Lyana

From his perch against the southern bookcases, Lohen watched you with his arms crossed over his chest. In his right hand, he held his favorite blade, twirling it around his finger until the hilt pressed into his palm, then twirling it around again. The soft sound of his knife hitting the fabric of his glove was quick to fill the space around him, which had returned to near silence yet again after Theodore’s departure.

You walked past him with a stack of books in your hands, giving him a glance. “Can you put that away, please?”

He sighed through his nose. Slotting his dagger back into its sheath, he pouted dejectedly at your back. You didn’t pay him a shred of attention, instead focusing on your duties of restocking the bookshelves and rearranging any misplaced codices.

Lohen sighed aloud. When you still didn’t turn around, he sighed yet again. Sighing so hard and so repetitively that he was nearly going dizzy from it, you eventually turned around with a smile that didn’t match the glare in your eyes.

“What is it, Lohen?”

Lohen. It was always ‘Lohen’ with you. But with Theodore, it was ‘Theo’.

“Nothing,” he said, his shoulders rising in a shrug. “Nothing at all.”

You stared at him for a moment, then eventually frowned. Your voice was gentle. “You look upset.”

“Upset? I’m not upset.” Lohen shrugged again, glaring down at the wood floor. “What would make you think I’m upset?”

Your hands directed his face to yours. He ignored the flush of warmth that it sent through his cheeks, and tried further to ignore the sudden thrill in his chest. When you smiled, he swallowed his nerves.

“What’s wrong?” you asked softly.

“N-nothing,” he answered, his hands rising to your wrists. “It’s nothing, really. I’m fine.”

“If you were fine you would have been using your cryo-infused hand to scare me when my back was turned,” you laughed. Softening your voice, you said, “Please, just talk to me. I don’t want you to be upset, Lohen.”

The way your thumbs brushed over his cheeks felt all too tender. Smiling rather awkwardly, he squeezed your wrists between his fingers.

“We started at ‘Vice Captain’,” he said, “and then we got to ‘Lohen’. But we never got much farther past that.”

“Hm? What do you mean?”

“Theodore. Theodore is ‘Theo’. But me? I’m ‘Lohen’.”

“Well, that’s your—...oh,” you said inquisitively, your eyes widening. “I see what you mean. You want me to give you a nickname?”

“It doesn’t…have to be a nickname,” he babbled, feeling oddly out of his element as he did. “I mean, I call you Bun and Princess. But you only ever call me ‘Lohen’, even though I know you call other people shorter names and stuff.”

“I’ll call you whatever you want me to, Lohen. How does handsome sound?”

Your arms looped around his neck, and as you smiled with those half-lidded eyes of yours, Lohen’s nervous laughter burst from his lips. Staring at you with wide eyes and a face so hot, he was convinced his vision had flipped to pyro, he quickly said, “That’s a lot more embarrassing than I thought it would be.”

“Hm?” You tilted your head, staring down at his mouth as you grinned. “What, you don’t like that, sweetheart?”

“Fuck,” Lohen stammered, his eyes shifting around the library. “Bun, quit.”

“But honey,” you purred, the heat of your breath tickling his upper lip. “You’re the one who wanted me to call you something different. You mean you don’t like it?”

“I’m gonna kill you,” he answered, his grin hurting his face. “Stop it.”

“Oh, but, baby. You look like you like it.”

“Let’s just…let’s just go back to Lohen.”

You laughed, and with a chaste press of your mouth to his, he laughed back. He glanced around once more, ensuring the library was as empty as ever before throwing his arms around your hips. Backing you into the bookshelf, his grinning lips pressed against yours before he gave you a playful little nibble.

“I’m working,” you laughed.

“Take a five minute break,” he crooned.

“Vice Captain,” you murmured. “You’re going to get me in trouble.”

“Oh, yeah? That so, Library Girl?”

The way you giggled tickled his ears. He pressed his lips to your cheek, peppering kisses against the corner of your mouth as you laughed and laughed and laughed.

“Lohen,” you said, ever so dearly. “You know I just like the sound of your name, right?”

He cracked a smile.

“You know, whenever you say it, Bun…I like the sound of it too.”

you didn’t question it though, simply leaning over his shoulder and offering him a small smile. 

“hi,” you greeted scaramouche quietly, taking a seat on the chair near his. he only replied with a small nod of acknowledgement, his eyes never leaving the scenery before him. 

it wasn’t anything impressive. buildings and a cloudy night sky. no stars were visible and the moon was absent tonight. if it weren’t for the living room’s lights that you had decided not to turn off, you wouldn’t have been able to take a couple of seconds to admire his features. 

scara was pretty. very pretty. maybe too pretty. it was the first thing you had noticed when you'd met him a couple of years ago. unbeknownst to him, kunikuzushi attracted a lot of attention to himself because of his looks - or maybe he knew but simply ignored it, which would be more likely. flawless porcelain skin and soft indigo hair that fell over eyes he framed with careful strokes of red. sweet features that appeared sharp because of his temperament and attitude. 

but kuni was calm tonight. he was relaxed, leaning into the back of his chair while a cigarette dangled from his fingers. you couldn’t help but stare. examining the tattoos he had on his knuckles and forearms. the silver rings hugging slim and long fingers. his lips wrapping around the orange end of the stick. 

“can i try?” you found yourself asking out of nowhere. 

scaramouche’s eyebrows rose in mild surprise, finally directing his gaze towards you. and you might have drowned on the spot when his midnight pools met yours. it was a bit cruel, you thought to yourself, how any of his actions had your mind spiraling out of your control. scara was otherworldly. ethereal. a masterpiece you could stare at for hours and fall speechless before its magnificence each and every time.

“if you want to kiss me so bad you can just say so,” scara teased you, offering you his signature smirk as a reply. 

you blinked rapidly. maybe it was his sleepiness. maybe exhaustion. or perhaps the cigarette. but his voice sounded an octave or two lower. and maybe it was the coffee you shouldn’t have drunk earlier. maybe your anxiety. or perhaps the forbidden feelings you harbored for your best friend. but your heart had stopped for a split second, making you stare at him dumbly. 

right. an indirect kiss. 

“no, you can’t try,” scara mumbled, his expression falling back to its usual coldness. your fingers itched with the urge to melt the ice in gentle caresses. you wondered for a split second if he’d rather let you breathe in the poison he was exhaling if it came in the form of an actual kiss instead. 

“don’t want you to grow addicted, hm?” 

“i won’t,” you protested, folding your arms over your chest. “i’d die from lung failure.” 

scara’s chuckle had your frown dissolving into a small smile. a little shy. a little dreamy. it had come to your mind many times that maybe he wasn’t unaware of your feelings. maybe he knew and simply ignored them. perhaps he enjoyed toying with them. or he simply was stupid and oblivious. 

