...

The sound of metal clashing against itself echoes through the workshop. Each strike of the hammer molds molten iron into the weapon he envisions. Yingxing, in particular, holds a very specific design in mind.

After all, this is a blade he’s forging for his wife—crafted from a blend of leftover scraps and the expensive metals he painstakingly saved up for. The thought alone has him practically beaming as he shapes it into form.

The stars, however, remain silent. In the dead of night, no sign of life stirs—save for Yingxing himself. The relentless ringing of metal is enough to irritate anyone.

And oh, does it bother you.

“Yingxing, come to bed. It’s two in the morning,” you call out, voice thick with sleep. Aeons know what he’s thrown himself into this time—a commission? A personal project? A gift for a friend? If only he devoted himself to rest with the same fervor.

The Forge Master’s focus finally drifts from the glowing metal at the sound of your voice. There’s a glimmer in his eyes when he looks at you—hair disheveled from sleep, expression pinched with irritation, clearly dragged from yet another failed attempt at rest. You lean against the workshop doorway like you belong there.

Perhaps you do. Anything he owns is yours.

He flashes you a grin—one you know well, one that hides more than it reveals. “Thirty more minutes. This one isn’t finished yet,” he says, words punctuated by the steady rhythm of his hammer.

A sigh slips past your lips, resignation settling in. You already know how the next thirty minutes will go—spent by the fireplace, waiting for him to return.

Retreating to the living room, you settle by the fire, watching it crackle as it slowly devours the wood. At some point, without realizing it, sleep claims you.

Until a hand brushes your cheek.

A quiet murmur of your name follows.

It doesn’t take long to recognize the voice—you’ve been married to this man for over thirty years. You know him in every form.

“Lovely, look what I’ve made for you.”

Your eyes flutter open, vision still hazy. The sight before you is familiar—Yingxing kneeling before you, gazing up with quiet anticipation, waiting for you to ask about his latest creation.

Your mind barely processes his words, but you recognize that look. You’ve seen it countless times. Before you can respond, something heavy settles onto your lap.

A blade.

Forged from the remains of Glamoth’s Empress, mixed with fragments of her Iron Cavalry. Its intricate designs weave together like a story—thirty years of memories etched into steel.

Your fingers trace the surface as though it were something fragile. The blade itself may not be delicate, but the intention behind it certainly is.

And the way he looks at you—hopeful, expectant, yearning for even the smallest praise—says everything.

What a lovesick man Yingxing is.

For someone driven by vengeance, his heart beats for something far softer.

A gentle smile graces your lips as you lean forward, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead.

“It’s beautiful, my darling.” Your praise makes his heart stutter—you’re certain of it.

The grin that spreads across his face is full of pride, bordering on arrogance—not just in the blade, but in the fact that he’s made you happy.

You watch as his hand slips into the pocket of his tailcoat.

“I have something else for you,” he says, pulling something out—only to immediately hide it in his fist.

Like a familiar ritual, the motion repeats itself. His calloused hand takes yours, gently placing the object into your palm.

A ring.

Gold, with a delicately carved crane. Your heart aches at the sight.

Another one.

“Another?” you ask softly, the question echoing through thirty anniversaries—thirty rings he’s forged just for you.

None of them fit. But that was never the point. Each one is proof. Tangible, unwavering proof of your love.

“Another one,” he echoes, arms slipping around your waist. “And another next year. I’ll keep forging them until the very end—so we’ll never forget the years we shared.”

His words are muffled against your clothes, but they carry the same warmth they always have. Three decades, and not once has that love wavered.

The end of you… may only be the end of him.

You will live on—long enough to watch empires rise and fall, to witness the Borisin meet their end someday.

But his life, his fleeting eternity, all you can hope for is to spend it beside him.

Yingxing loves you.

Truly.

And he will love you until the very end.

A soft gasp escapes you before you fully awaken, eyes fluttering open to meet the pale gauze surrounding you. You shift slightly, pulling away from the fabric.

“Are you feeling alright?” The deep, slightly raspy voice is unmistakable.

After all, the man beside you is your beloved—Blade.

You hum softly, trying to steady yourself. There’s no reason to feel this way—not over a memory like that.

And yet… Something unfamiliar lingers in your chest.

“I had a sweet dream about you…” you murmur, almost hoping he doesn’t catch it.

But he does. You know it by the way his hand finds yours.

Ever since Blade accepted Shuhu’s curse and turned his focus toward destroying the Abomination, his body has changed—healing, stabilizing. Especially his hands.

And with that, you’ve gained something unexpected. A Blade who reaches for you. Whether in public or private, his hand is always in yours now.

“A ‘sweet’ dream about me is enough to upset you?” he asks. There’s no irritation in his tone—only concern.

For someone named Blade, he is unbearably gentle with you. And the thought that he might be the cause of your distress unsettles him more than anything.

A soft laugh escapes you as his free hand idly plays with your hair. “It was bittersweet,” you reply, shifting closer before burying your face against his chest.

He huffs quietly, unconvinced, sensing the lingering weight in your voice. Another memory? He doesn’t know. So instead, he pulls you closer—tightens his hold, presses a quiet kiss to the crown of your head, mirroring what you once did for him when the Mara consumed him.

“Go back to sleep. We have things to do tomorrow,” he murmurs, masking his intentions beneath casual words.

“…Silverwolf wants us to play with her.” The hesitation gives him away. Because that’s not what matters, these events have been reoccurring for days now.

Your anniversary is only hours away. And you know he has something prepared—something he cannot put into words, but will try to forge into existence all the same.

Because he will love you for eternity. Whether as Yingxing or Blade, that cursed heart still carries something untainted, something pure at all its forms— and that is you.

You blink in confusion, unsure of what he was doing up until his palms press against both your cheeks and pushes them together. Your lips purse into a bewildered pout as your face gets squished. Wanderer can't help but grit his teeth, a sharp smirk on his lips as he feels that rush of cuteness aggression. "What are you doing?" you mumble in amusement before swallowing down the muffin bits that were stored away in the sides of your mouth.

He doesn't say anything right away. Just stares at you silently, indigo eyes tracing your features slowly. He loves every part of your damn face and it drives him nuts. His jaw clenches ever so slightly, but enough so that you notice and realize what's coming.

"Don't pinch—!"

He pinches your cheeks, pressing down hard enough with his thumb that it nearly hurts. He tugs at the squished skin between his fingers and makes an annoyed sounding huff.

"Stop making that face," he demands, brows furrowing in what looks like irritation, but you know it's just him losing self control.

"I'm not doing anything!" you whine, hands hovering in the air awkwardly with the muffins still occupying them. You have no way to defend yourself against his vicious onslaught.

"You're making that face. Quit looking so cute," he continues, giving your cheeks one last squeeze before finally granting you mercy and loosening his hold. But the relief is short lived as he tilts your face to the side and leans down to chomp on the fat of your cheek.

"Heeeeey!" you squeal through a fit of laughter, squirming in his grasp in an attempt to get free.

Your adorable sounds only fuel the flames of his affection.

He nibbles on your cheek lightly, lips pulled into an amused grin. "It's your fault for being so damn cute. Now quit moving," he mumbles against your cheek, refusing to let go.

"Chew on the muffins, not me!" you cry out dramatically, eyes watering from how hard you're laughing now.

"No thanks. I prefer you," he responds without hesitation.

His hands hold your face firmly as he playfully begins to litter your face with hard kisses. He just wants to squeeze you tight and never let go.

"Oh, now you're smothering me to death!" you wail having given up on escaping anytime soon.

The old wooden door of your new home creaks open, revealing a quaint kitchen big enough for a small dining table and a living space to the right. There's a staircase leading up to rooms that you can only assume were sleeping quarters and a washroom. This old cottage was used and quite dusty, but it was much bigger than your measly apartment while living in the lively and busy city of Okhema.

With some dusting and decor that you've brought with you, you're sure you can make this place a home.

However, as you place your luggage by the staircase, three knocks come from your aged door. Curiosity paws at your mind; you aren't expecting anyone to greet you the day you move in and yet…

"Welcome to Aedes Elysiae, neighbor!"

You're greeted with the sight of two older folk smiling with a warmth that you had never experienced living in the city. A sudden visit that you don't find yourself dreading.

"Sorry for the sudden visit, you're probably unpacking and all from just moving in," the woman says, her golden eyes filled with sympathy from interrupting your peace. She's holding a wicker basket of various fruits in her arms—apples, pears, persimmons and pomegranates. Her silver hair is tied into a ponytail that rests above her right shoulder, a beautiful contrast to her golden irises that shine with kindness and youthful mirth. "But we never get any visitors, let alone a new neighbor so we couldn't help ourselves."

"I'm Hieronymus, and this is my wife Audata. We have a son as well, but he's off running errands for us. He's a charming boy, but such a slacker when it comes to finishing his tasks. I apologize in advance for his shenanigans if you ever bump into him," the man introduces himself, reaching out a hand for you to shake. And you do.

His hand is rough from years of farming, you presume. It is firm and strong, but it's not one of intimidation; you would know. With blond hair that rivals the gold of the field of grass surrounding the small village and eyes a pale blue, he looks quite youthful. But his eyes crinkle as he smiles and give way to years of experience of life that you have yet to know yourself.

You give your own name and their smiles grow brighter. "Thank you for dropping by. I would offer you both a meal for welcoming me with such excitement but…" Your eyes trail to the empty home and lack of both furnishing and food.

Hieronymus laughs heartily. "Don't worry about hospitality just yet; you're a new face. It would be rude of us to demand anything of you on your first day here."

"Instead, take this as your first gift here in Aedes Elysiae," Audata chimes in, handing you the basket of fruits. The weight is hefty in your arms and you wonder just how strong your neighbor is for her to carry this with ease. "If you need any help with moving around or getting around our small town, don't be shy to ask us."

