Despite being such a distinguished event, you’ve historically kept to yourself during it. Friends would invite you, but you’re not particularly enthused, maybe at most traversing through the streets a little to find some food to indulge in. The more vibrant celebrations, however, you’ve kept up a streak of avoiding them throughout the years.

Surprisingly enough, this isn’t even Phainon’s first time asking. This was your third year at the Grove of Epiphany, and for the last few times, you’ve said ‘no’ each time whenever he asked.

“I don’t have plans for it,” you admit. 

“What? You’re in Okhema for once and you don’t attend the Kephale Festival? That’s unheard of.”

“Not everyone is a socialite like you, Deliverer,” Mydei chips and you laugh underneath your breath. Phainon pouts at you, as if pleading for you to come up his defence when you know very well there’s a myriad of smart retorts he could respond with.

“In all fairness, it is a huge yearly celebration, I even think my family has plans of going.” Hyacine intervenes. “Are you maybe too familiar with the festivities?” 

You shrug. “Maybe, but if you’re in Okhema this year, then we should hang out!” 

“That sounds great! Would you like to join us, Phainon?”

“Of course!” He nods enthusiastically, “We should show you around!”

The conversation flows onto something else, which you’re grateful for. Eventually, the group splits when Castorice and Hyacine head to a class together, and Mydei follows, leaving just you and Phainon.

You two move to a different section in the expansive gardens of the Grove, seeking shelter from the bright sun by sitting under a large magnolia tree. The dirt surrounding you is littered with droppings of the white petals, Phainon idly fidgeting with the blooms and grass, even making little knots and threads of them.

Sitting with your knees tucked and a book resting on your legs, you can’t help but get the feeling that the white-haired man wants something from you, his gaze flickering over to you and lingering for a few seconds before he turns his head away.

There’s a question he wants to ask but doesn't know how to approach it, like the words won’t roll off his tongue in the way he wants it. There’s also a furrow in his brows, and you know that determined look all too well. You saw it when he was failing Professor Anaxagoras’ classes during the first half of the semester and worked hard enough that he managed to scrape a distinction from the scholar. Whilst his efforts were fuelled by him desperately wanting to prove himself, you gave him the push to really go for it. 

So, exactly like you did then, you nudge him in the right direction.

“Something on your mind, Phainon?” 

His bright blue eyes widen, flickering back to you as he straightens his spine, clearly being caught off guard by your question. “How’d you know?”

“You’re fidgeting.”

He laughs in that boisterous way of his, eyes crinkling at the corners. “You speak as if you know me like the back of your hand.”

“Well, I wasn’t wrong, was I?” You turn your attention back to the pages. “Fine, don’t tell me if you don’t want to.” 

“No, that’s not it, I do have a favour to ask of you, I’m just afraid it’s a bit embarrassing.” His hand goes to scratch the back of his neck and he refuses to meet your eyes. 

It’s amusing to see Phainon, who’s exuberance is larger than life and unapologetic about it, suddenly become as shy as a small child asking for extra sweets from Okheman vendors. However, for how long you’ve known Phainon, you’ve learnt that whenever he displays this quieter side of his, he’s trying to express a concern that worries him, so you wait patiently for him to answer. 

“You know how I asked if you were going to the Kephale Festival this year?” Asks Phainon. You nod. “Well, I… was hoping to also ask if you could be my date.”

“Date? People need dates for the festival? I thought it was just games and performances and food.”

“It is! However, my mother is invited to lots of galas in celebration, and she always drags me along, somehow landing me a date every time. She has done this since I was fifteen, and honestly, Y/n, I can’t take it anymore,” he grimaces. “I don’t want to have another awkward festival experience, so I was hoping you would be able to accompany me this year?”

It sounds easy enough, maybe a little awkward. What you know of Phainon’s home is that he was adopted by a lady in Okhema who, from the stories he’d tell you, seems like a lovely woman, so you’re not entirely opposed to the idea of attending a gala and potentially meeting her.

Besides, this is Phainon. You may prefer to stay away from galas when you can, but he always has a way of making things fun. Where’s the harm?

“Being your date sounds easy enough. All I have to do is attend, right?”

Phainon laughs awkwardly. “Yes, but that’s not all. My mother believes in chivalry above all else, she will do unspeakable things to me if I’m bringing just a friend. So… we have to pretend that we’re in a relationship.”

“What?” 

Suddenly, he’s on his knees and his hands are pressed together. “Please, Y/n, I’m begging you to help me out here. I’ll treat you to a lifetime of meals, just don’t make me suffer through another festival with someone I hardly know!” 

“I-It’s just a festival…”

“After years of suffering through awkward scenarios with people I hardly know, it feels like torture. I just want to bring someone who i will actually enjoy spending time with.” With the way he was pleading, you don’t think there is much room to intervene. It’s an odd request, you’re not even sure if you wholeheartedly believe his reasoning because of the many flaws in his logic.

Regardless, this issue seems serious to him, and it truly seemed as if he needed the help, and you’re willing to cast aside reason for someone reliable like him. If it were anyone else, you would have rejected, but Phainon? Who has always been there for you? You don’t have the heart to say ‘no’. 

“O-Okay, I’ll do it.”

“Really?” 

“Really.”

Suddenly, he brings you into a hug so tight that it feels like your ribs are being pressed together. He’s basically proclaiming a series of ‘thank you’s right in your ear, leaving you with barely any oxygen or brainpower to wonder if you’ve made a grave mistake, or if this will just be another funny story to share with your friends.

· · ─ · ☼ · ─ · ·

Pie-non: I’ve arrived at Okhema!

Pie-non: Good to be back

Pie-non: How about you?

Y/n: i’m only heading back this afternoon

Y/n: good to know you made it home safely :)

Pie-non: Hehe 

Pie-non: Safe travels :D

· · ─ · ☼ · ─ · ·

“Welcome home.”

Traditionally, it is a phrase meant to be said with warmth, a phrase of love and care that after being away from home so long, you can not help but feel like you’ve finally returned to where you belong, where you’re forever safe from the anguish and hardships of life. It is meant to be a warm greeting, but the words are so icy it creeps up your spine.

In a cruelly familiar way, you feel your muscles tense, concealing a shiver to let it simmer beneath your skin instead, lest you be scolded for improper behaviour.

“I am home,” you say.

“After all those years spent in the Grove of Epiphany, I had assumed you abandoned us.” There is no humour behind your mother’s words, no lightness underneath.

You thought you would have forgotten the cold edge of your mother’s voice. 

You steel yourself. “I have been furthering my studies.”

“At an underwhelming pace, yes, that would be correct. You may go to your room first and put all your belongings away, however, return to the living room within half an hour, your father will have returned by then.”

“Of course.”

“Dismissed.”

Within these walls, everything is constructed perfectly. From the furniture, to where it’s placed, to the floor boards and its distance from the ceiling, everything was made to be precise and perfect, and not an inch out of place. Within these walls, there are clocks everywhere, and they are all set at the exact, same second, ticking at the exact same millisecond so you are reminded to not waste a single tick. Within these walls, goosebumps crawl stubbornly all over your skin, trailing along your forearm, back, and neck, making your hair stand up.

Within these walls, you always feel cold, despite the bright Okhema sunlight that shines through routinely-cleaned window panes.

Within these walls, is your least favourite place in all of Okhema.

· · ─ · ☼ · ─ · ·

Pie-non: Are you free today?

Pie-non: Let’s hangout :0

Y/n: sure!

Y/n: i have a few errands to run, but i’ll be done before 1pm

Y/n: is that okay?

Y/n: we can get lunch or something together

Pie-non: More than

Pie-non: Do you need an errand buddy? I’m great entertainment :p

Y/n: it’ll be quite boring though

Pie-non: It’s ok, I like spending time with you! 

Y/n: alright

Y/n: meet me at marmoreal markets at 11am

The list of errands to complete your parents left you seemed longer today, and you scrutinise the additions that definitely were not there yesterday– just thinking about retrieving everything is making your head ache. Additionally, given how expansive Okhema is and how there are businesses all over the streets of the city, this errand trip is going to be exhausting. 

You stand up straighter and exhale a deep breath. It’s nothing unmanageable, no need to feel so frustrated over something so minute.

If anything, you feel bad that Phainon has to endure it with you. 

Your father had returned home yesterday exactly the same as you last saw him, perhaps with more wrinkles on his forehead and less hair on his head, but with the same distaste for the world he’s heralded for decades. 

They dropped you a series of tasks to complete, and you immediately resigned to your fate of being an errand runner. 

Couples, friends, and families pass by as you wait for Phainon. The markets are a notoriously busy and overstimulating space, leaving you to continuously glance left and right for any indication of his arrival. 

Thankfully, he doesn’t keep you waiting for long, appearing with two cups of iced drinks in his hands and that usual, easygoing smile of his.

“Hey, Y/n!” He waves at you, his other hand occupied with a carton holding two drinks. “Sorry if you’ve been waiting long, I got us some drinks to keep us cool!” He hands you one of them.

“What’s this?” You ask, eyeing the drink and the way it was presented. There are plenty of famous cafes around the markets that go viral all the time on the web for their cute aesthetics and unique drink combos that oddly mesh very well together. 

“I got you a pomegranate cream latte!” He stabs his straw into his drink, “you do like pomegranate, right?”

Incredible, it’s like Phainon knew you haven’t had your caffeine fix yet. “Yeah, I do. What did you get?” 

“A fig iced tea, want to try some?” He tilts the cup’s straw to your mouth and you hum at the fruity flavour that explodes on your tongue, nodding in approval of his choice, saying something about how you’ll get that next time. 

Then, you take a sip of your drink and hum in approval at his choice again. “This actually tastes pretty good, I would never have tried this if I saw it, thanks a bunch.”

He makes a sound of satisfaction, pleased with your judgment. “I’m glad, otherwise I would have had to drink it for you.”

“No thanks, we don’t need you to be caffeinated today.”

“Aw, why not? I did promise I’d be an exciting errand buddy today.”

“You don’t need caffeine to be exciting, Phainon.”

He laughs, the corners of his eyes creasing. “I’ll take that as a compliment! So, partner, what kind of date do you have planned for us?” 

You roll your eyes. “Unfortunately, this is going to be a date between me and this list of errands to get through, so let’s see how long you last before you regret tagging along.”

It’s like he takes that as a challenge, following along with every task you complete so obediently that you begin feeling bad for putting him through this, even if he’s not complaining or showing any physical weariness. Instead, he’s making small talk with the vendors you visit, asking about business, their days, what they’re selling. They’re far more receptive to him than you, but you’re certain that’s just part of Phainon’s charm and how effortlessly he can draw people in and keep them there.

Eventually, when you’ve finally completed the last task on the list, you and Phainon settle for a restaurant nearby.  

“Thank you for accompanying me today,” you watch as he pours water into both your glasses.

“No problem! It was fun, we talked to so many cool people like that fabrics owner!” Phainon exclaims. “Who knew that deep colour of red could only be achieved with pomegranate wine?”

“Speaking of which, I didn’t realise you knew so much about tailoring and garments and all that, where’d you learn?”

He waves his hand dismissively, “my mother, actually! Of course, I am nowhere as skilled as her, but after watching her weave for so long, I’ve picked up a few things along the way. I could never actually make anything, though, I’d be stuck threading the string through the needle.”

“Wow, so your mother is a seamstress?”

“Yeah! She actually runs a business in it. I really should know more about it, but fashion has never been my strong suit. She’s always picked out my outfits for me and burned the things she didn’t like.” There’s a twinge on embarrassment on Phainon’s features as he recalls the story and you laugh.

“Did she dress you for today?” 

He crosses his arms. “No! I’m not that aesthetically challenged anymore.” 

“I’m kidding,” you take a sip of your water. “Either way, having you around made the day a little more bearable.”

“Just a little?” 

“Just a little.”

“Are you sure it’s not a whooooole lot more than just a little?”

You roll your eyes. “Whatever.” 

He grins. “By the way, lunch is on me. I do owe you a lifetime of meals.”

“What? No, it’s fine,” you insist, “I thought you were just kidding!”

“I wasn’t, you’re my saviour, really.”

“That’s an exaggeration, come on.”

“I’m paying. That’s final.”

Phainon beats you to the register later, successfully covering your portion of the meal before you can do anything about it, smiling smugly at you when he’s successful.

· · ─ · ☼ · ─ · ·

Pie-non: Do you want to come over to mine?

Pie-non: Mum wants to meet you c:

Y/n: omg actually

Y/n: i’d love to! what day were you thinking?

Pie-non: How about Saturday? I’ll come pick you up. 

It dawns on you in Phainon’s car that you actually have to play the role of a loving partner. You knew what you were getting into, but it only hits now that the act has to come alive as you sit in his passenger seat, a box of fruits from Janusopolis in your lap.

When he pulls up at, what you assume has to be, his house, you have to stop and admire for a bit. It’s really nice, and you wonder how on Amphoreus you didn’t know that Phainon might have come from an affluent background. Maybe because the air of arrogance that rich Okheman kids carried around was not present in him- either way, you suddenly feel a lot more nervous for what his foster carer might be like. 

You have had your fair share of unpleasant run-ins with rich people.

He unlocks the front door and calls out a loud “We’re home!”. His voice booms through the expanse of his home and in response, someone exclaims a ‘welcome home’, the voice hypnotising and mature as the sound of heels ricochet down the walls. 

You had an image of what Phainon’s guardian might have been like, but you definitely were not expecting the face of your parents’ number one business rival to turn and greet you.

It’s like the universe is playing a grand prank because you’re certain half the colour has drained from your face, and you’re utterly speechless as Aglaea, the infamous ‘Goldweaver’, gives Phainon a small hug. You’re sure you look like a fool when she turns to greet you. Intimidatingly beautiful and beautifully intimidating, she is every part as terrifying as you were expecting her to be.

The first thing to note is that she is far more beautiful in person, carrying an air of dignity that will take your breath away. The second thing to note is she has an extremely kind smile, and you’re unable to see the villain that your parents have relentlessly painted her out to be.

They say that eyes are the window to the soul, but it seems that Aglaea has boarded hers shut with wooden planks, because you can not sense what she is thinking at all. She regards you incredibly neutral, like you are just another person in the threads of her life, and in a sense, you are. However, you were expecting more scrutiny, more hostility concealed by over-honeyed words, and a piercing gaze that would scan you up and down, considering Phainon just introduced you as his other half. 

You expect her to be like your mother. Instead, she smiles like she has known you her whole life.

“It seems that my boy has met his match,” she approaches you with a dignified air to her, as if all the dust particles in the atmosphere part with each step she takes, never obstructing her perfect appearance. “Y/n, it is an honour to meet you.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you as well, Lady Aglaea.” You tense when you realise you’ve addressed her too properly, feeling a grim jab of embarrassment to your gut. Quickly, you recover. “I brought some gifts for your household to enjoy! These are fruits from Janusopolis.” 

“That is very thoughtful of you, and please, drop the formalities, no need to be so polite.”

You relax your shoulders a little. 

“Phainon has told me some stories about you, you’re from Okhema as well, correct? Will you be here for the Kephale Festival?” 

“Yes, I will be.” 

“Good.” She smiles at you, and the gesture alone feels like a pat on the back, despite the fact that you have done nothing but be present before her. “What is it that you study at the Grove?” 

Some small talk is made, you answer each question she fires your way flawlessly, strategic with the tone and language you choose to respond to her with. 

However, unlike most ‘interrogations’ from recognisable members of society, this one with Aglaea feels less daunting and more like she’s genuinely getting to know you, each question not meant to disarm or test you. Rather, her curiosity stemming from interest and careful consideration of all you say. 

You were not expecting that from the most successful businesswoman in Okhema. Maybe even all of Amphoreus. 

After a few minutes, the conversation flows to a close. “Regrettably, I cannot stay to chat- Phainon, do take good care of Y/n. Y/n, you may tell me if he misbehaves, I’ll spin him back into shape.”

You laugh. “I will. It was lovely meeting you!”

“Make yourself at home, Y/n.”

The door closes behind her with a resounding click, and you feel like a massive weight has been lifted off your shoulders. From all the anecdotes you receive in passing from your parents, Aglaea is hardly as devious as they make her out to be. Frightening? Perhaps, but she is not a spawn of malice and evil. 

Still- a little warning would have been much appreciated.

“Why didn’t you tell me your caretaker was Aglaea?” You ask.

A few days ago, when Phainon said his mother owned a business in garment making and tailoring, you assumed it was on small scale, not an enterprise worthy of toppling over her competitors’. You’re pretty certain she runs a tailoring store for fun, external to the rest of her conglomerate. 

He blinks at you. “Would you have known who she was beforehand?”

“Yes! Your mother is the most successful businesswoman in Okhema, some warning would have been nice!”

“Does it matter? Would that have changed how you perceived her?”

You shut your mouth. 

“To me, she is the woman who I am eternally grateful for, without her, I do not know where I would be. That is the only version of her that matters to me.”

Shame crawls up your spine at the realisation you were accusing Phainon under his own roof.

“You’re right, I’m sorry. I got ahead of myself, she seems like an incredible woman.”

“It’s okay,” he nods, an understanding look in his eyes, “would you like any food or water?”

“A glass of water is fine, thank you,” you say quietly and he leads you deeper into the pristine abode of his. You pass by pictures hung up on the wall that you merely glance at, not wanting to pry for too long. Despite how neat Phainon’s house is, it feels lived in. Like a space that is clean, yet welcoming, like the decorations and furniture were chosen for beauty and comfort, not just to show off endless vasts of wealth. 

“You’re fine with pets, right?” Next thing you know, he whistles loudly and you hear several, little claws resounding through the halls, pattering against the marble floor. Eventually, a pack of five or so chimeras round the corner, clearly excited by the call of their owner, who bends down to their height so they can all jump onto his lap. 

They’re all over him, rubbing against him excitedly and jumping around like the exuberant creatures they are. The sight is so cute, it almost makes you coo.

(You are, however, not above sneaking a photo that you will definitely send to Hyacine, Castorice, and Mydei later. The latter is going to laugh his ass off at the sight but you know incredibly well that he would love the pack and let them jump all over him too.)

“Hey guys! I missed you too, yeah, I know, I know, but we have a guest!” Almost as if they can understand him, they immediately stop their assault on Phainon to glance at you instead, five pairs of bright, beady eyes staring right at you. “Everyone, this is Y/n!”

It seems like that opens the floodgates, because they are suddenly jumping all over your legs, hoping to knock you down like they did with Phainon. They howl and whine, quietening down when you scratch their ears, keening at your touch. 

“They really like you!” 

“I think they like everyone.”

“Sure, but they like you the most, look! They’re so happy!” Then, you feel a smooth graze against your ankles, as if something was rubbing against it. When you look down, there’s a blue chimera already gazing up at you with sparkling eyes and it mewls when you make eye contact, tail wagging in excitement. “Especially Bubbles! He’s super fond of you.”

You bend down to pick it up and it sits comfortably in your arms, leaning against your shoulder as you cradle it. “He’s cute.”

“I’m glad you think so!”

“Where did you get all of them?” You ask, staring at the litter that was now playing amongst themselves, tackling, laying down, even stepping on each other. 

