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synopsis ; he who stands with glory. he who works day and night, with his golden blood, to come back home to you from war and enjoy a moment of domesticity.
authorâs note ! ; mydeimos is actually the most beautiful person iâve ever seen. imagine being gorgo looking at your son in the exotale and thinking "damn, my son can pull bitches"
// wc 0.8k , fluffy , i love men who worry like an idiot im sorry. but also mydei is hot. heâs kinda ooc too but who knows
⢠masterlist
"DONâT GO ANYWHERE." he softly pleaded, his head on your lap. it had been a few minutes since he came back home. battle ridden, filthy, and reeked of blood, but you didnât mind. it had been a few months since he left you, and you both missed each other terribly.
you carded through his hair. you noticed it was a bit matted from the lack of hygiene, but you couldnât tell him to get up because he was filthy. you could tell that he missed you with the way he kept fidgeting with the fabric at the small of your back, pressing his cheek on your thigh.
"so, how many this time?" you asked. of course you were aware of his inhumane immortality, but sometimes the fear of losing him bugs you at times when he was away. "six." he answered briefly, and pressed his cheek even more against you. you couldnât help but sigh.
before, you asked him to promise that heâd try his best to not be reckless, but the more your relationship went on, the more you understood and realised that it was impossible for him to be unscathed.
"darlingâŚ" you rubbed your thumb on his cheek. "itâs quite impossible to stay alive when i need to fight for everyone." he explained, his hand longed stopped fidgeting and snaked up to your arm. "i know, iâm sorry. i just canât help but worry for you at times." you looked away, ashamed. you shouldnât worry about him when heâs come back to life so many times. itâs a constant.
"i am undying, not untouchable. itâs impossible to be unscathed in a battlefield." he continued to reason. he feels bad, he hates making you feel this way.
he understood your fear. hell, you both even fought about this.
yet all his deaths, all those treacherous times he spent walking the river of souls, heâd gotten used to it. he knows why you care, but doesnât at the same time. itâs strange being loved, being important and cared, and seeing someone care about the many times heâs died and come back to life.
everyone bats an eye, but not you.
never you.
this was a losing battle. "âŚsure."
you were still unhappy. you couldnât really pinpoint why. maybe it was the nagging fear of someday, he would never come back home to you. you squeezed him slightly. you werenât crying, though, just deeply terrified. his eyes soften upon hearing your tone.
"my love, will you look at me?" mydeimos reached out to your hand, intertwining it with his. you could hear his voice, a slight hint of desperation. with enough courage, you looked at his eyes, embedded with golden hues. they were usually intense, but now, it was soft. uncannily soft.
"i know that it scares you. sometimes, iâm scared too," he started. you were carding his hair again. you were listening. "scared that someone will find my weak spot and maybe iâd never get back up again or⌠ever see you again." he gulped. he loved you so much, but he now realized just how profound and intense it was.
"i stand for glory, and i will always fight for my people, and for you." his voice quiets at the last part. even now, he still got shy whenever he tried to say that everything he did was for you.
your heart swelled.
his words somewhat eased your worries. even if no one had knowledge of his weak spot. he was a warrior, and heâd always will be. it was something that you couldnât change, and if you did, he wouldnât be mydeimos anymore.
you were still scared, but you trusted him more.
you smiled, before kissing the top of his head. "thank you for everything you do for us, mydeimos." you whispered.
for once he felt seen for his efforts personally. people praised him, gave him titles, but no one called him by his name so affectionately. he hid his face in your thighs, hiding his reddening cheeks from you.
"thank you for⌠saying that." his voice was slightly muffled with his lips on the fabric, but you laughed anyway. "you donât have to hide from me, you know? you donât have to be so shy." you smiled.
"there isnât the word 'shy' in the kremnoan language." he reasoned, it was rather pathetic though. "i donât even think that the kremnoan language even exists." you joked. he huffed, but he never looked back up to face you. if anything, he hides himself even more.
"âŚyou are my glory." he suddenly whispered. a part of him hoped that you didnât catch him, but apparently you had your ears everywhere. you hummed, deciding to not comment on it. you smiled even more at his words.
eventually, mydeimos slept on your lap. his soft snores were the only thing protruding the silence.
you came to realise that as long as he was alive and came back to you, even if him dying multiple times made you somewhat unhappy, it was more than enough.
you were happy he came back home. just as he always promised.
03.15.26 , 12:23
Š this work belongs to dayborne. please do not plagiarize nor post this on another platform without my permission.
Hi Lilyyyy, I asked that before but can I request Sugar Daddy Mydei x College student Reader where he treat her too much to get her for himself?
Unhurried (Mydei x Reader)
Synopsis: You notice Mydei in a coffee shop before he ever speaks to you. He notices everything. What starts as quiet persistence becomes something harder to ignoreâŚand even harder to walk away from.
A/N: Hi again anon! :) This idea goes back to January when we talked about it through asks. I wasnât entirely sure about the trope at first, but I wanted to try writing it in a way that still feels true to Mydeiâs personality. Enjoy!đ
Tags: Modern AU. Fluff. College Student Reader. Developing Relationship. Persistent Mydei. Light Sugar Daddy Elements. Acts of Service. Gifts. Coffee Shop Encounters. First Kiss.
Word count: 2101
â ⌠â
You notice him before he ever speaks to you. Heâs consistent. Same time, same table near the window. Black coffee, no sugar, always left untouched for a while before he actually drinks it. Like he ordered it out of habit and forgot it was there.
He doesnât look around the way most people do. Doesnât have his phone out. Just sits with the particular stillness of someone entirely comfortable taking up space.
Heâs also, you notice, very clearly not a student.
The suit is understated but expensive in the way that requires knowing what to look for. Clean lines, fabric that moves differently, no logo announcing itself. The watch on his wrist is the same: nothing flashy, nothing that needs to prove anything.
He looks like someone who belongs in a boardroom or a private dining room, not a campus coffee shop with mismatched chairs and a specials board written in student handwriting.
Youâve clocked him enough times to recognize the pattern.
Heâs clocked you too. You know that without asking.
It happens on a day when your notes are a disaster and your patience is thinner. Youâre packing up too fast, papers sliding, your pen rolling off the edge of the table.
He picks it up before it hits the floor.
âCareful.â
You look up. Properly, for the first time.
Heâs closer than you expected, and heâs looking at you with that same quality he has when heâs just sitting. Unhurried, direct, like he has all the time in the world and has decided to spend some of it on you specifically.
Up close, the watch catches the light. You notice, and then notice yourself noticing, and look back at his face instead.
He doesnât hand the pen back immediately. He just holds it, waiting until he has your full attention.
âYouâre here a lot,â he says.
You raise an eyebrow. âSo are you.â
Something shifts in his expression. Not quite a smile. More like acknowledgment. The look of someone who expected deflection and got something worth considering instead.
âFair,â he says and hands you the pen.
He doesnât leave immediately. Which is unusual. Most people, having completed the transaction, would go.
âStudying?â he asks, nodding at the scattered papers.
âTrying to.â You start organizing them with more dignity than you feel. âMidterms.â
âWhat subject?â
You tell him.
He listens with the focus he seems to bring to everything, and then says something that is actually relevant.
âYou know it?â you ask, slightly suspicious.
âEnough.â He picks up his coffee cup, finally, and drinks. âYouâre on campus?â
âWhy?â
He meets your gaze. âBecause youâve been here for four hours and you look like you havenât eaten since this morning. Thereâs a place nearby thatâs decent.â
You study him for a moment. Expensive suit. Direct eyes. The particular confidence of someone who doesnât feel the need to explain himself.
âI donât know you,â you say.
âNot yet,â he agrees.
It should be presumptuous. Somehow it isnât quite.
You go, mostly because youâre hungry and he doesnât seem to be performing anything.
Mydei pays without discussion, eats without making a production of the food, and asks questions like heâs actually interested in the answers. When you mention your building on campus in passing, he notes it the way he notes everything.
You donât think anything of it at the time.
One week later, you hear a knock on your door. Itâs a delivery.
The arrangement is large enough to turn heads in the hallway. Flowers, the kind that arenât trying too hard, wrapped simply.
Beside them in the courierâs hands, a small box of pralines from somewhere that doesnât have a chain location, and a flat jewellery box that makes your stomach do something complicated before youâve even opened it.
Inside: a bracelet. Simple. Elegant. The kind of thing chosen by someone who paid attention.
Thereâs no note explaining it. Just his name.
You stand in your doorway holding the weight of someoneâs attention and feel, distinctly, that you are going to have things to say about this.
The next day, you go to the coffee shop again. Mydeiâs at his usual table when you arrive. Of course he is.
You sit down across from him without being invited, which he accepts without comment, and put the jewellery box on the table between you.
âThis is too much,â you say.
He looks at it, then at you. âIs it.â
âThe flowers were already too much. The pralines were too much. This isââ You push the box slightly toward him. âI donât know what you think this is, but Iâm notââ
âI know what youâre not,â he says, calmly. He doesnât touch the box. âThatâs not what it was.â
You look at him.
âMoney is only excessive,â Mydei continues, unhurried, âwhen itâs spent to impress. Thatâs not why I spent it.â He pauses and picks up his coffee. âI thought youâd like them. Thatâs all it was.â
The simplicity of it stops you.
âYou thought Iâd like them,â you repeat.
âThe flowers. You had a dried one tucked in the back of your notebook. Three weeks ago. I noticed.â
He sets the cup down. âThe pralinesâŚyou mentioned the brand once. In passing. The braceletââ He glances at it briefly. âYou looked at one like it in a window when we walked past. For about four seconds. Then you kept walking.â
You stare at him.
âThatâs unsettling,â you say, after a moment.
âProbably.â He seems unbothered. âKeep it or donât. It wasnât a transaction.â
You look at the box, then at him.
You donât push it back again. But you donât pick it up either. Not yet.
He doesnât send anything after that.
Not because you told him not to. You didnât, exactly. But Mydeiâs observant in that particular way, and he seems to have noticed that the grand gestures, however genuinely meant, put distance between you rather than closing it. They made the gap in your circumstances too visible. Too much to weigh up.
So he stops.
And starts doing something else instead.
The coffee appears beside you without announcement. Then food. Not restaurant deliveries, not anything that requires a reservation, just a container left on the table one afternoon with the matter-of-fact quality of someone who cooked because it needed doing and made enough for two.
Itâs good. Better than good. You eat the whole thing before you think to question it.
âYou cooked this,â you say, when he sits down.
âYes.â
âYou cook.â
He looks at you with mild patience. âYou sound surprised.â
âYou donât look like someone who cooks.â
âWhat does that mean.â
You gesture vaguely at him. The suit, the watch, the general quality of someone who could have anything prepared for them.
Something like amusement crosses his face. âIâve been cooking since I was old enough to be useful,â he says. âIt has nothing to do with what I can afford.â He nods at the empty container. âYou finished it.â
ââŚIt was good.â
âI know,â Mydei says, and opens his book.
You test him, periodically.
Because the situation is strange and he is strange in it: a man who is clearly comfortable with money in the way that people are when theyâve had it long enough to stop thinking about it, who spends it on you with the same matter-of-fact quality he brings to everything, and who has never once made you feel like it means you owe him something.
Youâre used to things costing something. Attention especially.
His doesnât seem to. Which makes you suspicious, and then curious, and then something else.
So one afternoon youâre deliberately difficult about it.
You push the coffee back across the table without touching it. Tell him you donât need it. Wait to see what he does. Whether he pushes back, whether something shifts in his expression, whether the patience reveals itself as strategy.
Mydei looks at the cup. Then at you.
âAlright,â he says.
And he takes it back.
Nothing else. He just picks up his book and reads, and twenty minutes later when youâre clearly flagging he sets a glass of water beside you instead, without comment, like he simply noticed and acted on it and the rest isnât worth discussing.
You stare at the glass for a moment.
Itâs the most annoying thing heâs ever done. (And the most reassuring.)
And yet, you smile to yourself.
The flowers arrive on a Thursday, which is your worst day of the week and he somehow knows that.
Something small and unpretentious left on the table beside your coffee. The kind of thing you might have picked out yourself if you ever bought yourself flowers, which you donât, because thereâs always something more practical to spend money on.
You look at them for a long moment.
âYouâre doing it again,â you say when he sits down.
âMm.â
âThe thing where you pay attention to things I didnât tell you.â
âYou mentioned Thursdays once.â He opens his book. âIn passing.â
You look at the flowers again, then at him, settled comfortably across from you, reading, completely unbothered by your scrutiny.
âThis is a lot of effort,â you say, âfor someone who hasnât asked me for anything.â
He glances up at that and holds your gaze for a moment.
âIâm not in a hurry,â Mydei says simply and goes back to reading.
You donât know what to do with that. So you do nothing, for now. But you take the flowers home, and you put them in a glass on your desk, and you donât examine too closely why.
The moment it changes isnât dramatic.
Youâre tired. Genuinely, visibly tired, the kind where you stop performing fine because you donât have the energy.
You sit down across from him with your coffee and your terrible notes and say nothing.
Mydei looks at you for a moment.
âSit properly.â
You frown. âI am sitting.â
âYouâre hunched like youâre bracing for something.â His hand presses briefly to your shoulder. âProperly.â
You exhale.
And you do it.
And for the first time, you donât argue about it.
âYou donât have to keep doing this,â you tell him one evening, quieter than you intended.
âI know.â
âThen why do you?â
Heâs quiet for a moment like heâs deciding how much of the honest answer to give you.
âBecause you have too much to carry,â he says finally. âAnd some of it doesnât have to be yours.â
You look at him.
âItâs not about showing off,â he continues. âOr keeping track. I just want you to have less to worry about.â He pauses. âThatâs all it is.â
It shouldnât be enough of an answer.
Somehow it is.
You donât soften all at once. Thatâs not how you work, and Mydei seems to understand that. He has never pushed for more than you were giving, never made the patience feel like a strategy.
But you find yourself noticing things. The way he remembers details without making a performance of it. The way his presence has started to feel less like something to be suspicious of and more like something youâd notice the absence of.
You donât examine that too closely. Not yet.
Itâs a quiet evening when it finally shifts. Youâre walking back from the cafĂŠ, later than usual, the city settling into that particular after-dark calm. Heâs beside you, not filling the silence with anything.
You stop walking.
Mydei stops a half-step after, turning to look at you.
âYouâve been patient,â you say. âFor a long time.â
âYes.â
âMost people wouldnât be.â
âIâm not most people.â He says it without arrogance. Just fact.
You look at him, really look, the way youâve been careful not to for a while now. The steadiness of him. The way heâs watching you with that direct, unhurried attention that has never once asked you to be anything other than exactly what you are.
âI know,â you say quietly.
You close the distance yourself.
The kiss is brief at first, tentative in a way that surprises you, given how certain he is about everything else. But his hand comes up to your jaw, careful and deliberate, and he kisses you back like he means it. Like heâs been thinking about it and is in no particular rush now that itâs happening.
When you pull back, heâs watching you with something warm and unguarded in his expression.
âTook you a while,â Mydei says.
You laugh despite yourself. âDonât push it.â
The corner of his mouth lifts.
He takes your hand, and you walk the rest of the way in silence.
â ⌠â
A/N: Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed it. :)
the d in divorce stands for 'despite everything, it's still you.'
sypnosis. [ 11.7k words ] lawyer!mydei x math!professor!reader. divorced parents + daughter au. â endless nights of waiting for him to change pushes you to the edge and file for divorce. almost six years after the divorce was finalized, mydei asks to see you without your daughter.
usagi's note: header credit here! PLEASEEE I KNOW I SAID 8K BUT IM A LIAR OKAY, ITS NEVER WITHIN 8K WORDS OMFG, BUT TRUST I COOKED WITH THIS ONE. ive been watching too many cdramas like a facebook mom omfg. i didn't give melina (your daughter, whose name means honey btw) any physical traits so u guys can rlly envision what she looks like as YOUR daughter! (personally i see melina like mel from arcane or like annabeth from pjo bcs i can't see myself having kids, but thats just me LOL). enjoy mydei lvrs!
âMelina, be good, okay? See you next week, honey.âÂ
You hug your daughter tight and she nods against your clavicle as you look up for a second at the man in front of the doorway. The girl in your embrace pulls away and you give her a kiss on the crown of her head, then she walks to her fatherâs car.
You give Mydei the luggage you packed with Mel the day before, reminding him of her events during the week.
âMel signed herself up for an archery class this Wednesday, Iâll send you the address later, but if you canât drive her there, I can.â
The man shakes his head, âNo, I can take her, Iâll make time.â
You pause and nod stiffly at that. Neither of you say anything.
Then a long beep comes from the car, followed by muffled complaints.
âYeah, Iâll drop her off next week.â
âYep.â
And that was it.
Five years. Itâs been five years since the divorce finalized. Seven since you brought the papers upâbut five years since this arrangement has been going on.Â
Melina was ten years old at the time, barely coherent enough to understand the weight of the effects of the decision you both had made. Your mother kept saying she was too young to understand, and you knew that. Really, you did.
But this was a situation where you could put yourself first without taking her childhood away from her or his fatherhood from him.
So here we are, five years of weekly dropoffs and pickups with your ex-husband, Mydei.
Was it ideal? Definitely not.Â
Was it necessary? Maybe.Â
Did you miss him? Next question.
âŚ
It doesnât take long for your daughter to update you.
Honey
Hi mommmm
We r getting ice creamÂ
Dad is rewarding me for acing my test !!
You
Thatâs good, honey.
Make sure to drink water after, okay?
[ <3 ] reacted by Melina
âŚ
You
Make sure she drinks water.
Mydei
Wouldnât forget it.
[ thumbs up ] reacted by You
âŚ
The rest of the week goes on just like that. Mel would update you, Mydei would clarify some things for her schedule, you and your daughter would call when she gets stuck in one of her advanced mathematic questionsâsheâd fall asleep on call saying sheâs only ârestingâ and youâd chuckle when you hear her snore after a while.
You decide to message your ex-husband after a while of just admiring your daughter, your heart blooming for fondness as you gaze at her through the screen.Â
How could one foster such longing for a daughter so loved?
You sigh and type out the message.
You
Mydei, can you carry Mel to her bed?
Sheâs gonna get a crick in her neck when she wakes up.
Mydei
She fell asleep at her desk again?
You
Yep.
Mydei
Iâm coming up now.
âŚ
It doesnât take long for the doorknob to twist and open. You hear him sigh in amusement through the phone as he picks her up carefully and tucks her in bed.
You stay quiet through all of it and just⌠watch.
Mydei does, too. After tucking her in properly, he pausesâlooking content.
Itâs normal, you suppose. With her studying as hard as she can for her upcoming entrance examsâsheâs 17 now. Almost an adult, and growing ever so fast. Neither you nor Mydei have the time to know everything she did like when she was a child.
He must not see her asleep oftenâbeing busy with cases and paperwork. Only having time to pick her up from school, cook dinner, and go back to working on the documents.
But heâs changed.