—

The morning is chilly as the sun rises up over the golden, grassy horizon. The breeze that pushes through the small village is brisk and nips at your skin; it's a cold that you don't mind even as it bites with every gust. There's nothing about a brisk morning walk by the seaside that can't put you at ease. The village is already awake as everyone begins their day; if the sun is up then everyone is, save for the young children catching up on their rest before their busy days of youth.

The dirt pathway crunches underneath your feet as you walk above the shoreline of Aedes Elysiae, gentle waves wash up against the sand below you. The sound of the ocean and wildlife brimming with life is comforting and you inhale the salty sea air to embrace the new era of your life that you've walked into.

In.

Out.

In.

Bark.

…What?

The soft pitter-patter of paws against the dirt road and the sudden shout of warning alerts you of the incoming danger rapidly approaching. Your head turns towards the direction of the bark, merely catching a glimpse of snow white fur before there's a sudden weight slamming into you. You're knocked off of your feet with an 'oof!' and the world spins before you're looking at the sky from the floor with an eager fluffy dog licking the side of your face.

"Snowy! Oh, I'm so sorry about this!"

The furry creature is lifted off of your body and suddenly you're face to face with the bluest eyes you've ever seen. They twinkle with light like the ocean reflecting the sun as it hovers above and you find them to be the most beautiful shade of blue you have ever seen. His white hair, fluffy and pure like the clouds drifting across an endless sky, is tousled in an effortlessly messy and boyish way that fully complements his eyes.

The sun has branded itself onto the skin of his neck; golden and bright as if inked by the golden ichor that drips from the core of the blazing star. His arms are… honestly, quite big and muscular. It's hard to hide his broad chest underneath the plain white shirt and, quite frankly, you find it difficult to look anywhere else.

He's a pretty man, but one that you aren't ready to encounter in the countryside.

You don't realize you've been staring until the handsome stranger says something that you aren't able to catch, but his outstretched hand and worried demeanor gives enough context for you to answer what you didn't hear. You take his hand, calloused and firm, in yours and you're pulled up with such ease; just how strong was he?

"I'm alright. If anything, I'm happy to be the victim of something so cute," you reply. In response to your words, the big cloud of fluff barks in response and grins at you with a huge dopey smile. "I didn't quite catch your name, I just moved in so I've yet to meet everyone."

The stranger gives you a boyish grin and it nearly takes your breath away with how he's practically glowing with the sunrise just behind him, emulating a halo around his head. Was he blessed by the Titans or something…?

"Phainon, I'm Phainon. You must be the new neighbor my parents talked about the other night," the blue eyed stranger introduces himself. He lifts the pup in his arms and you notice that they both smile in a similar way. It makes your lips pull up into a smile of your own. "And this is Snowy! He's friendly, I promise. He's just very curious and excited."

Ah, is this Hieronymus and Audata's son? Getting an even better look at him, you notice that he's a perfect reflection of his parents— you recall his mother's pure white hair and his father's clear blue eyes as they stare right back at you. Hieronymus is right; he's charming indeed, and you have a rising suspicion that he shouldn't be here by the shore so early in the morning when there are fields of wheat in need of harvesting.

You tell Phainon your name and he repeats it.

"Well, neighbor. Since you're new around Aedes Elysiae, how about a tour? I know this village like the back of my hand," Phainon suggests to you with such excitement that you feel yourself wanting to agree just by the brightness in his smile. "Unless, you're busy that is."

"No," you respond with a shake of your head. "I would love a tour."

The seaside village of Aedes Elysiae is truly small; it doesn't take the full day to explore everything Phainon's hometown has to offer. Everything from the open oceanic view from Voyager's Wharf to the cobbled pathways of the Sacrament Courtyard and the forested areas beyond were all within a walkable distance. All the townhouses and family owned markets or businesses congregate into a compact town square and with a population of only a handful of people, everyone knows each other quite well. As you walk through the quaint village, many people greet Phainon with a smile and a wave and he returns the gesture with equal enthusiasm.

The older folk free of any responsibility reside in the heart of the village with the young children as they run through the old, cobbled streets with no expectations on their shoulders. And yet as you and your two white haired companions make your way closer to the center of it all, the children begin to ease their gait and the older folk speak in hushed whispers.

Curious eyes follow you around, an unfamiliar face is something rare for anyone in Aedes Elysiae to see. And slowly, like grains of sand trickling through an hourglass, you've become swarmed by children and old folk alike.

"Hello, how's the city like?"

"What made you come here?"

"Is it true that droma are everywhere in the holy city of Okhema?"

"Do you have a partner?"

Huh?

The questions swirl around you like a dizzying tornado; before you're able to answer one question another is quickly pelted at you. Small hands gently tug at the hemline of your shirt or grip your arm to grab your attention; you try to answer everyone to the best of your ability. Those who had no questions to ask were playing with Snowy—his delighted barks mix in with the clamor of the sea of curious children.

But it's a bit overwhelming and by the tenth question you can feel Phainon gently pull you aside to shield you from the swarm of eager people who have yet to venture past the golden fields of Aedes Elysiae.

"Alright, let's give our new neighbor some room to breathe," he announces with arms outstretched to gently herd them away from you. "I'm sure they'll be glad to answer all of your questions another time." You hear the collective groan of everyone, but eventually one by one they bid their farewells to you and you finally have the space to think. Snowy whines softly at the kids saying their goodbyes but quickly rejoins yours and Phainon's side; his furry tail gently whacks against your legs.

You can hear the soft chuckle from the man beside you and your gaze is immediately redirected towards his direction. Phainon is smiling at your frazzled appearance, eyes twinkling in amusement as you try to recalibrate yourself and catch your breath from the sudden attention.

"Hard work being the celebrity in town, huh?" Phainon teases you gently and you sharply exhale at his jest. "Sorry. Again, a new face always gets everyone in high spirits."

"No need to apologize. Though, I guess I shouldn't have trusted my tour guide to protect me from my new fans," you shoot back. Phainon blinks in surprise at your jab, clearly not expecting you to match his energy. Your hands reach down to pet Snowy; the large, fluffy dog seems to appreciate the attention and gives you a big dopey smile with each gentle scratch to his fur. "I'm just not used to the attention."

"Someone from the big city not used to this many people? That's a surprise," your white haired companion comments as he leans down as well to bury his hand in Snowy's white fluff. "Shouldn't this amount of people be normal to you?"

You can tell he's merely curious and that none of his words hold ill will to them; how could they when his eyes hold a sincerity that was never shown to you in the city of Okhema.

A pure blue.

"There's many people, sure," you begin with a heavy heart, as if the words you speak take a toll on your spirits the more you recall the memories before moving here, "but everyone's so busy with life that no one has time to enjoy life. We work to live over there, and it gets so lonely the longer you stay."

"It was so suffocating, I hated every living second of it," you continue to pour your heart out to your newly acquainted neighbor, something you normally wouldn't do but maybe it's something about his friendly demeanor and the fresh ocean breeze filling your lungs that's letting your small heart open for the first time in a while. "But the people living here are different, in a good way. I just need to get used to being around such friendly people welcoming me to their home."

"Well," Phainon begins with a warm smile that catches your breath, "Aedes Elysiae is known for showing hospitality to any and all guests. I hope you'll find your new home here, neighbor."

You don't know exactly why Phainon chose to listen to you ramble about your city life, but you appreciate the small gesture as you finally unload the little weight on your shoulders. Your heart swells with a feeling you haven't experienced for a long while, but you don't find it discomforting. If anything, you embrace this new beginning with open arms and you hope that it is kind to you in return.

Winter.

Days turn into weeks, and weeks into months. The color of the wheat fields that surround the land of Aedes Elysiae fade into something more muted as the weather begins to cool down. But, like the undying flame that flickers within the heart of the sun, even the dead of winter cannot subdue the sea of golden grass that brings life to this isolated town.

The creeping cold of the winter months does not seem to deter the townspeople either; most continue on their day tending to the domestic farm animals now more than ever since crops are difficult to grow in the frosty air. The distant sounds of livestock mix in with the merry chatter of the excitable youth and working adults keep the town thriving and alive.

With each rise and fall of the sun across the horizon of Aedes Elysiae, Phainon has greeted you nearly everyday during your stay in this fishing village that he calls his home. It has come to the point where it's rather odd to not see that familiar tuft of white hair outside your cozy cottage or those ocean blue eyes that you've come accustomed to peering back at you when you're walking around Voyager's Wharf.

He's always where you least expect him to be—on your doorstep with another wicker basket filled with today's harvest from his parents' crops, bumping into you while taking a stroll on the dirt paths surrounding the ocean side with Snowy galumphing beside him adorning his signature dopey grin, by your side as you help the elderly in the village's small town square with their own errands or tasks for the day.

And even now as he helps carry and move your furniture inside your small home in Aedes Elysiae.

Your eyes follow the taller man as he pushes your couch into place in your living room; it's the last piece of furniture that you've brought back from Okhema and now your home is beginning to finally feel and look like, well, home.

There's a small, wooden dining table placed in the middle of your kitchen with a knitted tablecloth draped over the top. The designs of sunshine and wheat are delicately threaded together and bring a little brightness to your home; a handmade gift from Audata. Various pots and pans and other dishes now fill your cabinets—you hope one day you'll have enough ingredients and plates to host a thank you dinner for Phainon and his family for being so kind to you.

In your connected living room, Phainon is draped over your old, beaten up couch that he himself had lugged into your home and shoved into place according to your directions. The cool azure has long faded into a dimmer shade, but that doesn't take away from the comfort that it still offers. The fire in the hearth of your stone fireplace crackles with warmth, the embers encasing your home in an intimate glow as the sun begins to set across the ocean's skyline.

