patiently waiting for e2 jingliu

Slick dripped down your thighs, your tail lashing wildly as instincts overrode reason. The three men had been circling you for hours, their possessive scents mingling with yours in the dimly lit room, where shadows clung to the walls and the air grew heavy with musk and anticipation.

No more holding back.

They surrounded you now, eyes locked on your form with an obsession that made your pulse race and body shiver.

Phainon hovered closest, his white hair tousled and falling over those piercing blue eyes, his frame trembling with barely restrained need. He whined softly, a sound that vibrated through his chest as he leaned in, his hands gentle yet desperate on your shoulders. 

Reaver stood at the edge, his eyes burning with silent hunger. His fists clenched, but he didn't speak—actions were his language, and right now, they screamed possession. 

And Khaslana huffed from his spot nearby, his scarred frame tense and ready. “You're ours, kitty,” he growled, voice rough as gravel. “No escaping this heat.”

It started with their tongues. Their tongues hot, wet laps against your skin that ignited every nerve. Phainon nuzzled your neck first, licking a stripe up to your ear while his whimpers grew louder, his cock already throbbing hard against your thigh. “Please, [name]... need you so bad,” he breathed, theres cracks in his voice as his tail wagged furiously. 

Reaver joined silently, large hands spreading your thighs as he licked a slow path up your slick hole, tasting your heat with deliberate strokes that made you arch. Khaslana gripped your tail base, yanking it to expose you more, then buried his face between your legs, licking and biting your inner thighs.

Your claws extended instinctively, raking down Phainon's arms in sharp drags that left welts, drawing a high-pitched whine from him. “Ah—! [name]—scratch me, make me yours,” he gasped, but the others snarled possessively, drawing you into their midst.

Reaver paused his licking to press a grounding kiss to your thigh, his gaze steadying you amid the surge. Clothes tore away in the frenzy, their thick lengths springing free, veins pulsing and knots promising to lock you in place and claim you as theirs.

The heat surged hotter, demanding they claim you fully. Phainon guided your head down first, his blue eyes wide and pleading as he nudged the leaking tip of his cock against your trembling lips. “Take me in your mouth, p-please?... wanna knot in your mouth, feel you swallow me,” he whimpered, voice breaking with desperation. You parted your lips, tongue flicking out to taste the salty pre-cum beading at his slit before he pushed forward. 

His shaft stretched your jaw, thick and hot as it slid over your tongue, filling your mouth until the swollen knot bumped your lips. You sucked greedily, hollowing your cheeks and swirling your tongue around the veined underside, drawing broken whines from his throat. His hips jerked shallowly, fucking your mouth with increasing urgency, hands trembling in your hair.

At the same time, Reaver and Khaslana maneuvered you between them, sandwiching your body in their muscular frames. Reaver positioned himself in front, his scarred chest pressing against yours as he lifted one of your legs to hook over his hip. His dull eyes locked on yours, silent intensity radiating from him as he aligned his cock with your slick entrance.

Khaslana crowded in from behind, his rough hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise, yanking your tail again to tilt your ass up. “Both of us are gonna take this tight hole. Gonna stretch you wide for our knots,” he stated, rubbing his thick length, nudging it at your dripping hole.

They didn't hold back—Khaslana thrust forward roughly, his blonde hair falling into his face as he snarled, “Fuck, so wet for us. This heat's made you perfect” Reaver followed his rhythm, silent but forceful, his eyes fixed on your face to gauge every reaction. Inch by inch, they buried themselves deeper, the burn of the stretch blending with the overwhelming fullness that had your heat-flushed body quivering. 

You sobbed around Phainon's cock, the stretch burning fiercely as their heads breached you inch by inch.

“S-so full…” your muffled voice cracked, tears streaming down your cheeks from the overwhelming invasion. Slick gushed out, easing their slide, but the fullness made your walls clench erratically.

Your claws scratched at the blankets, then reached back to rake across Reaver's arm. Reaver groaned and continued to thrust steadily, his free hand cupping your face to wipe your tears, then leaning in your shoulder blades, pressing soft and comforting kisses to your shoulder, his lips lingering to soothe the intensity without a word.

Khaslana snarled behind you, slamming deeper with rough snaps of his hips. “Fuuuck— look at you taking us both—such a good kitty” Their cocks rubbed against each other inside you, veins dragging along your sensitive walls, knots swelling and grinding at your entrance.

The pace built quickly, their cocks sliding in and out in tandem, knots swelling and grinding against your rim with each plunge. Slick coated their shafts, easing the friction as they double-penetrated your hole, the sensation of being so utterly claimed sending sparks through your nerves. 

Phainon's whines escalated, his thrusts erratic as your mouth worked him relentlessly. "Gonna knot... oh—! [name], your throat— fuck—swallow my cum, pleasepleaseplease—" he begged, sobbing, mixing with his moans. With a final buck, his knot popped past your lips, locking in your mouth as hot spurts flooded your throat. You gulped it down, some overflowing to dribble down your chin, your claws digging into his thighs in response, scratching red welts that made him shudder and whine higher. He stayed tied, hips twitching as he rode out the waves, blue eyes glassy with tears.

Reaver and Khaslana didn't slow, pounding your stuffed hole in tandem—Reaver's steady rhythm contrasting Khaslana's brutal force. Their knots inflated fully, catching at your rim before forcing in together with wet pops, sealing them deep. Cum erupted in thick ropes, mixing with your slick and overflowing around the ties.

Khaslana bit your shoulder hard, leaving a mating mark that broke skin. “Feel us breeding you? No one else gets this.” Reaver's arms banded around your waist, pulling you flush as he spilled silently, his lips trailing soothing kisses along your jaw, a quiet anchor amid the intensity. Your body trembled, claws raking down both Reaver's and Khaslana's arms, making them groan in pain and pleasure.

The knots held for long minutes, their bodies pressed tight around you, tails entwining with yours in possessive curls. Phainon finally softened enough to pull free, licking the cum from your lips with a whimper. “Taste so good mixed with you, [name]... wanna cum in your hole now...” As Reaver and Khaslana withdrew with slick, obscene sounds—leaving your hole gaping and leaking, Phainon flipped you onto your back gently, sliding his cock into the messy heat, desperate to finally be inside you.

“Phai—! w-wait too full—!” The glide was effortless, your walls fluttering around him as he thrust deep, tears streaking his face.

“So perfect... filling you up, kitty. Bite me—mark your mate.” He leaned down, nuzzling your neck before sinking his teeth into your collarbone, a claiming bite that made you arch and bite his shoulders.

Your hands found Khaslana and Reaver on either side, fingers wrapping around their slick cocks. You stroked them firmly, twisting at the heads and pumping from base to tip, thumbs smearing the leaking cum.

Khaslana grunted roughly, thrusting into your fist. “Yeah, jerk us off like that—keep those hands on your mates.” Reaver captured your gaze, leaning in for a deep kiss, his tongue tangling with yours in silent comfort as you worked him, his scarred hand covering yours to guide the pace.

All three growled and whined with desperation, their bodies leaning into your touch, tails wagging as they begged for more of your heat, your skin, your everything.

The marathon sex stretched on without mercy, the room echoing with wet slaps, growls, and your mingled cries. 

Phainon fucked you with fervent, whimpering strokes, his knot swelling again to lock inside, cum painting your walls as he praised you, "You're ours forever, [name]— ah!" He pulled out eventually, only for Khaslana to take his place, yanking your tail to flip you onto all fours and slamming in roughly.

“Gonna cum in you raw, [name]—no leaving after this.” His thrusts were punishing, claws scratching your hips in return for your earlier marks, knot tying quick as he flooded you, forcing you to lick the excess from his fingers.

Reaver followed, laying you against his chest for a slower, deeper pounding, his eyes watching intently as he kissed away your overwhelmed sobs. “Stay with us,” he murmured, words rough but tender, before knotting and spilling with a silent groan. 

They rotated endlessly—double penetrating you once more with Phainon and Reaver stuffing your hole while Khaslana bites your shoulders and neck, leaving deep red marks.

And then Khalsana and Phainon sandwiching you again, both cocks forcing into your hole from front and back, knots locking in as Reaver fed you his release from his tip. You scratched their chests and backs, drawing thin lines of blood, and then biting your neck and thighs to leave mating marks sealing the bond.

Finally, as your heat recede into exhausted satisfaction, they slowed. 

Reaver lifted you gently into his lap, his large hands cleaning the slick and cum from your thighs with a soft warm cloth from nearby, his lips pressing kisses to your temple.

Phainon curled against your side, whimpering softly as he licked and kissed the bites littered on your tenderly. “We love you so much, [name]. Don't ever leave—stay here, with us, forever.” Khaslana joined, rough hands surprisingly gentle as he wiped your core, golden eyes warm. 

They showered you with kisses.

Soft kisses on your lips, neck, and marks, each of them praising you for taking them like a good mate. Reaver's arms wrapped around your frame, a silent promise of protection, as the room's musk faded into peaceful warmth.

SEPERATE ENDINGS — PHAINON | REAVER | KHASLANA

( ✎ ) I would like to take everyone for supporting me and waiting patiently for the chapters. I had so much fun writing these series and all of you made me really confident about my writing <3 <3 I might do a similar series soon, right after I finish all the remaining asks about the series. Once again thank you all and I love you all so much <333 Take care everyone!!!!

wc— 1694.

You don’t really like snow. 

How it soaks everything wet once it melts away, the biting cold that seeps into your bones during winter, the annoying amount of layering that drowns you under your clothes, the blocked roads, the morning traffic… You could go on.

So to put it shortly: no, you don’t like snow.  

Your phone reads 10:23 by the time you manage to get past the campus gate. It’s December. It’s cold. And this project equals sixty percent of your grade.

All the late nights are showing themselves under your eyes, and the lack of food in your system is making it all the more difficult to tolerate winter.

Cipher is unapologetically apologizing on the phone to your ear while you make your way towards your class building. It was pretty much set that you would meet up around eleven but she has never been the punctual one and you know better than to take it personally. 

“I’ll be there in the blink of an eye, trust me! I’m almost already at the bus stop.” She chokes out confidently with the sound of a zipper being pulled on the other side of the line.

So you don’t really put your faith in her being here any less than thirty minutes.

“See you in an hour, Ci.” There is a loud gasp after that sentence. You just chuckle to yourself and decide to leave her with the pants that she’s having a battle with. 

The smell of frost lingers in the air as you take in the sight of the campus. The snow covers the usual chaos of people existing. It doesn’t take long for the image to form in your mind though: juniors trying to survive on finals week, a freshman begging their professor for extra points, students huddled together for warmth…

The University of Okhema.

It’s wide, it’s beautiful. And yet, it never really stops feeling foreign.

But there was once a time when this place was everything you’d ever dreamed of.

A time when merely mentioning the name would make your heart skip a beat, when you’d ask your dad to drive slower every time you passed by—just to catch a better glimpse of the big, gold stained windows.

You vaguely remember wishing your parents would get a house with the same windows as a kid, in hopes of feeling closer to your dreams.

Now all you can see when you look at the building is just some walls, cement, and a place for education with really nice pancakes for breakfast.

It lacks its old charm, not because anything actually changed. The campus is still the same as all those years ago—if not prettier—and the liveliness does bring comfort to you every once in a while.

The school can get wider and more beautiful each day yet you know you still wouldn’t be satisfied. There are just some things that the heart craves—that are not so easily found back.

You wonder how it would feel if things hadn’t gone so differently, if fate hadn’t challenged you with grief and longing for a special someone. If he was next to you, laughing, enjoying the school with you. 

It rings in your ears sometimes: the moment when you opened the acceptance email. Hugging your mom as the words died down in your throat. 

But when you first stepped into the school with an empty space both next to you and in your heart, you wondered, is this the way of life testing me? Was it supposed to be like this?

Now, when your vision blurs and you lose your footing, you think this must also be one of those moments, where things seem to be going in a way, much different than intended.

It all happens so fast. You only meant to steal a quick glance at the gold stained windows, just for a second, just like you did all those years ago. But it seems you’re punished for doing so. Because the next thing you know, you collide with someone head-on, the impact knocking the breath from your lungs.

As well as knocking your assignment papers from your hands, to the ground—which is soaked from the melting snow.

You hear the man in front of you stumble over his apologies while you struggle to steady yourself, “I am so—so sorry. That was completely my fault, I wasn’t looking where I was—”

The words blur together as you lift your head.

“…Phainon?” 

The name slips out before you can stop it. 

For a moment, the world seems to tilt again. Though this time it has nothing to do with losing your balance.

His face shifts into one of disbelief first, it’s raw and momentary, before it disappears and an uncertain smile forms on his lips,

“Hi?” Is the only thing that leaves his mouth, soft and tentative. Despite his smile, he sounds in much disbelief himself. 

A sharp sting of pain on your temple greets you, sudden and rooted. Then it slowly moves to the back of your eyes, making you blink a few times. And you feel your heart throb, the sudden raise leaving an ache behind in your chest. 

He looks a lot older than you remember. His voice is deeper now, his shoulders broader, his jaw sharper. He definitely didn't tower over you either. If you’d only gotten a glance while passing by, you think, you might’ve not even recognized him. Maybe six years just does that to people—stretches them into versions you don’t recognize at first glance. 

“How are you even—” you swallow the heat bubbling in your mouth, “What are you doing here?” 

The hostility in your voice doesn’t escape him and yet he tries—poorly—to ease the tension. “Well,” he blinks, “that doesn’t sound like a warm welcome.” 

“You’re back?” you ask, memories already sneaking their way into your bones. Biting and clawing at every corner.

The sound of children's laughter echoes in your ears first, sweet and ripe, bubbling in the air like something untouched by worry. Like they haven’t seen a day of unease. You would laugh at the simplicity of it.

Then you get hit with a strong, sugary smell. Something fresh out of the oven, waiting for those tiny, careful steps sneaking into the kitchen in the dead of night. A kid dragging a chair across the floor with all his might, making a sour face at the loud scratch. Another scrambling up after it as she tries to steady herself. You can’t quite recall the flavour, only the small, charming victory of finally stealing a bite of that glazed pie. 

But it leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.

“Yes, it’s only been, what, a week now?” he tilts his head in confusion, his voice bright and clear, “But I think I’m already getting used to things here–”

The words blur after that, you don’t remember the rest of his sentence. Just the cold biting on your fingertips and your eyes watering.

“Stop, please.”

“What?” 

His face drops, and you hear the genuine hurt coming from him, but you continue, “You can’t just come back, and—and—” you cut yourself off, taking a deep breath. 

You are shaking now. You want to believe it is from the low temperatures, or out of fear for failing your class—since the papers are beyond salvaging. But the truth lingers clear in the air. The snow, it seems, isn’t capable of covering that. 

“Oh,” he says softly, “I know how this seems, but give me a chance to—” he trails off for a short second, raises a hand, maybe to you, maybe to hold onto anything else. But it doesn’t quite reach anywhere.

Then he takes in a sharp breath, and continues, “To explain, at the very least.”

To explain. To explain? 

The absurdity of it is enough in itself to make you laugh.

He’s been back in your life for all of five minutes—after six years of silence, not so much as a phone call, and somehow he’s already worn through the last of your patience.

You bend down to gather your mush of an assignment, a tsk slipping past your teeth involuntarily. The smudged ink slides downwards in thin rivers as you lift up the sheets, the now soft and fragile corners of the paper dissolving against your trembling fingers.

“Did you think at all before coming here, Phainon?” the name doesn’t slip out as easily this time, now that you’ve come to your senses. Instead, it is accompanied with a shaky breath and a broken tone. You internally wince at the foreignness of it.

“Trust me-”

“Trust you.”

“I have thought about it. Gods, I have thought about—about a lot.” he's speaking quickly now. You’re not sure if it’s because his pulse is hammering just as strongly as yours, or because he is scared you’ll cut him off again. 

Maybe a bit of both. Maybe it is the longing and emptiness he felt in your absence. You hope it is that. Because imagining a scenario, where Phainon, your other half, didn’t miss you—is so much worse than the pain he caused you these last years. 

It’s selfish. But you think you could have that.

“Maybe we could… Sit down and talk?”

A long beat of silence passes. You stare into his eyes for a good ten seconds. He stares back with raw hope and the kind of intensity that only a certain shade of blue can carry. The steady rhythm of water dripping from your hands pulls a weary sigh out of you.

“I’m going to fail this class.” you say, entirely dismissing his request, and the fact that he is standing right in front of you. To be honest, you are amazed at your own capability to even speak.

He blinks at that. Guilt settling in his features, sharp and immediate.

“You’re not,” he says quickly. His gaze drops to the ruined papers in your hands, jaw tightening as water continues to drip between your fingers.

Another beat. Then, more carefully—

“I don’t… actually have a submission myself, yet.” He lets out a breath, almost sheepish. “I transferred in late. I was supposed to ask someone about partnering up.”

He can’t be serious.

“You can’t be serious–”

“So. Be my partner.”

“Oh my god.”

Yeah. Oh god indeed.

It’s not pushy. Not smooth. If anything, it sounds almost like a plea disguised as a solution. 

You fix him with a look, “Surely you don’t expect me to agree?” the disbelief in your tone evident.

“We can redo it. Together. You won’t regret it.” 

It’s not smart. Not even a little. And yet, somewhere beneath the pride and the common sense, you want to say yes. Because when all is said and done, you miss him. You miss Phainon.

It’s no big secret. Your best friend. Maybe somewhere, sometime in the past, something even more than that. The boy you were certain would always be there—shoulder to shoulder, reckless and laughing. Until death do us part, you’d declared once, dramatic and half-serious in the middle of some stupid promise neither of you thought would ever be tested. 

And yet, here you are.

So, yes. You miss him.

“I’ll talk to Professor Anaxa about the partnering.” Your silence gives him the room for hope. He gladly takes it. With faith in his voice, he continues like it’s settled, “He was pestering me about finding someone anyway, I’m sure he won’t see a problem.”

“I’m not partnering up for an assignment with someone that got into my life fifteen minutes ago.”

Ouch.

That one even hurt you to say out loud. So you can’t imagine what Phainon must feel like. But it isn’t completely false. 

His face shifts into one of—you can’t even put a name to it. He just looks young. Almost childlike. But a child stripped of his usual charm and joy and purity. A child who has seen bad days and is certain there is more to come. You almost want to slap yourself.

“Oh,” is the first thing that leaves his lips. 

You secretly wonder if he’s trying to speak less to hide something else. Something that will give away his hurt.

But Phainon has always been so out there. Whether it’s him, or how he feels. He doesn’t hide anything, doesn’t speak in riddles. Phainon is the exact opposite of mysterious. In plain sight, bearing himself to the world. Here I am, he would say, In all my glory. See me, hear me.