“just once,” scara muttered, turning his upper body your way. 

it was a terrible idea, you told yourself, internally freaking out when cold fingers cupped your jaw. your breath hitched in your throat. when his index tapped on your lips so you could part them, you felt your heart jump to the tip of your tongue and feared for a second that it’d spill all of your secrets if you opened your mouth even just a little. 

“there you go,” scara mumbled, bringing the filter up to your lips. 

a terrible idea, really. a half-drag through and you were already a coughing mess, pushing his hand away as he snickered at your stupidity. you weakly slapped his shoulder, making a strained noise. it smelled horrible. tasted even worse. 

sweetness suddenly invaded your senses, catching you off guard. you didn’t have the time to react before the ghost of a kiss you swear you had imagined was gone. the redness of his cheeks could be because of the cold. but there was no mistaking the fondness in his gaze. the way his smile seemed more bashful than usual. the gentleness of his tone. 

“idiot.”

© mimi-sunny — all rights reserved. do not translate, plagiarize or feed into ai.

“Touche,” you muttered, cradling your hand to your chest once the halovian finished. You sighed, examining his work, hand tingling from his leftover touch. Was it from pain? Or from his light, almost loving caress. Perhaps both? You didn’t know. “Well, thank you for helping me Sunday. I won’t waste your time any longer.”

Just as you were about to get up he gently reached out and grabbed your noninjured arm. You paused, looking at him with a raised brow, noting how he refused to look you in the eye. Was that a light blush on his face? No, no, it had to be the lighting of his room. Yes, that was it.

“I-,” he stuttered over his words, and with it his wings twitched with nerves. Oh how badly he wanted to cover his face with them, but that would only further his embarrassment. “I have a balm for your bruise as well. I would like to, well, if you would permit me to-” Aeons have mercy on him. “What I mean to say is-”

“Sure,” is all you say, plopping back down before him on his bed. Sunday blinked, mouth agape at your straightforward answer, and before he could ruin his image any further rushed to get up and walked to his bedside drawer.

As he rummaged you looked around his room, taking note of just how utterly neat everything was. Books tightly stacked together on a shelf, bed pristinely made, not a hair out of place. It suited him.

“I originally bought this for our resident trouble makers but, and forgive me for saying this, I’m almost glad I seem to need it for you instead,” Sunday spoke, rummaging through the drawer with his back to you. You knew instantly he was talking about the twins, Stelle and Caelus.

You chuckled. “No offense taken. I’m pretty sure those two have taken more beatings than the rest of the express combined.” You didn’t need to see his face when you saw he finally found what he was looking for, wings perking up on his head. Cute.

“I’m afraid you might be right,” he answered, turning on his feet and traveling back to his bed. In his hands lay a small, white container. He sat and began opening it to reveal a light green cream smelling of herbs and light florals. With one hand occupied Sunday seemed lost for a second, staring at his other gloved hand with uncertainty. Realizing he didn’t want to risk laying the balm on his bed, you almost offered to remove his glove for him, when he raised the fabric to his teeth and bit it. With ease he tugged his hand away and removed the glove, sending a heat throughout your body. It seemed he was unaware of the effect it had on you, for the next second he dipped his finger tips into the balm and gestured you forward. “If you could, please.”

You cleared your throat, “of course,” and did as he asked, placing a hand on his bed for balance. You didn’t know where to look as you did, eyes darting between his as you neared, and eventually decided on just closing them entirely. That seemed the easiest.

Unbeknown to you the closer you got, the hotter Sunday’s face became. He selfishly allowed himself a moment to just gaze at you, absorbing all of your features into his mind. The way your eyelashes fluttered, the slight scrunch of your forehead, your delicate but slightly chapped lips…

“Take your time buddy,” you teased, unaware of the other’s suffering, and Sunday jolted at the callout.

“Right! Forgive me,” he rushed, and then got set to work. You had to resist the urge to flinch, both at the pain of someone touching your black eye and the chill of the balm. It was irritating for the first few seconds, but as Sunday began to gently massage it in you found yourself relaxing. The cold touch of his fingers, the firm but delicate circles he was making, his breath dancing on your face. It was…nice.

And Sunday? He felt like he was about to die.

The heat all around his body, especially his face. The way his heart was practically beating out of his chest. He was no fool, he knew what this meant, and selfishly he wanted to welcome it with open arms. To cup your face and spend the next century just staring into your eyes, kissing you silly, to drown in your warm embrace.

Yet, he knew now was not the time. His heart hurt at the way you flinched when he accidentally pressed too hard, rushing to say sorry.

“All good,” you giggled, and it sent his heart racing even more. How kind you were, even for a man such as himself. One who had manipulated you and your fellow Trailblazers, who had fought against you, yet here you sat treating him with the utmost kindness.

Aeons. He was pretty sure he loved you.

“All done,” he finally proclaimed, quickly leaning back and turning to put the balm away so you wouldn’t see his red face. He prayed that he could get it to cool down before he had to face you again.

You blinked your eyes open, squinting at the light that invaded your vision. The sharp pain from your black eye was now dull, a realization that sent relief all throughout your body. “Wow, that stuff is magic! I can’t thank you enough for this, really Sunday.”

“Don’t mention it,” he mumbled, closing his drawer and hoping that his pallor had returned to normal as he turned around. “I mean it, though, please be more careful in the future. I would rather not have to treat you again.”

“Oh wow,” you drawled with a grin, “can’t stand little ole’ me that badly huh.”

Shit. “No-no of course not! I just-”

Your laughter stopped him in his tracks, your head thrown back to the ceiling. “Jeez, you’re so easy. It’s a joke, Sunday.” Getting up, you gave him a pat on the shoulder, grinning at the red that crawled up his neck. “I mean it though, thank you. Remind me to repay you in the future, okay?”

And then you were gone.

Sunday stood there for aeons knew how long, shoulder tingling at your touch. By the time his mind caught up to him he finally gave into his urges and allowed for his wings to block his face, hiding his enamour from the world.

He knew little of her origin or affiliation, as she was considerably secretive in relation to these topics. However, he got to know and understand her personality quite well, sparking his infatuation for her. 

[Name] was sincere yet calculating, bright yet mysterious, and carefree yet careful at the same time, as if she had a lot to risk and protect but had no regard for conformities. To Lohen, she became something to look forward to on the rather dull days when the Wild Hunt was keeping low, leaving him with nothing to fight or entertain himself. 

. . .

The two’s first encounter couldn’t have been more chaotic, symbolic of the nature of the relationship that would emerge through this fated meeting. 

Within the suppressing and heavy fog, you fought viscerally against the Wild Hunt, feeling your limit approaching. Until an unknown figure appeared at what couldn’t have been better timing, fighting alongside you. 

Once the threats have been eliminated, dissipating the musky air, you got to take a better look at the man. His hair carried a dull tint of green, while his eyes contained a contrasting glowing red hue. And his uniform… A part of the Knight of Favonius?