Your friendly neighbor is just as worn as your couch after lifting and pushing around your heavier furniture pieces around your quaint home. His chest heaves slightly as he catches his breath and his skin has a sheen of sweat that makes him glow golden from the warmth of the fireplace before him. His snow white hair is messier than usual from laboring in your home; white tufts sticking out in places you didn't know they could and you resist the urge to flatten them down.

You thank the Titans for gracing you with Phainon as your neighbor; had it been anyone else less handy or friendly you're not sure you would've been able to find your home in this place anytime soon.

"Thank you for helping me move all my stuff in," you thank your neighbor with a warm mug of hot cocoa pressed to the side of Phainon's face. His body perks up at the ceramic on his skin and he turns from the fireplace to face you, gratefully accepting your act of gratitude with both hands and a bright, boyish smile.

The one that you always feel your heart fluttering at.

"You really didn't have to."

"But I wanted to."

His reply is simple, and you know that he means it sincerely.

"I'm more surprised you know how to brew hot chocolate, being from the city and all. Are you sure this isn't poisoned?"

Oh, he wanted to play this game?

Your eye twitches at his dig and you reach over to snatch away the ceramic mug from Phainon's hands. Unfortunately, his reflexes are quicker than yours. His arms lift up higher than you had aimed for and, not expecting the sudden movement, you find yourself toppling over the back of your well-loved couch and flopped over onto the plush cushions beside your white haired neighbor. He's looking down at you with an amused smirk and you so desperately want to wipe it off of his pretty face.

"Give me that back, jerk. You don't deserve my gratitude anymore," you huff from below him. You lean over his lap, an arm outstretched into the space in front of Phainon's face while your other hand flattens itself on his thigh to leverage yourself up. Your fingers graze the ceramic mug and you almost snatch away the warm liquid away from the grinning madman above you.

But Phainon is quicker than you are. His long arms extend to its full length high above the both of you and far out of your reach and you can hear his soft, airy chuckle as your determined expression falls.

There it is again; those pristine pools of azure that reflect the wavering flames of the hearth peering back at you. They're filled with mirth and delight at gaining the upper hand in this situation and seeing you seethe below him, but your blazing anger dwindles down as you stare into the endless sky above you. His tufts of fluffy, messy white hair frame his face, seemingly soft to the touch and your fingers twitch. From this angle, he truly resembles his pup and you wonder if the texture will also be similar.

Phainon is hot, his heat emanates from his body and consumes you from the proximity of your body to his. Compared to the heat of the hearth, it's like the sun has found its home in his soul, embracing you in its gentle yet searing warmth. He's closer to you than you had anticipated and there's nowhere to hide from those twinkling eyes as they gaze down at you—and he cannot hide from you either. You're close enough to count how many pure, white lashes line his eyes, the places on his skin where the sun has kissed and left its mark in the form of faint freckles that are invisible from a distance, and the faint blush that runs across his cheeks to the tips of his ears.

You wonder if you have anything to do with that, or if it's just a matter of being to close for only being neighbors.

Probably because you're just neighbors.

As you open your mouth to fire another quick and snarky remark at your smug companion, your stomach grumbles in place of your voice; a low, gurgling growl like the rumbling of a wildcat. There's a thick silence between the two of you as you both digest the sudden noise that erupted from the deepest pit of your stomach.

And then Phainon is laughing; a deep, hearty laugh that comes from his gut and you can feel your cheeks flush in embarrassment. There's a wide, jovial smile that spreads from cheek to cheek; so boyish and charming that you want to wipe it off of his face but can't find it in your heart to do so. He sets down the warmed mug of hot chocolate on the small table by the side of your worn blue couch and helps you sit upright so that you're no longer leaning on his lap, eye to eye with his mirthful gaze.

"That reminds me, my parents invited you for dinner tonight if you're up to it." You can see the corners of his eyes creasing even more as his smile widens. "Though, I think your own stomach gave away your answer before I could even ask you."

A light punch is thrown to his arm and he's laughing again, this time more subdued. Gentler.

Phainon stands up from your worn blue couch, dusting off his trousers with gentle pats. Then, he offers his hand to you, palm side up and a delicate smile that you can't refuse. And with bated breath and a heart that skips a beat, your hand slides into rough palms and Phainon is pulling you up.

His ears remain a dusty shade of pink, but you don't bring it up.

—

Dinner was as decadent and filling as usual; Audata's cooking never ceases to to amaze and comfort you to no end. Every bite of meat is so tender that it melts on your tongue and the vegetables are roasted and seasoned to perfection that pairs so perfectly well with the main course. Despite wanting to be a courteous guest and only eat one plate, every time you finished a portion of food you would find it replaced with another portion and Audata or Heironymus smiling at you with such familiarity and affection that it's difficult to turn down their offers.

"You need to eat well in this weather. Wouldn't want you to fall ill, neighbor," Audata talks to you with such tenderness, as if you were her own, and it completely melts away at your resistance and you let her fill your plate again and again.

Until you're full to the brim of a pleasant home cooked meal with some leftovers in a covered wicker basket to take back home, courtesy of Audata herself.

The winter wind is cruel on your way back home, especially after sundown, nipping at any exposed skin like barbed wire whipping at your body. It is unforgiving as it blows nothing but dry, cool air to your exposed face until your cheeks and nose are cool to the touch and numb of any sensation. Yet, with nothing but frigid air greeting you as soon as you exit Phainon's home, your heart is tender and warm from the loving dinner served to you with amicable company.

And warm from the person who followed you out of his own home and now walks side by side with you in the night, your basket of leftovers held in his hand and an embroidered lilac scarf around his neck.

It's silent between you two with only the distant sound of the sea lapping up against the shores of Aedes Elysiae and the crunch of the dirt underneath your shoes filling the the space between you. Quiet, but not awkward in the slightest. Although the walk to your home isn't far, you appreciate his effort to escort you in the night.

"Sorry for my parents," Phainon's words break the comfortable silence, his voice quiet to match the surroundings of the night. "They can be a bit much, but they mean well. And they like you."

You exhale sharply, a soft laugh, and your lips curl upward in a smile. Your head turns to look at him; Phainon is bashfully looking at you, a timid smile on his own lips and his free hand rubbing the back of his neck in his embarrassment.

It's cute.

"Don't apologize," you begin, "I'm not used to this type of affection from family, but I don't hate it."

There's a flash across Phainon's expression. His eyes widen slightly and his brows fly up for only a millisecond; there's a question on the tip of his tongue but, thankfully, he doesn't press any further.

"Good, my parents have so much love to share. I'm sure they won't mind letting it overflow into you," Phainon continues the conversation with ease. "Not that you have a choice. They're fond of you, you know?"

There's a certain tenderness in the way he looks at you, like even he reflects the endearment of his own parents. His blue eyes are warm, reminiscent of the sea by sundown when the remaining rays of light cast the gentle waves in a golden light.

Affectionate and inviting; does he share the same sentiments? The question is on the tip of your tongue, but the cold freezes your mouth shut.

You take a wrong step forward and your hand brushes against Phainon's. For a second, the warmth of his hand seeps into your skin like an invitation to wrap yourself around it to flee from the chill of winter. Instead, an apology slips through your lips in a soft murmur and you pull your hand away.

The warmth of Phainon's body seems to melt into you as his hand darts forward, enveloping yours in his with one swift movement. The heat from his palm pressed into yours melts away the frigid air surrounding you two and you can feel your heartbeat pick up in tempo; an accelerando that you can't control no matter how much you try to calm yourself.

You don't pull away.

"How was winter in Okhema like? Livelier than Aedes Elysiae, I presume," Phainon asks. "Did you get to spend it with your family?"

You shrug your shoulders. "It was lively and enjoyable when you had the people to share the season with. Often times, my friends would be spending winter with their own families so I wasn't able to spend many winters with them."

You take a breath recalling the memories of your family. "But whenever my family was able to visit me in Okhema, those winters weren't too bad."

A weight seems to float off of your shoulders as the recollections of your winters in the city begin to resurface. Not that any of them were too remarkable; often times they would be lonely as your family chose to stay home for the colder season or the weather was too rough for either of you guys to go and visit one another. But the times that were good felt so good and comforting that you couldn't help the warmth flooding to your chest as you begin to recall them.

You tell them all to Phainon, who is eagerly listening to every word you say; every tale of family or friend back in the city is met with an attentive nod and a gentle tug of your hand when you're too invested in a story to notice the rock in your path.

Before you know it, your small home is in sight—a yellow tulip hangs by your door with wind chimes dangling at the bottom of the wooden green stem dances in the wintry winds, a gentle tinkling melody sings through the night. For once in this new life of yours, you don't want to go home just yet and leave the comfort that you find in this intimate moment shared with a man you never would've expected to grow fond of. But the destination is inevitable and you're standing face to face to your white haired neighbor outside the front door of your humble home.

"Sorry, I was talking so much about myself and Okhema. You should've told me to be quiet." The heat rises to the back of your neck and your free hand reaches up to bashfully rub the burning skin. "I'm sorry if I bored you with all that."

There's a gentle squeeze to your hand; your eyes flit up to meet his and you're met with nothing but the softest smile grazing Phainon's lips.

"Don't apologize for something like that," he begins, with a tilt of his head. From this angle you can see those azure eyes of his so clearly—lustrous and kind, twinkling with something you can't quite decipher just yet. "Why would I stop you from sharing a part of your life with me?"

You don't answer, letting the calm winter night do the answer for you.

"…I have a friend living in Okhema now, actually," Phainon brings up as the silence finally settles between you two, effectively breaking it with a new conversation with a smile so gentle it could soothe the swirling winds coming from the sea.