You certainly do know a lot about someone that got into your life only fifteen minutes ago.

“Can we… at least talk then?”

You hesitate.

“This is fucking crazy,” you mutter under your breath, running a hand through your disheveled hair, “I–I don’tknow.”

“Give me your number,” he says confidently, “I’ll call you.”

He doesn’t even give you the chance to respond, hell, you’re not even sure you can. He just shoves the phone into your hand and waits for you to put in the digits.

You tell yourself it would be a hassle to try to run away, turn him down, and smoothly ignore him every time you bump into each other in school. How much of it is honest, isn’t clear to you. But that doesn’t matter. In the end, Phainon leaves with a curt nod, one last lingering look, and your contact info on his phone.

He won’t call, you’re certain of it. And you’ll be left with the ghost of this brief meeting and an unsubmitted assignment.

So you watch silently as his silhouette grows further away, slowly shrinking smaller with each step.

“Twenty-six minutes!”

You jolt at the sound of Cipher yelling from behind you. 

She has her phone raised and she’s waving it around like a white flag, her cat-eared beret is slipping off her head and she looks as if she just came first—or maybe last—place in a marathon.

She’s about to make a smart remark before she follows your line of sight, her steps slowly coming to a stop next to you. 

“So,” she says carefully, dragging out the word, “ex-boyfriend or long-time-nemesis?”

You exhale through your nose.

“Something along those lines.” 

Your first meeting with Phainon happens just before the day of New Year’s Eve.

The streets of Okhema City are busier than ever. There is the scent of sweet rush in the air and some sort of spice that your nine year old self can’t really put her finger on. If you had to guess, you would say something between cinnamon and ginger. 

Every stall you set your eyes upon has way too many customers to even let you see what is being sold. But you already have what your tiny legs dragged you here for: Golden Honeycake!

The sweet aroma floods your senses as you draw in a deep breath, your mouth already watering at the sight of the delicacy resting in your hands. You’ve seen it glowing on screens, heard it praised in passing conversations, and even dreamed of it. Dreams that leave you waking up with a faint sense of loss, aware of the missing sweetness on your tongue.

This is it. This precious moment can not be ruined. 

But fate has other plans for you.

A group of boys only older than you by one, maybe two years. Chests filled with laughter, heavy footsteps. Then, without warning, a big red football—and a very dirty one at that—coming your way at warp speed.

Your sweet, tasty, beautiful Golden Honeycake: on the ground, just inches away from your polka dotted rubber boots.

You don’t even get a chance to glance at the pack of boys, they’re gone in the blink of an eye. And you’re left all alone with the heartbreak and grief of your Golden Honeycake.

Your mourning, however, doesn’t last that long.

“Those boys should watch where they’re going,” small fingers stretch towards you, covering the sight of tragedy beneath your feet, “or shooting, I guess?” 

You raise your eyes up to the boy in front of you—while he is clearly trying to figure out a better way to word out his disapproval for the ones who stole away your dreams.

His hair is bright, and so are his eyes, bright and brimming with life. There’s a certain shine to his smile, the kind that feels unguarded and overflowing with joy. It almost makes you want to smile yourself. Like his warmth spills past the edges, and he has more than enough to share it with the world. 

But when you get a better look at him, in contrast to all of this, you think he looks like—

“...Like snow.”

His outstretched fingers twitch in an awkward little motion, flinching as if you’d pinched him. “I—uh… I was actually asking if you’d like to share my Honeycake?” He steals a glance at the mushed dessert below. “Since yours seems kind of… un-edible.”  

You snort, taking his hand and letting him pull you from your crouched position, your free hand rising to hide your giggles. “You’re supposed to say inedible.”

“Does that mean you agree?” He asks with gleam in his eyes. Why is he that happy to be sharing his Honeycake anyway? You think you would kill a man if it meant you’d get to enjoy the dessert all by yourself.

“You would share it with me?” 

“Of course!” He’s laughing now, it’s a bubbly sound that comes from his chest and fills his cheeks. 

He doesn’t waste much time after that, eager to enjoy the sweet, dips his fingers straight into the Honeycake, unbothered by the mess. So you take it upon yourself to join him, lifting up a piece for yourself. 

“What’s your name?” you decide to ask him, since he was kind enough to share his dessert with you. 

The boy turns to you in a swift motion, you guess that’s just how he is—fidgety and restless. “I’m Phainon! From Aedes Elysiae” he beams a big smile at you, honey dribbling down the corners of his mouth. 

A short laugh escapes you before you can hold it, “Phainon? That’s a strange name.” You also haven’t heard of this Aedes Elysiae he mentioned. “Can I give you a nickname?” you continue without waiting for his response, “Hm… How about—” then you take a sharp breath, as if you’ve made a big discovery,

“Snowy!”

“Snowy?!” he blinks at you, genuinely baffled, “That’s my dog's name.”

“You have a dog?” you let out a shriek. 

“Yeah!” he grins again, his minor outrage already forgotten, “He is suuuper big.” He raises his honey-sticky hands in front of him, spreading them as wide as he can, “And fluffy too! I can take you to see him, if you’d like.”

You gasp at the thought. He’s so—vivid, your answer slips out before you can overthink it. 

“Sure,” you laugh. “I want to meet him.”

Phainon, indeed, does not call.

Instead, he finds you crumbled up in a corner of the school library with a tea that’s gone bitter from sitting too long.

You are trying to piece back your formerly researched information to gather back your assignment when he decides to invite himself to your table. “Working on something?” He greets you cheerfully, trying to maintain his voice quiet.

After your interaction the other day, you kept seeing Phainon around the school. You wonder if it’s because you’re unconsciously paying more attention to your surroundings, now that you know he’s back. Whatever the reason, he’s here now. In your orbit, just a walk on the campus away from you. 

The sight still makes you waver momentarily. 

He sits across from you with ease like the seat was reserved for him and runs his fingers through his light hair. 

The way he just sparks up conversation like he didn’t bump into you a couple days ago, after almost a decade, is quite haunting to you to be fair. The last few days you’ve been spending your nights thinking, pondering, turning right and left in your bed—after all that’s happened. 

Still, you try to keep composure, “Remember those papers that were quite literally dripping from my fingers?” you glance up at him, “Yeah, I’m trying to piece them back.”

You don’t mean to sound so hostile—or maybe you do, just a little. You can’t help it, okay? Not when his voice makes your ears ring, and staring into his eyes for too long makes yours burn with nostalgia. Not when you spent years, paranoid over him being alive or not. 

He does wince a little and sends an apologetic glance your way. That same, guiltful look settling into his features again. He seems to be doing that a lot, being sorry, and you’ve only interacted like—two times. 

“Sorry about that, again. I mean it.” and you know he does, but it doesn’t change anything now. 

“It’s… fine.” 

Is it really?

You feel a little guilty yourself for blaming him so much, because in all honesty, you weren’t really looking where you were going that day either. So it’s not like he’s completely at fault.

You know that there is another reason for your attitude towards him. He knows it too. But you keep telling yourself it’s because of your ruined project. And he doesn’t feel ready to dig deeper, so he keeps apologizing, pretending it’s for them too.

“It’s not just on you. So just stop worrying about it.” you shake your head, “There isn’t anything you can do anyway.”

He sends a smile at your way, bright and hopeful, “I did say we can partner up—” 

“I’ll manage, Phainon.” 

He falters for a second, but it doesn’t take long before his smile makes its way back onto his face. A bit bashful but still sincere. You feel a bit surprised by how quickly he gathers himself back up. 

“I will keep asking, just so you know, the offer will be up.” 

You don’t say anything back to him, just look at his face for a few more seconds. You let your eyes wander down to his lips, where his smile rests. And the familiarity of it almost gives you a headache. 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you mutter quietly as you turn your attention back to your laptop, you can feel his stare on you though.

But Phainon isn’t content with the conversation just ending here, “Do you think you can give me a tour of the school?” 

You snap your head up so quickly the back of your neck hurts from the motion. A tour?

“Me? A tour?” you raise your eyebrows at him, “To you?” 

“Yes,” he lets out a laugh, short and sweet, “Is that so unbelievable?”

“I mean… I’m sure there are far more fitting people for this than me.” you say slowly, like you’re still digesting his words, “And also, haven’t you been here for—what was it?—a week now?”

“A week is a short amount of time for a school as big as The University of Okhema.” he states out like it’s a fact. He isn’t completely wrong, you’re aware, but it’s still weird that he would ask you of all people.

“And what do you mean ‘far more fitting people’? I’m sure you knew the school like the back of your hand even before you got in.” 

Another thing that isn’t wrong, and it bugs you. It bugs you that he’s so right all the damn time. And it bugs you that he speaks like he knows he is right, that he speaks like he knows you. It quite literally irritates you that Phainon knows you.  

You two lock eyes for a second—like you both want to speak on it, speak on the fact that you’re so familiar with each other but are pulling yourselves back.

“I—Of course I know the school… I’m just not sure if a tour is what I’m capable of.” you send a look at him, hoping that it looks at least a little sorry. (It isn’t.) “I can introduce you to people though? I have friends who would be excellent at that kind of thing—like Hyacine or Castorice—”

“I’d much prefer if it's you.”  

That makes something in your chest twitch, but you let out a sigh instead, “Like I said, I don’t think—”

“It’ll take like twenty minutes.”

Will he stop cutting you off?

“I thought you said the school was big.”

“I only need half a tour.” Okay, he’s grasping at straws now.

“Just explore yourself then!”

“I’m bad at that.” he shoots a grin at you, clearly enjoying the push and pull.

“I don’t have time for that Phainon. I have an assignment to—”

“Please!”

And there goes the final shred of your patience.

“Okay! Fine! God.”

He beams a victorious smile, like he just won the lottery. Which, you think, might not be that far off for him. 

Since when was he so pushy? But then again, this isn’t the Phainon who was young and scrawny. The Phainon who spilled out his juice while running to greet you or the Phainon who tripped over his own feet because he was too excited to see where he was going.

This Phainon is twenty-one years old, a lot older than your last time spent together. This Phainon is all smart comeback and getting his way with people. There are a lot of things that stayed the same, sure. But it is impossible to also not spot the differences. 

Like how his voice has changed. You remember it being high pitched and raw. Words spilling out like they come too quickly to his mouth. 

Now they drip with honey. He carries a sweet and gentle tone, bordering on what can be considered low. And every time he speaks, you catch yourself wanting to smile. A big and unguarded one. But that feeling leaves as quickly as it comes.

His laugh is just as you remember it though, radiant and genuine. Bright and hopeful at most times. He still fidgets more often than not and laughs like he can’t keep it in. His eyes are not so different either. Still a color as cold as winter sky, yet warming the soul like a welcoming hearth.

“I’d still like to meet your friends, though.” he tilts his head slightly, trying to catch your eyes.

That’s another thing that has changed in Phainon. He’s greedier than you remember—first asking for chances and to partner up with you, then for your time, a tour, and now to meet your friends, slowly working his way into your life.

“Yeah,” you avoid his gaze, “Maybe another time.”

He doesn’t like the deflection, but doesn’t stall on it either. Just gives a firm nod of his head and looks at you expectantly. 

With a heavy sigh, “Twenty minutes,” you wave your finger at him, “Not a second more.”

Phainon raises both hands in surrender, smile already creeping back. “I’ll treasure every one of them.”

Your eyes linger a second more on his face, regret already beginning to settle in. Then you quickly shut your laptop and shuffle it back to your bag. You raise to your feet and gesture for him to come along. Phainon happily follows behind you.

“Where have you not been to yet?” you ask, looking over your shoulder to him. 

“Uhh…The gym, I think. I’m familiar with the main halls, but I haven’t really been to most of the classrooms or offices either.” he stares at the ceiling like the answer is written up there.

“You want a tour of the gym?” you make a face at him.

“Not just the gym. Like I said, I don’t know my way around at all!” his voice raises a pitch higher, then he mumbles to himself, “This place is like a maze.” 

You let your steps come to a halt as you step outside the library doors. Phainon stops next to you. You pull up the collar of your coat higher to protect your face from the winter breeze. 

“It is like a maze,” you let out a breath, “And cold as hell, too.”

He glances sideways at you, but stays quiet—almost afraid there is more to come to that.

“The fucking snow is like—making it ten times more freezing.” you say, watching your breath form a cloud.

“You don’t like snow—” he pauses, then dips his head to reach your eyes, “—anymore?”

He sounds almost scared to add the last part to his sentence, as if acknowledging the obvious might shatter something he has been carefully trying to rebuild. As if speaking of the past is like speaking of the ill. Like it will bring bad luck should one of you mention it.

You don’t let your eyes meet his, instead focusing on the drifting flakes in the air. Not giving him what he wants: comfort.

“I don’t think so,” you murmur, “At least, not anymore.” 

He doesn’t say anything back, but looks like he wants to. You expect a quiet ‘You’ve changed’ or ‘Since when?’

But none of those come out, you only catch the way his eyebrows raise slightly from the corner of your eye.

You continue walking, trying to keep your mind from stalling on the former interaction. He, again, follows behind contently.

Ideally, this wasn’t how you wanted to spend your free period. You were happy with rotting away in the library and being depressed about your papers.

However, Phainon is an unyielding force. 

So, even though this isn’t exactly how he imagined his reunion being with you—getting shut down every two seconds and almost every word you say being a punch to the gut—he still insists on tailing you.

And you don’t completely hate it. You have accepted it, there is no denying it. Phainon—no matter how many years, no matter how many unanswered calls or unsent letters—will always be so dear to you. So you quietly let him; tail, follow, chase—whatever you want to name it.

“Come on,” you say, trying to lighten up the mood, “There is still half a tour I’m supposed to give you.”

He smiles at that, it feels a bit broken around the edges, but not dishonest. “Where is our first stop?”

“Let’s start with this gym you so desperately want to see.”

“Wha—” he stops in his steps, then runs to catch up to you, “I told you! It’s not just the gym!”

You shake your head fondly, a loud laugh escaping your lungs despite yourself, despite everything.

“Snowy, look! A caterpillar!” 

You crouch slightly, pointing with your finger at the tiny green thing inching its way across the garden.

“Everytime you say that, he will think you’re talking to him, you know.” Phainon mutters quietly from behind you, pointing at Snowy—the dog—with a tilt of his chin.

You glance at the snow-white fluffball at your side. He is already staring up at you with wide, hopeful eyes, tail wagging so hard his whole body sways with it.

Slowly, you turn your head back toward Phainon.

He’s looking at you too.

You let out a snicker and shrug innocently, “Maybe I wanted to call out to both of you.” 

Phainon snorts. “That makes no sense.”

“It does too.”

“It doesn’t,” he insists, stepping up beside you. “How are we supposed to know which one of us you mean if you only say one name?”

You tilt your head, pretending to think. “Well… whoever comes first.”

Snowy barks, delighted, and presses against your leg. Phainon scowls. “That’s not fair.”

You grin up at him. “Sounds like a you problem, Snowy.”

The dog wags harder.

Phainon sputters, “Stop calling me that when he’s right there!”

You just laugh and let yourself roll onto your back, Snowy—the thirteen year old boy—plopping himself down next to you. A brr sound leaving his lips as soon as his skin makes contact with the marble floor.

“It’s getting colder.” he makes a pouty face at the thought of winter. 

“Don’t look so sad, Snowy,” another wag from the dog, you pet his hair from where you’re resting, “The winter isn’t all that bad. You won’t feel the cold if you wear thick enough. And there will be snow everywhere—we will be making snowmen real soon!” 

The boy seems to brighten up at the image, “You’re right.” he lets out a giggle, “In Aedes Elysiae, there is almost never winter. It’s so warm and sunny all the time. We fish when the weather is nice and—fish again when the weather is bad too…” he seems a little puzzled by his own thought but that only earns him another laugh from you. 

In the years you have spent together, you have learnt many things about Phainon. 

First, is that he loves talking about his homeland. He will bring up memories from his time there but he says he doesn’t have that many since his family moved to Okhema City when he was only nine, which also happens to be the time you two first met. He will tell you a lot of stories that he heard from his parents though. 

He will talk about how bright it is in Aedes Elysiae, how much he loved running across the golden wheat fields when he was little, or how everyone knew each other over there since it is only a small town. Saying it felt like everyone is family, and never ever lonely. 

You asked him once, “If you miss your homeland so much, why don’t you go back Snowy?”

He gave you a puzzled look at that, like the answer is clear as day, and you’re being slow on purpose, “Because of you, of course.” 

But when you tilt your small head at him he takes it upon himself to continue, “I mean, my parents also have their jobs here I guess. But I wouldn’t want to leave anyways, I wouldn’t want to miss you.” 

You think about that from time to time and smile to yourself.

Second, is that he has a total sweet tooth. You had your suspicions when you met upon him carrying a whole portion of Golden Honeycake all by himself. But as time passed by, it became clear, he loves sweets. 

He will occasionally ask his mom to make pies, cakes, or anything sweet—only for you two to sneak into the kitchen in the middle of the night and steal a piece for yourselves because you’re impatient like that. 

“Your mom will kill us if she catches us sneaking into the kitchen!” you whisper-yelled as tiny steps made their way across cold marble. Tip-toeing to the best of his abilities, Phainon answered back with a chuckle, “But she won’t! We’ll just get a tiny slice and shoo.”

“This cake is supposed to be for my birthday, Snowy!”

“And that is exactly why we’re doing this.” he shows you a big, pearly grin. And it is so heart-warming that you can’t bring yourself to argue beyond that.

Which brings us to your third thing you noticed about Phainon. He. Hates. Winter. 

It’s quite funny when you think about it, the nickname and all that, but that is the truth of it. Phainon is just not a fan of winters, or cold. You link that to his hometown being way too hot for Okhema’s ever-changing weather. The only time he’ll tolerate cold, it seems, is on your birthdays. 

“Snowy!” you drag the word much longer than necessary, leaning over him and tugging at the sheets he’s clutching like they’re the last line of defense between him and certain death. “Wake up! You promised we would play with the snow outside.”

Phainon groans, face half-buried in his pillow. One eye cracks open, unfocused. “But it’s so cold,” he mumbles between a yawn, voice thick with sleep. He somehow manages to cling to the blankets even tighter. How is that even possible? 

You plant your hands on his shoulder and shake him, “But it’s my birthday today. Please!”

His other eye snaps open. “Oh. Right.”

There’s a beat of silence—and then he abruptly sits up, blankets falling away as if the cold has personally challenged him. Swinging his legs off the bed in an urgent matter. It’s been a long time since he’s been able to pretend you aren’t his weak spot.

The second his bare feet hit the tiles, he jolts. “Okay, never mind. I’m going back to bed.”