“I found them abandoned in a cardboard box in a back alley. I was coming home from school one day when I was 16, then I saw baby Bubbles’ nearby, as if waiting for someone to come by. He led me to the rest of the pack and Aglaea allowed me to keep them, it would be cruel to split them up, they deserve to grow up together.” 

“That’s really kind of you.” You suppose it makes sense for someone like Phainon to be so kindhearted that he couldn’t stand the idea of stranding defenseless animals, especially in a city as bustling and busy as Okhema. They would not have survived long without a home.

Fortunately, neither of you need to think about a scenario where that is reality. 

“Bubbles is a smart cookie,” you murmur and the creature in your arms looks at you as if it knew it was being complimented.

You nuzzle your cheek against Bubbles’ head, and he reciprocates by rubbing his against your chin.

(If you squint, the likeness between Phainon and Bubbles is uncanny, the both of them even wearing the same innocent smile with gentle eyes; ones that make you feel like nothing is wrong with the world.)

When you return home, you call out ‘I’m home!’ and hear nothing but silence in response. Moments later, your mother pops through the hallways and informs you of an email your father has forwarded to you– internal documents that required calculations and he expected them finished within the coming days.

You’re in no position to decline, so you grit your teeth and get to work. 

A few days pass since you last saw Phainon. He’s been texting you consistently about a variety of things, sending photos of his chimeras, the views he sees while on his runs, or other miscellaneous things like the dromas-shaped pancake he got from a food stand.

Meanwhile, you’ve been cooped up in your study, the hours passing by nonstop as you work through the pages of financial information forwarded through. 

Pie-non: What are you up to today?

Y/n: nothing fun

Y/n: just finishing up some reports for my parents

Pie-non: Sounds super gross :(

Y/n: the good news is that i’m almost done and can treat myself soon!!!

Pie-non: Yay!! Pie-non: We should hangout then :0

Y/n: hmm

Y/n: i have the day free on sunday! just need to return by curtain fall for a charity event

Pie-non: Lets meet then! Pie-non: The weather forecast is looking nice, how about a picnic?

Pie-non: We should go near the lake!

Y/n: haha okayy sounds good

Y/n: talk more soon, gotta get back to work. 

· · ─ · ☼ · ─ · ·

Your legs are shaking, and no matter how hard you try, they won’t stop. 

The discomfort serves as a sufficient distraction to the disappointed look in your parents eyes as they sit across from you, the low lighting from the living room lamp only highlighting the creases in their forehead and the downturn of their eyebrows. They’re berating you. You have to maintain eye contact as they berate you, forced to watch all the changes in their expression as they vocalise just how disappointed you’ve made them.

From a young age, they have drilled this into you; that you need to look your failures in the eye, that you must maintain their gaze as they ‘tell you how to improve’, but it’s never grown easier over the years. 

Everytime it feels like there is a small child inside the cavern of your chest shaking uncontrollably, its legs are curled to its chest, fighting to preserving what little warmth is left. You feel it trying its best, but you’ve learnt and accepted that one’s ‘best’ is sometimes just not enough, and failure is in the form of a pile of papers smacking the coffee table loudly. 

“Not only that, but you have calculated all of the ratios wrong, our team can not start on the reports otherwise for the quarter,” your father repeatedly jabs the file, to a point where you think it might dent from his actions. He spits “such foolish mistakes.” 

Your mother is no help. She never is against your father’s wrath, instead, she strokes the flames. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

“I have no excuse,” you murmur, “I’ll get it fixed.”

“By 9 am tomorrow. Do not dream of sleeping until it is done. Dismissed,” your father waves you off and that is your chance of escape. 

With insurmountable amount willpower, you stand and try to conceal the wobble in your legs as you trudge out of the living room and up the stairs to your designated office. 

Sitting down in front of your laptop fills you with dread, your vision is persistently blurry as you open all of the files, and doom is a wet droplet that flows down from your eye to your chin. It’s followed by another, and another, until there are puddles on the mahogany desk below you. 

Crying is a burning feeling you have not felt in years, not since you’ve arrived at the Grove of Epiphany, but this is a dance you will never forget the steps to. Too accustomed to the way your retinas burn, how your nose stings, how it hurts even more to push down the evidence and forcefully collect yourself. 

In Kephale’s name, all you want is to be back in your dorm at the Grove. You wonder what Castorice is doing right now. If things were different, you could be spending the holidays together, sharing drinks or snacks together, laughing. You think about what Hyacine is doing with her family, how they should be preparing for their trip to Okhema soon– you should really text her about it soon. Mydei’s probably back in Castrum Kremnos winning every wrestling competition there is, at least, that’s what he said he was doing when you last asked, showing off the many gold medals he’s won since he’s gone home.

You miss your friends. You hope they’re happy and well and not crying quietly by themselves late at night in front of a fluorescent screen, losing against a set of numbers. 

Your phone buzzes.

Pie-non: [ image attached ]

Pie-non: Bubbles misses you!

It’s a photo of the chimera curled up on Phainon’s lap, and it looks like he’s in the middle of watching a series, having a far more comfortable and cozy night than you. Despite the tears in your eyes fogging up your vision, you laugh at the text, typing back a response in between sniffles and small hiccups.

Y/n: aww :( he’s so cute

Y/n: i really miss bubbles, too

Pie-non: You’re welcome to see him anytime

Pie-non: Sticker

Pie-non: [ image attached ]

Warmth blooms in your chest, a stark contrast to the decrepit sense of loneliness that was settling in your chest mere moments ago. 

Wiping your nose with a tissue, you set your phone down, and turn back to the gruesome folder of spreadsheets your parents have ordered you to look through and fully correct before tomorrow.

· · ─ · ☼ · ─ · ·

The weather is nice today. Okheman summers tend to be incredibly dry and hot, with scorching rays that beat you down and dry out your skin if you stand under it for too long. Here, however, sitting under a tree whose foliage filters out most of the sun, leaving patches of light to decorate the ground and your skin, you think this is the peace summer is meant to bring. Especially whilst by the waterside, where the wind carries its coolness and kisses your face with it.

You’ve missed this part of home, and the natural beauty of the Holy City.

There’s a shriek behind you and you turn around to see where the source of the disruption is, but the sight is more wholesome than you anticipated. A little girl being chased by an older brother, both of them looking no older than seven. There’s dirt on their hands, knees and clothes, and their parents chase after them with noisy concern, pulling out handkerchiefs and water bottles like their lives depend on it.

Eventually, the two children stop and listen to the whims of their parents. The father dabs the streaks off his daughter’s face, saying something you can’t hear before pressing a kiss against her forehead. The mother stops and scolds her son for not drinking enough water on such a hot day, leaving him to go run after his sister again with a ruffle of his hair. Your eyes are glued on the couple, how they look proud and content with their children, the warm day like a blessing. 

(In another life, you’ll receive the love you feel indebted to own, but in this one, you’ll get by chasing the approval of people who may never grant it to you, who may never love you like you deserve.)

“I’m sorry I kept you waiting!” A familiar white-haired companion sits down on the picnic mat beside you, an apologetic smile on his boyish features, paired with a bakery box in his hands. 

“It’s alright, I haven’t been here long,” your gaze lingers curiously on what he’s holding. He opens the lid and inside sits a little, charming cake, seemingly the same size as your hand but with three layers of height. “How cute! What’s the occasion?”

“It wouldn't be right to turn up empty-handed, so I picked this up on my way here! Looks good, right?” 

“How thoughtful of you, very picnic-esque. How should we eat it?”

“I just grabbed two forks and thought we could… just go at it.”

Phainon is kind enough to let you have the first bite, watching you struggle to find the right place to take the first stab with a small smile of amusement on his face. Cakes are delicate and the first ‘slice’ should always be handled with care, you reason, and he just chuckles when you successfully extract a piece.

“Cheers,” your forks tap against each other and watch each other’s expression when the dessert melts in your mouth.

A look of delight flashes in his eyes. “That’s really good!” 

“Delicious,” you reach for another bite. “I don’t remember the last time I had a cake from Okhema. They really bake it differently at the Grove.”

“Must have been your birthday or something, right?”

“I haven’t been back here in years,” you murmur, “and I never really celebrated. I think the first time I got my own cake was when Castorice and Hyacine made one for me.”

You don’t know what compelled you to share that tidbit, or why you had to bring the atmosphere down on such a lovely and warm day, but now you’re stuck pretending like that bittersweet fact doesn’t haunt you as much as it does. 

“If that’s the case, then let’s think of this one like a… welcome home cake,” he says. “It’s good to be back, right?”

“Sure.”

The rest of the afternoon is spent talking and slowly chipping away at the dessert. Summer has a particular ability to make life more magical with sunlight flickering through the dense leaves overhead. The two of you are content with watching the water, gazing out into the distance as you chat about a variety of things, the atmosphere comfortable and friendly like always.

“This time of day is perfect for an afternoon nap,” Phainon muses, “I’m feeling quite drowsy.”

“You can take one if you’d like,” you offer.

“It’s alright,” he laughs sheepishly, scratching the back of his head, “I’ll manage, besides, I’m here to spend time with you!”

“You would take naps all the time back at the Grove. I brought a book with me, anyways, I can keep myself entertained.”

He presses his lips together. “A nap does sound really good right now… are you sure it’s fine?”

“Of course.”

After some small adjustments, you find the weight of his head resting on your thighs– something you’ve gotten used to with how fond of afternoon naps he was. He has accompanied you enough that a sacred routine between friends developed; you reading under the waning afternoon sun of the Grove, and him resting with you under the thick shade of the trees that grow there. You have dropped a book on his sleeping face a few too many times, and he has made it even by drooling on your clothes as he rests soundly against you. 

“You were born in Aedes Elysiae, right?” You murmur, watching your fingers that thread through his snow-white hair, one that has gotten long enough for you to curl your fingers around at least three times. “When did you arrive in Okhema?” 

He hums in contemplation, white eyelashes catching the gleam of the sun every time he blinks, fluttering gently. He is resting on his side, giving you a clear view of his side profile.

“I don’t think I was any older than fourteen, nearly fifteen,” he murmurs, “but my hometown was beautiful. The wheat that grew there was so long, I have fond memories of running through it with my friends, and the crops were the best. Something about them was different, fresher, maybe it’s the soil or the way the farmers planted it.”

He continues his spiel excitedly, hands moving animatedly, matching the enthusiasm in his words and tone. 

“That sounds dreamy,” you muse. 

“Right?” Then, there’s a melancholic shift in his futures; a droop of his eyelids, a small downturn of his lips. “I wish there was an Aedes Elysiae to return to, it’s been abandoned since the Black Tide took it all away. My parents, they- they managed to send me to Okhema in the nick of time.”

“Phainon-”

“-it’s okay,” his hands nervously fiddle with the hem of your clothes. “I’m grateful to be where I am now. If it weren’t for a magnificent stroke of luck and Aglaea finding me, I don’t know where I’d be today, she took me under her wing and loved me unconditionally. That’s why I’ll always do what I can to make her happy.” 

Then, he turns his head and cranes his neck to look up at you. 

“If it weren’t for everything that happened, I wouldn’t have gotten to meet you, either.” 

Sincerity shines in his eyes, and your breath gets caught in your throat. Not once in your life have you thought someone would be grateful to have known you.

“Somehow, you still manage to find a way to me, even though I’m the most irrelevant aspect of the story,” you chuckle whilst untangling your fingers from his hair to cradle his face instead, chill palms resting against warm skin. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring up bitter memories.”

“It’s fine! Really, I’m fine. If anything, I’m happy you asked, I love my hometown and telling others about it, it means a lot that you were curious in the first place. Phew, all that talking’s got me even more tired now, I think I’m gonna take a nap now.”

You nod, reaching for the book you brought in your bag. “Alright, sleep well, Phainon.”

He shifts around a bit afterwards, finding a comfortable position to rest in, but after a few moments, his breathing evens and he falls still save for the rise and fall of his chest. 

Still, you think about the uncharacteristic glumness in his eyes, how it looks like he was on the verge of tears despite the evenness in his voice. There’s a lot behind Phainon’s story that you’ll never know– after all, they say the kindest souls are the ones who have faced the greatest challenges, and you wonder if he’ll tell you about all of them someday.

For now, you play with his hair and read your book, waiting for him to wake up.

Later that night, you’re sat alone, dressed in an outfit picked by your mother that does not match your style, paired with beautiful gems that weigh down your chest and wrists.

There are people mingling away from where you are, and it is a crowd you must return to, but for now, you need a breather and a moment to recollect yourself.

You’ve talked to too many people tonight, smiled for too long that your cheeks ache now, and you’re still nursing the same drink you’ve had since the start of the night. There is no desire to drink it, the champagne merely for decoration so people do not ask you if you would like another and invite you to drink. 

In your hand, your phone shakes with a notification. 

Pie-non: How’s the charity event going?

Pie-non: I hope you’re not having too much fun without me ;0

Y/n: lol it would be so much better if you were here

Y/n: it’s going fine

Y/n: i can’t wait to go home

You open your camera and send him a photo of your barely-touched champagne glass, followed by a silly selfie. You wish he were here with you, the night would be infinitely more bearable.

Pie-non: You look great!!

Pie-non: I’ll be praying that the time goes by faster

Pie-non: Btw Aglaea gave me tickets to a play and suggested we go together

Pie-non: Would you like to go with me? :p 

Y/n: sounds great, i’m keen

Y/n: tell your mother i say thank you!

Y/n: i need to go back now, ttyl

· · ─ · ☼ · ─ · ·

“At the charity ball last night, there were a few offers made by sons of reputable businessmen,” your mother mentions over breakfast the following morning, and you halt your chewing, looking up from the news tablet. 

The idea of being negotiated is revolting, you have to force down the food that is in your mouth as you slowly lose your appetite. 

“Don’t you think it is about time you find a partner? Many of your classmates from high school have, your class president was engaed recently.” Your mother continues, not even glancing up from over the rim of her glasses.

Your thoughts drift over to Phainon. He’s… he’s not exactly your committed partner, but you are playing the part of being one to him, and you’re merely doing him a favour because you’re friends.

Why does calling him that feel like you’re choking over your own words? Why is your heart beginning to rebel, when did it have autonomy to do whatever it wants? Why is it doing flips as you think about yesterday, how he laid on your lap, how he gently played with the hems of your clothes as his voice fondly recalled vulnerable moments of his youth?

“No, I- I’m seeing someone!” You blurt without thinking and she finally looks up at you, an eyebrow raised.

“Is that so? And you did not check to see if this… someone is suitable for your father or I’s standard?”

“He is! He comes from a wealthy background and studies veterinary science at the Grove. I… didn’t want to tell you about it yet because I wanted to make sure he is perfect, you’ve always taught me to bide my time.”

“Oh? Fine, but you need to bring him to us soon for our approval. We would hate for you to be with a hopeless suitor who will merely waste your time.”

“Absolutely. Yours and father’s approval are very meaningful to me.” 

She sighs through her nose. “Very well. Don’t let us down.”

“I won’t, mother.”

The rest of breakfast is silent, leaving you room to dwell with your thoughts. 

You don’t actually like Phainon, do you? Maybe the mirage of dating him has gotten to your head, convinced you to see him in a new light- but nothing has changed since you were just friends. He’s always been kind, made you laugh, invited you to events, bought you your favourite drinks, showed you unconditional support, he’s always been all of these things and more, so why does your heart beat erratically now thinking about it? 

You fall back on your bed, the weight of these thoughts making you toss and turn against the comforter. You think about his kind smile and dig your head further into your sheets, you think about his gentle eyes and scream a little. It feels as if you’re living a scene straight from the romcoms you would watch when you were younger. Maybe… you’ve always liked him?

You’re going insane. 

(Since when were you the type of person to overthink about how someone perceived you? You stand hopelessly in front of your wardrobe, scanning through the pieces, the growing pile of clothes you deem unsightly sat atop your comforter. Titans, all of a sudden, nothing looks good or sits right, one outfit was too revealing, another not revealing enough– you’re going to go crazy!)

Later that evening, you meet Phainon outside the theatre. He’s dressed in a button-up with black slacks, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows to show off his forearms (and the veins– stop looking so damn hard!). 

He grins widely when he sees you, pushing off the wall to meet you halfway. 

“Hey! I’m so glad you could make it!”

“I’m glad I could make it too, thanks so much for the invite, I’ve heard good things about the drama we’re watching tonight, all the tickets are sold out though, how did Aglaea manage to snag us some?” 

“Oh, you know,” he waves his hands, “friend of a friend, either way, someone couldn’t make it so these tickets are ours. How was the charity event?”

You hug the spare jacket you brought closer to your chest, murmuring “it was fine, honestly, the most fun part of the night was when you texted me.”

“That boring, hm? Well, at least you’re here with me now!”

“That I am. We should probably go inside now and find our seats.”

“Good idea,” then, he jokingly bows and offers an arm to you, like they do in old movies. You giggle before threading your arm through his. “Shall we?”

“We shall.”

The play was great- magnificent even, enthralling during some scenes and humorous in others, the audience clearly reacted well to it when the actors received an outstanding ovation during the bows, but the greatest comedy was your internal conundrum. 

For it was difficult to focus when all you could think about was how his hand was right next to yours, resting on the armrest of his chair. When he leaned in to say something funny or share commentary, your heart skipped a beat every time you caught his gaze, the stage lights reflecting in his aquamarine eyes. It overwhelmed you with an undeniable urge to break free and destroy all boundaries of friendship, a feeling you had to suppress before you did things ‘fake partners’ would regret. 

When you finally left the theatre, he offered to get dessert together before heading home.

As you walked, you were discussing the play together (or what you could remember). However, you were keenly aware of how your hand kept grazing his, fingertips brushing against each other every so often.

To your surprise, he grabs your hand with his and interlaces your fingers. 

“We are supposed to be dating, right?” Phainon scratches the back of his head sheepishly, “I hope you don’t mind.” 

“No… no it’s fine,” you murmur, shaking your head. 

“Hey, actually, that reminds me; you know how to dance, right? It’s expected of the ball’s attendees.”

You blink at him. A ball that requires its attendees know how to dance? Just how formal is this event? “I know the basics. If anything, I’m more surprised that you know how to dance.”

“Hey! I’ll have you know I am quite excellent, I promise I won’t be stepping on your toes.”

“I was messing with you. With how many years you’ve been attending, I expect you to be the best dance partner I could ask for.”

He turns his face away, hand creeping up to scratch his neck. “Aww, now you’re just making me nervous.”

“I’m looking forward to the gala, it’ll be fun.”

“Me too! It’ll be so much better this year with you coming!” 

“Tell me more about the gala.”

He begins what he’s best at: talking your ear off. While you’ve always loved hearing him tell stories, it’s even better now, listening to his anecdotes as he waves a dripping ice cream cone around, your hand still in his.

On Kephale’s light, this man is not good for your heart at all, matter of fact, he’s merciless without even realising it, but you’re uncertain if this will result in a happy ending. 

When all is said and done and the gala is over, the two of you will return to your normal routine as friends and nothing more. You will continue reading under the shade in the Grove and Phainon will be nearby, either resting, studying, or fiddling with a stray basketball he picked up. You will continue going for snack runs together, picking up the requested items of your friends. You will fall back into normalcy with these feelings devouring your insides, heart forever attuned to a boy out of reach.