"Oh? A friend… or something more?" You gently nudge him with your shoulder and Phainon chuckles softly before shaking his head.

"No, just a good friend. She grew up with me in Aedes Elysiae and only left recently for a new job opportunity," Phainon continues with gentle smile. "I'm happy for her, and of course I supported her decision in leaving."

He pauses briefly, taking a deep breath as the memories flow like a movie behind his eyes; a movie you can't see but, from the warmth that seems to grow in his visage, you didn't need to witness it all to know they were cherished and dear to him. "But things have been lonely without her, I won't deny that."

Something sombre twists in Phainon's expression; your body instinctively urges you to try and comfort him in the way that he comforted you in the small moments leading up to this. But the fear of overstepping a boundary you aren't sure of freezes your body in place and all you can do is listen to him.

And yet there's a certain fondness in his eyes that turn such a cool shade of blue so warm when he looks at you that stirs your heart; it skips a beat and your breath hitches at an unfamiliar but not unwelcome feeling.

"That's why… I'm glad that you've moved here. Having a new face to welcome in has really made this small town feel less small, despite the said person being so small." Phainon's words would have moved you greatly, but you gently shove him again with your shoulder after hearing the gentle diss at your height. He laughs heartily, filling your chest with something tender. "There, a part of my life shared with you in return for sharing with me."

There's another pause in the conversation; not awkward, but one fitting of the amicable atmosphere shared between two friends. A cool breeze rushes past you, chilling your body to the bone. Your body stiffens in response and a shiver travels up through you from head to toe—there's a sharp exhale of laughter in front of you.

"You should head inside now, it's getting late, neighbor," Phainon tells you, letting go of your hand in the process. There's a pang in your heart at the empty space, but you don't dwell too much on the feeling.

Phainon's nose and the tips of his ears are rosy, nipped by the frosty winter air. Yet, there's not a hint on his face that indicates that winter is even present. He's grinning from ear to ear with stars dancing in his eyes; mirthful and joyous as he is nothing but spring incarnate and you are the sole victim to wintry winds.

Through delicate, quiet chuckles, your messy white haired neighbor unravels the knit scarf around his neck and drapes it over your shoulders; the lilac yarn is soft as it touches your skin. It's still warm from absorbing Phainon's body heat and the scent of the sea breeze and fresh linen fills your senses as he wraps the scarf twice over your neck—you want to bury yourself into it and get lost in the newfound comfort he seems to bring you.

Spring.

Luckily, the dreary winter season seems to come and go in the blink of an eye and, before you know it, your days begin to stretch a bit longer and the sun starts to warm the earth with rays that kiss the surface at the break of dawn and don't disappear until the moon has decided it's her time to soothe the busybodies of Aedes Elysiae. Even the cold surrounding the small town of Aedes Elysiae seems to brighten up, not that it ever was dull in the winter, but the changing seasons bring a change of mood and a new harvest.

The markets and businesses that make up the small town square slowly fill with life as more and more produce begins to sell and seeds for future harvests are displayed for the local farmers to get their hands on for the welcome of spring.

The welcome of a new season.

Phainon's family's farm isn't too far from your own home, you know this quite well from one too many trips to his place for dinner; his mother always had the excuse of making too much and that leftovers were a hassle to deal with and how could you ever say no to her. Audata and her son were truly one and the same with their ability to utilize such a pitiful expression on their faces and team up on you to stay for a meal or two.

Though this time, you're offering something for once; the same wicker basket used to carry goods from Phainon's household to yours and back filled with a warm lunch that you've prepared yourself. It isn't much, but it's something homemade and made with love that you hope would be enough to convey your thanks for being so kind to you since day one.

Phainon's farmhouse peers above the dirt road as you approach it; the distant sounds of the farm life awake in the early afternoon are evident signs that the whole household is busy at work. You spot Phainon's mother first; her silver hair shines brilliantly in the sunlight and her golden eyes seem to brighten up more than they already are as she recognizes your figure at the entryway of their farm. She is carrying a large bundle of hay near the front of their home, a small group of lambs tail behind her as they try to steal some of the dried grass before the rest of them can. Their own mother nips at the little rascals even though she's clearly stealing a couple strands of hay here and there as well.

"Oh, greetings neighbor!" Audata chirps, throwing the dry grass in one of the nearby bins before turning to you with a smile brighter than the sun. "What brings you here, dear? My son, perhaps?" She sends you a playful wink and you feel the heat rising to your cheeks at her teasing.

"Not really? I made you guys lunch as thanks for taking care of me so many times." You meekly hold up the familiar wicker basket and Audata's smile melts into something more endearing. "I thought that this was the least I could do… for a friend and his family."

The wicker basket is taken from your hands accompanied by a knowing gaze from Audata, but she doesn't tease you any further. "You're such a sweetheart. I'm sure the meal you've prepared for us is going to be delicious. I'll call my husband inside since he's near, but my son is a bit farther away into the fields. Would you be a dear and call in Phainon for me?"

The trek into the fields of their family farm is a bit daunting; the sun is bright and high enough into the sky to illuminate everything in your path, but the fields seem to be continuously rolling in every direction that you're worried you'll either get lost or not be able to spot your neighbor. Or perhaps it's intimidating because you'll have to see your neighbor, your handsome and charming neighbor that never seems to fail in making your days brighter even through the darkest times in winter.

Is it excitement that's thrumming in your chest? Your stomach is flipping, but you aren't sure of the reason why. Maybe you missed seeing those messy tufts of silver and those beautiful, crystalline eyes that never seem to stop glimmering when looking at you.

Yeah, that's all.

As your eyes scan the field to your left, you're met with a familiar body hunched over green bushes. There's a large wicker basket strapped to his broad back filled to the near brim with orange carrots and a straw hat resting on his head to block the sun from his face. Your heart skips a beat when he stands to his full height; a loose gray-ish shirt cut off at the sleeves that allowed his built arms to be on display, the collar of said shirt dips low enough to show his collarbone and the muscular chest that teases you just enough, and his blue eyes hazy from the labor and heat of being on the field. His tattoos, a golden sun on the base of his neck and shoulder and a ring that crosses his chest, shine in the sun, almost as if his skin was inked with the golden ichor of the gods.

A gloved hand reaches for his collar, pulling it up to wipe away the sweat accumulating on his face and you catch a glimpse of his navel; small tufts of white peek through for just a moment before his shirt falls again and you're met with those familiar, those gorgeous seas of blue as they twinkle like sunlight reflected off of the sea at the mere sight of you.

"Neighbor!" Phainon calls out to you with a boyish grin spreading across his lips. You've seen this cute smile one too many times; you've grown used to his charms and how he seems to get even prettier with the sun shining on him directly. But seeing such a sweet smile in contrast to the appearance of his body stirs your heart in a way that you can't quite determine whether or not feels good.

Your scrambled thoughts are quickly shooed away as your neighbor saunters over to you. With every step he takes, his sculpted body and sweat-stained skin are even more prominent and you send a quick prayer to Kephale in hopes of keeping a sane disposition in front of him.

The shade of his straw hat cannot hide the excitement of seeing you on Phainon's face—if he had a tail like Snowy you're sure it would be wagging so hard that it would be sore tomorrow. Upon closer inspection, you notice some streaks of dirt on his face. He must've made the mess from wiping away his sweat throughout the day.

You pull out a small, folded cloth from your pocket and hold it out to him; a small blue handkerchief with a small purple dromas embroidered into the corner. Phainon peers at down at it with curiosity before he leans down closer to your height, to your surprise.

"What brings you here?" Phainon asks, closing his eyes with a flutter of his white eyelashes. They're long and beautiful, much to your dismay—must he always be blessed in every which way? You slowly unravel the small handkerchief from your hands and reach over to gently wipe away the sweat dripping from his forehead and the dirt smeared across his cheeks.

His face is soft under your touch—a contrast to the roughness of his hands, you mentally note. With every graze of your fingers against his skin, Phainon leans closer to your touch.

"I-" You begin, but your voice cracks from the nerves threatening to leap out of your skin. You clear your throat and try your best to ignore the heat spreading from your chest to the tips of your trembling fingers. His eyes open; he's already peering down at you, the corners of his eyes crinkling as an affectionate smile sprawls across his lips and the handkerchief nearly slips from your fingers.

He's looking at you like you hold the life of the planet in your hands and your heart thumps against your chest, threatening to leap out the longer you bask in Phainon's warmth. Can he hear the simple beating of your heart? You hope not.

"You…?" He trails after you, no hint of pulling away from your hands that rest comfortably on his cheeks. If anything, he looks right at home resting in the palm of your hands with his beautiful blue eyes twinkling with nothing but mirth at the mere sight of you. The corners of his eyes crinkle a bit more and he scrunches his nose in response to your eyes trailing on his visage; cute, but you don't tell him that,

"I brought some lunch over. Your mother told me to call you in to eat together."

His smile seems to grow at your news. "Will you be joining us for a meal?"

"I only made enough for you all. Besides, I've already eaten lunch before heading over here. I couldn't possibly stay for more than I need to," you explain.

"Aw, shucks. That's unfortunate. You'll break my ma's heart…" Phainon's expression seemingly falls, the metaphorical ears and tail that were upright and wagging before now drooping as his expression melts into something more pitiful. With his face still in the palm of your hands, it's dastardly how a mere pout from him could tug at your heartstrings in such a way.

With a heavy sigh, your shoulders slump in defeat and you don't even need to look at Phainon's expression to know he's perking up at your demeanor. Your finger and thumb pinch at his cheek, his punishment for taking advantage of his mother and himself to manipulate you into whatever he wants to do. "Fine, but only this once."

"You said that the last fifty times we've invited you to a meal at- Ouch!"

You're already walking away from your neighbor at this point, escaping his teasing words by creating some physical distance. But his feet carry him right by your side in a few easy strides like they always do.