Realization caused you to pause, before the revelation of a key opportunity laid before you. You were an undercover fatui agent stationed in Nod Krai to gain intel for the advancement of Tsaritsa’s goals regarding the Damselette and Kuuvahki. After all, the best way to obtain worthy information is to appear as a trustworthy individual among the common people. So, this event of engaging in battle with a Favonius Knight could be the pathway for you to learn more about them and their goals, and ultimately prevent them from hindering the Fatui.  

He seemed to be gauging you as well, attempting to uncover as much information about you through appearance alone. 

“Too easy, huh?” The knight finally spoke, voice raspy and crazed as his chest heaved. Just the look in his eyes alone told you this man couldn’t be any good. 

“You seem to be enjoying this.” You followed, raising an eyebrow at his sentiments. 

“Those monsters don’t pose a big enough threat, but it is rather enjoyable to experiment on them.” You pondered for a moment, appalled by the man’s disposition. You already thought he looked crazy but he really did seem progressively more insane as he spoke. 

“I see. You’re rather odd.” You bluntly stated, still assessing the knight in front of you.

“Hm, I get that a lot.” He smiled, visibly taking pride from your remarks. “Ah, wait.” He interrupted himself. “Forgive me, m’lady. I forgot to introduce myself first. I’m Lohen, of the Knights of Favonius.” 

“Nice to meet you, Lohen.” You responded politely. But, Lohen? Where have you heard that name before? You knew it was familiar, scrambling through your brain to find the connection.  “I’m… [Name].” You introduced yourself back, pondering how you’d explain yourself upon further interrogation. And this was when his identity finally clicked, he was the crazed vice captain skilled with infiltrating the Fatui base without a trace, earning him a reputation within the organization’s records. 

“Nice to meet you too, [Name]. May I ask what your business here was?” He questioned. His presence slightly threatening, letting you know not to make a wrong move.

“I’m a traveler from afar. I had my own business in Nod Krai until I encountered these monsters. Thank you for helping me.” You courteously answered, responding to his question yet not giving any significant information or specific details, leaving much to be untold. 

“That’s it? Something tells me that there’s more to you than meets the eye.” He smirked, his eyes expressive of his curiosity and interest. 

“Perhaps you’ll learn eventually.” You suggested, turning your head to look at the distant scenery. This marked the beginning of your encounters with the knight. 

. . .

Ever since the first time you met Lohen, you’ve been seeing him around constantly. Though you’re unsure if this is merely coincidence or not. 

You’d see him when you were casually getting food from Speranza, when you were strolling through Nasha Town, and even when you set off to investigate the Frostmoon Scions. You’d also notice him by the Fatui’s institute, probably on a mission of his own. 

These encounters stirred up your doubts. Perhaps he was also onto you? Either way, every time he saw you, he’d approach and interact with you. This ended with long talks within the Speranza seatings, walks around town, and brief observations of Nod Krai’s scenery together.

All these meetings led your bond to strengthen, pulling you closer together. You became familiar with his personality and his usual gestures like thoughtlessly juggling his dagger and his constant pursuit for thrilling dangers, and you’ve grown to appreciate these features of his. You noticed how the red tint of his eyes would light up in fights and when he talked about drugging the other knights (which led you to be more cautious when having drinks or food with him).

You’ve even become acquainted with some of Lohen’s comrades, from the prestigious Grandmaster of the Knights of Favonius to the renowned traveler and their flying companion. It seems that even before meeting you, they’ve heard about you from Lohen.

Through Lohen, you’ve met all these key figures that the Fatui kept a constant watch on, proving your relation with him to indeed be a key opportunity to aid in your duties. But your priorities gradually shifted, from your main motives being to collect intel through Lohen, to genuinely enjoying his presence and antics. This stirred up anxiety within you, you couldn’t possibly be growing feelings for a man in the middle of your mission. Even worse was that man was a knight, an enemy and hindrance to the Fatui. You were caught up within a conflict between your personal emotions and your devotion to the Tsaritsa. 

Until now, Lohen knows nothing of who you truly are. And guilt has been consuming you for essentially lying to him about everything. These thoughts circled through your mind in the quiet nights you were alone. Just like today. You were sitting on an isolated cliff in Hiisi Island, taking in the surreal view when your serenity was interrupted by none other than the green haired knight. 

“What a coincidence to see you here again. Must be fate.” He casually commented, his smirk evident in his tone. 

“You knew I’d be here.” You refuted his claims of fate, aware that he came here knowingly. This place became your go-to to unwind, and ever since he found you here once, he would come to pester you regularly.

You heard his footsteps approaching, stopping when they were by your side to sit in the empty space next to you. A space you left empty purposely. You didn’t turn to look at him but you saw how he was sitting in his usually carefree manner. He stayed quiet for a few moments, also taking in the view. “You seem to have a lot on your mind today.” He remarked, seeing how you looked focused and dazed. 

“I guess you could say that.” A tint of regret and doubt escaped your throat. You didn’t mean to reveal your emotions, but in this moment, especially with the man that influenced your thoughts right beside you, you couldn’t help but indulge. 

As usual, you wouldn’t say anything more. Lohen expected this. You were always secretive and obviously hiding something significant, but Lohen had no intention to force you to speak. He believed you to be trustworthy, even when you left much to be unsaid. He wasn’t even sure if you’d one day reveal these secrets to him, but he was willing to be patient with you. After all, you were… you. 

Lohen has started to recognize a rapidly growing emotion within him, something he never thought he could feel. And it was all because of you. His heart thumping, his words tumbling, and his fingers subtly trembling when he was around you, a contrast to his typical calm and uncaring demeanor. It was a new, exciting feeling. A thrill so different from battle. But it was not something Lohen was ready to fully embrace yet, uncertainty penetrating his usual confidence. Nonetheless, he was willing to dabble in it–willing to let himself feel and let his affection for you grow. And maybe things would gradually set in place where it belongs like pieces of a puzzle. 

Both of you found comfort in the current silence, reveling in the peaceful landscape, staying in the same position until the night has grown far too dark. 

. . .

Your eyes looked up at the vast blue skies, observing how the clouds shifted with the winds. You made your way to Paha Isle as today was one of those days you had to report on your investigations and findings in Nod Krai. 

You entered the Kuuvahki Experimental Design Bureau to submit all your intel to the Marionette. Upon exit, you were unknowingly sighted by the blonde traveler. You went on your day as usual, but this heavy feeling started growing in your chest. It felt as though something was going terribly wrong, you couldn’t think of the source of this worry but your instincts seemed to be warning you of conflict. 

. . .

“Wait, so you’re saying you saw [Name] exit the Fatui’s institute unharmed?” A high pitched voice expressed, pacing around her companion in shock of the news.