You whine at him, “Snowy!”

“I’m kidding!” he laughs, it’s a smooth sound, reminding the world of his early age, “Come on, race you to the front door!” 

So, to put it simply, there is a lot to uncover about Phainon. 

He is all bright edges and easy laughter, playful, radiant, boyish in the way that makes the world seem lighter just by standing in it. He bubbles over with energy, dramatic when it suits him, grinning even when he tries not to. Being around him feels like standing too close to sunlight; warm, a little blinding, impossible to ignore.

Little by little, you’ve made your way into his life the same way he’s made his way into yours. And knowing Phainon the way you do now, you’re certain of one thing:

You don’t ever want him out of it. 

You clutch tightly to your scarf while trying to keep your steps steady, the snow crunches loudly under your boots. Your mind is busy with the recent events that took place: all the long nights to make your assignment perfect, then the appearance of Phainon, and his very persistent way of being around you. 

Wherever you go, Phainon, somehow, someway, seems to be there. 

After the stupid tour he makes you give, he just doesn’t stop appearing out of nowhere. 

Eating at the cafeteria? Phainon is ordering some silly dessert he hasn’t tried yet. Trying to find a spot at one of the lectures? Phainon also seems to be taking that course now. Running errands for Professor Anaxa? Surprise, Phainon is suddenly very interested in charity work. 

Or maybe he’s just incredibly lucky with being at the right place at the right time. Although you give very little chance of that being the case. 

And you hate to admit it, but his constant presence is working like he wants it to. He has said it when you first met, a week ago now, and he doesn’t seem to be changing his mind. He wants to be here, he wants to start over, a chance.

And you’re scared to death of the idea.

He catched you at the cafeteria once, enjoying a drink that they recently added to their menu.

“Is that new?” he almost makes you jump out of your seat, “I haven’t seen it before.”

You nearly spill the drink.

Your hand tightens instinctively around the cup, and you look up at him with a frown that arrives a second too late to hide the surprise on your face.

“You really need to stop doing that.” you look up at him.

Phainon shoots a smile at you and takes the seat in front of you, like he knows you’d allow him to anyway. Which is also another thing he needs to stop doing. Not like you would reject him or anything, but still.

“So… Is it new?” he asks again, pointing at your cup with his chin.

“Yeah,” you sigh, “They added it this week. Cinnamon something, I didn’t read the full name—Cipher mentioned it to me.”

He nods, serious as if it is critical information you’re spilling, “And your personal review?” 

A small smile forms on your lips. You can’t fight it, you don’t feel like it either.

“It’s good,” you bit down at your lower lip, thinking carefully before continuing, “It’s sweet, you would like it.”

Something momentary flashes across his face that lets you know that touched something deep in his chest. It feels… surprised? But also relieved. As if he’s happy you’re not completely ignoring him. His eyes soften only the slightest bit and the relaxing of his shoulders give away that they were tense a second ago. 

The sight makes you want to smile bigger. 

But you're not sure how long you can keep this up for. Pretending like he is some new guy you met on a misfortunate day. Ignoring the familiar feeling every time you catch his eyes, or the knot that forms on your throat when you laugh at one of his jokes.

It’s fun, it really is. Having Phainon around again, talking to him about silly things that don’t hold much weight. But you also know that at one point, there has to be an end to this.

Your thoughts come to a halt when you spot two familiar figures walking towards you. One of them waving his hand above his head, the motion is so exaggerated that you worry his arm might fall off. 

Then you hear the yelling of your name, a voice unmistakably belonging to a certain white haired man you know.

With a few quick strides, he stops in front of you. With Mydei following right behind him.

“You two know each other?” he raises an eyebrow, clearly surprised. While you are confused about them being together yourself.

“Oh—yes! We actually—“ 

“We just met,” you cut him off quickly, “He bumped into me the other day.”

The face Phainon makes is like a punch to your stomach. 

You didn’t want Mydei to know. In all honesty, it wouldn’t be that bad. Mydei is a great friend and he would be understanding. But not when even the two of you don’t know what the hell is going on and you have no idea where you stand with Phainon.

Because of that, you lie your way through this conversation.

“My project for Professor Anaxa’s class was sacrificed during the clash,” you try to joke, “It wasn’t his fault though, so we’re good.”

Phainon takes a look at you, his expression unreadable. You’re not sure if you’re supposed to be relieved or scared from his lack of reaction. 

Then, with a smile that screams trouble, he goes,

“Yeah, funny isn’t it?” he turns towards Mydei, “But I offered to partner up for it in return, so we’re working on it together now.”

What?

“Wait, that’s not—“

“Oh? Is that so?” Mydei hums as his eyes find yours, “That’s good then. This guy over here can seem like a pain, but he’s surprisingly pretty good at what he does.”

Yeah, Mydei. I might have an idea. 

Is what you want to say, but instead you humor your own curiosity,

“How did you two even meet?”

“He started showing up at the gym recently,” Mydei points at the sports bags hanging on their shoulders, “He’s pretty impressive. We’ve been doing our workouts together.”

Phainon and sports?

You do remember his enthusiasm over the gym but you only thought he used it as an excuse to get you to give him the tour.

“I see,” you look over to Phainon, who’s now grinning widely. 

Mydei takes a careful look at both of you, then slowly asks, “How is the assignment coming along then?” 

“It’s going pretty well’” Phainon answers without missing a beat, meeting your eyes, “We only have a month left, so we’re working hard on it.”

A month left. Which isn’t that much time. And you only have back a quarter of what you’ve lost. In theory, you could gather back everything and submit it on time. But that would require three hours of sleep a day and running your body on coffee, for a month.

“Right, partner?” he asks with mischief written across his face.

“Yeah,” you mutter quietly, staring back at him, “It’s going swell.”

And that’s when you make up your mind. This needs to stop.

On the day of your fifteenth birthday,  you get shot in the face with a snow-ball.

Phainon rushes over to your side in quick strides, “Oh my god—Are you okay? I am so sorry.” his voice dripping with worry, he crouches down to where you rest still as a statue. 

You stayed perfectly still.

“…Why aren’t you moving?” he whispered.

Slowly, very slowly, you turn your head toward him, snow crunching in your hair. “I’ve died,” you announce in a broken voice. “Tell my mother I was brave.”

Phainon stares for half a second before snorting. “Idiot. You’re not dead.”

“I saw my life flash before my eyes!” you sit up in a swift motion which makes Phainon drop down himself.

“That was probably just the snow covering your eyes.” 

You don’t pay any mind to him, “I’ve been murdered on my fifteenth birthday. By Snowy the Second. By my best friend. Betrayal hurts more than frostbite.” you raise a hand to your heart and shake your head with dramatic flair.

Phainon laughs at your theatrics, “Will you stop with the nickname already?” 

You call him by his name most of the time now, but every now and then, you’ll throw in the stupid name to tease him sweetly.

He then reaches out and brushes a clump of snow from your cheek. His fingers linger for a second longer than necessary. “Your face has gotten all red.” He mutters quietly.

“Well yeah. It’s freezing!” you giggle.

A soft hum is all he lets out before taking your hand in his, raising to his feet and pulling you up with him.

“Come on, it’s time to go inside.” he says, still holding your hand tightly, “Or you’ll catch a cold.”

You follow him without saying anything, but the subtle downturn of your lips is evident.

“Don’t sulk.” he says without even looking at you.

“Wha— How did you even…?”

He turns his head back at you.

There it is. 

That bright, sun-like smile, playing on his lips. So beautiful, so full of life—you feel your lips curling up as if on instinct. No evidence of a scowl or the crease between your brows left behind.

It is moments like these that make you realize, time and time again, you love Phainon.

You love your stupidly charming yet just as clumsy, protective when necessary, and silly at all times, snow haired best friend. 

You love it when he smiles and when he pouts cutely, you love it when he’s with you, when he says he misses you, when he talks about his hometown and when he lets you speak for hours—not minding in the slightest even if it doesn't make any sense. You love spending your time with Phainon, spending your years, your life.

You love Phainon, with all your being. And you love that he loves you too.

So when his next words are spoken, it doesn’t come off as a surprise to you.

“Because I love you, and therefore, I know you.” 

It isn’t weird to hear him say it. It hasn’t been for a while. Ever since your early ages, saying you love Phainon—both to yourself and out loud—came as easily as breathing to you. Because what else can it be? That’s all there is. Love. 

When it comes to Phainon, love is an answer that is so honest, you wonder if everything else you’ve known in your life was a lie.

And when he says it just as easily, just as simply. You can’t help but feel your chest hurt. Your little fifteen year old heart, aching for this sweet boy.

“You’re right.” you laugh loudly, just as honest as his words, “I shouldn’t be surprised.”

This love you speak of, you aren’t so sure what it means. You know for a fact Phainon also doesn’t have that many thoughts about it either. But you don’t mind. You don’t think there has to be a name to it, or a label. He is your best friend. You love Phainon, and he loves you. As long as that doesn’t change, you’re happy.

He gives a gentle squeeze to your hand, and closes the doors to your backyard behind you as you step inside.

You two quickly take off your coats, scarfs, anything that is drowning you under the warmth of the house now. 

“It snowed a lot, huh.” Phainon stares outside from the glazed door, “Winter is hard, man. At least school is cancelled.”

“You say it like that’s the only good thing about it.” you huff as you pull on one of your gloves with your teeth.

“Is it not?” he bends down to gather the dismissed clothes and hangs them on the heater to dry them off, now the ghost of a smirk on his lips, “I can’t think of anything else important.” 

You furrow your brows at him, “You play too much.”

He laughs at your reaction, you pout even more to that.

“I’m only joking,” he looks into your eyes, his gaze warm enough to melt the building snow outside, “Happy birthday.”

“Took you long enough.” you say, smiling back.

He lets out a chuckle and starts walking upstairs to his room, you follow behind without being instructed to.

“So,” with a deep breath, “Do you have a wish, birthday girl?”

A giggle escapes you, “Yeah, actually.”

He raises an eyebrow as he pushes open the door to his room, settling onto his bed. The mattress dips beneath his weight as he pats the empty space beside him, an unspoken invitation, though you’re already moving to join him. 

He watches you climb up the bed with practiced ease, “That so?”

When you’ve taken a comfortable enough position, you answer back, “Yup,” you turn your head towards him, “And I’ve thought about it a lot too.”

“Well,” he says, “I’m listening.”

You take a good look at him then. A real one. And you notice the way he watches you, intensely, as though every word you speak is something akin to gold, precious, something worth holding onto. In that moment, every worry, every doubt, disappears in an instant.

“I want to go to The University of Okhema,” 

He raises his brows slightly, “I know,” a sweet smile forms on his lips, “You’ve said so, many times before—”

“With you.”

His smile drops slowly and his lips part the slightest amount. For a moment, he looks completely out of words and you feel your heart sink to your stomach. 

You ruined it, didn’t you? 

Your thoughts spiral instantly. Had he imagined something else? Were his plans different from yours? Does he not want to?

“I’m sorry—” you cut yourself of, “Just… Forget I said anything—”

“Yes.” Phainon reaches for you, his fingers closing gently around your hand, steadying it as it moves around helplessly in your attempts to explain yourself, “I’ll go with you.”

You hold your breath, looking into his eyes to catch any signs of something hidden, “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he says. 

And you let go, feeling relief wash over you. Then with your other hand, you clasp over his too.

“Promise?”

His gaze becomes soft, but not any less sincere.

“Promise.”

“And you just agreed?” 

Cipher’s voice cuts across the cafeteria table, loud enough to turn a few heads. You stop absently tracing the rim of your—now gone cold—coffee, and glance up at her. Making a face that’s equal parts unimpressed and worried. 

“I didn’t agree to anything. We just… Well—He basically lied to Mydei, I couldn’t just call him out on it.”

A sigh leaves her lips as she presses her two fingers to the bridge of her nose, “Sweetie, you’re saying: this guy, who’s basically your ex-childhood-bestfriend, just disappears–”

“He didn’t just disappear,” you cut in. “It’s complicated.”

“—Continuing,” she shoots a look at you, “He vanishes for six years, waltzes back into your life, offers up to be your partner for the assignment he absolutely didn’t send skidding across drenched asphalt—”

“Technically, I also ran into him.”

“Details.” she waves that off immediately. “—and you’re thinking of saying yes?”

You open your mouth. Close it.

“And not even a proper apology,” Castorice adds, who is sitting next to you. Almost to herself, like she’s personally offended on your behalf.

“It does sound worse when you word it out loud,” you wince, “But back to our point, I still need that assignment and I could use the extra help, you know.” 

You try to make sense of the situation, and Cipher is already shaking her head,  “No,” she says firmly. “The point isn’t the assignment.”

You blink. “What?”

“The point,” Cipher leans forward, “is you and Phainon. Not the stupid project. Not the grade. You two.” 

Castorice nods her head aggressively, making it clear she stands with the cat-like girl in front of you.

Your fingers curl tighter around the coffee cup.

“He doesn’t just get to stroll back in after six years and act like nothing happened,” Castorice says quietly, almost comforting. “You don’t get to pretend nothing happened either.”

“I’m not pretending,” you mutter.

“You are,” Cipher counters instantly. “You’re deflecting. Hiding behind logistics. ‘Oh, I need the assignment.’ ‘Oh, I could use the help.’” she air-quotes with dramatic flair. “That’s not the issue. The issue,” she presses, softer now but no less intense, “is that he left. And now he’s back, and instead of asking him why, you want to partner up like it’s some nostalgic reunion episode.”

Your throat tightens.

“It’s not that simple,” you say quietly.

“Yeah, it probably isn’t. But it is the right thing to do.” Castorice takes a deep breath at your deflated state, then with a gentler voice, she adds, “It is clear you care for this Phainon guy, so just talk to him. Not for the papers or anything but about what the hell is going on.”

Silence settles at the table.

Then with a quiet but almost jokingly tone, Cipher mutters,

“You don’t just erase six years of silence with a shared Google Doc.” 

Your lips twitch despite yourself.

“I’m serious,” she insists, still, a snort leaves her lips too. “Before you sit next to him for hours working on that assignment, before you fall back into whatever rhythm you two used to have, you need to talk things out. Properly.” 

Taking a deep breath, you agree, “You’re right. He did keep saying stuff like explaining and talking things out when we first met. But… What do I do? Just go up to him and demand a sit-down?”

As if on cue, your phone lets out a sharp *ding* from where it rests on the table. 

You trade glances with each other before the girl next to you tips her chin toward the screen as if to say ‘There’s your head start’, and so you take the phone in your hands.

Unknown Number: I figured you wouldn’t pick up if I called, since my number isn’t saved on your phone. So I decided to just text you instead 🙂 Me: i’m guessing this is Phainon? Phainon: Yess. Wanna talk about that assignment, partner? ;) Me: are you still on campus? meet me in front of the cafeteria in 10? Phainon: Got it.

“He’ll be here in ten.” you raise your head from your phone and lock eyes with Cipher. She opens her mouth before closing it again, then shakes her head quickly and says, “Like… now?”

“Yes. Told him to meet outside the cafeteria.”

“Alright then. That was quick.” 

The pair leave not long after. Cipher studies you for a second too long, eyes scanning your face like she’s checking for cracks. 

Her hand squeezes your shoulder, firm and grounding. “Call us. Or text. Or send a carrier pigeon, I don’t care. If you need anything.” Castorice agrees with a firm nod.

You huff a quiet laugh. “I won’t.”

There’s one last look, before they finally turn and disappear into the stream of students, leaving you alone with your phone, your cold coffee, and the conversation you’ve been avoiding for a while now.

You’re not sure how much time passes after that, it can’t be more than five minutes though. With a heavy breath, you find the courage to get up and slide open the door. Just as you throw yourself out, you see the white haired man approaching from a distance. A cool breeze brushes against your cheeks, wrapping around you like a quiet embrace, as though trying to steady your nerves.

When he’s close enough for it to not be awkward, he gives a slight wave of his hand, “Hi.”

This feels oddly familiar. 

“Hey.” you greet him quietly.

Phainon stops right in front of you. His face is a soft pink shade from the cold and a smug smile is playing on his lips. Clearly very happy with himself for getting you to finally agree to working together.

Well, here goes nothing.

“So about—”

“Why didn’t you reach out, Phainon?” you don’t want to waste any more time, so you get straight to it.

“Oh…” he says, like he completely forgot about the fact that you two didn’t in fact meet just a month ago.

“Didn’t you want to talk?” you ask, voice coming out harsher than you intended.

“Oh,” he says again, a deeper tone this time, then his smile turns into something sour, “So we’re talking about that instead.”

Then with a sigh, “I know things weren’t easy, I… I saw it. But—” you cut yourself off to take a steady breath, and continue avoiding Phainon’s stare, “But after everything seemed to be better, I thought you would at least send a message, or—or a call.” you can feel your eyes burning with every syllable that leaves your mouth. 

But you won’t cry, you can’t. You want an explanation, a solid one. And you won’t get it out of him with tears.

“We—“ he starts, “We saved many people that year.” his voice unmistakably shaky, a broken tone, “But, we lost many too. It wasn’t easy at all, and I’m sure it wasn’t easy for you either.” 

It is also not easy for him to speak about this so openly, so suddenly—you’re aware of that. A year of dead people and trauma doesn’t erase itself that easily. Not without any traces left behind at least.

Yet you still want to dig deeper, reach deeper. Hurt Phainon the way you felt hurting.

You try to shake that thought away. He already is hurt, you remind yourself.

In moments like these, which are now unfamiliar to you. You remember wanting to hold his hands. And after a certain amount of time, you did. It took courage and an internal slap to your face but you did. 

The first time Phainon cried in front of you. You held out your hand to him, just like he always did for you. Interlocking your tiny fingers with his and saying whatever cheesy line your ten year old self thought would be comforting. 

But now, with everything unspoken between you, rust and dust settling on your words, and the silent recognition you two carry in every glance—you’re not sure you’re allowed to do that.

“I tried to give myself excuses,” you say, your voice thinning despite your effort to steady it. “I told myself it must be hell for him, going through all of that. I told myself he just needed time.” you swallow, the words catching like thorns in your throat. “So I waited. And waited. And waited.” Your breath falters. “But you never—never came back.”

A tear slips down your cheek before you can stop it, warm and humiliating, carving a quiet path across your skin. 

Well shit, you did end up crying in the end. 

You hear Phainon's breath hitch at the sight, yet he doesn’t budge. He doesn’t offer pity, doesn’t soften. But his hand twitches like it wants to reach for you.