—

Aedes Elysiae seems to be bursting with life as Anthos Day, the day celebrating the Spring Solstice, looms just beyond the corner. The children eagerly whisper to one another as the hours of light begin to get longer and the season begins to warm; allowing for more playtime in the evening before the sun sets to signal the end of the day. The elderly talk amongst themselves, brainstorming of what dishes to bring to celebrate Anthos Day and share with the other townsfolk; your ears perk whenever someone mentions something that piques your appetite and you send a silent prayer that they follow through with their promises.

The younger adults are busy with their own harvests as well, preparing the most bountiful crops and animal products to share with others or flowers to decorate the quaint village with. There are eager teens helping their parents paint eggshells for the annual egg hunt hosted for the youth; the bright pastels of each painted shell are decorated with delicate designs and soft palettes and you take a mental note to snatch at least one during the hunt.

The morning is cool, but the rising sun encases Aedes Elysiae in its creeping warmth as a new dawn begins. Birds begin to wake with a song to greet the break of day with the gentle waves rolling along the shorelines of your small town as the harmony supporting their interwoven melody of chirps and tweets.

Phainon is sitting beside you, his knee bumping into yours occasionally as the two of you hunch over your kitchen table. The white and blue gingham tablecloth is littered with various wildflowers and golden stalks of wheat which would occasionally be picked up by deft or unskilled fingers alike. As the season of Spring makes its grand appearance in Aedes Elysiae, it's tradition for wreaths of flowers or wheat alike to be adorned by all in celebration of Anthos day.

Your fingers aren't as adept to weaving strands of plants together as your neighbor is, even with his careful advice and guidance, your wreath isn't as… grandiose as you would like it to be. With the flower stems weakly braided into place and empty patches scattered here and there, your wreath looks more like… a sad, rope of flowers tied together with a knot, especially in comparison to the beautiful golden wreath that Phainon has woven in the midst of your pleasant conversation from earlier.

You try not to bring any attention to your little attempt at weaving, but your silence from the conversation is enough for your neighbor to notice. As blue eyes peer down at your lap, a sympathetic smile grows on his lips.

"You're… not quite good at this, are you?" There's a playful lilt in his tone and usually you would attempt to fire back anything in response, but the embarrassment of your limp and measly wreath overpowers the need to punch him.

"I mean… I tried? Maybe I'm just not built for this. I could always buy one-"

"Hey, come on now. You shouldn't give up just like that," Phainon interjects with a gentle tone. All playfulness has melted away into something much more tender and caring as he scoots his chair a little closer to you. "Here, I'll help you. See this? You'll have to make a knot here and then loop it…"

Phainon's fingers have taken a hold of your flimsy wreath, gently weaving and braiding the flower stems into the correct way in order for the wreath to form and take shape. They lightly brush against yours as he guides your own fingers to follow his directions. Although his teaching is clear and concise and with the additional hands-on learning, you're sure to get the weaving by the end of it. The only issue is…

You're aware of his proximity to you; how close his body is to yours, his rough fingertips grazing along your skin as the wreath slowly gets braided, his warmth seeping into you as his thigh presses against yours. The smell of fresh laundry, the sea breeze, and light, clean citrus intermingle with your senses and it's all you can think about as your neighbor's arm brushes against your own.

His voice is gentle, so sweet and calming, as he instructs you through the process of weaving a wreath and you find it almost addicting to listen to. Not that he didn't have a nice voice until now it's just… maybe it was the changing of seasons that's affecting your hearing and your senses.

Phainon is just a friend, after all. A friend who happens to be so kind to you and be attractive both in physical appearance and in regards to personality.

Honestly, the old grannies of Aedes Elysiae were right in their desire to have him as their future grandson-in-law; he's always so helpful to the community in this small village. Even when he's playing hooky with his parents, he would never turn his back to the people around Aedes Elysiae that need his help. He's never far behind in aiding the older women carry their groceries or harvests back home or playing with the cheerful children running amok along the dirt roads.

It just so happens to be that he's charming in his appearance too.

You wonder what his future partner would be like; would they get along with his family as well? Would they be just as beloved in this small village as he is? Would he be showing the affection that he shares with you to them as well? Or perhaps he would stop it with you altogether so that they wouldn't feel weird about your relationship? Would they also share meals with his family and be invited over for meals? Would they get to see the cute smile Phainon always shares with you when he meets their eyes?

Would he stop being your friend if they asked him to?

You know that wouldn't be the case; Phainon isn't one to ditch his friends for a loved one. At least… you hope that he isn't.

The thought of being distant with your dear friend because of a future significant other pains you, the thought of no longer being welcome to his family alone strikes your heart with a grief you didn't know could hit you.

"You listening, neighbor?"

Yet, when Phainon calls your name to bring your attention back to the importance of weaving wreaths, the anxieties eating away at your mind seem to ebb away. Like a lighthouse guiding the ships to the safety of their docks, Phainon has become your safe haven. You didn't realize how much he affected you and your daily life.

Just a call of your name and suddenly the fog of winter has cleared and spring has emerged to guide you to its warmth.

"Y-yeah, I am."

The wreath of flowers have come to fruition with the aid of Phainon and the colorful blooms are so beautiful woven into one another. If you had compared it to the flimsy one you had made earlier, you wouldn't have believed that that turned into something so pretty.

"I can't believe we made this…" You whisper in disbelief, holding up the braided flora in your hands. Phainon chuckles softly, a large hand holds onto your wrist so can he gently push the wreath away so he could see you. Twinkling sapphires meet your own, playful mirth swimming in every hue as the corners of his eyes crinkle with his beaming smile.

"No, you made this all on your own. I just helped you a little bit." His voice is just as warm as he is, like the sun had melted away into one with his soul. You wonder if he would entertain you if you told him that you'd want to listen to it forever.

"Oh, please. I couldn't have done this without you, Phainon," You counter back with a quiet laugh. The morning sun's rays shine through the window, casting a bright and homey glow into your kitchen. The blues and yellows of the flowers of your wreath pair well together; they remind you of someone. Blue like the vast ocean that holds the world's beauty in every wave and yellow like the golden sea of wheat that billow in the wind; each a reminder of your new life built in this small fishing village that you never would've expected to love so much.

Blue and yellow, like the wildflowers that grow on the grassy meadows near the forest bordering Aedes Elysiae—forget-me-nots, as Phainon had once told you before—and the ones woven into your beautiful wreath. Remembrance and connection.

Blue and yellow, like the colors that always bring you to peace. Blue and yellow, like Phainon.

Your hands raise the wreath once more, high enough to reach over your neighbor's head until it's placed gently on top a sea of fluffy white hair. Your fingers brush against the tufts; soft, just like Snowy's. He's looking at you with wide eyes, surprise etched into his expression and the softest dust of pink along the tips of his ears—was it getting warmer already? He looks like a prince of the forest with the braided wildflowers on his head; the perfect example of elegant beauty, a person blessed by the gods.

"But if this is all mine, then allow me to gift this beautiful wreath to someone worthy enough for it."

Phainon chuckles at your words, light and airy, before he lifts his own golden wreath. The stalks of wheat rest on your ears as his fingers gently place them down, calloused fingers softly brushing against the side of your cheek as he pulls away from your face. "Then, allow me to do the same."

With a bright smile, you spritely turn your head from side to side to model the golden wreath sitting on top of your ears.

"What do you think? Won't we be a pretty sight at the festival with these?"

"Yeah."

His breathy, quiet response to your playful question catches you off guard. Your eyes flit up to meet his and you're met face to face with the most tender expression Phainon has ever given you. His eyes are half lidded, smile barely curled up into something sweet, and, with the sunlight hitting him at just the right spot, he's glowing with something you can't quite put your finger on. He's made of starlight, and you fear you've become addicted to the warmth of his radiance.

As his eyes, that beautiful shade of blue that you've come to find your solace in, gleam at the sight of his golden wreath of wheat stalks shining brilliantly in your hair, you've come to a realization all on your own.

You like Phainon. You like him a lot.

—

You aren't exactly quite sure how you got here adorning a pair of borrowed overalls and some worn out boots as you crouch down in the golden grass. The woven straw hat sitting on top of your head blends you in with the surrounding flora and your slow movements could hardly be heard through the hot breeze that sifts through the field of grass.

Well… Correction. You do know how you got here. One cute neighbor requesting your help and taking advantage of his pretty face; how could you ever turn him down? Maybe you've grown too much of a soft spot for him. Who knows what kind of shenanigans he'll get you to do, like hunting down the baby chicks that happened to escape the coop right before the sun has set. Luckily, by the time you've got there, Hieronymus had managed to capture some of the little rascals.

Chirp.

Chirp. Chirp. Tweet.

The sound of tiny, little tweets catches your attention and your head snaps to your right. A handful of small, plump feathery chicks are bundled up beside one another hidden beside stalks of golden grass. It seems like a majority of the missing ones are here, thank goodness. But figuring out how to snag all of them without losing sight of any…

You inch closer, careful not to make any sounds or sudden movements. A hand slowly reaches outward with fingers stretched to hopefully scoop them all in one go and-

"Hey! Get back here!" You exclaim as you lunge forward. Two chicks have successfully been captured, but the other two have scattered off in two different directions. The captured duo seem to chirp and squirm within your grip and luckily the pocket in your overalls is deep enough to comfortably hold them so your hands could remain free.

Quick on your feet, you dash towards the escaping babies with clumsy grace; your city body isn't quite used to running around in boots and trampling through golden grass but here you are doing so anyways.

The chicks are faster and much more agile than you are clunking around in clothes you're unfamiliar with. But, thankfully, you've outsmart the young chicks and with one more jump forward, you've collapsed to the ground with heavy breaths, the remaining baby chicks squirming in your hands and the other two chirping incessantly in your front pocket.