· · ─ · ☼ · ─ · ·

Pie-non: Sooooo Aglaea wants you to come over for lunch one day

Pie-non: Would you be able to?

Y/n: that sounds great, i’d love to

Y/n: when?

Pie-non: How about this Saturday?

Y/n: i’ll mark it down on my calender

Pie-non: Yay!

The second time meeting Aglaea feels less daunting. It’s Phainon who opens the door, grinning widely as he greets you with a hug. There’s specks of flour on his face, along with smears of other ingredients, and only then do you smell the aromatic smell of whatever he is cooking. 

“Come on in! Make yourself at home,” he ushers you in, letting you set your things down before leading you to the dining area. Adjacent to it is an expansive kitchen with windows that welcome in generous amounts of Kephale’s light.

“Y/n, how lovely it is to see you again,” Aglaea’s melodic voice chimes and you stand up straighter, hugging the big bouquet of flowers close to your chest.

“Thank you so much for having me! I’ve been looking forward to today, so I brought some flowers to express my gratitude.”

“That’s very thoughtful, thank you. Just set them down on the kitchen counter.”

You do as your told, eyeing the plates of delicious-looking food. “Would you like my help with anything?”

“If you could set the table, that would be great.”

“Of course!” You take the plates and cutlery that Phainon hands you, setting them in the exact way you’ve been taught growing up, in the order that befit dining. Aglaea sees this and leaves a harmless remark that you’ve been taught well, and you graciously wave off her comment, saying there’s more for you to learn.

Phainon carries all the dishes, setting them down on the table. Then, he turns to you with that same excited smile, beaming.

“I’m so glad you could make it, Y/n!” Radiant. He’s so radiant you think his teeth could work as flashlights in the dark.

Still, your heart skips a beat. “I’m very happy to be here, thank you for inviting me. Also, Phainon, you have something on your face.”

“Oh, where?” He rubs his face but it only worsens it, smearing more flour on his face. 

“It’s fine, I got it.” You grab a napkin from the table and wipe off the excess from his skin, trying your best to be gentle whilst he stands incredibly still, letting you do as you please. “There. All good.”

“Thanks!”

Neither of you are aware of the softness in Aglaea’s expression as she watches. It’s only with a clap of her hands do the two of you break out of the little world you were lost in and you jump away from Phainon like he’s burned you, embarrassed as Aglaea laughs.

“Come on kids, lets sit down now or the food will get cold.”

Lunch goes by easier than expected. You had been prepared for another feast where you would sit with your spine straight and shoulders tensed, echoing rehearsed laughs over dry jokes and unfunny remarks. Instead, your mirage has, once again, been completely disarmed by Aglaea’s questions; she seemed genuinely interested in what you had to say, like your hobbies and passions, or the little anecdotes you’d share when talking about different topics. 

Naturally, she shares stories as well. Phainon asks her if there’s been any interesting business deals, and she responds with a flippant sigh, vaguely detailing a client that’s been driving her up the wall, which both of you have animated reactions to. 

Meanwhile, Phainon keeps coaxing you to try more dishes, especially the ones he made, watching your expression with keen intensity while his mother smiles fondly from across the table, retopping your glass of water whenever it emptied. By the end of lunch, your stomach is full and your heart even more so. 

When Phainon goes to feed the family of chimeras, you’re left alone to talk with Aglaea while washing the dishes. However, the tranquility of the moment is ruined by a buzz of your phone, soured when you realise it’s your father who didn’t even write a message, just sent two files and a link, no doubt thrust upon you to complete. 

“Who is it?” 

You quickly shut off your phone, taming the agitation gnawing at your ribcage. “Excuse me, it was just my father.” 

When Phainon returns to the room, Aglaea suggests something about taking you to the riverside. “You shouldn’t stay cooped up inside on such a lovely day,” she had reasoned and the next thing you know, he’s pulling you out the door like an overexcited chimera, eagerness dripping off him in waves. 

You yell at him to slow down, heart hammering from physical exertion and the feeling of his hand tightly squeezing yours. He apologises with a sheepish smile but does not drop your wrist, guiding you to a carved path covered by thick foliage and the end of it was a clearing that gazed over a vast river. 

It’s beautiful. Fluffy clouds drift by overhead, following the downstream current. Your feet take you along the direction of the current, the rock and sand crunching beneath your footsteps as the waves roll by.

“It’s so peaceful here.”

“I know right?” Phainon rolls his sleeves up and sorts through the pile of rocks underneath your feet, picking up each one and inspecting them carefully, discarding any he deems unsightly. You don’t quite understand what his criteria is, but when he has a handful of sizeable ones, he throws one out.

It skids along once, twice, many more times before finally dropping into the water. 

He looks at you like he’s expecting a congratulations, so you give it to him and he beams. Next thing you know, he’s instructing you on how he did it. 

“You want to angle your body and hit the surface at a lower level, make sure you’re using the flatter side of the rock, then, with a flick of your wrist…” he throws the rock and it skids across the surface level seven- eight- nine times before silently dropping into the water, and you stare blankly at the dissipating ripples.

He made it look so easy.

“Here, try skip a few stones!” 

You try your best to abide to his instructions. Angle the body, get lower with the water level, and flick of the wrist and it… plonks into the water without so much a hop.

“Aw,” you murmur, but instead of berating or ridiculing, Phainon hands you another rock, similar to the one you just threw.

“That’s okay! It’s pretty hard to get on the first try, have another go.” 

Maybe it was the sun, but the stone in your hand felt nicely warm, and you let your gaze linger on him for a moment, waiting for the disappointment to appear in his eyes. Yet, it never comes. All he does is beam at you with a thumbs up for encouragement. 

This time, when you flick your wrist, it skips across the water surface one, two, three, four, five times before halting, and the only evidence that you’ve succeeded are the ripples fading away. The only witness claps, softly cheering.

He’s applauding because you skipped a stone on the surface of a river. 

It’s so silly and simple it makes your heart skip a beat. 

You manage to hit a high score of seven, while Phainon manages to go into the double digits, and you find yourself clapping for him too, occasionally high fiving in celebration.

(This is the sense of belonging you’ve been chasing after your whole life. The love you’ve craved for so long but always thought would be out of reach, yet, these two have somehow proven that caring for someone is not a Herculean task.)

· · ─ · ☼ · ─ · ·

If there’s one thing Okhema has taught you, it’s that happiness is fleeting and there will always be those who want to stomp out your light. 

“We didn’t even know you had friends in Okhema. You left all the people you knew behind the second you went to the Grove, disappeared from the face of Amphoreus like some runaway child,” your mother quips, metallic spoon clinking the tea cup she was stirring.

You stiffen. “I thought a change of environment was what I needed.”

She taps the edge of her cup twice, the sound resonating through the room. “If you were more capable, you would have been able to balance both. Unfortunately, not all of us are, you should have been grateful your friends from high school gave you the time of day. They were all such valuable connections to have.” 

You want to defend yourself, tell her about how horrid and small they made you feel, but you suppose she would never understand, not when she treats you the same. Unfortunately, one group is far easier to run away from than the other.

“Do you even have friends at the Grove?” 

“Of course,” you insist, trying to keep your tone levelled. After years of living here, you’ve grown to understand that any display of emotion would be weaponised against you, but it never gets any easier trying to suppress them. Not when the snarky words of your mother are said with the intention of wearing you down.

She raises her teacup to her lips. “Are you sure they even like you?” 

Does she drink poison to stay hydrated? Her toxicity truly knows no bounds. 

“Yes, I’m sure.” 

Your tea finally finishes steeping, and before you can raise it to your lips, your father, who finally decides the conversation is worth entering, chimes up. “I’ve heard some of the people in your grade have started finding success in life, one’s even managed to get a booming startup off the ground.”

“Off the back of his father’s money,” you retaliate. 

“So what? Does that change the fact that he’s operating a successful business and a respectable entrepreneur?”

Rich, you think. Where’s your support, then? They can’t even give you the time of day.

“You finally have a rare break back home, and instead of working, you spend everyday out and about and falling behind. Time is the most valuable resource one can have and you insist on wasting it by going out everyday.”

He smacks his lips together and shakes his head.

“Ridiculous.”

You try to stand up for yourself. “I’m on summer break, I’ve been working hard the last three years to maintain honours with top grades-”

“-We expect you to do better.”

Frustration boils in your chest and clogs up your throat. Defending yourself is never productive in this household, and trying to have the last say only leads to a thundering chest that feels like you’re one breath away from caving in.

As soon as dinner was over and you could leave, you’re out the front door before you can think twice, putting on the most comfortable pair of shoes you can find before darting out. 

You couldn’t stay in that house a minute longer, otherwise your agitation would have boiled over and stained the pristine floors.

The sky overhead bleeds a multitude of warm hues with orange clouds drifting by. The beautiful sight cheers you up minimally, but it’s not effective against the swirling cauldron of emotions sitting in your stomach and the fumes that stick to your throat. You’re so frustrated, you don’t know if you want to scream and kick something or cry.

When will this game end? When will this dance cease? When will this symphony of turmoil finally diminish?

Pleasing them doesn’t change them, rebelling against them just makes things worse, and running away and avoiding them for two years did nothing. 

What did you do to deserve this?

Deep breaths. Inhale… exhale… the breeze of summer infiltrates your senses, and you realise that your feet have taken you to a familiar park. One that, whenever explosive arguments occurred, you would come here to calm your racing mind and turbulent emotions. It has been your routine since young, and after two years of not seeing this natural scape, a bittersweet ache of nostalgia returns. Time may pass but old habits die hard.

“Y/n?” 

You freeze.

Your stinking luck. Why now?

“Phainon!” You choke out, along with an awkward laugh that comes out as a pathetic garble instead. Oh Titans, you’re crying. You didn’t even realise you were crying, the dried-up tear streaks staining your skin an incriminating sign that you immediately hurry to wipe away. 

He can’t see you like this.

Scrambling to stand up, you steady yourself with the trunk of the birch tree you were previously sitting under. You frantically wipe at your cheeks with your shirt, the cotton like steel wool against your skin as you scrub and scrub and scrub, ridding the evidence of your emotional display. 

You can’t even look at him, too ashamed.

There’s a warm pair of hands wrapped around your wrists, and you flinch at his touch, “Y/n… what’s wrong?”

“Nothing! Nothing at all,” the words are a jumbled mess of syllables that get jammed in your throat as you pull yourself away from him, stumbling backwards. “I’m fine.”

“I don’t think you are.” 

“I swear I am.”

“You can tell me if something’s wrong.”

“Nothing’s wrong, everything’s fine!”

“It’s clearly not-”

“-It clearly is.”

“Y/n, it’s pretty obvious something’s wrong.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Stop pretending-”

“-Phainon, please.” 

He’s silent for a few beats before conceding pensively. This time, his tone is softer. “Okay, but you know I’d never judge you, right? So if you need someone to talk to, I’m here.”

Unconcealing your face, you still refuse to meet his eyes, gaze glued to his shirt instead. The first thing you notice is that he’s wearing merchandise with the Grove’s logo printed in the centre, along with the words ‘sport and athletics’ underneath. 

“Thank you.” 

“I’m serious. You don’t have to be alone, you believe me right?”

You’re silent for a few beats. “Yes,” you lie.

“Then say it.”

“I…” your swollen eyes flit up to meet his. There’s a steady intensity in his expression that almost makes you cower, so you glance away and find the trees behind him far more bearable. “I believe you.” 

It’s awkwardly silent for a few beats afterwards, neither of you knowing what to say to lighten the mood, but it was him who was dragged into your unfortunate mess, so you squeak a very meek “I’m sorry you had to see me like that.”

Phainon blinks. “Why are you apologising? If anything, I should be apologising to you for almost scaring you off.”

“It’s only because you snuck up on me!”

“My bad, my bad,” he scratches the back of his neck.

It falls painfully awkward again, a gust of wind brushing against the back of your legs. You shiver. 

“Are you cold?” 

“No- I’m fine, it was just a chill. What brings you here?”

“I was out on a run, this park is on my normal route.”

“It’s so far from your house!”

He tilts his head, ivory locks swaying with the action. “Is it?”

“Well, I guess this wouldn’t be too hard for you, Mr. Top Athlete.”

“Oh, stop it,” he waves off your compliment. “Would you like to get a bite now that we've bumped into each other? My treat.”

The scalding words of your father echo in your head. “I would but I think my family’s expecting me, I shouldn’t keep them waiting too long, sorry.”

He frowns, dejection glossing over his features. “I understand. When can I see you next?”

“To be honest, my parents were scolding me earlier for going out so much so I might need to stay home for a bit. I’ll text you when I think it’s better.”

“Alright.” 

“Well. Guess I’ll see you later, Phai-”

Without warning, you’re engulfed in a warm embrace, Phainon’s fleece shirt pressed against your chin as you crane your neck to meet his towering height. His arms are wrapped tight around your torso, one wrapped around your shoulder, the other around the back of your lower ribs, pressing you securely against him. His cologne smells like cedarwood and bergamot.

(The setting Okheman sun casts golden rays that illuminate his sky blue eyes gorgeously, but you will never forget the unfamiliarity of how he looked at you, and how even the light did nothing to hide it. He regarded you like something that needed fixing, like you were an antique vase that lay shattered on the floor, like you were his favourite mug, like you were something that took love and intention to create.

Instead of sweeping you aside, he held you close to his chest and cradled you there, determined to piece you back together.

You return his embrace.) 

· · ─ · ☼ · ─ · ·

The coming days are mundane. As always, your parents excel at sweeping tension under the rug. Breakfasts are silent, and you’re trying to appease them so you can make it to Phainon’s gala, careful not to stroke their (delicate) tempers. 

You’ve successfully managed to let them know of your plans with Hyacine. Given that she was in Okhema, you didn’t want this chance to slip out of your grasp, so you’re relieved you’ll get to hangout with her for a day or so. 

Other than that, you don’t have much to occupy your time outside of reading, taking occasional walks, and texting your friends, so your mind drifts back to the white-haired man more often than not. 

You’ve been in constant contact, active on both the groupchat with your friends and private chats, but you think back to what he said to you days ago. By the power of unfortunate timing and coincidence, he had caught you at an incredibly sensitive moment– you’re not embarrassed about that anymore, but you can vividly recall the fire in his eyes. How he seemed… angry at your sorrow, like it was unfair that you were feeling upset, like it was his responsibility to fix it. 

‘If you need someone to talk to, I’m here’. 

Would he even want to hear what you have to say? There’s no worth bothering him with problems as mundane as yours… but you can’t say you haven’t been tempted to tell him.

During hours late in the night, when your psyche was tired and rationality worn down after a long day, you were one word away from spilling it all on a late night video call, but the sentence never came out. Instead, they’d crawl right back in your throat and settle uncomfortably in your heart, deciding that someone like him should not need to worry about you. 

What if he is curious, though? He wanted answers, he wanted to console you, wanted you to talk to him, but all you did was jump away when his hands touched yours and refused to speak like some sensitive child.

If you try hard enough, you can feel how hard he squeezed you in that hug, the ghost of his embrace pulling you tight against him. You can remember how he felt in your arms, how the fabric of his shirt felt bunched up in your fists, how grounding it was.

To you, Phainon will always be untouchable, on par with Kephale’s light that beams its warmth on everyone and will always be loved by all. Meanwhile, you’re a puppet tugged along by frayed strings, still trying to discover what it means to be loved and cared for. You are the dust that sits gathered on the windowsill, staring up at the sky outside, yearning for a way out.

Sighing, you savour the sun for a few moments longer. When you cast your gaze downward and see the specks of grey decorating the window frame, you frown, descending to get something to wipe it away with. 

· · ─ · ☼ · ─ · ·

Pie-non: The gala is in 13 days from now :0

Pie-non: Aglaea said that she can help you get ready if you’d like!

Y/n: really?? it won’t bother her?

Pie-non: Nope!

Pie-non: Believe or not, she likes this kind of stuff

Y/n: well, if she’s okay with it, then yes please!

Aglaea gently runs her fingers through your undone hair, classical Amphorean music softly humming in the background from an old record player. The open window welcomes in a warm draft, one that hits the bottom of your neck.

You love the outfit she has picked for you. It’s lightweight and hugs your figure at all the right places but isn’t too tight that moving is a struggle. Most importantly, you still feel like yourself and comfortable in your own skin.

She truly is a tailoring expert.

“I take it that you like the clothes I picked for you?” Aglaea asks, and you glance up at the mirror, unaware of how wide you are smiling.

“I love them,” you announce unabashedly, cheeks beginning to hurt. “They’re gorgeous.”

She laughs, the sound gentle and honeyed as she begins brushing through your hair. “So is the wearer.”

Your gaze flickers back to your reflection. “Thank you.”

It’s silent save for accessories jingling as Aglaea decides which ones best suit you, testing a variety of necklaces, bracelets, arm bands, and more hair pieces. The quiet is comfortable, as if you are more than the (fake) partner Phainon has brought home for the holidays, like you are someone worth a reserved seat at her dinner table.

However, when you leave Okhema at the end of summer, you’ll have to shatter your plate and end this make believe. In the midst of all your new-found feelings, when you and Phainon return to the Grove, he will have to find an excuse as to why you may never return to visit her again. You already feel guilty for wasting her time and energy like this, you can’t fathom how disappointed she will be when it’s time to throw it away. 

“Phainon has been looking forward to today for a long time,” she tells you, a warm look in her eyes when your gazes meet. “Before, he’d be grumpy and petulant whenever I had to get him ready, complaining about all the dates I arranged him, but recently he’s been bouncing off the walls with excitement.” 

You giggle. It’s easy to picture a younger Phainon pouting and huffing, sat in the exact chair you’re in now, throwing a tantrum before Aglaea would straighten him into shape, but you can also imagine current-Phainon eagerly counting down the days to an event he used to dread. Maybe you really did him a favour by agreeing to accompany him. After all, going to big galas with a friend was far more enjoyable than going with someone you did not know.

“Of course, he was never ill-mannered to those I chose, he is far too kind for that, but every year I wondered when he’d finally bring someone of his own choosing.”

“Really? But he’s so popular and well-liked.”

“Phainon is very particular about the people he surrounds himself with. When he first told me that he had a date for this year’s Kephale Festival, I was curious who it was that finally caught his eye. Then, I met you and understood why he liked you so much.”

Your heart skips a beat. “Really?”

She nods. “Admittedly, he has told me about you before and shared pictures you took together from the Grove, along with the group of friends you share. So I have heard about you from all the stories he’d share with me.” 

“It’s a really incredible group, we’re all great friends.”

“I’m grateful he has you all.”

Aglaea smiles fondly. “I’m grateful to have him, too.”

A few beats of silence pass. This time, you’re compelled to speak up. You say “my parents are business owners too. They specialise in a similar industry to you.” 

“Yes, I am vaguely familiar with them. To be successful, you have to know your competitors, but I get the sense they’re not very fond of me.”

“They regard everyone who is not in their circle as rivals and therefore, don’t care about maintaining politeness. I apologise if their aloofness has offended you.”

“Nonsense, I am not holding you accountable for the actions of two different people, not when they should be far more mature. It is baffling that the child they have raised has far more decorum than the supposed role models.”