“It was scary.” he says, “Seeing so many people leaving, one by one. That was the first time I tasted loss,” he looks into your eyes, “And it is brutal. I wanted to come back, maybe reach out in some way. But it has been too long by then, and I got scared.” he huffs a short, dry laugh at himself, “I didn’t know how you would react, I didn’t know what had changed after such a long time. I didn’t know if I still had a place by your side.”

“You would.”

“I know,” he smiles, a broken one, yes, but it is there, “Now I do. But back then… I didn’t. And it was a mistake. I knew that too, yet it still kept me from coming back to you.” 

The corners of his eyes are a pinkish colour now. And he is sniffling every now and then. There’s something almost painfully young about him at this moment, like a child who’s just had his favorite candy snatched from his hands. If you weren’t in such a sorry state, the sight might’ve even pulled a fond laugh out of you. 

“I’m so tired of pretending, Phai.”

It slips out, just like it did the day he bumped into you. Snow witnessing your story. Then and now, the same silent snowfall, the same unguarded moment. 

You don’t even realize you’ve said it. The words leave you in a whisper, tender and delicate, barely more than breath. Hell, you’re not even sure he heard it. 

But the look on his face tells you everything.

Your voice, soft and fragile as silk. Paired with the nickname, undid something in Phainon.

In the blink of an eye, arms wrap around you. Trembling, yet firm. Phainon clings to you as though you are the very breath keeping him alive, his grip tight with a desperation he cannot hide.

“I’m so sorry.” his voice comes out raw and quiet, then there is another sniff on your shoulder. “You don’t have to… We don’t have to pretend.” 

You feel bad. You feel horrible, even. Horrible for making him apologize like this, looking as if he’d get on his knees and beg you if the situation called for it. Yet hearing him be so open with you, does make somethings easier.

Then you feel him lay his jaw at the side of your head, “There’s so much I don’t know about you anymore. So much I missed.” 

You can’t help but melt at his touch, your body that was still as stone a second ago now resting against Phainon, relaxing more and more with every up and down his fingers draw on your back.

“But I want to change this.” he says sternly, “It’s probably really selfish, and stupid too. But… I want to fix what I can. I want to make it up to you. However long it takes. However you'll let me.”

Pulling back slightly from your position, you raise your head up to meet Phainon's eyes. He looks down at you too. His eyes have gone red, and his cheeks are wet with tears. You know you’re not so different yourself.

You also know, you were being honest when you thought this needs to stop, and when you said you were tired. Dragging this out longer than necessary is only going to make things worse. So you shoot a smile at him, which makes his eyes widen slightly.

“I missed you, Phainon.” you raise a hand up to wipe a tear from his cheek, “Welcome back.”

On the night of your fifteenth birthday, you thought you had everything you could ever ask from life.

You had a dream, a great wish to work towards, some good Golden Honeycake and your best friend by your side.

What more could anyone ask, right?

You were sleeping soundly before you woke up to the sound of the front door being knocked, so hard in fact, you thought whoever's on the other side might as well break it down at this point.

You parents had left for some business stuff right after the celebrations, so you were spending the night alone. 

A storm was forecast this morning, and it seems the warning was correct. You can see the rain running down your windows and it’s impossible to miss the thunder as it’s loud enough to rip the sky.

Who in their right mind would be out in this weather?

Not knowing what to do and being scared to death for your own safety, you considered your options—don’t do anything about it, call the police, call Phainon.

Right. Phainon lives just down the street. If anything, he would come to help you, wouldn’t he?

You reach for your phone on the nightstand, trying to find Phainon from your contacts in your drowsy state. It’s late, 00:14 to be exact. You would feel sorry for waking him up and asking him to come to your door in the storm. But this is an emergency, you think, and you can always apologize to Phainon later, right?

You jump off of your bed with a swift motion, bare feet meeting cold hardwood. The knocking gets louder and louder and you feel your soul leave with each heavy thud against the door. Still, you start ringing Phainon, slowly making your way towards the door with each step.

The rhythmic beep from the phone and the banging outside, paired with the heavy rain doesn’t help your nerves. And you’re pretty sure your heartbeat is rising with each passing second. 

Just when you start to think Phainon is taking excruciatingly long to answer the phone, you’re met with three consecutive beeps.

He’s not answering.

You’re not sure if the next move here is to hide any pray to whatever authority above or get out and confront the person who will be the reason you get night terrors.

Right when you make up your mind about sticking with the first option, you hear someone shout from the other side of the door. Your name and—wait, Phainon?

You rush to the door knob and swing open the door as fast as you can.

“Phainon?”

On your front door, stands a young boy. His white hair, as well as his clothes, are dripping, completely soaked from the rain. His face is red and he is trembling a crazy amount. You can only hope that it is from the cold and nothing else. But then you meet his eyes, which are just as red, and the sight makes you weak on your knees. 

Phainon, your best friend, looks like his whole world just came crashing down.

“Hey, hey, hey—” you try to calm him down, “Come in, it’s okay.”

Grabbing him by the sleeve, you pull Phainon inside quickly. He is either having some sort of attack, hyperventilating or—or something. But it is clear as day, something is wrong.

“Breathe with me Phai,” you sit down on the floor after closing the door behind him, dragging him down with you, “It’s okay, tell me what’s wrong.”

“I–” he tries, “There is–” but can’t find the words.

“Shh,” you hold his hands, “Look at me.”

The boy snaps his head towards you but the look in his eyes is like a claw at your chest. He looks so lost. You don’t think you’ve ever seen Phainon this helpless.

Despite yourself, your priority is to help your best friend, so you try your best to be whatever he needs.

“Deep breaths,” you say, “I promise we’ll fix whatever's wrong.”

Your words seem to be working as you watch Phainon gather back his right mind. He takes one last deep breath and looks into your eyes directly.

“Aedes Elysiae,” he starts, “My hometown—”

You give a reassuring nod to let him know it’s okay, he continues,

“Aedes Elysiae is flooding.”

What?

“We just got a call,” he squeezes your hands firmly, “We—We have to leave. I don’t know what’s going to happen I’m so—” he shakes his head, and you’re happy he doesn’t finish that sentence.

How does one even respond to that? Do you comfort Phainon? Do you ask him to stay? Is he going to be okay?

“...You’re leaving?”

Phainon, in his state, tries to smile at you to the best of his abilities. You guess that’s what you would expect from someone like him, someone like Phainon. Even when he is faced with calamity, pushing through with a smile on his face. As always; bright, warm and sweet.

“I am,” another tear slips past his eyelashes, “But I will be back, I promise.”

You feel your throat tighten at the words. He’s leaving. He’s making a promise to you, not about studying or growing up together, not about making snowmen on your birthday—but for being back. Because he is leaving.

Your eyes burn. You want to hold him, dig your fingers into his arms and make sure he stays seated. Make sure he’s safe and sound. Letting him go, the thought is so foul, that it feels like a sin.

“But…” this time, you are the one who is crying, “But Phai, you—you can’t—”

Phainon, the sweet boy he is, feels his heart ache just at the sight of you tearing up in front of him. 

“I know, sweetheart, I know.” he raises a hand to your cheek.

Maybe under different circumstances the pet name would draw a smile to your lips, make you avert your eyes shyly or your cheeks burn with affection. But now, it only makes you cry harder.

It’s funny. A minute ago you were the one holding Phainon and trying to make sure everything’s okay, now he is the one comforting you and wiping away your tears.

“Will you—” a big sniff, “Will you be okay?”

“Of course. We just need to go and help those in need.” a crease forms between his brows, you want to raise your fingers up to him and smooth it over with your thumb, but you don’t think you’re in any state to move.

“How long will it take?” you ask him, “How long will you be away from me?”

From your blurry vision, you see his eyes soften and an ‘Oh’ sound leave his lips, as if you were to speak any more, he would break right then and there.

“I promise you,” he starts, now both of his hands cradling your face, “I will be back by your next birthday.”

“And what if… what if you can’t?”

“Don’t be silly,” he wipes another tear, “Of course I will be.”

“Okay,” you say, breathy, “Okay, I believe you.”

And of course you do. Because it’s Phainon after all. No matter how shaky, how helpless or hopeless, no matter how much he’s crying and trembling, it’s Phainon. So you believe him.

“There we go,” Phainon says with a broken smile, “We don’t want our goodbye to be one filled with ugly crying, right?” he says as he rolls up his sleeve over his hands and rubs his eyes. You do the same after a second passes.

As soon as he is done, his hands find their way back on your face. Looking at you like some sort of gem, something precious, it only makes you more aware of the situation. This is the last time that you get to have a good look at Phainon. At least for a good while.

Then, that night, at 00:36, under the pale moonlight peering in from the windows and the thunder accompanying your silence, Phainon kisses you.

It’s not sudden, not explosive. If anything, it’s slow and deliberate. Lingering. There isn’t much motion, but it feels endless. You don’t know how long it takes and you don’t care. Phainon kisses you, and it’s endless. Not unfamiliar, not unexpected. Just very you and him, the two of you.

It feels just like the two of you.

When you part, his lips are trembling, and he looks like he’s about to cry again. You bring a finger up to him, glazing them over his lips. 

Then with your other hand, you hold his chin, “It’s okay, Phai,” you take a shaky breath, “I will wait for you.”

“I know,” he says, pressing a gentle kiss to your fingertips, “I will be back for you.”

It has been exactly one month since your devastatingly dramatic and way too ‘nostalgic-reunion of childhood lovers’ talk with Phainon.

Despite your aggressive approach to the idea when he first suggested it, Phainon—alongside with many other things he is—is very good at persuasion. It doesn’t take much effort with his bright blue eyes and your shared history anyway. So it’s not long before you agree to work with him.

Together, the two of you went to speak with Professor Anaxa and officially paired up for the project. On paper, the meeting itself went smoothly. Of course, that’s only half-true if we ignore the boring-into-your-skull type of looks from Anaxagoras. 

Still, the partnership was settled.

And so, you and Phainon began working on the assignment together.

It was, unsurprisingly, a bumpy road. You hadn’t expected things to be easy, not with history lingering quietly between every exchanged glance and unfinished sentence. Still, knowing it would be difficult didn’t make it any less exhausting to live through.

The work itself wasn’t the problem. Research could be done and disagreements could easily be solved. You already knew Phainon was painstakingly easy to get along with. He always had been. 

He’s the kind of person that smiles at strangers, strikes up easy conversation with the barista who works at the local cafe and helps elderly people walk across the road.

He moves like an irresistible force, warm and effortless, as though connection came as naturally to him as breathing. 

Everyone loved Phainon.

The real obstacle was the space between you, filled with half-remembered familiarity and careful distance, like walking alongside someone whose rhythm you once knew by heart but now struggled to match.

Sometimes the silence stretched too long. Sometimes conversations stumbled and fell apart before they could become natural. And sometimes, the awkwardness settled so heavily that even focusing on the assignment felt like an act of deliberate concentration.

Yet, despite everything, the project moved forward. 

And so did the two of you.

It was late at night in the campus library. The deadline for the submission was almost here, the assignment was nearly done, and let’s give credit where it’s due—you don’t think it would be without Phainon’s help.

Most students had already packed up and left, retreating from whatever soul-crushing school work had driven them there in the first place. 

The only sounds breaking the silence were the wind whistling sharply against the tall windows and the faint, persistent buzz of the fluorescent lights hanging overhead. Every so often, the lights flickered just enough to remind you how late it had become.

You and Phainon sat across from each other at one of the tables. Your laptop cast a glow across the desk, illuminating scattered notes and your tired eyes, with multiple Google Docs and far too many Wikipedia tabs left open. 

Phainon himself was writing down some last minute information he gathered from a decade old blog entry. Or that’s what you thought he was up to, until you lowered your screen and were met with a very asleep Phainon in front of you. 

He had his arms crossed over his notebook, and his head was resting on the sweater he folded into a make-shift pillow. He didn’t even look like he fell asleep by accident. Instead, it seems he just went to sleep. 

With a quiet sigh slipping past your lips, you stood and moved to his side, your own sweater draped over your arms. It was the middle of winter, and Phainon had never been particularly fond of the cold. 

Besides, the last thing you needed was for him to get sick when everything’s been going smoothly with the project, there wasn’t much time left after all.

Carefully, you lowered the sweater onto his back, trying not to wake him.

He stirred slightly at the movement, a faint, sleepy sound escaping him. Up close like this, with his usual energy quieted and his defenses absent, he looked… at peace.

And, you have to admit, a little cute.

But your thoughts were quickly interrupted with the quiet sound of a flick. Then the fluorescent lights started humming louder than usual, blinking every few seconds as if struggling to stay awake. They dimmed without warning, their steady glow weakening into a tired flicker before stabilizing again. Somewhere deep in the building, the electrical system groaned under the strain.

And in the matter of a second, your sight was—gone?

You quickly made your way back to your laptop in search of some source of light. Opening the screen back on in a swift motion as your eyes adjusted to the now dim environment. 

You are well aware there isn’t anyone else near enough to call out or talk to, and finding the security meant walking through the huge and dark library all by yourself—which, to be honest, isn’t all that appealing.

“Phainon?” you called out to him in hopes of waking him up without much ceremony. Phainon however, stubborn as he is, refused to stir.

Without giving it much thought, you run back to his side, placing your hands on his shoulders and shaking slightly, “Phainon, wake up. The lights went out and there isn’t anyone else in here.”

He shifted slightly and buried his head deeper into the sweater.

Okay, let’s try a different approach. 

“Please, Phai?”

The plea sounds awkward coming out of your mouth, and you want to pull your tongue out as soon as the nickname leaves your lips. You two have been trying to change things, make it easier—maybe not the same, but similar. But it doesn’t make it any less weird. 

Despite everything, that does it for him.

Phainon lifts his head up as quickly as he can in his drowsy state. There are lines forming on his cheeks and a checkered texture imprinted to his forehead from the sweater, you can’t help yourself but laugh a little. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, voice rough with sleep. 

“Yes, I wanted to go find the security or someone but it’s oddly quiet.” you look around in hopes of seeing any sign of life other than the two of you. 

He spares a glance to his phone’s lockscreen, 21:09. “It’s probably just an electricity shortage. I doubt it’ll take long before the lights come back.” 

Phainon sets his phone down on the table. Instead, opening his own laptop so there would be more light for the two of you. Without the bright fluorescent lights above, the library felt unfamiliar; larger somehow, the shelves stretching into darkness. 

The wind rattled faintly against the windows.

“…It’s really quiet,” you murmured.

“Libraries are supposed to be,” he said gently, eyes scanning the empty rows between bookshelves. After a moment, he glanced at you,

“You’re scared?” 

His voice was soft, but with the hint of teasing around the edges. You could see the slight twitch of his lips at the corners. “Are you aware of what time it is? We’re alone in an endless and very dark library in the middle of the night!” your voice going up an octave higher at the end. 

But to your dismay, Phainon just starts laughing, loud and explosive. Which makes you all the more confused. 

Clutching his stomach with one hand, “Endless.” he managed to spit out in between his laughs. 

“Phainon!” you swat lightly at his shoulder. 

“Okay, okay… I’m sorry,” he raises both of his hands in surrender, trying to calm down his laughter as he brings one finger to the corner of his eye to brush a tear off. This guy.

He pulls out another chair and gestures towards it with his chin, you sit down next to him with a stretched smile. The chair creaking faintly as you settle beside him, the sound echoing more than it should.

He sits straighter now, trying to stretch out of his sleep. Then, as if he just realized, he puts a hand to his shoulder and pulls off the sweater that you laid on his back earlier. He doesn’t say anything, instead, just spares a look your way.

You shrug, “You sleep like you’ve signed a contract with unconsciousness. I didn’t want you to catch a cold.”

“Thanks,” a low laugh escapes him, you find yourself smiling back. 

Whenever Phainon laughs, you think, it must be contagious—you’ve never been good at fighting against it. 

“That was probably one of the best sleeps I’ve had in a while” he murmurs, his gaze fixed beyond the tall window. Pearly flakes tumble from the sky in heavy clumps, drifting lazily before dissolving against the glass. 

“The one you had in the middle of a late night library surviving mission?” 

A soft sigh escapes him, “Yeah, funny isn’t it?”

But the quiet weight behind his voice doesn’t escape you.

“Having struggles with sleep?” you ask, trying to reach his eyes.

His head snaps toward you. There is unmistakable shock on his features first, then almost in an instant, it forms into a knowing look. Like he’s just realizing who you are. Like you reading him like an open book is a normal day activity and he shouldn’t be so surprised by it.

“They started a couple years ago…Five or six, I think.” 

There’s an innocence threaded through his words, fragile, almost hesitant. His voice sounds smaller than usual, like a child realizing playtime has ended long before they were ready.

For a moment, you say nothing. Scared to talk about the past, or maybe scared to talk about it to Phainon.

“I can understand that. I mean–I probably can’t, but… I know.” 

Phainon studies you, with curiosity etched into his face. Careful. Like he’s deciding whether stepping closer to this moment is allowed. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “You would.” 

“Wanna talk about it?” you ask in an uncertain way, shooting a reassuring smile in his way.

He smiles back, “It would be distasteful,” but he continues, “Usually it is just… the voice of people, calling out. Some faces that I don’t remember who they belong to anymore.” 

For a moment, neither of you speaks. You don’t immediately know what to say.

Without thinking, your hand moves, stopping halfway across the table as hesitation catches up with you. Old instincts colliding with new boundaries.

You almost pull back. But a second passes, and you continue.

You reach out your fingers to Phainon, hesitant and scared as one can be, you gently brush over the skin of his hand. He flinches as soon as you make contact with him, like he woke up from a nightmare. Phainon lets out a breath that almost sounds relieved, but he doesn’t look in your eyes. You can’t really find the courage in yourself to look at his face either. 

“…You don’t have to remember everything for it to matter,” you murmur. “Sometimes your mind just keeps feelings longer than it keeps memories.”

Your hand remains where it is, light enough that he could pull away if he wanted to. He doesn’t.

Phainon’s fingers twitch beneath yours, uncertain at first—like he’s testing whether the contact is real. Slowly, almost cautiously, they settle against your hand instead of retreating.

“Sounds like something you would say,” he says after a moment, voice softer now. “Back then.” And the words should make things awkward again.

Surprisingly, they don’t.

Instead, a small laugh slips out of you. “I also said stuff like ‘Buying Golden Honeycakes must be our tradition!’” you raise your voice to mimic that of a little girl’s, “I don’t sound that enlightening now, do I?” you snort.

“It is our tradition though,” he replies immediately, offended on principle.

You blink at him. He blinks back.

And then, somehow, both of you start laughing. Not loudly, not explosively like earlier, but quietly, shoulders shaking, the sound blending into the hush of the library. 