Phainon greets you with a whistle as you return to the coop all rustled up; four baby chicks tweet and wiggle and writhe in your pocket. There's a smug grin tugging at the corner of his lips and his eyes rake over your body to take in every detail—your hair is a mess, there's dirt everywhere on your clothes, and you're sweating profusely from chasing around little chicks amidst the farm. Truly, you're the definition of beauty and grace at this very moment.

"Babies gave you a rough time, neighbor?" Phainon teases you, following your movements as you trudge forward and drop off the little fluff balls into the coop. They chirp incessantly before huddling into their mother's bosom after a shrill squawk.

"Yeah, all thanks to you," You grumble. You wipe away at the sweat on your forehead with your arm, causing a small chuckle to arise from the man beside you.

"Here, you're making a mess of yourself." A familiar small, blue handkerchief with a purple dromas embroidered in the corner is handed to you; correction, your own handkerchief is handed to you.

You take it, narrowing your eyes at the grinning man before you. "I was wondering where that went. You stole it from me?"

"More like keeping it clean and safe for you," He says with a simple shrug of his shoulders. "You're welcome, by the way."

It smells like him, you notice as you unfold the little handkerchief and hold it to your face—the all too intimate scent of ocean breeze, clean linen, and faint citrus flood your senses as you gently wipe away the sweat and grime of the day off of your face. When you meet his gaze again, he's giving you that look again; his head tilted at a slight angle, eyes softening at the sight of you, and smiling like you have all the answers he has been looking for.

It sends your heart racing.

"You missed a spot, neighbor." Phainon's voice is gentle, tender in all of the right ways as he raises his hand closer to your face. You flinch initially when his finger brushes against your skin, but his warmth is an addictive feeling. Fingers calloused from years of experience working as a farmhand wipe away the remaining dirt from your cheekbone; a delicate touch, as if he were handling the most precious porcelain. "There, pretty as always."

His words strike a chord within you, one so consonant that the overtones ring through every part of your heart. His compliment is small and yet your chest is so light, it feels like you could fly.

"So you think I'm pretty?" You jest, a feeble attempt at calming your nerves.

"I do." And he crumbles it all with two simple words. Warmth floods your cheeks, burning you up from the inside. You hope that he's joking, but your heart skips a beat seeing the sincerity gleaming in his eyes. His gaze never leaves yours; if anything, the seem to glow brighter at your reaction to him. His thumb brushes against your cheek again as his palm rests against your jaw to hold it—you can't hide your expression from him now.

"I really do think you're pretty."

"You shouldn't say things like that. People will get the wrong idea." Your gaze falls to anywhere but your neighbor. Phainon can most definitely feel the heat radiating off of your face at this point; your heart is hammering so hard against your chest, carrying the blood to the apples of your cheeks and the tips of your ears. You want to disappear and, at the same time, melt into his touch.

"That I like you?" He asks, a lilt to his voice. "They wouldn't be wrong then."

"Is it okay to kiss you?" Phainon's voice is barely above a whisper, but they're louder and clearer than ever to you. Your eyes finally meet his when he calls your name; endless blue takes your breath away. It's like a melody to your ears the way your name falls so easily from his lips—he has called it countless times but in this very moment it falls with a perfect cadence.

You nod your head.

When his lips finally meet yours… it's honestly quite clumsy. As the nerves eat the both of you alive, Phainon leans in a bit too fast and crashes into your lips. Your noses bump, your teeth clack against each other in an awkward way and, in shock, the both of you pull away with wide eyes and parted lips before hearty laughter fills the space between you two.

"I'm sorry, let me try that again."

His lips press against yours in a sweet, yet simple kiss. It's one that shares the months of yearning shared between the two of you in these months of rebuilding your life in Aedes Elysiae; soft, affectionate, and sentimental. When you begin to pull away, thinking it was over, Phainon's strong arms pull you back in for another kiss. And another, with his confessions of love murmured to you in between each kiss.

A kiss or two to celebrate a new love, and a new beginning.

Though you’ve lived in, or, you should say, been housed in Natlan for what feels like forever by now, there’s one thing you’ve quite never have gotten the chance to properly familiarize yourself with. One could be of the opinion that you have missed out on a plenty of things, that having evaded such an essential part of the land’s culture could be considered blasphemous, yet you’ve never felt the need to be more closely acquainted with the heart of the traditions.

You’ve always watched the wild saurians from afar, never quite daring to approach one yourself. They’re majestic animals — charming, intelligent and strong — and they have been walking by the tribes’ side for centuries, but you can’t help but feel like the part of your spirit that supposedly connects to the creatures’ own isn’t quite vigorous enough. 

The babies? Incredibly endearing. The tepetlisaurus younglings are adorably plump in shape and playful in personality — at least the ones you’ve seen Ifa work with. You don’t think you’ve ever heard of a case of the little ones causing anything worse than surface-level injuries to unlucky adventurers, but the case isn’t quite the same with the adults — which is exactly what you think you’re about to witness. 

The saurian’s claws tore right through the double layer of clothing on your arm. The fabric didn’t stand a chance despite being designed for the specific purpose of protecting its wearer from talons and teeth alike. The creature, more than twice your height, stands a few meters ahead of you with your very own blood staining its nails. Even with your less-than-poor saurian communication skills, it’s not difficult to pick up on the hostility emanating from it. For a moment, you contemplate pulling a fast one on the animal and skittering right back in the direction you came from, but with how it practically hurled you to the ground, you believe that even the delay of having to get your butt off the ground could end up sealing your fate.  

You’re not certain what exactly ticked the creature off. Frankly, the matter of possibly overstepping the saurians’ territory wasn’t on the top of your mind as you burst through your prison’s window and ran head first into the Natlan wilderness. Though, a quick glance around the area would have served as enoug of a warning, now that you think about the matter: The burrows covering the ground should admittedly have been enough of an indicator of tepetlisaurs roaming about.

To your horror, you come to think that Ifa failed to ever enlighten you about the proper way to proceed when attacked by an adult saurian. He made sure that you would know how to deal with the babies just about immediately after imprisoning you, but never did he feel the need to teach you how to go about the grown ones. Technically speaking, he has a valid reason for not doing so — you were never supposed to end up in a situation where you would have to think about such matters — but even someone like him should have foreseen a time when you would manage to break out of the house.  

Letting out a low, guttural growl, the tepetlisaurus takes a step closer to you. The ground quakes under its weight, and its eyes, bright orange in colour, are locked on your form with the sort of predacious intensity only the beasts at the very top of the food chain are capable of. 

Slowly, you plant both of your hands on the ground on either side of your behind. Keeping steady eye contact with the creature, you drag yourself backwards. Hardly registering the searing pain that shoots up your arm and the trail of blood you leave in your wake, you begin backing off from the animal, listening to the only wildlife survival instinct you have. 

The saurian doesn’t take the hint. Or, it does, only with the completely opposite result in mind compared to what you were hoping for. In the same, measured pace, it starts creeping towards you, making a low-pitched, menacing growling noise. Its tusks, much sharper than what you ever saw in the pictures, point directly at your contrastingly pitiful form. 

Never before have you gotten to experience the feeling of such primitive dread as having to play the role of a prey. Terror flares up in your stomach as you realize that the creature is slowly catching up to you. Growing closer and closer, its mouth falls ajar, and you’re faced with the sight of the razor-keen edges of its jaw. 

For a split second, you break eye contact with the tepetlisaurus to glance at what you’re backing up towards. It takes a moment for the sight of the bedrock wall a mere few meters away from you to register in your brain. 

It must know, you think in the back of your mind. Frantically, you skim through your rapidly decreasing options. You could try to scare it away with yelling, you could throw a rock at it, you could attempt to slip away to the side, or maybe you should try climbing up the wall... Yet, none of the solutions you come up with hold any potential to them: Though you’ve only ever seen Ifa feed crackers to the babies, you have a faint recollection that the adults are, in fact, carnivorous, and they’re prepared to chase their meal. 

Your back makes contact with the cliff. Startled, you make the mistake of averting your gaze from the animal once more, and in the split second it takes for you to flick it back, the saurian has taken the chance to steady itself. You take a moment to comprehend what the creature is doing, but as the sight of its prepare-to-lunge pose straight from a textbook example image reaches your retinas, you don’t get to do as much as let out a scream. 

You squeeze your eyes shut and bring your arms to shield your face. 

Then, as if an intervention of the high deities themselves had been bestowed upon you, a swishing sound pierces through the charged air. As your lashes flutter open, you’re faced with the blurry sight of pale turquoise bullets flitting at the saurian like shooting stars soaring across the sky. 

Something lands on your head. After a brief moment of panic, you recognize the blunt claws of Ifa’s plump qucusaurus companion scratching at your hair. 

”Hurt! Hurt!” Cacucu screeches from the bottom of its lungs. For a good second, you wonder if the stupid chicklet is trying to join in on the assault, but as you read further into its shrill, panicked tone, its intentions become clearer. 

Promptly, the man himself drops by your side. He leaps down from the cliff above and nimbly lands on the ground with a light thud. With his gun still in hand, he begins firing in the tepetlisaurus’ general direction. The shots, meant not to wound but to intimidate, fly a mere few inches past the creature’s form. 

Trying to save what little is left of your escape plans, you whisk Cacucu off the crown of your head and lunge to the side. Ifa, however, is having none of it, and his gloved hand is latched onto the back of your collar faster than a tatankasaurus could sprint past the Stadium of the Sacred Flame. He yanks you right back to him, causing a strangled sound to break out of your throat as your shirt catches on your neck. 

”Easy now”, he warns you. Though his tone is as calm as ever, you can see the way his jaw clenches. 

