sushi

▐ 𝐐𝐈𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐘 🪽

Facing the brimmed caps was no small occurrence to pass by. Especially since Qifrey had an unconditional hatred for them. With every bone in his body, he took every chance he could. Now that they were here in front of him, he wasted no time putting himself in danger.

As the situation got worse, Qifrey wasn’t prepared for another attack to happen. As soon as he realized he was about to get hit, time suddenly froze.

His whole body freezing, eyes widening, his blood boiling as he watched you taking the hit for him at the last minute. He swore he’d never want anyone he loved to get hurt. Not his apprentices, not Olruggio, and not you. Especially you. Screaming your name as you hit the ground with a thud. Racing to you as for once the brimmed caps weren’t his main priority anymore.

Why did you do it? You came only so late in the fight to jump in front of Qifrey because you knew if you didn’t, he would be terribly injured. Perhaps to the point of no recovery? It haunted your mind and so when you took the hit for him, it felt like your body was on fire. Feeling the warm sense of blood trickling down your nose to drip onto the ground.

Soon enough you felt a gentle pair of arms holding you. It was Qifrey, but your half lidded eyes could see how he shed tears for you. Although, you couldn’t sense how angry he was. Why did you jump in front of him?! He’d rather be more injured than you be completely safe and unscathed. Under that layer of trying to get you to the nearest hospital and whispering that you’ll be okay. His blood was boiling underneath.

“It’s alright, my love, you’ll be okay. I promise this will never happen to you. It’s all my fault, it’s all my fault…” Qifrey put his head down as he spoke to you in a softly spoken manner.

Thank goodness he got you to the hospital on time. Qifrey made sure to double check that the brimmed caps didn’t follow you two. Immediately he had to get you two out of that situation before they could strike again.

As you laid on the hospital bed, your hand interlocked with his. You looked tired but deep down you were happy that he wasn’t once the brink of death. If he were to die, you would never forgive yourself but the same was to you as well in his eyes.

What did matter though was that both of you were alive. Yes you two had to get medical treatment but as long as you and Qifrey were alive, thats all that mattered.

▐ 𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐄𝐒 🪽

Despite Easthies being one of the Knights or Moralis and you being a witch. You two still managed to make things work and have a steady relationship. Of course it wasn’t perfect nor did everyone know about it, but as long as you were happy, so was he.

One day out of the many, you were involved with a situation where the Knights of Moralis were called. Of course you had no part of the forbidden magic that occurred but it was nearby where you were. Therefore, it was only reasonable to check it out. After all, there were also other witches at the scene.

Once they arrived, one of them gave the run down. Of course everyone was checked for forbidden magic on them. You as well but of course had no problem doing so. Easthies checked you yourself. As much as you wanted to kiss him, you knew PDA wasn’t his specialty. Stepping back once done. It was only seconds before disaster struck.

After everyone was checked, Easthies was planning to report this to the Great Hall in advanced, since it’s expected of him whenever forbidden magic occurred outside the Great Hall. However, as soon as the knights were about to make their departure, a fast, sharp attack passed through the trees and hit you without having the chance to react.

Panic arose and immediately become became on guard. Some witches were with their apprentices who passed the second test and some alone. Some went to where the attack came from, some fled as they thought since the Knights of Moralis were here and it was better to find a doctor nearby than stay after all it was safer to leave, and you hit the ground as blood trickled down your mouth.

Witches weren’t aloud to learn or understand medicine. There were no doctors nearby at the fragile moment. While most of the knights bolted towards the direction of the attack. Easthies immediately went to you. His nerves shot. Was the attack meant for him? The moment he was close to you, seconds later the attack was set off. Did you protect him and became a shield while he wasn’t looking?

He didn’t know what to say. You were slowly bleeding out and had to get medicine emergency immediately. He trusted the members in his squad to take care of the issue. Just for today before picking you up in his arms. Assuring you everything with be okay as you rested your head on his chest.

The hospital air was quiet and almost suffocating for him. His silence was worse than his stern voice he could make out when upset. However, this truly hit him deep. You were bed ridden for the rest of the week and hospitalized for a few days. What struck you crashed your nerves and caused trouble inside your body. Now fragile and weak at the moment, you could only open your eyes to see your beloved beside you. Raw emotions threatening to spill like water breaking through rocks.

“Easthies…” You looked up at him, he refused to look back at you until you grabbed his hand gently.