In that quiet moment, between shared looks and youthful giggles, you feel the branches of something deeply familiar take root once more. Older now but familiar at its core. Evolving into a shape neither past nor present could fully claim.

You’re clicking the back of your mechanical pen in rapid rhythm by the time there is five minutes left for your class to be over. 

It has been around two weeks since you’ve submitted your assignment with Phainon and since then the only thing you two have been doing is spending your free periods together while waiting eagerly for the results.

You’d like to believe your relationship has gotten significantly better in the meantime. 

When you both have free time on your hands you go to the cafeteria and try out anything new that got added to the menu recently, and if you don’t have classes at all that day, you two go out together around the city and see any patisseries you haven’t yet. 

A month of forced proximity due to work was already a good start for you two, but now without any proper reason to be near each other, your hang outs feel much more real.

And you’d like to keep it this way.

Being next to Phainon, going on walks around the campus, trying some stupid dessert that makes your teeth ache, even playing with snow from time to time—It has been so refreshing, such a nice change in your life.

When the professor dismisses class, you hurriedly sling your bag over your shoulder and rush out of the room. Quick strides making their way towards where you said you would meet with Phainon.

Professor Anaxa is grading the papers. Today. And you promised each other you would see the results together.

When you see Phainon from afar, resting against a column just outside the building, you start pacing towards that direction. Your steps come to a halt once you’re right in front him, then you bend down and rest your hands on your knees to gather your breath. 

You exhale, “Has he—” another deep breath, “Have you checked it yet?”

“Woah—” he reaches out a hand to you, “Calm down—and no, I haven’t.”

“Why?” you glance up at him with one eye closed and your face scrunched.

He laughs at the sight, “I was waiting for you,” then holds you by the wrist and pulls you up, “I don’t think I can any longer though.”

You try to nod in your disheveled state, “Right. Yeah. Okay.”

“It’ll be fine,” he shows a reassuring smile, “We worked hard on this—especially you.”

You smile back at him.

Then without saying much, you both turn to your phones and open your emails.

“Are you ready?” he glances sideways at you.

“Yeah… Yeah, I’m ready.” 

“Alright, on three then.” 

“One,” you start hovering your finger over the screen.

“Two…” Phainon continues after you.

Then together, as if on beat, “Three.”

You click the mail with hesitance. A long list forms in front of you, then you start scrolling down to find your names with shaky fingers.

Cifera

Castorice and Polyxena

Hyacinthia

Mydeimos and Hephaestion 

Phainon and—

You close your eyes shut. A quick inhale, exhale. Then you open them slowly—

86/100 

“That’s…”

Phainon finishes your sentence for you, “That’s good, right?”

His enthusiasm is clear from his voice, but even if you didn’t hear him, it’s impossible to miss the way his face lights up at the results anyway.

“Yeah,” you say quietly, still trying to brush the shock off of you. Then with a clearer and much brighter tone, “Yeah! Oh my god Phainon—That’s more than good.”

Not being in control of your body in your ecstatic state, you wrap your arms around Phainon. He hugs back without missing a beat—as if he would do the same if you stalled for a second longer.

“Thank you, Phai.” you mumble to his shoulder.

“I’m pretty sure you would be getting the same results—if not a better one—if I didn’t ruin your former papers.” 

“Well,” you part to meet his eyes, “I wouldn’t be able to make it in time if you didn’t help me either.”

The corner of his eyes crinkle from how much he’s beaming at you, “Come on,” he raises his hand, shaking his car key in the air, “I’ll drop you home.”

“Actually, I had other plans for today,”

“Oh?” he raises his brows.

“Cipher and the others are waiting at the cafeteria,” you bit down on your lower lip, “After Professor Anaxa graded the papers, we thought we could hang out and celebrate if the results are nice.”

“I see,” he nods his head, then shows a kind smile to you, “Have fun then, tell them I say hi.”

“Why don’t you come and say it yourself?”

“...Sorry?”

“I think it would be more fun with you there,” you say, your face growing shy, “So come join us.”

Phainon looks like the sun itself just shone upon him. 

“Well,” he brings a hand to the back of his neck, “Who am I to decline the offer?”

So you gather up the courage, then take his hand in yours and drag him behind you as you make your way to where your friends are waiting for you.

When you two step in, still hand in hand and looking like you just came down from heaven, a long whistle meets your ears from one of the tables.

“Have I missed a chapter or…?” you hear Cipher whisper to Castorice who is enjoying her strawberry milkshake.

“Cipher,” you bare your teeth to her and try not to shoot daggers at your best friend’s way, “And everyone, this is Phainon. He is—” you glance up at Phainon, who’s waving at the group with his free hand, “—a friend.”

Mydei scoots further away on the leather seat and gives a firm bow of his head in greeting. A feeling of guilt settles in you after realizing he’s still very clueless about everything—you suppose you could fill him up with the details later.

You settle next to Castorice and watch as Phainon takes a seat himself next to Mydei. When greetings are exchanged, Cipher starts without missing a beat,

“So,” you’re already facepalming, “What have you two been up to, huh?”

“We just looked at the results,” you turn your head towards her, “Then came here as soon as we can.”

“Hand in hand.” she says, wiggling her eyebrows.

“People walk like that.” That’s not a great argument.

Cipher shrugs, “People in love.”

Castorice nearly chokes on her milkshake.

Phainon’s eyes go wide and you even hear a strange sound escape Mydei’s throat.

You try to throw your hands to Cipher from across the table, she just laughs hysterically and poor Castorice—who is stuck in between you two—is trying to ease the situation.

“Leave them alone, Ci. They just got here.”

“I’m being welcoming!” Cipher insists, placing a hand over her chest dramatically. “I’m gathering information. It’s my duty as her best friend.”

Phainon, to his credit, only smiles politely, though the tips of his ears have turned pink. “I hope I’m passing the inspection so far.”

Cipher gasps. “Oh, he talks smoothly too. This is dangerous.”

You sink lower into your seat. “Cipher…”

The table slowly drifts into lighter topics thanks to Castorice’s and your efforts—stories from the past month, about the process of the project, professors’ strange habits, and exaggerated predictions about grades. 

You get back at Cipher by bringing up her pretty-much-failing grade to the conversation. She tries to attack your pancakes. While Castorice brags about having the highest score out of everyone. Mydei listens with growing understanding, occasionally asking earnest questions that send Cipher into new rounds of laughter. Phainon fits in easily, answering when spoken to, smiling often, and every so often glancing your way like he still can’t quite believe he’s here.

When you glance at him, you catch him already looking at you. He smiles, small and quiet, as if sharing a secret only the two of you understand.

A couple days later after all the laughing and celebrating, you wake up with the loud ring of your phone across the room.

It’s a Saturday, and you’re pretty sure you didn’t set any alarms. Who the hell is calling you at this hour?

You decide if you turn back towards the sound, pull the pillow over your ears and ignore whatever emergency might be needing you—you can go back to sleep.

Much to your dismay, the sound doesn’t stop. Unwillingly, you hop off of your bed and drag your feet across the cold floor.

With one of your eyes still shut and the other one half-open, you peek at your phone's screen. Then with a swipe of your finger—

“Good morning,” a clear voice welcomes you.

“Phainon?” you open your other eye, “What could be so important that you’re calling me—” you take a glance at the screen, then bring it back up to your ear, “—at 9:17 in the morning?”

“It’s your birthday.” 

“I know it is—” 

Your eyes widen.

“Oh my god, you’re right! It completely flew over my head.”

“I figured you’d be too busy with the papers to think about it,” he says, you can already hear his smile through the line, “So I decided to take the matters into my own hands.”

“...What? What do you mean?”

Then, as if on cue, you hear a car honking down the street. You rush to your window with the phone set between your shoulder and cheek, then pull the curtains apart with a swift motion.

“Phainon, I swear to god if you—”

Parked right outside your building is a car you’ve grown to recognize over the past month. The window rolls down slowly and a very cheeky Phainon bends down in the car to reach your eyes almost immediately—like he knew the exact moment you’d look outside. 

With an infuriatingly pleased grin, he waves his hand in a small salute. 

“Phainon,” you say slowly into the phone, dread and disbelief mixing together, “It’s nine in the morning.”

“It’s your birthday,” he says like that changes everything, “Come on, get dressed. I have plans for today.”

You glance down at yourself—sleep-tangled hair, oversized shirt, mismatched socks—and groan.

“Give me—like, half an hour.”

“You have fifteen.”

You blink. “Phainon—”

“Fourteen minutes now,” he checks the watch wrapped around his wrist exaggeratedly.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“And yet,” he says, voice softening just slightly, “You’re still smiling.”

You sigh, defeated, resting your forehead briefly against the cool window glass as morning sunlight spills into the room through the open curtains.

“This better be worth it.” then you make a face at him through fogged glass and end the call.

Half an hour would give you comfort, while fifteen isn’t enough to do anything. Eventually, you’re locking your door behind you in twenty.

As soon as you turn your back, the cold winter kisses your cheeks gently, you feel a shiver run down your spine—you might’ve dressed appropriately but it still hasn’t been that long since you’ve woken up. 

Phainon seems to be bored of waiting in the car since he’s now out and leaning against its door. He pushes himself off swiftly and slowly makes his way to you.

“Well,” he starts, “Don’t you look nice.”

“Stop that,” you laugh into your hand, “I barely look presentable.” 

He makes a disapproving sound at that and brushes a hair off of your forehead, the action making your heart flutter in your chest. 

“I have a gift for you,” he mumbles while holding eye contact with you.

“A gift?”

“Yes,” he exhales, “It’s nothing grand, but I thought it would be fitting.”

Then, he takes a step away from you and gestures towards the car with a tilt of his head. You give a confused look at him but walk forwards anyway. When you’re in front of the car, you see it from the rolled down window, sitting in the passenger seat—

“Golden Honeycake?” you snap your head to Phainon.

Phainon shrugs, “Wanted to be the first one to share your birthday cake with you.” 

You feel tears well up in your eyes, “It’s been, like, a thousand years since the last time I had one of these.”

Phainon softens at the sight. He takes a step closer to you, then he brings a hand to your cheek, his thumb gently caressing the soft flesh. 

“You’ll make me cry,” he says jokingly, “So don’t cry.”

“I’m not crying,” you protest immediately, though your voice wavers enough to betray you. You laugh under your breath, shaking your head.

He responds back with another hum. The silence that follows isn’t awkward—it’s soft, lingering. Your breath fogs faintly and mixes in the cold between you.

“Thank you,” you say at last, quieter now. “Really.”

“You deserve it,” he’s eyes move around your face, “I’m still trying to make up for my past mistakes.”

You become suddenly aware of how close he is, how easily you could close the remaining distance, and you wonder if you want to—you do.

A nervous laugh escapes you, but it fades quickly, replaced by something softer. Your hand lifts almost without permission, fingers curling lightly around the front of his coat. The fabric is warm beneath your touch.

“I know something else you could do to make it up to me,”

Phainon’s breath hitches, but he asks anyways, “Oh yeah?”

This time, you’re the one who’s humming back. You don’t overthink it, don’t let the moment stretch longer than both of you can stand it. Instead, you lean in, stopping right before your lips touch Phainon’s—giving him every chance to pull away.

“Happy birthday,” he whispers.

Then he closes the distance.

The kiss is hesitant at first, almost cautious, like he’s testing whether this is real. His hand slides from your cheek to hold your jaw, warm and steady, and when you lean into him, all the doubt he had melts away.

It’s not rushed. Not overwhelming.

Just right.

And when you think this moment couldn’t get any better, you feel it, a single snowflake melting as it meets the warm skin of your hand, resting against the back of Phainon’s neck now. 

You part your lips and pull away slightly, Phainon follows like he hasn’t had enough of you yet, but stops when he sees the snow built up on top of your head. He brings one of his hands to brush off the chill from your hair.

“Setting the atmosphere, huh.” he mumbles, looking up at the sky, “Can’t say I don’t like it.”

Then he lowers his gaze to look at your eyes, and you find yourself admiring the scene in front of you.

Phainon, your childhood best friend, your lover—holding you in his arms on your birthday. The winter cold dancing around you, freezing this moment in time. 

Maybe you do like snow after all.

You refrain from naming this feeling you have for him, because ‘in love' sounded shallow. Years spent with him, listening to each other's fears and wishes, and having it be defined in two words seemed… wrong. 

But you do love him. That's a certainty that you have not even a speck of doubt in. 

You loved how he lights up the moment he spots you, you loved how loudly he laughs at your jokes—even if they were painfully unfunny—and you loved how his eyes seem to fixate, as if the surroundings have disappeared from his view and only you remain. 

He is the sun that greets you at the beginning of every day, while you're the moon that accompanies him in dark nights. 

But this… feeling has its grasp over your heart, squeezing every moment you spend by Phainon's side. It didn't sadden you as much as it annoyed you deeply. 

You want to stop it. Crush it. Make it disappear. 

It ruins your view of the relationship you've had with Phainon. It blurs the lines of platonic affection and more. It makes you stop in your tracks and take a step back. 

It doesn't take long for you to deduce that the only cure to all of this is Phainon. 

That thought alone has you groaning in frustration. 

What is it with humans and their hearts creating problems for themselves? 

You're completely satisfied with simply being one of Phainon's closest friends. So why does your heart urge for more? 

Why does it place you on a tightrope, expecting you to reach the other side and claim a price when you don't even know if you want it? 

Understanding the symptoms all connect to him, you create your own temporary (which hopefully turns permanent) cure; limit your interactions with Phainon. But make sure he doesn't notice. 

This medication of yours will be a lifelong one, and to begin this journey of recovery—you stop your usually fast response to Phainon's messages. 

First week, you'll let the chat marinate for two hours. Next week, you'll double it to four. The pattern repeats for the upcoming weeks. 

Of course, it doesn't take long for Phainon to notice, but this is where being in different schools comes in handy. When he questions, you deny (after letting the message dry for two hours) and reason that school activities have gotten hectic—not a total lie. Phainon seems to understand, but urges you to inform him if anything happens. He's always up to help. 

You didn't respond. Leaving him on read. No doubt causing a small crack between the two of you. 

It pained you, it really did. But drowning in self-pity will not help the situation, you're committed now—if anything, you don't blame him for leaving after this. It's probably for the best anyway. 

After a few weeks of slow responses, each one getting drier.

You take the next step, intensifying this treatment, by avoiding him. Not flatly, but just enough to make it clear that you’re occupied throughout a gathering by hanging around new friend groups, sitting beside another friend, or never letting your side be vacant. 

This seemed to deepen the crack, and for the first time you see Phainon's glare be directed towards you. Not with anger, but.. With helpless hope that you'd come up to him, even if just to greet with a smile. His eyes are unable to tear themselves away from your figure, even when it pained him. His hands, tucked by his sides, tremble ever so slightly. Just on the tether of launching forward and just… returning you to his side.

And you waited, curious on what he'd do once he reached his breaking point. Whether he'd march forward or cry on the spot. 

Yet, he did neither. 

He reciprocated your action, not making an effort to approach you and busied himself, whether by chatting with the old men gathered at a table or listening to gossiping aunties. Anything to keep his gaze away from your figure. 

But have you forgotten? Phainon is relentless. And for you? You'll have a bigger chance of escaping a hungry predator than Phainon. But with the way he's walking towards you, he might as well be one. 

Once the gathering ends and people are returning to their homes, Phainon manages to catch you by the wrist in a firm grip and kindly asks permission to borrow you from your parents (who are unaware of the turmoil and hands you over with a chuckle). 

He takes you to the spot you've spent the majority of your childhood, the big old willow tree. With the same tire swing still hanging off of its branch. Even the wood bark has your initials marked into it by Phainon, a day after the two of you graduated middle school. 

“What did I do?” He released his grip on your wrist. 

You're quick to answer, “Nothing.”

“Yes, I'm well aware of that. So what is it, [First]?” he's kind enough to not appear as angry as his tone might suggest, especially the way he delivers his questions. 

The words fail to reach your tongue and the two of you stand there in silence. 

He lets out a heavy breath, “.. Just, please tell me what I did wrong.. I'll apologize for it..” appearing a lot more exhausted yet unwilling to stop his pursuit. “.. I'll fix it.”

The last thing you want is to make a spontaneous confession. “It's really nothing, Phainon.” You look over his shoulder, trying to plan how exactly you'll escape this situation. “I've just been busy with school work.. And there's nothing wrong hanging around new people.”

“I never said anything was wrong with that, what I want to know is what I did.” He takes a step forward, and you can hear the drumming of your heart. Deafening any sound in your vicinity. 

“.. [First],” you hate the way his voice softens, carrying your name with this sense of longing. “I don’t—I really don't know what I did this time.. I won't get upset with your answer, whatever it is, just.. Don't leave me in the dark, please.”

Slowly, and hesitantly, his hand grasps the end of your sleeve. His knuckles turn pale from how tightly he's gripping. “.. Talk to me. Let me hear your voice.”

Your medication is proving to be difficult to maintain, and the cure is being dangled right in front of you. “.. I already told you—it's nothing.”

He frowns, but appears more desperate than upset at your repeated answer. “Did something happen? Did someone bother you at school?” his eyes seem to turn sharper at the thought. “[First].. I'm your closest friend. I'm here for you, remember? I'll listen to your every word.”

“I know you will—it's just..” How are you supposed to explain the on-going battle between you and your own heart?! 

His hand drifts down to hold yours, his grip unbearably gentle. “Take your time.” He urges you with a nod. 

Does he know how weak you are to his eyes? Those blue orbs seem to put a spell on you, one that weakens your resolve which usually ends with him receiving exactly what he wants. 

And this is no different. 

“.. I—” you stagger back as your head spins with realization of what's about to happen. Phainon’s grip prevents you from losing your balance any further. 

“Careful—!”

“I fell for you!” the words spilling out of your mouth in one sharp breath. 

The quiet that follows is unbearable. Wind passes by your frozen figures, in hopes of melting away the tension. It was the best sentence you could come up with at the moment—because everything else seems to fall apart the moment they reach your tongue. 

Your eyes are unable to stray from the grass standing between your feet. 

But a sudden fall snaps your gaze towards him—

Phainon's legs lost their strength, and he dropped down to his knees right before you. His grip remains on your wrist, noticeably shaky and you can feel sweat forming over the surface. His hair hangs over his face as he stares down. Refusing to meet your gaze. 

“.. Phainon..?” You call out to him, nervous on what expression his face may hold. 

A beat passed before he gradually lifted his head. You're greeted by the sight of his fully red face, the color traveling all the way to the tips of his ears. “.. You—You took me off guard..” He whispers out, forcing out a laugh from his throat. 

Heat begins to form over your cheeks. “Can you get up..?”

