#district99

you rolled your eyes in bemusement, "and you have? what happened to not involving yourself with 'pitiful, mongering barbarian?""

"your marriage has been decided," he stated sternly. he set his utensils with force enough to rattle the entire table as he raised his head like he always did when someone challenged his authority as a duke. "you are to be wed to vice-captain lohen." a tired sigh escaped him, a gloved hand pinched between his brows as he heard you stand from your seat and dash out the dining room. "arranged marriages aren't all so bad, [name]!"

"not all bad, you say?!" you shouted from across the corridor. "take a look at your relationship with mother before you say that!"

your family arrived in mondstadt at dawn. the trip to dorman port was as you expected—humid, and all too bright in comparison to the snow of snezhnaya. the people smiled often, too, you noticed. well, you supposed this was the land of freedom after all. you're quite tempted to see where the winds would take you when all you've grown up with are the blizzards and snowstorms that knock at your windows like an incessant friend who can't take no for an answer.

still, despite your curiosity about what the wild berries in the bushes would taste like, you willed your feet to stay rooted at the docks. your father greeted everyone as usual; your mother hid half her face in disdain behind her fan. like you, she had a lot to say about the weather, but you doubt she'd sugarcoat any unpleasant comments she had. people have told you that you took after her the most — too straightforward, too quippy, too wild to be a duke's heir.

"and you must be the duke's heir," a voice commented. you snapped your head up to the noise and realized, in mortification, that you had to crane your neck to even meet his eyes. you grip the silk of your apparel in alarm. "i'm varka. knight of boreas, grandmaster of the knight of favonious!"

the grandmaster pressed a closed fist to his chest, a grin plastered on his face as he bowed his head. "from now on, you will be in our care. if you encounter any problems, please don't hesitate to inform me. or lohen."

lohen.

you wondered what he's like.

as varka stood back to his full height, he offered you a hand to guide you to the horse you'll be riding to the city. "the roads are treacherous here, your grace. using a carriage will only lengthen the time to get to the city." he had explained earlier when your mother had complained at the lack of proper transportation. you sighed in dismay when she threw another hissy fit, your father right behind her as he guided her onto the horse, gathering the many layers of her gown. he was probably chastising her for not heeding his warnings. you turned around and let varka lift you to the saddle (and when i say lift, i mean lift. the man even had the audacity to laugh and ask if you were eating properly.)

you tuned out the rest of mother's tantrum in favor of soaking in the sights of your new home. it was… starkly different. you could actually see the path, albeit it was… unrecognizable; wild flowers bloomed from the soil, and small critters would gather atop rock formations to tilt their heads at you. when you thought no one was looking, you gave them a small wave. a smile bloomed on your face when the small squirrel jumped in delight before scurrying away with its friend.

"you're quite the charmer, your highness." you turned to your left and watched as varka reign his horse slow it's pace and match yours. his sky-lit eyes eventually fell on the mount you had been riding, a low whistle escaping his lips. "that horse you're riding is infamous for throwing off any rider that touches his saddle."

you feel your anxiety spike, quickly looked down to your horse before you calmed down. "you should've said that earlier, grandmaster…"

he laughed, hearty and whole. like the feeling of joy existed in the air that wafted in the surroundings and encompassed the space of his lungs. "ha, ha, ha! i heard rumors about you being blessed by mother nature herself, your highness! ah, forgive me. i know i shouldn't indulge in such rumors but the moment you had stepped off that boat, i had a feeling you were special."

you blinked up at him (cursing the very obvious gap in your heights in your mind) and couldn't stop yourself from asking, "why is vice-captain lohen here?"

there's a shift in the air. subtle, almost as if it never happened to begin with. but you saw it. the way varka's eyes widened for just a fraction, how they looked at anything but you, and how he changed the subject faster than any warning of an avalanche you've heard.

the trip to the main gates was spent in silence after that. you didn't dare to ask the question again, or even bring up your fiancé's name. afraid of the suffocation the knights would have to endure as the words fell from your lips.

lohen. you trialed in your mind. it was short enough to remember, but unique in a way you've only ever heard it once. lohen. you looked up to the sky, the day had barely passed despite it feeling like you've travelled through half of teyvat already. when the sun peeked around it's shield of clouds, you wondered where your fiancé was.

mondstadt was welcoming. welcoming enough for your father — all up-tight, and no funny business — to indulge in a few rounds of beer in a quaint bar in a corner. "it's angel's share," you're mother informed, already half-way through her glass of champagne when she found you in a dark corner on the second floor. "owned by the most sought after bachelor in mondstadt — diluc ragnvindr."

"if he's so sought after, why wasn't he a candidate?" you asked, swirling the apple cider in your glass.

"naive child, i've told you numerous times already. he could have been, if you hadn't burned his letter in the fireplace like a fool."

ah, now you remembered. you were high on emotions that night and the thought of leaving home with a man you didn't know sent you into a spiralling tantrum that ended with you burning the stacks of marriage proposals on your father's desk. you distinctively remembered a burgundy envelope and an owl seal amongst them.

you took a careful peek at your mother who had dropped herself on the seat in front of you, much to your disdain. when she clicked her tongue, you took it as your cue to let your gaze fall like it always had in her presence.

"because of your foolish mistake, you're stuck with this half-witted, war-mongering vice-captain."

"'warn mongering'?" you asked.

she rolled her eyes at you, drinking the remaining champagne and slammed the delicate glass in front of you. "the boy is a monster, [name]." she said, "that lohen is unbecoming. i can't wrap my mind around how he, of all people was accepted into the knights."

the way she said lohen's name — as if the very letters seared her tongue and offended her existence — made something churn in your stomach. you didn't know him, you reminded yourself, there's no point in defending him. in fact, with varka's prior reaction to you questioning his whereabouts, you're left with little but too much all the same; lohen was someone distasteful to be around.

"are you even listening to me, [name]?!" your mother rattled, "listen to me, dear archons above what have i done to deserve such a disobedient child—"

you stood from your seat, the legs of your chair dragging across the floors before it dropped with a painfully loud thud. chatter paused, songs finished abruptly, and you simply smiled. "i'm tired, i'll be retiring for the day." you excused yourself from the others, bolting to the stairs, only to be stopped when the grandmaster weaved himself between you and the exit.

"now, your highness, you can't leave yet!" he said, one hand still holding a wooden mug of beer.

you raised a brow at him, your patience growing thin when he continues to block your path regardless of what step you took. "grandmaster," you warned. "please, step aside."

but he only shook his head, a finger scratched his chin while his eyes darted across the many faces in the bar. "y-you can't!"

"and why not?"

"because… um… you see, we were, um…"

while he was busy thinking fo an excuse, you sent out a silent prayer to the tsaritsa that barbatos doesn't smite you for landing a blow on one of his knights (though calling it a blow would be an exaggeration when the grandmaster was double, if not triple your body mass). at best, you had landed a strong enough blow to his side to tickle, tickle, him to drop his guard and wheeze out of your way.

finally! you thought. you were almost free from this stuffy, beer-stinking room!

but as you opened the door, a force from the other side pulled it forward, taking you along with it. everyone gasped, and you shut your eyes to brace for the impact, already imagining the scolding you were about to receive if even a single scratch were to grace your face. but it never came.

instead, heavy and dirtied hands caught you by the forearms as your face planted into someone's uniform stained with blood. you stayed there for a moment longer than what would be considered necessary.

"well, ain't this a lovely first meeting, your highness!"

you felt the blood drain from your face as you realized who you had just fallen into. with a heavy sigh and grumbled curses, you lift your head enough to catch a glimpse of a face that did not match the tone of his voice. his eyes were something straight out of a fairytale, but it's not what you'd describe as "princely" or even a "knight" — they had no light, like never-ending, encompassing pool of carmine that bleeds into the sky.

your mother was right, lohen was a monster.

"what? do i have something on my face?" he asked, and you're mortified to realize that you had been caught staring right into a rabbit hole of his gaze. the pads of his gloves dragged from your forearms down to cup your palms — gentle, sure. you think you can feel the callouses from how he uses his weapons, and yet… "you okay there? i'm starting to think i'm not the only delusional one here." he joked with a chuckle under his breath.

"excuse me?"

"just a joke! no need to be offended, your highness," he assured you, but it did little to quell the somersaults that your stomach continued to perform. his skin was pale, maybe as pale as the snow back at home, and there's a single guiding star beneath the right of his eye. his mouth moved, and you thought what he said was funny when the other patrons laughed. but you didn't hear it. not when your hand, the one your father swore would never know the feeling of blood, dragged a thumb over the bleeding scratch that etched his cheekbone down to the side of his chin.