“It wasn’t your fault. Not at all. Please don’t beat yourself up for it.” Your voice slightly changed in a more weakened tone, your thumb rubbing gently against his hand for silent comfort.

“I promise from now on, I will never let anything like this happen to you again. I forbid it.” He spoke in a sharp but emotional tone. Bringing your hand to his lips. Nothing like this will happen again, as long as he’s alive.

▐ 𝐎𝐋𝐑𝐔𝐆𝐆𝐈𝐎 🪽

You were happily able to join Olruggio in helping out a group of civilians who needed help nearby. If was just you and him which made it more fun since you felt like you haven’t been spending a lot of time with each other recently.

Once getting to the scene, it was dark but thankfully the civilians had light so you and him were able to see better. Apparently a little girl had gotten stuck along with a wagon near a cliff and the people were too scared to do something while preventing it to fall and hit rock bottom.

It was risky but you and Olruggio were prepared for these kinds of situations. You two didn’t past the fourth test for nothing. Therefore, you both went into action. You were in charge of the girl while Olruggio was in charge of the wagon. The only downside of it was it was at night and even with the torches, it was hard to see still.

As Olruggio drew a spell in secret to lift the wagon, you went in to search for the girl. Looking left and right, you soon found her curled up. Scooping her in your arms. All you had to do was just get out of the wagon, however, as soon as you were about to. Due to the storage and items inside the wagon, they moved the same direction you were at. Since the wagon tilted, it only took just a little angle for it to come sliding down.

When you noticed the storage came your way, you felt a sharp item pierce through your clothing and skin. Choking up before you threw yourself and the child onto the ground before the wagon moved onto safer grounds. Olruggio noticed a thin piece of wood piercing through you just barley.

As the child ran to her parents, Olruggio flew immediately to your rescue. You felt your nerves shot as you instinctively moved to Olruggio. However, his hands held you back to prevent anymore dangerous movement.

“Olruggio….please help me..” You gasped sharply as you felt a sting of pain hit you. Olruggio cursed before he slowly held you in his arms. Carefully not to move you so much. He had to get you to a hospital as soon as possible. Since the civilians were okay and both their wagon and the child were safe, he made a quick goodbye before leaving.

Once you two were at the hospital, you went through tiresome medical treatment and Olruggio stood outside the room, waiting to see you again. Fuck. How was that piece of wood able to just pierce through you that easily? Was it because of the heavy weight behind it that it simply just pushed its way in? Either way, Olruggio was mad at himself for it happening.

Once you were stable, Olruggio apologized multiple times throughout the day. It was weird to witness but such a simple mission turned into you getting hurt badly. If you didn’t receive medical attention soon, who knows what could’ve happened! Giving you a kiss on the forehead, did he wish for your forgiveness.

▐ @/SOVEREIGNTYANGEL 🪽 ，sorry if they’re any grammar issues!

♡ 𝒟𝒾𝓋𝒾𝒹ℯ𝓇：@/cursed-carmine

You watched your hand quiver before you could finish the magic circle, you paused for a moment then stared at your work. Staring at the wobbly and unfinished work made you enraged, it wasn’t perfect, it wasn’t good enough. Your wobbly hand incidentally let your grip on the pen loosen.

“Your hand, dear. It's slipping.” Qifrey’s soft voice snapped you out of the trance, his other hand gently guided your hand but his ‘unwanted’ assistance made you snap. “I know!”

The white haired male was startled, his spectacles slightly sliding down the bridge of his nose.

Noticing this, you stammered and looked away, “I’m sorry. I- I’m just… frustrated right now,” Tears glazed your eyes, it eventually became too much as small drops of tears escaped the floodgates.

“I don’t understand what’s wrong with me.” You swallowed hard, your torso slowly becoming more erratic and frustrated with your own incompetence. “I was doing so well months ago. Why am I messing up now?”

“You’re blaming yourself too harshly.” Qifrey’s smile was tired but steady, his hand gently caressing your knuckles.

“My strokes aren’t perfect. My hands are shaky. The placement of the symbols isn’t balanced, and-” You broke off, your voice cracking with each word, as your fingers instinctively held onto your pen tighter.

“Look at me,” he urged gently, as the white-haired male guided your face to face him to stare into his calm ocean hues, that were nothing like your eyes that were filled with angry, nothing like your current state.