He isnât the same as before.
And it does little to soothe the pinpricks of your heart bleeding out through your chest.
Mydei sucks in a breath through the phone and when your eyes flit back to your phone, you find that heâs already looking at you.
âYou miss her already?â He asks in a hushed voice.
You swallowâtrying to make sure your voice wonât croak, âYeah.â Your eyes turn to Mel who was sleeping peacefully on the bed behind him, âYeah, I do.â
That makes your ex-husband sigh softly, âItâs only Friday, two more days and sheâs yours again.â
âI know,â you murmur, scrolling idly at your laptopâbrowsing through your studentsâ essay submissions.
You say nothing for a while and neither does Mydei as he starts to tidy up the papers, books, and pens on Melinaâs desk.
You donât know the right word for it.Â
You donât know how to describe the feeling of it.
Domestic, maybeâbut how is being on call from your daughterâs phone with your divorced ex-husband considered domestic? You donât know. Maybe itâs just the familiarity of it all.
Maybe youâre just tired.
âHey, Mydei, Iâm going to end the call now, I have a few calls to make and a dozen papers to grade,â you tell him to catch his attention and you see him raise an eyebrow through the screen.
âThis late at night?â
You swallow hard, caught in the lie, âY-yeah⌠you know how it is with Cas and Aglaea, I need to consult a few things from the kidsâ submissions.â
You pray to Nikador he believes your bullshit and doesnât push.Â
He wonât.Â
He never does, but with how his brows are furrowed togetherâyou know he doesnât buy it at all.
Still, he relents, âOkay, goodnight.â
âGoodnight.â
The moment the call drops, you deflate into the ergonomic chair he boughtâa matching set you and Mel have. You press your palms into your eyes.
God, five years in, and everything is still about him.
You donât know how to feel anymore.
Ever since the divorce finalized, nothing felt right anymore. Mydei was respectful. Always have been. You never divorced because of any abuse, but because you felt⌠Well it doesnât matter how you felt.
In the end, no matter how many times youâd try to talk to him, to think of a solution, to attend countless coupleâs therapy sessions. It didnât matter, none of it did. Because at the end of the day, he still didnât have time for you nor Melina.
It was always case after case after case. His work always came first.
You had tried to understand at first, after all you were both chasing promotions at the time. You with your professorâs thesis, and Mydei with his heavy cases. You told yourself it was just a busy week.
Until a week became a month, a month became a season, and before you knew it, your daughter turns nine without her father by her side and heâs only been there for about half her life.
Heâd come home, folders stacked under his arm, apologies spewing from his mouth as he tells you, âitâs the last time, I promiseâ.
The last time he forgets to attend a parent-teacher conference.
The last time he comes home late to a dinner long-gone cold.
The last time he puts work first.
It never happened.
And when one day, you give him the divorce papers, he doesnât even ask why. Doesnât even try to reason. He doesnât fight you for it. Just stares at the papers youâd given him for a whole minute before moving to get a pen and signs his name on all of them.
That was it.
Eleven years of marriage, a daughter thatâs ten years old, signed away in a minute, not even being fought for one.
Maybe thatâs what hurts the most about it all.
Mydeiâs a lawyer.
He fights for his client at the court almost every day.
Heâs a fucking lawyer and yet he didnât even fight you for the divorce papers.
Just looked like heâd long known about it. He just⌠accepted it. And signed away without a second thought, not even looking at you, just downing his black coffee and left.
It took you four hours to even move from your spot and even then your legs shook so much that you had to call your brotherâPhainonâto take Melina to school and preferably for the rest of the afternoon.
âŚ
The next two years following that were even harder.
Not only did you have to face him multiple times at court just to prove that you both really did want this divorceâyou had to face multiple counselling sessions, the worried stares of all your friends and family, and juggle your job to prove that you can have custody and take care of your daughter.
But you were also faced with the daunting task of trying to explain divorce to a ten year-old child.Â
You let her ask whatever she wantsâmaking sure you hold her in your arms or some part of her as she does. You try to answer as best as you can, Mydei answering some questions she asks him, too.
You just didnât know her next question would make both your hearts stop.
âDoes Daddy still love us, Mommy?â
Oh, how you wanted to know that, too.
âIâm sure he does,â you try to reassure her, trying not to look at the man behind her, and holding her hands, âItâs just⌠Daddy and Mommy need to⌠need to have a break from each other, okay?â
âForever?â
You try to blink back tears, âYes, honey. Itâs⌠Itâs kind of complicated.â
âBut why?â
âBecause⌠because Daddy and Mommy have different goals in life right nowâŚâ
Mel is quiet for a whileâfidgeting with her toys on the floor as you rub your thumb on her knee in a circle, trying to reassure her in the subtlest way possible just so you couldnât disturb her train of thought.
âAreâŚâ her voice breaksâand you think a piece of your heart does, too.Â
âAre we still going to be a family?â
You swallow down your own tears and hold Mel as tight as you could.
âYes, sweetheart,â your words catch on the hitch of your breath, âalways, baby, weâll always be a family.âÂ
And she sobs. Melina sobs for the first time since she started asking questions and the way she does lets you know that she was trying so hard to be brave and mature about the whole thing.
You truly did not think your heart could break any further.
Until she calls out daddy in such a broken voice that you do all you could, shut your eyes and sigh quietlyâjust so you donât break down, too.
Mydei comes up and embraces the two of you tightly, a pained inhale comes from him as Mel switches her position and buries her face in his neck instead. He tightens his grip around the both of you.Â
You think of it as him apologizingâmaybe trying to offer some comfort for your daughter.
You tuck the thought that maybe this was as close to an apology that you were going to get from him to the very back of your head.
âŚ
After the lawyer and social worker talked to Melina, the divorce agreement was drafted with a few new additions from your daughter.
Both parents must remain in continuous contact.
Custody exchange is scheduled weekly.
All of Melinaâs events are to be attended by both parents.
You sign the papers without hesitation.Â
Youâd give anything for Melina to be happy.
âŚ
It was hard at first.
Melina didnât want to adhere to the custody schedule during the first few months. Sheâd cry, sheâd scream, flail around, saying she didnât want to leave your house when Mydei came to pick her up, or that she didnât want to leave his when you did, or when he had to drop her off. Instead, she kept asking âwhy?â
âWhy canât we just live in one house anymore?â
âWhy canât Daddy live with us again?â
âWhy canât Mommy just come over?â
It was⌠a lot.Â
Every time Mydei had to come in front of your doorstep, holding your sobbing daughter in his arms, heâd look so⌠mournful. Tired, even.
There are times heâd call you over at nightâtelling you that Mel refused to go to sleep without you beside her. Youâd come over, only to leave a while after she falls asleep. Heâd offer to drive you back and you would refuse, and heâll leave it at that.
But eventually, it got better.
Mel got used to the weekly switches, youâd attend every event she had with her father, and just like your daughterâs terms in the agreement, you stayed in contact with Mydei.
Heâd send updates about her, or even tell you when heâll be picking her up and dropping her off.
Mydei changed.
Heâs early to all Melâs eventsâon time for pick-up and drop-off, has all her stuff accounted for, takes her for ice-cream or any sweet treat she loves every time she achieves a goal sheâs set. Itâs something sheâs gotten from him, must be a genealogical trait or something.
The most surprising thing isâMel tells you that heâs picked up cooking again.
It was something he stopped doing when she was around six and had gotten busy with work. It surprised you to learn that he picked it up again.
Heâd cook their dinners and even send her some to take home. Youâd be lying if you said you didnât miss him his cooking.
And sometimesâquietly, unwillinglyâyou wonder if this version of him had always been there.
And you hate that a part of you keeps circling back to the same thoughtâthat maybe it was easier for him to become this man when it was just him and Mel.
That maybe you were the variable that made everything harder.
The thing that didnât quite fit.
If maybe⌠it just never showed up when you were still part of the equation.
You try not to think too much about what that might mean.
No.
You shake the thought off before it can settle.
You didnât walk away for nothing. You didnât leave because you were the problemâyou left because the relationship was. Because love, on its own, hadnât been enough to make it work.
And maybe things are easier now. Maybe heâs better now.
But that doesnât rewrite what the two of you were.
If he can show up for Mel the way she deserves, then thatâs all that matters.
Thatâs enough for you.
âŚ
Months pass in a way they hadnât beforeâsteadier. Not exactly easier, but⌠manageable.
You fall into routines you didnât think youâd ever get used toâWork. Home. Mel. The empty spaces in between.
Therapy becomes one of them.
At first, it feels strangeâsitting in a room and saying things out loud that youâd spent years swallowing down. But eventually, the words come easier. You learn how to sit with the silence after them. Learn how to name things for what they are, instead of what you wished they couldâve been.
Some days are heavier than others.
But you get through them.
Mel does, tooâthough in her own way.
She throws herself into archery with a kind of focus that reminds you a little too much of Mydei, shoulders squared and eyes sharp with determination. What starts as a hobby turns into something she actively pursues, something she talks about over dinner with bright, animated gestures.
Somewhere along the way, she picks up taekwondo, tooâfor fun, she insists, even as she drags you along to watch practices and shows off new moves in the living room.
Sheâs⌠happy.
And that makes everything else easier to bear.
Things with Mydei settle into something else entirely.
Not what you had beforeânever thatâbut something functional. Something steady.
You talk when you need to. About schedules, about Mel, about the little things that come with raising her between two homes. The sharp edges between you two dull over time, worn down by distance and routine.
And somewhere along the way, without really noticing when it happened, you stop hoping.
Stop waiting for something that isnât coming back.
You learn how to speak to him again without it meaning more than it should.
Itâs⌠normal.
Or at least, close enough.
âŚ
Youâre in a lecture room when Mydei texts you on a random day during your turn of the custody exchange.
Mydei
I have to drop Mel off for a few hours.
Your brows furrow at the message, Mydei was supposed to pick her up from archery and spend a few hours with her today since he had a less busy week than you did. Neither of you wanted her to be alone as finals week loomed around the corner.
Immediately, you text backâworried something had occurred.
You
What happened?
Mydei
Nothing concerning her, donât worry.
Just some stuff at the office came up.
Itâs quite a gruesome scene of documents and images and Iâd just rather she not see that
You
Alright, no problem.
She can hang out in my office or here in the lecture with my TA.
Mydei
Youâre teaching right now?
I can have Phainon take her if youâre too busy.
You
No, itâs okay.
Itâll be easier for us when we go home, too.
Mydei
Alright.
Weâll be there in 10.
15, if she wants to get food.
[ haha ] reacted by You
âŚ
âCan anyone tell me what the derivative of this is?â you ask as you finish writing on the whiteboard.
Coincidentally, the bell rings at that moment and you laugh at your students who breathe a sigh of relief.
âAlright class, hahaha, letâs circle back to this next week, reminders that your final projects are due next monthâso please make progress on it. Your weekly exam is already posted online and will be due this Sunday. We will not be having a final exam so do well on your project outputs. See you all next week.â
While your students trickle out the door, a familiar face pokes her head in the door.
âHi, Mom!â she greets and runs through the door, tackling you in a hug.
âHello, sweetheart,â you press a kiss into her hair, looking up to see Mydei walking in.
âIâm really sorry to drop her off like this,â he tells you, running a hand through his bangs, his low ponytail in a bit of a frazzled state. It was obvious the case in his hands had gotten him shaken up. Yet, Mydei seemed composed if anything.
You wave him off, letting your daughter go so she could set up her books and iPad beside your Teaching AssistantâPolites.Â
âItâs no problem, besides, Iâll be going home after this next class. Itâd save us both the trouble.â
He nods and fishes out his phone from his pocket, answering a message before it rings.
âAh, I gotta go, Iâll see her for pickup next week. Bye, sweetheart!â He calls out to her before he rushes to take the call outside.
âŚ
Itâs only when youâre in the car and on the way home that your daughter tells you a very interesting and mildly concerning piece of informationâinteresting for you, and you being mildly concerned for Melâs reaction to it.
âA client came over to Dad earlier.â
âMh?â You answer absentmindedly, focused on switching lanes to not miss your exit.
âShe was all up in his personal space, Mom, I swear, even I was uncomfortable watching them, and Dad wasnât making that face he always makes when he wants to strangle Uncle Phai and he has to be polite because weâre in a public place. No, Mom, he was polite and smiling.â
Your attention splits and your brows furrow. That wasnât like Mydei at all. Heâd usually have no problem telling someone to respect his personal spaceâeven if it was a client.
âMaybe he was just trying to be respectful, honey,â You reasoned with her as you took a right turn, turning off the blinker after you did.
Mel shakes her head at you, her hair and braid shaking as she did so, âMom, thatâs not even what I wanted to tell youâthatâs just the context.â
You raise your eyebrow at her dramatic storytelling tendencies, âGo onâŚ?â
âMom, Dad turned her advances down and told her he was married.â
You let out a chuckle at that, youâd long given up on making it work with Mydei. Youâd hoped that years after the divorce, heâd snap out of it and get his life together and win you and Mel back, but that was too far-fetched of a fantasy even for you.
âItâs just an excuse, sweetheart. I know what youâre trying to imply and your father definitely does not see me that way anymore.â
She sighed dramatically, âBut Mom! I swear, if you were there you wouldâve seen the look in his eyes.â
You actually snort at that, âYou little missy, have been reading too many romance books. I gotta tell your Dad to limit your spending at Jayce and Viktorâs (this ficâs version of Barnes and Noble lol).â
âW-huh? Mom, you wouldnât!â
You just laughed at your daughter.
âŚ
Later that night you texted Mydei, making good on your promise to ask him to limit her budget on romance books. You fear your daughter might get too swept up in book romance and forget that real-life guys should be straightforwardânone of that âplaying hard-to-getâ game they try to play. Girls should be the one doing that, not the men.
You
Mel told me something today.
Within seconds, the typing bubble already appeared.
Mydei
I already told her not to tell you and it was an excuse, I swear.
Ah.
You
Yeah, I figured. No worries.
Sheâs been reading too many novels, I thinkâŚ
Mydei
Oh.
It stays silent for a few moments.
Mydei
Got it. Iâll lessen our trips to JnVâs.
Iâll probably take her somewhere else that doesnât involve romance books, huh?
What do you think sheâd enjoy other than the sports center?
You
Please donât bring her to the sports center anymore.
I will actually be sighing constantly if she picks up another sport.
Iâm worried sheâll injure herself again.
Mydei
My thoughts exactly.
I was thinking of maybe bringing her to a farm or something.
Let her run around a field.
You
Iâm raising an eyebrow at you right now.
[ haha ] reacted by Mydei
Do you think our daughter is a dog? TT
Mydei
Hey, itâs what my Mom did to me as a kid to burn off all my stress and energy.
You
Mydei, please do not.
Mydei
Got any ideas?
You think about it for a little while, then you get a few.
You
You could teach her how to bake?
Or to cook, as long as you donât leave her long enough to burn the kitchen downâŚ
Mydei
Thatâs actually helpful.
Iâll do that, thank you.
You
Make sure she wonât burn your house or herself down.
Mydei
Copy that.
[ <3 ] reacted by You
âŚ
Itâs a few weeks after that talkâduring Mydeiâs turn of the custody exchangeâthat Mel updates you with a video. You take a break from grading the final projects and watch.
âOkay, okay, wait, Dad, donât start yet!â
The camera shakes as she fumbles with the phone, propping it up against what you later find out is a jar of flour, âI need to film this. Momâs soooo gonna be proud of me when she sees how good these turn out.â
It turns out, Mydei actually did try to teach her how to bake to spend more time with her and give her something to do to burn off her energyâwhile increasing her dopamine when she accomplishes something.
You hear him huff from beside her as he comes into the frameâtying an apron around his waist, âIf yours turn out bad, do not blame me,â He jokes.
âExcuse me?â she gasps dramatically, âI am the creative director here.â
âYouâre the one who almost set the toaster on fire last month.â
âThat was one time!â
He snorts, but thereâs a softness in it now. An ease that wasnât there years ago.
âHands washed?â he asks.
Mel rolls her eyes but holds them up anyway, âYes, Dad.â
âProperly?â
âYes, Dad.â
âShow me.â
âOkay, now youâre just being annoyingââ
âMelina.â
She groans but trudges to the sink again.
And laterâwhen the kitchen smells like sugar and something slightly overbaked, when flour dusts the counter and her cheek, when she laughs at how lopsided their cupcakes lookâShe sends you a picture.
Honey
[image]
we cooked !!!
well⌠baked LOLL
they lowk look ugly but taste good I PROMISE
ILL BRING SOME HOMEE
And then a few minutes later, to which you assume the pause is because she started snacking, she sends another message.
Honey
Dad said I didnt even burn anything im so proud of myself !!!!
You stare at the photo longer than you should.
At the messy kitchen island, flour everywhere, metal and glass bowls still sitting on the counter, countless utensils in the sink, and the fridge left ajar.
At the uneven frosting on the cupcakes, some dripping on the island, some out of the cupcake liners.
At him, behind herâslightly out of focus, but there. Smiling.
You donât realize youâre smiling too until your cheeks hurt.
âŚ
Towards the end of the year, your students mention their siblings are applying for colleges now and that they would love to let them have you as a professor. The compliment makes you think about Mel and where sheâd be applying for college in the summer.
You hadnât really had the chance to talk with her about it. With her getting busier with her sports and extracurriculars and with you trying to improve your syllabus for the next term, you and Mel only spend time at home and when she needs help with her homework.
For a lack of information, you decide to text Mydei if he knows anything about it since Mel is in his custody this week.
You
Has Mel told you where sheâs applying yet?
Mydei
No. Has she told you?
You
Nope.
Mydei
We should be concerned.
You
We are concerned.
I just donât know if sheâll apply to Okhema U or maybe GoE.
Mydei
Iâll ask her tonight.
Maybe sheâll apply to Gibranipar U, like we did?
You
Itâs Garbaniphoro now, don't forget.
Also..
Donât interrogate her.
Mydei
I donât interrogate?
You
Youâre literally a lawyer.
Mydei
Unfair.
[ haha ] reacted by You
âŚ
The day Melâs supposed to switch back to yours, Mydei is called into a meeting into the office. Something about a client requesting him, specifically. When he explains this to Mel, she grimaces in discomfort.
Mydei picks up on thisâbut not for the reason he thinks itâs for.
âSorry, honey. Itâll be quick, I promise,â he reassures her, âIâll go over some parts of the contract with her, then we can get a sweet treat at The Orchard before we go drop you off to your Momâs, okay? How does that sound?â
The girl all but shrugs, fixating on the fact that her Dad said âherâ and feeling queasy.
Mydei ruffles her hair, âAlright, go pack up your stuff, weâll leave in an hour.â
âŚ
Melina sits on a desk in view of Mydeiâs officeâhe put her there so he could see her at all times, and she could see himâearbuds in, pretending to study and do her homework, but sheâs watching her Dad and his female client.
The woman across his desk leans in too close, laughs too easily, touches his arm like itâs nothing, and it makes Mel narrow her eyes.Â
Thatâs definitely not how clients should act.