After a few more bullets fired towards it, the tepetlisaurus, frightened by Ifa’s intimidation, turns on its heels, burrows into the ground and disappears from sight. You follow its trail with your eyes, gazing at the crackles in the dirt it leaves in its wake. 

Something prods at your injured arm. You turn your face down to discover that Cacucu, with a few of its feathers dishevelled and sticking in various directions, is pecking at the side of the gash, insistently trying to catch your attention. As you shift your hand to the side, it promptly climbs into your lap, making itself comfortable atop of your mud-stained legs. 

Ifa spins his gun around his finger a couple of times before sliding it back into its holster on his waist. Letting out an exhale, he finally turns his attention to you. You don’t raise your gaze from where it’s fixated on his companion nestling against your thighs, for you know the moment you do, you’re going to have to meet his eyes. 

The hand gripping the back of your collar loosens its hold. Out of courtesy, he makes sure to tug the fabric up and pull it back into its place. 

”Hurt”, Cacucu repeats again, gently butting its face against your upper arm. 

”Yeah, I know”, Ifa sighs. ”Thanks, buddy.”

Carefully, he ushers the qucusaurus off of you with a light push on its behind. The creature hops off to the side where it seemingly continues to observe the situation intently. 

The adrenaline coursing through your veins has run its course, and the effects begin to make themselves known. Gradually, as your heartbeat settles down and your shoulders fall back in their place, you regain the sensation of pain in your limb. Looking down at where three distinct claw marks adorn the side of your forearm, you only now realize how deep the lacerations are. 

”Let me have a look at that”, Ifa then leans towards you, beckoning you closer with a curling motion of his hand. 

”Don’t touch me”, you scoot away from him. Pulling your hand to your chest, you finally raise your head. 

In contrast to your expectations of what his expression might look like — angry, disappointed, worried, vexed, completely livid — there’s nothing much going on on his features. If anything, he seems oddly calm, considering the situation at hand. Nevertheless, you weren’t born yesterday: It would be difficult to miss the pearls of sweat that stick to his forehead, and the crease between his brows is a dead giveaway of what’s truly occurring in his head. 

Once again, Ifa lets out a huff. 

”Either you start being cooperative, or it’s gonna be another tranquilizer shot. It’s your choice”, he tells you.

There it is. It doesn’t show on his face, but the man is seething inside. You understand him to some degree: Anyone in his deranged state of mind would be mad at their precious little treasure hopping out of the window while they’re knee-deep at work. Yet, to shield Cacucu from the outburst, he has decided to keep his emotions in check for the time being. 

Hesitantly, you rest your injured arm down on your lap. Ifa moves to gently take hold of your wrist before peeling the shredded sleeve up to your elbow. He tuts his tongue. 

”We’re gonna have to put a few stitches on that when we get home”, he makes his judgment on the gash. ”I have an anesthetic on me if you’d like some on it in the meantime, though. What do you say?”

”... I’m good”, you shake your head. 

There’s an indiscernible look in Ifa’s eyes. However, the glint doesn’t linger, and he proceeds to promptly fix his hat before averting his gaze. His hand slides past the wound site and instead goes for your own. His fingerst interlace with yours in a grip a little firmer than you would like. 

”Well, then. Let’s get going”, he plants his free palm on the ground as he pushes himself up.

Pulling you to your feet along with him, he quickly scans over your travel-soiled figure with his eyes. You flinch as he reaches for your hair to pick out a dried leaf stuck to the strands. 

 ”You didn’t make it too far out”, Ifa comments, letting out a lukewarm chuckle that fails to convey any amusement whatsoever. “Better luck next time”, he adds.

His lord narrows his eyes; it’s redundant to cover you at this point and each time actually. You’re both delaying the inevitable of him seeking pleasure by coddling you. However, he doesn’t question the housekeeper further. The chase is a bit of fun game as well. “I see. Please, bring the soup to my room. I’ll take care of feeding her and make sure she gets plenty of rest.”

Thoma sighs, forced to acquiesce, praying for you inwardly. “Of course, my lord.”

🖤

“You do know quite well walking around in the feverish state won’t do you any good,” you hear the damned voice from behind.

It was only a matter of time your spouse would have found you — he might know you better than you know yourself anyway. You turn around in your chair with a pout framing your displeasure, even if your heart races at him blocking the entrance to the library.

There’s a general one in the estate, and a smaller one you’ve been occupying out of the knowledge no one usually comes here. “Ayato… I’m not that fragile.”

Said hunter chuckles at your grumpy expression, and does not deny nor confirms your claim; instead, he comes closer and offers his hand for you to stand up. He even appears appeased by your form when he takes in your disheveled state from head to toe, finding you beautiful regardless of your flu — if not more than he does everyday. “Come on. You should be lying under warm futon, not straining your brain with historical readings.”

You having no choice — as been pressured to subject yourself to his “tender care” many times before — grasp the hand and raise your body, despite the heaviness that begs you to sit again. It’s useless to fight him on this one thing, as he is capable of outsmarting you on it.

You witness his eyes soften at your lethargic movements, as much they zero in on you.

“How do you feel?” he inquires through the corridor walk, arm around your waist for support.

“Sick,” you grumble with slight sarcasm, causing an amused chortle.

“You’re in good hands, then.”

Inside your shared room, he breaks his promise. Seeing the tray with food was delivered onto the low side table already, he takes the place on futon and pulls you onto his lap. “Ayato!” you whine through the warning to let you go, struggling to get out of his grip in this weakened state. You know what he’s about to start.

Unbothered, his arm huddles your side to his front. “Hush. You’re stirring your nerves unnecessarily,” he chides just above gentle. To him, it’s easy to twist the narrative in order to prove that you need him to aid your recovery. He does not mind the heat of your fever, or the trembles it brings. “I merely feel the responsibility to make sure you’re getting nutrients and hydration. And if your hands are shaking…”

(Which should be a normal charity for a husband to offer, and you so believe there would be no problem for you if anyone else were to treat you this way. The issue is in the way you hold a hunch he’s taking pleasure in your dependence; you simply have no evidence other than the subtle hints to cause suspicion, therefore, despite your malaise, you budge every time.)

“They’re not that uncoordinated,” you argue with frustration, despite how shaky you feel.

Ayato smiles knowingly. With his arm still around you, his hands pick the bowl of miso soup and a large spoon dedicated for the dish, moving your body lower along with his, then up again. “Then please, do it yourself. I wouldn’t doubt your independence.”

You stare at him with mock shock— to dare to try to crush your convictions, using your sickness, and win the chance to feed you is dirty. So you are stubborn and pick up the ceramic spoon first; yet as you’re about to grab the bowl too, the spoon drops and splashes into the soup he safely withdraws from your light-colored clothes.

You look at it, then up at the jubilant expression of the man you think of murdering sometimes — affectionately said at most.

Unfortunately, he only enjoys such temper more than he’d ever despise it. It’s certainly enjoyable to have your attention this way than winning it through forced submission or lack of mind to challenge him.

“I suppose it means you have no choice other than giving in to my loving touch,” he teases, eating your growing annoyance with eager eyes.

When you don’t answer, only drill your disgruntlement into his nose, he knows you don’t have anything left. He still offers you a cheek kiss, even as you grimace from the possibility of him getting sick himself. You gulp when his hungry-self notices your shoulder revealed upon your pretty robe slipping off it, and quickly adjust it — you don’t need him getting motivated physically when you’re sick as well. You doubt he’d mind your congested state.

“Ayato…” you clear your throat and look at the soup in his hands.

Ayato smirks at your fluster. Still, he remembers his goal. “Does that mean my beloved wife finally accepts my help?” His question is light, meant to disarm your ongoing reluctance, as if no lust existed before. He blows away the steam, then lifts the spoon full of soup, and offers it close to your lips.

You sigh, opening your mouth. Swallowing the delicious liquid down your throat, you don’t like the way he’s already watching out for your emotions’ relaxation. Not innocently, if hoping you’d cling at him.

“Not too hot, right?”

You shake your head, also slump it onto his shoulder from exasperation and exhaustion. Your illness doesn’t help your mood.

“Does your head hurt?”

You shake your head again. Thoma’s herbs do wonders sometimes.

“Good… I promise you’ll feel better soon,” his words come with something else than just softness — a bit appeased, a bit serious.

In any case, he must have taught you to require his help on your own. As your stomach gets filled and his own warmth seeps into your skin, also hearing the occasional praise, you begin to swim in the pleasant numbness and peace everything provides. You already were tired prior to him coming home, so it’s easy to sink into his chest some more; he rewards that by holding you tighter.

“Yes, like this… you don’t need to worry about anything…” he encourages gently; with your eyes becoming blurry, he does appear loving. It’s just his heart beating a thrum erratic that exposes him.

You cannot care much, dosed with his heat comforting your chills, and with the way he occasionally pats your head after placing the spoon inside the bowl just for that hand to be used for such pleasures. Instead, you succumb to the rhythm of him feeding you, no longer able to keep up with the occasional glances of greed at your vulnerability. You believe he’s so warm you don’t even need a blanket, welcoming you to stay longer.

“I trust Thoma has given you your medicine?” he asks after placing the empty bowl away.

You nod, looking at him through half-closed eyes. You should probably lie down, but he’s so comfortable, and…

You’re already dozing off, holding onto his clothes.

Not that he’d mind — he’s surely enjoying himself, stroking your hair to lull you into sleep on him. In his mind, you don’t need anyone else to take care of you. No servant, no friend, no family member when you’re sick. He covets your attention all for himself, you needing him, as much as he covets you — while he’s conscious of his selfishness. Perhaps it is not healthy to hope for his lover’s weakness, but…

It’s not as if he’d let any harm come to her. The type of husband to kill in the name of his love, if he must.