He pauses for a moment, his gaze falls down before returning to you. “.. I'm afraid not.” Which only deepens the color over his face. Despite that, he tries using his free hand to push himself up but ends up back in his spot when his legs begin to shake. “.. I—I really can't get up..”

“It's—It's fine..” You lower yourself to his level, settling on the grass. Uncaring of the stain it might leave on your clothes. “.. I should probably apologize for the way I've been.. Treating you. And I'll understand if you don't accept my confession. I mean, I wouldn't either cause of how I've been acting these past few weeks—”

Phainon launches himself forward, and successfully causes the words to freeze in your throat as he buries his head in the crook of your neck. 

Your body visibly shakes at the closeness, even after years of shared affection—all being platonic—this is the only one to make your heart lurch in its place. 

He takes a breath, inhaling your scent as he pulls away but not far. Just enough to stare into your wide eyes. “.. I was supposed to confess first, you know. I've been planning it in my journal since elementary..” He huffs, and you swear a pout is forming over his cheeks. “.. And in order to be forgiven, I have a request..”

Your breath hitch, “.. And that is?”

His eyes narrow as a grin creeps its way to his face. “A kiss would be nice.”

Maybe there’s an Aeon that can rewind time somewhere in the cosmos. You could really use that power right now.

You’ve known Phainon since diapers, saw him through his awkward phase, and was the first to see him when he somehow got insanely attractive. Lethal facecard or whatever people say. The point is, you’ve known him longer than anyone not in his immediate family. Maybe except Cyrene, she’s a true day 1, always taking care of you two. But she’s currently off at University while you and Phainon are stuck navigating the horrors of high school.

Maybe it was the fact that high school would be the first time you and Phainon would truly be separated. Different classes, different after school activities, even different friend groups. You had maybe two friends at school but that’s only because you’ve had the same class as them for your entire high school career. Your coworkers don’t really count either, you’re just cordial with them for the sake of not making your already awkward job even more unbearable.

Back to Phainon’s new group of friends, they probably don’t even know you exist. If life was a game from their point of view, your role is schoolmate b. It’s almost unbelievable how different you two have become. Phainon and his group of friends are probably the most popular in the school. They’re the definition of picture perfect.

Anaxagoras might be an asshole but he has a good face and even better grades. According to rumors he’s been offered a full ride to attend the Grove. Mydeimos is captain of the school’s basketball team (though he’s good at almost any sport he plays) and an heir to a conglomerate. Aglaea, she’s more of a full time designer and part time student, her designs are everywhere you look, runways, billboards, and even tv commercials. The list of his friend’s achievements go on and on, it’s easier to list what they haven’t done.

But that’s getting a little too sidetracked, a week before the “confession.” Cyrene was on break and visited you at your job. Which could have gone worse, thank aeons it didn’t.

“You should try to talk to new people, Okhema is completely different from Aedes Elysiae. At this rate, you’ll only have me for company!” Cyrene was scolding you, again. Sure, it was in a lighthearted way but she was correct. You’ve barely talked to Phainon since entering high school or anyone for that matter. The only two people you talked to almost daily were Sampo and Sparkle. Probably because you were the person willing to talk to them despite their reputation.

“That doesn’t sound too bad… plus I could just make friends in college. Or something like that.” There’s no use trying to bring back something that was doomed from the beginning. The only reason you go to high school in Okhema is because you managed to get off the waitlist after applying.

Cyrene let out a sigh, “At least try to talk to Phainon. He’s sulking about you not talking to him.”

“Huh?”

“What?” Throughout your measly one and a half year of high school, you’ve never been close to Phainon. He’s always either surrounded by fans or friends, it’s impossible to talk to him one on one like back in Aedes Elysiae.

Recovering from your shock, you manage to ask a single question, “He tries to talk to me?” Cyrene just burst into laughter, dumbfounded at you and Phainon’s severe communication issues. “C’mon Cyrene don’t laugh!”

“You two really need to talk to each other,” her laughter had turned into light giggles now.

Now here you are, the Monday after break. Just a couple more months and it’ll be a new school year. The school courtyard is filled with other students, most in the standard winter uniform. Not very different from the summer one, no big difference other than the long sleeves. Which idiot decided to make school uniforms amplify the cold by fifty, they have to die a second time.

“Boo!”

“Oh. It’s you,” Sampo, the guy you’ve been unfortunately deskmates with for the past two years.

Sampo wrapped his arms around you, “Aww don’t be like that! As your dear friend, I’m hurt… I thought we were close…” He was always dramatic, though it sounded forced.

This was nothing unusual, just banter between you and the blue haired pest that clung onto you. Sparkle was probably somewhere around the school and the sooner you find her, the sooner the pest gets off of you. Though from a certain someone’s perspective, you two seemed too close for comfort.

“Yoo hoo! Earth to Phainon?”

“Ah sorry Hyacine! I spaced out a little.”

It’s really unfair, how can you let some guy, whom you met after starting high school, hug you from behind while completely avoiding him? He’s known you longer than that rando. You won’t even call him by his old nickname anymore! In the rare chance he gets to talk to you, it’s always “Phainon” and not “Phai.” He should’ve just asked the teachers to change his class to yours. But that’s just selfish thinking, at least to him. You deserve to meet new people and not be hounded by fangirls. He knows Valentine’s Day and White Day were nightmares to you back in Aedes Elysiae.

“Unfocused on the first day back? You’re lacking, deliverer.”

“Stop calling me that!!!”

Phainon and Mydei had an interesting friendship. They were seatmates during their first year of high school. That normally would be enough to become friends but no, of course not, especially with those two.

“Here, your package. It got delivered to my house.” Phainon was in a terrible mood, which was out of character for such a sunny guy. But who could blame him? He woke up late, had to sprint to the bus station, and even witnessed that blue haired pest clinging and using you as a shield.

Mydei only stared at him, a stern glare that would be enough to send chills to anyone. Except a pissed off Phainon. “In Castrum Kremnos packages are treated with respect, deliverer.”

Cutaway from that terrible memory, it still makes Phainon cringe to this day. How does a terrible joke of a nickname still stick after a year and a half?

Muffled laughter could be heard from behind Mydei. A purple haired girl covering her mouth, attempting to keep her amusement quiet.

“Not you too Castorice…” It was tradition to tease Phainon in their group. He was the most reactive after all. “Let’s just go to class first.” Honestly the best course of action for poor Phainon’s little heart. He wouldn’t have to hear more teasing and wouldn’t have to see that now, there were two people playing tug of war with you as the rope.

You on the other hand, were too busy being used as some human meat shield by Sampo while Sparkle tried to pull you off of him. Really where do these two get the energy in the morning?

“I’m going to class,” look you can try but success is a rare thing.

Sampo was still clinging onto you, except this time, he was in front. Anything to put a distance between him and Sparkle. He didn’t really have to worry about her though, cause unlike him, Sparkle had other people she could talk to.

Sampo was just rambling while going up the stairs. Your homeroom was on the second floor. Pretty fitting since you’re in your second year of high school. Third year is going to mean an extra set to climb in the morning. How nice.

At the same time Phainon, Castorice, Mydei, and Hyacine were going up too. Hyacine was a first year while the rest of them had nothing better to do as they had gym for first period. So why not tag along with Hyacine because she has something to actually talk about with Anaxa.

While you were halfway up the set of stairs, Sampo’s rambling suddenly stopped. It all happened so fast, Sampo screaming wait while a pair of gray haired twins charged full speed at him. You tried to step back but in your startled state, accidentally stepped on the weird edge of the stair. Wow, what a great way to go out, death by school stairs. This has to go in some sort of Guinness world record book.

“ah-” instinctively, you reached out your hand. But grabbing onto the rail mid fall won’t stop your fall, you know? Maybe Phainon is like Siri, voice activated by only you. He was starting to climb the stairs to go to the fourth floor, only to see you falling backwards. He really thinks with his heart, sprinting up the stairs with his arms stretched out, ready to catch you.

But, Sampo caught you before you could fall backwards. And dramatically declared while shoving you into his chest, “You know I could never put a dear classmate whom I love so much in danger!”

Phainon really might have to kill this guy.

The samoyed that lives next door is… strange.

As a house bunny, you’ve only run into him during the rare occasion your owner does yard work or decides you need the extra sun, but, whenever he sees you, he practically vibrates from excitement.

The first time he caught your scent outside, he immediately started dragging his owner towards your house. Your owner, Idrila, had been tending to the array of white and red roses decorating the border of THEIR front yard. THEY had set up a blanket for you on the grass, along with a basket full of your favorite snacks. You were lying on your stomach, book open in front of you. As your fingers reached over to bring a strawberry to your mouth, you were startled by a loud bark.

“Ahhh—Is that a bunny!! You’re so cute!”

The voice made you drop the strawberry and stained the page you were reading a soft pink. You frowned, brows furrowed as you opened your mouth to give the culprit a piece of your mind. When you lifted your head up and were confronted by a massive dog leaning over the fence, you curled into yourself instead, ears flattened against your head.

“Phainon!” yelled someone behind him (you assume it’s his owner), “Get back here!”

You scrutinized the dog in front of you. Based on his ears, you could tell this “Phainon” was a samoyed. Although, he seemed way too big to be one. His size was more akin to the wolf hybrids you met at the shelter, but, looking at his nonstop wagging tail, he was definitely too friendly to be a wolf.

(Was he some kind of genetically-mutated samoyed?)

Though, you will admit, he wasn’t unappealing to look at. You’d even say he’s pretty handsome. Phainon’s white hair framed his face nicely. It looked soft to touch and you could imagine yourself petting it. His skin was clear (how unfair) and he had an incredibly well built body, but his eyes were what entranced you the most. They are so vibrantly blue and even glittered, like the ocean shimmering under the rays of the sun. You could see yourself getting lost in them.

(Speaking of which… has he blinked once since you met his eyes?)

“Idrila, I apologize for Phainon’s behavior,” his owner lets out a sigh, “He must still be excited from—Oh? Who’s this?”

As you began to get uncomfortable under the samoyed’s intense gaze, his owner had just given you the perfect excuse to break eye contact. You turned to look at the person who was now standing next to Phainon. His owner was very handsome too, with THEIR tan-olive skin and braided white hair. You noted that THEIR yellow eyes contrasted nicely next to Phainon's blue ones.

Idrila paused on THEIR gardening to greet the pair. THEY walked up to the fence while dusting off any dirt that had gathered on THEIR sundress.

“Good afternoon, Nanook!” Idrila smiled and gestured to you with THEIR hand, “This is [Name]. A precious little dwarf rabbit I’ve been taking care of for about a week now. It seems like your puppy has taken a liking to her.”

(“Puppy?” That… ‘wolf’ is not a “puppy.”)

“Hi!! I’m Phainon! I’m a samoyed hybrid and—Wow—You smell really good!!” the aforementioned “puppy” said with a wide grin and a tilt of his head.

That confirmed your suspicions about his breed, but did he have to comment on your scent? It weirded you out and you weren’t going to respond—until you noticed that Idrila was looking at you expectantly.

“Hello…” you muttered with shy reluctance, finally meeting his gaze once again. That simple word seemed to spark something in him and you watched as hearts formed in his blue eyes.

“Ahhh—Even your voice is cute!!” Phainon said as he leaned further over the fence.

Alarmed at the sudden movement, Nanook reached over, grabbed the back of the blue collar the dog was wearing, and dragged him back towards THEM. Phainon released a yelp, but never once did he look away from you. A snarl appeared on Nanook’s face as THEY sneered at Phainon.

“Maybe too much of a liking…” THEY commented under THEIR breath, but you heard it with your enhanced hearing, “It was nice to meet you, but we should get going now.”

Moving THEIR grip to Phainon’s wrist, Nanook dragged him towards the house next door. A pout formed on the samoyed face as he got scolded by his owner about respecting boundaries and learning to think before speaking. You let out a soft giggle at the sight and Phainon visibly melted at the sound. His reaction made you raise an eyebrow, but you tried not to pay too much mind to it. You shook out the left over tension from the encounter, and turned back to your book as Idrila returned to THEIR gardening.

Aside from that, you like to study Phainon from the window of your bedroom. Your room is on the second floor of Idrila’s home, giving you an apt view of the Nanook’s backyard. Phainon is out there more often than not. Either roughhousing another hybrid that’s over at his house at the time or training with his owner. At times it can be amusing but other moments make you genuinely concerned for the hybrid’s well-being.

(One time you saw him climb on top of a poor blonde maine coon and start humping him… luckily his owner shut it down and scolded him before it could escalate.)

Unfortunately, your “Phainon-Watching” came to an abrupt end only 2 weeks after it started. One Friday evening you had been lounging on your window seat, enjoying the breeze coming through the slightly ajar window. You almost fell asleep—that is—until Phainon slammed his backyard door open.

“Nanook! I learned something new while training with Mydei today! Let me show you!!”

You watched as his owner followed the samoyed outside. Phainon showed him a move he learned at “training” that day and Nanook watched with THEIR hands clasped behind THEIR back, nodding in acknowledgement once Phainon finished.

(You could only guess what his… “training” actually is… What he performed looked more like martial arts than dog tricks… Maybe he’s training to be a guard dog…)

Phainon visibly brightened at the small gesture like the man had just spoken him a million praises. His tail wagged in joy and you could tell he was going to do another trick before a particularly harsh breeze passed by. It had you shivering and reaching over for a blanket, but you stopped once Phainon froze and began to sniff the air like a madman. He followed the scent and eventually turned upward towards your window.

The samoyed squinted, seemingly to make out your shape, and once he finally did, he perked up, like he did when he first caught your scent.

“[Name]!!” he exclaimed as he rushed over the fence dividing your homes, “Were you watching me?! Did you like what I did?! I learned it, so I can protect you! Hey, [Name]—”

Your blood went cold and you were frozen in place as Phainon started waving too excitedly and attempted to climb the fence to get to you. While you rushed to close your window and the curtains, you caught out of the corner of your eye how Nanook grabbed Phainon by the collar and dragged him back inside.

(Yep, there’s no way you’re gonna watch the samoyed ever again.)

“[Name], this is Mydei,” Idrila introduces, “He’s Yaoshi’s maine coon hybrid and I’d like it if you two became friends.”

A week following your incident with Phainon, your owner has decided that you need more friends.

Out of fear and embarrassment of running into Phainon outside, you’ve locked yourself in Idrila’s house. Every time THEY would offer to take you outside with THEM, you would kindly deny and state that you’d rather spend the time napping inside.

It seems that THEY’VE reached the limit of listening to your pathetic excuses and brought the outside to you instead.

“She is so adorable!” Mydei’s owner remarks as THEY clasp THEIR hands together and press them against THEIR cheek, “I hope you two get along while Idrila and I catch up over some tea.”

Your ears shoot up in alert at the idea of being alone with a predator hybrid. THEY seem to notice your hesitancy and quickly add on, “Don’t worry! Mydei is trained well and won’t act like some feral dog. He won’t do anything you dislike!”

The words do little to calm your nerves, but Idrila and Yaoshi are already moving towards the living room, leaving you and Mydei on your own devices. You shift awkwardly as you ponder on what to do. Mydei’s presence doesn’t help. He stands against the wall with his arms crossed, long tail occasionally thumping against the floor.

As you fidget with your fingers, you attempt to sneak glances at the cat, who makes no move to… “get along with you.” Mydei has his eyes closed and his breathing is even, like he’s sleeping. His blonde hair fades to a soft red when it reaches his shoulders. You internally squeal when you notice that he has a part of it braided and resting on his right shoulder—and are those tattoos peaking out from under his black shirt? You have to hold yourself back from causing a scene.

Like with Phainon, you think he’s beautiful with his solid build (one you note is bigger than Phainon’s) and big arms. The way he has his arms crossed accentuates his chest and creates more tension on his already tight shirt. You have to force yourself to stop staring and squeeze your eyes shut. His appearance reminds you of another maine coon—

(Wait a minute…)

Upon closer inspection, you realize that this is the same hybrid you saw Phainon… hump all those weeks ago. You feel yourself flush at the revelation and shake your head to rid yourself of the memory that appeared in your head. 

When you open your eyes again, you’re met with Mydei’s golden eyes staring back at you. He has an eyebrow raised and his head is tilted in question. Your sudden movement must have aroused him from his meditation.

(You’re sure you look as red as his tattoos right now.)

In an attempt to quell the awkward air, you let out an admittedly depressing giggle and scratch the back of your neck, “Um—Do you want to go to the sunroom? With me..?”

You watch as Mydei lets out a huff and a small smile makes home on his face. To your surprise, he agrees and asks you to lead the way. Your ears perk up at his agreement and you bounce up and down in excitement. You grab his hand and start dragging him down the hallway, surprising him at the sudden skin to skin contact.

When you make it down the hall, you push a door open and bring Mydei inside with you. The sunroom is your favorite place in Idrila’s home. It’s the perfect place to relax and get some sun, while still staying in the house.

It’s where you’ve been hiding from Phainon for most of the week.

However, the samoyed isn’t here right now and instead this handsome maine coon is. You excitedly tell Mydei about what you like doing here: about the books you read, the snacks Idrila makes you, and how this is the perfect place to take a nap.

You’re still holding on to his hand when you finally bring Mydei to the biggest window in the room. In front of it, a blanket is placed on the ground. A book sits open on top of it with a bookmark marking the page you last left on. There’s a small table on the edge of the blanket, placed near the window, that holds a glass of lemonade, the condensation still visible on the outside of the glass even though the ice has melted.

You’re about to drag the maine coon to sit with you when it hits you that you’ve been dragging Mydei around this whole time and making him listen to your nonsensical ramblings. All while holding his hand! You abruptly pull your hand away from his and grip the end of your skirt instead.

You miss the way Mydei frowns at the loss of contact.

“I’m so sorry! I just spent that whole time rambling to you and you haven’t even been able to say a single thing back—” you start, hot from embarrassment, but Mydei cuts you off.

“It’s alright,” he says with a soft smile, “I enjoyed listening to your “ramblings.” It was quite cute.”

You cover your face with your hands and know you are blushing hard under them, “Ah—Thank you..?”

Taking note of your current state, Mydei takes the initiative and invites himself to sit on your blanket. Well—It’s not really sitting. It’s more like lounging. He drapes himself on the floor, with one knee bent and the other extended out.  His weight rests on one arm, elbow bent as he rests his chin on his hand, while the other pats the area next to him.

“Join me, won’t you?”

Mydei’s voice is borderline seductive and you find yourself entranced. Your body moves on its own and you awkwardly lay down next to him. First, you start on your back, but eventually turn to face him. Your ears flatten on your head and you open your mouth to say something. The words are lost on your tongue when Mydei puts his hand on your waist and pulls you flush against his body. Legs tangle with each other as you hold your breath, scared to breathe on him. You let out an exhale and involuntarily relax when Mydei brings the same hand up to your head, scratching the junction at the base of your ears. He lets out a chuckle that rumbles through his body when he sees how your tail twitches at his touch.