And the worst part of it all, is her Dad doesnât react the way she expects. He doesnât lean away dramatically, doesnât snapâHe just⌠shifts slightly and doesnât do anything about it.
It⌠unnerves her. Like watching them feels⌠wrong. It shouldnât beâtheyâre technically not doing anything bad, but her mind does nothing to dissuade the uneasiness in her gutsâlike the feeling that she ate something that didnât sit right with her digestive system. The whole thing doesnât sit right with her.
Then she hears the woman giggle through the glass.
âWhat is so funny that she has to laugh so loud and high-pitched?â she whispers to herself as she turns her attention back to her AP Geography homework.
And then she hears her Dad speak.
âLetâs keep this discussion relevant to your case,â he says evenly.
The woman speaks like she has a pout in her voice, âYouâre no fun.â
âIâm not here to be.â
Mel fights the urge to snort.Â
It does little to lift the uneasiness in her stomach, but sheâs glad her Dad is being professional about it.
âŚ
Later, in the car, she squints at him.
âYou know she was flirting with you, right?â she tells him, looking directly at him as he fumbles with the seatbelt and looks for his parking ID.
He gives her not much emotion about it, not even a raised eyebrow like he always does, âIâm aware. Put your seatbelt on.âÂ
Mel huffs, quickly pulling her seatbelt on and facing him again, âAnd?â
âAnd nothing.â
She looks at him in disbelief, and tilts her head, âDad.â
He sighs, knowing she wonât let this go until he answers all of her questions and complaints, âMel.â
She crosses her arms and it reminds him of you.
âYou didnât even look annoyed!â Mel starts to gesture wildly with her hands now.
âI was working,â He stresses and puts both hands on the wheel.
She studies him for a minute. In silence.
Then she deflates and looks out her side of the windowâarms still crossed, not even looking at him anymore.
Mydei doesnât know what to tell herâhow to reassure her that it really isnât like that. The client is just a client, and thatâŚ
That heâŚ
âŚ
He still loves you.
But before he can even articulate any of his thoughts properly and move his mouth to speak, he hears her sniffle.
Then muttersââMom wouldâve done something instead of just letting it happen.â
He stills, just for a second.
It sinks into him, then.
He did let it happen.
Mydei starts the engine.
âŚ
Itâs a very quiet ride home.
When Mydei asks Mel what she wants from The Orchard, she shrugs and tells him to get whatever he feels like. Eyes not meeting his and instead focused on her phoneâtexting who he saw was Phainon.
He sighs and tells her heâll get her a strawberry cream cheese danish. If she has any indication that thatâs what she wanted, she never gives it, and Mydei is left to order something for Mel, him, and you when he gets to your house.
He picks up a treat for Phainon, too, when he realizes Mel mightâve asked him to come over.
Mydei is no stranger to this. Heâs dealt with Melâs stubbornessâsomething she got from both of you, and anger more times than he can count. And the best solution? Wait for her to be okay enough to talk about it.
He knows sheâll talk to him about it when sheâs ready.Â
Itâs something youâve both taught her from a young age. She just needs to feel it out and gather her thoughts together before she tries to confront the problem she has.
If her eating the danish on the way to your house was any clue, heâd say he and Mel are doing just fine.
âŚ
Phainon lets you know through text that heâs coming over as per the request of his favorite niece through text.
Most Annoying Brother Ever <3
Iâm coming over.
You
???
Why??
Not that youâre not welcomeâŚ
Itâs just so completely random.
Most Annoying Brother Ever <3
My favorite niece has told me she requests my presence.
You
âŚ
Phainon, she's your only niece.
Most Annoying Brother Ever <3
I know.
Obviously, sheâs gonna be my favorite.
Duh.
You
(eyeroll emoji) Whatever, get me a drink while youâre out.
Most Annoying Brother Ever <3
(eyeroll emoji) Fineee.
[ <3 ] reacted by You
âŚ
To your surprise, he gets there earlier than Mydei and Mel get home, which really confuses you since he lives 25 minutes away, and he was able to get you the drink you wanted.
âDo you know why sheâs asking for you?â You poke at him as you lounge on the couch behind him, sipping your drink as he flips through the TV channels with the remote.
âSee, I would tell you, but that would render me a traitor to the Cool Uncle Club.â
You roll your eyes, âYouâre sooo corny.â
Phainon flashes you a smile, âYou canât trick me with that anymore. You may be my little sister, but my cool status comes first.âÂ
Finally, he settles on a channel thatâs showing Andrew Garfieldâs The Amazing Spiderman, and you both get quiet.
Then you lean against him a little more, your head resting against his shoulder.
âHey, Phai?â
âMh?â
âThanks for always being there for Mel,â you murmur, âand for me.â
Your brother huffs out an amused smile, âAlways.â
Just then you hear the honk of Mydeiâs carâa signal you both gave out to let the other know you were there. You stood from the couch to open the door only to see your daughter already approaching.
âHi, Honey. I missed you,â you say as she buries herself in your embrace.
âI missed you, too, Mom. Is Uncle Phai here already?â she pulls away, asking.
You jerk your head softly towards the living room, âHeâs in there, what happened, you okay?â
She nods absentmindedly, âYeah, Mom. Donât worry about it.â
Mel then pivots to greet her Uncle and gives him a hug, âIâll be down in a minute, let me just change my clothes.â
You exchange a look with Phainon as he shrugs, not knowing why sheâs in such a rush to get out of the house. Itâs at that moment that Mydeiâs trunk slams shut and he appears in the doorway holding Melinaâs luggage.
Quietly, he hands over her stuff and a paperbag from The Orchard.
You thank him and go to put it away in the kitchen before you ask, âDid⌠anything happen?â
Mydei stays quiet for a momentâlike heâs debating whether or not to tell you, his hands fidgeting with the bracelet on his left arm, a nervous habit he never got rid of.
âMydei?â you ask again.
Yet, before he can even answer, your daughter comes down the stairs and straight to Phainon.
âCâmon, Uncle Phai,â she tugs him up by her arm and your brother easily relents, telling her to slow down, thereâs no rush.
Your eyes flit towards her father and you can obviously see it in his eyes that something happened. You watch as he chews on his bottom lip, like heâs trying to say something but is holding back from doing so.
âArenât you even going to say bye to your dad?â Phainon asks, making Melina stop in her tracks, three steps away from Mydei.
The air is charged with something you canât quite name.
Then slowly, lacking enthusiasm, Mel hugs him and you hear a muffled, âBye, Dad, see you next week.âÂ
Mydeiâs arms curl around her almost instantly, one hand petting the crown of her head, âSee you next week, sweetheartâŚâ
And that was it.
Phai then leaves with her dragging him out of the houseâtelling you heâll bring her home before nine because itâs a weekend after all, with her hollering a different tone of goodbye to you, telling you she and Phai will be safe.
Leaving you and Mydei standing inside the house.
âŚ
Mel doesnât talk to her uncle at first. They walked around aimlessly to the park at firstâPhainon asked her if she wanted him to drive them somewhere but she shook her head, asking if they could walk around instead.
Your brother was all too reminded of the way youâd walk around with him when you were young to refuse.
At the 30-minute mark, he suggested they get ice cream like they always doâherâs pomegranate-flavored and his would be caramel and vanilla, and she only nodded, still not talking.
When they got the cold treats, he dragged her over to sit on a bench by the riverside, and just⌠waited. Phainon watched her quietly as she pokes at her ice cream instead of eating it.
âThat bad?â he finally asks.
Mel shrugs.
âYou usually finish that before I even sit down.â
She sighs, pushing the pink cream around, âNot hungry.â
He leans back on the bench, âI thought we already established years ago that you canât lie to me? Try again.â
She sighs.
âTheyâre⌠fine,â she starts, âMom and Dad.â
âThatâs not what I asked, Meli.â
The girl presses her lips together.
âTheyâre good parents,â she insists, âlikeâreally good. They show up, they talk, they donât fight⌠Theyâre following my rules in the divorce, everythingâs in place, everythingâs good and steadyâŚâ
She trails off and Phainon waits.
âBut itâs justâŚâ she mutters, staring at her melting ice cream, âIt just feels⌠wrong.â
His voice softens, âWrong how?â
She swallows.
âLike⌠itâs almost right. But not really. Like when you make eggs a little too runny and youâre thinking, noâitâs okay, itâs been cooked under a fire, but you get the feeling that you might get salmonella. You know? Like, itâs supposed to be right, but it feels so⌠off.â
A pause.
âI donât think Iâll ever get used to it.â
Phainon sighs. He knew this day would come eventually, when the divorce would actually affect her in a way that she can fathomânot as a kid who only thought being a family was enough.
âUncle Phainon?â
âYeah?â
She sets her ice cream cup down on the bench and curls her fists in her lap, âCan you⌠Can you not tell Mom or Dad about this?â
Then she looks up at him, eyes teary and redâlike sheâs been holding them back. Looking the same way you did when you told him that you were divorcing Mydei and asking him if it was the right decision.
Phainon had always been weak towards you.Â
And with how Mel definitely inherited your crying face? He was weak towards her, too.
So he relents.
âOf course, kiddo.â
âŚ
Back at your house, Mydei purses his lips and you just observe. When it starts to look like heâs going to turn and leave, you stop him.
âStill drink pomegranate juice?â
His gaze snaps to you, âWhat?â
âPomegranate juice,â you repeat, âMelina got her preference for it from you, I guessâsheâs always keeping a carton of it in the fridge. Do you want some while we talk about whatever that was?â
Mydei nods, low ponytail bobbing a bit as he does so.
âTake a seat.â
âŚ
When you finally settle on the couch, you take a bite of the pastry he bought from The Orchard, âOkay, spill, what happened?â
And he does, Mydei talks so much, you think itâs the first time heâs talked to you face-to-face this long since you served him divorce papers. It baffles you, if you were being honest.
He lays out every detail from start to finishâleaving out the part where he canât say that he still loves you. And when he ends, he deflates into the couch.
You sigh as you ponder over the information he just gave you and shake your head softly as you come to a realization.
âSheâs scared youâll find someone else, start a new family, and lose time for her.â
Mydei snaps back up, âNo, no, I wouldnât do that, I would never lose time for her, not again.â
Not again, the words echo in your mind.
You shrug, âThatâs how she sees it.â
âItâs not like that!âÂ
You put your hands up in the air in mock-surrender, âHey, I know that because you told me just now. But you havenât told her.âÂ
Mydei sighs again, deeply this time.
You know exactly what he wants. Advice. A solution. A way to make your daughter understand that you were still going to be a family no matter whatâeven if her father might find someone else. You knew he wanted to know how exactly he would tell her that.
You murmur his name softly from across the couch and he responds with a tired, defeated âMh?â
âTalk to her,â you urge, âmaybe not now, since Iâm sure Phai is taking her out of her bad mood and if you talk to her now, youâd probably just undo everything he did.â
He keeps quiet.
âSheâs just a kid, Mydei. Sheâs just scared, you didnât fuck up your relationship with her. You two will be fine as always.â
He exhales.
âI know.â
âYou two will be fine.â
âŚ
The following weeks were strangely quiet in a way that unsettled you more than any outburst ever could. Melina would come home from her fatherâs place with that same faraway look she used to have when the custody exchanges had just begunâback when she didnât understand why she had to leave one home for anotherâonly now, there were no tears, no protests, just a tightness in her smile and a heaviness in her silences.Â
It was subtle, easy to miss if you werenât looking closely, but you were.Â
You always were.Â
You considered asking Mydei if heâd said something to her, if anything had happened, but something told you he was just as in the dark as you were.Â
So you tried asking her instead, but she only waved you off with a tired laugh, insisting it was just stress from college applications, nothing more, nothing to worry about. And you wanted to believe her. You really did.
But something was bugging you, so you texted Mydei again.
You
Hey.
Mel wants us to be at the Foundation Fair for her school.
The family day thing, just like last year.
Mydei
Hey, yeah.
I saw it on the school forum.
Iâll be there.
You
AlsoâŚ
Have you noticed Melâs been⌠off lately?
Mydei
Yeah.
Sheâs been quieter.
You
She said itâs just application stress.
Mydei
Do you believe her?
You stare at the message longer than you should.
You
I donât know.
No message comes through for a moment.
Then the typing bubbles come up again, andâ
Mydei
Weâll keep an eye on her.
Thereâs a pause.
Mydei
Weâve got her.
And for some reason, that steadies you more than it should.
âŚ
Itâs noisy at the Foundation Dayâs Fair. Kids ran around everywhere, balloons of different colors strapped to their wrists. The student band playing had really cool live music.Â
You and Mydei arrived together, he picked you up from your office when Mel texted him that there was limited parking and it would be better if he picked you up to save time trying to find a space to park in.
She let you know through text as well that her Dad was coming to pick you up. Which to be completely honest, saved you the time of going home and parking your car then hailing a ride to her school.
The moment you got there, Mel was already waiting for both of you at the entrance, dragging you off to⌠well, everywhere. She rode on scary rides and insisted that you both ride with her. She asked Mydei to buy her cotton candy, win her prizes, and all the sort.
It made you smile, seeing how happy she was just to run around the fair with the two of you. Her weird attitude towards her Dad disappeared, and it was just like before. Like you were a family. It brought a warmth to your chest as you can only sigh in content as she enjoyed the day with you both.
Then she got hungry.
âDad, please, I wanna eat nachos, please, please, please, please,â she repeated over and over, tugging at her fatherâs arm as his other carried all the prizes he won for her that afternoon while her other hand was looped around yours.
âYou will eat real, actual food, Meli,â he replied.
âAnd then nachos?â
Mydei sighs in defeat, âYes, and then nachos.â
The girl can only squeal in triumph.
When you got to the food caravans, you both told her to go find a seat somewhere for the three of you while you and Mydei ordered foodâtaking all her prizes with her.
You only shook your head in fondness when she asked if she could get ice-cream, too.
âShe takes after your sweet tooth too much,â you jokingly scold Mydei and he raises his eyebrows, an amused smile on his lips.
âPlease, like she didnât get your taste for cold drinks?â
âHey!â you swat him on the arm, âThatâs a need in this weather, you know.â
âUh-huhâŚâ he nods like he believes you even though the grin on his face tells you he doesnât buy it one bit.
âŚ
From a few tables away, Mel had her eyes on the two of youâfinding a seat in the cooler area of the venue. She saw the two of you talking and even laughing.
Even without the romance books, she knew that look in her Dadâs eyes.
There was something.
And then she hears it a few tables over, someone from the Parentsâ Association was talking about the two of you, about her family.
âItâs a shame really, I mean, come on, Mydeimos Gorgo is a gorgeous man,â the voice starts, âThe exâwife isnât that too bad looking either.â
What?
âBut obviously, sheâs done something wrong for them to divorce.â
Mel stays silent, she couldnât believe someone would talk about her parents that way without even knowing the full storyâactually, no! They shouldnât talk about them like that at all!
Her eyes darted around, ears straining to hear where exactly the voice was coming from over all the noise.
Then another voice speaks.
âI donât know whether to feel bad or embarrassed for them, I mean, theyâre not even a real family anymore, why would they attend Foundation Day when itâs obviously known for being a family day? Theyâre just prolonging this charade for their daughter at this point.â
Melina stands up so abruptly that her chair scrapes the ground and the voice stops talking. She realizes the voice was coming from behind her all alongâand the horrified look on the womanâs face when she sees that the daughter she was talking about was right there? Priceless.
But not enough to undo the damage.
âNext time, keep your comments to yourself,â she spits out before walking away.
âŚ
It doesnât take long for Mydei to notice your daughter missing.
The moment he scans the area when you finish ordering, he tells you immediately.
âMelinaâs gone.â
Your attention takes a 180 and you scan around immediately, âWhat? Gone?â
Then Mydei spots the bag of prizes she hadânow laying on a lonely table a few ways away and holds onto you to take you there.
âIâll look for her, between you and me, we know I have better eyesight, I need you to be here in case Meli comes back, okay?â He tells you and you nod, panic steadily creeping up your back.
Mydei takes notice of this, places a hand behind your head, and pulls you in to place a kiss on top of your hair as he wraps a hand around you in a hug.
âIâll find her, donât worry,â he reassures, âI wonât let her slip away this time.â
You nodâstill in a dazeâstill processing what the hell he just did, and watching as he walks away in search of your daughter. Phone in hand as you wait for any text that Mel might send you.
âŚ
Just like it didnât take long for Mydei to notice she was missing, it didnât take him long to find her either.
He breathed a sigh of relief and texted you that he found your daughter, waiting for you to reply before pocketing his phone.
The field is loud in the way only campus events can beâwhistles cutting through the air, laughter spilling over from picnic blankets, parents calling out to their kids with easy familiarity. Itâs bright, full, and alive.
And somehow, thatâs what makes it feel so quiet when Mydei finally spots her.
Melina sits alone on the bleachers, a few rows up, elbows on her knees, chin resting on clasped hands. She isnât on her phone. ISheâs just picking at the skin beside her fingernails. Just⌠watching.
Watching the families gathered below, the ones that fit together without effort.
Mydei slows his steps.
For a moment, he doesnât say anythingâjust takes it in. The way her shoulders are slightly hunched. The way her gaze lingers a second too long on a father lifting his kid onto his shoulders, on a mother brushing grass off her sonâs shirt.
He exhales quietly and walks up the steps.
The metal creaks softly under his weight, but she doesnât turn.
He lowers himself beside her anyway.
Not too close. Just enough to give her space if she wants that, and enough that she can lean on him if she wants to. For a while, he lets the silence sit between them, lets the noise from the field fill the space instead.
Then, gently, he tries.
âDid I do something wrong?â
Melina blinks, like she hadnât expected that, but shakes her head quickly, âNo, Dad, you didnâtâŚâ her voice falters, just slightly, âItâs just⌠I heard some people talking.â
Mydei hums, low and patient, eyes still forward, waiting for her to continue.
She shifts then, leansâjust a littleâuntil her shoulder presses against his arm. Not quite a hug. But close. Itâs enough for Mydei.
And then it all spills out.
âYou and Mom have been nothing but good to me,â she starts, words rushing over each other like sheâs afraid sheâll lose them if she slows down, âyou both didnât do anything wrong, itâs justâŚâ
Her voice wavers.
She swallows hard, shoulders trembling like sheâs holding herself together by sheer will.
âItâs me.â
Mydeiâs arm comes around her without hesitation, pulling her closer, anchoring her to him and Melina presses her face into his side, fingers curling into the fabric of his sleeve.
âI feel like itâs wrong,â she admits, the words muffled but heavy, âI know you and Mom divorced years ago, I know that, I get it, I should be over it, butââ her breath stutters, ââbut here, today, it just feels likeâŚâ
She squeezes her eyes shut.
âLike weâre not really a family.â
The words land heavier than anything else.
âLike weâre just⌠pretending. Like weâre faking it for me.â
Mydeiâs chest tightens.