You looked away as your scarred hands reflexively turned into a fist, the pen completely discarded, you were ashamed of what you had become. “Qifrey, I can’t do it.”

“You’re not alone in this,” he reminded you then smoothed out your hair. “Please. Let me help you.”

Tears blurred your vision as words hurriedly spilled out of your lips. “My hands are trembling. I can’t draw a straight line. Ever since that fire, I’ve lost- I can’t be good- better-” You hiccuped between the words, your chest heaving hard as though each word choked you. “Ever since that stupid fire, I’ve lost everything. My hands, my ability to draw- my magic.”

“Dear, listen to me.” He reached for your hand but stayed careful and calm, a strong contrast to the current state you were in. “This is different because your hands were burned. You have to give them time. Relearn the motions slowly, the old‑fashioned way.”

“I’m holding onto hope,” you whispered “But it’s slipping through my fingers. I just can't help but wish I could skip all the pain...”

“I know.” His voice went soft, edged with regret as if he carried some of the blame. “I’m sorry it had to be like this.”

You blinked back more tears, your chest heavy from the burden of losing your ability as a witch. “Besides, how do we move forward when I keep dragging the past?”

He shook his head gently as he pressed both their foreheads against one another, “We move forward together. One careful step at a time.”

➢ "Reblog to support your favorite writer" belong to @/benkeibear

➢ taglist: @eveningatthemoviesnetwork

“the lying, qifrey… the secrets—!” 

at the rise of your tone, qifrey swiftly brings a hand to cover your mouth, and the thought of waking the girls from their sleep quickly reels you back. it hits you that he’s close like this, and you almost wish you could pause time. to be able to feel the heat on your skin not from the fire, but from his own skin. the almost-wish aches your being. 

you pull his hand away from your mouth but don’t let go. qifrey doesn’t either. and your tone is still just as hard as before when you whisper,

“i can tell something is going on. i just do not know what. i can see that it is eating away at you, qifrey. i want to help. we want to help. please, won’t you tell us? me?”

the more you push with your words, the more you lean into his frame, your face now mere inches from his. it seems that your pleas might’ve struck a chord within the white-haired man, as his hand softens against your cheek, your own palming over it.

the saturation in his eye glistens, yet he defeatedly looks away from your persistent gaze. the definitive action makes your skin prickle.

a man as kind as him would be equally as stubborn. his tender hands have always felt so heavy in more ways than one. with what weight, you truly didn’t know. he wouldn’t let you know. you feel a sting in your nose, a sadness in your chest as a tear slips from your eye. it trails down to where your finger overlays his on your cheek.

at the sight, qifrey inhales audibly through his nose. he looks so torn that it haunts you, makes you close your eyes in dejection—

—just as you feel two soft lips press onto yours. 

your eyes blow wide open at the sensation, his kiss stifling the noise of surprise that tries to leave you. 

qifrey gently brings his other palm up, cushioning your face with both hands, but he only keeps his lips pressed onto yours—unmoving, firm. you squint your eyes in surrender as you return the kiss with equal pressure, tasting the salts of your shed tear.

this is unlike him. unlike you. after all these years, the line between friend and something closer has never felt more blurred until now. he’s never spoken of his feelings. you’ve never spoken yours. but maybe, this was the confession you needed, through all the worry and uncertainty he’s caused you.

the realization could make you cry, because it could never be any more than this.

the hearth crackles. 

it pops with every fiery splitting of the wood, with every step qifrey takes forward, and you backwards. he pushes and pushes and pushes, his stride gentle and unrelenting as always. but there’s a particular desperation to the way his hands cradle your face—rigid fingers that yearn to melt into your skin, yet hold back. the way that he doesn’t pause even as you both draw away with each needed breath taken, his lips moving forward to capture yours again after every inhale.

it makes you tug at his shirt, the tight black fabric that adorns him silk underneath your fingers. qifrey pushes, and you pull. the gasp that escapes him when your tongue dances with his only fuels you further—makes the desire swell low in your gut.

you want him closer. closer. to crawl underneath that skin-tight fabric of his and live in between his ribs. to revel in making him gasp and chase without this sudden fear that he’ll pull away spiking in your bones. his lips are warm, mingled breaths hot as your hand reverently travels up his chest, feeling his body tremble at the intimate touch. 

your fingers come to pull at the hair at his nape, then urge his head closer—his mouth deeper, unknowingly reaching for his cheek to hold him like he holds you.

sinking. you think you’re sinking, and that qifrey might be too, when suddenly, he draws back in alarm. his hand snatches your hovering wrist and forcibly pins it to the wall behind you, restricting any movement. your eyes snap open to meet his own that swarms with horror.

you’re speechless. not even a wonder of how you two got to the wall crosses your mind, just pure defenseless overtaking every thought. completely taken off-guard by the anxiety seeping from qifrey’s gaze and the hard set line of his lips that was just on yours a second ago. the temperature in the room drops astronomically despite the fire going—chills traveling up your spine at the almost cold look marring his features.