"what a wound. it must be painful," you muttered before a familiar condensation of dendro energy pooled at where the blood continued to stain his cheeks. "hold still," you asked, and against everyone's expectations, lohen did as you asked. he stood still, very still. when half of the wound had closed, you began to wonder if he was even breathing.

when his cheek was fully healed, only then did you finally breathe out a sigh of relief. noticing how the room had gone quiet, you became acutely aware how little distance was left between you and the vice-captain. with reddening cheeks, you let out a cough into your first, and stepped back. the warmth of his hold left a scalding trail on your skin that raised the hairs yet left you wanting for more, all the same.

lohen stumbled back, too. a hand clumsily tugging at the collar of his uniform, before both hands dusted down his shirt, cursing when he realized blood had managed to stain the spot you had planted your face in. when your eyes met again, you noticed the obvious flustering of his cheeks. it contrasted nicely against his pale, snow-stricken complexion. and it made the blush that crept up his ears all the more obvious.

your staring context was broken when you hear a snort from behind you. your head whipped to see the culprit, only to find varka ducking his head down just as you glared at him. he waved a hand in apology, setting his cup of beer down the counter, and going past you just to stand besides lohen.

"your highness, allow me to introduce to you the vice-captain of the knight's fifth company." a heavy hand was placed on his shoulders, and your eyes met again. this time, he didn't look away, nor did you think he cared much for the obvious red on his cheeks. "lohen, this is their highness, [name]. proud heir to snezhnaya's dukedom, who also happens to be your fiancé."

lohen rolled his eyes, shrugged off varka's hand on his shoulder before reaching for something behind him. "can you tell me something i don't know, grandmaster? i do more than just fighting, you know."

"that's rather hard to believe, but sure! whatever you say!"

annoyed by his superior, lohen swiftly delivered an undamaging kick to the grandmaster's shin. the latter only laughed at his attempt, before shoving him forward, nearly sending you both toppling over if you had not caught him by the shoulders as he did with you.

"stupid grandmaster, i don't need your help," he grumbled under his breath.

you tilted your head curiously, slotting you perfectly in his visage that he stumbles over the next few words. "help with what?"

you heard the other knights holler and whistle, the grandmaster behind him laughed even harder as he passed you both, taking up his previous station by the bar and watching with amused eyes. "the same reason why he wasn't there to greet you when you arrived, your highness!" varka explained. "come on lohen, don't get all shy on us now! you we're all fire and spirit when you proposed the idea, where's that spirit gone?"

"drowned by your noise if you don't shut the hell up!" lohen shouted amidst the sea of laughter and cheering. "damned nosy assholes. who even said you were in on the plan in the first place?!"

"i'm… a little lost."

as he finally remembered who he was in proximity with, the blush on his face worsened, and the cheering grew louder. he slipped from your hold, taking a deep breath and continuing his grumbling, throwing a glare at the head that belonged to the grandmaster as he finally fixed his posture.

couhing into his fist, lohen did one final lookover his appearance — fixing the collar of his shirt, dusting down his cape, and brushing the bangs over his eyes. he took one step, then another, until he was only an arm's length away and you had to stop the squeek that nearly slipped from your throat when he took your hand in his, while the hand behind his back revealed a bouquet of local flowers in mondstadt.

"i apologize, for not greeting you first. i know it's not exactly very "knightly" of me," lohen paused, his thumb rubbing mindless circles on your knuckles as his gaze flickered from your face to the flowers in his hold. "and appearing all battered and with a wound on my face is… unbecoming. but i promise, it was for a good cause. that being this." he motioned for you to take the bouquet. when you gingerly accepted them in your hands, he straightened his back again. "welcome to mondstadt, my fiancée. i hope you'll like it here."

"'welcome to mondstadt, my fiance.' now where, pray tell, did you learn to smooth-talk like that, lohen?"

the vice-captain only rolled his eyes. he continued wiping down his spear in jean's office (why it had to be here, lohen didn't know. and fankly, he was too tired to know.). "it was a formal welcome. since all you wanted to act like a stick had stuck up your ass, i decided to be… more me."

"more you, as in revealing your year-long crush on the duke's heir?"

"when have i said that?!"

albedo and kaeya shrugged, but the all-knowing and teasing smiles on their faces had lohen's heart hammering in his chest. when lisa chuckled and closed her book, only then did he realize that he had abruptly stood from his seat, his polearm lay forgotten on the floor along with the cloth he was using to clean it.

"now, now, don't tease him you two. it must have been hard to gather all those flowers in starsnatch cliff with the activity of the abyss."

"thank you—"

"and confessing isn't exactly an easy thing to prepare for! the fact he even showed up is a miracle in and of itself."

"lisa?!"

"enough, you three."

when jean arrived, only then could lohen relax and sit back down on his seat. he picked up his polearm and glared at kaeya when the man snickered at him.

"now that we're all here, we will be discussing the appropriate accomodations to the duke and his family," jean's eyes landed on lohen first. "thankfully, master diluc had agreed to house them for a while until we finish the deal with northland bank." then, she nodded towards lisa and albedo's direction, "the duke's only request is that their highness's studies in alchemy to be continued, so i'll be trusting you both in that regard."

"thank you for trusting us, dear jean."

"yes, we'll do our utmost best."

jean smiled, shoulders finally relaxing, "that leaves kaeya and me with managing their transportation when the duke and duchess return. now lohen," the vice-captain stiffened. a shiver ran down his spine when he met jean's eyes and watched in horror as even her lips tugged into a teasing smile. "it'll be your job to assist them in any and every field. you are their hand-picked knight, ensure that they remain safe until the weeding."

"it offends me that you think i can't even do something as simple as that," lohen complained.

"ah, ah. i'm not finished.

"huh?"

jean smiled, in fact, everyone in the room smiled. and lohen felt cold, ice water was dumped over his head when the next words followed.

"as their fiancé, be sure to woo them now and then. it took a lot of effort from master diluc to get your name on their candidate's list after all."

"how the hell do you know about that?!"

Of course, the city of Mondstadt, having caught the news of his return, have carefully and excitedly planned for a celebration to happen. Thus, the usual silent and peaceful air turned into something electrified with the rustle of banners and bustling chatter of the citizens, whispering and talking among themselves—oftentimes of the grandmaster, of how long he had been away, of what would happen now that he’s here. Before, the only thing Knights of Favonius, stationed at the mainland, have received are reports of his status and the elite knights, while the citizens could only wonder about the whereabouts of the man himself.

It would be no wonder that some would even speculate whether he’s still alive or not, and even then, what use would he have if he were to return now since they already have the acting grandmaster, Jean, already performing his duties. It was an inevitable thing to have such whispers, though it had never fostered into anything, only remaining as fleeting murmurs carried away by the wind.

Every corner of the city was not spared with silence and just as the citizens have been waiting with bated breath for the day, for the culmination of their efforts, you, too, cannot sit still at the simple thought of Varka, finally, coming back.

It’s been a long time since you have last seen your husband. It’s been three years now and the only kind of communication, interaction, or way you feel his presence is through letters with souvenirs, trinkets, or anything that he thinks you will like. Letters that can never be a page or less than two, letters written with that messy script of his with occasional blobs of ink that have dripped on to the paper, letters that will end with those three words of his affection for you and signed with ‘Your Beloved, Varka’.

It is no understatement to say that you lent a great hand in the preparations for the expedition team’s return. From the hanging banners, the decorations all over the place, the cathedral looking for helpers, literally anything you can get your hands on. If you were even given the opportunity, you would have built a statue of his honor. It was no news to everyone that you were ecstatic no matter how much you try to appear calm and composed in front of them. You cannot sit still at all. 

You were simply everywhere and doing everything all at once, and this is evident by that fact Lisa had to come to you and tell you to take some time to rest or else, you wouldn’t even get to see the day that he will be here. You couldn’t even say no to her, knowing how scary she can get—she even threatened to tell Jean to ban you from helping. The thought of it was ridiculous but it was not impossible, so for the last few days leading to the day of celebration, you sat in your home or outside; you played with the children who each, but all the same, told you of how excited they are to see the grandmaster again and have him train them—by which, they mean chasing him with a sword while he pretends to be scared.

You simply love and miss your husband, the love of your life, Varka. It was hard not to—only an insane person wouldn’t, or maybe you just adore him a lot. Either way, this ache was strong and this ache was making you lose your mind at each second he’s not here.

The day comes and as early as dawn, people are already coming out of their homes, looking forward to the day ahead. The streets are alive with a palpable energy, the kind that only surfaces during festivals. Albeit, it was still different—this was no ordinary festival, after all. Children dart between the legs of adults, their laughter as bright as the streamers that now adorn every lamp post and awning. The smell of fresh bread and roasting meat wafts from Good Hunter, where Sara is already working twice as fast to accommodate the influx of orders. Even the cats, those independent creatures of the city, seem to sense the shift in the atmosphere, finding sunny spots along the route where the crowds will gather, as if they too wish to witness the grandmaster's return.