The blonde simply nodded in response, feeling betrayal at the encounter. “So what does this mean for her?” Paimon further inquired, trying to wrap her head around what’s going on. 

“She’s been hiding the fact that she’s part of the Fatui.” The traveler simply elaborated.

“It’s always the darn Fatui…” Paimon muttered in disappointment. “Wait, what about Lohen? Do you think he knows about this? He seems to really like [Name] and they’ve grown so close! Finding out might break him..” Paimon expressed her concern, especially since the Knights and the Fatui don’t have the best relationship. This felt like a huge betrayal from someone they didn’t expect at all. 

“So… What should we do? Do we tell Lohen?” Paimon asked the traveler, not knowing how to progress from here.

“I think we should. After all, it’s Lohen and [Name] who are the closest.” Paimon simply nodded in response. Neither of them expected someone like [Name] to lie about their entire identity. 

. . .

The next time the traveler and Paimon saw Lohen, they asked him to talk and explained all about what they saw. Lohen’s response was obscure, muttering a simple “so that’s what she’s been hiding..” before appearing to be deep in thought. 

Upon departure, Lohen was dazed. He always knew [Name] was hiding something, but not something as far as her being a part of the Fatui. The revelation put him into a spiral of doubt and suspicion. If you’ve been lying about this, what else have you been hiding? Was what you shared before all a lie? Which part about you is the real and genuine you? Has he fallen for a complete facade? 

Lohen’s heart clenched. He didn’t know he could be hurt by something like this. He felt like a complete idiot. Of course the one time he allowed himself to be raw and fall for someone, he’d be stabbed in the back like this. 

He was hurt, yes. But that didn’t stop him from still loving you. And the betrayal still didn’t stop him from seeking you either.  

. . .

He found himself wandering through Hiisi Island in the early hours of the night with only the moon illuminating the land. He moved towards your usual destination, and sure enough, you were right there. 

You sat on the cliff’s edge like always, hands clenching on the hard stone as if worried about something again. But this time, Lohen had an inkling of what was going on in your head. Maybe your hidden identity was the source of the subtle guilt you’d express in daily conversations, the cause of your hesitation before answering personal questions, and the reason why you always kept him at a distance. 

Maybe he was naive for hoping things would set in place on its own, maybe he shouldn’t have gotten closer than he has, and maybe he should’ve stayed discreet like he does with most other people. But that’s the thing, you weren't like most people. You were different and understood him in ways others can’t comprehend. You accepted the craziest parts of him. You felt like a safe place for him to be vulnerable, and you balanced his personality like ocean tides clashing against his, pushing the waves to completely settle into calmness. 

To Lohen, meeting you just felt right. It felt like something that was meant to happen. 

Your hair was flowing freely with your posture tense. Lohen quietly approached you, standing behind you. Usually, he’d have a witty or casual greeting prepared. But this time, he didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know how to confront you. Lohen felt betrayed by your lie but couldn’t  bring himself to hate you, he still wanted your relationship to remain as it was before. But he didn’t know if that relationship was real to begin with. 

He decided to sit next to you on the spot you always left empty without a word. You gave him a glance when you felt his presence, your eyes filled with worry. Lohen’s demeanor told you everything you needed to know. He found out.  

You expected this to happen at some point, yet you still weren’t ready. Maybe this was the end of your relationship. It hurt but it was all your fault, and you wouldn’t blame him if he blew up on you now. You waited for him to speak, but he didn’t for a while. And the once comfortable silence you shared felt simply unbearable and suffocating. You wanted to let it all out here, but you were frozen. You couldn’t bring yourself to speak or move in shame. 

“You lied to me.” 

Lohen finally broke the silence and your heart dropped at that simple four word statement. You let out a shaky breath, your fingers trembling in doubt as you started to overthink possible outcomes. 

“I know. I’m sorry.” Was all you could let out with a voice crack in between. Internally, you wanted to weep and cry, beg for forgiveness, apologize profusely. But you knew you couldn’t be more selfish than you were before. You couldn’t go back to what you had. The best you could do for him now was to peacefully let him go, without causing any more pain.

“Is that all you’re going to say?” Lohen quietly asked, hoping that you’d at least explain yourself so maybe he could forgive you and your relationship could be restored.

“I don’t know what to tell you.” You’ve completely surrendered and shut down at this point, clenching the hard edge of the cliff harder. 

“Was everything a lie?” Lohen followed. His heart raced in anticipation of whatever your answer would be. Perhaps he shouldn’t have asked at all so he could live in a fantasy and lie to himself as well. He didn’t want to accept that what you had could’ve been a facade–a ploy for you to gain information for the Fatui.

You paused before answering. You didn’t know how to respond to his question, whether you should just end things now or try to salvage scraps to mend things over. But after all you’ve hidden from him, you resolved to not tell any more lies, and to be completely honest in this moment–you at least owed him this much. 

“No. At first, you were an opportunity to gain intel. But.. what we had, it was real.” You confessed, heart also racing in fear, as if matching your pace to his. “I’m… really sorry, Lohen.”

“Stop apologizing.” Lohen simply stated, as if your own regret pained him as well. He mulled over your words, anguish seeping deeply into him. Perhaps if you lied about anything else, he could’ve forgiven you easily, but hiding your association with the Fatui that he deeply resented only felt like a churn in the knife he was stabbed with.

He sighed deeply, the breath carrying some of the heaviness in his chest. He didn’t say another word, not knowing himself if it was because he was waiting for you to say something else or if he wanted to prolong what could be his last moments with you. 

Your silence and reluctance to explain yourself further became his cue to leave. He stood and turned his back towards you, finally leaving you to be alone on this cliff. You felt his grief, but you failed to notice the tear that escaped his eye upon leaving. 

You only hung your head low. Your emotions felt so intense that you couldn’t even bring yourself to cry, forcing you to internalize each and every disappointment and resentment you felt towards yourself. 

You had always been long aware of this fact–good things never last, and today only served as additional evidence to the claim. You stayed in the same spot unmoving for what felt like eternity, left to wallow in your self-inflicted guilt. 

Masterlist || Requests

A/N 2: ngl I see potential for a part 2 for this plot but idk if Id end up writing it (if anyones interested, lmk!)

It’s just a run-down minimum wage job, really. It’s always been nothing special to you… until he started walking in.

This guy from one of your classes. He comes in at nearly the same time every few days, always during your shifts, and orders the same damn drink every time: an iced caramel macchiato with an extra pump of vanilla, because he “wants it extra sweet, just like you.” (His words, not yours—you still vividly remember the first time he said it, and how you stared at him in dead silence, trying your hardest to suppress a laugh. I mean, at least he was straightforward about it?) 

He sits at one of the tables by the window, and barely even finishes his drink half the time. Which is… oddly suspicious. Because what kind of college student spends seven dollars on coffee just to let it water down to the point that it’s, well, undrinkable?