He doesnât interrupt.
Doesnât correct her.
He just listens.
âAnd I donât know how Iâm supposed to feel,â she continues, voice cracking now, slipping past the point of control, âbecause I am happy, I am, I swear, but then I see them and it justââ she chokes on the rest, shaking her head against him.Â
âIt feels wrong that weâre not like that.â
A pause.
A breath.
And thenâ
âWhy canât you and Mom try again?â
Mydei stills.
For a moment, the world narrows down to just that question.
His throat tightens and the corners of his eyes sting. He takes a moment and inhales slowly, deeplyâlike heâs bracing himself against something unseen.
When he speaks, his voice is quieter than before, rougher, like it pains him to try to answer itâbecause it does.
Is there anything so undoing as a daughter?
âMeliâŚâ
She doesnât look up.
So he continues anyway.
âFrom the moment I lost you and your mom⌠I never found anyone else.â
Her grip on his sleeve tightens.
âItâs always been her for me,â he admits, the words sitting heavy on his tongue like something long kept in, âthere wasnât anyone after. There isnât anyone now. There wonât be anyone else.â
He lets out a small, breathless exhale.
âThat woman you saw at the officeâshe meant nothing. Truly. I was just doing my job.â
Melina sniffles, but sheâs listening.
âI love your mom,â he says, more firmly now, even if it costs him something to admit it out loud, âI still do.â
A beat.
âButâŚâ his voice dips, quieter, âI donât think Iâm right for her anymore.â
Mel pulls back just enough to look at him.
Really look.
And thenâsmack.
Her hand hits his bicep. Not hard, but definitely not gentle.
âIf you love her, then tell her that!â she bursts out, eyes still wet, frustration cutting through the tears, âYou canât just decide that for her, Dad!â
Mydei blinks, caught off guard.
âMeliââ
âNo!â she cuts him off, shaking her head, âYou always do that! You just⌠decide things on your own and donât even ask! Thatâs probably why you ended up here in the first place!â
That one lands heavily.
It makes him wince.
She sniffles again, wiping at her face with the back of her hand, breathing uneven but steadier now that itâs all out.
For a moment, neither of them speak.
Then slowlyâŚ
Mydei exhales.
A small, almost helpless smile tugs at his lips, ââŚOkay.â
Melina frowns, âOkay?â
âIâll tell her,â he says, softer this time, âIâll⌠try again.â
She searches his face like sheâs making sure he means it.
Then, she nods.
They fall into silence again, but itâs different now, lighter, like something that had been pressing down finally shifted. The wind picks up slightly, brushing against their faces still sticky with tears.
Mel leans against him again, this time without hesitation.
Mydei glances down at her, then sighs quietly.
âYou know,â he starts, tone shifting just enough, âwe really have to limit your book purchases at JnVâs.â
Mel groans immediately âOh, be quiet, Dad.â
And just like that she sounds like herself again.
âŚ
Whatever happened on those bleachers, neither of them told you.
Melina came back first, eyes a little red, nose still pink from sniffling, but smiling softly, like something inside her had finally settled. Mydei followed a few steps behind, expression calmer than youâd seen it in weeks, the usual tension in his shoulders eased just enough to notice.
You didnât ask.
You didnât need to.
There are some things a parent learns to recognize without wordsâand the way Mel slipped her hand into his sleeve for a second before letting go, the way he rested his palm briefly against her head as he passed byâyou could make a pretty good guess.
Whatever it was, it helped.
The strange distance that had crept in over the past few weeks seemed to dissolve after that day. Mel laughed more, talked more. Fell back into that easy rhythm between the two of you, and with him. The quiet heaviness that had followed her around finally lifted, replaced with something lighter. Something closer to how things used to feel.
Things were good.
Melina ended up applying to The Grove of Epiphany University in the end, where Phai wentâafter weeks of deliberation, second-guessing, and late-night rambling about pros and cons that changed every other day.
When she finally told you and Mydei, she looked⌠proud and certain.
âThatâs a good school,â you told her, squeezing her shoulder.
Mydei nodded, something unreadable flickering across his face before it softened, âYour grandmother wouldâve liked that.â
Mel tilted her head, âGrandma Gorgo?â
He hummed, âShe always wanted me to go there.â
âYou didnât.â
âI didnât,â he agreed, a faint smile tugging at his lips, âWe went toââ he paused, frowning slightly like he was trying to recall it properly, âGibraniparâno, waitââ
It was easy, in moments like that, to forget everything that came before.
âŚ
Itâs one of those quiet evenings during your week with Mel.
Nothing particularly specialâjust the hum of your home settling into the night, papers half-graded on your desk, your phone lighting up every now and then with notifications you donât feel like checking yet.
Until it buzzes again.
You glance down.
Honey
Imma be sleeping over at uncle phaiâs !!Â
for movie night đ
Pls say yes
You smile, shaking your head slightly.
You
Donât stay up too late.
Honey
no promises
THABKU LOVEU
[ <3 ] reacted by You
You let out a soft huff and set your phone downâonly to pick it up again a moment later, already opening your messages with Phainon.
You
Is this true or is she plotting something?
It doesnât take long for him to reply.
Most Annoying Brother Ever <3
Wow⌠no trust. I'm hurt.
[ haha ] reacted by You
No, yeah itâs true, I invited her over.
Iâll pick her up from school in a bit.
[ <3 ] reacted by You
You
Alright.
Have fun, just keep her alive please.
[ <3 ] reacted by Phainon
Most Annoying Brother Ever <3
No guarantees.
[ ?! ] reacted by You
You roll your eyes, but thereâs a fondness in it.
You set your phone down again, and a few minutes later, it lights up once more.
Mydei
She texted you too?
You blink, then pick it up.
You
Yep.
Thereâs a pause.
Just long enough for you to think the conversationâs over.
Thenâ
Mydei
Can I see you?
You freeze.
Your fingers hover over the keyboard, unmoving.
Almost six years.
Six years of schedules, of updates, of polite conversations that begin and end with Melina at the center of them.
And this⌠This is the first time heâs asked for something that isnât about her.
The cursor blinks.
Waiting.
You
What is this about, Mydei?
Thereâs a pause. Longer than usual. Long enough for your chest to tighten in a way you donât want to acknowledge.
Mydei
Itâs important.
You stare at the message.
Important.
Your fingers hover again, hesitation curling at the edges of your thoughts. Somewhere deep down, something stirsâsomething you buried months ago, something fragile and dangerous and entirely unwelcome.
Hope.
You press your lips together.
No.
Youâve already made peace with this. With him. With what you are now.
You shouldnât.
And yet.
You
Okay.
âŚ
He arrives twenty minutes later, ringing your doorbell with a bag of ingredients slung over his shoulder like this is just another normal night. Like he hasnât just tilted something off balance with a single message.
You stand at the door and he stands there, staring right back at you.
ââŚHi.â
âHiâŚâ
God, itâs awkward.
You step aside anyway, letting him in.
He moves through the house like he remembers itâlike muscle memory guides him more than thought. Straight to the kitchen. His kitchen.
Just like he used to.
BeforeâŚ
You linger by the doorway for a moment before closing it and following after him. Heâs already unpacking the bag, pulling out ingredients, setting them down with quiet efficiency. You lean against the counter, watching as he does so.
âYou didnât change anything in the kitchen,â he comments, taking note that it looked just like how he customized it.
You shrugged, âDidnât have the chance to back then, you know. I never really set foot in here until maybe a year after it all.â
He keeps quiet about it and starts to wash the ingredients.
âNow, I donât really see a reason to change it, I donât think thereâs a need to.â
Mydei takes a look at you and hums, âI see.â
ââŚDid you just come here to cook?â you ask, unable to keep the curiosity out of your voice, âIs that the important part?â
He huffs softly, not quite amused.
âNo,â he mutters, focusing a little too hard on chopping, âIâm⌠working up the courage to say it. Okay?â
You blink.
Mydei? Working up courage?
Thatâs⌠new.
ââŚOkay,â you say slowly.
You donât push.
Instead, you give him spaceâmoving back to the island where your papers are spread out, laptop open, red pen in hand. You sit, trying to focus on grading, but your eyes keep drifting up to him, sneaking glances every now and then.
And every now and then, his eyes drift back to you.
Itâs quiet.
Not uncomfortable, exactly.
Just⌠charged.
Like something is waiting to happen and neither of you knows when itâll break.
âŚ
âIâm almost done,â he says eventually.
You blink, snapping out of your thoughts.
âOh, okay.â
You stand, moving automatically, grabbing plates, setting them on the table. The motions come easy, itâs familiar. Pause. Too familiar, actually⌠It feels⌠domestic.
Again.
And yetâthereâs something different now. Something cautious. Like the two of you are circling each other, careful not to step too close too fast. Like youâre both trying to test how far the other is letting this go on for.
You decide youâll wait for his move. The ball is in his court and itâs his turn to do something.
But for now, you sit, he serves, and youâll both eat.
The lasagna comes out of the oven still bubbling at the edges, the surface a perfect, blistered gold where the cheese has melted and browned just enough to crisp. The smell hits firstârich, slow-cooked tomato, garlic softened into sweetness, a deep savory warmth that wraps around you before you even take a bite. When he cuts into it, the layers give way with a soft, satisfying slideâtender sheets of pasta, velvety bechamel, and a thick, meaty ragu thatâs been simmered long enough to taste like time itself.
Steam curls up from the slice on your plate, carrying that same intoxicating aroma, and when your fork sinks in, itâs almost effortless. The first bite is warm in a way that settles deep in your chestâthe cheese stretching slightly before melting on your tongue, the sauce rich and full, balanced with just a hint of acidity that keeps it from being too heavy. Itâs indulgent, comforting, and familiar.
It tastes like something made with patience.
Like something made for someone specific.
Like home.
âThis is really good,â you compliment with a smile, âI havenât had your cooking in years.â
He pauses mid-bite and raises a brow, ââŚIâve been packing food for Melina to bring home,â he says slowly, âWhat do you mean?â
Oh.
You wince, shrugging a little. You couldnât tell him that you couldnât stomach the thought of his cooking back then, because you were⌠you were angry. At him. But that was back then, therapy had made you come to terms with these feelings, so you try to pivot the conversation back into a safe area.
âI just thought they were for her specifically,â you say lightly, like it doesnât matter, âYou know⌠Iâm not your responsibility anymore.â
The silence after that is so thick and heavy itâs as if the airâs been knocked out of the room.
âMydââ you try to start and he interrupts you quietly with your name on his lips.
You immediately backtrack, âHey, itâs okay, I didnât mean anything by it, I justââ
âIt was always for you.â
You stop.
You blink.
Heâs looking at you now.
Really looking.
âI cooked extra because I knew youâd be there,â he continues, voice tight, âI just thought⌠I thought you knew.â
You let out a small, nervous laugh, shaking your head, âItâs fine, IâllâIâll eat the next one you send, okay?â
He looks⌠pained, as you tell him that.
âI thought we were okay.â
âWe areââ
âThen why does it feel like youâre avoiding me?â he cuts in, frustration slipping through, âI know weâre not⌠great, I know I fucked up, but I thought we were okay enough to⌠toââ
He trails off and you sigh, rubbing your temple.Â
âMydei,â you say softly, âwhy did you come here tonight?â
That stops him.
Completely.
For a moment, he just sits there.
Then he exhales and something shifts.
âI didnât fight for you.â
The words hit you like a blow.
Your heart stutters.
ââŚWhat?â
âWhen you gave me the papers,â he continues, voice low, steady only by force, âI didnât fight you. I didnât ask you to stay. I didnât even try.â
You shake your head slightly, âMydeiââ
âI thought I was doing the right thing,â he says, a bitter edge creeping in, âI thought⌠if you were unhappy enough to leave, then the least I could do was not make it harder for you.â
Your chest tightens.
âI told myself it was respect,â he continues, âthat I was respecting your decision. Your autonomy.â
He laughs dryly, âBut really, I was just a coward.â
You stand up from your seat, the chair scraping off of the floor and you back up, âDonâtââ
âNo,â he cuts in, sharper now, standing as he does so, âyou donât understand.â
You take a step back, âDonât do this, Mydei.â
âPleaseââ
âNo, please,â you echo, your voice breaking, begging, as months of therapy start to unravel at the seams, your heart bleeding out in your hands once again in this very kitchen, âplease donât do this.â
âItâs you,â he says, stepping forward.
You shake your head, another step back.
âItâs always, only ever been you.â
Your back hits the island.
You didnât even realize youâd been retreating.
Heâs there in front of you now.
CloseâToo close.
âDespite everything,â he murmurs, voice dropping, hands coming upâhesitant at first, then certain and gentle as they cradle your face, âitâs still you.â
You feel dizzy.
Like the groundâs been pulled out from under you.
His forehead presses against yours. His scent flooding your senses.
The sensation too warm, too familiar, and eternally devastating.
âPlease,â he whispers, breath uneven, âtell me what I have to do to win you back.â
Your vision blurs.
This isâThis is everything you ever wanted.
For him to fight, to choose you, to try.Â
And now that he isâyou donât know what to do.
âIâm scared, Dei.â
The nickname slips out before you can stop it, and it breaks something in him.
You feel it.
The way he inhales sharply. The way his grip tightens just slightly.
ââŚI know,â he murmurs.
You shake in his hold, barely able to contain the tears that spill out from your eyes.
âHow do I know it wonât end the same way?â
Itâs barely a whisper, but it carries everything.
Every late night, every empty chair, every broken promise.
Mydeiâs hand trembles as he brushes a tear from your cheek.
He leans in and presses a soft kiss against it.
âI wonât let it happen again,â he says, voice fierce despite the quiet, âI lost you once. I wonâtââ his breath catches, ââI wonât let it happen again.â
His hand slips down, finding yours, intertwining your fingers.
He brings it up between your face as he looks up at youâdespite being tallerâand presses a kiss to your knuckles.
Gentle.
Reverent.
âIâve got you,â he whispers, âif youâll have me.â
Your chest heaves, your eyes burn, and you nod.
Just once, but itâs enough.
He lets out a shaky laugh, the sound wet and broken.
Heâs crying too.
You realize that distantly.
And thenâsoftlyâjust like the first time.
âI, Mydeimos Gorgo, take you,â he continues, voice steadier now, like heâs anchoring himself in it, âto be my lawfully wedded wife.â
âI donât have perfect words, I never did. But I know thisâevery version of my life that meant something had you in it. And every version without you⌠didnât feel like mine.â
âI vow to come home to youânot just in place, but in heart. I vow to make space for you in every part of my life, the way I should have from the beginning.â
âYou are not an afterthought. You never were. You are my first choice.â
âAnd if you let me againâI will keep choosing you. Every day. For the rest of my life.â
Your breath catches.
He remembered.
After everythingâhe remembered.
A breath.
âI do.â
âDo you,â he begins, voice trembling, âtake me, Mydeimos Gorgo, as your lawfully wedded husband?â
âI do,â you sob, nodding through tears, the words breaking on a hiccup.
He smiles at that and slips a ring you didnât even know he had into your ring finger. His face soft as his heart remains aching.
âI know this may be sudden, but I think this is long overdue, what about you?â
Your hands come up, cupping his face like youâre afraid heâll disappear.
You answer him by pulling him down and crashing your lips against his. Like youâre dying of thirst in the desert and heâs the only thing that can save you.
It feels the same.
God, it feels the same.
And thatâs what breaks you.
You sob into the kiss, your fingers tightening against him, and he smilesâsmilesâagainst your mouth, holding you like heâs afraid to let go.
When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours again and presses a soft kiss to your nose.
Your breathing is uneven. Your chest is aching. Your mind spinning from trying to process everything, but you feel lighter.
So much lighter.
ââŚMeliâs going to be ecstatic about this,â he murmurs.
And despite everythingâyou laugh.
âŚ
Meli
DAD UPDAET
Plss im dying of anticipaton here
Meli
HEY DONT LEAVE ME ON DELIVEREED
DADD !!!
On nikador bro i swear u are taking
So longgg
read at 8:04 pm
Meli
HEY I SEE U READ IT
Dad reply pls oh my strife
Uncle phai and i are dying here
Meli
Give update to revive pls pls pls
Dad
[ sent a photo: ring in someoneâs finger, hand covering her face as sheâs leaning against someoneâs clavicle ]
Got her back.
[ <3 ] reacted by Melina
Meli
THATS WHAT IM FUCKING TALKING ABOUT !!!!
Dad
Language.
Meli
God forbid a girl is happy she's no longer a child of divorce.
[ haha ] reacted by Mydei
âŚ
Bonus scenes!
You
Meli and I are on the way to the grocery store.
Do you want anything?
Dei <3
My beautiful wife and daughter home safe
You
Corny.
[ <3 ] reacted by Mydei
âŚ
Favorite Niece 5Ever
Can u sneak me out and drive me to a party
It starts at 11
On the 12th
Pls pls pls u would be blessed with a gf w a big ass
Coolest Unc 5Ever
Girl what ??
Your mom AND dad will kill me.
Favorite Niece 5Ever
Soo is that a no�
Coolest Unc 5Ever
If your mom catches me we are soo dead.
Send me the addy.
[ <3 ] reacted by Melina
Favorite Niece 5Ever
THX LUVYEW 5EVER !!!!
[ <3 ] reacted by Phainon
âŚ
Mom
Melina Hera Gorgo.
Where are you.
You are so grounded when you get home.
usagi's note: can u guys pretty please tell me what melina looks like for u guys PLEASEEE i begggg, anyway i have another mydei fic coming up soon, can u believe i did this in 2 days? me neither. i am so insane wtf. stream dawtde!
@usagiarchive 2025. do not repost, translate, or use for AI. reblogs, likes, and comments are very appreciated!!
synopsis: you like the pretty, quiet, good baker of a friend that phainon introduces you to. the good part? he likes you too. the bad part? heâs weird at expressing it
word count. â¤ď¸ 4.8k words â this started as a silly drabble bro
before you read. â¤ď¸ female reader ; college au + modern au ; mentions of drinking and alcohol ; phainon is a good friend ; you and mydei are in mutual pining pls take a hint both of you ; slightly tipsy kisses ; misunderstandings ; getting together ; mydei is a good guy. too good of a guy even
commentary. â¤ď¸ i was sad this week. and he makes me less sad. but tbh idk how we got here bro it was supposed to be a drabble about cinnamon rolls LOL
There is a boy who occupies space in your head. A lot of it, in fact.
Mydeimosâthatâs his name, but Phainon insists you call him Mydei, because thatâs just what everyone calls him. Mydeimos offers no objections, and since Castorice seems to think that is reason enough to use a nickname that feels so familiar, you suppose you can too.
Castorice tells you that heâs Phainonâs high school best friendâa culinary arts student who wants to be a pastry chef. You envy how simple his coursework must be; you certainly canât imagine being blessed with the same. In fact, a semester of pain and suffering in Professor Anaxaâs class is what brought you, Phainon, and Castorice together in the first place. (Trauma bonding is a real thing, you suppose.)