You cuddle closer to Mydei, trying to chase his touch. Your hands rest on his chest and grip onto his shirt when he rubs a particularly sensitive spot. It has you flushing once again and before you can apologise, Mydei brings his head down to your neck. You feel how he rubs his face against your scent glands, occasionally leaving nibbles on your skin.

(Is he… Is he scenting you?!)

Overwhelmed by his maneuvers, in your haze, you return his affection and begin to scent his own neck. All you can smell is Mydei and you find yourself getting droopy. The combination of the warm rays of the sun through the window and Mydei’s strong scent is just what you need to get sleepy.

You fall asleep with Mydei’s warm body pressed against yours.

“Why do you smell like that?”

“Smell like what?” Mydei pauses in his stretching to look at the white-haired hybrid.

Later on in the day, long after Mydei’s morning visit with you, he meets up with Phainon to train together. It’s something that the pair have been doing for a while, brawling as a healthy way of expelling pent up energy and satisfying their more animalistic instincts. This is the first meetup in a few weeks. Mydei had to separate himself from Phainon after a particular incident. However, meeting with you had put him in a good mood that had him reaching out to the samoyed to start their weekly meetings once again.

Phainon has a confused look on his pretty face, with his brows furrowed together and it's even completed with a pout. He gets closer to Mydei, leaning into his neck to get a better whiff. The maine coon isn’t fazed, already used to his antics, and patiently waits as Phainon sniffs all over his scent glands.

“Like [Name].”

Phainon abruptly pulls back, startling Mydei with his sudden seriousness, “Why do you smell like [Name]?”

The look on Phainon’s face is one Mydei can only identify as terrifying. The cute pout is erased from his face and the light disappears from his eyes. Gone is the kind and affectionate samoyed and what’s left is a feral wolf challenging someone that has entered his territory.

Mydei composes himself, and the startled look is gone as quickly as it came.

“[Name]?” the blonde pretends to question, “Ah, [Name], you mean the bunny that lives next door to you.” 

“Yeah. [Name].” Phainon says again, harsher this time, “Why do you smell like her?”

He says it like it disgusts him, like it pains him to even say the words. Mydei watches as the hybrid in front of him tightens and loosens the fists resting at his sides.

The maine coon tilts his head in a mocking manner, “I was over at her house earlier today. Yaoshi wanted to meet with Idrila and took me along. Something about [Name] needing to meet more hybrids, so I spent some time with her.”

Mydei remains vague on purpose. Some part of him wants to egg him and see how the samoyed will react.

How far he’ll spiral.

He can practically see the cogs turning in Phainon’s head as he tries to make something from Mydei’s words. He gave him essentially nothing after all. Anything else that he conjures up in his mind is from his own imagination.

Mydei studies Phainon’s face with vigor. The samoyed is staring out into space, and Mydei watches as his look of neutrality begins to morph into anger. Phainon’s eyebrows twitch and his nose scrunches. His mouth turns into a snarl, baring his teeth. Mydei can see the waves of anger exuding from his body.

“Did you—” Phainon scoffs, “Did you mate with her?”

Mydei says nothing, letting the silence linger in the air and allowing a few more seconds of Phainon’s imagination to run rampant.

“Maybe I did,” he finally breaks the silence, “I don’t see how that concerns you.”

Now it’s Phainon’s turn to be silent.

“She had no scent of a mate and no markings,” Mydei continues, “Would it truly be that concerning if I was the one to take her?”

Something snaps in Phainon and he stomps closer to the cat. Mydei thinks the samoyed is going to fight him, but all the samoyed does is place a shaking palm on the maine coon’s shoulder. His grip is tight, painfully so, but Mydei keeps his eyes on Phainon’s.

Phainon stares back into Mydei’s, eyes dark in anger. Now concerned, Mydei opens his mouth to say something to calm the dog down, but Phainon beats him to it.

A flip is switched and, like nothing has even happened in the past few moments, the smile is returned to Phainon’s face. The sparkle returns to his eyes and he joyfully says, “Of course not!”

He closes his eyes and tilts his head like an unassuming puppy, “You’re right! She wasn’t claimed. How lucky you are if you actually managed to woo her over. Haha. You should watch your back, Mydeimos. Someone might jump at her before you are able to complete the bond.”

Mydei’s eyes widen at the thinly veiled threat. Phainon called his bluff. He doesn’t like the chill that goes down his spine.

Fuck.

Apparently, the samoyed that lives next door is sick.

You would beg to differ. With a body like that, surely you wouldn’t get sick to the point your neighbor has to watch over you.

According to Idrila, Nanook had called THEM with concern in THEIR voice. Nanook wasn’t the type of person to worry like this, so Idrila was immediately alarmed at THEIR intonation. THEY had told THEM that Phainon hadn’t been eating the last few days and locked himself in his room. The samoyed had refused to come out, telling Nanook that he wasn’t feeling well, coughing and groaning every other word.

To you, it sounds like bullshit.

But the ever kind Idrila agreed to look over the dog while Nanook attended an important meeting THEY couldn’t afford to miss.

That brings you too now, as Idrila picks up a spare key from under a barely-hanging-onto-life plant on Nanook’s front porch.

(Clearly, THEY don’t concern themselves with plant life like Idrila does.)

You’re holding a basket full of at home remedies. Idrila had quickly cooked up some soup and packed some over-the-counter medicine. All you could do was scoff as THEY did so. 

Idrila finally unlocks the door and you’re greeted by silence. You step in and are almost knocked out. You’ve never been in Phainon’s house before, but you can smell that it’s his.

His scent is everywhere. In the air, on the walls. Every single nook and cranny. 

(Is this how Idrila’s house smelled when Mydei came over? Is that why he was.. “meditating”?)

You shake your head. Now’s not the time to think about Mydei. You turn back to Idrila, who had taken the basket in your stupor and was now heating soup up on the stove.

THEY continue to mix the concoction and, without taking THEIR eyes off the pot, requests something of you.

“Go check on, Phainon!” THEY hum out the samoyed’s name, “Maybe seeing another hybrid will make him feel better!”

(Bullshit.)

However, you reluctantly nod, and turn to move further into his house. You’d have to find Phainon’s room first if you wanted to “check on him.” You let your nose be your guide and follow the scent to where it’s the strongest.

It guides you to a light blue door and you stand awkwardly in front of it. You don’t want to open it. A part of you is scared. This is the first time you’d be seeing the samoyed since he caught you spying on him from your window. On the other hand, you’re annoyed. This most definitely is some bullshit Phainon pulled to get to you. Surely it has to be.

You’ll never find the true reason unless you knock on the door, so you suck it up and finally do it. You place 3 firm taps on the door.

“Phainon? Are you okay? Nanook said you were sick, so Idrila and I came to check on you.”

There’s no response from the other side of the door.

“Hello..?” you question. This is the right door. You trust your nose enough to at least discern that.

The annoyance bubbles over at the continued lack of response and you finally break, “Hey! If you don’t open this door right now I’ll—”

The door slams open and Phainon jumps out. You let out a shriek as Phainon shoves you into the wall of the hallway. Your back hits the wall with a loud thud and you let out a yelp that only partially escapes your mouth as Phainon now has his hand covering the bottom half of your face.

All the commotion must have alerted Idrila downstairs as THEY question, “Is everything alright up there?”

“Everythings alright! Just startled each other, haha!” Phainon responds for the two of you while you struggle against his hold.

That seems to satisfy THEIR worries, “Alright… Nanook just texted me asking me to pick up your medicine, Phainon. Will you two be alright while I head out for a moment?”

“Of course!” Phainon says, voice too cheery for someone who’s supposed to be ill. You watch as his tail begins to wag.

(No, Idrila! Don’t leave me here with him!)

You attempt to yell against his hand, but your screams are muffled. It's no luck as you listen to Idrila leave through the front door. Now alone and sick of his behavior, you bite Phainon’s hand and kick him in the groin. Now, it’s his turn to yelp and his hands move away from your body and to his dick instead.

“You—You jerk! What the hell is wrong with you?!” You exclaim as you watch Phainon attempt to grip onto the wall and balance himself.

(Good. You managed to do some damage to him.)

“[N—Name],” he groans out, voice riddled with pain, “I just want to talk to you!”

You scoff, “Well you didn’t have to pretend to be sick to do it.”

“I did!” Phainon springs up, and it startles you, “It was the only way I could get you into my house.”

Your eyes widen in a mixture of shock and fear and your ears point out in alert.

The pain that Phainon was experiencing before seemingly evaporated and his hands returned to you. They come up to cup your face and bring it closer to his. Your hands grasp his wrists and you can feel his breath tingle on your lips.

You think he’s about to kiss you when he suddenly pauses, sniffing the air. He transfers his grip on your face onto one hand and grips your chin as he forcefully pulls your head to the side. Phainon buries his face in your neck and you can feel him sniff all over it.

“Mydeimos.”

His voice has dropped to a lower, growly pitch. It’s guttural, like a wolf.

“W—What? What does Mydei have to do with this?!” your voice comes out awkwardly due to his grip on your face.

Phainon lets out an actual growl and you feel it against you, “Don’t say his name.”

Suddenly, you feel something wet slide across your scent glands.

(Is—Is he licking you?!)

Your shoulders scrunch up at the sensation on your sensitive glands. It's so warm and wet, but for some reason it has you melting in his embrace. Phainon supports you by wrapping his free arm around your waist and pressing your body against his. He continues his relentless attack on your neck.

“When I’m done with you,” he starts, breathlessly, “You’ll smell like me. Not him.”

“And it’ll stick.”

Before you can question what he means, Phainon releases his grip on your face and picks you up bridal style. You grip onto his shoulders as he carries you into his room, closing the door behind him with his foot. He gently places you on his bed. The blue sheets are soft against you, but you can’t study his room any further because Phainon begins to strip himself in front of you.

You watch, jawslacked, as Phainon starts by taking off his top. Now that his shirt is off, you can truly see his body. His abs are defined and chest is pronounced.

(You’re sure the only person that rivals him is Mydei, but Phainon wouldn’t like you thinking that.)

He doesn’t give you enough time to appreciate his chest as he hastily moves onto his bottoms. Phainon pulls off his pants and underwear in one combined motion and, if your mouth could fall open even further, it has. The size of his dick is almost frightening. Its size is intimidating just like the rest of his body. It curves slightly upward and the tip is flushed a light pink. There is a prominent knot where his dick meets the base. A vein runs up on the side of his shaft from the base to the tip. Against your wishes, you feel yourself getting wet in between your legs and your mouth begins to water.

But as he climbs on top of you, the realization hits you all at once.

Phainon is trying to mate with you.

You place your hands on his chest and attempt to push him away, but he’s too strong and your push does nothing to deter his movements.

“W—Wait! Phainon, I’m not so sure—!”

The samoyed cuts you off by dropping himself on top of you. You let out a wheeze as the air is knocked out of you and you barely have enough time to catch your breath before Phainon is licking and kissing your ears. Your face is pressed into his chest as he continues his assault.

“Why?” Phainon questions, voice dark once again, “Did Mydei mate with you already?”

Now, you’re confused. 

(What’s this about Mydei and you mating?!)

“I—I don’t know—”

“Bullshit!” he cuts you off, “I smelled you all over him the other day. You can’t lie to me.”

“W—What?! We were just cuddling—”

Phainon lets out a manic laugh, “Haha—! Then how about we do some cuddling, too?”

He pulls away from you to grab onto the hem of your shirt and pull it over your head. However, he doesn’t have the same amount of patience with your bra and grips it with both hands at the center before ripping it apart. You let out a gasp at his actions and yell profanities at him. Phainon pays no mind as he moves down to your skirt, hands gripping onto your panties and pulling them down along with the skirt.

Now you’re bare in front of him like he is with you. 

You can’t do anything but grip the sheets next to you as Phainon brings himself down and his mouth immediately meets your wet pussy. His tongue licks circles into your clit and it has you arching into his mouth. The sounds of your moaning and his mouth on your cunt fill the room. You squirm at the overwhelming pleasure and Phainon places a hand on your stomach to press you back down onto the bed. The added pressure doesn’t help you at all and tears begin to form in the corners of your eyes. Phainon seems to notice and brings his other hand to your cunt and presses it into you. It slides right in with the help of all your slick that has now built up at his ministrations.

His finger is longer than yours and immediately hits places you couldn’t reach yourself. He prods around until he finds a spot that has you wailing. The tears spill from your eyes as your legs begin to shake at the pleasure. Before you know it, Phainon adds another finger and presses his tongue harder against your clit. You feel yourself right on the edge and you clench around Phainon, but he abruptly pulls away, taking his fingers with him.

You whine at the loss of feeling full and are about to complain when Phainon says, “I’m sorry, bunny, but the only time you’re gonna come is on my cock as I fuck you full of my cum.”

Your face grows impossibly red at his words and you sink further into the haze that is Phainon. He climbs back on top of you in between your legs and lines himself up with your entrance. You hold your breath as you feel Phainon push himself into you. The stretch is intense, so much more than his fingers.

“Too—Too much, Phai!” you squeal at how full you are.

Phainon lets out a chuckle and presses himself back into your scent glands, “I’m only half-way, bunny.”

You let out a moan as Phainon continues to push in despite your protest. When your cunt finally meets his knot, you feel impossibly full. So full to the point that you can feel him up in your throat. Phainon lets out a loud groan when you squeeze down on him and he has to bite the sheets next to your head to stop himself from cumming right then and there.

“C—Careful. If you keep doing that I’ll cum sooner than I want to.”

His words have you whining and Phainon takes that as a sign to start moving. He places his hands under your knees and presses them against the bed as he begins to thrust into your pussy. It makes a loud squelch every time his knot nudges your cunt. You can feel him deep in your stomach, your womb.

He’s hitting every pleasurable spot inside of you and you can’t help but clench around him. You feel yourself on the edge of your orgasm once again and this time Phainon doesn’t pull himself out to stop your high.

You cum with a loud whine, clenching hard around Phainon’s cock. It has him letting out a moan and his thrusts grow erratic. Soon he’s joining you in your high as he comes inside you, but he doesn’t push in his knot and the cum leaks back out of your cunt when he slides out.

You're both breathing heavily, breaths mingling with each other as you attempt to get air back into your lungs.

But Phainon doesn’t give you a moment of respite and he’s gripping your waist and flipping you over onto your stomach.

“Phai—Wait—Still sensitive—!”

Your words are knocked out of you when Phainon pushes his still hard cock back inside your cunt from behind. It slides back in easily with all the cum that's inside of you already. He holds you up by your hips, leaving your head on the sheets, and grinds into you.

“F—Fuck! How are you even tighter like this—” Phainon groans as he presses his eyes shut, relishing the pleasure of your sensitive pussy pulsing around him.

However, a scowl returns to his face when he remembers how this all started. Without taking his hands off your hips, he leads down near your ears. You feel his body heat against your back and he whispers into your ears as they twitch.

“Did Mydei fuck you like this? Was his cock big enough to hit all these spots inside of you? Did he have you leaking all over the sheets like I am?”

All you can do is respond with a moan and Phainon bites down on an ear as he drags your body up and down his cock by your hips. The position has him hitting even deeper than before and you feel him hit your womb every time he thrusts back in. It’s intense, and when Phainon lets go of your ear, you turn your head to the side to be able to breathe. Tears are streaming down your face again, and you feel Phainon grow harder inside of you. He brings mouth to your cheeks and licks up your tears before pressing his face into your scent glands.

“Y—You’re even cute when you cry. Sh—Shit—!” he exclaims as you clench around him, close once again.

“If you’re close again, I’m gonna have to fuck you harder if I want to cum with you, bunny,” Phainon breathes out, “Hang on.”

You grip the sheets as he brings himself upright again and pulls out, leaving just the tip. You whine at the loss of his cock, but you mewl when he shoves himself back in by thrusting his hips and simultaneously bringing your hips to meet his. He moves faster now, chasing his own high. You attempt to crawl away from him, but his grip on your hips is unrelenting and he pulls you back onto his dick every time.

Phainon’s moans grow in volume and you know he’s close like you. He leans back once again and places his mouth over your scent glands. You think you hear him mutter an apology when he suddenly pushes his knot into your sloppy pussy, cumming inside you. At the same time, he bites down hard on your gland, creating a mating mark. When his knot slips in, it has your eyes widening at the sudden intrusion. The feeling of being so overwhelmingly stuffed as you falling apart on his cock, tail twitching erratically. You cum on his dick with a loud moan of his name and you feel pulse after pulse of his cum fill your womb and pussy.

After a few moments, his mouth lets go of your neck and he licks the blood away. Phainon presses light kisses on your scent gland.

“Now, you’re mine,” he says, still in a sex daze, “Not Mydei’s. Mine.”

“Yours,” you reply before you can stop it.

The word has Phainon perking up and his tail wags behind him. He peppers kisses all over your face and begins to grind himself against you.

(Wait—Is he getting hard again?!)

By the time Idrila returns, you’ve been fully fucked out.

Bite marks litter your body and a mixture of your slick and Phainon’s cum slides down your legs. You can’t feel your body and all you can think about is Phainon.

You’re sure the smell of sex is clear in the air even to your owner’s nose.

Phainon has finally taken a break to get you some water and your suspicions about Idrila are confirmed when Phainon returns with some soup and the aforementioned water.

He also mentions the news that Idrila has given you permission to “sleepover.”

Even with your aching body, you can stop the sigh that escapes your lips.

You’re in for a long night.

PHAINON GIVE ME A CHANCE PLEASE!!! also i wrote this in an actual daze sorry if some of it didnt make sense LOL

you are at part one! go to ; two

please like, comment, reblog, and share if you enjoyed!!

The figure before you was gigantic, and the scandalous state of undress did nothing to hide his monumental form. Sun-kissed skin, stretched taut over a terrain of thick muscle, was marred by a map of silvery scars that spoke of countless battles. A light dusting of golden hair, catching the dappled forest light, traced the hard lines of his torso, leading down past the stark V of his hips.

His face held a wild charm, a rough stubble dusting a jaw that looked capable of crushing bone. And his eyes… they were a blue so piercing and knowing it felt uncanny. They saw the tremor in your hands, the traitorous hitch in your breath, the coil of heat tightening low in your belly despite your terror. Two large wolf ears, a shade darker than his tousled blonde hair, twitched and pivoted at your every whimper, attuned to the frantic rabbit-beat of your heart. Behind him, a magnificent golden tail lashed once through the air with a soft swish, betraying his interest.