(Answer: Psychopaths. Cute psychopaths named Phainon. That’s his name, by the way. You learned it one day and made sure to note him as part of the top 10… to put it bluntly, hottest regulars. He’s number one, obviously. Because even though he’s absolutely horrible with pickup lines, he’s still got that golden-boy, too-pretty-for-his-own-good face. Almost like he was a demigod in another life. It’s kinda unfair.)

But hey, who are you kidding? His overpriced orders pad your paycheck, you get free entertainment in the form of whatever it is he thinks counts as flirting, and you humor him in return. It’s a mutual exchange.

It all starts off innocently enough. It’s not like you wait for Phainon to show up or anything. You vividly recall the day you learned the name of the mystery pretty boy who keeps flirting with you, actually. You only found out because one morning, out of sheer boredom—or maybe curiosity, but you’re not admitting that—you asked. People put their names on cups at places like this anyway, right? It was casual enough.

“What’s your name?” you asked, pen poised lazily over the cup of coffee you were making him. (The same drink he probably wasn’t going to finish anyway, but whatever.) “What? I need to write it on your drink.”

He blinked at you like you’ve been possessed (and maybe at the time, you might as well have been), clearly caught off guard by the sudden straightforwardness. “Phainon… It’s Phainon.”

And maybe it was the way he said it—like he was trying to play it casually, yet you could sense his shy hesitance—but you felt it stick to you. And before you even knew it, the words nearly slipped out before you could stop yourself:

You’re pretty, Phainon.

But you’re not that bold. God, you wish you were, but you’re not. Not even remotely. Instead, what blurted out of your mouth, entirely unprompted, was:

“That’s a pretty name, Phainon.”

Oh shit.

There was a pause. A really brutal one. It was deafening and you still remember it. The realization hit about half a second too late, just as the heat started creeping up your neck.

Phainon stared at you. And then, his whole face lit up. This little shit was smiling. No, he was fucking beaming, actually. “So my charm’s finally working on you, huh?”

You scowled. Or, well, you tried to. It didn’t do much to hide the smile that was barely tugging at your lips at the time. Whether out of embarrassment, shame, or something else completely, you didn’t know. “No. Shut up. Don’t make it weird.”

“Too late,” he grinned, and you swear that smile alone could power the whole damn city. Was he seriously that happy about what you said? “I’m taking that as a win.”

You rolled your eyes, acting like it was no big deal as you slid the drink towards him. Unfortunately, your face was betraying you completely. It was too bad, really. He picked up his cup, and that stupid grin still hadn’t left his face. You wanted to wipe it off so bad. “A pretty name, huh? Guess I’ll just have to keep showing up, then.”

You waved him off. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

You remember that moment very well, that’s for sure. You also remember the next part just as vividly, mainly because of your coworker.

You’d barely turned around before hearing her laugh from where she stood near one of the espresso machines, realizing that she’d just witnessed that entire interaction. Aglaea–she’s a few years older than you and technically your supervisor, but it really doesn’t feel like it. More like… an annoying big sister. Yeah. That describes her perfectly. “You know you’re smiling like an idiot right now, right?”

“Aglaea. Don’t even start,” you muttered, although there was no bite behind your words.

And yeah, maybe at the time, you were still smiling. Just a little bit, though. 

And that’s how it all starts. A silly little routine as the semester goes by, and your little back and forth with Phainon becomes something that you begin to really enjoy. He comes in. You pretend not to care (you do, you care a lot). Aglaea teases you as he leaves, per usual. Rinse and repeat. You usually don’t pay her much mind, but somewhere along the line, you recall one thing that she said that really stuck to you. 

“You know he only comes here for you, right? The boy’s absolutely whipped.”

You remembered those words very precisely. You laughed it off back then, and brushed it off like a mere joke.

But now, as the months slowly pass by and Phainon becomes more and more familiar to you?

Now, you’re not so sure.

It’s a Tuesday morning when you’re hit with the reality of what it's like to work in a place like this.

Tuesdays are usually quiet for you—no morning classes, just a slow start to the day and maybe a shift if you feel up to it. You’ve been picking up more of them lately, partly for the extra cash, and partly so you can keep taking the morning train with Mydei, because, well, he’s nice to be around. It’s always been a routine. And routine is nice–something to expect because it’s familiar and predictable. 

At least, it’s supposed to be, until today.

The cafe’s running far busier than usual: Aglaea’s handling most of the drink prep, so you’re running the register and tidying the counter. Phainon hasn’t come in yet—not that you’re looking for him. Of course not. (You most definitely are.)

If only you knew what was going to happen to you today, you'd wish he’d shown up a little earlier.

The line filters through smoothly enough at first. You’ve just finished taking a person’s order when someone new suddenly walks up to the counter. Some guy in his early thirties, definitely not a student—at least, not from your campus—and something about the way he’s already grinning at you before you even greet him makes your stomach churn a little.

“Morning, sweetheart.” Here we go. His eyes skim over your name tag a little too slowly, and then glide over toward something else completely before meeting your eyes again, all with a sleazy smile that sets off every single internal alarm you’ve got in your body. Stop. Don’t let him get to you. “That your real name?”

You blink, tapping incessantly on the counter: sharp and repetitive, like maybe he’d take the hint. Not only was he making you uncomfortable, but the line behind him was only getting longer. This was messing up the flow of things—it was all just supposed to be another peaceful morning. A little hectic, maybe, but still peaceful. “Uh, yeah. What can I get started for you today?”

He leans in, resting his elbows on the register counter like you’re a damn bartender and you’re supposed to entertain him. Does he even know where he is? “You know, someone with a pretty face like you shouldn’t be stuck behind a counter all day.”

Yikes, you almost want to say. Still, you try to keep yourself composed. To not give a guy like this the time of day, because you’re certainly above that. You’ve heard this type of shit countless times before. Offhand remarks, compliments that they think are so smooth. Most guys get bored when you don’t play along. “What drink would you like, sir?”

He finally orders after that. Just something simple—a black coffee, no frills, easy enough to make on your own without bothering Aglaea—except he doesn’t leave after paying. Just hovers over you as you make his drink, eyes watching your every move like you were something to be scrutinized. You know this isn’t new. Weird customers happen. Creepy guys happen. You’ve told yourself that so many times, and yet, something in your chest tugs uncomfortably at his stare. 

The weight of his gaze follows you… from keeping your hands busy on the machine, to closing the hot coffee with a lid. You hand him his drink, offering a tight-lipped smile and wincing when he holds on just a second too long the moment your fingers brush his. Please, just take it and leave. “Here you go.”

“You got a boyfriend?” Oh, wow. No, it gets worse. What the hell were you expecting?