Phainon brings Mydei around so that he isnât outnumbered by womenâor so he claims, though you know he mostly drags Mydei with him because the latter isnât exactly a social butterfly. That much is apparent from your first meeting. And your second. And the third, fourth, and possibly by the eighth, youâve concluded that Mydei simply isnât social, regardless of whether he were a butterfly, a moth, or any other creature with wings.
Still, Phainon is a good friend for tryingâfor forcing Mydei to at least attempt to expand his social circle.
Youâll concede this much: for as awkward and stone-faced as Mydei may seem, he isnât impolite. Or unkind. Or even unpleasant. Heâs justâŚthere half the time. Getting more than a three-word, neutral response out of him is like pulling teeth, but he never treats your presence as a chore. That alone makes it easy enough to overlook his terrible ability to mingle with other humans.
Or so you thought.
Mydei is actuallyâif you can believe itâplenty good company when itâs just the two of you. When thereâs no group setting to make him retreat to the sidelines, heâs surprisinglyâŚchatty.
âWhereâs Phainon?â he asks as he lets himself into Phainonâs student apartment.
You glance up from the couch where youâre typing on your laptop.Â
âHe went off to grab some snacks for the movie later,â you hum. âHe let me in before he left. My class ended nearby, and I didnât feel like walking all the way back to my dorm just to come back here again.â
Mydei nods, setting a small box on the table before slumping onto the opposite end of the couch. âI let myself in. Have a key. My class ended early.â
You gesture at the box. âWhatâs that?â
He picks it up and wordlessly holds it out to you. You blink, confused, before he pops the lid open and a warm, sweet scent fills the air.
âCinnamon rolls,â he murmurs. âBaked them in class. Thought Iâd bring them over.â
You perk up immediately, brightening at the offer. âYou made these yourself?â
âYes.â He hesitates, then adds, âThough I donât think my professorâs recipe is the best. Iâd use less butter. Didnât really have a choice if I wanted the grade, though.â
âThe more butter, the better, I say,â you hum, reaching for a pastry and taking a delighted bite. The warmth of cinnamon and sugar floods your tongue, and without thinking, you do a little shimmy of satisfaction.
Mydei chuckles, eyeing you in amusement. âDo you always do that little dance when you eat? You did it the other day, too.â
You pause mid-bite. âOf courseâsomething tasting good is like the number one reason to do a happy dance. Also, this is definitely not too much butter.â
âItâs not healthy,â he counters, brow furrowing just slightly. âYouâd never know the difference if you used less.â
You snort, giving him a look of mock bewilderment. âOh, yes, because a sweet pastry is supposed to be a healthy snack. Whatâs a little extra butter in the grand scheme of all that sugar and flour anyway? I think being a gym freak has turned both you and Phainon delusional when it comes to foodâyesterday he said a donut could be âredeemedâ if he had it with plain black coffee.â
Mydei huffs out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. âThat does sound like him.â
âRight? I told him thatâs not how balanced diets work. He just said I just donât understand nutrition.â
âMaybe you donât,â he teases mildly, tone soft but playful in a way you havenât heard from him before, âbut to be fair, neither does he.â
Itâs a funny way things work, you like to think. How a cinnamon roll and an empty apartment that doesnât belong to either of you is enough to finally break the ice. Mydei is still not a very good social human beingâbut itâs endearing that way.Â
By the twenty-something time youâve hung out with him, heâs still quiet and observant from the side as he always is, but he likes being there, and you like having him. You like seeing him. You like the slightly snide comments he makes to Phainon under his breath, and you like the fond snort he lets out when Phainon whines at how heâs so mean! You like trying his newest little baked good he brings in a box for you after his class, and you like the amused look he gives you when you insist a little more sugar would never kill anyone.Â
(It might kill you, he tends to say. If you have so much of it. Heart failure is never good.
Are you saying Iâm unhealthy Mydeimos? you always gasp, who taught you how to speak to women?)
You grow fond enough of Mydei that you start to notice other things than just how well acclimated he is (or isnât) in social gatherings. You start to notice his tattoosâenough that you think you could draw them by memory alone. You start to notice how tall and broad he isâenough that once or twice, your mind has drifted to how easily he might be able to lift you. And, more importantly, you start to notice how handsome he isâenough to make you worry that this might be an issue that shifts dynamics around.Â
But, all things considered, you think shifting dynamics are something youâre safe from for now if one half of the parties involved hardly understands what your first dynamic is to even think about changing over to a second.Â
âââââââââââââââ
You thought wrong.
It takes all of two glasses of wineâand maybe halfway into a third, youâre not so sureâfor you to be bold enough to change the dynamics yourself. Castorice and Phainon have already left your apartmentâthey both have early shifts in the morning, so they make their goodbyes after your routine weekly movie is over.Â
Itâs your turn to host this week. And Mydei, being Mydei, the nice guy that he is, stays behind to help you clean up the mess. Empty glasses on the counter, crumbs on the coffee table, crumpled wrappers fallen here and there. He doesnât think twice, doesnât even hesitate before he stands and starts to tidy up for you.Â
âYou donât have to do that,â you murmur, reaching to grab the glass in his hand.
He gently catches your wrist, steadying you as you wobble slightly. âI donât mind,â he says quietly. âI helped make the mess, didnât I? And youâŚyou should have some water. Sit down before you fall or something.â
âIâm perfectly fine,â you argue, even as you sway a little on your feet.
He huffs out a soft laugh, shaking his head before stepping away toward the kitchen. You hear the sound of a glass being filled, the soft hum of water running, and then heâs back, holding it out to you with an expectant look.
âDrink,â he says, tone firm but still so kind. (Heâs always so, so painfully kind.)
You take it, squinting at him over the rim. âAre you always this bossy, or is it just me who gets this treatment?â
âIâm not bossy,â he smirks, âitâs called being responsible. Someone has to be when youâre clearly not.â
You pretend to scowl, but the amusement breaks through anyway, and you giggle. âYouâre lucky youâre cute when you act like this.â
You donât register what you say. But he does. In fact, it gets his smirk to falter for just a fraction of a second, a flicker of surprise flashing in his eyes before he looks away, blushing. âYou should probably sit down,â he mumbles, suddenly finding the couch fascinating.
He guides you to your couch, gently with one hand on your shoulder and one at the small of your back, helping you slump onto the cushions before he hands you the glass of water once more and helps you take a sip.Â
âMydei,â you say softly. He looks up, and you lean closerâclose enough that you can see the faint flush creeping up his neck and to the tip of his ears, close enough that the warmth of him feels like it radiates onto your own. âThank you,â you murmur, âyouâre always so sweet to me.â
âItâs nothing,â he grunts out quietly.Â
âItâs not nothing,â you insist, âI like being around you. I always have a good time.â
His eyes widen before he stutters over his wordsâshy. Sometimes, Mydei can be shy. And itâs cute.Â
So you kiss him.
You lean in, pressing your lips onto his. Itâs slow, and soft, and tastes faintly of the wine you both drank earlier. (You more than him, clearly.) For a second, he freezesâbut then his hand comes up, careful and unsure, to the side of your face. And then heâs kissing you back, hesitant but desperate all at once, like heâs been waiting for this to happen all along but canât be sure itâs actually happening outside of his imagination.
He pulls away first, closing his eyes as he lets out a shaky breath. You hum happily, slumping back against the couch.Â
âYay,â you murmur.Â
âYou should sleep,â he breathes out, âIâll clean up.â
âSee? So sweet,â you giggle at him.
You donât sleep right away like he tells you to. Instead, you sit on your couch and watch him clean for a bit, admiring his form as he bends and picks things up and walks around your tiny little living room. Some time between him finishing and leaving to go home for the night, though, you do fall asleep.Â
But not before you feel him drape a blanket over your form. Because Mydei, for all the many things that he may be, is thoughtful before everything else.Â
âââââââââââââââ
You change your mind quickly. Perhaps Mydei is not as generous as you gave him credit for.Â
You havenât seen him in two weeks since you kissed him. Or, wellâŚsince you both kissed each otherâyou refuse to let go of the fact that he clearly reciprocated. Therefore, this was not a one-sided incident so much as it was a tango of two.
But apparently, itâs a tango heâs been desperate to pretend never happened. You think thatâs rather fucked up because you could hardly be considered drunkâand you definitely had vivid memories of everything that happened that night after you woke up. He drank less than you, so he cannot use the excuse of forgetting. But itâs become his lifeâs newest mission to avoid you and talking about what happened, anyway, and heâs executing it with military precision.Â
Every time Phainon tries to make plans for all of you, Mydei finds a way out of them.
I have extra shifts at the restaurant, heâll text. Other times, itâs: Sorry, Iâm too tired from class. Iâm gonna nap. And, if heâs feeling particularly creative, heâll say: Have to stay after class to redo a recipe. I messed up the measurements.
Mydei does not mess up measurements. Heâs too good a cook for that. You have seen him tweak recipes with flawless execution off the top of his headâhe is too skilled to do something like mess up a pre-instructed recipe. But at least heâs committed to the bitâhe is certainly charitable enough to at least attempt to play his blatant avoidance off as unintentional due to his overwhelming schedule.Â
Phainon, unfortunately, has caught on because he so bluntly asks you one day when youâre trying to study together while Castorice is at workâwhich, you realize, is exactly why he asked to study with you in the first place. Because she is at work. And he can have you alone. And if he has you alone, he can interrogate you.Â
You should have seen that coming.Â
âDid something happen between you and Mydei?â he asks casually, though his tone is far too deliberate to actually be casual. He sets his laptop aside, folding his arms. âHeâs seen Cas a few times, and he hangs out with me just fine. That only leaves you. Did he say something you took the wrong way? Because if so, I know heâs not always the best at expressing himself, but I promise he didnât mean it with any harm.â
You glance up from your notes, trying for nonchalance. âWhat makes you think something happened? Maybe heâs just busy.â
Phainon raises an eyebrow. âBusy. Right. Because the man who plans his week down to the minute suddenly has no time for movie nights or dinner? Please.â
You look down, pretending to focus on the highlighted paragraph in front of you. âYouâre reading too much into it.â
âAm I?â he asks, raising a brow. âLook, usually, Iâd drop it, but this timeâŚI donât think Iâm wrong. So, what happened? Did he say something stupid? He does that sometimesâhe doesnât ever mean it, heâs just not exactly the best atâŚwords.â
You sigh, rubbing your temple. âNo. He didnât say anything stupid.â
Phainon tilts his head. âThen what?â
âItâs not a big deal.â
âThat sounds exactly like something youâd say if it were a big deal.â
You glare at him. âItâs not. It wasâŚsomething that just happened. And now heâs avoiding me, and I donât know why.â
âOkay, so what happened?â he presses. He is rather persistently making it clear he isnât going to let it go and drop this.
You stare at the open tabs of your laptop, debating whether to lie, deflect, or just walk out the door. Eventually, you cave. Phainon and Mydei have been friends since they were awkward, scrawny teenagers who grew into themselves. Surely, if he really wanted, he could weasel an answer out of Mydei. Itâs probably out of kindness that he asks you for your side of the story first so he can make fair assessments without being biased.Â
So you rip the band-aid off. You set your laptop down on the couch beside you and turn your body to face him, and you rip the band-aid off, even if it means revealing the fresh wound that hasnât even started to scab over yet.Â
âWeâŚwe kissed,â you admit quietly.
Itâs silent. Phainon is, to his core, bewildered.
âYou kissed Mydei?â he blurts, blinking at you as if youâd just confessed to some awful, terrible, unimaginable crime.Â
You sigh, already regretting telling him anything. âAnd so what if I did?â
âSo what ifââ He stops, mouth parted in shock and jaw slack enough it might as well touch the floor. âI justâwow. I didnât think Mydei even knew how kissing worked.â
You blink, then hiss incredulously, âWhat is that supposed to mean?â
Phainon waves his hands defensively. âHey, no need to get so offended on his behalf. Iâm just saying he doesnât exactly strike me as the romantic type. Heâs likeâwhatâs that word? Stoic? Mildly robotic? Did it feel like kissing cold metal?â
You purse your lips. âYouâre insufferable.â
âIâm just asking,â Phainon insists. âWell, anywayâŚdid he initiate it or did you? Wait, no, donât tell meâactuallyâŚwait. Yes, tell me.â
âPhainon.â You give him a flat stare. âIf I tell you anything, youâll make it weird.â
âItâs already weird!â
You pick up a pillow from the couch and toss it at himâhe yelps as it hits him square in the chest. Yet another display of his commendably annoying theatrics because he could have easily caught or dodged your throw, and you know it as well as he does. But you suppose you appreciate his good sportsmanship in letting you land a hit.Â
âEnough questions,â you mutter, crossing your arms and looking away. âIt justâŚhappened.â
Phainon narrows his eyes like youâve given him a riddle. âIt just happened, huh? So what, you tripped and so did he, and you met halfway and accidentally locked lips?â
You huff. âDoes it matter who did what? It wasnât a big deal.â
He stares at you a little longer than necessary, as if trying to read something in your face. Then, finally, he lets out a low whistle and sinks back into the couch on the opposite end of you.
âWow. Mydei actually kissed someone. Voluntarily.â He leans back, shaking his head in disbelief. âNext thing I know, Castorice is gonna tell me heâs eloping with his bread starter.â
You can practically see Mydeiâs reaction to thatâthe slow blink, the withering look, the grumpy smack to the back of Phainonâs headâand you have to bite down a laugh before it slips out. The last thing you need is Phainon accusing you of smiling at the thought of Mydei.
âIâm pretty confident,â you say instead, fighting your grin, âthat heâs likely a better kisser than you. Your lips are barely even there.â
Phainon gasps, clutching his chest in mock hurt. âSo now weâre body shaming? Crazy.â
âYou did that to yourself,â you snort.
âI was just expressing concern for my emotionally repressed friend!â
You roll your eyes. âConcern that is pretty unnecessary.â
âPlease,â Phainon scoffs, mirroring your tone as he leans back against the couch. âIâm looking out for you both. If anyoneâs gonna date Mydei, it should come with an instruction manual. HeâsâŚa piece of work.â
You laughâcanât help it this time, even if you triedâand shake your head. âYouâre lucky heâs not here to hear you say that. Youâre the worst.â
He shrugs cheerfully. âAnd yet, you still hang out with me. Which, honestly, makes me question your taste almost as much as the kissing thing.â
âI donât know if youâre rooting for him or against him,â you say flatly. âAnd in any case, like I said, Mydei is finding every excuse in the book to avoid hanging out with all of us, which is probably because Iâm there, which likely means he regrets the kiss, which likely means he doesnât feel the same, which likely meansââ
âMydei is, likeâŚthe dumbest guy Iâve ever talked to,â Phainon cuts in, âand thatâs only because I canât exactly talk to myself.â
âYou can if you really want to,â you laugh, âbut at least youâre self-aware.â
âYou didnât have to agree that fast,â he mutters, giving you a dry smile. Then, with a sigh, âLook, heâs a little slow on the emotional uptake, okay? But he definitely likes youâtrust me, Iâd know.â He pauses, squinting. âI mean, I never thought youâd like him back, of course, becauseâwell, you know, you seem like someone with standards, butââ
âPhainon.â
He freezes, hands up instantly. âIâm kidding! Heâs a good guyâgreat, even. My point is, he probably thinks you regret it. Heâs avoiding you because he thinks youâre going to reject him.â
âThat makes no sense,â you grumble. âI was the one who kissed him first.â
âSo it was you who initiatedââÂ
You shoot him a look sharp enough to cut glass.
ââB-but anyway, Mydei doesnât always make sense!â he rushes out, backpedaling so fast it almost makes you smile. âI meant it when I said heâs a piece of workâbut I also meant it when I said heâs a good guy. I know him better than anyone, and Iâve never seen him look at someone the way he looks at you. So while I think heâs an idiot for being a coward, I also think maybe you couldâŚI donât know, end his suffering. Let him know heâs not walking straight into heartbreak.â
You huff, arms crossing. âFine. But you owe me for this. A monthâs worth of coffee.â
âFor what?â he gapes. âI didnât do anythingââ
âJust âcause.â
You stand, gathering your bag and laptop, and head toward the door. Phainon wordlessly follows, his footsteps padding behind yours until he stops beside you at the entryway.
You hesitate. Then, before you can talk yourself out of it, you turn and lean forward, wrapping your arms around him. He startles only for a second before returning the hug instantlyâone arm protectively around your waist, the other rising to cup the back of your head with enough gentleness, you feel the familiar sting of tears in your eyes.Â
âHey,â he murmurs against the crown of your head, voice low and steady, âyou two are good for each other. I know it, okay? Donât worry so much.â
âOkay,â you whisper, your voice soft and small. âThanks.â
âYeah, whatever,â he chuckles, the sound rumbling against your body. âJust donât soak my shirt. I canât replace my wardrobe if you drain my wallet with coffee.â
You laugh, and itâs a watery little thing. âYou are so insufferable.â
He grins. âAnd yet, Iâm still your bestest friend in the world.â
You roll your eyes but donât deny it. Phainon is a good friend, you thinkâand, if things work out between you and Mydei like he promises, heâll also be the one who introduced you in the first place. You think you can afford to be a little nicer to him from now on. Perhaps starting with trying not to make fun of his thin lips ever again.Â
(Key word: try.)
âââââââââââââââ
Mydeiâs apartment is on the wealthier end of apartments in the area.Â
Apparently, from what youâve gathered in passing from Phainon, Mydei comes from generational wealth. Or something like that, at least. You donât really knowâhis family is a touchy subject, evidently. He seems to sour anytime the mention of fathers in a general sense is brought up. You donât even dare to bring up his father specificallyâyou can only imagine that he does not get along with his father.Â
Perhaps, though, if things go accordingly, and you are able to mend things over with him, you could get to know him better. Get to know him personally. Intimately. Get to know him in ways that only you are allowed to knowâvulnerable ways where he doesnât just confide in you, but lets you pick up the pieces and press them back into place, holding them steady with nothing more than conviction and affection as the glue.Â
A wishful way of thinking, maybe. Daydreaming, even. But youâd like the opportunityâyou really would. You like Mydei. Heâs nice and quiet and respectful, and he cares for people in silent boldness. He doesnât smother you in that way that feels performative, and he doesnât make you wonder how long before he gets bored with you. He takes the time to learn you silently without you realizing, and he shows you just when the time is right in casual, gentle ways without asking for anything in return.Â
Here, heâll say, I baked this for you. I know you like that flavor.Â
You rolled your shoulder out again, heâll point out casually, if your bag is so heavy for you, you shouldnât carry that much all the time. Hereâgive it to me.
You have an exam next week, heâll bring up, I got you groceries. You never eat healthy during exam weeks.