“… qifrey?” you ask quietly, tentatively, unable to tear away from his eye contact. his face towers over yours, close and almost frightening. you’ve never felt so close, yet so far away from him.

qifrey blinks once, twice, then loosens his iron grip on your wrist. your arm barely moves from its position, rigidly breaking off the wall and suspended in the air as if still registering the lightning-abrupt motion.

in fact, you’re still registering what just happened.

“w-what’s wrong?” you attempt to gather your thoughts. “are you—?”

“i apologize,” he says. the statement makes your heart sink to your stomach. 

“…what for?”

“we cannot do this. i apologize for my rash behavior.”

you’re not sure what kind of expression twists over your features. confusion? anger? disappointment? all of the above? whatever it is, and try as you might, you can’t hide how gutted you feel. and you guess it satisfies qifrey in some sickening way because he smiles.

qifrey smiles sorrowfully, with a lifetime full of grief you can never come to understand. you feel another pang hit your chest as his beautiful azure eye shines down on you, his eyebrow downturned miserably. you want to smooth out the wrinkle—to take away his pain.

because underneath the witch’s cloak, you know what kind of man he is. someone who is soft, kind. someone who you wish you could embrace and protect just as much as he cares for others.

what wills him to deflect like this?

from this angle, his shadow completely encases you, no longer a fiery glint reflecting off the gold rims of his spectacles. 

you really can’t stop the urge when you ask, quiet and heavy,

“are you not tired of running away?”

qifrey cocks his head just slightly, his white hair swaying with the motion, but never revealing his right eye. it never does. his left eye pins you frozen to your spot.

and longingly, he whispers, “i…”

hope courses through your veins as qifrey reaches for your face again, only to pause right before making contact, fingers twitching as if you were something unattainable. as if touching you was something he wasn’t allowed to do. you want to tell him it is possible. you wait and wish for him to take the plunge, for him to push again. 

he doesn’t.

qifrey pulls away, and in an unsettlingly light voice, he responds, “as long as you keep looking at me that way, everything will be fine.”

what way? in pain?

how in the world would that make everything fine?

your body is still tight with tension as qifrey slowly backs away, the light of the fire finally brightening your vision. words die in your throat, and you can still feel the tingle on your lips.

(oh, how hopelessly in love you are with him.)

qifrey speaks again. just as soft. just as defeated. “i apologize. i cannot give you an answer to your questions. for your sake—”

he’s quiet, but you hear his final words as he walks away. it makes you bite your lips in helplessness, face dropping to the ground as hot tears run down your cheeks.

“—and for mine.”

the hearth burns, anguishly.

As a teacher, a mentor, and someone who carried the burdens of others on his shoulders, he liked to think he was above such petty emotions. Yet every time he saw you laughing with your longtime friend, something uncomfortable twisted in his chest. The two of you had known each other for years before he entered your life, and that history showed in the effortless way you spoke together. You would finish each other's sentences, exchange inside jokes, and stand just a little too close for Qifrey's liking. He hated himself for noticing. Whenever he caught sight of you smiling at them, he would immediately look away, telling himself he had no right to feel possessive. Still, the thought lingered. They know parts of you I don't. They were here before me. The realization left him feeling strangely small, a feeling he despised because it was so unfamiliar.

Before either of you confessed your feelings, those emotions only grew stronger. Qifrey found himself paying attention whenever your friend was mentioned. If you were late to meet him and casually explained you'd been spending time with them, his smile would remain perfectly polite while disappointment settled heavily in his stomach. He never voiced it. Instead, he convinced himself that your happiness was what mattered. But late at night, when the world was quiet and he was alone with his thoughts, doubts would creep in. What if you cared for your friend in a way you didn't care for him? What if the affection he was desperately trying to hide was doomed from the start? He would replay every interaction, every touch on your shoulder, every laugh shared between the two of you. It wasn't anger he felt. It was fear. Fear that his feelings were one-sided. Fear that someone else already occupied the place in your heart he secretly longed for.

