finding you missing from your side of the bed. In matters of seconds, your dearest husband stumbles out of your shared chamber. Tripping over his own limbs—It's remarkable how his composure seemingly disappears when it comes to you.

His eyes, previously the color of the vast sky, lit up in the glow of molten gold. He searches for you. Swinging open any closed doors with a desperation never seen in the Deliverer. But once he spots you, the blue returns in a slow blink. He let out a shaky sigh before approaching you. His steps unbalanced and sluggish.

“.. You're here.” He breathes out, his words aren't meant for you. “You're.. Here..” His arms tighten around your body. Confirming the weight of you against his chest.

“Don't leave me, Angel. You—You scared me...” he buries his face in the crook of your neck. Seeking that familiar warmth. “Don't leave me, okay?” he brushed his lips over the surface of your skin, enticing himself into indulging. Tethering over the line of need.

With the way he reacted, anyone would assume you had been taken by Thanatos themselves and recently returned to your love. Although the real reason is much simpler, so simple it makes him look rather ridiculous, you went out to quench your thirst.

In the end, you allowed your husband to continue holding you. Planting kisses over the side of your head, drifting down to your neck, before stilling in the crook of your shoulder as he weeps over the terrifying experience of losing you. No matter how short it was.

And now that Phainon has made a one-sided, unspoken rule for you. You're stuck beside him until he gains consciousness. But from the gentle rise and fall of his chest, it seems you'll be here for a while. Made apparent when you feel him shifting against your back, tucking your head under his chin.

While you don't necessarily verbalize any complaints regarding your husband's… persistent nature—held up from being one of the Chrysos Heir, solidified by the endeavour of fighting for a chance of tomorrow in an otherwise doomed world—admittedly, it gets overwhelming having him constantly be there.

You feel terribly guilty for enjoying moments of peace without having him bound to your side. And you can't even blame him—you've heard about the unfortunate destruction of his home. Having everything he loved burnt away in the sea of flames, leaving behind the ashes of memories for one to carry.

It must've been painful and you can't fathom how isolating it is to be the lone survivor. His village being reduced as a mere cryptic tale, a reminder of how little to nothing left there is to proof its existence.

Instead of falling down into despair, the lost only pushed him to regain it all back. Fill up the void left behind by the scorching flames.

You eyes flicked over to his half open fist. Catching the golden glint of the wedding ring. Despite how familiar the sight have become, your hand grasp hold of his palm. Finger curling, barely covering the surface.

Phainon's left hand always remained hidden under a layer of fabric. Black colored glove. Which he wears only one. Specifically on this hand. Perhaps it's Lady Aglaea's personal preference for unsymmetrical style.

From his palm alone, you could see the ramification arising from his relentless voyage under the title of Deliverer. The one bringing an end to suffering.

He claimed to feel grateful in being chosen by the prophecy because if not for it, he would've been a wandering soul on the battlefield instead of returning home. To you. It was his attempt to reassure, after seeing the worry your gaze held when you found him injured.

Gently, you pull his palm closer to your lips. Tracing over the faint scars left on the callous skin. You're able to feel each one. A scratch that glide across his palm to the rough later formed over the pad of his thumb.

You rest a kiss over the surface. Closing your eyes for the moment, and while there are moments of doubt in your marriage, you cannot deny the love you two hold for one another. No matter how intense his version may come out to be—you'd stay. For it meant being with him.

Hah..

You really are a hypocrite.

The muscles in his fingers twitch, giving him away.

You freeze. In an attempt to see his face, you tilt your head but to no avail. “.. Phai?” Your call receive no answer. You furrow your brows. “Honey?” it seemed calling him by the sweet pet name had an instant effect, as you feel him shift above before he buries his face into your scalp.

You can hear a faint whine. No, you can feel it. You can feel him whining against the top of your head.

“.. How long have you been awake?” the thought of him feigning sleep this whole time is rather embarrassing to know.

Phainon didn't give an immediate answer, but his fingers curl against yours. Cupping your hand in his fist as he pulls you close. He takes a whiff of your scent. Once he's satisfied, he murmurs against you, “when you held my hand. I woke up.. I thought you needed something.”

“.. Oh.” You nearly forgot how much of a light sleeper he is nowadays. He has a habit of waking up early, so you should've known being awake before him is already odd on its own.

The two of you stay like that, ignoring how much brighter the outside world is by each passing seconds.

“.. Can you continue..?”

“Hrm?”

“Kissing my hand.. You—You were in the middle of that.” He clarifies. Unable to control the strain in his voice. “Please.” He added softly.

You huff. It's a one-of-a-kind type of intimacy. One you never imagined for yourself, it always seems distant and out of reach. Yet, here you are. “.. Can I look at you while doing so?”

“Of course,” he loosens his hold, allowing you the chance to shift your position to your other side. Once you're facing him, his hold returns. Perhaps even tighter—more eager.

You lift your hands. Still curled together in a ball. You lay your lips against the side of his hand. A faint whimper escapes him. You drift down, a kiss to his wrist.

“.. I love you.” The words came out naturally, a spontaneous moment amidst your intimacy.

When the air between you began to rise in temperature is when your eyes flick up to meet his. Wide in shock.

And, although you never left his side this morning, his blue eyes are overtaken by the swirling gold. Glowing brightly. His pristine locks is burnt away in a slow, flickering flame as the blonde underneath makes its appearance known.

Next thing you know, you're shuffled closer to his chest by the two charred wings that have emerged from his back. Forming a cocoon around you.

“.. Honey,”

“.. I'm sorry. I couldn't—” he squeezes his eyes shut. The heat rising up to his cheeks as he tries to subdue his body back to its original state. “.. I promise you, I didn't mean to.. Transform.”

“it's okay.” You chuckle, lifting a hand to cup his cheek. Ignoring the burning sensation that greeted your palm. “.. I didn't think I had this much of an effect to you.”

Phainon—no, Khaslana visibly squirms. Unable to deny your words. “.. You uttered it without warning and I couldn't control myself.”

“I like it.” you admit, without shame.

He blinks. “.. You..”

“It's like a reward, you know? I made you feel so loved that your wings sprang up.” you couldn't hold back the giggle that escapes your lips.

Khaslana huffs, unable to respond and choosing to bury his face into your chest. His wings closing in even more, responding to his emotions.

“Hey, you haven't answered me.” You feign offense, brushing past the golden locks. Playing with the longer strands of hair.

He let out a soft laugh, unable to hide his smile. His lifts his head, cheek pressed against your collarbone as he whispers, “Love doesn't begin to describe the adoration I hold for you.. But—”

He leans up, and now it's you whose breath hitches.

“I love you too.” his lips, filled with so much warmth and deep affection, finds it's place against your own.

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