“I’ll give you a discount since I’m in a great mood today!”

“Ah, the pigeons!”

“How long until we see them?!”

Today just feels so right and perfect.

There is a sea of familiar faces and excited chatter as soon as you step outside and walk along the streets. People greet you, pat your shoulder, offer kind words and knowing smiles—some have even teased you, pushing you into a flustered state with their words. They understand, perhaps better than anyone, what this moment means for you. You’ve been a part of their community long enough that your yearning has become woven into the fabric of their own anticipation.

Not far away, the gates of Mondstadt stand open, welcoming, waiting. Beyond them lies the path to the rest of Teyvat, the path Varka took so long ago. And then—

“They’re here! They’re coming!”

Immediately afterwards, the people gathered at the sides so as not to block the pathway, and there, on the horizon, you see them—the expedition party emerges from the distance like a dream given form and cheers soon erupt, yelling, shouting. It drowns out the sound of your own heartbeat, your own breath, and your own thoughts.

The procession slows as it reaches the gates. The crowd takes this moment to press closer, voices calling out greetings and blessings.

“Grandmaster Varka!”

“Barbatos bless you all!”

“Look! Do you think one of them is Captain Kaeya’s horse?”

Though you, too, are glad to see the elite knights return, knowing how much of a strong foundation they are to the city’s military prowess, your eyes only seem to look for one and one person only. You watch him, eyes warm with affection, a smile tainting your lips, and your shoulders relax at the utter sight of him, basking in all this glory and celebration.

(Beneath it all, you are relieved—relieved, not just because he’s returned, but because he’s here and that through all your prayers and desperation, he is unharmed. He is alive. The mere thought of it crashes through you like a wave, sudden and overwhelming, and you realize that you had been holding something beneath your ribs all this time—something cold and sharp and terrible, a fear you never allowed yourself to name, a dread that lived in the space between heartbeats, in the silence between letters, in the hours past midnight when the bed felt too large and the world too quiet. You had carried it so long it had become part of your breathing, part of your waking, part of the way you moved through days without him. You had grown so accustomed to its weight that you forgot it was there at all.)

He's dismounted now, his great horse being led away by a young squire who looks absolutely starstruck. Varka pats the boy's shoulder with a laugh you can hear even from here, that booming, infectious sound that has always made your heart swell. He looks around, taking in the banners, the decorations, the crowd of familiar faces, and you watch as recognition dawns on his features, one by one.

Many have approached him already, though you still remain on the sidelines, not wishing to interrupt this tender moment. You know the extent of his longing for his homeland, having to endure the battlefield every single day; his letters have told you so.

"Grandmaster!" A young knight pushes through the crowd, his face flushed with excitement. "Welcome back, sir! Could I—could I possibly ask for your autograph?"

Varka laughs again, clapping the young man on the shoulder hard enough to make him stumble. "Slow down, soldier! I'm not going anywhere. We'll have plenty of time for autographs and training and everything else. But first—"

Through the chaos of celebration, through the sea of bodies and noise and color, his eyes easily find yours. Albeit he tries to approach you, only to be intercepted by one person to another, and you cannot simply help but laugh at the sight, waving him off and telling him to deal with that first. He could only mutter a silent apology while scratching the back of his head, turning his attention back to entertaining everyone who comes to him.

"Grandmaster! The children have been practicing a song for weeks!"

"Sir Varka! My tavern has saved its best cask for tonight!”

"Welcome back, old friend!"

He’d greet them warmly, genuinely, but his attention would keep on drifting, keep wandering, keep settling on you for a few moments as if he was trying to reassure—or remind—himself that you’re still there waiting.

You don’t know how long you’ve been standing there now, underneath the shade and away from the crowd that have gathered and drowned him with their relentless inquiries and excitement. He was not spared a single moment, perhaps even accumulating all their energy, returning it back to them tenfold. Varka, through all of it, was a man who loved his people with the same ferocity he loved anything—wholly, without reservation, with every piece of himself he had to give.

However, this time, his eyes find you again, and you see the silent question there: Can I come to you now? Please?

You nod, laughing warmly, and he starts toward you, and this time, the crowd lets him. People have stepped aside, making way for him and leaving the man alone, understanding that this moment—this reunion—belongs to the two of you first. His boots strike the cobblestones with familiar rhythm, each step bringing him closer, closer, until he stops before you. 

Up close, you see the changes the years have wrought. New lines etched at the corners of his eyes, evidence of harsh sun and harsher conditions. His hair is longer than you remember, but still styled in the same way that he always does. But more than everything, his eyes. 

Archons above, his eyes.

They are the same eyes that looked at you on your wedding day, full of wonder that someone like you could love someone like him. They are the same eyes that crinkled with laughter when you made silly faces to cheer him up after difficult days. They are the same eyes that, even in his hastily scrawled letters, you could feel looking at you across impossible distances.

And now they are looking at you from only a breath away.

“Hello, my love.” He says, and his voice falters on the last note.

The sound breaks something in you. You surge forward, closing the remaining distance between you, and his arms—those strong, warm arms you have dreamed about for so many sleepless nights—wrap around you and pull you tight against his chest. You bury your face in his chest, breathing him in, feeling his heartbeat against your cheek.

"I'm home," he whispers into your hair, his voice thick with emotion. "I'm home."

You can't speak—despite the amount of times you have practiced in front of the mirror on what to say to him, despite the amount of daydreaming you have of this moment, despite having prepared yourself—silence, brought by so much emotions and feelings, has lodged itself in your throat. Words are inadequate, useless things when faced with the enormity of this moment. So instead you cling to him, your fingers gripping the front of his shirt as if he might disappear if you loosen your hold even slightly. He holds you just as tightly, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other wrapped firmly around your waist, anchoring you both to this moment, to each other.

Eventually, reluctantly, you pull back just enough to look at him. Your hands come up to frame his face, your thumbs tracing the new lines, the beloved features that have haunted your dreams. He leans into your touch, his eyes fluttering closed for just a moment, as if he, too, cannot believe this is real.

"I missed you," you manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper. "I missed you so much." And the tears you’ve been holding at bay finally spill over, just a little. You don’t wish to embarrass yourself in front of him and already make a mess. You told yourself repeatedly that you wouldn’t cry or do anything stupid, but it seems like that was thrown out of the window.

Varka immediately panics. This legendary warrior, this grand master who has faced down monsters and braved the harshest conditions Teyvat could throw at him, looks utterly and completely terrified by the sight of your tears. His hands, which have held swords and shields and the weight of an entire expedition, flutter helplessly at your sides as if he has no idea what to do with them.

"Don't—please don't cry," he pleads, his voice cracking in a way that would be comical if you weren't so overwhelmed.

He fumbles for something and ends up pulling a handkerchief from his pocket. He dabs at your cheeks with a gentle clumsiness that only he possesses, his brow furrowed with such intense concentration you'd think he was back in the battlefield rather than wiping away tears.

"Please don't cry, my love," he murmurs, his thumb catching a tear at the corner of your eye. "I can't bear it. I could face any enemy and it would be less terrifying than watching you cry."

From his words, a wet laugh escapes you, and his face lights up like sunrise. Before you can say anything else, he leans in and presses his lips to your forehead—soft, reverent, lingering—as if you are something sacred, something worth crossing entire nations to return to. When he pulls back, his eyes are bright with unshed tears of his own, holding only affection, adoration, love for you and you only; and he smiles at you like you are the answer to every prayer he never spoke aloud.

“Welcome home, Varka.”

he better come home at my first 10 pull (i only have that much)

finally, he drops the act and smiles softly at you, approaching the bed while taking his cloak off. he places the cloak on a hook stuck to the wall, before taking a seat on his side of the bed.

he reached toward puffpuff, a finger scratching against it's cheek.

“look at you taking my rightful place,” puffpuff glares up at him. “would you be so kind and rest somewhere else? i would love to have my lover back, please.”

watching with fond eyes, your heart flutters at the term of endearment.

puffpuff ignores the man, rolling its eyes and crawling up to your collarbone, where it snuggles its little head and curls up to rest. not before sticking it's tongue out at qifrey.

“oh, you fiend.”

“it's just like you, that's so adorable!”

qifrey raises an eyebrow, “oh? would you rather sleep cuddling something so small that you might crush it in your sleep? ooor would you rather cuddle me instead and be warm and cozy for the rest of the night?”

“look, it's white and fluffy!”

he sighs, before relenting at your teasing.