When you finally became a couple, Qifrey thought those insecurities would disappear. Instead, they simply changed shape. Now he had proof that you loved him, yet that old jealousy occasionally resurfaced whenever your friend was around. He hated how irrational it made him feel. During gatherings, he'd watch you chatting with them and feel a faint sting in his chest. Not because he doubted you, but because he couldn't stop comparing himself. Your friend knew your childhood stories. They knew your embarrassing moments, your habits, the little details from years before Qifrey met you. Sometimes he wondered if he would ever catch up to that history. He'd stand quietly beside you, smiling through conversations while his thoughts churned beneath the surface. Then guilt would follow immediately afterward. They're important to you. Why can't I simply accept that? The conflict exhausted him.

You noticed long before he admitted anything. One evening, after your friend had left following a visit, you found Qifrey unusually quiet. When you gently pressed him about it, he tried to dismiss it at first. But eventually the words slipped out. He confessed how insecure he sometimes felt, how he couldn't help envying the bond you shared with someone who had known you for so long. The moment the admission left his mouth, he looked embarrassed. His shoulders sagged slightly, and he couldn't quite meet your eyes. "I know it's foolish," he murmured. "I trust you completely. I just..." He struggled for the right words. "I wish I had been there for those years too." Hearing that vulnerability from someone who always appeared so composed made your heart ache. You reached for his hand, squeezing it firmly. Then you told him something he desperately needed to hear: your friend had your past, but Qifrey had your present and your future. No one else occupied the place he did.

The relief on his face was immediate, though subtle. His eyes softened, and the tension he'd been carrying seemed to melt away beneath your touch. When you leaned against him, he wrapped his arms around you with unusual tenderness, holding you as though reassuring himself that you were truly there. In that moment, the jealousy wasn't completely gone, but it no longer felt frightening. It was simply another piece of his love for you—messy, imperfect, and deeply human. He buried his face in your hair and listened to the steady rhythm of your heartbeat. For once, the comparisons faded from his mind. Your friend might have shared countless years with you, but they weren't the one standing here now. They weren't the one you chose every day. And as you smiled up at him and pressed a kiss to his cheek, Qifrey felt warmth spread through his chest. Not because he had won some imaginary competition, but because he finally understood that love was not measured by who came first. It was measured by who stayed.

It all started with a stupid laugh. 

He'd been sitting in the cafeteria, stealing fries from Mydei's tray while pretending not to, when he heard it.

A loud, carefree sound that seemed to drown all noise around him. 

It was just curiosity at first that led him to look up. 

And there you were with your friends, head thrown back. Laughing so hard that you nearly spilled your drink.

He gulped.

And looked away.

The next day that 'carefree' image shattered completely.

Which somehow made everything worse.

He was walking across campus when he heard shouting. A crowd had formed near one of the buildings.

Curiosity won again.

He pushed through the sea of people and froze when he reached the clearing.

It was you.

Right in the center, hand gripped tightly around a boy's collar.

"I dare you to say that again." you spat, lowering your hand to throw a punch at his stomach.

The boy groaned in pain, apologizing and begging for you to let him go.

Around you, people gasped. Some recorded on their phones. Others whispered among themselves.

But you only laughed, eyes wild with maniac anger.

Your friends had to physically drag you backward.

And somehow, 

Somehow... 

Phainon walked away with an even bigger crush than before.

Because apparently his heart was defective.

After that he started noticing you everywhere.

The library. The hallways. The courtyard. The gym.

Everywhere.

Sometimes you'd pass each other. Sometimes your eyes would meet.

Neither of you would say anything.

Just a glance.

Then another.

Then another.

Months passed like that. Eventually the eye contact became normal. Expected even.

He'd see you.

You'd see him.

A second.

Two seconds.

Then move on.

He felt he was part of those cringe highschool romance movies. The kind with dramatic music and slow-motion eye contact.

It was embarrassing.

So Phainon turned reckless.

The next day your eyes met...

He smiled.

Nothing weird. (at least he hoped not) 

Just a small upturn of his lips directed solely at you. It seemed innocent, but his heart was desperately hammering inside his ribs.