His words feel like a slap to the face. You blink—once, twice, then inhale sharply, forcing yourself to keep calm. You’ve handled people like this in the past—persistent, entitled guys who are far too old to be flirting with college girls behind counters. You can’t show that his words are getting to you. You won’t. Not here, not when the morning has just started, because for fuck’s sake, it’s too early for this. “I’m just here to make coffee.”

The stranger laughs, holding his hands up in mock defense as if you were the one overreacting. “Hey, I’m just asking. You’ve got a nice smile. I bet all the boys here line up just for you, huh? Forget about the coffee.” 

You’re saved by the next customer stepping forward, and you finally let out the breath you’ve been holding this entire time. Aglaea, who caught the tail end of the conversation and his last remark, shoots you a brief look. You just shake your head at her—it’s nothing to escalate yet. You’re used to people like him. It’s fine.

Really, it’s fine. It’s just one of those days. Although it feels like you’re convincing yourself that more than anything.

The guy finally leaves, but the lingering feeling he leaves behind doesn’t. It clings to you like static—like a lump in your throat that you can’t swallow, or a tightness in your chest that you can’t shake off. No matter how many deep breaths you take, it still stays. Your heart is still hammering, and the feeling sticks to you, deep in the pit of your stomach. That godawful sense that his eyes are still on you, even though you know they’re long gone. 

It feels… gross. You hate that it’s still there. That it even got to you like this in the first place, because usually, it never does.

Phainon comes in a little later that day, just like always, with that pretty charm of his and the usual order, because it’s routine. His presence makes you feel a little bit better about today, although you can’t shake the feeling off, no matter how hard you try. Still, him being here is nice and familiar in a way that’s difficult to describe. Like at the very least, a small weight has been lifted off your shoulders, and you appreciate that. You really do.

He leans casually against the counter, peering up at you with that same lopsided smile. And you smile back at him. 

Or try to, anyway. 

You smile at him as if nothing happened, all forced, and frankly, a little bit watery. It’s the kind of smile you wear when you don’t want anyone to worry. And it’s exactly that. You don’t want him to worry about your situation. Instead, you focus on the mantra you’ve been repeating this whole day: that shit like this happens all the time, and it’s just something you need to deal with. Over and over, like it’s supposed to make you feel better. (It doesn’t. It really doesn’t. In fact, the pit in your stomach only grows.)

But of course, Phainon notices the difference. He always does—he’s more perceptive than he lets on. But he figures that if you just don’t want to talk about it, then he won’t push any further. Just tilts his head at you with that same, puppy-like grin and says softly, “Did you miss me?”

And god, for a second, you almost say yes. It nearly catches at the tip of your tongue—this fragile, foolish, yes—and for a moment, your carefully constructed mask nearly slips. You almost tell him everything. About the guy, or the way your skin still crawls from earlier. Or maybe that tightness in your chest that just won’t go away. 

But instead, you smile. Because that’s all you can manage right now. 

You just shake your head and laugh, ringing up his order and scribbling his name on a cup like you usually do. Like how it always is. Your hands tremble so very slightly, just enough for you to notice—and enough for him to see it, too. You feel it: Phainon’s gaze lingering on you. But it’s not intrusive or scrutinizing like that guy’s stare, no, right now, he was worried for you. His eyes don’t ask for anything; instead, his gaze is the kind that says I’m here, even when you’re not ready to talk about it.

And you’re not. Not yet.

So, you focus on the present. As if routine could shield you from the heaviness of the rock sitting on your chest, or from the way your eyes are stinging with tears when you turn your back on him for a moment. You appreciate his silent concern and all, but you pretend not to notice. 

Because really, it’s just another Tuesday. And if you stop believing otherwise, then this little facade of yours might just break. And you can’t let that happen.

You manage to convince yourself over the next few days that the encounter was the end of it. Just a minor disruption to your routine, and nothing more. That maybe he’d gone off to bother someone else—somebody who’s preferably his own age. (Not that you’d want any poor soul to be subjected to that, but you’d prefer it to just not be you.)

You didn’t have any shifts for the rest of the week, and today—Saturday—is the first time you’re back. And for a minute, things seem like they’re back to normal. It feels like you’re integrating into the swing of it all again: the morning rush has passed, Aglaea’s handling the register, and you’re in the back of the cafe, cleaning up the dirty tables from earlier that day. 

It’s routine. How it’s always been.

In an ideal reality, you’d want to say that you didn’t let that situation get to you—really get to you—yet in actuality, you’re completely on autopilot. It’s been a weird week–far more emotionally exhausting and nerve-wracking than usual, but you try and get by. Plus, you get to see your favorite golden boy (he doesn’t know that he’s been promoted to that title yet, but you’d prefer not to tell him either way for the sake of his ego) soon. Not that you’re looking forward to it or anything. (Who are you even kidding anymore?)

You don’t hear the bell jingle at first. Don’t even notice him. That stranger that’s been living in the back of your head ever since that shitty Tuesday morning. You’re too busy cleaning one of the tables in the back with a wet rag, humming along with the music playing overhead as a futile way to calm your nerves, until you hear it.

“There you are,” he says, all too casual, and it makes your heart stop. You know that voice, and you never thought you’d have to hear it again. 

You freeze, eyes widening, and your grip on the rag tightens like a deer in headlights. He’d deliberately gone to the back just to look for you. What the fuck? “Thought I might’ve scared you off the other day.”

You straighten up and look at him. He’s got that same sleazy grin, the very same one that made your stomach churn, and it makes you sick. You don’t say anything. You’re not sure if it’s because you’re paralyzed with fear or because of the anger that you feel bubbling up in your throat. Or maybe some sick combination of both. He gestures to the cup of black coffee in his hand, ordered from Aglaea, no doubt. “Your little friend made this coffee for me. Wish it was you who made it, though.” 

“I was just trying to be friendly, you know.” He steps closer, and you step back until you’re right up against the table you’re cleaning, with nowhere to go. “You don’t gotta look so scared of me, sweetheart.”

“I’m working,” you say, and you hate the way your voice breaks. “Please leave me alone.”

“Oh, come on.” He laughs, and you think you hate that far more. Hate how small you feel right now, how unbothered he is, and the way your heart feels like it’s about to hammer straight out of your chest. You choke, trying to find your voice to call out for Aglaea, or anybody at this point, but all that comes out is a stuttering gasp for air. “Don’t be like that.”

Then, he reaches for you, and that’s when something in you finally breaks. “Don’t touch me!”

It all happens fast, too fast–his hand brushes too close to your waist, that same sleazy smile on his face–and you shove him in retaliation. His drink spills all over you, and hot coffee sloshes over your apron. You’re lucky that your uniform catches most of it, but you feel the burning sting all across your arm. And it hurts.