“you do have a point.”

“and it has your sass! it just doesn't filter it the way you do.”

“you think i'm sassy?”

resting the book at the bedside table, your hand brushes through his hair, cupping his cheek with the other to pucker his lips together.

“i think you're the sassiest. you just don't say it out loud.”

he's about to say something to refute, when you lean up to press a soft but fleeting kiss against his lips, rendering him speechless and flushed. his lips pursed, the sudden affection relinquishing whatever sassy comeback he was about to giveaway.

“i can't kiss puffpuff the way i do to you, though.”

“you've kissed puffpuff before!? now that's just betrayal at its finest!”

your sudden laughter startles the brushbuddy on your chest, waking it up in the process. it glares at you, before scurrying off somewhere.

“it's just a little peck on the top of it's head!”

“you cannot undone what's done!”

Ace Trappola

He had come to Ramshackle after getting collared by Riddle, and as always, was ranting your ears off about the whole ordeal and how insufferable it was to deal with his housewarden.

"It was late, I was tired — plus its not like I didn't brush my teeth at all, y'know?!" he blustered. His hands wildly flying around him as he further enunciated his anger with hand gestures powered by frustration.

"And- And, it was completely ridiculous how he even found out about me breaking that stupid rule! Like, what do you mean my teeth only looked as 'white as one round of brushing would make it'?! What does that even mean?!"

"Mmhm," you hummed — something you had been doing since he had plopped himself on your bed and began his retelling of what happened — which the redhead had noticed and didn't seem to take too kindly.

"Hey, are you even listening to me?!" he exclaimed, his arms crossing in an exasperated manner and the edges of his ruby eyes twitching at its corners as he asks in a rather accusatory manner, "You haven't, have you?"

You blink. the sudden spotlight thrown on you forcing you back to reality. Ace is angrily glaring daggers at you right now, and you can practically see the imaginary steam wafting from his fuming being.

How could you not admit your thoughts at this point?

"Sorry," you tell him, "You're just really hot when you're mad like this. Please, continue."

"I knew it! I knew you weren't...wait, huh?" he pauses, mouth open with his complaint caught on his tongue like a mouse in a mousetrap. Expression frozen in place as if it had been caught by a camera.

You raise an eyebrow, "Ace..?" you call slowly, "Are you gonna continue your story, or..?"

He blinks slowly, waiting for you to break character and your laughtrack to play because, surely, you cannot be serious.

He waits for five seconds, then ten before deciding to stretch out his silence for another twenty and then thirty more seconds. Still nothing. You're still staring at him expectantly, waiting for him to tell you the remainder of what's left of his story and its then that he realizes that you were being dead serious.

His face darkens into a red rose shade in seconds.

"Ace?! Are you okay?! Why're you so red and what's with that look?!" you had the gall to ask while having the audacity to look startled — and in response to your irritatingly genuine confusion, Ace...

...well Ace didn't know how to react really.

"I— You can't just...—!" he stammers as his mouth tries to say ten different things at once and fails, leaving him with no other choice but to say none of it. He lets out an aggravated yell.

"Forget this!" he shouts, turning away from you as he throws himself on his side and smacks his head against your pillow, exclaiming then, "I'm going to bed!"

And, utterly stupefied, you blurt out, "Why so suddenly?! Seriously, what's up with you?!"

( You neither got your answer to your question, nor did you get to hear the end of his story that night. )

Deuce Spade

"I'm totally gonna to fail at this rate..." Deuce said before letting out sigh.

He had come to you after a long hour and a half in Professor Trein's class where he did nothing but fight sleep, dejectedly admitting to you that he hadn't memorized a single bit of source material for the up and coming exam that'll occur later that week.

"It just doesn't click for some reason — more than it usually doesn't," he said as he shook his head and his shoulders slumped.

"Housewarden Riddle has made me flashcards in hopes that the information would be easier to digest, but even that's not helping. I'm starting to lose all hope in making it out of this with a decent grade.."

He sounded so defeated, but his words truly went in one ear and out the other as you were more drawn in to his pouty expression rather than the exact cause of it — and like, really, who could really blame you for that? I mean, with his lip slightly jutted out and his eyes drooping like puppy dog ears, he looked so—

"Uhm...Y/n?" Deuce calls, causing for you to jump a little as you suffer from the jarring feeling of being abruptly ripped away from your daydreaming.

It catches the boy's attention and, with brows furrowing with worry, he decides to ask you, "..Are you alright? You seemed to space out there for a moment."

What a gentleman he is, truly — your eyes soften.

"Yeah, I'm fine, sorry," you apologize, "I got distracted because of how pretty your pouting face is," you casually add.

And immediately, Deuce short circuits.

His mouth falls open, as if he wished to say something, only to fall closed for a second or so and open again where the process repeats.

He does this for a few minutes, and his face grows pinker as time passes which has you growing nervous. Making you believe that your little comment had done more harm than good.

"Sorry," you found yourself repeating to him. This time asking, "Did that.. Did I make you uncomfortable with that?" thankfully, that seems to snap Deuce out of whatever bug you had accidentally planted into his system and reboot him.

"Oh, uh, no! N- No, it didn't! Don't worry.." he awkwardly stammers, his eyes darting away to look at a pebble near his foot.

"You sure? It's okay if I did. You're allowed to be put off by it," you explain, clearly not convinced, "Partner or not, if my comment didn't sit well with you—"

"I liked it!" he exclaimed, spinning his head around to look at you, only to immediately lose his composure all over again the moment his eyes lock with yours.

( Hey, look at it this way; at least he's not stressing out over the future exam anymore, right? )

Jack Howl

He was explaining to you his process of how he tends to his cactus plant. His reason? Well, that morning before he left for his daily jog, he had noticed that it had began to brown at its roots.

Though he was embarrassed to ask for aid, he had hoped to gain some enlightenment from you — who had a much broader knowledge on plant life. Unfortunately, all you've given him so far are hums and small comments of acknowledgement, leading him to only one conclusion.

"You're not listening," he grumbles, crossing his arms against his chest and looking away, trying to play off the abashment creeping up his neck as he says, "Forget I said anything."

That catches your attention.

"Wait, wait, I'm sorry! I swear I was listening!" you shoot out, your hands latching around his bicep to gain his attention once again. You succeed with the small effort, but the doubtful look he gives you lets you know that you're not out of the doghouse yet.

And so, feeling as though you had no other choice, you decide to admit what's had you so captivated.

"I really was listening until the end just now! Promise!" you pull away from him to clasp your hands together in a praying-like gesture as you bow your head, "It's just that...when you talk about your hobbies and things you're passionate about, you always get this certain...shine...in your eyes. It's really beautiful — a- and makes you all the more handsome obviously! I guess this time I just got...distracted by it...again, sorry.."

Silence is what you gain in response — not a great sign in the least.

You had confessed such an mortifying truth thinking it would fix this, but it didn't and humiliation couldn't begin to describe the feeling sinking into you in that moment.

That said, as you looked up with heating cheeks, you realized that Jack wasn't in a much better state; scratching the back of his head as his cheeks bloomed a light pink.

"Why...nevermind," he says, sighing to himself, "I regret saying anything at all. Let's just drop this."

At first, you frown, thinking that you had truly messed up...until Jack's tail brushes against your hip.

You look down. He's wagging up a storm — the fluffy white appendage thumping whenever it brushes against the bench seat you two are sitting on, creating a happy beat in the process that gives away every thought the beastman refused to say aloud.

The sight has your smile returning to your face.

"You're cute when you get all shy like this."

"Urk-! ...Shush."

Epel Felmier

He had been going on for about ten minutes now, having been flown into a rage about something related to Vil.

"He must take me fa some docile little thing or sumthn' cause he neva takes a lick of what I tell 'em seriously!" he spouts as he paces before you, gesturing wildly. You're sure if this keeps up, he'll burn a permanent line into your carpet.

"He tells me off 'n I threaten him back and its like a joke to him! Then he gets to yappin' about proper grammar and whatnot like I didn't say anythin'! It pisses me off, an— Y/n? Are you listenin' to a dang thing I'm sayin'?!"

You hum out, "Of course, babe," and sigh when he narrows his eyes, full of disbelief, towards you.

"I really was listening," you affirm.

Epel clicks his tongue, saying in a tone that's both Pomefiore proper and country boy bumpkin, "There's no needa lie. I can tell notta bit of what I said is reachin' you."

You find yourself sighing again, this time shaking your head too.

"Okay, maybe I was a bit distracted," you admit, deciding to add at the last minute, "..but its only because I find you cute when you're all worked up like this."