“Sweet dreams, dear wife,” he wishes pleasantly right as your eyes close and miss his possessive indulgence of violet eyes all sharpened.

You’re something, someone, no one can take away from him, unlike others who were ripped away from his life in the past.

The first sign of danger was the cloying, saccharine smell that consumed every inch of the room. It was as if the air had been replaced with pure perfume created to appeal to a specific victim. 

Kabru’s eyes fluttered as he recognized the scent of Utaya’s fields, especially the moments when the breeze would roll across the wheat and envelop him in a warm hug. Then, there was the hint of Milsiril’s kitchen, which wasn’t a scent he would usually describe as appealing. Yet, it sunk into his skin and made his heart clench.

To Mithrun, the petrichor was faint, but recognizable. It was just a hint in the back of his mind, bringing up a split second memory of the rainy, rolling green hills of the Northern Central Continent. Since the demon, though, he’d never been particularly sentimental of his home. As if the source of the scent read his mind and realized that, the perfume in the air gently switched to something savory, like elf cake. He didn’t care about that either. Again, the scent switched to wildflowers. He didn’t care about that either. And once more—

Succubi were so annoying, so invasive. Mithrun sighed and nudged Kabru with his elbow, “There’s monsters nearby.”

Kabru caught on almost immediately, “Succubi?” Without waiting for an answer, he glanced over his shoulder at you, of all people. His expressions weren’t as well-guarded when with you and Mithrun, and the Captain recognized the concern that flickered over his face. Mithrun’s hand twitched with the urge to grab Kabru by the hair and redirect his stare elsewhere, perhaps onto the life-sucking mosquito monsters that were slowly approaching from the shadows. 

The dungeon was a collapsed ruin, but still traversable to those determined enough. You had insisted on coming with Mithrun on one of his regular explorations of the ruins. Once Kabru had discovered that you were going with Mithrun, he insisted upon coming along as well despite his obvious distaste for the place. There was some deeper reasoning behind his decision, Mithrun knew. Whether or not you knew that, though, remained to be seen. 

There was rubble in the corners and moss growing between the cracks in the stones. One wrong step and the ceiling could easily fall. It was wise to have more than one person when encountering a succubi, yet all the times Mithrun had encountered them in the past had ended up in his favor. The succubi didn’t quite know what to do with him. He cast you and Kabru a wary glance, though— you two were far more susceptible. 

“Just stay close,” Kabru said as he took a careful step forward. He reached out a hand behind him, grabbing for your wrist. You let him take your arm, and Mithrun felt his shoulders tense. 

“The wisest thing to do would be to cover your eyes,” Mithrun mused. As he spoke, he took your other hand. In response to that, Kabru released your wrist and also held your hand. For a moment, you felt like the rope in a game of tug-of-war. It wasn’t the worst feeling, but perhaps one of the most confusing. 

Mithrun and Kabru led you through the ruined room. The shadows were thick and alive with the scuffling of feet, the brushing of wings against the wall. Kabru did his best to hide his concern, but his adams apple bobbed as he swallowed down whatever he was feeling. A quick glance at Mithrun confirmed that the Captain was not at all bothered by the cloying scent of succubi, their calling card and greeting. They could strike at any moment, yet he remained calm. 

“It will be fine,” Mithrun’s voice cut through the tension, “just close your eyes.”

Kabru sent him a look over his shoulder, “‘It’ll be fine’ is easy for you to say, Captain.”

“It is, the succubi have never really known what to make of me.”

You imagined a life-sucking, giant mosquito monster just staring at Mithrun as it tried to process what it was seeing. Yet, just the other day, Mithrun had expressed a small desire for a specific dish. 

You snorted, “Your desires are coming back, though. You never know, it may take the form of an unseasoned elf casserole.”

Kabru put up a gloved hand to stifle his laugh, “Yeah, with boiled chicken and white rice without an ounce of salt.”

You could practically feel the heat of Mithrun’s stare on the back of your neck. “Elven cuisine is an acquired taste.”

“As in… once you actually acquire taste, you’ll move onto much better food?” You asked. 

You would’ve liked to share a high-five with Kabru over that one, but the familiar buzz of a mosquito interrupted the laughter. The three of you froze as a flicker of mana filled the air. Mithrun didn’t seem worried, this succubi obviously wasn’t for him, but—

Kabru put out an arm in front of you as if to shield you from… yourself. 

An exact copy of you stepped out of the shadows. Its eyes were wide with a look that could only be described as desperate desire. Its cheeks were flushed and brows furrowed, every ounce of attention focused precisely on Kabru. 

Both you and Mithrun looked at him. 

Kabru cleared his throat and looked away. The red on the tips of his ears was undeniable. 

How were you supposed to feel about that? Flattered? There was some flattery in it, though it was mixed with mild horror at the absolutely breathless and desperate version of yourself that he apparently desired. Was that what you looked like? You were sure you never made a face like that. (You did, last week when Melini had a heatwave and Kabru had fetched you a glass of water. The memory haunted him.)

To your right, Mithrun raised a shaking hand. His shoulders trembled a little and he closed his eyes. His brows furrowed as he exhaled shakily. He looked as if he was only held together by a thin piece of string and a wad of chewing gum. The sight made your heart skip a beat in panic until you noticed the slight twitch of his lips. 

He was trying not to laugh. 

You choked on air. Kabru also choked on air, but for a very different reason. The succubus copy of you slowly sauntered toward him– you do not saunter like that, you would never saunter in such a manner, with that hungry look in your eyes and your lips parted ever so slightly. Horrifying. But like all good horrifying things, it also made you want to kneel over and start laughing until your stomach hurt. 

“Kabru,” you gasped, barely holding yourself together, “You—”

“Shut up!” He snapped as he took several steps back, “Don’t overthink it! It’s nothing! It’s–”

Mithrun interrupted with a heavy, resigned sigh. He took a casual step forward and touched the succubus version of you on the shoulder. Its eyes widened and it tensed, but before it could react, it was gone. You were pretty sure he teleported it into a nearby wall, judging by the muffled, strangled hisses coming from nearby. 

Kabru was still red, “I can explain.”

“I don’t think that requires an explanation,” Mithrun said flatly. 

“You know what?” He glared, “Not everybody can be as unaffected as y—”

Another buzz, another footstep on the stone floor. The three of you froze once more as another succubus stepped out of the shadows. 

It was also you. 

Fortunately, this version of you was much less desperate. Yet there was something about it that reminded you of a painting in a cathedral. Perhaps it was the look in its familiar eyes, the sheer love and affection it held as it stared at Mithrun as if he was the only person who ever existed. 

“That’s not mine,” Kabru said.

And it obviously wasn’t yours. Both you and Kabru looked at Mithrun. 

The Captain was tense, his body taut like the string of a bow. His fingers twitched at his sides as he stared at the succubus. His good eye was wide and he kept blinking as if that might help clarify the existence of a version of you that looked at him so adoringly. 

He schooled his expression and casually pointed at the love-struck succubus, “That’s not mine.”

“Of course it’s yours!” Kabru snapped, “Who else’s could it be?!”

Mithrun only shrugged. The soft tinge of pink on his cheeks betrayed his feelings. 

Once again, you were at a loss of what to think. It was sweet. Your heart fluttered and emotion filled your throat. Yet, did he truly desire for you to look at him like that? Did he lie awake at night, wondering what it would feel like to have every ounce of your attention on him, to value him so dearly that you were incapable of seeing anyone else? The very idea knocked the breath from your lungs. 

Except, Kabru ran a sword through the adoring, angelic version of you, and the mosquito monster screeched in a very not-you way. Mithrun only grimaced and chose to stare at the wall instead.

“Okay, so hopefully that’s the last of them,” you said. Your cheeks felt very warm. Kabru and Mithrun both desired you, though in different ways. You didn’t think that was possible. There was nothing more you wanted to do at that moment than run and hide and mull over possible explanations for what you’d just seen.

“Wait,” Mithrun stretched out an arm in front of you, “there’s one more.”

Despite his serious tone, awkwardness permeated the air. You were practically choking on it, unable to breathe normally because all your body could process was sheer embarrassment. Kabru’s ears were red. Mithrun looked more dead inside than usual. None of you would meet each other’s eyes. 

The last succubus stepped out of the shadow. First, you saw a brown boot, then a familiar hand, then a familiar face. 

You gasped, holding your chest as if afraid that your heart might burst through your skin. “I-It’s you…”

Mithrun and Kabru both looked at you. “It’s…” Mithrun couldn’t finish his sentence. 

But Kabru could, “Your biggest desire is… The meat pie vendor who sets up shop on the corner on Thursdays?!”

He said it as if that was a bad thing. 

The meat pie vendor smiled seductively and held out a fresh, steaming hot meat pie. You took a step forward, your hand trembling as you reached for the treat. 

“You don’t even want him romantically!” Kabru yelled, “You just want him to give you food!”

Once again, he said it as if that was a bad thing. 

Before your hand could brush along the flaky, warm exterior of the meat pie, Kabru pulled out his sword. Mithrun grabbed a broken piece of wood from the ground. It happened too quickly. There was no time to defend your desire. You gasped as the sword ran through the beloved meat pie vendor’s stomach, and as the wood was teleported through his neck. With an inhuman screech, the succubus collapsed to the floor. 

Your friends, who wanted you, had just killed the one thing you wanted… Your heart was torn in two. 

It was a complete mystery why both Mithrun and Kabru stormed out of the dungeon without saying one word to you. You were the one that should’ve been mad. 

Still, as you took Kabru’s hand in your left and Mithrun’s in your right, they both gave your fingers a light squeeze. 

Still, “We’re never doing this again,” Kabru said. 

Mithrun nodded. You grimaced. And none of you ever spoke of it again.