A feeling of satisfaction settles in your stomach when you hear Aglaea’s remarks, and you don’t even want to defend them, giggling behind your hand. “Did you know of my status before you met me?”

“I know everything in Okhema, so naturally, I recognised you the moment Phainon sent me a group photo.”

You glance up at her, her golden eyes focused on your hair. “I assumed you would herald the same distaste for them and by extension me.”

“Darling, there are a few things we should clear up,” she reaches for a bobby pin, body hovering close to your head for a second. “Apathy is a better suited word than distaste. Business has progressed far beyond a game for me, I do what I do to keep my work afloat, not interact in elaborate mind games with my competitors. Has it turned out that way? Perhaps, but unintentionally. I do not harbour ill intention toward people I have never met, not even when I recognised you for the first time.” Finally, she meets your eyes. “All I discerned about you was that you were a treasured companion to Phainon, and for as long as you make him happy, you will always have a place here in my home.”

Kephale’s light cast her in an angelic light, illuminating Aglaea’s silhouette as she pats your shoulder reassuringly. Your stomach churns at her honesty, the adoring way she speaks about Phainon– would your parents speak of you like this? Have they ever regarded you with this much love and light in their eyes?

Gaze flickering away, there is dust gathering on the edges of the windows.

“Besides, when I see you, I see a powerful individual who has yet to step into who you really are, and that is above the fact that you are also the love of Phainon’s life.” 

Her honesty, the kind way she’s smiling at you– you feel horrible for deceiving her. 

“Phainon and I aren’t really together,” you blurt out without thinking, and you’re immediately covering your mouth with your hands, eyes blown wide as you gauge her reaction in the mirror. 

However, she doesn’t seem the least bit surprised. Instead, she laughs, so animatedly that her shoulders shake, her eyes shut as elegant smile lines crease her skin. 

She inhales deeply with a hand on her chest. “As I said earlier, I know everything in Okhema, and I know that you and my boy aren’t actually together.”

“What? Did Phainon tell you?”

“No, but my intuition is imperceptible, darling. Nothing escapes my eyes. While I could tell you two were upholding a fake relationship, I can also tell that you genuinely like him, don’t you?”

“I do,” you admit softly. “I really do.” You declare it louder the second time. “Is it stupid of me to?”

She shakes her head. “While my guess is that he used me as an excuse to ensnare you, I trust that there is a genuine reason behind his actions, but that is a conversation reserved between you and him. It is not my place to comment on it. However, I can offer you this: when the time comes, know that I am in full support of the both of you.”

“Thank you, that- that means a lot.”

“All you do is thank, thank, and thank people when all they do is show you the basic care you deserve,” she says as she clasps a necklace together.

You fall unnaturally still, eyes stinging as tears begin welling up in your eyes. If Aglaea picks up on your change in behaviour, she is kind enough to not comment, instead, she keeps working on your appearance, pinning and brushing and curling.

After a few minutes, she pats your shoulder and tells you she has finished. So you stand and admire the masterpiece she has styled you into, your hair falling down beautifully, accessories clinging together each time you so moved; you feel ethereal.

“He’ll be speechless when he sees you,” Aglaea smiles at you approvingly.

“Thank you,” you whisper. You hope she knows that you’re grateful for more than just the styling. 

“You’re quite welcome, dear. You shouldn’t keep him waiting, Phainon may be patient, but something tells me he’s downstairs, eager to see you.”

True to her prediction, Phainon is already waiting for you by the bottom of the staircase, fixing his traditional Okheman outfit. When he hears the sound of your footsteps, he looks up but his wide smile falters, shrinking into something more shy and bashful. You carefully descend the steps, holding onto the railing with a gentle grip as fabrics sashay and gold bangles sound against each other, indicating your arrival.

Your date is uncharacteristically quiet, eyes wide and unblinking as they follow your every movement, unable to glance away, even when you come to a stop before him. You anxiously wait for a reaction from the usually-expressive man.

“What do you think?”

He snaps out of his reverie. “I– uh, you- you look incredible.” 

“Thank you. It’s all thanks to Aglaea.”

“Not all, I’d argue,” he wipes his hands on his pants before extending one. “Let me help you down.” 

It felt nice to have his warm palm in yours; how he barely put any pressure on your fingers as his gaze was stuck to the stairs, ensuring you wouldn’t misstep. 

When you reach the bottom, you give him a once-over, keeping your admiration lowkey and refraining from ogling at his biceps. “You look good, Phainon.” 

“I’m glad you think so, I have something to prove tonight.”

“What are you proving?”

“That I’m worth standing by your side.”

Your heart, it’s doing that uncomfortable thing again. You have no idea what to say in response as your face heats up uncontrollably, heat creeping up your neck.

Thankfully, Aglaea saves the day, her heels clacking as she descends the stairs. “Let’s head out now, we’re already running a little behind.”

“Yes, Aglaea.”

A small tug on your hand reminds you that Phainon has yet to let go, and he beams with satisfaction when your attention returns to him. Aglaea comes to a stop beside you and you feel heat creep up your neck at the knowing look she gives you. 

“Was he speechless?” She asks.

“He couldn’t speak for a minute,” you shyly confess and Phainon splutters in protest, causing his mother to laugh, an affectionate smile tugging at her lips when she looks at her son.

Her hands reach over to fix a small part of his outfit. “We were simply teasing. Let’s leave now, the car should be waiting outside.”

The ride to the gala is longer than usual due to closed off roads, but sometimes, you could catch a glimpse of people celebrating. Phainon would point out scenes he found funny or entertaining, delighted by all of the stands with dromas merch, vaguely mentioning how ‘Prof Nax would really like them’. He points to the families who have dressed up, circles of people dancing, and the food stands that he’d like to try sometime soon.

Eventually, the detour ends and you arrive at the steps of the gala. After driving in through the gates, you admire the architecture and construction of the venue. It’s exterior and interior were all thoroughly decorated, and someone guides you through the hallways to arrive at the correct room. 

Before Aglaea can be whisked away by a crowd, she mouths ‘go have fun’ to the both of you. 

“You seem excited, Phainon,” you face him.

“It’s cause I get to spend time with you!”

“Why? We spend a lot of time together regardless.”

He tilts his head. “I always enjoy spending time with you, do I need another reason to be excited about it? Do you want to get food first?” 

“You’re hungry, aren’t you?”

“Maybe, so please?” he pleads with his eyes. 

“Fine.” 

You’re glued to Phainon’s side for the rest of the night. Occasionally people come up to talk to him, greeting him with a big hug and asking how life has been. Then, their curious gaze would drift over to you, wondering who the ‘lucky’ date is.

He’d introduce you enthusiastically, telling you names of people you don’t remember as soon as they turn around and leave. 

Uncharacteristically, it seems like Phainon does not have a lot to say for once as you’re the one to do most of the small talk, asking the partygoers about themselves and showing interest in everything they say. He, on the other hand, is practically too eager to see everyone leave before turning to you with a big, innocent smile, his arm tugging you even closer to his side. 

Then, when it’s the two of you again, he’ll talk your ear off once more. 

“Are you enjoying yourself so far?” Phainon asks.

“Of course, this has probably been the most fun I’ve had at an event,” you tell him. “Everyone we’ve met seems pretty nice so far, and the food’s good! Are you having a good time?” 

He nods enthusiastically, taking a big mouthful of a fig cake dessert. You use your napkin to wipe the crumbs away from the corners of his lips. 

“I’m incredibly grateful for you and Aglaea. This is my first Kephale Festival in a while, and it’s been really enjoyable.”

“You don’t know how happy it makes me to hear that, and it makes me infinitely more happy seeing you get along with my mum. You’re my two favourite people, it means a lot to me.” 

When the night is halfway through, there’s a sudden announcement through the loudspeakers, calling for the crowd to prepare the floor for the partner dances. You raise your eyebrow, it really was true, what kind of events still have formal dances these days?

“You weren’t lying,” you murmur to him.

“Can’t say I didn’t try to prepare you.”

“As long as you don’t step on my toes.”

“Oh come on, I’m trustworthy enough, aren’t I? I promised you I wouldn’t.”

You find a space adequate enough, coming to a stop as Phainon grabs your hand, raising it to shoulder level to prepare. Then, the music kicks in, a lively three-four piece being played by the live entertainment. 

Shaking the nervousness out of your system, he sets the rhythm and you easily follow along. Historically, special dances with their own significance were made in Kephale’s honour, and almost every Okheman learns it either in school or by watching people on the street given how important it is to the Holy City. 

It is said that partner dances are important because Kephale is capable of holding the world on his shoulders alone, so one should rejoice in his benevolent sacrifice and celebrate the gift he gave with another. Furthermore, the steps of the dance follow a circle, as if replicating the world on his shoulders and honouring him.

Mentally, you thank Kephale for his sacrifice, because you get to see Phainon’s joyfully handsome expression as you dance around, following each other’s steps perfectly. He even twirls you around while you move, causing you to throw your head back and laugh, the fabrics you wear twisting and dancing with you. 

You want this moment to last forever. You want to engrain the excited thrum of your heart and the bliss that travels through every vein in your body into memory. You want to be in this moment, under the lights of the dance floor, with him, forever.

He looks at you like you’re something marvellous, turquoise eyes never straying from your face, hand holding yours tightly so you don’t hop too far away from him.

Then, the band builds up to a crescendo, and the dance ends with a final pose. Your chests heave and stray strands of hair stick to sweaty skin, but neither you nor Phainon can think about the fatigue in your muscles. 

People scurry off the floor as new couples take their places. So, you curtsy with a dip of your head, and he bows in return.

“I have somewhere to show you.” He whispers. 

“Let’s go.” 

You find yourself in this familiar situation once again: your hand encased by Phainon’s as he leads you along, this contact an unspoken safety net as you walk through hallways, up staircases, until eventually, you reach a door.

The isolation of this area is not lost on you, there is not another soul in the nearby vicinity as all of them should be downstairs, dancing. You can faintly hear the live band from where you stand. “Are we allowed to be here?” 

He shrugs, “we’ll find out if we get caught.”

“Phainon!” 

“I’ve been here every year so far and no one’s caught me. Just trust me, okay? I’ll cover for you if anything bad happens.”

You look into his eyes that swim with sincerity and brace for the dive. “Fine.” 

He pushes open the door and you gasp, hand covering your mouth. This balcony overlooks the horizon of the Holy City, providing a perfect view of all the festivities occurring beneath. The light of carnival games, the illumination of flower garlands, a ferris wheel that sits in the distance, it looks so alive and vibrant; a warm reminder of all the life and happiness and commemorations that occur in Okhema, something you have taken for granted over the years.

You step out first, stopping just before the tall, stone railings and gazing out at every speck of light you can see, as the wind gently weaves through your hair. It’s so pretty, you can’t tear your eyes away. 

A heavy weight drapes on your back and arms wrap around your waist, bringing you into a warm embrace that you recognise to be Phainon’s. You lean back against him, holding his hands with yours as he rests his chin on the juncture of your shoulder.

You pray he can’t feel the way your heart hammers in your chest, so you fake nonchalance as you gaze out at the horizon instead, content to simply stand and admire… until you feel a pair of eyes staring at the side of your face. 

So, you turn to look at him and almost flinch at how your noses brush. He doesn’t move away.

“Hey, you,” you whisper. 

He smiles, the corners of his eyes creasing. “Hi.”

“It’s so… breathtaking,” you look back at the view and ignore the way his grasp tightens around you. “This is a new perspective I’ve never seen of the Kephale Festival.” 

“Then, I’m honoured to be the one to show it to you.”

You feel his chin retract from your shoulder, but his hand then snakes up, obstructing your view of the city as you feel cool fingers on your cheek, gently guiding your face to look at him. “Phainon, what-” 

“-You’re beautiful,” he interrupts, breath fanning against your lips. “I… I don’t think I’ve told you enough.”

“That’s unnecessary.”

“It’s not, I haven’t been able to take my eyes off you all damn night” his fingers lightly tremble against your face, but his gaze is resolute and firm, never straying from yours. The intensity alone compels you to maintain it, to see where this moment will lead, and if the buildup of anticipation in your gut is correct. 

His gaze flickers to your lips and your chest crumbles. What you want is so close, literally breathing down your face, yet he is still so unreachable because you ache to close the gap but fear the unknown of the other side. 

“You’re unreal,” he whispers as his face slowly inches towards yours. Your hammering heart impatiently beats against your ribcage, aching to feel the–

Boom!

You jump away from Phainon in surprise, shocked by interruption, only for you to sigh in relief when you realise it was a firework that is now fizzling out. Then, because you can never just set one off, a barrage of them follow, lighting up the night sky with a series of colours and patterns. One explodes in the shape of Kephale bearing the world, another in the shape of a chimera head– and oh, a purple dromas firework!

Throughout the display, your partner is uncharacteristically silent, his commentary minimal as you point out fun ones.

After a few minutes, it was finally over, and silence settles over you like a heavy blanket. You’re still held tightly in Phainon’s arms, but his lacking eagerness does not sit right, a sense of anxiety creeping in as you think of something to snap him out of this displeased gaze.

“Is something wrong, Phainon?” 

He blinks to look back at you, subtle frustration softening into a gentler expression. “Everything’s fine!”

“Really?” 

“Really.”

You scramble through your brain in search of something appropriate to say. What would he even want to hear? 

Kephale, You can’t even think straight, not with the way he’s holding you so… possessively, so close to him that it makes your stomach flip helplessly. This, paired with the gentle way he held your cheek, and the sweet words he said to you- you need ten business days to process it all.

But tonight seems to be the day of badly timed interruptions, because there’s a small ding notification from your phone. Fishing it out, the reminder ‘be home before parents get mad!’ is written very clearly on your screen. 

Sighing, you turn it off.

“Do you have a curfew?” Phainon asks, resting the side of his head against yours.

“It’s not necessarily a curfew. It’s just the latest I can get home without triggering my parents. My dad’s a gentle sleeper so he wakes up at any kind of sound I make, especially on nights where he has work the following day.”

He frowns, then his hands grip you even harder, fingers digging into your flesh. Not enough to make you uncomfortable, but enough to dent your skin. 

“I’ve been meaning to ask, and I’m sorry if this makes you uncomfortable but… do you… have a good relationship with your parents?” You freeze in his arms, visibly tense. He’s looking at you- no, analysing you for any kind of changes in your expression that will say what words can’t.

But silence is already a powerful answer and suddenly, your vision of the nightline grows blurry, the lights stretching out into indiscernible lines. Your breathing grows more laboured and the pain that’s accumulated from the last few days come crashing down on you. 

The disappointed look in your father’s eyes, the complacency of your mother who really could not care twice about you, the love you’ve been begging for, the acceptance you may never receive- 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you cry!” He frantically dabs at the tears gathering at the corner of your left eye, trying to catch them with his fingers. Then, he begins fanning your face. “Happy thoughts, happy thoughts! I wouldn’t have asked if I knew it’d make you this upset!”

You erupt into a fit of giggles and he halts, gauging your reaction once again. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me,” you mutter, rubbing your eyes. “I… I think I’m okay to answer your question, as long as you genuinely want to know.”

“Of course, but I’m not forcing an answer out of you.”

You inhale deeply. “My relationship with my parents aren’t the best, it hasn’t been since I was young. They’ve always wanted me to be the best version possible, but it feels as if they don’t… view me as their own child. If anything, our relationship is more transactional; someone they can use to further their position in society,” you tighten your grip on Phainon’s wrist. “If I make any mistakes, they’ll eat my head off because everything that goes wrong is my fault even though they never listen to me. If I don’t fit their own personal image of perfection, then I’m a disappointment and a charity case, they hate that I’m at the Grove, they hate that I haven’t graduated early and started a business, gotten married– they hate that my classmates from high school are… better. They hate raising me without benefits.”

The words are tumbling out freely now and Phainon doesn’t interrupt, giving you the space to be completely honest about these feelings that have been bottled for too long.

“You must wonder why this is my first year returning to Okhema ever since the Grove, right? I don’t want to be here because this city is just a reminder that I will never have a proper home. That I won’t be loved like I am by our friends, or the people I’ve met outside the Holy City. This place brings painful memories of youth, of never being good enough, of keeping my mouth shut and going along with everything my parents wanted because I could handle any challenge as long as it made them happy. I still can- I still just want them to be proud of me.” Your chest shudders with the weight of your confession. “Yes, they’ve given me so many opportunities I am grateful for, and I’m… I wouldn’t be as accomplished as I am without them.” 

You crane your neck to look back at him. He’s beautiful, even when your eyesight is all blurry. 

“I want to be loved unconditionally.”

It’s quiet for a few moments, your words marinating as silence settles like the fizzle after a sparkler diminishes, after a fire has crackled its last ember, like the last trails of smoke disappearing from a freshly snuffed candle. 

Unexpectedly, Phainon turns you around in his arms and pulls you into a hug, one strong arm wrapping around your shoulder, the other around your waist.

He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t need to, this is enough. You return the hug, wrapping your arms around his waist, finally exhaling all of the frustrations you’ve been holding to yourself for years.

“Thank you for listening,” you huff, taking a step out of his embrace.

His expression is achingly soft. “Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me.”

You leave the balcony after a while, deciding it was for the better before security discovered and escorted you out. Going back inside wasn’t appealing enough, so you both take a quick detour to check out one of the markets you passed by on the drive, perhaps get some food after a long night.

Eventually, when the moon is high in the sky and the number of attendees at the festival is finally dwindling, Phainon calls for a driver to send you home together. When you arrive at the gates to your home, he helps you out of the car. 

“Wait–” Phainon looks at you as if he has something to say, but you see in real time the way he shuts down his thoughts and closes his mouth. Instead, he reaches for your hand and holds it gently, like a delicate flower he plucked from a garden bed.

He leans down to press his lips against your knuckles.

“Thank you for accompanying me tonight,” when he looks up at you, there is nothing short of earnest candidness gleaming in his eyes as his thumb rubs the back of your hand. The faint glow from the full moon illuminates his features, makes him look younger despite his already-lively appearance, and you take a good look at the man who has shaken your world. It’s unfair that he is breathtaking in the moonlight, too. 

“Thank you for the night,” you whisper back.

“Sleep well, Y/n.”

“You too, Phainon.”

His hand lingers on yours a little longer before finally dropping it. You wave his car off before retiring for the night, fatigue clinging to your bones like honey, eager to pull you under. 

As you undress and peel back all the accessories on your body, you think about the day, about the tenderness Phainon showed you all night, how his hand felt on the side of your face, how he twirled you around, the conversation you had with Aglaea how she said you were the love of Phainon’s life–

Your hands pause. 

What?

· · ─ · ☼ · ─ · ·

The mystique of the night is over as soon as morning arrives, because your parents are already waiting for you. This time, however, the atmosphere feels thick and heavy with tension and you eye them cautiously before sitting down on the couch opposite them, trying to prepare for what they might weaponise against you.

There’s a tablet in your mother’s thin hands and she drops it in front of you as soon as you’re seated.

It’s a photo taken of you and Phainon from last night, dancing, obviously meant to be taken from an angle where neither of you would notice. Both of you look terribly happy, your hands interconnected as he spun you around. Interesting, you don’t remembering seeing anyone  from your parent’s circle of friends last night, but news and gossip travel fast, there is no point wondering who the culprit is. 