The second he did it, regret hit him like a truck.

Because what if that was weird?

What if he'd imagined everything?

What if—

You looked away sharply. Not even a glance.

Phainon immediately fell to the floor, almost on the verge of tears. "Oh, I'm fucked."

The next day he saw you again.

His expectations were already buried six feet underground.

Then you looked at him. And after a moment of hesitation, you waved.

Just waved.

Phainon spent the entire night celebrating like he'd won a national award.

After that, he figured the crush would stay exactly where it belonged.

A harmless memory. Something he'd look back and laugh. 

He was content with your smile. It became something he looked forward to every morning.

However...

That fantasy came crashing down when several months afterward, you walked up to him holding a sketchbook.

"Can I draw you?" you asked, a blank look on your face.

For a moment, his brain stopped functioning.

Phainon simply stared. It was the first time he had heard your voice so close. A voice only for him to hear.

So of course he replied without a second thought.

"Sure!"

Bad idea.

An absolutely catastrophic decision.

You had taken him into a lone classroom, warm sunlight spilled through the open windows and a soft breeze blew the white curtains adrift.

The atmosphere looked like the beginning of a confession scene.

Very romantic right?

WRONG.

Because right at the center of the room was a tall wooden stool.

"Sit right there," you pointed. "And strip."

Apparently, what you actually meant was that you wanted to study anatomy for a drawing.

A completely normal explanation.

One that somehow did not make him feel any better.

"You only need to remove your shirt," you added while unpacking pencils from your bag. "Nothing else."

Yeah, like that made it any better.

Phainon sighed but relented anyway. Saying no wasn't exactly an option.

Not when it was you asking.

He approached the stool, running a finger along the edge, before sitting on it.

"Here goes nothing then." he hooked his fingers under his purple shirt and pulled upward. The movement was slow, almost hesitant, before the whole thing was off his body and discarded onto the floor.

Cool air brushed against his skin.

He glanced at you, waiting for some sort of reaction.

You barely looked up.

Instead, you focused entirely on your paper.

"Should I pose or something?" the boy asked hesitantly, tilting his head.

"Mhm." you hummed, pencil already tracing down the paper.

Phainon gulped. Then reluctantly attempted to copy what he vaguely remembered seeing in Aglea's fashion magazines.

"Let's see..." he gripped the corner of the stool with one hand, leaning back and spreading his legs. The other hand rested on his thigh, his gaze tilted to the side. "Is this good?" he asked.

No response came for a moment.

"Yeah." was all you said.

Then he heard the soft scratch of pencil against paper. From the corner of his eye, he could barely make out your figure, but he felt your gaze all the same. It lingered on him with unsettling patience, tracing every line and shadow as though committing them to memory.

He felt terribly exposed like this. As if he was showcasing every shameful feeling that lingered in heart.

He hated it. He hated how he could be half naked yet still feel so cold. 

Months of longing weighed heavily inside his chest, dense and impossible to ignore. Every glance from you only seemed to make it worse.

And meanwhile, you sat there, calm and focused, your expression unreadable.

It was almost insulting.

The sharp sound of tearing paper cut through his thoughts. His gaze flicked up just in time to see a page slip loose and drift lazily to the floor.

"You can change poses." 

He wanted more.

He wanted a reaction. Any reaction. 

He wanted proof that he affected you. 

He wanted to linger in your thoughts. To interrupt your concentration. To become impossible to ignore.

He wanted you to feel the same parasitic suffocation.

And so he got up.

"I think it'd help if you could see properly." he didn't even wait for your permission.

His fingers reached down to the zipper of his pants.

"Uh-?" your eyes widened.

Phainon slowly pulled on the slider of the zipper, the sound seeming far louder than it should have in the quiet room.

Fabric rustled. Somewhere behind you, the clock continued its steady ticking, yet even that seemed distant now, swallowed by the heavy silence stretching between you. 

He let the discarded layers fall where they may, careless and unbothered, as if his heart wasn't beating wildly in his chest.

"Well?" he asked quietly. The corner of his mouth curved upward. "Is this better?"

He wasn't fully naked, he had some semblance of shame left after all.

You however, were frozen in place, pencil hovering over the paper before it dropped.

"Oh..." you stumbled over your words, the sound feeling like victory to the blue haired boy.

You bent forward slightly in your chair, reaching for the pencil that had rolled too far from your grasp. 