Heâs sweet. Blunt and a little dry in nature, but sweet. His heart is so gold, you wonder if he bleeds it. If it pumps delicate, soft gold between every vessel and artery. Itâs exactly why it hurts so bad when he seems to avoid you after you get a taste of himâbeing so close to believing you could have someone like him before having it torn away from you feels sickeningly cruel.Â
But Phainon is right about one thing. Mydei is a good guy. Great, even. You choose to believe he is a little slow in the head and goes about protecting himself in the wrong ways. And you choose to believe that with a little luck on your side, you can walk away knowing that getting to know him enough to understand why his father is a sore spot and why he never brings up his family is quite possible.Â
You knock on his door. He opens it almost instantlyâso fast that itâs clear he was expecting someone else. Youâre fairly certain you have Phainon to thank for that.
âHi,â you say.
âOh.â He blinks, surprise flickering across his face. âYouâreâŚhere?â
âYeah.â You fidget with your fingers. âIs that okay?â
âIâyeah,â he stammers, stepping aside. âUh, yeah. Come in.â
âYou donât have to invite me in,â you shake your head quickly. âI just wanted to talk, Mydei. Itâll be quick.â
He stands there for a beat too long, staring at the floor, before his shoulders slump the slightest bit with a quiet sigh. âSorry,â he murmurs. âI know youâre probably upset with me forâŚwhat happened.â
âI mean, yeah,â you admit softly, âyou couldâve just been honest if you didnât feel the sameââ
âI shouldâve never let it go that far when you were clearly tipsy,â he blurts. âIâm sure you think I was taking advantage of you.â
You blink once. Then twice. Then again, just to process his words and make sure you heard him right.
âSorry,â you frown, âwhat was that?â
He stares back at you, equally confused. âWhy wouldnât I feel the same? I kissed you back, didnât I?â
âNo, no, hold on,â you say, lifting a hand. âForget that part for a second. Why would I feel taken advantage of?â
âBecause I kissed you when you werenât sober?â His tone is baffled, staring at you like youâve grown two heads. âI donât know what got into me that night, but I donât usually lose control like that. Iâm sorryâI shouldâve had more restraint. You donât deserve toââ
âThis whole time you were avoiding me because you thought I felt taken advantage of over a kiss?â you interrupt, incredulous.
âWell, yeah,â he almost pouts, âyouâre not supposed to be intimate with people when they arenât sober. Itâs not right.â
âYou thought I regretted it,â you continue, half-laughing in disbelief. âThis whole time, I thought you regretted it.â
âThatâs ridiculous,â he says instantly, âI would never regret kissing you. I just regret not waiting for a more appropriateââ
You cut him off by wrapping your arms around him and pulling him into a hard, passionate kiss. One, because heâs suchâŚa good guy, and two, because he deserves to know youâre not mad. Not in the slightest.Â
He doesnât hesitate, either. Wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you tight against him, kissing you back with an almost desperate amount of need. Your mouth parts, and he slips his tongue past your parted lips, groaning as he gets a taste of you. Without wine, this timeâthankfully. And because Mydei is so well-mannered and considerate, he turns his body so that youâre not facing the outside world, gently maneuvering you into the privacy of his apartment and shutting the door behind him so no one gets a glimpse of the way he kisses you absolutely senseless.Â
You pull away with labored breaths as his forehead presses against yours.Â
âWe were both tipsy, for the record,â you snort breathlessly, âyou silly goose.â
His lips quirk into a slight, amused grin at that. âI guess maybe I was. I donât drink often enough to know my limits.â
âYou are a hopeless case,â you huff out a disbelieving chuckle, âPhainon was right. You arenât very bright, are you?â
His face turns sulky at that as he asks, âWhat does that mean?â
âNothing important,â you laugh. âJust kiss me for nowâIâm sober, okay? So you can. And you can even when Iâm notâI donât mind if itâs you.â
âOkay,â he smiles, pressing a chaste peck to your lips. You press another before he can fully pull away. âIâll keep that in mind.â
âDonât ignore me again.â
âI wonât.â
âYou promise?â you pout.
âI do,â he hums, kissing your curled lips soothingly.
âIt hurt my feelings when you did, you know.â
âIâm sorry,â he says instantly.Â
âSo do you like me?â you bat your lashes hopefully, cheekily.Â
He laughsâsweet, and low, and delicate enough that you lean in closer to hear the sound a little better. âI do. A lot. Maybe more than like, actually.â
âGood,â you nod, âI like you, too. So take me on a date.â
âWill do,â he grins. His arms wrap tighter around you, and his face buries into your neck as he pulls you flush against his chest. âYou can stay here, even. Iâll make you dinner. Itâll be good.â
âOkay,â you whisper, threading your fingers into his hair as you lean into him in relief, âI will.â
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Sunday hadn't spent long with the Stellaron Hunters before boarding the Express, but the memories he'd made with them were priceless. One quiet day in the Express's cabin, while reflecting on his experiences with the Hunters, you appear to visit him.
astral express!sunday x gn!stellaronhunter!reader
contains: sunday used to be a stellaron hunter, teasing, FLUFF FLUFF FLUFF THIS IS THE CUTEST THING IVE WRITTEN SO FAR, SUNDAY IS DOWN BADDDD AS HE DESERVES TO BE BITES FIST I MISSED THIS SO BADDDDD, not established relationship sunday just has a massive crush on you
word count: 2.06k
a/n: happy drip marketing yall. you all get a sunday fluff piece. as a treat. also yes i am completely and totally sane. (THIS IS THE MOST SELF INDULGENT FIC IVE EVER WRITTEN I AM SO SORRY GUYS)
âSunday, weâre going out to Belobog for a bit. Wanna come with?â
Heeled boots still in the midst of a step. Feather-like hair shifts and tousles as he turns his head. At the invitation, gold melts, sapphires glitter, and a gentle smile warms his lips.
March is a blessing, he thinks. She is bubbly, kind, and always manages to light up whatever room she steps into - in that regard, she is not too unlike his beloved sister. Although her ability to plan ahead leaves much room for improvement, he cannot deny that it was her presence that made his transition into a Nameless much easier than it wouldâve been.
Although, truthfully, heâd expected more resistance from her - out of everyone, she seemed to be the most traumatized by the Charmony Festival Disaster, and she also had more of a distaste for Stellaron Hunters than the others. But surprisingly, sheâd come around to him, and welcomed him into the Express with open arms - and a lot of food. He swears, every time sheâs come back from a trip, itâs another sweet or drink shoved into his arms - not that heâs complaining, though.
âThank you for the invitation,â he begins, then rests a hand over his chest as a reflex. âBut Iâm afraid Iâll have to refuse. The last expedition has left me rather exhausted - and as you know, I donât fare well in cold weather.â
Dan Heng nods in understanding. Heâs never been a man of many words, and for that Sunday appreciates him. He rather likes straight-forward people, who arenât afraid to say their mind - perhaps thatâs why heâs grown to adore both the Express and the Hunters so much.
âIs there anything you want us to bring back?â pipes up the Trailblazer, dog-like eyes shining as they lean over March. âLike, sweets or whatever?â
Sunday bites back a chuckle. Somehow, word had gotten around that Sunday had quite the sweet tooth. He doesnât know who started it or how they found out (he has his suspicions on March), but ever since the trio has been dragging him around to various planets and encouraging him to try the local desserts.
He wonders if heâs gotten cavities yet. He hopes not.
Maybe he should check again, at a later time.
âThat Rye Bread Iceberg you brought last time was rather enjoyable. Iâd like to try it again.â
March and the Trailblazer brighten at his words. âOkay, on it!â
Dan Heng only hums his acknowledgement before turning to leave the parlor car. âLetâs go,â he advises the others. âYou know Seele doesnât like to wait.â
Sunday has never personally met this Seele (the Trailblazer describes her as a crass but kind-hearted warrior), but her fury is enough to whip both March and the Trailblazer into shape. It isnât long before the trio is waving him goodbye as they descend into the frozen planet, and he also bids them farewell.
And then it is just him, and the conductor.
A small sigh leaves him as he sits down on one of the many couches. He wasnât lying when he said he was exhausted. Fighting - or any physical activity, for that matter - isnât exactly his strong suit. Even during his time with the Hunters, heâd stayed behind the front lines, acting as a pseudo Kafka with his carefully crafted words and tuning abilities.
Thatâs one of the few things about the Hunters that he prefers over the Express - they didnât force him to hike through deserts and jungles and mountains and Xipe knows what else. All they did was throw him off a skyscraper in the name of the script (heâs pretty sure Elio just wanted to see if heâd actually fly or not).
Sunday blinks, realizing just what had just passed through his mind. Then he sighs with a smile, leaning back into the red plush of the couches.
Only a few months since his fall, and heâs already beginning to think as weirdly as the rest of them.
âSunday, are you alright?â
Sunday glances down to see the conductor waddling by his feet.
Pom Pom is⌠strange, no doubt - for whatever reason, Dan Heng fears them and has advised Sunday to not anger them at all costs. Their past is shrouded in mystery, but Sunday finds himself drawn to the conductor. Perhaps living most of his life in a fever dream like Penacony has warped his perception of what is normal and what is not.
âIâm fine, thank you.â He shifts on the couch to make room, but the conductor shakes their head.
âAre you sure? Pom Pom saw you laughing to yourself,â they fret, tapping their nubby hands together anxiously. âHave you been sleeping enough?â
Sunday crosses one leg over the other, and rests his hands over his knee. âIf youâre concerned about my transition from Penacony to reality, be at ease. The Hunters have practically beat a proper sleep schedule into me.â
Pom Pom yelps in shock. âB-Beat?! They beat you?â
âNot literally,â Sunday hastes, instinctively reaching out a hand to calm the conductor. âIt was more akin to⌠ominously threatening checkups. Although, there was this one time-â
He sees the look on Pom Pomâs face, and decides to stop it there. He fears they might break out sobbing if he continues.
âNevertheless, rest assured that I am sleeping at an appropriate time,â he finishes reassuringly. His practiced smile pays off as the conductor gradually calms down, albeit worry about the Huntersâ methods still lingers.
âAlright, if you say so, Sunday.â They look around uneasily. âDo you want anything to drink?â
Sunday waves his hands hastily. âNo, I am alright, thank you-â
âHeâll have some tea.â
Pom Pom jumps with a shriek and Sundayâs wings puff up. A familiar laugh ghosts his ear, and immediately Sundayâs face brightens.
âWhat- What are you doing here?!â Pom Pom quickly hides behind one of Sundayâs slender legs, hugging it like a lifeline. Sunday places a hand on their head to calm them as he turns to the hologram with a warm smile.
âAt ease, conductor, theyâre a friend.â
Your holographic form glitches in and out of reality. Thereâs a thin blue filter over your appearance, but other than that, everything is the same as he remembers.
âHey, angel,â you coo, leaning your elbow on his shoulder as you sit besides him. Its weight is not the same as it would be in reality, but the presence is enough - a small, barely noticeable tingle that has his heart fluttering and his wings following in suit. âHowâs life as Nameless? Do you miss us yet?â
Sunday laughs gently. âIt has only been two weeks since I left the Hunters. Iâm afraid I havenât had the time to miss you all.â
You pout playfully, sticking out your tongue.Even though parts of you chip away and reappear, and your form isnât stable, Sunday canât help but be as captivated by you as he was when he was still among the Huntersâ ranks. Where the projection fails, his tinted memory fills in.
âSilver Wolf misses you, although I doubt sheâd actually say it,â you say, taking a lock of his hair and twirling it around your finger. âHas she visited you yet?â
Sunday stutters a bit before weakly batting your finger away with his wing. âNo, Iâm afraid she hasnât.â
âHm.â You smile at his attempt to brush you off. Letting go of his hair, you instead opt to tug lightly at his cheek, earning a squeak from the Halovian. âThatâs weird. Maybe she was too shy to speak up.â
âI-â Sunday rubs his cheek when you finally let go. Embarrassingly, his wings jump to shield his face, an unfortunate reflex heâd yet to curb. âI suppose she wasâŚâ
He hears you hum, and he lifts a wing to peek at you. His cheeks feel hot - no, thatâs an understatement, the entirety of his body feels as if heâs in a fireplace.
âGive her my regards,â he finally breathes out, thanking the Aeons for his training in keeping his composure. Sure, it ultimately fails whenever he looks at you, but at least heâs able to fix himself quickly enough⌠or at least, he hopes thatâs what it looks like.
âYou didnât answer my question though.â Propping your elbow on his shoulder again, you rest your cheek in your palm. âHowâs the Nameless life treating you?â
âItâs chaotic,â Sunday admits with a fond sigh. He relaxes into the couch once more, feeling himself sink into the plush. Briefly, heâs tempted to lean his head on your shoulder, but given that youâre a holograph, he holds himself back. âBut itâs fun. The Nameless have been kind, and the planets Iâve visited⌠Itâs nice, to see the universe as someone other than a wanted criminal.â
âWow. Thanks.â
Sunday would apologize, but considering that itâs you heâs talking to, he doesnât feel the need to. After all, youâve said worse to him, and him to you.
âYou know what I mean,â he chuckles. âTo be honest, though, the Express and the Hunters arenât so different.â
He hears Pom Pom squawk indignantly, and again he ruffles their fur to calm them. Turning ever so slightly to your hologram, he gazes at you with adoration and fondness swelling his heart.
âTo the both of you, I am forever grateful. If it werenât for your kindness, Iâd be rotting away in an alley somewhere. I wouldnât be where I am today.â
All distaste for the Hunters fades from Pom Pom as they giggle bashfully. âAw, Sunday⌠You donât have to thank us. We were just doing what the Nameless do.â
You nod in agreement, reaching through his wing and poking his cheek again. âConductorâs right. No need for thanks, birdie.â
âStill-â Sunday makes a sound like a startled bird as you poke his cheek harder, squishing it against the rest of his face. Underneath his coat, his primary wings strain with the urge to flutter and twitch, while his secondary wings are held back by sheer willpower. The only sign that they want to flap so badly is with the tiniest of tremors.
âNone of that,â you chide him gently, tapping him lightly on the plush of his lips. âWeâre just glad youâre happy - right, bunny?â
âWhoâre you calling bunny?!â Pom Pom protests, steam puffing out of their head while steam threatens to escape Sundayâs face for completely different reasons.
Before you can reply, however, your form begins to glitch out, flickering in and out of reality at a higher frequency. With an annoyed click of your tongue, you stand up.
âLooks like Silver Wolf isnât happy,â you comment, brushing off imaginary dust from your clothes. Taking one step so that youâre fully in front of Sunday, you lean in so that your projected nose barely brushes against his. âI have to get going now. You have my number, so text me if you need anything, okay? Or if you want to catch me up with your travels, you can always call me.â
Sundayâs voice feels lodged in his throat. With a subtle gulp, his Adamâs Apple bobbing ever so slightly, he manages to speak with an even voice.
âOkay,â he whispers, his voice almost a whimper. He wants to explode.
You smile fondly, and duck in to peck at the corner of his lips. The buzzing of your holograph morphs into electrifying lightning, surging into his veins, puffing up his feathers and making all of his hairs stand up and sending his already tapping heart into a frenzy. His body freezes into a statue, and all coherent thoughts melt away into a haze that is both ecstatic and shocked.
By the time you pull away, his wings are flapping erratically and his entire body is dyed in a rosey red. His mouth opens and closes like a fish, but all words die on his tongue and he is left blabbering like a fool.
You laugh again, eyes crinkling so beautifully he swears heâs ascended.
âIf thatâs how you react, I wonder how cute youâll be when itâs the real deal.â
And then youâre gone, vanishing like a sweet dream in a flurry of pixels, leaving Sunday there to dazedly touch his lips, and then where youâd kissed him.
And then he smiles, giddily, and his halo practically glows as soft, love-stricken giggles begin to leave him.
The woven, silken caress of his fingers kneaded your scalp, his touch both featherlight but also incredibly grounding at the same time. Sleep wished to take over, your eyes threatening to close shut at any given moment, but the way in which he gazed at you...
Goodness, how could one rest?
Everyone in the Express started to get a kick for teasing Sunday every time his eyes would land on you. The way in which they'd twinkle and shine, following all of your movements, as if you were an otherworldly being who hung each and every star in the cosmos was frankly astonishing.
At first he'd shy away, those darling feathers of his twitching ever so softly as he would apologize, admitting that he was too lost in thought to focus on anything or anyone else. March in particular just loved this explanation, giving her powerful fuel for her shenanigans.
She even started to take pictures of the man, capturing each contour and smile with her trusty camera. Naturally, she would proudly show them off to everyone on the Express, both gleefully showing off her photography skills, while also poking fun at him, stating that he was less a man and more a lovesick fool who'd likely do a backflip if you so wished.
Sunday would always politely chuckle, stating that Miss March has such a fascinating imagination. His voice would be measured and calm, just how it always was.
And even so, he never corrected her. Not even once.
You noticed this fact.
His lap had become your new safe heaven, a place to unwind after the day was over. Even if the Express traveled through vast galaxies and the empty cosmos, Sunday's light shined brighter than ever. On one particular evening, you expressed the desire to have him by your side forever, admitting that the wish was selfish. You recall toying with a lock of his hair, those soft wings of his twitching every few moments, particularly if your breath would fan them.
Unknowingly, a fire had been lit that even deep within his heart.
Sunday had abandoned the path of Order and embraced a newly found form of Harmony.
He just hadn't expected for it to extend to another human being.
Jealousy would bubble inside him sometimes. He would always feel so bad about that, hoping that you could not sense the growing resentment towards him own dark feelings, and how he would always seek you out whenever he felt threatened.
He simply came to the realization that he needed you. He couldn't understand why this was the case, but that was the undeniable fact.
Even when he'd feel the thorns of envy try to wrap themselves around his heart, he would immediately be soothed when you'd come back to him.
Oh Aeons, you always came back to him. This was his lifeline, the one new thing which he needed unlike anything else.
content: ashveil x gender-neutral reader. implied sexual content (mdni). they bicker like a divorced couple. post-4.1 trailblaze quest. lowkey a character study if you squint.
as a galaxy ranger, youâre not supposed to stay in one place for too long. routine breeds predictability, predictability gets you killed, and attachments are, at best, an inconvenience.
unfortunately, time has a way of dulling even the most hard-won principles, and somewhere along the line you developed a habitâone that involves finding a wolf whoâs been licking his wounds for years and, despite your better judgment, ending up in his bed when you only meant to talk.
which is, admittedly, poor form considering heâs also your boss.
âdo you want to get furboeats?â
you make a sound thatâs somewhere between a groan and a protest, still half-buried in the aftermath of a decision youâre going to pretend you didnât make. the room he got in this shoddy love hotel is exactly as disreputable as he promised. creaky bedframe, cheap sheets, and a mirror bolted to the ceiling.
you catch your reflection in it and immediately regret looking. the bastard had left a scatter of bite marks and darkening bruises that would get you written up in any other line of work.
you drag a hand over your face. âare you going to explain what that is?â
at the foot of the bed, ashveil glances up from his phone, faintly pleased with himself. âoh. itâs a food delivery app. places like this donât do room service.â
âtragic.â
âi adapt.â
you stare at the ceiling instead of him, which is arguably worse, because the mirror insists on showing you both anywayâhim intact and already bored, you looking like you lost an argument with a wild animal. which, to be fair, you did.
you donât know why you keep coming back.
not a single soul has seen la mancha in years, and since your last encounter with the old wolf, youâd gotten good at moving on and letting certain names rot where you left them. you thought youâd finally kicked it, this particular vice filed neatly under mistakes you made when you were younger and significantly dumber.
but then the ipc decided to broadcast the supplicants of the phantasmoon games in planarcadia, and there he wasâsecond place like a bad habit with a leaderboard.
you shouldâve ignored it.
instead, you tracked him down.
again.