“When you said you were attending a gala with someone, did you hide it purposefully from us that it would be with the Goldweaver’s adopted son?” Your mother begins, her sharp eyes boring into you as she spits Aglaea’s business name like it was poison.

You glance up at her, tucking the tablet under your arms, already preempting where this conversation will go. Except, unlike other times, there’s a fiery determination to fight back, to not let their words break and infiltrate your walls and destroy you from the inside out. This time, there’s something to prove, people to defend. 

“No. I didn’t think it was important to mention.”

“Did you know that he was her child?”

“Yes. Not at first, but I learnt over time.”

“And you met her?”

“I’ve ate with her, she has welcomed me at her table, she is the one who dressed me for the gala.” 

Your mum brings a hand over her chest. “No wonder why you looked so horrid.”

You narrow your eyes. “And yet, it received more compliments than any of the pieces you have dressed me in.”

Your father points an accusatory finger in your face. “Watch your tongue.”

“Watch yours.”

“What is wrong with you? That wretched woman is our rival, the one who has sabotaged our business for multiple quarters, have you no shame?”

“Yes, I’m sure she did it purposefully when in actuality, she simply played her cards better.”

There is steam coming out of your father’s ears. “You insolent, ungrateful brat! After everything we have built for you, you whore around behind our backs.”

“Not just with any vermin, but the Goldweaver’s son, have you no shame?” Your mother’s unempathetic voice grows pitchy; her characteristic nonchalant tone displaying a sound of disbelief that you’ve never heard before. 

“His name is Phainon, and you will address him correctly.” 

Your mother’s eyebrows raise slightly whilst your father’s head seems seconds away from popping off his shoulders. “Pardon?”

“He is not a vermin, nor undeserving of your respect, call him by his name.”

He laughs, and it sounds more like a guffaw, or maybe that’s how he laughs because you have never heard it before. It’s foreign, and atrocious, and like nails on chalkboard and you wish for your ears to bleed before you have to listen to it again. 

“The boy has taught you how to talk back to us! You’re losing it! Our child is losing it! After all of these years of raising you, giving you the best opportunities we could, our child is losing it! Dear Kephale, let this be a mere prank!”

You sigh at the tantrum your father is throwing, pushing yourself up to your feet as you begin to walk out of the room. 

The voice of your mother stops you in your tracks. “Y/n, was Phainon the boy you were telling me about? The one you were waiting before your father and I could approve?”

“...Yes,” you lie.

“You had said our approval is important to you, what changed?”

You frown. “I realised I don’t deserve to be chasing your validation for the rest of my life.” 

“If you walk out of that door, say goodbye to us forever, don’t even think about turning around,” your father spits, and you ignore the way your mother slaps his shoulder, as if reprimanding him; a sight you have never witnessed in your life. 

“All the times you didn’t show up, all my achievements that gather dust in a forgotten box below the stairs, I can not lose people who were never there in the first place.”

You leave after that, closing the door to end the only conversation where you had the last word. 

Phone, phone, where’s your phone? Titans- your hands are shaking, they’re shaking so much, calm yourself, breathe, stop the jitters, you can’t find Phainon’s contact like this, this is unbearable, no, please, stop shaking, pull yourself together.

By some miracle your finger presses the ‘call’ button successfully. It only rings two times, but it feels unimaginably long before you hear Phainon’s voice on the other side.

“Hello?”

You exhale a breath of relief. “Phainon, are you free?”

“Of course, are you okay?”

“Please, just meet me at Marmoreal Park.”

“Y/n,” he demands, and you press your phone closer to your ear. “Breathe, you’re safe, okay?”

His voice gently talks you through your panic, six, five, four, three, two, one. Your vision stops creeping in on the edges, you can feel the shake in your hands cease, rationality slowly seeps back in. You just need to get to Marmoreal Park. Phainon’s insistent on staying on the line until you arrive, even if it’s spent in silence as you sit powerless at the back of a taxi, trying to avoid thinking about what just happened like your life depended on it. 

You… you just defied your parents for the first time in your life. Finally severed the reliance you had on appeasing them, all because they slandered Phainon, the friend you’ve relied on like a rock since you arrived at the Grove. The person who always makes you feel wanted in every scenario, who will always save you a seat at every table, who is willing to stay on the line just because you called him in a frenzy, and won’t put it down until he knows you’re safe.

The person you love, and will inevitably lose because he doesn’t feel the same.

Was it worth the hellfire you ignited?

It’s all a mess, your head hurts, and worst of all, you’ve arrived at Marmoreal Park. You pay your driver the fee and leave, nerves running rampant as you hear Phainon’s voice come through your phone. 

He’s here and waiting for you, but you see him and start running without thinking. 

“Phainon!” You yell and he turns around, eyes widening when he sees you but he opens his arms. You barrel straight into them, needing nothing more than to ground yourself against something physical, to feel the presence of another because you think you just lost everything.

“Y/n…” his hand rubs circles on your lower back. “What happened?”

After a deep inhale, you take a step away and glance away to admire the blooms in the park. There were Crape Myrtles all around the perimeter, the tree’s special pink blossoms beautifully decorating the space, even littered all over the grass. 

“I… I had an argument with my parents.”

His gaze darkens, eyebrows furrowing. “What?”

“This might be my last one, though,” you murmur. “I… I think that was the last straw. It’s fine. I’ll survive.”

“What happened?”

“I-It started because of you,” you notice him tense in the corner of your eye. “Someone saw us last night and took a photo for my parents. They didn’t like that I was with you because Aglaea, they despise her, refuse to be associated with her in any way, and that includes having their child be friends with her son.”

“Y/n…”

“They were slandering you, Phai, saying some incredibly disrespectful stuff and I couldn’t stand it.” You sigh. 

“You didn’t have to,” he murmurs, “it’s fine if they hate me, I’m not worth this fight.”

“I would have done the same for any of my friends. Castorice, Mydei, Hyacine, wouldn’t you do the same for me?”

“I would.” There’s no hesitation in his voice. 

Suddenly, you feel a droplet land. Is the weather was against you today as well? Really? When the weather’s been exceptionally clear for the last three weeks? What is this soap-opera level of pathetic fallacy? There’s another drop, and another, until they come bucketing down, beginning to soak through your shirt.

Using a hand to shield your eyes, Phainon grabs your other one and leads you to a nearby gazebo. Thankfully, the park was reasonably vacant for a weekday morning, so you two were the only one taking shelter. Maybe everyone else but you knew about the incoming summer downpour.

It all feels so ironic. A chill passes up your spine as you listen to the percussion of raindrops hitting the brick roof of the pavilion, watch the torrential downpour grow with no end in sight. 

“So… what now?” He asks. “Where do you have to go now?”

You shrug. “I’ll figure that out after this shower passes. Realistically, they can’t be mad at me forever, but now that I’m thinking about it, I can’t say I regret it. It felt good to stand up for myself at least once, and even better to have the last word.” You laugh quietly, shoulders shaking as a decrepit sense of satisfaction creeps up on you. “If anything, I think it’s taught me that I should speak my mind more often.”

“Does that mean you have more left to say?” 

You huff. “Is that a bad thing?” 

“No. Not at all. In fact, I think you should get it all out.”

“Right now?”

“Right now.”

“Even if it may be for the worse?”

“The worst’s already happened, what else could go wrong?” 

“Fine.” You turn to face him square-on, steading yourself. “Phainon, of Aedes Elysiae, I like you. There, now I’ve really fucked everything up- mmhg!” 

The words are stolen from your mouth by a pair of lips sealing against yours. Your squeal of surprise is muffled, devoured by him as big hands cradle your cheeks, tangling in the tresses of your hair. 

Warm. So warm, despite how drenched he is, Phainon feels so warm. His hands are warm, his body pressing up against yours is warm, his lips that are moulding with yours are so warm. Adoration spreads in your body, as if he’s injecting it like the oxygen you need to breathe, letting it trickle like warm, sticky honey that will refuse to leave as it coats your bones.

He’s pulling away and taking the warmth with him too soon. You miss it. You miss it more than you thought you could, which is ironic, because Phainon is right in front of you.

“I’ve waited too long to hear you say that,” he whispers, stealing shorter kisses from your lips by squeezing your cheeks together. “You’ve made me the happiest man alive,” kiss, “I’ll be the best boyfriend ever,” kiss, “I am so happy right now, I could take down an army of Titankin.”

“Wait- wait, let’s talk about this!” You intercept his lips before he could get anymore carried away. “You like me?”

“Holy Kephale, I’ve loved you since I first laid my eyes on you, let me have this moment,” he pulls you in again, bending his neck to meet you halfway. This time, you melt into his touch, letting him lead as he moves his lips against yours. 

Faintly, Aglaea’s words ring in your mind: ‘The love of Phainon’s life’... ‘genuine intentions’. You unwillingly smile against his lips, and he takes that as a sign to part but not without a lick against your nose.

“What… what was that?” You stammer. 

“Nose kiss.” 

“That wasn’t a kiss, weirdo,” you wipe the wetness off as he smiles affectionately at you, not at all apologetic or regretful. It makes your heart flip. 

“Your weirdo.”

“It’s too early to pull out that corny line. Plus, we have a lot to talk about: what do you mean you’ve liked me since you first saw me? I… I thought you didn’t like me.”

If it were possible, question marks would have materialised on top of Phainon’s white hair. “I don’t think I could have made it any more obvious. I tried kissing you last night and you thought I didn’t like you?”

“It- it could have been friendly?”

“If you kiss all of your friends then I’m gonna go wrestle Mydei and tear his face off.”

“Phainon!”

“Just kidding!” 

You narrow your eyes at him before sighing, leaning against his shoulder. You stay like this for a while, neither of you speaking as the downpour continues, encasing you in your own little bubble.

“And I thought this trip home would be the same as always, a torturous three months that I’d have to endure by a hanging thread,” you muse, scoffing at the unexpected turn this holiday has taken. “This city is the furthest thing from beautiful, or eternal, or holy, but you have shown me that maybe… there are many things to love about it,” you glance up at him, and he’s already looking at you. “Maybe, it was all worth it in the end, the grass is warmer on your side.” 

The weather clears not too long afterwards.

 · · ─ · ☼ · ─ · ·

“This photo of us is so cute!” Hyacine exclaims, scrolling through her photo album as you and Castorice peer over her shoulder. “I think I want to post this one, thoughts?”

“I like this one a lot, you look so pretty,” Castorice comments. “I’m jealous, I wish I had gone to Okhema as well now, it would have been so incredible exploring the city with you.”

“Hyacine and I had a blast, but at least your sister came to visit, that must have been good,” you try your best to console her. 

Your pink-haired friend pipes up with an idea: “we should definitely plan out a trip sometime soon, that would be so fun!”

They both look to you. “Well, I probably will be going home now more often,” you admit sheepishly, and await their reactions.

Before Phainon, Castorice and Hyacine were the only ones with a general understanding of your home life as you would vaguely talk about it with them during late nights spent in each other’s dorms. They knew surface-level information; that you hated going home because of strict parents, so their shock was reasonable.

“What!” Hyacine’s eyes widen and Castorice’s hand comes to her mouth. 

“You told me you had to be on your best behaviour for a week so your mum could agree to hang out with me, what changed?” 

You barely get a word out before the reason himself comes behind you and unceremoniously drapes himself over your shoulders. The two girls gasp loudly, the second shock of the day arriving in the form of a clingy boyfriend who is loudly proclaiming that he ‘missed youuu’ while wrapping you in a hug so tight, you think he’s squeezing the air out of you.

“I mean, we both had a hunch based on the pictures you’d send in the groupchat, but… Y/n!” Exclaims Hyacine as Phainon presses two very loud and dramatised kisses against your hairline.

“Phai, please,” you feel heat creeping up your neck at his bold displays of affection. While you don’t necessarily hate it and actually quite like his attention, all of your friends were staring, and they didn’t need to watch you receiving it.

He gently tilts your chin so you look up at him, white hair falling down and tickling your forehead. “Hi angel,” he greets like nothing is wrong before rounding the bench to sit down on the opposite side, beside Mydei, who is very unbothered, expression as neutral as ever as he eats a protein bar.

Castorice speaks up. “Y/n, why didn’t you tell us earlier?” 

“There wasn’t a good enough time…” 

“Anytime is a good time!” Hyacine squeals, pigtails bouncing. “You can tell us anything, especially something as important as this!”

“I know, I know, I promise I was going to, but there-” you try to explain before your boyfriend interrupts you.

“-tell you what?” He asks innocently. “What’s up?” 

“That you and Y/n were dating,” the purple-haired explains calmly.

“What!” Phainon’s gasp is probably louder than both Castorice and Hyacine’s combined as a look of pure shock and betrayal sets on his expression, “why didn’t you tell them?”

You wave your hands defensively, trying to fight a losing battle. “I was going to, I swear, but there was just never a good time, and I’m shy and hate talking about myself for too long and-”

“-I’ve told Mydei three times by now!”

The man in question agrees. “He has. In excruciating detail.”

“Guys!” You whine, “I’m sorry!”

“Wait,” Phainon visibly perks up, like a dog who was just thrown his favorite treat. “If you haven’t told them, then can I tell them?” 

“I don’t trust your commentary!” 

“What? My commentary is a flawless retelling, you don’t trust your own boyfriend?”

“Let me tell them first, okay?”

He deflates. “Okay.” 

After a nice lunch with your friends, all of you catching up and chatting about what you did in the holidays, you and Phainon find yourselves alone once again, sat under the shade of a magnolia tree. He is, as always, laying on your lap, trying to find a comfortable spot for his ‘optimal time of the day’ nap, happily wrapping his arms around your legs and manhandling them as he pleases, while you’re subject to his whims.

“Happy?” You ask when he finally finds a favourable position, which happens to be his head on your thighs while his arms are wrapped around your stomach.

With the way he hums, you’re certain he’s quite content. So, you thread your fingers through his hair and begin playing with the strands; a habit you have after he told you that it helped him fall asleep faster.

As he dozes off, you take the time to think about everything that transpired over summer.

As soon as your feelings for each other were confirmed, Phainon practically dragged you home to tell Aglaea, who was certainly delighted with the new status of your relationship. She was hardly surprised, though, giving you an ‘I told you so’ look before welcoming you as a new member of the family. The hug felt so nice and warm, it was your second best memory from that day.

It is still complicated back home. Your mother has grown more amicable with the idea over time, so much so that she has suggested the idea of bringing Phainon over, but your father is stubborn and refusing to relent. He has always been too preoccupied with work for you to care, though. As long as you did what he was told, he never got in your way. 

As a magnolia blossom falls from the tree and lands perfectly in his snow-white hair, you giggle at the placement, threading it to sit behind his ear as he sleeps peacefully. 

"Haitham!" You greet, voice cheery, unchanged, the exact replica down to every detail. He feels his face shift in expression, his hand raises, reaches out before he could even realize it himself and—

He blinks again. You're gone.

"Huh? They disappeared!" Paimon squeaks, flying behind the traveler, "Like a ghost! That was sooo scary."

The blonde looks on thoughtfully, "Was. . that someone you know, Al Haitham?"

Snapping out of his daze, he takes a step back.

". . . someone I knew. Yes." He straightens himself, looking away. "Let's keep going. There's no time to waste."

KAEYA

// peter losing wendy, I / I knew you / leavin' like a father / running like water, I / and when you are young, they assume you know nothing

Jumping from portal to portal, trying to find the dream host with the traveler was exhausting. Kaeya was beginning to question why, of all the characters on the team, he had to come along (then again, such events were always fun).

It was a relief when a portal landed him in Starfell Valley. The breeze ruffling through his hair, sweet flowers and cecilias gently leaning to the wind, and—

You, holding onto your wind glider, waving at him from a distance.

"Well? Aren't you going to teach me how to fly?" You yell out, huffing theatrically.

Ah, yes. Kaeya remembers this. His footsteps take him forward, closer to where you are. Grass brushing against him with every step.

"Kaeya?" You tilt your head.

He remembers this. He was supposed to teach you, you were supposed to take your license exam in a few days, you were nervous—

Archons, you were nervous and a little scared and he brushed it off. He was a natural at gliding and he believed you'd get over it and glide as easily as he could.

Then he looked away. Just for a second —a single second— and an updraft lifted you higher than you were used to. And you struggled to control your wings. And you tumbled. And there was a cliff—

Oh, Stormbearer Point used to be so lovely until he lost you.

"Kaeya, are we going to start glidi— oomf-"

His arms wrap around you, bringing you close, holding you to himself. He lets a hand rest on the glider you held on one hand, pushing it away, aside, further from you –because how dare that wretched thing fail you– until it falls to the grass.

"Kaeya? What's wrong?"

"Can we–" He nearly sobs, a lump in his throat as he holds back, ". . . Can we not do this today?"

He feels your own arms wrapping around him. It's the closest he could get to remembering your warmth.

"Alright. . . it's alright, Kae, I'll learn to glide on another day," You whisper softly, "There's always next time."

TIGHNARI

// but I knew you'd linger like a tattoo kiss / I knew you'd haunt all of my what-ifs / the smell of smoke would hang around this long

"Even if they resemble their loved ones, it doesn't change the fact that it's a figment of their imagination cultivated by the Akasha. They shouldn't be swayed." Tighnari said this to the Traveler on the very day they started exploring the dream situation.

Yet, as he rests in bed after a long day of investigating, there's you.

"Nari! You're back!" You greet, holding up a tea set as he enters the tree-like house.

He's quiet. Quiet as he sits on the chair he always sat on (the one practically reserved for his visits), quiet as you pour him tea (the one you brew whenever he comes over), and quiet as you sit across him with a small smile.

"How is it this time? Too bitter?"

". . . it's fine."

"Will you stay longer this time?"

". . . no, I'll leave soon." He places down the teacup, "Once my investigation with the traveler is done, this will all be over."

He stands up, the chair scrapes against the wooden floor (like it always used to do), you look up at him curiously (the same way you used to).

"Do you really want that?" You ask.

Tighnari knows that it's the dream trying to keep him asleep, trying to tie him down. You're not you, this is all fake, therefore it shouldn't matter. He doesn't need to entertain you any more than he should.

So he diverts the question because archons, once upon a dream, you were all he wanted. You are all he wants.

"I'm leaving now. Thank you for the tea."

"You stay a little bit longer each time you visit," You smile, "Maybe if I brew even better tea, you'll actually stay."

He freezes. Has he been staying longer?

He bites his lip, continuing to walk away from the tree house. It's a figment of his imagination, he shouldn't be swayed.

AYATO

// 'cause I knew everything when I was young / I knew I'd curse you for the longest time / chasin' shadows in the grocery line

He was expecting it, actually. The traveler had already explained that it's a phenomenon happening to those with losses, and he's aware -with losing his parents at a young age- that he was vulnerable to the dreams.

The minute he falls asleep, the moon high over Sumeru, you appear in his dreams.

"Ayato!"

"(Name)."

No matter how much he expected you, the surprise must still be on his face as you laugh.

"What's with that look? Do you miss me that much?"

Should he entertain the dream? Or ignore you? Then again, what does he have to lose by at least answering your questions. he misses you, how you talk, how you laugh-

"I did. I do." He replies, a calm smile on his face.