You gasp in pain, stumbling as the adrenaline hits you like a damn freight train. Your knees slightly buckle beneath you, and your vision goes fuzzy at the edges. Aglaea finally yells out something from the front, but you can’t hear. Not with the blood rushing in your ears. And the way you can’t seem to breathe, no matter how hard you try. The adrenaline has you burning from humiliation more than the actual heat. “Fuck–”

Your heart races. Your breaths come too fast and too shallow, your chest tight and trembling. You can’t focus. You can’t breathe. You crouch slightly, bracing your weight against the table because the world is spinning, and it feels like you’re about to collapse. You barely register the bell over the cafe door chiming open. Don’t even hear the footsteps, or the way somebody ushers that stranger away from you. Maybe that was Aglaea. You don’t know. But you feel it—a steady warmth kneeling next to you, not directly touching, just close enough to anchor you.

“Hey–” the voice is soft and grounding. A stark contrast to that stranger’s grating voice just moments ago. “I’m right here. He’s gone, and Aglaea’s handling it. Just focus on my voice, okay?”

You turn towards the figure.

Even through your blurry vision, and even with your eyes stinging with tears, you know it’s Phainon. Your favorite golden-boy, Phainon. You don’t know how he got here so fast—maybe he was just arriving, or maybe he’d already been there. You don’t know, and frankly, you don’t care. All that matters is that he’s here. And that man isn’t–not anymore.

“P-Phainon,” you sob. You try and focus on him, on his presence and just everything about him that anchors you, but your vision is far too blurry and your breath is stuttering painfully in your throat. For a moment, you begin to wonder if you’re just hallucinating this all. “Phai– I can’t breathe-”

“I know,” he says softly, and he gently takes your hand into his, and that’s when you realize that you’re in fact not just imagining things. Phainon is very much real, and he cares so much, and that thought alone almost makes you start crying for a completely different reason. He places the flat of your palm over his chest as a way to guide you. “Breathe with me, okay? Just feel my heartbeat and match me.”

“In through your nose,” he murmurs. He draws a deep breath himself, slow and deliberate, and you try, your focus narrowing to the rise and fall of his chest beneath your hand. “Good. Now out.”

You try. You really do. You shakily breathe out, even though it’s cut off by your sniffles and the way your lip trembles ever so slightly. 

“Again,” he repeats. It’s okay, though. Because Phainon is willing to wait. He always does, for you. “That’s it. You’re doing good. So good.”

You repeat that exercise a few more times, slow and steady, until your adrenaline begins to wear off a little. Your vision is still blurry, and your breath catches in your throat.

And then, without thinking–without even meaning to–you reach out for him.

“Hey, hey…” Your fingers curl into the fabric of his hoodie, and you bury your face against his chest. And that’s when the dam breaks. The mask you had been so carefully maintaining this entire week shatters, and you quietly cry into his chest. You feel his arms wrap around you instinctively, one hand steady on your back. “I’ve got you, I promise.”

And maybe it's the way he says it, or how he didn’t even hesitate to rush in and help you in that moment, but it makes you cry a little harder. Not in a bad way, but it’s that notion–that he cares, and doesn’t let you go. You think you could fall apart; shatter into a million pieces, and Phainon would still be there to catch every single part of you and put you all back together.

“You’re safe now,” he softly murmurs against your hair. “I’m right here.”

The world feels quieter like this. And for a moment, it’s just the steady beat of his heart and the way he quietly holds you and rubs gentle circles into your back as you sniffle, like he’s keeping everything else away.

“I didn’t know what to do,” you whisper, breath still shaky. “I froze up. I didn’t want to make it a big deal.”

“But it was,” he says firmly. “And you didn’t deserve any of that.”

You’re too tired to argue. You stay like that for a while, tucked into the warmth of his chest, until slowly, your breathing steadies out and your trembling stops. It’s nice, you think. The feeling of just letting someone hold you—letting you be without asking for a single thing in return. 

Then, he gently coaxes you out of the wet apron and gently wipes your uniform underneath with a napkin, getting the remnants out to the best of his ability. Gentle. That’s the only thing in your mind. He’s gentle, so gentle, as if you’ll shatter at the slightest movement if he’s not. He pauses when he catches sight of your arm where the hot coffee hit, his expression tightening ever so slightly. “Can I take a look?”

You meekly nod. Slowly, he eases your sleeve up to examine the skin. There’s a faint, angry red splotch blooming across—his fingers hovering over the burn but not enough to touch it, like he’s afraid he’ll hurt you even more. You notice it–the way his demeanor changes ever so slightly, and the way a tint of guilt flickers behind his eyes. “You should run this under cool water soon, before it gets worse. I–”

“You look disappointed.” You manage a weak smile, teasingly looking up at him even though your voice cracks a little. “Don’t look at me like that… like you should’ve been here sooner. You didn’t know. But you’re here now, exactly when I need you… and that’s the only thing that matters to me.”

Phainon just deflates at that. He doesn’t try to argue. You just hope he doesn’t beat himself up over it.

A quiet moment passes before he shifts, just slightly enough to shrug off his hoodie and gently ease you into it, covering your coffee-stained uniform underneath. It’s still warm from him, smelling faintly of espresso and something sweet, so very him. And for the first time, you realize:

Phainon really does care for you. He’s really not just a playful flirt anymore—you’re far beyond that stage. And that thought doesn’t scare you this time, no, it softens something from within you instead. It’s loving. Nice, and leaves a warm feeling lingering in your chest. You think you can get used to this.

Aglaea’s voice cuts through the silence, although it’s softer than usual when she calls out from the front. “Take her home, Phai. I’ve got the rest of her shift.”

You glance toward her. She’s watching the two of you with something between fondness and worry. You make a mental note to text her later, to give a proper thank you—but for now, all you can do is give her a small, grateful nod.

Beside you, Phainon stands slowly. And when he turns to face you, he doesn’t hesitate—not even for a second—as he holds out his hand.

“Let’s get you out of here. You’ve been through more than enough today,” He murmurs, and you really, really couldn’t agree more.

The drive back home is quiet. 

Phainon doesn’t push you to talk. He doesn’t push you to do anything, really. Just basks in the silence and drives, with one hand steady on the wheel while the other rests near yours on the console. Dangerously close. Close enough that if you reached out, you’d find him waiting. (What you don’t know is that Phainon will always be waiting–he’d wait for as long as it takes. As long as it’s you, he’d even wait forever. He just hopes that you’ll realize that one day.)

You watch the streetlights blur past the windows in soft, golden streaks. The burn across your arm has turned into a dull ache, and for the first time all day, you finally let yourself breathe. 

A few minutes pass before Phainon finally breaks the silence. His words are soft and careful, almost like he’s afraid to shatter whatever calm you’ve found in the quietness of his car. “Do you remember the day we first met?”

You blink at him, startled by the sudden question. “The day you told me you wanted your coffee ‘extra sweet, just like me’? Yeah. Kind of hard to forget.”

That earns you a small, breathy laugh from him. But then, to your surprise, he admits, “I don’t even like sweet coffee.”