âso?â ashveil prompts. âyou eating or sulking?â
you close your eyes. âi was aiming for a conversation.â
he laughs, patronizing, right before crawling back on the bed and settling between your legs.
âyou always say that.â
half an hour later, the food arrives in a crumpled paper bag that looks like it lost a fight on the way up. ashveil nudges it open with one hand, already halfway disinterested, and passes you a burger like this is the most normal follow-up to what just happened.
you take it. because, evidently, this is your life now.
for a while, the room settles into something quietâjust the faint hum of whatever passes for infrastructure in planarcadia, the rustle of paper, the soft give of the mattress every time one of you shifts.
thatâs when you notice it.
his arm.
youâve seen it before, of course. hard not to, when he makes no effort to hide it. but youâve never had the misfortune of staring at it this long, this closely. the prosthetic is sleek where it should be, functional where it needs to be, but the shadows... they move beneath his skin, curling and crawling like veins of some sinister power. like something lying in wait.
your gaze drifts lower, to the nails driven clean through his wrist. they were not decorative in the slightest. no, they had one purpose only.
containment.
you donât realize youâve stopped eating until he speaks.
âif you stare at it any longer,â ashveil comments lightly, âit might start thinking youâre interested.â
ââŚis that supposed to be reassuring?â
âno,â he says, taking another bite. âitâs supposed to be advice. monsters get attached to attention. best not to encourage them.â
you hesitate. because you canât quite tell if he means the thing in his arm or himself.
he glances at you then, and smiles. itâs the same as always: easy, unreadable, the expression of a man who knows more than heâs willing to share. his slate-gray eyes, deep enough to pass for calm until you look too long, hold yours for just a second too much.
âyou said you wanted to talk, rookie.â
you frown. âi havenât been a rookie for an entire amber era.â
âoh?â he tilts his head, faintly amused. âtime does get strange when youâve spent half of it in cryo-sleep.â a shrug. âeither way. ask. iâm feeling chatty tonight.â
you look down at your burger instead.
itâs absurd, really. the whole thing. the phantasmoon games, his participation as a supplicant, and the fact that youâre sitting here at all. nothing about planarcadia fits the logic youâve spent your life relying on, and somehow, someone like la mancha fits into it perfectly.
you swallow, then decide to ask anyway.
âwhy here?â
ashveil hums, like he didnât quite catch it. âwhatâs that?â
your grip tightens slightly around the wrapper. âwhy did you choose this place as your graveyard?â
that gets his attention. because youâve spent long enough chasing his shadow to know the difference between evasion and interest, between something heâll brush off and something heâll circle. you donât chase him, you bait him.
this, youâve learned, is how you make a wolf stop running.
ashveil doesnât answer immediately. he leans back on one hand, the other resting loosely over his knee. the arm that imprisons something more dangerous than he is stills, and for once, the shadows subdue like theyâve been told to behave.
âno one here asks questions that matter,â he tells you plainly. ânot quite like you do, rookie.â
you glance up to meet his eyes, but theyâve drifted somewhere past you and the dingy walls of the love hotel. somewhere you canât possibly reach.
âplaces like this,â ashveil continues, âthey donât care who you were. what you did. what followed you here.â a pause. âthings get lost in the noise and the fanfare.â
you donât like the way he says that.
âyou donât strike me as someone who wants to be lost.â
he huffs in amusement. âno?â
âno.â
ââŚeveryone ends up somewhere they can afford,â he says finally. âthis just happens to be mine.â
you stare at him. itâs not an answer. not really. but itâs closer than anything heâs given you so far.
your eyes flick back to the nails in his wrist. the way they hold something down that very clearly does not want to stay there. the faint, almost imperceptible shift of shadow beneath metal.
you look away first, because youâve never learned how to hold the intensity of his gaze. no matter how many years or systems or selves youâve shed along the way.
âwhatever you say,â you mutter. â just⌠keep in touch with boothill and rappa sometime. they worry about you more than you deserve.â
for a moment, he says nothing.
but youâve spent enough time tracing the outline of this man to recognize when the version of him that slips through your fingers gives way to something more tangible. the faraway look dissolves, and what takes its place is warm in a way it has no business being.
the mattress dips as ashveil leans in, crowding you back without force. his prosthetic hand braces somewhere beside you, the other settling at your hip, and suddenly youâre aware of him in a way that has nothing to do with how you knew him in your memories, and everything to do with him now.
âoh?â he murmurs. âand youâre not worried about me? the ranger who gatecrashed ahatopia the moment they caught my scent again?â
the brush of his mouth is barely there, but his teeth sink into the lobe of your ear without a second thought. the smallest reminder of what he is, of what heâs always been.
it would be easier if he were simpler.
if he were cruel, or careless, or even just honest in a way that could be pinned down and understood. but ashveil has never been any of those things, and you do not pretend youâll ever untangle him into something comprehensible.
he is what he is: a question without a clean answer, a man who carries too much and explains too little, and youâve long stopped asking him to.
that is the only reason he lets you catch him.
the only reason he lets you stay.
âi didnât say that,â you sigh, the words thinning at the edges as his mouth ghosts along your throat.
ashveil answers with a quiet hum before the distance youâd tried to carve out collapses entirely, and he pulls you back into something you know you will never quite learn to refuse.
because as long as heâs still hereâas long as heâs still something you can find if you look hard enoughâyou can afford to ignore the rest. turn a blind eye to the parts of him that donât make sense.
and keep dancing with a wolf who has never once pretended to be anything else.
Summary: Reuniting with him after the events of Amphoreus (written during 3.6)
a/n: Honkai Star Rail writing? From me? And it's not angst? Crazy.
âIâll be back soon.â
Itâs not that you didnât believe Dan Hengâs words before returning to Amphoreus. You always believe him. He has the kind of voice that lulls you into a sense of security; firm and assured with a softened edge that still acknowledges your fears while soothing them. You just canât help but worry when that voice isnât by your side.
And his body hadnât even fully returned to the Astral Express before he left again. Instead of the hug you so desperately wanted to give him after the Express car crash landed on Amphoreus, all you could do was give a meek âgood luck.â Himeko tried her best to comfort you while you supported the Trailblazers from the outside, but the purse of your lips and furrow of your brows didnât let up.
But they are coming back now. Everything is okay now, right? You bounce on the balls of your feet while waiting in the parlor car.
âExcited?â Himeko places a hand on your shoulder, stilling your antsy movements. Welt smiles at catching your behavior from the corner of his eye.
âNervous.â Your hands curl into fists, which only tighten at the sudden noise of the car door opening.
Three figures enter, all familiar yet different. One automatically draws your eyes more than the others though. Golden horns curve upward out of his black hair and a scaled tail snakes through the air behind him. You barely have time to take them in before realizing heâs running toward you.
Dan Heng is running to take you up in his arms, a deep exhale leaving his mouth that brushes through your hair. He smells like the earth. Heâs warm and his heartbeatâs solid. Suddenly, youâre not so tense. Itâs safe here, protected by his embrace. Your face leans into his chest. You could swear you usually bury it in his shoulder. Is he taller?
How has his appearance changed so much in what has just been a few hours? As many inquiries as you have, the overwhelming sense of relief at being with him again has tears clouding your vision and any questions clogging in your throat. He's not normally so openly affectionate either, preferring to show his devotion in more private moments. You just know the rest of the Express crew has their eyes on you, but he doesnât hesitate to tilt your chin up and meet your tear-filled eyes with a gaze as reassuring as the sound of waves lapping against the shore. You give him a shaky smile as his thumb runs across your cheek and rids it of the tears.
âYouâre back.â
âI said I would be.â
And despite his new draconic features, itâs the same teal eyes that wash over you like a cooling stream and the same voice that feels like home. Itâs still your Dan Heng.
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"eight thousand nerve endings," he murmurs against your ear, patting your mound, warm and twitchy under his fingers. "right here. is that good?"
you whine, push your face into the side of his neck. anaxa chuckles and lets you press into him as he strokes you slowly, relishing the way your hips lift and relax under his touch.
how sweet you were to let him have access to your most vulnerable spot. it was fascinating to him that there seemed to be an spot on your body that was made solely for your pleasure, but more fascinating still was the trust which you placed in him.
anaxa pinches you lightly and you jump with a sound of complaint.
"sorry, sorry," he chuckles, soothing the area, going back to stroking you just how you liked.
your quiet whimpers are muffed against his skin. pressed up this close to you, anaxa can feel each tiny tremor as he gathers up your slick on his fingers, knowing it's at this point you usually try to squirm.
"be good," he soothes, pressing a hand against your belly when he feels you flex. "stay there."
"anaxa," you whine again, nuzzling against him, trying to get any relief he'd let you have.
"i'll let you cum. be patient, sweet thing."
a grumble of both frustration and pleasure slips out of you when he slips his fingers in. your walls flex against him as if determined to push him out, then relax all at once and he curls his fingers inside you.
you cry out immediately and slam tight around him.
"is that good?" he purrs, massaging that sweet spot within you. he's rewarded with a sob of his name - he must have been playing with you longer than he'd intended. you're tense and desperate and oh so adorable in his grasp and anaxa can feel himself painfully hard.
"yes," you cry out, head knocking back against his shoulder. "s'good, please-"
"almost there," he promises, letting the rhythm of your squeezing guide him. it nearly hurts, but feeling how tight you are gives anaxa a heady burst of confidence. "good girl. cum for me."
you whine his name, gasping, hips jerking up into his hand as the hot knot of pleasure within you snaps. anaxa presses his thumb onto your clit and you seem to cum even harder (how fascinating, he hadn't known that was possible).
"anaxa," you cry. "anaxa, nax, too much, nngh-"
he hums in acknowledgement and keeps rubbing circles. "you can take it. indulge me one more time, okay?"
caleb x reader texts after you get your very own apartment for the first time and move out of gran's house. problem is, caleb spoiled you a bit too much by doing everything for you, and now you go to him for everything. inspired by this tiktok
âź set pre-explosion (and relationship!), just around the time you're taking hunter exams, which would make you roughly around 21-22
note: i tried to replicate the game's ui best as i could, but of course it's not perfect đ that apple pin placement drove me CRAZY. but alas, my spite persevered against months of procrastination on this workskin project with my anger at fake text generators on play store being so ass. i hope you enjoy!! (pls don't talk about the voice note discrepanciees i wasnt paying attention and am too lazy to go back to the htmls and change ;;;;;)
You're sitting on a bench in a quiet cove of Duomension City, trees lining the humble pathway.
You and Sunday had been taking in all the city had to offer, but you figured a break from looking at all the glitz and glamour of the chaotic place. So, you dragged him to a peaceful little cafĂŠ, before finding reprieve here.
The silence between you is comfortable; you're content with watching the distant streets, watching petals fall, watching him.
You had thought Sunday was watching you, tooâ and he was! âbut he was also glancing at your drink.
The realization makes you grin. How silly of him. He must know he can just ask, right?
"Sunday," you murmur, honeyed eyes flicking to yours. "Do you want some of my drink?"
He hesitates, before taking your cup. "Thank you, dear. You always read me so well." His voice is fond, and he gazes softly at the drink, as if he was holding your heart instead of a latte. It makes you laugh.
"It's my job." You flick him and he narrows his eyes at you before shaking his head in fondness. He brings the drink to his lips, taking a sip and...
And you see a slight flush to his cheeks.
A horrible grin breaks out on your face.
"What's got you so flustered?" You tilt your head at him, beaming.
His wings curl around his face ever so slightly. "I..." he trails off, huffing as the words die on his tongue. You're surprised, really. You didn't take him as the type to blush over an indirect kiss, even more so when you consider the fact that the two of you have kissed properly many times.
Then again, sometimes he looks at you as if everything about you is romantic. Sunday doesn't shy away from affection with you, but he cherishes you so deeply that even the mundane things with you manage to creep up and fluster him.
He returns your drink to your side amidst your laughter, before draping an arm over you. You wonder if this his attempt at being smooth in order to save face. Unfortunately for him, you have an even better idea.
You give him a gentle peck, and his breath hitches.
"Much better," you grin, as a matching one forms on his face before he breaks into soft laughter of his own.
âmeimei, youâre doing it wrong,â caleb murmurs, voice low so grandma wonât hear from downstairs. his hand cups your jaw, thumb brushing your bottom lip. âlet gege show you.â
you nod shyly, heart hammering as he leans in. the kiss starts soft. gentle presses, warm and patient, until his tongue slips past your lips. you whimper into his mouth when he deepens it, tasting the candy you stole from his pocket earlier.
his other hand slides under your shirt, groping your breast, thumb circling your nipple until it pebbles like heâd only seen in videos before. âlike this,â he breathes against your lips, squeezing gently. âfeels good?â
you nod, cheeks burning. he pulls back only to guide your hand to the bulge in his pants. âtouch me here. be gentle⌠oh, yeah, just like that.â
he teaches you more. like, hidden in the laundry room while grandma naps, he sits you on the dryer and kneels between your legs. âwatch how gege does it.â his tongue is slow and thorough, licking long stripes until your thighs shake and you bite your fist to stay quiet. when you come, he drinks every drop, groaning like heâs the one being ruined.
then itâs your turn. he teaches you how to use your mouth. how to suck the head, swirl your tongue, take him deeper without teeth. itâs clumsy at first, but you get the hang of it. âgood girl⌠fuck, meimei, youâre a natural,â he pants, fingers tangled in your hair, fighting the urge to thrust.
he never fucks you. instead he rubs his thick cock between your soaked folds, sliding over your clit again and again in slick, guilty strokes. âcanât ⌠canât put it in,â he whispers every time, forehead pressed to yours, voice cracking with shame even as he grinds harder, chasing release against your trembling body.
but lately youâve started it yourself, initiating more, crawling into his bed after lights out, whispering âgege⌠can we play tonight?â while your hand already slips under your own shirt. and caleb always gives in.
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⢠features: ashveil x gn!reader, fluff, domestic fluff, food as love language, indirect kiss (itâs not important to the fic but i just thought to add it anyway LOL), not proofread
⢠word count: 4,668
⢠note: this is my contribution for this month ueueueue ,,,, i havenât done the 4.1 quest yet btw so if things donât align with the canon, then oopsies! but iâve seen ashveilâs in game messages (specifically the one where mr. n told the trailblazer about ashveilâs eating habits!) a lot on x so this inspired me to create this fic. enjoy!!
⢠also on: ao3
âCan I help you?â
Ashveil stares down at the person on the other side of the door like heâs trying to decide if theyâre real or just another thing his brain coughed up out of boredom.
The office is quiet in the way it only ever gets when everyone else has scattered off somewhere. The Furbos are gone, Mister N is gone, even the usual background noise feels like itâs packed up and left him behind. So when someone knocked, it echoed up until even his own agencyâloud, annoying, and intrusive.
And here you are.
The first thing he notes is that you donât look like trouble. Not that ânot looking like troubleâ has ever stopped trouble before, but stillâyouâre just standing there, holding a bag that smellsâhe sniffs, subtleâgood. Really good.
âIâum, sorry,â you start, already sounding like you think youâve made a mistake. âI was looking for someone. Is Nihiluxââ
âNo,â Ashveil cuts in, leaning his weight against the doorframe like heâs got nowhere to be. Whichâreallyâhe doesnât. âShe doesnât work here anymore.â
You blink, as if you didnât expect the answer to come that quickly or maybe at all.
âOh,â you say, and then you start talking.
You ramble. The words spills out of you in uneven, apologetic wavesâabout Nihilux, about how sheâd often forget to eat, how youâd bring her food because sheâd get so caught up in her art that hours would pass and she wouldnât notice, how you werenât even sure if sheâd still be here but you thought youâd check anyway because itâs been a while andâ
Ashveil listens.
Thereâs something oddly nice about it. The way your words tumble over each other, the way you circle back and correct yourself, the way you keep glancing at him like you expect him to shut the door any second now.
He doesnât. Instead, he hums once, low in his throat, just enough to let you know heâs still there.
ââŚand yeah,â you finish, a little breathless. âSorry. I didnât mean to just⌠talk so much. You probably donât even care.â
âDidnât say that,â he replies, shrugging his shoulders.
Flustered, you look down at the bag in your hands.
âWell, since sheâs not hereâŚâ you say, holding it out toward him, hesitant but decided all the same, âyou can have this. I meanâonly if you want. It was for her, but itâd be a waste otherwise. And I already bothered you, soâŚâ
Ashveil blinks. âFor me?â he echoes, like he needs to hear it again to make sure he didnât misinterpret anything.
You nod quickly. âAs an apology for talking your ears off.â
He takes it.
âThank you,â he says, thumb hooking into the plastic as he lifts it slightly. Itâs warm and fresh. His stomach reacts immediatelyâtraitorous thing.
You smile, small and relieved. âOkay. Iâll go now,â you say, stepping back. âSorry again.â
And just like that, youâre gone.
He doesnât go back to his office right away. Instead, Ashveil lingers by the door, fingers resting loosely against the handle as he stares at the empty hallway like it might shift and give you back if he waits long enough. He almost expects the sound of hurried footsteps returning, like you might realize you changed your mind and went to retrieve the food you gave him.
You donât.
He exhales through his nose and shuts the door.
When he turns back into the agency, itâs dim, cluttered, and quietly decaying in ways that have long since stopped bothering him. Bottles crowd every available surfaceâsome empty, some not, and none of them particularly organized. Pills sit scattered where they were last left, and papers cover the walls and desk in uneven layers, their contents faded into irrelevance even to him. The computer hums steadily in the background, and the freezer in the corner hangs slightly open, leaking cold air into the room like itâs waiting for attention he wonât give.
He ignores all of it.
Instead, he clears a small space on the desk with a sweep of his arm, sending a few sheets of paper sliding to the door, and sets the bag down. Thereâs nowhere to sit, so he leans his weight against the edge of the desk, glancing at it for a moment longer before opening it.
The smell hits him immediately andâ
Oh.
Thatâs⌠yeah. It smells good.
He reaches in, not bothering to look for utensils, and takes a bite.
The effect is immediate: he stills, jaw going slack for a second before he actually chews, like his brain needed a moment to catch up with what just happened.
Itâs been a long time since food tasted like thisâlong enough that heâd stopped expecting it to. Thereâs no bitterness, no stale aftertaste, no underlying sense that heâs eating something just because itâs there. Itâs warm, properly made, and unmistakably intentional in a way that most of what he consumes isnât.