Oh what a mistake that was. Such an easily avoidable one too — not that you can do much about it now since the damage is already done. Epel's jaw was already tensing and his periwinkle brows were already forming dents in his forehead from how deep his v of ire is.

All you could do now was close your eyes and brace for impact.

"Who're you callin' cute?! Huh?!" he angrily proclaims, "Ain't nothin' cute about me, ya hear?!"

"Yes, yes, I meant manly — slip of the tongue, I swear," you wave him off, but that doesn't seem to satisfy the country boy. Not one bit...which was kind of your fault for being so half-hearted about reassuring him, now that you think about it.

"Yeah right. You ain't the least bit sorry," he grumbles. Going on to bitterly comment, "Its 'cause you don't take me seriously neither. 'm just some cute little bunny in your eyes or somethin' or another.."

"Oh don't get to sulking on me. You know that's not true," you stand to your feet. Crossing the small distance between you two where you then cup his face.

Carefully, you turn his head with your hands, giving him no choice but to look at you. His eyes are still narrowed with anger, but you can see the sadness swimming along the tides of his light blue hues and staring into them felt like you were being stabbed straight through the heart — for you were partially to blame for such a look surfacing on his face.

"Epel, listen to me," you begin with a softened gaze — as if you were staring at something precious, "I admit that I may tease a bit more than I should, but I genuinely think that you're one of the manliest, bravest, toughest guys I know. It's one of the things I love about you, after all."

Epel doesn't reply immediately as he takes time to mull over your words. And, though you don't comment on it, you note the small blush that overtakes his face as your words sink into him.

Finally, abashed, he swats your hands away from your face. Muttering in his accent about how he doesn't need nor want you to coddle him, only for his arms to then snake around your waist and pull you against him. You can't help but roll your eyes as you hug him back.

"So...are we cool? Do you believe me and what I said, or do I need to prove my words true to you somehow?" you ask.

"I believe ya', but a little convincing wouldn't hurt neither," he replies, to which you tilt your head and ask, "And how, pray tell, would you like me to do that?"

Immediately, his eyes travel down to your lips. You huff as you catch on, barely being able to fight off the smirk growing on your lips as Epel leans in to capture them in a passionate kiss.

Sebek Zigvolt

He had been, once again, preaching to you about his glorious future king, Malleus Draconia, and like the supportive partner you were, you listened to your boyfriend intently as he rambled on.

Okay, maybe not intently. You must admit that, at some point, you found yourself lost in all your staring — entranced by the love of your life so impassioned — for he was truly a breathtaking sight to behold.

Alas, it seemed you weren't so subtle about your wandering eyes or waning concentration, for you were eventually called out for it in the loudest way possible.

"Human! To attention!" Sebek snapped, fangs baring at you in a fit of pique, "I'm enriching you with tales of our great Malleus despite you barely being worth such an honor! Don't disrespect my time by ignoring me!"

"Apologies, dear," you replied calmly, and without hesitation, revealed, "I had been momentarily swept away by your handsomeness. I'll try not to let it happen again."

"Hmph, you better," he responds and you can practically see the gears turning in his head — as well as the very moment your comment finally, truly clicks because, in an instant, his entire façade crumbles.

"I..." he begins, but immediately loses his train of thought, seemingly having been momentarily dumbfounded by such a simple statement.

It was truly adorable, you thought.

"You were saying, beloved?" it's a bit mean, but you can't help but tease him, "Don't tell me my little comment has rendered you speechless."

"N- Nonsense!" he exclaims loudly, "I simply...was caught off guard briefly by your shamelessness!"

"..Truly, this is proof that you and your kind lack not only class, but taste as well!" he adds, and you're almost immediately clapping back.

"Hm, how cruel of you to say, because I'll have you know that part of my taste extends to the magnificent man before me," you say, and instantly, he's quiet again. You find yourself giggling from amusement.

Oh, what fun it was to torment him.

It began as some garbled talking thirty minutes ago, which was usually tolerable. It felt like you were listening to a podcast or television show in the background as white noise. You didn’t mind it at first—maybe he was on call with friends, but why did they choose something heated and intense?

Unable to bear it any longer, you decide to knock on the wall separating your rooms, hard enough that you’re sure he’s going to hear. 

And, it…works? He stops talking for a few moments before resuming at a bearable volume.

Satisfied, you lean back into your pillow, tugging your blanket closer to your body. Huh. That wasn’t so-

Another string of loud curses follows. Instantly, your eyes shoot open, and you sit up, enraged. 

If this were another day, a less sleep-deprived you might have walked over to his apartment and calmly told him to keep it down. However, after working a few hours of overtime to cover for an incompetent officemate? You eventually decide that the best course of action is: “Hey, shut the fuck up!”

Your voice cracks a little from the sudden burst of volume, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. 

“It is two AM, and I have to wake up in four hours for a whole day of work. I don’t know who the hell you’re talking to, or what you’re doing, but have some respect, dude!”

Your throat immediately feels tight when you finish, but at the very least, the frustration has rushed out of your body. You prepare for your neighbor to yell back or retort, if not apologize, but you’re met with silence.

You breathe steadily, ready to verbally defend yourself, but nothing comes. Did it work?

Five minutes pass. Ten minutes. Fifteen…

You lose track of time, lulled to sleep by the peace and quiet.

The next few days, you no longer hear any noise from your neighbor at the ungodly hours. Sure, maybe you hear the accidental bump of whatever furniture is positioned against your shared wall, but nothing more.

You want to celebrate a little, considering that you’ve probably driven your point home. Even better, that officemate of yours had been fired. It turns out that the one time they forced you to cover for them was the last straw for your boss. Apparently, they had taken advantage of the fact that you were a newcomer who had no idea of their work ethic. 

That sucked, but at least you don’t have to worry about them anymore. You just want to celebrate the first two weeks you’ve spent at your new apartment. 

To your luck, you get an opportunity to do so when you enter the lobby after a tiring workday.

“Hi, darling!” A middle-aged lady greets you enthusiastically. “Are you the new girl from 203?”

You stop in your tracks, trying to remember if you’ve seen her before. With how chummy she seems to be with the lobby staff, you figure she’s also a resident. “Good evening, yes, I am.”

“Great! I live in 206, just a few rooms away. I heard about a new tenant moving in from the manager, so I just wanted to welcome you.”

“That’s great, um…” You pause. “Sorry, I didn’t get your name…?”

“Shimura-san! Sorry, I can’t believe I forgot to introduce myself. I live with my husband and son down the hall,” she chuckles. “Anyway, we like to invite the second-floor residents over for dinner. We have monthly potlucks sometimes, if we’re not all that busy. Since you’re new, we’d like to invite you over sometime this week, if you’d like. Heck, if you’re hungry, you could come over in an hour!”

Your eyebrows shoot up. Come to think of it, you recall the apartment manager talking about a certain Shimura-san. This must be her, then.

“In an hour?! Oh, I don’t want to trouble you-” 

Your stomach growls, cutting you off. Shimura-san laughs as your face heats up. 

“Hm, I don’t know about that.” She shakes her head. “Looks to me like you’re in need of a good meal. We’re already preparing for dinner, anyway, so it’s not much trouble.” 

“You’re sure?”

“Yes! I’ve got my son helping out, don’t sweat it.” She waves a hand. “Seems like you just came from work, so go and freshen up, okay?”

You’re almost taken aback by this woman’s personality, but you smile, thinking about how she somewhat reminds you of your own mother. So, you nod and accept her invitation.

“Okay, see you later! I’ll just go to the konbini to buy a few things.”

With that, she waves goodbye, and you make your way to the staircase leading to the second floor. Hm, maybe you’ve got some pretty lovely neighbors, too.

When you arrive at the Shimuras’ place, you’re welcomed warmly.

“Welcome! Please make yourself comfortable.” She opens her arms wide. “My husband just had some overtime tasks to deal with this evening, so he’ll be coming a little later. My son’s over in the kitchen.”

You nod, taking in their living space. It definitely seems very lived in, with all the personal belongings and decorations.

“Hey, Takashi! Come say hello to our guest!”

His head pops out from the corner, and he gives a small wave. 

“Ah, that boy.” Shimura-san snorts. “He’s sometimes shy with strangers, but he’ll warm up quite fast if he decides he likes you.”

“I see.” You smile as he disappears back into the kitchen. “I used to be that way.”

“Ah, then you understand. Great!” She waits until you’ve taken your shoes off and points to the spare slippers at the side. “You know, a part of me wishes that the boy from 204 would warm up too. He has yet to come over for dinner. I’m just glad that he accepts any leftover food we bring to him.”

“204?” You whip your head up.

“Yes, your neighbor. Have you met him?”

You nearly make a face. Sort of. 