You turn to stare at him. “What?”

“I don’t like sweet coffee.” He glances at you, almost sheepish. “Never did.”

You’re genuinely confused now. Okay, so you’ve actually been talking to a lunatic this entire time. “…What.”

He laughs again—but it’s a little more nervous this time. “When I first saw you behind the counter, I wanted to talk to you. Real bad. So I panicked, and ordered the first thing I saw on the menu… and asked for extra vanilla so that I could use that stupid pickup line on you.”

Your mouth falls open. Yup, this confirms it. He cannot be serious. “You’re telling me… you’ve been drinking that for months? When you didn’t even like it in the first place? I thought you were just a slow drinker or something!”

“Well, I figured if I kept ordering it, you’d start remembering me by it.” He scratches the back of his neck, looking almost embarrassed now. “Even though it kinda tastes like cough syrup to me.”

You blink again. Then, you shake your head and laugh softly. “Holy shit. You’re actually a dumbass.”

He smiles at that. Really smiles. “Yeah. But it worked, didn’t it?”

You pause.

And maybe you’re tired, maybe you’re still fragile from everything earlier, but your voice softens when you reply, “I would’ve remembered you even without the stupid drink. You didn’t have to do all of that.”

Phainon glances at you, and for once, he doesn’t have anything to say to that. For a moment, it’s quiet again. You glance at his face. He’s avoiding your gaze now, cheeks tinged pink, the tips of his ears flushed too. It fills you with something gentle, like seeing a boyish version of him peeking through his usual charm. “In all seriousness, though… thank you. For today. For being there for me.”

He swallows softly. “I think I got the message.”

“Not just for today.” Your chest tightens, but in a good way this time. “For all the times before, too.”

For all the times you’ve kept me company in that shitty job of mine. 

You make sure to look at him now, really look at him. You think he gets the memo. Phainon, the same golden-boy you’d just laughed about before, brushing him off as just another pretty regular. But now? Being with him is softer. Less perfect and flirty, yet somehow he’s more beautiful for it. Phainon, your favorite golden-boy. Even though he’s a crazy-golden boy for pouring all that money down the drain just to flirt with a damn barista.

“I mean… you’ve been forcing yourself to drink that shit just to have an excuse to talk to me,” you murmur. “When I could’ve made you something better.”

He hesitates, then mumbles under his breath, almost like he didn’t mean for you to hear it: “You’re worth it, though.”

That nearly stops your heart.

“Phainon…”

He glances sideways at you, all shy now and eyes lingering so beautifully over your face. “Yeah?”

You smile. And even though this day has beaten you down completely, you really mean it when you say, “I think I’m gonna be okay.”

He looks at you for a long moment. And then he smiles back—but it’s not that cheeky grin you’re used to. No, it’s something far gentler. Like you’re back in high school, writing your crush’s name with a myriad of colorful gel pens and a tooth-rotting smile. Something so genuine it makes your throat ache and your ribs cave in.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “I know you will.”

The car pulls to a stop.

When you open the door and step out, Phainon stays still. His hoodie is still wrapped around you, warm with his scent, and you almost never want to take it off, you think. He watches you walk toward your building, his gaze lingering long after you’ve gone inside.

You remember Aglaea’s words to you all those months ago a little bit too well:

“You know he only comes here for you, right? The boy’s absolutely whipped.”

At the time, you’d only rolled your eyes at her. But you knew, somewhere deep down, despite how much you wave her teasing off sometimes, you know she’s perceptive. And you fear even more that she’s right.

And somewhere in that car, you think that Phainon has that same realization, too.

she chuckles, "you should give plushienon a kiss to cheer him up!"

"don't call him plushienon, and i'm not kissing a toy!"

"aww, c'mon, it's just the deliverer boy, what's wrong with that?"

"it's embarrassing and juvenile!" you murmur, hiding behind the tufts of white hair.

"it's embarrassing to show the love of your life some affection?" she pouts, dramatising a pout. "this isn't even him, what will you do when it is the real deal?"

"fine!" you huff. "i'll kiss him!"

she giggles, satisfied. you press a fleeting kiss to his covered forehead, the fabric soft underneath your lips. you don't linger long, getting ready to sass cipher with a quip, but the words die on your tongue when you notice something unbelievable.

the small frown and teary blues that plushienon previously had have morphed into a beaming smile and bright eyes, the sudden change catching you off guard.

what is this elation magic- you swear he was crying before!

"little y/n, you look like you've seen a ghost! what's wrong?" cipher asks as she studies your expression with great amusement. "surely kissing him can't be that unenjoyable-"

you turn him around, "why is he happy all of a sudden?"

she begins cackling, her tail whipping. "oh my! i didn't know this thing was going to be true to life!"

"did you do something to him? you didn't use your trickery powers, did you?" you ask wildly, looking at him again to make sure that he was still smiling- and indeed he was. in fact, it seems as though he's grinning wider.

"this is brilliant! wow, i didn't think the deliverer's obnoxiously obvious affection for you would transcend into inanimate versions of himself as well!" the demigod is beside herself now, holding her stomach with tangible glee.

"hey! what do you mean affection? and obvious?"

"you'd find out if you just show him!"

"no!" you shriek, holding the big plushie to your chest now as your flustered cries get hidden by the bustling nature of okhema's markets. "i'm not showing phainon anything!"

an all-too-familiar voice pipes up from beside you. "why not?"

this is the worst day of your life. phainon absolutely can not see you holding a large plushie of him, and he can not know that you discovered it had the ability to change expressions as soon as you kissed its fabric-covered forehead.

cipher, however, had other plans.

"deliverer boy," she greets, "you have many fans outside amphoreus, did you know that? while i was in planarcadia, i found this!"

she gestures to the plushie that you have pressed against your chest. for a moment, the two stare at you expectedly. it is with great embarrassment that you reveal the item in your arms, unable to make eye contact with the white-haired before you.

"is that me?" he questions, "am i… crying?"

"isn't it so cute? wouldn't you agree, y/n?" cipher prods.

"i don't think it's cute because it's crying!" you murmur, trying to defend what is left of your dignity.

"so you think it's cute because it's lord phainon?"

"cipher!" you wish the ground could swallow you whole.

"anyways, what's more important is that y/n has found an interesting discovery by kissing plushie-you's forehead. why don't you show the great hero of amphoreus?"

you frown, the heat in your cheeks now unbearable. with a grumble, you turn around so that your back was towards the pair, not allowing either of them to see you peck the plushie's forehead. turning around, its frown has now transformed into a beaming smile, delight completely painting over its previously-woeful expression.

phainon is quiet for a moment and you brace for the worst, your heart thumping wildly in your ears as you wait for him to be offended or disgusted by your discovery.

instead, it is him who completely rips the carpet from underneath your feet.

"interesting, they've captured me scarily accurately…"