He swallows, then takes another bite.
And then another.
And another.
And another.
Somewhere along the way, the pace picks up without him noticing. His hand moves before he thinks about it, reaching back into the bag again and again, like something in him is trying to make up for something itâs been missing. And by the time he realizes it, heâs already halfway through and still reaching for more.
The door opens behind him.
Ashveil doesnât turn around right away. He just takes another bite, slower this time, as if the interruption doesnât quite register as urgent. He hears soft and light footsteps padding closer, and only glances over his shoulder after he swallows.
ââŚMr. Ashveil,â Mister N calls. The Slumbernana Monkey stands in the hallway, small and still, holding a thin plastic bag filled with fruits that arenât clearly bananas. His gaze shifts from Ashveil, to the food, and back to him again. âWhere did you get the food?â
The detective hums softly, leaning his hip more firmly against the desk as he tilts his head back slightly to swallow. âSomeone dropped by.â
âSomeone did?â
âMhm.â He taps the edge of the container with his fingers. âThey were looking for the former president of Furbobo Weekly. Said they were a friend of hers and that they usually bring her food. I told them she doesnât work here anymore.â
âDid you get their name?â Mister N asks.
Ashveil glances down at the half-finished meal. He shrugs. âI didnât ask,â he says. âThey left right after handing this over.â
His assistantâs eyes linger on him for a moment, his expression unreadable yet attentive. âAnd your stomach?â he asks after a beat.
Ashveil lets out a soft scoff. âItâs fine,â he says. Thereâs a slight pause before he adds, more honestly this time, âBetter than fine actually.â
âYouâre sure?â
âYeah,â Ashveil says, glancing at Mister N with the faintest hint of dry amusement. âI havenât died yet.â
A small silence settles between them.
After a moment, Ashveil lifts the container in a casual manner. âYou want some?â
Mister Nâs gaze lingers on the container, as if weighing the offer more seriously than expected. Then he gives a small, polite shake of his head.
âNo,â he says. âYou should finish it yourself.â
Ashveil studies him for a second, searching for any sign of hesitation or hidden interest, but finds none. Mister N simply steps further into the room and places the thin bag of fruit on top of the slightly open freezer.
âSuit yourself,â Ashveil mutters.
He shrugs it off easily and turns his attention back on the food. If anything, Mister Nâs refusal seems to settle something in himâpermission, maybe, to keep going without restraint.
So he does.
He digs in again. Bite after bite, steady and unthinking, until the world narrows down to taste and warmth and the simple act of eating. The room fades into the backgroundâthe clutter, the dim lighting, the hum of machineryâall of it blurring at the edges compared to whatâs right in front of him.
Across the room, Mister N remains.
By the time the container is nearly empty, his pace finally begins to slow. He leans back slightly, exhaling through his nose as he looks down at what little remains.
He just stares at it briefly. Then, almost absently, he finishes the last bite. Ashveil rolls his shoulder, shifting his weight as he sets the empty container aside.
Itâs not often that something lingers like this. Not just the tasteâthough that tooâbut the feeling of it. The care behind it. The fact that it hadnât even been meant for him at all, and yetâŚ
His gaze drifts, unfocused, toward the door.
You hadnât stayed long. Had barely given him time to ask anything, really. No name, no detailsâjust a bag of food and a hurried apology before disappearing down the hall like you were never there to begin with.
And stillâ
He wonders if heâll get to see you again.
The thought comes easier than expected, settling somewhere in the back of his mind as he glances once more at the now-empty container and, briefly, to the sideâat the bag of fruit resting untouched atop the freezer.
If he doesâŚ
Wellâheâd have to say thank you. Properly, this time.
Since that day, Ashveil hasnât seen you again. Not that he was lookingâat least not in a way heâd willingly admit.
Days pass the same way they always do. Work comes and goes in irregular bursts, and the agency remains just as cluttered, just as dim, just as stagnant as ever. If anything changed, itâs subtle enough that he doesnât bother naming it.
Still, every now and then, the memory resurfaces. A passing thought while heâs staring at nothing in particular. The faint recollection of warmth that doesnât come from anything in the room. The taste of something that had no right being as good as it was.
Itâs annoying, honestly, because it lingers.
Itâs not enough to distract himânot enough to derail anythingâbut enough that, on occasion, he catches himself thinking that if did happen to run into you again, heâd say something. Just a quick acknowledgment, maybe. A simple thank you; tell you the food was good.
Thatâs all.
Which is probably why he wasnât expecting for it to actually happen.
âFresh air,â Mister N had said earlier. âIt would be beneficial for your health.â
Ashveil had stared at him for a long while, unimpressed. Eventually, he left anyway.
Now heâs outside, one hand tucked into his pocket while the other rests loosely around the handle of his cane. His shoulders are slightly hunched, his stride unhurried, the cane more of an extension of habit than necessity as he walks with no real destination in mind.
The air feels different out hereâless stale, less suffocatingâbut he wouldnât go as far as to call it refreshing.
He follows the sidewalk without thinking too hard about it. People move around him in a steady flowâfaces he doesnât know, lives he doesnât care about, all carrying on with a sense of purpose he doesnât share.
And then, he slows.
And there you are.
Standing at the edge of the street, waiting for the stoplight to change. Grocery bags hang from both of your arms, the thin plastic stretched taut from the weight of whatever it is you bought. You shift slightly where you stand, attention fixed on the traffic passing by as you wait for your turn to cross.
Ashveil comes to stop a few steps behind you. For a moment, he just looksâlike heâs confirming something.
Youâre real. Not a trick of memory, not something his brain conjured out of boredomâyouâre actually here, in the same space, close enough that if he wanted to, he could just walk up andâ
âŚ
He exhales softly through his nose. Right.
This is it then. The chance.
He straightens just a little, before finally closing the distance between you.
âHello.â The word comes out casual, low, just enough to catch your attention without startling you. Your head turns at the sound of his voice.
Ashveil hadnât really expected muchâat most, a polite glance, maybe the brief confusion of someone trying to place a stranger. Instead, recognition settles in almost immediately, and he sees it happen. The slight widening of your eyes, the way your expression brightens like something just clicked into placeâand then youâre looking at him properly.
It catches him off guard.
For a moment, he just stands there, his grip on the cane adjusting ever so slightly as the moment lands in a way he hadnât prepared for. Thereâs a flicker of something in his chestâlight and unexpectedâand he canât quite pin it down before it settles somewhere deeper.
Flattering, he realizes. Weirdly so.
He hadnât thought he left much of an impression. Your interaction had been brief, barely anything worth remember on your endâor at least thatâs what he assumed. People donât usually hold onto things like that. And yet here you are, looking at him like youâre genuinely glad to have recognized him.
It does something to his stomach, an unfamiliar flutter that makes him shift.
He frowns faintly to himself, already dismissing it. Probably just hunger. It makes senseâyou did give him food, after all. Itâs only natural to associate you with that.
âHello!â you greet him, voice warm despite the noise of the traffic. âItâs so nice to see you again.â
For the first time since he met you, Ashveil smiles. âThank you for the food last time,â he says. âThat was the first time in a while that Iâve had such good food.â
Thereâs a flicker of surprise across your face before it melts into something else, something almost shy, and then you laughâlight, a little flustered, like you donât quite know what to do with the compliment. âIâm glad you enjoyed my cooking!â
Ashveil watches the way you react, the way your grip shifts on the plastic bags hanging from your arms, and his gaze briefly drops to them. The thin handles dig int your fingers slightly where the weight pulls down, and you adjust them again without really thinking about it. He frowns just a little.
He lifts a hand, pointing at the bags. âDo you need help carrying those around?â
You shake your head almost immediately. âOh, thereâs no need! I can handle just fine!â
Thereâs no hesitation in your voice, no sign that youâre struggling in a way youâd admit, but Ashveil doesnât look convinced.
âI insist,â he replies. âHereâlet me.â
Before you can properly protest, he steps out and reaches out, sliding the bags off your arms in one smooth motion with his free handâthe other still occupied with his cane. The shift in weight is immediate, the pressure gone before you can brace against it.
âWaitââ you start, a little startled, your hands hovering awkwardly. âYou donât really have to. I meanâ I donât want to trouble you.â
Ashveil adjusts his grip on the bags, barely sparing them a glance as he settles them comfortably at his side.
âYouâre not troubling me,â he says, like itâs the simplest thing in the world. âIf anything, you can think of this as payment for the food last time.â
âBut you donât need to anything to return the favor,â you insist, brows knitting slightly as you look at him. âI gave it to you because I wanted to, not because I expected anything back.â
âI know,â he says. âIâm choosing to do it.â
You open your mouth like youâre about to protest again, but the words donât quite come out this time. ââŚokay,â you relent, reluctant. âIf youâre really sure.â
âI am.â
The stoplight changes from green to red, the steady stream of cars slowing to a halt, and once the moment itâs safe, the crowd begins to move, carrying you and Ashveil along with it as you step off the curb and into the crosswalk.
For a while, the two of you walk quietly, your pace naturally adjusting to match his, but it doesnât take long before the silence gives way to something easier.
Ashveil glances at you. âYour friend,â he starts, casual. âDid you find out where she mightâve moved?â
Thereâs a small shift in your expressionâsomething brighter. âI did, actually,â you say. âShe apparently forgot to tell me about it. Iâve started bringing her food again like before, so⌠sheâs eating properly now.â
Ashveil hums. âGood,â he says. âIâm glad you found her.â
You smile at that, and the conversation continues from there without much effort. He asks what you do, and when you tell him youâre a chef, he isnât surprised.
âThat explains a lot,â he murmurs, almost to himself.
You laugh lightly. When you turn the question back on him, he doesnât hesitate.
âIâm a detective,â he says.
âOh.â You blink, clearly intrigued. âReally?â
âMhm.â
The details that follow are sparse, but itâs enough to keep the conversation goingâsmall exchanges, bits of curiosity traded back and forth. By the time you reach your apartment building, it almost feels the walk passed quicker than it should have.
You lead him upstairs, the familiar surroundings closing in as your unlock the door and step inside, holding it open for him as he follows you in. The space is modest but lived-in.
âJust set them down in the kitchen counter, please,â you say.
Ashveil nods once and does exactly that, placing the bags down with care.
For a second, he just stands there. Then, as if remembering himself, he shifts his weight back, hand adjusting around the handle of his cane.
âIâll take my leave now,â he starts, already turning slightly toward the door. âThanks forââ
âWait!â
He pauses, turning around.
You hesitate only briefly before continuing, fingers fidgeting together for a moment as you glance at him. âWould you⌠like to stay for lunch?â
Ashveil smiles. âYouâre very kind,â he says. âBut are you sure? I donât want to be a bother.â
You shake your head immediately.
âOh, no, not at all!â you insist, words tumbling out before you can slow them down. âI really donât mind, I promise! I actually like cooking for other people more than just for myself, and itâs not like I had anything else planned anyway, and you did help me carry all of those groceriesâwhich you really didnât have to, by the wayâand you said you liked my food last time, soâ so itâs kind of like Iâm just, um, returning the favor? I think?â
He considers your words quietly, gaze lingering in a way that suggests heâs weighing more than just the offer itself.
âAlright,â he says, and your face brightens almost instantly, the shift in your expression so quick and genuine that itâs hard to miss.
âReally? Okayâ great!â you say, already turning toward the kitchen with renewed energy. âYou can just make yourself at home! Iâll, umâ Iâll start on the food.â
Ashveil nods. He doesnât wander far. Instead of taking a seat somewhere in the living room, he steps over the kitchen island and settles there, positioning himself just off to the side where he wonât be in your way.
From there, he watches.
You move about your kitchen, pulling ingredients from bags and cabinets and the refrigerator, setting things down with a familiarity that suggests youâve done this a thousand times over.
Youâre meticulous, he thinks. Your hands move with certainty as you wash, peel, and cutâyour knife gliding through ingredients with practiced ease as if it already knows where itâs meant to go before it gets there. Nothing is rushed, but nothing is wasted either.
And you look comfortableâlike this space was made specifically for you or maybe the other way around.
Ashveil admires it. The passion, the ease, the care you put into something as simpleâbut also not simple at allâas making a meal. Itâs different from anything heâs used to, and he finds himself drawn to it in a way that doesnât feel forced.
At one point, you lift a wooden spatula from the pan, bringing it up to your lips to taste. Your shifts almost immediately afterâyour eyes light up and a pleased smile forms like youâve just confirmed something you were hoping for.
Ashveil watches that too.
And he assumes thatâs all it isâthat youâll go back to cooking, or maybe take another taste for good measure. So when you repeat the motion, lifting the spatula again, he thinks nothing of it. At least not until you turn and extend it toward him.
He blinks, momentarily caught off guard, his gaze shifting from the spatula to your face, where youâre looking at him expectantly.
ââŚyou want me to have a taste?â he asks, almost dumbly. You nod.
Thereâs a brief pause before he leans forward slightly, accepting the offer without further question.
The moment it hits his tongue, everything else falls away.
The flavor is immediate and overwhelming in the best possible way, rich and layered and warm in a way that feels almost surrealâlike his senses werenât prepared for something like this and are now scrambling to catch up.
Itâs not just good. Itâsâ itâsâ
Ashveil stills.
For a second, he doesnât move, doesnât speak, doesnât even fully process that fact that heâs already swallowed, because his mind is too busy trying to reconcile how something so simple can taste like this.
If thereâs such a thing as paradiseâhe thinks distantlyâthen this must be it. Because wow.
âWhat do you think?â you ask, eyes bright with anticipation. âDo you like it?â
Like it? The thought echoes in his mind, almost incredulous. Like isnât even enough of a wordânot even close, not something that could possibly hold the weight of what he just tastedâbecause it feels like trying to contain something vast inside something far too small.
He loves it.
Itâs almost absurd, reallyâhow something can taste this good, how youâve managed to take what he already thought was the best meal heâd had in years and somehow surpass it. The first time he tasted your cooking, it had already felt like a rare exception, a one-time thing he wasnât expecting to experience again. And yet here you are, proving him wrong in the span of a single taste.
âI do,â he finally says, though even that feels like an understatement. Thereâs a brief pause before he exhales softly, something almost like disbelief slipping through.
âItâsâŚâ he starts, then stops, brows furrowing slightly as if heâs searching for the right word and finding none that quite fit. ââŚbetter than the last one.â
Which, considering everything, says more than it should.
âIs that even possibleâŚ?â he mutters, more to himself than you.
You fluster almost immediately under the weight of his attention, the way his gaze lingers making you take a small step back, a shy laugh slipping past your lips.
âIâm so happy you like this one as well!â you say, a little breathless, a little embarrassed, but unmistakably pleased. âI canât wait to finish cooking so you enjoy it in its full glory!â
Before Ashveil can respond, youâve already turned back to the stove, slipping right back into your rhythm like nothing happenedâlike his reaction didnât settle somewhere warm and lasting beneath your ribs.
His gaze drifts briefly to the pan, then back at you.
Me too, he muses.
He canât wait to eat.
Ashveil doesnât realize how much heâs eaten until thereâs barely anything left.
The plate in front of him is nearly empty, reduced to scattered remnants that wouldnât even qualify as a proper serving anymore. He leans back slightly, gaze lingering on whatâs left.
âŚRight. He could finish it. Easily.
The thought comes without hesitation because thereâs no doubt about itâif he wanted to, he could clear the plate in seconds. Thereâs no fullness weighing him down in any way, no real resistance from his body that would stop him. If anything, thereâs still that lingering pull, that subtle urge to keep going, to chase the taste just a little longer. Butâ
His eyes flick up briefly, landing on you. Youâre still eating, slower than he had been. He looks back at his plate.
Heâs already had three servings. Thatâs⌠more than enough. Without much ceremony, he sets his utensil down and nudges the plate just a fraction away from himself. Thatâs where it ends.
He knows he wants more. He also knows he doesnât need it. Andâmore importantlyâhe doesnât want to look greedy.
The thought is faintly amusing, enough that the corner of his mouth twitches just slightly. Itâs not something he usually concerns himself withâappearances, impressions, any of thatâbut here, now, sitting across from you with the aftertaste of something genuinely good still lingering on his tongue⌠It matters. A little.
Besides, you should eat too.
Eventually, the plates are cleared, the conversationâwhatever remains of itâsettles into something softer until it naturally reaches its end. Ashveil rises not long after, adjusting his grip on his cane as he prepares to leave.
âThank you for the meal,â he says, voice low but genuine. âIt was very good.â
That feels insufficient. It is insufficient. But for now, itâll have to do.
He turns toward the door, already expecting that to be the end of itâthe natural conclusion to something that, realistically, shouldnât have extended this far to begin with.
âWaitââ
He pauses mid-step. Thereâs a brief beat before he turns back, brows lifting ever so slightly in quiet question.
You hesitate, just for a second, before speaking. âDo you want to take some food home?â
Ashveil blinks. ââŚhome?â he echoes, like the concept needs a moment to settle.
You nod, already moving toward the kitchen. âThereâs still plenty left,â you explain, voice a little quicker now, like youâre trying to justify it before he can refuse. âAnd you said you liked it, so I figuredââ
âYou donât have to do that.â
You pause, glancing back at him.
âIâve already had more than enough,â he continues. âThree servings isââ he huffs lightly, almost amused under his breath, ââgenerous, to say the least.â
âThatâs fine,â you insist. âI made a lot on purpose.â
Thereâs no hesitation in your expression, no polite obligation dressed up as generosityâjust something straightforward and sincere, offered without expectation. It makes refusing feel unnecessarily difficult
ââŚstill,â he starts, though thereâs less conviction behind it now, âI donât want to impose.â
âYouâre not.â
Youâve already started packing the food before he can argue further, moving with that same easy decisiveness heâd noticed earlier, like this outcome had been decided the moment the thought crossed your mind.
ââŚalright,â he relents.
By the time you return, handing him the neatly packed container, he takes it without further protest, his fingers brushing briefly against yours in the exchange.
ââŚthank you,â he says.
You walk him to the door after that.
He adjusts the container in his hand, already calculating how long itâll last, how best to portion it, how Mister N will probablyâ
âYou can come back whenever, you know.â
Ashveil pauses.
âI donât mind cooking for you.â
He stills, before turning his head slightly, just enough to look at you.
You donât seem to think much of it. To you, itâs probably just a polite offerâsomething said out of kindness, out of habit, out of the same easy generosity that led you to hand him food in the first place. But to him, it doesnât land lightly.
Come back whenever.
Ashveilâs grip tightens around the container in his hand. He could brush it off. Treat it like nothing. Let it pass the same way most things do. That would be the easier option.
Exceptâ
ââŚIâll take you up on that offer.â
Š 2026 kominigiru.
end note: ashveil when he tasted mcâs cooking for the first time:
was aiming for this to be much longer but i kind of ??? lost my motivation writing halfway so ummmm yeah. sorry about that (?) !!!! my brain is on thesis mode and not fanfic writing mode rn unfortch đđ