“No…”

“I see. The other neighbors haven’t seen him much either. But, of course, he could just be a really cautious and shy person.” 

Didn’t seem that way when he was crashing out!

“So, whatever the reason, we just give him the space he needs.” Shimura-san sighs. “Anyway, enough of that, let’s eat!”

You’re guided to the dining area, where a fresh spread of colorful dishes lines the table. 

“Wow!” You can’t hide the surprise that hits you. “That’s…aw, I haven’t had a homemade meal like this since moving here.”

“I figured.” She directs you to your seat. “Work takes a lot of energy, and so does cooking. That’s why I chose the latter for our family.”

You smile at her. “And you do it really well.”

“Do I get credit for boiling the edamame and popping them out?” Her son pipes up as he brings a final dish to the table, drawing out a laugh from you. 

“Yeah, of course you do!” Shimura-sun ruffles his hair as he takes a seat. “Anyway, this is Takashi. He’s in his last year of junior high school.”

“Oh, so you’re about fourteen now?”

He nods in response. For some reason, his eyes linger on you for a while, only stopping when his mother asks him another question. You pretend not to notice, though; maybe he’s just trying to figure out if you’re someone he’ll get along with well.

You say thanks for your meal before trying a bit of each dish.

The rest of the hour goes by quickly without you realizing. There’s really something magical about Shimura-san’s cooking and Takashi’s assistance; you tell them so.

“Finally, someone who remembers!” Takashi comments, raising his hands in the air, while Shimura-san swats him playfully. “I think he has a favorite,” she comments. 

“By the way, we do have some extra desserts. They were gifts from my husband’s clients, but there’s still too much for us to finish. You can pick whatever you like and take them with you.”

“What? Are you sure?” Your eyes widen.

“Yes, very sure.” She stands to get them. “I’ll bring them over, just give me a moment to gather the new ones.”

As she leaves the dining area, her son suddenly turns to you. “Sorry if this is a really random question, but I just wanted to ask…” 

You tilt your head at him. “Um, sure.”

“Can you say this suuuper specific phrase for me?” 

“Super specific phrase.” You blink at the teen, trying to process his request. “Okay, um, what is it?”

Takashi grins at your agreement. “Say this.” He pauses for a moment before continuing. “‘Can you shut the heck up, it’s two in the morning!’”

Hang on.

A silence fills the kitchen, but it’s broken by Shimura-san’s gasp. “Son?”

“Wait, okaasan! I swear she sounds like the girl in Kodzuken’s stream. There’s this video that went viral this week!”

Kodzuken’s stream?

Takashi pulls his phone out, seemingly forgetting about his request for you. 

“Hey! Go over there! Get the shields up so you can distract- agh, Tighnari!”

You stiffen at the familiar voice.

“Are you kidding me? Move! Then hit the- I need to aim!”

“Sorry, sorry!”

Whoever’s saying sorry doesn’t sound one bit apologetic.

“Dude, we are not defeating the boss like this! Come on!”

You sit there awkwardly as the mess of sounds from the game continues to play from Takashi’s phone speaker.

“This is stressing me out!” Kodzuken groans as his partner laughs. “Why did I agree to a co-op with you?!”

“Hey, shut the fuck up!” 

And…oh god. That is your voice. That’s how audible it was?

Kodzuken goes silent, and his co-op partner immediately starts laughing. “Wait? Who is that? Is that coming from you?”

“What the,” you hear a whisper as your anger-fueled tirade continues in the background. “Uh-”

“Yo! You have a woman at home?”

“No, I don’t.” Kodzuken hisses. You can hear the sounds of his game continuing, and by the sounds of the characters, they sound like they’re getting hit in succession.

Kodzuken’s partner continues giggling. “Did you piss someone off? Oh! Hey, where’d you go? Guys? Guys, Kodzuken just left the stream? What the hell? Who was that?” 

The video ends, and you want the ground to swallow you whole. Shimura-san looks back up at you with a shocked expression.

I’m not making a very good first impression here, am I?

“That’s…the kid that lives in 204. And that does sound like you…”

Takashi blinks. “Wait.”

“Uh, that’s…” You start, clearing your throat. There was literally no way you could lie to her about this. “It was a bad time. I’m not usually like that. Um-”

“Well, wow, I didn’t know you had that in you!” Shimura-san cuts you off, but she doesn’t seem extremely bothered. Maybe. You don’t know. “You did sound really mad though, when did this happen?”

“A few days ago,” you sigh nervously. “That was right after I was roped into overtime.”

“Oh, because of that officemate.” She grimaces, recalling your tale from earlier. “Yeah, my husband can get cranky when something like that happens. I get it.”

You sigh. “I cannot believe that got recorded. I really just thought he was calling his friends or something, not streaming to a public audience.”

“Huh, you’re not the only one that’s surprised.” She huffs. “Hard to think a kid like him did those kinds of video things. Maybe that’s why he’s so private.”

“That…would make sense.” You glance over at Takashi, who looks like he’s about to explode. “Hm. Maybe I should’ve been nicer about asking him to keep it down.”

Shimura-san pauses to think. “Well, it’s not too late to talk to him, if you want to sort things out. You had a point, after all. It would be good to set some rules since you’ll be neighbors for some time.”

You nod, considering her suggestion. “Yes. I think I’ll do that. Thank you, Shimura-san.”

“You’re welcome. Oh, to be young.” She shakes her head. “Anyway, don’t forget about picking out your desserts-” 

“Okaasan, you’re telling me the Kodzuken lives down the hall?!”

For the rest of the evening, you couldn’t stop overthinking the incident. What was meant to just be one moment between you and your neighbor has apparently been publicized to the entire world. 

Honestly, you’re just thankful Shimura-san didn’t seem to think of you any differently after that. She still sent you off with a few boxes of desserts and sweets, and an invitation to come over another time. 

You even found yourself apologizing to Takashi—you knew how teenagers could be with their favorite celebrities. Luckily, he just laughed it off, finding it cooler that you were able to personally “interact” with Kodzuken.

But, that had you wondering…you weren’t in the wrong for reprimanding him, right? No one should be disobeying the noise level rules in this apartment.

Still, your insides twist when you think about how you handled it. You never really liked the person you were when you were angry. Considering that you haven’t even met your neighbor face-to-face, you’ve probably soured things with him.

Oh god, what if he’s secretly plotting something to get back at me…

You sigh into your couch cushions, feeling a pit of regret forming in your stomach.

With nothing better to do, you check Kodzuken’s socials, curious if he’s said anything about the matter.

That was the only post he’s made since that day. You scroll a bit further, and all you see are some random thoughts he has shared and a bunch of announcements.

Sighing, you check the replies under his latest announcement. If that clip went viral, then other people definitely had something to say. 

Suddenly, you don’t know if checking was a good thing or not; now you feel restless.

Is he getting hate because of you? The handful of replies you checked were just a fraction of everything. Not to mention, all the opinions people shared about your actions—whether in favor or not—made your chest tighten.

They’re just strangers. They didn’t know the full context. It shouldn’t matter.

Yet, it bothers you. You throw your phone towards the opposite end of your couch and slump even further.

His name rings in your head—no, not his streamer name, but his real one. 

Kozume Kenma.

It’s an odd feeling, really. Shimura-san thinks of him as the shy boy from 204. Her son knows him as a streamer. To you, he’s your apartment neighbor.

What were you to him? The apartment neighbor who could potentially ruin his career?

“Nononono,” you groan, rubbing your hand over your face. 

He could bounce back, right? Would people forget? It’s not like he committed a crime…

Is he waiting until things blow over? What if he really got sick? And did he get sick from the stress? That I caused-

No. It’s not like I intended to…

Ugh!

The itch in your bones won’t go away. You need to fix this.

Retrieving your phone, you sigh in disbelief. How ironic that you feel like losing sleep over this silence. 

And so, you do the last thing you ever expected to do in your life.

Your Sunday is dedicated to running to the grocery store and hoping that you don’t burn your kitchen down. 

Yeah, you could’ve bought an apple pie to save you from the hassle, but there’s something about the sincerity in a homemade pastry that convinces you. (Shame on you if you didn’t learn a thing or two from the Shimuras yesterday.)

It takes you the entire afternoon and an emotional support call from a friend, but eventually, you make something that looks and tastes pretty delicious.

When evening arrives, you’ve placed half of the pie in a small container that your neighbor can keep. You set another half aside, a gift of gratitude for the Shimuras.

Psyching yourself up, you make your way to 204’s front door, cradling your peace offering to your chest. After maybe a few minutes of just standing there, you eventually gain the courage to knock.

It’s not long before the door opens, revealing the figure of someone who seems to be close to drowning in their hoodie and sweatpants. 

Kozume-san looks awful.