"We can't have that! If you miss me already after such a short time, how much more when I'm sent away to get married?"

Oh, so it's that part of the timeline.

Perhaps the sourness of his thoughts reflected on his expression, or maybe you guessed it on your own (you were always so good at understanding him), but you sighed and gave a sad smile.

"I. . . I have to be honest. I'm kind of scared," You chuckle, "It's two boat rides away from Narukami, and the rumors about my fiancé is. . . not so great."

Ayato knows that. Your fiancé killed you on your second year of marriage and attempted to frame it on a servant. Despite knowing all this, the only reply he could muster was a monotonous "I see. . ."

"But we promised each other, didn't we?" You stand straight, facing him with enthusiasm, "We'll make our clans great again. I'll give honor to my clan, and you'll redeem the Kamisato name! Who knows, maybe next time we meet. . . "

There's a glint in your eye and he understands what you're trying to say. Maybe next time, the two of us could be together. It was a childish dream— one that didn't consider divorces or politics or death. Maybe next time, the Kamisato clan would be powerful enough to whisk you away. Maybe next time, Ayato would be enough to marry you without shaming either of your clans. Maybe next time, it could be "us".

The dream turns hazy as Ayato feels himself being shaken awake, the high pitched voice of Paimon floating above him and the traveler next to him, shaking him, "Ayato! Ayato! You have to wake up, the dream isn't real!"

But it was real, wasn't it? It happened so long ago.

ZHONGLI

// I knew you'd miss me once the thrill expired / and you'd be standin' in my front porch light // and I knew you'd come back to me / you'd come back to me / and you'd come back to me / and you'd come back

The dream realm was turning dangerous, the host lost all control and everyone's loved ones were beginning to turn into horrible beasts.

Beasts were easy, though. For Zhongli, all he had to do was maintain his shield around the traveler and the other party members, ensuring everyone's safety. This was easy enough- for what being could actually penetrate the shield of an archon?

"Morax?"

It was you, standing amidst the chaos, as beings turned to monsters and the traveler fought back in defense. An echo of a nightmarish past— of the archon war and of dying gods. You looked no different from that day you stood next to him, ready to protect each other's backs.

He mutters your name so lightly, it fades into the noise around him.

"Morax, listen to me–" You try approaching, only to be stopped by his shield. For a second, he thinks of letting it down, but this wasn't you— this was a dream, a memory.

"Morax, you have to win, it has to be you," It's a desperate sound coming from your lips as your hands rest flat against his shield. He wants to hold you. Why is this nightmare coming back now? Why must he see you here? The logical part of him, the one trained through years of mental and physical warfare, understands that the dream wants him to take down his shield.

"You have to be the Geo Archon. You have to kill me, Morax–"

Ah, yes, he did kill you to become the Geo Archon that day. He remembers it as clear as gold in his memories.

"Get away from Zhongli!" He hears the traveler yell, a sword slashing between him and you, as you back away.

"Are you okay?" The traveler asks, posed in the defense.

"Yes, don't worry about me," He replies, composing himself as his polearm manifests in his hand, "Rather, allow me to deal with this myself."

Because how dare this dream taunt him. How dare this dream imitate you.

note // for the holidays, im extending commissions at a special price! it's $1/character scenario and $3 minimum in fics 😋

consider support me on ko-fi or paypal! // general masterlist

In all the years you had been Blade’s companion, he always found himself surprised at finding you in his home whenever he would return from a mission. He still could not understand what incited you to stay with him, or in his home. 

It was not a particularly nice place; it was dingy, small, and someone had certainly been murdered in the bathroom, but for the likes of him, such trivial material things did not hold much importance. So long as he had a place to sleep and to heal, he would make do. That was until you came prancing into his life. You had turned his hovel into a home, turned it into a place that he did not dread coming home to, alone. 

Blade’s clothes were in tatters, shredded away alongside large chunks of his flesh. Deep scratches had torn away the skin on his back; each movement his powerful muscles made as he walked sent pain ricocheting along his nerves, blossoming into throbbing flowers. He clenched his jaw, locking it in place like a secret. 

Blood oozed from his wounds, cascading down his body as if it were a crimson waterfall. His ripped tailcoat was stained a deep red; there was no use in trying to salvage these clothes, no matter how hard he knew you would insist. Some things were just better thrown away. Dark rings circled his eyes, shadowing the contrasted alertness of his piercing red gaze. He trudged into his gloomy home, the prospect of resting his aching limbs calling out to him like sweet nectar. 

A strong aroma of stew wafted along from the kitchen, leading Blade towards you like a treasure map. You had drawn open the blinds enabling sunlight to drip through the murky windows, highlighting the dust motes that floated in the air like starlight. The table was set, at its centre you had replaced the wilted carcasses of the spider-lilies with fresh ones – his favourite flower. And to the left of the table, your back turned to him, stood you. Preoccupied with your cooking, you did not notice Blade’s arrival until he snaked his arms around your waist and pulled your body close to his. Your cheeks heated as he dragged his lips along your neck, his hot breath sending shivers in their wake. Being this close to him, you could smell the coppery stench of blood clinging to him like death was his second lover. 

Blade’s heart was contained in an impenetrable fortress. But the moment he stepped through the door, he shed those fortified walls like a snakeskin, pulling you into his arms and refusing to let go of you usually until the meal you were cooking burned. He was like a vicious, caged animal, imprisoned inside a body he did not ask for, nor one he wanted to sustain. Only with you did he feel like he was temporarily free from the fetters that bound him to existence. You made him feel free, as if he were in his natural habitat. 

Although, whenever Kafka would ask, Blade would always emphasise how he was not in love with you. That this was a temporary arrangement that benefited both parties until Blade could meet his eventual, long awaited end. 

“If you say so, Bladie,” Kafka would always say, her honey-sweet voice oozing with amusement at his emotional turmoils. His lips would always curl into a sneer at her words, and Blade would return to sharpening his sword. 

You shifted around in his grasp so that your chests were pressed against each other, faces only inches apart as you faced each other. The fatigue on his face was evident, but he wore his expression of endurance and stoicism like a mask. Over the years you had been together, though, it had slowly eroded for you, enabling you to read your secretive boyfriend progressively better. There were many cracks in his visor, failing to conceal an innate fragility that threatened to consume him. 

Smiling up at him, you started signing. 

“I’ve made you your favourite!” Blade noticed how your eyes wavered towards his highly dishevelled appearance, widening infinitesimally with ill-hidden concern. He nodded slightly, relinquishing you from his vice-like hold. You seemed to not notice the droplets of blood that trailed across your clothes and apron like stars in the sky – to someone looking in on this domestic scene, they would have just thought it was ink. Maybe you did not care. 

You looked up at him. 

“Shouldn’t you go and wash up?” 

“I’ll do so later.” He signed back. For some reason Blade didn’t want to tell you that in the past he had often come home in far worse condition. He didn’t want to see your brow crease with worry for him – you already had enough to worry about, with or without him. 

Interlacing your smaller hand with his bandaged one, you led Blade towards his assigned seat and, placing your other hand on his shoulder, gently eased him into his seat. He never failed to marvel at how soft your little hands were by comparison to his scarred, calloused ones. 

You then skipped to the stove and carried the steaming pot towards the table. Without even considering his injuries, Blade quickly ascended and strode over to you, taking the pot from your hands and taking it to the table. 

He grimaced as one of the gashes in his side twisted from his sudden movement. Your mouth hung open slightly, eyes wide like that of a doe – an undeniably cute expression. Blade chuckled slightly. Quickly, you drew your composure like a curtain and, grabbing two plates, started to dish out the stew you had prepared. 

His stomach churned at the mouth watering scent of the stew. When out on missions, Blade did not just disregard his body, but also his appetite. Perhaps, deep down, he knew that you would always make up for his lack of eating whenever he would come home from missions by showering him with your cooking. Blade stared down at the bowl as he waited for it to cool, and then back up at you. His tired heart lurched when your eyes met; you regarded him with such tenderness that you could have moulded stone like putty. Your countenance softened.

“Is everything okay, Blade?” 

“I’m fine,” he replied softly. 

When you were with him he was more than fine. With you, his penchant for death’s sweet embrace seemed a little less intense – less of an all-consuming obsession and rather an itch that needed to be scratched. But itches could be ignored, with enough will. You were more important–

A deep frown settled onto Blade’s brow, his ruby eyes burning holes into the dented, warped, table. You paused mid-spoonful as you saw your boyfriend bristle, body tensing up as if he had just been struck by some invisible blow. Suddenly Blade stood up, invisible strings of fate pulling him up and dragging him out of the house as he stormed off. He shoved his hands in his pockets, the sweltering vexation wavering from him almost palpable. You rose, trailing after him, but in spite of his injuries hindering his movements, Blade was out of the door before you could reach him. The door slammed shut in your face. 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

Blade had no recollection of just how long he had been walking. Aimless and thoughtless, he charged forwards like he was going to battle – although the enemy was unknown. Was it you? You made him feel. Or was it him? For letting himself fall for you. No. He would not think about it. He refused to. 

Having retreated to the furthest confines of his mind, the world passed Blade as a blur. By the time he came to, the sun’s authority over the world diminished as its bright rays began to falter and fade, falling victim to the incoming nighttime. Everything was poised in perfect suspension between night and day in the incoming twilight. Clouds swirled across the sky, dusted pink and amber by the sunset. Towards the horizon, the sky bled magenta; Blade knew that you would be marvelling at the sight, and for a moment he wished he were there to see the awe-stricken expression, the beauty of the twilight amplified through its reflection in your eyes. 

Blade clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. He kept on walking. 

His wounds stung, the pain proliferating with each passing minute. Without being addressed, they were more than likely to grow infected. But at this point in time Blade could not care less. He just kept walking, directionless. 

Tempestuous thoughts invaded him, probing at his shattered peace of mind. They unlocked the parts of his labyrinthine consciousness that he had held under lock and key for so damn long. The part of him that he had ensured remained imprisoned; for so long, he had succeeded in being his own jailer. Until you. Slowly, he was unravelling. Blade was coming undone because of you.

He didn’t know what to feel, how to feel. It had been so long since his heart had been opened that its hinges were so rusty they were almost arthritic, shrieking with pain from the aperture. The opening had unleashed a torrent of emotion that, for one who had been so emotionally repressed for so long, drowned him in its sweeping currents. 

He hated the way he was the centre of your world. The way you looked at him like he was soft instead of all hardened edges, eyes brimming with pure, unconditional affection. Why were you not afraid? You should fear him; he would ruin you, tarnish you. Centuries of adversity and suffering had transformed Blade into a weapon, forged in the infernal furnace of life. Now, his body was no better than steel, dripping with malice. Yet you continued to find the beauty in his cracks, planting flowers between them and watching them bloom in your presence. Instead of finding the ugliness in his scars, you found the beauty in them. 

Out of all the mysteries of the cosmos, you were certainly the greatest one. 

When did he even fall for you? Blade had been so careful. This was supposed to be provisional, a temporary remedy for his depraved soul. Although Blade had pledged his entire hateful existence to Elio, his body still had certain needs, which he had found you to fulfil. Your cool touch doused the flames that rampaged within him, so fervent that his rage could engulf a city in an inferno. Your tender kisses made him forget the memories that coiled themselves around his scarred limbs like chains, dragging him down to the umbral pits of despair.

 Just at the thought of you, his body began to shake – a visceral yearning to find himself in the comfort of your embrace. Blade wanted to be as far away from you as possible, but his heart was now inextricably bound to you. As his true North, you called to him, pulling him in your direction like a magnet. The question: was Blade ready to surrender his heart to you, to openly admit his attachment to you? 

He never meant to fall for you. Was this what Elio had meant when he said that unexpected complications would arise in his life? He was already Destiny’s Slave. He didn't want to become a slave to his heart. 

Slowly, like the petals of a flower unfurling, Blade grew accustomed to your company. Even liked it, actually. Your smile slowly thawed his frozen heart, your words soothed his tormented soul. You were his anchor during the storms that being mara-struck confronted him with. Even when the skies were completely suffocated by the menacing army of black clouds, when the thunder would roll, trampling anything in its path as the mara induced a rabid frenzy in Blade, you sat beside him, a sentinel watching over him in the darkness. Together you would wait out the storm. You never relinquished his hand as you awaited the clear skies to return. Although you could not speak, your touch spoke volumes. 

Blade could not deny that learning how to sign for you was challenging. But, since you had been so accepting of his predicament, he gritted his teeth and learned your language with unfaltering resolve. As a man of few words, there was something innately relieving about not needing to speak in order to communicate. He appreciated, though, that were he unable to speak, he might have thought differently. 

He struggled with expressing himself, especially with words, but he knew how much you adored listening to his deep, quiet voice, so would often talk to you into the night, knowing very well that he was speaking for the both of you. 

When you would lie down on the roof of your apartment, eyes fixed onto the heavens, Blade could never help but betray his promise of stargazing with you. While you were transfixed on the sprinkling of stars across the velvet night sky, lambent and brilliant like tiny gemstones, Blade’s unwavering gaze would be on you. Beneath the moonlight’s pale strokes of light, you looked positively ethereal. Your skin glimmered like it was coated in layers upon layers of stardust; while you looked up at the stars, Blade found himself looking at his own star, his light during the witching hour: you. 

He hated how much he had come to depend on you. These days, Blade could never leave the house without first embracing you, as if you were a good luck charm without which his endeavours would surely fail spectacularly. 

While he longed for death, his heart also churned at the thought of leaving you behind, all alone like a war widow. Before you, he would have waltzed into the afterlife with Death as his dance partner; now, he was not so sure. The urge to die persisted of course, but you had planted the seeds of doubt within him that were beginning to take root, the blooming petals suffocating his lungs, his heart. You were truly infectious, ailing his body more so than the mara. 

He hated you for what you had made him feel. He loved you so goddamn much it hurt, more so than any wound ever inflicted on him. With you Blade was raw, vulnerable. He was unaccustomed to existing without the armour he had donned for so many centuries, that which protected him from the anguishes of life. Of love. His heart rattled against his chest, unaccustomed to such emotions. He wondered if this was what would finally kill him; feeling again. Blade was a warrior; you were the first battle he wanted to flee from. And yet, being away from you felt like a dagger being driven into his heart

Blade’s walking suddenly ceased as he stopped in his tracks. Beside the canal by which he walked, on the small promenade, stood a tiny flower stall. It housed a jungle of flora, many of which Blade had never seen before. He could not help but be impressed by the sheer amount of the different varieties there were – Blade would have never even stopped to admire the flora if you had not been in his life. Usually, he would not have cared for such ephemeral things as flowers. The spectrum of colour the stall’s flowers provided contrasted the festering shadows, a final defence against the oncoming nightfall. 

His aching body urged him towards the stall before he could even think things through. He was spurred forwards only by the knowledge of how much you loved flowers. Perhaps this was the store from which you always brought the flowers you used to brighten up his home? The owner, an aged woman wearing gardening clothes, was just packing up for the day when she heard his approaching footsteps. Fear flickered in her eyes, like a candle flame, when she looked up at him. Clearly someone had seen the IPC’s wanted posters. Her smile was contrived, an emblem of the fear his presence normally imposed on people. 

“How may I help you, sir?” The woman cowered beneath his sharp glare, shielding herself behind the immense number of plant pots stacked upon the stall counter. 

“I’m just looking,” Blade grumbled, voice cold enough to make hell freeze over. And that was true. He was not entirely sure why he was here. Maybe his heart had pulled him towards the closest vestige of you that was in fact not you. He hated how he wanted to be so close to you, yet so far at the same time. 

Blade regarded the flowers, scanning them all intently. None seemed to be a good enough amendment for the way he had just stormed out on you. Perhaps he should buy you some – that was, if he even went home that night. Blade had no money on him, but he was already so morally foregone that he did not mind having to steal the flowers for you. Then again, he could imagine the look on your face if you ever found out. 

In the time he had spent looking at the flowers, Blade had not noticed the owner dialling her phone, nor the squadron of IPC officers that arrived shortly after. This was the effect you had on him. His senses, perfectly honed into a deadly point by years’ of fighting, had blurred, encompassed only by thoughts of you. You had reverted him from being a lethal weapon back into a man, with a heart. 

It was only when rough hands clasped his shoulders that his fighting instinct ignited within him. His hand found the hilt of his sword, only, Blade found himself wishing that it was your hand he was holding instead. A deep frown penetrated his stony face. He drew his sword, whirling round with vicious precision as he sliced at the officer’s chest. Blood spurted from the wound, and he staggered backwards. He threw himself into the fray, glad for the excuse to not think about you. 

Blade was a weapon, and combat followed him like his own bloody shadow. 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

Blade did not return home that night. He was probably wandering the world like a lost spirit, while you lay alone in your shared bed. Anxiety clawed at your insides. Not even holding Blade’s pillow close to you, inhaling his familiar scent, could quell the gut-wrenching feeling of trepidation. What if he did not come back? That caused your grip on the pillow to tighten. You thought of the pot of stew that was still on the table, the empty plate you had left out for him – just in case he came home and was hungry. 

The clock ticked away, marking the passing hours since Blade’s departure. The steady ticking of the time starkly juxtaposed the hammering of your heart, your shallow breaths. You knew that Blade was more than capable of looking after himself – he had done so for centuries – but your stomach churned at the thought of him out there, roaming the streets like some vicious stray dog. You hoped that Blade was not angry, as destruction would trail behind in his wake. As someone unable to speak, you knew that actions spoke volumes, more than words ever could; and Blade’s actions? They were like a roar of contempt to the world that made him suffer so much… and to you. 

When the door was slammed in your face, it was like the swift stroke of a guillotine being brought down upon your heart. You knew you weren’t supposed to feel so deeply for Blade; he had specifically told you at the beginning of your partnership to not catch feelings for him. But the heart wants what the heart wants, and yours wanted Blade, scars and all. His heart was something forbidden, closed off from you. And that made you covet Blade’s even more. But it had escalated too far, your greed. 

You had tried so hard to be a homemaker that you had inadvertently backed Blade into a corner, and like a wild animal he bared his teeth and lashed out at you, claws unleashed. Tears pricked your eyes. You couldn’t help the way you felt. How in spite of all his evident flaws, your soul sang whenever you were together. You felt heard by him; with Blade, you had a voice. In a world filled with uncertainty and danger, he made you feel safe – after all, that was one of your main reasons for becoming his partner, before you became unconditionally, irrevocably, in love with him. 

Sleep came at you in waves, yet whenever you closed your eyes, it eluded you like some apparition. Not even the pillow would suffice tonight. Yet, you did not relinquish it. For all you knew, this could be the last remnant of Blade in your life. You had seen the way his expression darkened at dinner earlier, how something far worse than a storm brewed behind his feral eyes. You only hoped that it would come to pass with the rising of the sun, and Blade would be back tomorrow morning like nothing had happened. 

Were it anybody except Blade, you would inquire as to what bothered him. But Blade… he was less communicative than you were, and he actually had a voice he could use! You had never pushed him to come out of the shell which he had carved for himself, that which had been weathered away by the seas of time –  thus he had retreated further and further within. How you longed to pry him out of it, to read his heart, but clearly your actions that evening had clearly hit a vulnerable spot, evoked something that he had hidden away. The display of your love causing him to retreat from you. You knew Blade was untamable like the sea, a beast in the guise of a man, but a part of you had hoped that your presence could have gentled him. Perhaps he was inherently unadaptable to the quiet life of domesticity you led. 