But your gaze, horrified and helplessly fascinated, was dragged downward. Between his tree-trunk thighs, utterly unabashed, it stood – a thick, ruddy, obscene length of flesh, heavy with prominent veins. It wasn't fully upright but jutted forward with a weighty promise, the tapered tip already beading with a single pearl of moisture that caught the dappled forest light. It gave a slight bob as you stared, making your own breath stutter in response. The air grew thick, charged with the scent of pine, musk, and something feral.

You stumbled back with a shriek, clutching the basket and holding it in front of you like a shield. “S-stay back!”

The sound that rumbled from his chest was deep and grating, startling you for a second. 

“Whoa there, lil’ Red! Easy! I don’t bite… much.” He took a casual step forward, his nostrils flaring. “Gods. That smell...” He inhaled deeply, and a smile spread across his face, revealing sharp canines. “The sweetest pie.”

“Take it then!” you squealed, thrusting the basket toward him, squeezing your eyes shut. “Just take the pie and don’t hurt me!”

“Hmm?” He plucked the basket from your trembling hands, sniffed it once, and threw it aside without a glance. “No, no, silly thing. Not that pie.”

A large hand closed around your wrist. You gasped, eyes opening wide to meet his blazing blues. They were glazed, half-lidded with a hunger you barely understood. 

“Name’s Varka, lil’ Red,” he growled, “and I’ve just caught the ripest scent in whole damn Wolvendom.”

“No!” You tried to pull back, but his grip was iron. “Let me go! I have to go to my grandmother!”

“Grandma can wait,” he purred, his other hand coming up to push the hood of your cloak back. His fingers tangled in your hair, appreciating your beautiful locks before yanking you against the unyielding wall of his body. The impact knocked the air from your lungs, and you were acutely aware of every sculpted ridge of his abdomen and chest pressed against you. The hard line of his erection, throbbing with a slow pulse, pressed against your belly, searing hot even through the layers of your dress. You whimpered in pure terror, and your high-pitched sound ignited something feral in his eyes.

A terrified “Please!” was all you managed before his fingers, tipped with claws that lightly scored the fabric, closed on the front of your dress. With a brutal tear, the pretty red fabric turned into a shredded remnant in his massive fist. You stumbled backwards, and your ass hit the soft moss of the forest floor. 

Varka kneeled and loomed over you, a mountain of scarred muscle and primal intent, blotting out the sky. His blue eyes, the pupils dilated into dark pools, glinted with a heat that had nothing to do with violence. His gaze lingered on your exposed belly and the tender swell of your breasts rising and falling with panicked breaths. Instinctively, you crossed your arms over your chest, a futile shield.

“Still tryin' to be modest, sweet Red?” Varka rumbled fondly, a low growl lacing the words. His knee, rough with hair and corded muscle, pressed insistently between your thighs, using his overwhelming weight to force your shaking legs apart. The cool forest air kissed your skin, making you shudder. “No need for that. Let’s have a proper look at what’s makin' all that sweet smell.”

You thrashed like the sweetest prey, your red stockings snagging and tearing against something in the moss. “Please, no – the pie, take the pie!”

“Hah! I’ve told you,” he snarled, leaning down so his hot breath, carrying the wild scent of his arousal, fanned your face. His rough stubble scratched your cheek as he nipped at your earlobe. “I’m not interested in the one in the basket.”

You felt his hands, rough like weathered bark, completely engulf your hips, his thumbs digging into the soft flesh of your inner thighs as he spread you open wider. With another rip, this one accompanied by the sickening sound of torn lace, the remaining skirts and your delicate panties were rendered into useless shreds. You screamed, kicking back wildly. Your heel connected with the solid rock of his thigh, which only made his cock, now fully erect and angrily red, jump and leak a thick strand of precum onto your inner thigh.

“Feisty! I like the fight in ya!” Varka laughed wholeheartedly, and his wolf ears flattened against his skull in concentration. His lips find the shell of your ear, whispering intimately, “Gon’ lick ya stupid, lil’ Red. Gotta taste what I'm goin’ to destroy...”

Before you could plead again, his mouth descended. His lips and tongue were a brand of fire, trailing down, sucking violent hickeys into the tender skin of your neck, your collarbone, the trembling swell of your breast. Varka stopped over your pert nipple, sucking the innocent flesh deep into the scorching cavern of his mouth, teasing the poor bud mercilessly with the rasp of his rough tongue, then bit slightly around it, his sharp canines leaving a perfect red circle of indents around your tortured peak. 

The mix of pain and shocking pleasure made you grab fistfuls of unruly hair near his ears and tug. This only elicited a low growl of approval from him as he released your poor flesh with an obscene pop. 

“Tha’s it… Ya startin’ to look like mine, Red.” He admired the darkening mark with a possessive gleam in his eye before continuing his relentless journey south, licking a broad stripe down your belly, his nose inhaling deeply, savoring the salt of your sweat and the sweet feminine scent beneath. As his handsome face came level with your loins, hidden in shy curls and glistening with your own betraying arousal, Varka stared at your slit, appreciating the delicacy of his next meal. 

"Here's the pie I crave," he murmured, and buried his nose in your curls, sniffing like a starved bloodhound at a feast. A rumbling groan of appreciation rattled in his chest, and, drunk on your scent, he finally licked a burning path from your dripping entrance all the way up to your swollen clit.

You jerked as if struck by lightning, a broken cry torn from your throat at the white-hot bolt of pleasure that seared through the numbness of your terror. Your toes coiled against the damp moss, and your hips gave an involuntary jerk towards his greedy mouth. Varka growled, the sound shaking his entire frame and vibrating deliciously against your labia.

“Oh, fuck,” his voice was muffled against your slick folds. He lapped at you again, broader, slower, more proprietary, his broad nose nudging insistently against your clit as his tongue parted your inner lips, prodding at your leaking hole, savouring the taste. “Hit a jackpot. Cunt sweet as honey and ripe as a fucking peach. You knew what you did, coming into my woods ovulating, didn’t ya?”

With that, Varka hooked one of your legs over his shoulder, the red wool of your torn stocking being a stark contrast against his sun-tanned skin. Dipping back, he pressed his face to your cunt so tight that his nose flattened your poor clit, and his tongue became relentless when you whimpered at the sensation. It speared inside you, fucking you with shallow thrusts that made you sob and gush more of your honey into his thirsty mouth. Then it flattened, dragging over your clit in tight, dizzying circles that had your back arching off the ground against your will, your hands flying to his head once again. 

This time, though, you didn't try push him away. Instead, your fingers tangled in his hair, the gesture caught between a plea to stop and a desperate pull for more. Varka held you down easily, one huge hand splaying possessively over your lower belly, pinning you, urging you to gush out more sweetness against his face. 

With his tongue on you, in you, you were becoming boneless, melting slowly, the forest canopy spinning above you. Tears of shame and pleasure streaked your temples.

“Va– Vah–!” you tried to plead, but found yourself unable to speak when he sucked at your clit again.

“Sho– shooo fuckin’ shweet,” he snarled between licks, his hands coming up to cruelly pinch and roll your neglected nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, kneading the soft swell afterwards. He shifted, nuzzling lower, his wet nose tracing a path further down. His tongue, eager and curious, darted to tease the tight pucker of your other hole, kissing and licking it with blunt pressure.

“Ah! N-not there!” you shrieked, jolting as if struck.

“Everywhere,” Varka corrected hungrily, his voice muffled between your thighs. “But for now…” His tongue returned to your weeping slit with renewed fervor, drinking from you, licking up like a starved mutt, then sucking your raw clit into his mouth with obscene gusto, smearing more of your juices all over his stubbled cheeks and chin, biting at the tender nub ever so gently with his teeth. 

The culmination was too vast to fight, and, with another teasing nip, you came, body convulsing violently under the prison of his mouth and hands, your vision whiting out as waves of shameful pleasure wracked you. Varka tugged at your nipples again and drank every spasm, every drop, his growls of satisfaction vibrating through your very core.

“Fuck yeah,” he panted, lifting his head, his face glistening with your release. “Jus’ a small appetizer before the main feast.” As you lay there trembling, utterly wrecked and puddled on your own red cloak, he moved up your body. His immense weight settled over you, supported only by his forearms, deliciously crushing the air from your lungs. The intimidating length of his fully erect cock, its ruddy skin flushed dark and slick with his pre-cum, pressed insistently against your quivering entrance. He nudged impatiently, and you felt the tapered tip catch and begin to part your swollen hole.

“W-wait!”

Varka did not. 

With a single, powerful, and utterly devastating thrust, he fully sheathed himself inside you, and white-hot pain obliterated everything. You didn’t hear yourself scream, and didn’t feel how your nails dug into his scarred shoulders, scoring thin red lines over old silvered wounds, as more tears escaped your eyes. There was a tearing in your abdomen, a stretching beyond comprehension, a burning invasion that split you open around a thickness you could not fathom, and a hot trickle of blood joining the mess of fluids between your legs.

Varka halted, his entire body going rigid above you. His nostrils flared, sniffing audibly at the coppery new scent mingling with your arousal in the air. His pupils dilated into vast pools, the blazing blue nearly swallowed whole by dawning realization.

“Well, I’ll be a son of a bitch,” he breathed, his voice a thick rumble of lust and sudden wonder. He pulled back just enough to look down between your joined bodies. A smear of vivid crimson painted the thick root of his cock, a stark, virgin red glistening around the veined flesh and the swollen knot at its base. A profound change came over him. The rowdy predator was still there, thrumming in the tense cord of his muscles, but it was now layered with something else – an almost reverent gentleness. The low growl in his chest softened into a deep purr, and his tail began to thump a joyful rhythm against the moss behind him. 

“Ah, sweetheart...” he murmured, the words gravelly with awe. Varka lowered his head, his stubbled jaw scraping gently against your cheek as he nuzzled you, his large wolf ears swiveling forward to catch every hitched breath. He licked the tears from your skin with surprisingly soft licks, the action slow and soothing, like a dog trying to calm his owner.

“Shhh, lil’ Red, you’re good… Givin’ your first to a Big Bad Wolf…” He kissed your eyelids, your cheeks, the corner of your mouth, his actions bizarrely tender even as his monstrous erection stayed lodged deep inside your pussy, the heat of him a brand on your very core, stretching you with a fullness that bordered on torture.

“Gonna make it so good for you, you’ll beg for more, yeah? For now, be a good girl and relax, ‘key?”

Varka stayed like that for long minutes, kissing and cooing, letting his weight envelop you, letting your body adjust to his monstrous invasion. The burning pain slowly began to transmute into an unbearable fullness. You felt stuffed, speared, owned. And as he began to move – a shallow rock of his hips – withdrawing almost all the way before sliding back in with aching slowness, the pain melted into a pleasure so intense it felt like dying.

“M–more!” you sobbed, back arching into him needily.

He cradled your head in his calloused palms, kissing your face as he thrusted. Each gradually deepening move punched a soft whimper from your lips. Needing to anchor yourself, your hands found his bulging forearms, clinging weakly. Varka made a pleased sound deep in his chest and gathered you closer, the hot, musky scent of his sweat and skin enveloping you.

“That’s it,” he grunted, his composure beginning to fracture as the rut reclaimed him, his gentle rhythm growing more insistent, the slap-slap-slap of his flesh against yours growing louder in the quiet glade. “Submit, lil’ Red. It’ll feel even better...”

Slowly, but surely, the world broke apart. Each piston-like drive of his hips punched the breath from your lungs and smashed the tapered tip of his cockhead against the mouth of your womb, making you see stars. The wet, filthy sound of him pounding your sloppy cunny filled the air, louder than your cries.

“That’s it, baby,” Varka roared, his own composure shattering, his claws extending just enough to prick the skin of your hips, “So tight, so hot around me– fuck! Gon’ knot you so full!”

One hand gripped your hip so hard you knew there would be bruises in the shape of his fingers. The other wrapped in your hair, pulling your head back to expose your throat for his biting, sucking, kissing. His teeth grazed your pulse point, not breaking skin, but promising the mark. Your breasts, freed from your dress, bounced and jiggled wildly with every brutal thrust.

You were beyond thought at this point. Cock-drunk, mindless, pounded into the wet moss by a Big Bad Wolf himself. Your legs, which had been pushing weakly at his sides, now locked around his waist, your heels digging into the small of his back, just above the base of his thrashing tail, trying to pull him deeper, to feel the burgeoning pressure of his knot against your ravaged hole.

“Va– Varka! P-please… mo– ore!” you heard yourself beg, the words slurred and shattered by each devastating plunge.

He laughed, a joyous sound echoing in his chest. “Such a greedy little virgin I caught! Wants it all, doesn’t she?” His eyes, glowing with feral adoration, devoured your mindless form. “Ride it then, baby! Take what you need from me!”

In a dizzying display of strength, he rolled onto his back, keeping you seamlessly impaled. Your world spun as you found yourself straddling him, your hands on his hairy chest, his shaft buried to the hilt inside your clutching pussy. Varka folded his powerful arms behind his head, muscles bulging, and grinned up at you with wolfish delight, his golden tail thumping against the moss. “Earn your cream, lil’ Red. Show this ol’ wolf what yer made of.”

You tried to move, but managed only a shallow rise before sinking back down, a needy sob catching in your throat. Seeing your struggle, the vestige of the predator vanished, replaced by a guiding lust. 

“Aww, poor Red... Let the Big Bad Wolf help ya,” Varka murmured, and his large hands settled on your hips. He began to guide you, lifting you with ease until just the swollen tip of him remained inside, then pulling you down slowly, sheathing you back onto his girth like a toy.

“Like that, yeah?” he encouraged, his blue eyes holding yours. “Use me, darlin’. Take a ride.” 

With his help, you found a rhythm – a slow, deep, rolling grind that dragged every inch of his veined shaft against places that made you see Celestia behind your eyelids. You rose and fell with a wet plap-plap-plap, aided by the upward thrusts of his own hips, meeting him in a syncopated dance of mounting frenzy, your head thrown back in abandon.

“Look at ya,” he panted, his hands leaving your hips to cup your breasts, kneading the soft flesh with rough reverence. “First timer, and already ridin’ that cock like a pro, yeah? Bouncing on it like you were born for it. Want my cream tha’ bad?”

“Please! Varka! Give it to me– I need it– I need you!” You nodded frantically, slamming yourself down onto him despite the tang of pain in your cunny, meeting his upward thrusts desperately. The base of his shaft, that threatening swell of his knot, began to stretch you even wider with every bounce.

“Come on my cock then!” he ordered, his voice a guttural snarl. “Squeeze it out of my balls! Let me put a litter in you!”

“I’m gonna– Please–!” You shattered. Your orgasm was a tidal wave, violent and all-consuming. Your cunt clamped down on him like a vise, rippling and convulsing around the intrusive thickness, milking his length in rhythmic, desperate pulses. 

“That’s my good girl!” Varka howled, his heart banging against his ribs, eyes rolling back.

“Gon’ cum!” was his final warning. His face contorted in ecstatic release as he sat up halfway, wrapping his arms around your waist in a crushing embrace. With one final, powerful upward surge of his hips, his knot slid past your resisting entrance with a wet pop, locking him inside you. At the same moment, you felt the tip of his cock kiss your cervix, delivering hot his spent right into your fertile little womb.

For a blinding second, his vision whited out entirely, and in the void, Varka swore he saw you – not the trembling girl on top of him, but a maker wearing your face, baring teeth in a sharp smile of absolute approval.

Ah, fuck.

The realization was a different kind of punch, landing in the gut as his body was still wracked by the last waves of release. 

Letting you go? Ha! Absolute bullshit!

Not now. Not ever. Not after he’d just nutted his very fucking soul and brain into your shy cunny. Not when you’d taken him – all of him, the fear and the fury and the frantic need – and met his frenzy with an eager rhythm of your own. Not when your shattered moans of his name had sounded less like pleas and more like a prayer.

“Mine,” Varka finally decided, hands flying to the meat of your bruised thighs, making sure that he marked them with his fingertips properly, “My pretty Red…”

You collapsed forward onto his chest, sending you two to fall on the soft moss, sobbing through the endless pulses that filled you, feeling your belly grow warm and heavy.

Varka held you through it all, one rough hand splayed over your lower back, the other groping and spreading your ass, his middle finger teasingly pressing an insistent circle against your butt in a promise for later. Even when you went limp, his hips never stopped their shallow jerks, pumping his cum against your cervix in spurts until he was utterly spent and sure it would take. When he could speak, Varka looked down on you, draped so fucking adorably over his massive body. His blue eyes were sated, possessive. 

“So, my lil’ Red,” he murmured, his thumb stroking over your hip. He shifted slightly, making you both aware of the warm seep of his spend already beginning to leak out around the knot still plugging you. “Grandma’s not getting her pie. Not now, not later, not ever.” 

You lifted your face to stare at him, and his tail began a happy wag against the moss at the sight of your dazed, fucked-out, questioning expression. Varka leaned in, licking a broad stripe from the corner of your swollen lips up to your temple, and you blushed adorably, hiding your beautiful face in his hairy chest and nuzzling into it like a needy pup. “But her granddaughter… she’s getting all the pies she deserves.”

As the knot began to soften, he pulled from your tarnished cunt with an obscene sound, making you whimper at the sudden emptiness and the flood of gush that followed.

In one swift motion, Varka stood, tossing you over his broad shoulder like a prize. Your head hung down his back, your sore cunt openly dripping its creamy load in a thick trail down the inside of your leg and onto the forest floor. He turned his head, his blue eyes darkening with renewed hunger as he watched the evidence of his claim leak from your raw cunny. Smirking, he ran a hot tongue up your outer thigh. 

“Breedin’ season’s on us, my lil’ mate,” Varka growled, the words a hot rumble against your skin as his fingers dug possessively into the soft flesh of your ass. He began to move, walking deeper into his territory, his thick tail lashing with primal satisfaction. “My den’s where you belong. Gon’ take you home and keep that pie full of my cream ‘til you’re properly fat with my pups.”

He leaned down, his breath scalding against your skin before his teeth sank in, making you tremble and marking the curve of your ass, a promise of bruises and bite marks to come. A low, predatory chuckle vibrated through him as he laved the stinging spot with a broad, rough stroke of his tongue. 

“And Big Bad Wolf has lots of cream to share.”

.

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Series Masterlist: Creatures Features

Next part: Pride Rock (Hard) (LionHybrid!JingYuan x fem!reader)

Honestly, I liked it so much when I'd finished the first draft. But after I edited it... I don't know, it feels kinda drier than I intended it to be. I need to know if I'm the only one who thinks so, so please, don't hesitate to leave a comment! c:

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