“Hello,” he says in a meek voice, as he rubs his eyes. When you look behind him, you notice the rest of his living space is dark, save for some colored lighting from an assortment of lamps. “Have we…met?”

Instantly, there’s a wary look in his eyes once he realizes that you’re a stranger. You immediately clarify your purpose of being here, not wanting him to think you’re some stalker fan that has finally figured out his address.

“Hey. I’m, uh…your neighbor from 203. Just moved in two weeks ago.” You also tell him your name, hoping that it could make you seem more trustworthy in the meantime.

Though you’re not surprised when his eyes widen—he almost looks like a startled cat. He hides behind his door a little more, prompting you to speak up. 

“I just wanted to apologize-”

“I’m sorry for disturbing you-”

The two of you freeze at your simultaneous apologies.

“Um, sorry, you first-”

“I didn’t mean to interrupt-”

And again, you both go silent. Thankfully, it breaks some of the tension in the air. 

“Wait, why are you apologizing to me?” He opens the door a bit more.

“Because I should’ve talked to you politely, instead of resorting to more aggressive measures. Sorry.” You scratch the back of your neck. “And, I didn’t know you were a streamer either. I didn’t realize that my yelling would end up making you go viral…for better or for worse.”

“It’s…” He starts, but he seems unsure of how to continue. “It’s okay. If I were you, I think I would have gotten angry too. I was just used to 203 being empty, so when I got really worked up, I didn’t realize you were…well, there.”

He shrugs, trying his best to make eye contact with you for a few seconds, before his eyes dart away. “I’m really sorry. I wasn’t trying to disturb you on purpose.”

With the way things are going, you’re honestly so glad that you made the decision to talk it over with him. 

“I understand now…so, you had no idea that I had moved in at all?”

“No, sorry. I don’t really stay updated with things around the apartment. Safety. And, well, people can be a lot…if you can believe it.”

You nod. “I can. It’s okay. As long as it doesn’t happen again.”

“It won’t.” He shakes his head, the ghost of a smile on his lips. “Um, actually, if you don’t mind me asking…”

“Yeah?”

“Do you have a preferred schedule for absolutely no noise? Besides late evening or early morning…”

“Oh, hmm.” You tap your chin, vaguely reminded of his last announcement on social media. To be honest, hearing his voice wasn’t all that bad.

“You know, when you’re not yelling at someone, you actually have a pretty nice voice.”

He blinks at you. “What?”

“There were a few times I could hear you talk through the wall at a bearable volume. It felt like listening to those podcasts or audiobooks, you know?”

“Really?”

“Yeah. So, I guess it depends on what you’ll be doing. If you do end up streaming at odd hours, all I ask is that it’s something calm. Anything crazy would be best in the afternoon or evening.”

“Are you…sure?” He tilts his head.

“I mean, the whole gaming and streaming thing is your source of income, right?” You shrug. “It seems unfair to just impose everything on you. We can compromise or find a win-win solution.”

The corners of his lips tug up a bit. “Thank you for understanding. Again, I am really sorry.”

“Don’t sweat it.” You wave a hand dismissively. “Anyway, I hope this isn’t weird, but it’s true that you like apple pie, right?”

“I…yes?” His eyebrows furrow a little. “Why?”

“Um, I baked some earlier as an apology.” You hand the small container out to him.

“You…what? You-” He sputters, hesitating to take the pie from your hands. “Really?”

“Yes. I had to look it up online, after finding out who you were and realizing what had happened. I didn’t mean to cause all this mess for you.”

He slowly takes the container, his fingers brushing against yours for a few seconds. “Oh, um…thanks.”

“You’re welcome, Kozume-san. I hope it’s to your liking.”

He peers inside the transparent container.

“I…” He presses his lips together. “You…”

“Me?”

“You can, um, call me Kenma.”

You gasp. “What? Just like that?”

“It’s always been weird when people call me by my surname.” He grimaces. “The other option is Kodzuken, but…”

“It feels more like your work persona?”

“I guess so.”

“Alright,” you exhale. “Kenma-san.”

“No honorifics, either.”

“Oh?” You laugh. “Okay. Okay. I got that. Kenma.”

His shoulders sag a little in relief. “Thank you.”

“Of course. Anytime.” You bow at him in preparation to leave. “By the way, if you’ve got any comments on that pie, let me know. I need to master the recipe.”

“Comments?”

“Yep. No one better than the pie lover to tell me what I can improve on.”

“Okay.” He hums. “Do you want me to…slip a note under your door?”

“You could yell through our wall.”

And for the first time, you hear Kenma laugh out loud.

"I'm fine." Phainon vehemently insists, practically whining as he pressed himself against you. A small—not small at all—pout on his face. His hands gripped your hips tight, that insistent press that tries to prove he's perfectly fine. He is not.

You didn't even need to touch him directly to feel how high his temperature was. Even his clothes were too warm. You had half a mind to strap him to the bed at this point.

"I'm serious. I'm fiiine!" He whines, gritting his teeth and instinctively grabbing in to the wall to keep himself standing straught. His face was flushed, breathing heavier than usual. "I don't wanna ruin our plans. We were looking forward to this. Our… ugh… our dinner date and movies and stargazing and antique—" he cuts himself off with a groan when one nasty cough spills from his throat.

You were. You really were looking forward to it. It was your first Valentines day together as a couple so of course he thought this day would be special. But alas, your dear boyfriend has caught a cold and was in no shape to be going out for a date.

"You're not. You have snot all over your face, Phai."

He pouts even more, almost trying to pull away when you start to guide him back to the bedroom. The bed was already decked out with two blankets and an extra pillow under Phainon's to elevate his head. Since he's gotten this damn cold yesterday, you've been making sure he was comfortable.

Sure, a cold wasn't the end of the world, but that didn't mean you could just do nothing about it. Phainon would have done the same—in fact, he'd have gone overboard if he ever caught you sneezed or—god forbid—coughed. Honestly now, it had baffled you when Phainon had come home yesterday coughing and sneezing, skin all clammy and warm. He never got, not since you first met. So you thought it rather strange to find your ever so healthy boyfriend sprawled on the bed like some fallen soldier.

You hand him a tissue and he promptly blows into it, the sound was wet and disgusting. The grimace on your face wasn't missed by Phainon who whined even louder, holding your hand right.

His hair stuck to his sweaty forehead, cheecks flushed, and sniffling for the hundredth time. The moment you try to get up to get him some water, he's whining pulling you back, "Don't go." He croaks, congested and utterly pitiful. "Please don't leave me. I need you. I'm sorry for ruining our date."

"Shh… it's okay. I promise. Valentines day comes every year." You assure him, smoothing his hair back from his damp forehead.

Phainon sniffles again and not from his runny nose. His eyes water, already close to tears. He hadn't done anything wrong, you'd insisted, but that didn't change the fact he felt utterly guilty for ruining Valentines for the both of you.

He'd woken up that day feeling like crap. His whole body had felt like it was running on low battery while overheating like an old PC. One second he's shivering, the next he's trying to resist the urge to toss the blankets you'd prepared for him on the floor because his skin feels way too hot. Even breathing was dramatic—one nostril was useless while the other was working overtime.

He tries to sit up and immediately regrets his choice when the room starts to spin.

"I'm sorry." Phainon apologizes again. "I'm really sorry."

"I'm not worried about the date, Phai. I'm worried about you." You whisper, pressing a damp cloth on his warm forehead, wiping away all that sweat.

"I can get up. I swear."

"You get up from that bed and I am tying you up myself."

"Kinky—ow! I'm sick!" He whines when you proceed to smack his shoulder.

"Oh now you acknowledge you're sick." You huff, "Stay put. I'll go get you some tea."

"Don't gooo!" He reaches for your hand, almost slipping out of bed. Before he can fall, you were pushing him down. His vision was filled with nothing but you and the irritated look on your face. Maybe it was the fever, maybe it was you—but his heart was beating so fast that it might as well jump out of his ribcage.

"Phainon. Stay." The command sounds like it was given to a dog. A very, very sick and disobedient one.

The smile that creeps on Phainon's face is foolish and irksome, handsome and adorable as it was. The urge to just pinch his cheeks and scold him endlessly does not leave you, but he was giggling and obviously enjoying this.

"You love me. You love me so much you look kinda stupid." He murmurs, blinking slowly and slurring his words.

Helplessly, you make sure he stays put and tucked in bed. Phainon was stubborn and apparently worse when he's sick.

Minutes without you were agonizing for him. Whining loudly and calling your name from the room while you boiled water for his tea. And when you returned to your bedroom, Phainon had kicked his blanket to your side of the bed, curling in on himself and coughing pathetically.