You pulled the covers closer to yourself, a fruitless attempt to make up for the embrace Blade would cocoon you in as you slept together. Hopefully, sleep would submerge you in its deep waters soon. As you slowly drifted off to sleep, you found yourself dreaming of Blade. 

The sound of the door swinging open snatched you from the peaceful realm of sleep and dreams. You discarded your fatigue, eyes snapping open the second you heard the door shut. Slow, precise, footsteps ascended the stairs, the rhythm indicating that it was none other than Blade. As the door to your room inched open, a slither of light pierced the darkness of the early morning. Through half-closed eyes, you watched Blade’s tall silhouette enter the room, his normally powerful movements silent and feline. You squeezed your eyes shut, feigning sleep. Thankfully, in the darkness, Blade seemed not to notice. 

He opened the closet, presumably taking out some fresh clothes to replace his ruined ones. However, his shuffling soon stopped. You were not ready to alert him of your being awake, so you kept your eyes closed, and waited. 

Blade watched your dormant form, at the slow rise and fall of your chest. You were the perfect image of serenity, while he was gory and dishevelled. Something felt inherently wrong about intruding on your sanctuary after having killed all those IPC officers. Just his presence cast a shadow over your purity. Blood dripped onto the floor; while most of it was certainly Blade’s, he was sure that some of it was mingled with the innocent blood he had spilled that night. 

Dawn was beginning to inch its way across the sky, sending fingers of light through the closed curtains of your bedroom. A new day was being marked, yet Blade felt far from renewed. His eyes were heavy, his body host to a score of different, yet collaborating agonies that made every step towards the bathroom feel like he was walking on a path littered with daggers. 

As the bathroom door closed behind him, your eyes opened once more. You had not missed the coppery scent of blood that Blade had dragged inside with him, and you hoped that he had not injured himself further. Blade had looked like he was being held up by the strings of unwanted emotion, a puppet to the heart that he was so tired of hearing beating. You truly hoped that he was okay, that his thoughts were not devouring his state of being to rawness. 

Ignoring your heavy limbs, your body yearning to go back to sleep, you climbed out of your bed and got up. You tip-toed with every step, not wanting to alert Blade of your arousal as you descended the stairs. After being out for so long, you reckoned the last thing he had thought of was food, so you went to the kitchen to make him something to eat. Were it not for you, his body would have most certainly decayed from neglect. 

From downstairs, you could hear the hot water tank stir into action, and the loud stream of water that followed. 

Blade stripped himself of his ruined clothes and, standing before the foggy mirror, was confronted by the extent of his injuries, many of which would join the gallery of scars adorned by his skin. Bruises were scattered across his body like kisses, accompanied by varying scrapes and scratches. Then there were the deeper wounds. Despite having constantly borne witness to his injured state – with many instances having been worse than how he was today – Blade still averted his eyes. 

You were never disgusted by the wounds Blade returned home with, nor with his scars that haunted his body like his own personal army of ghosts.

“They’re a testament to your strength” you had told him one time, when you were bandaging a particularly nasty wound on his chest. Sometimes, he felt like you were more of his nurse than a partner. He knew you could do better than him. 

With your beauty, alluring charm, you would find no difficulty in finding another partner. One who was more present, one who actually had the courage to embrace their feelings. But the truth was he never wanted to see you with someone else. He was loath to admit it, but you were meant to be by his side. Yes, had his life durated its normal course, the two of you would have never even met – but perhaps in his cruel fate, were you a gift to appease the dire pains of immortality? He gritted his teeth and began to tend to his wounds. 

Blade cast aside his thoughts just as he had done with his clothes and stepped into the shower, relishing the cool water against his burning skin. Maybe, if he washed himself enough, he could cleanse himself of all his sins and finally be good enough for you. 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

In all the years you had been Blade’s companion, he had never seen you up so early before. He had purposefully gone downstairs instead of to your shared bedroom, with the intention of not waking you. It seems his best intentions failed, for you smiled softly at him from the couch on which you sat. His muscles tensed, brain instilling a fight-or-flight response in him. Blade had absolutely no idea what to do or say around you; any thought of action evaded his mind. But from the way you looked at him through long-lashed eyes stirred Blade. He clenched his jaw and walked into the kitchen. Behind him, there was shuffling as you got to your feet and followed him into the kitchen silently. 

Hearing your footsteps was like flint to steel, igniting the final ounce of patience Blade had attempted to muster. 

“Stop following me,” he snapped, words laced with venom. They struck home, for you recoiled, as if pricked by the poisoned fangs of his words. Your footsteps stopped. Blade pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling loudly. His limbs shook slightly from the pent up frustration that threatened to consume him like a raging inferno. You were so quiet, he was not sure if you had gone or not. Blade glanced over his shoulder. 

Your silence perturbed him, as it made your expressions all the more powerful. There was a look of quiet understanding in your eyes – no words were needed, the look you gave him said everything that needed to be said. Your lip quivered, droplets of tears threatening to spill from your eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” you signed, “I can’t help but love you.” 

Blade’s heart broke into a million pieces while also being simultaneously made whole again – a true cycle of death and rebirth. What had remained unsaid for so long by both of you was finally out in the open, no longer lurking in the backstage of your relationship. 

The words he so desired to say lodged themselves in his throat. Even if his body had not prevented him from speaking, it would have been impossible to express how he was feeling with words alone. So, he took several strides towards you, took your face in his hands and pressed his lips against yours. 

This kiss was different to the way he usually kissed you; usually he was voracious, devouring your lips with an urgent hunger that spoke of his depravity of human contact, of how he had been isolated from another person for oh so long. What usually involved biting, dominance and force melted into something soft, like the sea rounding away the jagged edges of stones. In this kiss, you witnessed something inherently different about Blade. The tension in his chest eased as he relinquished his hold over emotions, allowing all the love and affection he felt towards you to swallow him whole, imbuing him with a new sense of purpose. To be yours. 

He kissed you slowly, tenderly, each movement charged with so many things that Blade had left unsaid for far too long. One of his hands found the back of your head, pushing your face closer to his, as if the little distance between you was unbearable as it was. Blade loved you. He loved you so damn much. Your lips moved alongside his, quietly listening to everything they had to say; a profession of love. As you kissed, a new realm of understanding was reached – the final paving of what bridged the chasm between you being laid. You were his true North, and he never wanted to stop kissing you, his lips fixed onto yours with magnetic force. 

His lips lingered against yours for one final moment before finally, Blade pulled away from you. You looked up at him through your lashes, eyes wide with surprise. Red creeped up your face like crimson vines, and Blade found himself thinking that was a much better form of red to see, rather than blood. Blade did not relinquish his cupping of your cheek; with his thumb, we wiped away the tears that fell like drops of starlight down your flushed cheeks. 

“I’m the one who should be sorry, [y/n],” he murmured, his lowered voice sending shivers through your body, “I love you.” His lips curled into the fragment of a smile as he spoke. Having discarded all of his internal strife that weighed down on him like the earth, a look of utter tranquillity had swept over his face, the rigidity of his posture dissipating – finally, Blade was at ease. 

You wrapped your arms around his torso, pulling him close and burying your face in his bandaged chest. Blade returned the embrace, placing his head in the crook of your neck, body melting into your touch. Relief’s hands pried away his agitated state, but not his guilt – Blade still had much to work on to make up for the way he had acted. That could wait. A lifetime spread out before you both, a whole universe at your disposal. 

With you, Blade could relinquish the spite he had welded into a shield, protecting him from all the years of strife. With you, he could finally be vulnerable. Now, just being in your arms was more than enough for him. An eternity of suffering almost came undone entirely just by your bodies being close together. Finally, Blade had accepted his treacherous heart. 

your blood was everywhere.

on the ground, on your clothes, on your face. he’s kneeling by your side, vision hazy and blurred from tears. a broken body, a broken former deity, a broken world. and it always ends when he crumples onto you with a hoarse call of your name-

“zhongli!”

his amber eyes open tiredly, and he blinks until your face is clearly within sight. as if he’s in a daze, he lifts a hand that’s faintly pulsing with geo energy to caress your cheek, silently appreciating the warmth of your body heat and the blood pumping through your veins.

“it’s okay,” you hum as you lean onto his touch. he’s confided in you about what always happened in the nightmares, and so you know the words to soothe him, “it’s not real. see, i’m fine.”

“yes, i can see that you are. thank you for the reassurance, my dear,” he agrees with a relieved sigh, and you lean down to place a kiss on his sweaty forehead.

“are you sure there’s nothing i can help with? your nightmares… you’ve been having them every night now, and i... i worry about you.”

there is nothing that can stop the erosion of a deity's soul, is what he wishes to tell you, but he decides to flash you a comforting smile instead. he pulls you into an embrace and runs his fingers through your hair as he tells you for the hundredth time that he’ll be fine. as he tries to convince himself that he still has time.

just one more day.

just one more cup of tea with you.

just one more hug so he remembers the shape of your body.

just one more kiss from your pretty lips. just one more. just one more-

he should have known being greedy was never a good thing. not to mortals. not to adepti. not to an archonー

your blood was everywhere.

on the ground, on your clothes, on your face. he’s kneeling by your side, vision hazy and blurred. his head feels heavy; the erosion is messing up his memory and his perception. a broken body, a broken former deity, his broken world. but before he crumples onto you, something stops him.

his hands.

they’re drenched with your blood too.

....

...... ah.

as the entirety of liyue qixing prepares to subdue their corrupted god, only a certain half-qilin hybrid winces at the fearsome roar of the dragon;

for it was anything but a shout of fury, but rather, a scream of pain.

those nightmares were real after all. he had only missed the fact that it was his hand that was drenched in your blood.

snezhnaya’s weather is horrendous, and even more so in recent days.

which is a shame, considering it was your first time visiting ajax’s hometown: a small village amongst the forests where it snows all year round. though you made the necessary preparations, you still couldn't win against the harsh weather and preferred the fireplace over the outside world - hence ajax letting you entertain his siblings indoors as he periodically goes out to hunt or run some errands. today, too, is such a day.

teucer, who liked you as soon as you introduced yourself, is latched to your hip, grinning brightly as he suggests a game of hide-and-seek. pulled in by the stars in his eyes, you promptly nod and close your eyes so he can get to hide.

…………. that was thirty minutes ago.

you are (understandably and undeniably) panicking at this point. ajax’s house is no mansion; it's a humble cottage that withstood the cold and it's just the right size for his whole family. you had searched every nook and cranny of the cozy space, but you hadn't seen any glimpse of the boy.

wait… if not inside…..

your eyes flit toward the window.

outside….

in this snowstorm?

teucer is a native of this land. he is naturally much more tolerant than you are when it comes to colder temperatures, but having to stay out there for thirty whole minutes….?

oh. oh no. oh no.

you barge through the front door hurriedly, calling out teucer’s name into the blizzard, heart hammering in your chest.

an hour later, ajax’s heart dropped when he's greeted by a crying teucer and his clearly worried family. upon knowing the situation (of course you didn’t know about the secret bunker he built for his family to hide in case the worst scenario happened), the cold fear creeps up his chest from within, and he set out to find you. he doesn’t even have the mind to protest when his younger brother insisted that he too would tag along, because he wanted to apologize firsthand for worrying you.

and when he finally finds you, his world shatters before him.

“i’m sorry! brother, i-i’m sorry!”

teucer is tugging at his coat and he instinctively crouches to wrap the small trembling boy into his arms. but no words of encouragement coulc leave his lips, for what could he have said in this situation?

‘don’t worry about it’? but his sanity feels like it's decreasing rapidly.

‘you didn’t do anything wrong?’ but a small, horrible, horrible part of his brain yelled otherwise.

‘it’s okay’? but it’s not. it’s not. it will never be, now.

it feels like his entire body is covered with frostbite. he wants to claw out his heart so badly. it hurts so much worse than getting stabbed in the chest or electrified when his hydro vision has to face against an electro-wielder. how can it hurt more when he’s not even physically bleeding out? how can a simple box containing a simple ring weigh so heavily on his coat pocket? why do you look so serene as you lay there, lifeless and as white as the first snow falling in the early morning?

why did things have to turn out like this?

all living beings make mistakes.

xiao made the mistake of pushing you away with harsh, biting words when you opened your heart to him the first time. he made the mistake of not paying enough attention to you at the start of your relationship. he made the mistake of not celebrating your birthday with you the first time it rolled around after you got into a relationship. social interactions and love aren’t his best subjects, so he could go on for hours if he wished to list every single fault he made.

but…

every single time, you tried your best to communicate with him.

every single time, you forgive and forget.

every single time, you smile, cup his cheeks, and whisper patiently: “it’s okay. i forgive you. don’t make the same mistake again, okay? love you.”

…….

what use is his teleportation power when he can’t use it to get to you in time?

you, the light of his life, the love of his entire heart, the drive behind his monotonous routine.

him hearing the way your heartbeat slows, like a hunted animal in their last moments, struggling to survive, to no avail.

him not understanding why you're smiling even in your last moments, not understanding why you would whisper the declaration of love in your dying breath, not understanding the bittersweet tears slipping down your slowly closing eyes as your final words somehow entered through the loud ringing in his ears.

‘it’s okay.’

‘i forgive you.’

‘i love you.’

‘live.’

i can't.

his qingxin, lifeless and broken, cradled close to his chest.

tears stream down your beloved's cheeks as he feels the last remnants of his heavily cracked heart shattering into pieces, flashes of his life playing right at the back of his mind. he's not the one who was bleeding out yet he feels pain greater than the most severe wound and the darkest karmic debts. for once, the sight of blood - your blood - makes him want to vomit and retch and claw his eyes out. for once, the gruesome sight makes him heave and suffocate as he curls into himself, fingers digging into his hardened adepti skin.

i can't do this anymore.

xiao drops to the ground after slaughtering everything in the vicinity: vagrants, innocents, animals and plants, none escaped the explosion that was his power, a gust of wind so violent and vile it left the grounds reeking of death as he shouts into the moonless night-

"I CAN'T DO THIS ANYMORE!!!"

the geo shackles bind him as he awaits his judgment. the contract has been broken and he has to pay the price. and yet as he sees the golden light of his savior and executioner, his lips wearily lift into a broken smile.

finally, his seemingly neverending eternal suffering is over.

finally, he’s allowed to be reunited with the people he loves.

finally, he too, can rest.

© zhongrin | 2023 ◆ no repost. reblogs much appreciated. feel free to reach out to submit suggestions, feedback, comments, or if you just want to talk!

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[anticlimatic]

notes: slight description of dead body (you), blood, ambiguous relationship status; implied roommates with Kaveh and Alhaitham, could be ot3 if you squint, mild profanity

Your death came without warning, without rhyme or reason. It doesn't make sense for you to die here, your potential on the brink of being fully realized, your journey cut abruptly before it has even started. As a narrative, your death is almost anticlimactic, unpredictable and hidden away in the forests of Sumeru where the rangers found you, body broken and eyes closed forever. Your wings must have failed you midflight, plummeting you down to the ground without a safety net. If there were any signs of foul play, it is hard to tell; there is so much blood to wash off of you.

Tighnari was the one to set your limbs straight to make you look more comfortable, and Cyno was the one to tell Alhaitham to come and identify your body. 

It's only a formality at this point. Cyno and Tighnari-- Alhaitham thinks they would not have let Collei see your body, bruised as it is-- would have been ample identification checks. They know you well, consider you a friend. It may also be a sort of mercy from Cyno to inform Alhaitham of what has happened so he can be one of the first to know, the first to see you. 

They know Alhaitham was more important to you than any of them-- Alhaitham included-- could truly understand. So, of course, it is Alhaitham who gets to know first. 

Cyno peels back the cover from your head. It must be the least injured part of your body because the only tell-tale sign that you are dead is the stillness of your face. You are the most animated person he knows, even if you aren't aware of it. You constantly move your eyes to see the world for what it is, lips always upturned subconsciously, though Alhaitham can remember the days when you went without for quite some time. It was a trying period for you, but your smile came back eventually, and all felt right in the world.

Alhaitham knows it will not come back this time. 

"It's them," he says, though you look far from the person you were when you were still alive. "Where will the body be stored?"

"The Sumeru morgue," Cyno replies. He pauses. "Will you-"

"They have no family. No next of kin." Alhaitham says, "I will arrange their funeral."

Cyno only nods, and Alhaitham watches as he goes to cover your face up with a foreboding sense of dread he cannot place. Cyno does not apologize to Alhaitham for his loss. Neither of them is the type to placate others even in their grief. As for "his" loss? Certainly not just his. You were well loved, a bud in bloom among the vines of the Akademiya with your reputation built from the soil up. Those that knew you will mourn. 

Yes, Alhaitham is in mourning, right now, isn't he? Everyone else believes it to be so. Tighnari tells him ‘my condolences' even though his own face is tight with regret, as though he could have single handedly prevented this from happening. He doesn't see Collei but perhaps that is telling enough of her grief. Cyno tells him that he will let Dehya and Candace know, and Alhaitham can only nod in agreement.

Alhaitham thinks he knows the reason for the dread when he comes home and Kaveh is there. His roommate has been pacing around in the living room, Alhaitham can tell. Without either you or Alhaitham present, Kaveh was worried but trying not to think of the worst-case scenario. Alhaitham has to be the one to break the news to him of the worst-case scenario, and he braces himself for the torrent. 

If Alhaitham is the person who knows you best, then Kaveh is right behind him. Your death will devastate Kaveh, even if Kaveh does not know it yet. 

"You're lying," Kaveh tells him. His face is as impassive as Alhaitham has ever seen. "You're lying to me, and it's not fucking funny-"

"I’m not lying," Alhaitham says. When Kaveh opens his mouth to argue, spit vitriol, call him a liar again, Alhaitham feels his own temper rise, and for a twisted moment, it almost feels familiar, him and Kaveh at each other's throats, except they've never argued over something as serious as this. "I wouldn’t lie about this. And you know it." 

Alhaitham expects it to escalate. Kaveh will raise his voice and Alhaitham will too, both of them feeding their animosity into each other like they have never done since their Akademiya days. Even their latest bickering is nothing, and with you added into the mix, it becomes even less than that-- more eye rolls and snarky remarks than anything close to an argument.

But you're gone. So everything is different now, even if no one wants it to be. And when Kaveh's lips begin to tremble, his face falling upon the realization that oh god, Alhaitham is telling the truth, Alhaitham realizes something too. Telling Kaveh about your death was worthy of dread, but the thought that nothing will ever be the same with you gone, makes the foreboding feeling gape and widen. 

He will pass by Lambad's Tavern and walk in, expecting you to be there at the third seat of the bar, writing your essay, but you will not. He will sit at the table nearest the window in the House of Daena and read while waiting for you to come and ask him to find a book, but you will not. He will walk home, noise canceling headphones off despite the bustle of the city, because he expects you to come up from behind him, hoping to surprise him for once, but you will never come. He will enter an empty home, quiet and devoid of sound, and instead of being relieved, he will only feel the same heavy dread, knowing you will never come home again.