But as you did, your gaze slipped—almost against your will. 

Your eyes traced line of his legs first. The stillness in the way he sat, as though he had decided that movement itself was optional now.

Then higher, where tension gathered in subtle shifts of muscle and posture, like he was holding himself together through sheer will alone. 

Phainon shuddered. You weren't even trying to hide your stare.

You let out a shaky sigh as you settled back onto your chair, as though nothing unusual had happened at all.

"Stay like that then..." you muttered, turning to the paper for a second before glancing back at him.

This time, your focus lingered higher, on his chest. On the way each muscle shaped his body. Memorizing the shape, the colour before copying the same on the paper in front of you.

Your gaze trailed lower again. To his waist, tracing the curve in your mind. 

Soon, the stares become longer than the actual drawing. 

Phainon was not stupid, it was plain to see what you were doing.

Just as you studied him, his eyes traced you in return. Every small movement you made felt suddenly too loud in the silence. 

The faint tremor in your hands as you adjusted your grip on the pencil. The way your shoulders tightened when you focused too hard. The absent motion of your tongue brushing your lips every few seconds.

He watched how you folded one leg over another, pressing tightly as if you felt uncomfortable bound by the constraints of the fabric. His teeth pressed into his lower lip at the sight, a small, restrained motion that betrayed more than he intended. 

The game of pretend went on for long.

Finally you tore the paper from the top of your book. "I'm done. Thank you."

Phainon blinked, as if brought back from a daze. "Oh... That's nice."

He got up from the stool, trying to ignore the obvious protrusion of his boxers and prayed you wouldn't notice.

"Can I see it?" he asked politely as he approached you. Honestly, he just wanted to stand near you. Perhaps if he could feel the warmth that clung to you, the restlessness in his heart would finally settle.

"Uh?! That's not-!" Your face flared red instantly as you bent down, scooping the papers off the floor and pressing them protectively to your chest.  "No thank you..."

"..."

'That's an intense reaction.' he thought.

"Why not? I want to see how I look." He stopped beside your stool, close enough that the space between you felt intentional. Waiting for you.

But you shook your head quickly, clutching the papers tighter.

He blinked.

You stared back.

"What's that?" Phainon suddenly pointed at something behind you. You flinched slightly and turned.

The moment your gaze shifted, he yanked the papers from your hand.

"HEY!?" You pushed up from your chair, but his hand settled on your shoulder before you could fully stand, firm enough to keep you there without force. 

"Now, now," he said lightly, almost amused. "What’s the hurry?"

He lifted the pages above his head with an easy grin, watching you like he already knew you weren’t actually angry. 

"I wanna see how beautiful I look in your eyes."

You groaned.

When Phainon looked at the drawing, he froze.

It wasn't some masterpiece of a drawing. Heck, it wasn't a drawing at all. Only random lines and scribbles were etched on the paper.

Not him, not anything else. Just random bullshit.

"... Surprise?" you offered weakly, forcing a smile. "I'm not an art student... I just..." your voice faltered.

Oh.

Oh.

Phainon let the papers fall from his hands as he turned his gaze towards you.

"You... just?"

So you weren’t as composed as you pretended to be. That realization alone was enough to curl something satisfied in his chest.

His lips curved before he could stop it. 

"I just wanted to..." you started, then stalled almost immediately, eyes dropping away from his. 

Phainon slowly leaned closer. His hand found the back of your chair, bracing there. "Hm?" he murmured, voice quieter now, almost coaxing. "What is it, (Y/N)?"

"Well I... -" you took a breath, but paused when you felt one of his hands moving up your shirt. His touch feeling cool to your already burning skin.

You let out a shaky breath.

"Go on then?" his lips brushed against your ear as he whispered.

"I just..." Your voice faltered again. Like a broken cassette, stuck on the same fragile loop, refusing to play anything else. 

You moaned slightly when you felt his tongue teasing the shell of your ear.

"I think you need more practice to get better, right? " his warm breath caused a shiver down your spine.

He laughed when you nodded slowly.

"Maybe... I should strip even more then."

Fin

LMAOOO UH THIS IS THE FIRST TIME IVE WRITTEN SMTHING LIKE THIS SO IM SURE ITS A BIT...WEIRD BUT I TRIED.

ANOTHER ADDITION TO MY PHAINON OBSSESSION LETS GO! i really should stop writing about him.....