You sat beside him, stroking his white hair before trying to coax him to drink the tea. To your relief, he was obedient this time. Sipping it little by little, recoiling when the tea was too hot for him.

Clearly, Phainon hadn't gotten over your ruined plans. Huffing to himself and burying his face into the pillow. He avoided your gaze this time, falling silent.

That was never good. You would always prefer Phainon loud and boisterous than silent.

"Phai?"

"Hm?"

"It's okay. Y'know that, right? I'm really not mad about anything. We can go on a date some other time."

"It's not the same."

"Valentines day is just some holiday." You wrapped your arms around his waist, pressing your cheek against his back. "Every day is just special with you, y'know. It's better when it's us, when it's about us. We can go out some other time. We can go to that favorite restaurant of yours back in your home town, watch a play on Cyrene's book. We can even go to Aglaea for matching outfits if you want!"

He visibly perked up about the matching outfits.

"Can it be yellow and purple?"

You grimace slightly, but relented anyways. "Yeah…"

He glares at you for a second, "You don't sound happy about that. Hmph!"

"Yes! Yes! We can wear that atrociously bright yellow and purple if that makes you happy."

"Your lying!"

"I'm not!"

Phainon rolled on his back, pouting at you once again. He lift his arms towards you, wiggling his fingers in pathetic little grabby motions. "C'mere, I'm fragile. I need cuddles." He punctuates this by giving a dramatic sniffle, obviously not upset about cancelled plans anymore.

Oh yeah, you are definitely going to have to wear yellow and purple next time.

You don't even hesitate to give in and he immediately latches on—arms wrapping around your waist and cheek pressed against your chest. He nuzzles closer, mumbling about how cold he is even thought he felt like a furnace.

You tilt his head up, leaning down to press a kiss to his lips. He suddenly jerks back with a scandalized gasp. "Are you insane?! I'm not making you sick!" He gasps, putting emphasis on his words by coughing loudly. Phainon scrambles away from you, suddenly the very opposite to how clingy he was just moments ago.

"I love you far too much to spread my disease!" He places a hand to his chest, pulling the blankets over him like some martyr—or damsel. Whichever one he wants to be.

"You—You—You stay there!" He points an accusing finger, "And—And love me from that distance. From a safe distance. It's for your own good!"

You smile, utterly and profoundly baffled by just how odd he was. Valentines day wasn't any less special even when your dear boyfriend was sick and coughing like some victorian child. In all honesty, it might just have made it even more memorable for a first Valentines day as a couple.

(Seconds later, Phainon made grabby hands again. Whining as if you've wronged him. "Why are you so far away? You don't love me? Hold my hand then!")

"actual, literal hell," you emphasize, words of information appearing on your document meant for your research paper. "and to think that my groupmates are probably asleep right now, getting a full eight hours of sleep…"

for the past four weeks, you've been working endlessly on your research paper. your final project. the one that's worth 60% of your entire grade. the one that could get you a good job — your dream job — in the future.

on the other side of the line, you hear your boyfriend sigh — not because he's annoyed that he's stuck on a call with you, but more so because you're doing all the work in a group project.

"…sorry. if you're sleepy, i don't mind you dropping the call—"

"it's not that, [name]," mydei cuts you off mid-sentence, his voice softening in the slightest way that only you would notice. "…i just don't want to see you staying up so late just to do other people's work."

his voice is also significantly deeper than usual. probably because it's late at night. you'd be a liar if you said that it didn't make you feel all shy and flustered inside.

mydei continues, "you talked to them, right? multiple times? through text and in class?"

…you did. every single day. thinking about it now, when the clock is four minutes away from hitting 2 AM, you probably looked like an annoying, pathetic loser in their eyes, running around campus to look for them, asking when they'll be free so that you can all work on it together, only for all of them to say something along the lines of, 'oh, i won't be available.'

"i mean, they could've actually been busy—"

"[name]."

"yeah, it's complete and utter bullshit, i know."

you bury your face into your hands, regretting every moment you spent skipping lunch and spending time with your friends and boyfriend just to look for them in campus, only to hit a dead end every single time. for four weeks straight.

initially, yes, you weren't that worried about it at first. after all, you don't mind writing the introduction paragraph. maybe your groupmates just need a foundation to start their own research and paragraphs on. nothing you were too concerned about.

until you made a second paragraph. then a third, then a fourth, then a fifth…

next thing you knew, you were basically done with the paper, only needing a conclusion paragraph, as well as the sources you used for your research. all on your own.

"…dei, i'm so tired. and pissed off. and sad. and i want to punch a wall." you don't realize how close you are to tears until the words slipped out of your mouth, quickly prompting your boyfriend to become far more alarmed.

of course, you were grouped with the worst people in your class. admittedly, you're a bit of a pushover whenever you aren't grouped with someone you're comfortable with, so it's really no wonder that you never spoke up about this to anyone except mydei.

and, sensing your distress, mydei decides to speak up, "do you need my help, princess?"

every group was given a different historical event in each major city in amphoreus. yours just so happened to be how castrum kremnos was founded — mydei's hometown.

normally, you don't like asking for help from him. not because you think he's stupid or anything — far from it, actually! history is his best subject — but because he also has a lot of things to handle both in academics and extracurriculars. he's the captian of the basketball team, for crying out loud.

honestly, you feel bad that he even stayed up this late just to stay on call with you, especially on a friday night. he should be resting. this week in particular has been hellish for everyone, since the teachers decided to give a bunch of activities and tests, so he should be sleeping right now!

…but, at the same time, you're about five seconds away from ugly crying with how stressed out you are, so you might as well just take his offer so that he doesn't end up worrying about you for the rest of the night.

"if you don't mind, i'd appreciate it… a lot, actually…"

you send him the document link a second later. you only need that one last concluding paragraph to wrap things up, as well as your sources in APA format. fortunately, you did have them linked in the document already, just in a slightly unorganized format.

the moment you send the link, mydei clicks on it immediately, his little icon popping up in the document.

"alright," he starts, voice still raspy but clear enough for you to understand what he's saying, "i can handle the rest, okay? go get some sleep."

"what?"

"good night."

"mydei—"

"i love you."

the way he says those three words with pure adoration, yes, but it's also his way of telling you that he is not letting you work on this damn paper anymore. he's seen you work your ass off for weeks, typing it out on your laptop while you eat lunch, looking for articles on your phone on your way home, looking for books in the library…

hell, if he were there with you, he'd probably carry you off to bed himself. with your sleep-addled brain, you'd probably implode if you imagined that scene right now.

"…okay, right, yes— good night. i love you, too."

"mhm," he hums on the other line, probably smiling to himself, "see you in the morning, beautiful."

this man is going to be the death of you one day. you can see it now.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

you wake up at 9 AM, as usual. you have an alarm set for it specifically every saturday and sunday. you don't really sleep in, always preferring to wake up at a normal time so that your sleep schedule isn't completely messed up.

the first thing you do is take a look at your phone, noting that you received four new messages from mydei, all within 20 minutes after you fell asleep.

my little pomegranate juice addict (aka loml): finished everything. just make sure to proofread it in case i made any spelling mistakes, okay?

my little pomegranate juice addict (aka loml): will head over to your place tomorrow. 9:05 AM. you should be awake by then, since you're always consistent with your alarms

my little pomegranate juice addict (aka loml): so that also means that i'll also get to see you in five minutes.

my little pomegranate juice addict (aka loml): see you in a bit, gorgeous.

9:05 AM. five minutes from now. you look like you just woke up.

it's not like mydei would judge you for looking like a bit of a mess — knowing him, he would probably find it a bit cute — but you also want to look presentable for him. so, you quickly grab your hairbrush from your beside table, brushing out any knots and tangles that might have formed within the night.

and, as promised, you hear a knock on your door five minutes later.

"good morning," mydei greets you the moment you open the door, a soft smile on his face as he takes in your half-presentable appearance. he raises his arm, showing of the paper bag that has the logo of your favorite breakfast place, "i got you your favorite."

honeycakes. you can already smell it from the paper bag. you've been craving them for days now, especially since you've been making a pretty pathetic-looking peanut butter and jam sandwich so that you don't take too long with preparing your food and eating it after.

"oh, you're amazing…" you yawn, stepping aside so that he can enter, "i love you so much. seriously."

mydei carefully takes his shoes off, not wanting any dirt from them inside your house. you carefully grab the paper bag from him, not wanting him to do so many things at once.

and the moment he's done and puts his shoes beside yours by the entryway, he grabs the paper bag from you, placing a hand on your waist to pull you in for a kiss.

even now, you still feel butterflies in your stomach whenever he kisses you.

"love you, too. let's go eat, [name]. you deserve a good meal for working so hard."