Alhaitham never said he loved you aloud, and now he never will. Did you know anyways? Without him telling you, did you know that he loved you? Through the way he believed in you, the way he said your name, the times he's helped you, eaten with you, let you sleep on his shoulder and in his bed when you were tired. You knew him best, cherished him more than he could understand. Did you know he loved you like you loved him?

The unspoken questions, the unsaid words. As abrupt your death is, it is permanent, and Alhaitham will have to live life knowing there is an empty space where you once were that will never be filled again.

.

.

.

[stay]

notes: slight description of dead body (you), blood, established relationship

Alhaitham cannot control things that are beyond his abilities to do so. The heavenly principles are far beyond him, beyond even the archons themselves, so it only makes sense that the events that transpire involving them are out of his control.

This upsets him less than most people would think. He's a thinker, calculating each of his steps before implementing them, so it would make sense when he can’t plan out every step of the way. People would be right to an extent, but Alhaitham is logical enough to understand there is no use trying to change something that he cannot. And why waste time being upset over that when he can focus on the things he can control?

Only… he is human, and even he miscalculates. When he thinks of the things within his power to control, he thinks about your happiness, his ability to make you laugh and blush, the ways he can keep you safe. He did not anticipate, as he holds your hands slick from your own blood, that your safety is beyond his control.

"Let me stop the bleeding," Alhaitham tells you, scanning his surroundings for anything he can to help him staunch your wound. You look at him, breathing shallow, his grip not once faltering even as you seem to lose the strength to hold onto him. "Don't fall asleep. Keep looking at me. I'll use my cape for now-"

"Alhaitham."

"I’ll lift your body up," he says, clicking his tongue when his hands slip from under you with the blood. "Tie this around you for now. The Traveler wasn't far from here-"

"Haitham."

"-even Paimon can help carry your legs if you can't walk anymore. I know she can-" Alhaitham stops when you start to push his hands away from your abdomen where the bleeding is most heavy. "What are you doing?"

"Can you," you begin to say, rasping these words as though it is taking every breath to speak, "can you just hold me? Haitham."

Alhaitham shakes his head. "I’ll hold you later.” He tells you, swallowing thickly as you look into his eyes as though searching for something. The next words makes his mouth dry, but he must say it. He must try. “I promise. I have to do this-"

"I can tell I'm not gonna make it."

Alhaitham shifts his legs under him and feels his knees soak in blood. 

"Respectfully," Alhaitham says icily, "you may be more well versed with medicine than me, but you aren't at full capacity right now to judge accurately." 

You laugh at this. Alhaitham doesn't see how any of this could be funny to you. He doesn't understand you. He never has. But, oh, he wishes he does; wishes he had all the time in the world to get to understand you more. 

He feels your hand paw at his wrist, your fingers cold as ice. 

You shake your head so slowly, and the smile you give him blooms just as slowly as the Padisarah flower he gave you last week. Your smile is no less beautiful though, no less bright despite it all. 

"Maybe." You sigh. "But I’d like for you to hold me anyways. Please?" You say, "I feel so cold." 

Alhaitham swallows his protests, because in the end, it is logic that will always win against all else: there is a low percentage that any help will arrive, and Alhaitham cannot do anything to save you. 

“Okay,” he says quietly, gathering you up into his arms. Strong as he is, he is so gentle with the way he brings your head to rest against his shoulders, bringing your legs over his lap so he can cradle your body against his to share the warmth. He hears you sigh in relief, though he doubts it’s because you feel any warmer. It is purely comfort that he is providing, until the end. 

For the first time since his youth, Alhaitham feels helpless. 

“Your eyes are so pretty,” you tell him, words slurring. He lets out a huff of laughter– he feels delirious almost– that is shakier than usual, taking your cold hands and kissing your fingers as though it could bring it some semblance of warmth. “Lots of colors.”

‘Thanks,’ he could say dryly, like he always does. ‘I think I might like yours better,’ he could say; it would get a laugh out of you, and isn’t that what he always wants for you? ‘I love you’ would work too; it always works when it’s you. 

Alhaitham opens his mouth to reply, but instead of anything he has planned, he says to you instead with all the desperation in his heart, “Please stay.” 

“I love you,” you tell him instead; you always made it sound so easy to say. 

In the aftermath, when the dust has settled and those who have not toppled remain, Kaveh finds Alhaitham hours after your death, cradling your body, his face buried into your neck. 

.

.

.

[anticipatory]

notes: next two parts have the same back story- you have a leyline curse similar to Dainsleif; some fluff here! established relationship

“How long,” you ask as you lie in bed with him, “do you think I have?” 

Alhaitham’s hand stops tracing lines on your back over the curse marks that paint your skin abyss blue. It’s not an unfamiliar question. You ask every once in a while, because you can’t see the progression of the ley line curse on your back, so you rely on him to tell you how far it’s spread. 

Based on the growth, which only seems to go faster by the day, Alhaitham calculates you have about another year before it consumes your entire body. 

Only six months ago it was invisible to the naked eye. Tonight, the blues spread outward like butterfly wings from the middle of your spine to reach your shoulders. You’ve already stopped wearing sleeveless shirts to cover the marks, but when they go past your neck or onto your hands, it’ll be difficult to justify wearing turtlenecks and gloves all the time while in Sumeru. 

“Let’s take a vacation to Shnezhnaya at the end of the year,” Alhaitham says instead. “I have three months worth of sick days and breaks.”

You pause for a moment before letting him guide the conversation away. “Isn’t one of their main cuisines soup dishes? Borscht or something like that.” He hears you say, amused. “You hate soups.” 

“It makes it difficult to read,” he explains, tracing lines into your back again. You sigh in contentment as he spreads the expanse of his palm along your shoulders, memorizing the abyssal stars that align along the path he makes. “I can deal with it for a little bit. I can cook something else while we’re there.” 

You’re quiet for a little bit, breathing even and steady that Alhaitham thinks you’ve fallen asleep while he was memorizing the dips and curves of your body. You shift when he lifts the blanket up higher over you. He can hear you swallow audibly as though readying yourself to say something, probably to redirect the conversation back to your initial question, he suspects. Before he can say anything, you say with a voice as equally shaky as it is steady, “I’m sorry.” 

Alhaitham’s heart stops. “Why are you apologizing?” He asks as calmly as ever when you do not answer, “Because I’ll have to cook on vacation? Not really that an inconvenience, isn’t it? I’m assuming we’ll split the responsibility.” 

No answer.

“I wasn’t going to use the vacation dates anyways,” he continues. “And I hardly get sick. Though now that we’re talking about it, three months in one place is a long time. Perhaps we should consider traveling-” 

Then he sees you crumble before his eyes, shoulders shaking, face burying into your hands as you start to cry. 

Experienced at loving you now, Alhaitham is quick to bring you close. Lucky enough for him, you still melt against him, welcoming his embrace as he coaxes you to turn his way and bury yourself into his nape instead of your hands. He can still hear your apologies mixed between the gasps of air you take, your tears seemingly unending. He holds you steady, voice calm even though his heart is leaping in his chest as it always does when you are upset. 

“What’s wrong?” he says, voice hushed. And like every other time you are upset, he asks you, "What can I do to fix it?” 

“I don’t-” you say, voice cracking, “I don’t want to leave you.” 

“...You don’t know that you will,” Alhaitham says. And it’s true. Neither of you know what will happen for certain. A lone blond traveler with a curse similar to you had passed by and told him of his eventual fate, and you had likened it to your own. But there’s no proof proving the two of you are the same, though it can’t be said that there is no connection between your fates at all. 

“How long do you think I have?” You ask again, and he knows he cannot hide it from you any longer.

“A year at most,” he says. Your eyelashes brush by his collarbone when you close your eyes shut. He stops you before your thoughts can even form. “I am not leaving you.” He scoffs and you make a noise of indignation. “Don’t even think about saying something like that.” 

“You didn’t let me say anything yet,” he hears you grumble, and he lets a huff of laughter out at the sound of your petulant voice. 

“Do you really think I would do something if I didn’t want to?” Alhaitham says dryly, “And what’s the thought process behind me leaving you before you can leave me? I’d love to know.” When you are quiet, he continues softly, “Do you think I am that fragile to fall apart when you are gone?”

“...No,” you say finally. “But I think you underestimate how strongly you feel.” 

“Oh really?”

“Yeah, really,” you say, and your voice is light again, as it always is when you talk about how much you love him. “‘Cause I know better. How much you really feel, even if your face is… like that.” 

“Like what,” Alhaitham says bluntly. When you only laugh into his shoulder, he can’t help but smile with you. 

If Alhaitham could describe it, it feels like the longest goodbye. ‘Live every moment like it’s your last’ becomes the mantra between the two of you, though neither of you has said those exact words out loud. You love in abundance, laugh in abundance, bicker in full as though you are trying to live out the rest of your lives in one year. 

The day Alhaitham takes you to the snowy lands of Snezhnaya is sooner than later, the scarves and gloves worn more days than not. As promised, you two do share the cooking duties for those months, getting cozy by the fireplace and learning how to icefish from the locals. He learns how to barter with the merchants there and commissions the two of you rings to wear. Though he never sees you wear it outside, he can always feel the ring when he holds your gloved hands. He thinks you never take it off.

When Alhaitham returns from Snezhnaya, he comes home alone with nothing but a golden band on his ring finger. The people that know him know better than to ask. 

.

[priorities]

notes: connected background as previous but different ending; fluff! established relationship; happy end

Alhaitham has always been the type to stay in the background. People might be inclined to call him the ‘mastermind’ but that’s giving him too much credit considering how much he wants to remain unknown and unperceived. But he supposes having a hand in toppling the heavenly principles and destroying the castle in the sky and being unrecognized is asking for too much.

“You’re an… interesting guy,” you tell him, a few days after the climactic battle which, fortunately, neither of you had to have a large part in. (Well, there was that key role for you… and another for him, but that is neither here nor there.) You snicker into your hand when he shoots you a strange look. 

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Alhaitham asks, and before he can continue his retort, you are sitting on his lap even though the two of you are supposed to both be on bedrest, in separate beds. Tighnari is going to kill them if he finds them now that he knows neither of you are going to die any time soon. 

“It means you’re an interesting guy,” you say. “The first thing you tell me is that you hate involving yourself into tedious things. And then you get yourself into making strategies to take down literal gods, which sounds pretty tedious to me.”

Your smile is beautific when you look at him, your arms finding their way around his neck and legs over his lap. Instinctively, he puts a hand around your back and holds onto your legs so you don’t fall. He takes a peek at your back and sees that the abyssal blue has not moved a single centimeter beyond your shoulder blades. He knows that was what was calculated, but still, he breathes a sigh of relief upon its confirmation. 

“I always make a basic list of pros and cons for a plan,” Alhaitham says. “I just deemed overthrowing gods to be less tedious than the alternative outcome.” 

“And what could possibly be more tedious than overthrowing a literal god?” You laugh, looking up at him as though he hung the moon and stars. He thinks if he hung the moon and stars, then you must be the one holding up the sun in the sky. 

“Losing you,” Alhaitham says simply. “I’d prefer not to imagine a life without you in it, so I made sure that a life with you would happen.” 

Alhaitham knows you are smart enough to know what he was going to say, but you seem surprised anyways, eyes wide and tears welling up at his admission. Perhaps some time ago, Alhaitham would not have believed it would have ever been worth upheaving his life for the sake of another person. But Alhaitham has never been one for halves; the moment he decided to have you in his life, then there was no other option for him.

“I love you,” you say, and he thinks overthrowing gods is an easy choice to make if three words is enough to make him feel this happy, if your arms around him is enough to make him content. 

"Haitham!" You greet, voice cheery, unchanged, the exact replica down to every detail. He feels his face shift in expression, his hand raises, reaches out before he could even realize it himself and—

He blinks again. You're gone.

"Huh? They disappeared!" Paimon squeaks, flying behind the traveler, "Like a ghost! That was sooo scary."

The blonde looks on thoughtfully, "Was. . that someone you know, Al Haitham?"

Snapping out of his daze, he takes a step back.

". . . someone I knew. Yes." He straightens himself, looking away. "Let's keep going. There's no time to waste."

KAEYA

// peter losing wendy, I / I knew you / leavin' like a father / running like water, I / and when you are young, they assume you know nothing

Jumping from portal to portal, trying to find the dream host with the traveler was exhausting. Kaeya was beginning to question why, of all the characters on the team, he had to come along (then again, such events were always fun).

It was a relief when a portal landed him in Starfell Valley. The breeze ruffling through his hair, sweet flowers and cecilias gently leaning to the wind, and—

You, holding onto your wind glider, waving at him from a distance.

"Well? Aren't you going to teach me how to fly?" You yell out, huffing theatrically.

Ah, yes. Kaeya remembers this. His footsteps take him forward, closer to where you are. Grass brushing against him with every step.

"Kaeya?" You tilt your head.

He remembers this. He was supposed to teach you, you were supposed to take your license exam in a few days, you were nervous—

Archons, you were nervous and a little scared and he brushed it off. He was a natural at gliding and he believed you'd get over it and glide as easily as he could.

Then he looked away. Just for a second —a single second— and an updraft lifted you higher than you were used to. And you struggled to control your wings. And you tumbled. And there was a cliff—

Oh, Stormbearer Point used to be so lovely until he lost you.

"Kaeya, are we going to start glidi— oomf-"

His arms wrap around you, bringing you close, holding you to himself. He lets a hand rest on the glider you held on one hand, pushing it away, aside, further from you –because how dare that wretched thing fail you– until it falls to the grass.

"Kaeya? What's wrong?"

"Can we–" He nearly sobs, a lump in his throat as he holds back, ". . . Can we not do this today?"

He feels your own arms wrapping around him. It's the closest he could get to remembering your warmth.

"Alright. . . it's alright, Kae, I'll learn to glide on another day," You whisper softly, "There's always next time."

TIGHNARI

// but I knew you'd linger like a tattoo kiss / I knew you'd haunt all of my what-ifs / the smell of smoke would hang around this long

"Even if they resemble their loved ones, it doesn't change the fact that it's a figment of their imagination cultivated by the Akasha. They shouldn't be swayed." Tighnari said this to the Traveler on the very day they started exploring the dream situation.

Yet, as he rests in bed after a long day of investigating, there's you.

"Nari! You're back!" You greet, holding up a tea set as he enters the tree-like house.

He's quiet. Quiet as he sits on the chair he always sat on (the one practically reserved for his visits), quiet as you pour him tea (the one you brew whenever he comes over), and quiet as you sit across him with a small smile.

"How is it this time? Too bitter?"

". . . it's fine."

"Will you stay longer this time?"

". . . no, I'll leave soon." He places down the teacup, "Once my investigation with the traveler is done, this will all be over."

He stands up, the chair scrapes against the wooden floor (like it always used to do), you look up at him curiously (the same way you used to).

"Do you really want that?" You ask.

Tighnari knows that it's the dream trying to keep him asleep, trying to tie him down. You're not you, this is all fake, therefore it shouldn't matter. He doesn't need to entertain you any more than he should.

So he diverts the question because archons, once upon a dream, you were all he wanted. You are all he wants.

"I'm leaving now. Thank you for the tea."

"You stay a little bit longer each time you visit," You smile, "Maybe if I brew even better tea, you'll actually stay."

He freezes. Has he been staying longer?

He bites his lip, continuing to walk away from the tree house. It's a figment of his imagination, he shouldn't be swayed.

AYATO

// 'cause I knew everything when I was young / I knew I'd curse you for the longest time / chasin' shadows in the grocery line

He was expecting it, actually. The traveler had already explained that it's a phenomenon happening to those with losses, and he's aware -with losing his parents at a young age- that he was vulnerable to the dreams.

The minute he falls asleep, the moon high over Sumeru, you appear in his dreams.

"Ayato!"

"(Name)."

No matter how much he expected you, the surprise must still be on his face as you laugh.

"What's with that look? Do you miss me that much?"

Should he entertain the dream? Or ignore you? Then again, what does he have to lose by at least answering your questions. he misses you, how you talk, how you laugh-

"I did. I do." He replies, a calm smile on his face.

"We can't have that! If you miss me already after such a short time, how much more when I'm sent away to get married?"

Oh, so it's that part of the timeline.

Perhaps the sourness of his thoughts reflected on his expression, or maybe you guessed it on your own (you were always so good at understanding him), but you sighed and gave a sad smile.

"I. . . I have to be honest. I'm kind of scared," You chuckle, "It's two boat rides away from Narukami, and the rumors about my fiancé is. . . not so great."

Ayato knows that. Your fiancé killed you on your second year of marriage and attempted to frame it on a servant. Despite knowing all this, the only reply he could muster was a monotonous "I see. . ."

"But we promised each other, didn't we?" You stand straight, facing him with enthusiasm, "We'll make our clans great again. I'll give honor to my clan, and you'll redeem the Kamisato name! Who knows, maybe next time we meet. . . "

There's a glint in your eye and he understands what you're trying to say. Maybe next time, the two of us could be together. It was a childish dream— one that didn't consider divorces or politics or death. Maybe next time, the Kamisato clan would be powerful enough to whisk you away. Maybe next time, Ayato would be enough to marry you without shaming either of your clans. Maybe next time, it could be "us".

The dream turns hazy as Ayato feels himself being shaken awake, the high pitched voice of Paimon floating above him and the traveler next to him, shaking him, "Ayato! Ayato! You have to wake up, the dream isn't real!"

But it was real, wasn't it? It happened so long ago.

ZHONGLI

// I knew you'd miss me once the thrill expired / and you'd be standin' in my front porch light // and I knew you'd come back to me / you'd come back to me / and you'd come back to me / and you'd come back

The dream realm was turning dangerous, the host lost all control and everyone's loved ones were beginning to turn into horrible beasts.

Beasts were easy, though. For Zhongli, all he had to do was maintain his shield around the traveler and the other party members, ensuring everyone's safety. This was easy enough- for what being could actually penetrate the shield of an archon?

"Morax?"

It was you, standing amidst the chaos, as beings turned to monsters and the traveler fought back in defense. An echo of a nightmarish past— of the archon war and of dying gods. You looked no different from that day you stood next to him, ready to protect each other's backs.

He mutters your name so lightly, it fades into the noise around him.

"Morax, listen to me–" You try approaching, only to be stopped by his shield. For a second, he thinks of letting it down, but this wasn't you— this was a dream, a memory.

"Morax, you have to win, it has to be you," It's a desperate sound coming from your lips as your hands rest flat against his shield. He wants to hold you. Why is this nightmare coming back now? Why must he see you here? The logical part of him, the one trained through years of mental and physical warfare, understands that the dream wants him to take down his shield.

"You have to be the Geo Archon. You have to kill me, Morax–"

Ah, yes, he did kill you to become the Geo Archon that day. He remembers it as clear as gold in his memories.

"Get away from Zhongli!" He hears the traveler yell, a sword slashing between him and you, as you back away.

"Are you okay?" The traveler asks, posed in the defense.

"Yes, don't worry about me," He replies, composing himself as his polearm manifests in his hand, "Rather, allow me to deal with this myself."

Because how dare this dream taunt him. How dare this dream imitate you.

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