#dreamingofhim

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To Alex, your decision is merely another weight for him to bear upon his shoulders.

With each task given to him, he carries them out commendably, as expected of his stature, and with seeming ease. He makes it a point to drive home the impression that he’s unbeatable, that he’s capable, and all for the sake of reassuring the comrades and citizens that he’s sworn to protect that they’re in the right hands.

There are late nights, however, when the ink on the reports he’s supposed to have finished reading begins to blur. He recognizes it for what it is—exhaustion, but he can’t afford to succumb to any sort of rest when it could very well cost lives.

Still, try as he might, sleep temptingly drags his eyelids a centimeter down with each blink. Before he knows it, his head is in the cradle of his arms and all he can think of is getting a handful of minutes of shut-eye.

It’s the warmth of the sun’s rays on his face that wakes him up. It takes a moment for him to remember his predicament; when he does, panic pierces through the drowsiness of his mind and he shoots up, knocking off the blanket that had been covering his shoulders.

He pauses, because he doesn’t remember grabbing one before he fell asleep. He grasps the unfamiliar sheet; further inspection of his office yields a torn piece of paper sitting atop a pile of the reports he was supposed to read.

Sorry for the intrusion, is written at the top. I tried my best to summarize your reports and left my blanket with you. And then, at the very bottom is your name sitting right underneath a, Please don’t forget to take care of yourself,

He stares at the note for a few moments more before checking to verify your account. He mulls over the summary that you had finished for him, while he was peacefully asleep, and he clenches his jaw.

It’s a turning point in your otherwise professional interactions. Frequently, he begins to find all sorts of things left by you in his office. A plate of snacks waiting by his desk just as he’s finished his patrol, an inkpot that has been charmed to never run out of ink, and even sets of candles that, according to the notes you leave, are supposed to be able to calm his mind, and all sorts of other items. He confronts you about it after the twelfth time—this time a basket of herbs for him to mix into his tea—and asks you to cease it at once. You frown, predictably arguing against him, insisting that he’s been working himself much too hard.

He tells you otherwise because he’s capable enough to look after himself, but your frown twists into something like a scowl, and you march straight up to him, finger pointed straight at his chest, informing him that you are well aware of what he’s capable enough, that he’s able to do so, but that doesn’t mean he does look after himself especially with how devoted he is to care for other people. You tell him, courageously look him in the eye for the first time, that he’s so busy looking after other people that he’s forgotten to look after himself, and the least you can do is that.

He’s left speechless by your words, even if protests line up in his mind that it’s his duty to watch over those that the fallen had left behind, but even with his helmet on, you’re able to read his thoughts and your gaze softens.

You place your hand over his chest, right where his heart should be, and you tell him that he’s allowed to rest, you know, and such simple words leave such an impact on him. The way you’re looking at him is not how one would look at a hero, and he wants to know—if not for that, then why choose him in the first place?

“Do you know what haunts me the most? …It’s whether or not I deserve to live for the happiness that others have died for. I’m scared that one day, I’ll forget about their sacrifices, but…you’ve shown me that they wanted me to live, that they wanted me to be happy. So, thank you.”

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For a moment, Emilio feels as if his heart had stopped beating in his chest.

He recovers fast, though, and beams brightly at you, barely restraining the elation racing through his veins because you chose him.

A hand on his shoulder gains his attention. When he turns to look, it’s to his brother’s concerned gaze but he merely pats him on the wrist before shrugging off his touch.

As a way to show his gratitude towards you, he takes your hand in his and bows his head over it as if he were in prayer and maybe he is, because as he’s brushing his lips over the back of your hand and holding your gaze the whole time, all he can think about is promising to himself that he won’t waste this chance given to him.

He is always courteous of you, asking if you need any help and always ready to lend aid when you do. Sometimes, when he notices you drowning in too much work more often than not, he takes it upon himself to check up on you at lunchtime and take you out for a bite to eat.

He’s on his best behavior, all too aware of the watchful gazes that are trained on his back as he accompanies you. He resists the urge to roll his eyes. He does have some self-control, even if he misplaces it on the battlefield.

He gets the opportunity to reveal this side of him to you during your first expedition outside of castle walls. The trek to a nearby town had been easy enough at the start, which had raised his hackles because at least a pack of monsters should have ambushed you guys, and he’s proven true when a whole entourage of bandits fall upon you two.

He makes quick work of the enemy. He turns to you, intending to check for any injuries but the expression that twists your features gives him pause.

Ah. He realizes. He doesn’t know why he’d thought you’d react any differently from the others, but he’d hoped that you would. You’d chosen him, after all, so he’d thought that would matter. Yet, with the way you flinch away from him when he reaches out for you, it seems like all hope is lost. Nonetheless, throughout the expedition, he doesn’t shy away from any violence, even after all that. He still has his duty to protect you and those who are unable to defend themselves, and he won’t let his feelings interfere with this.

When the two of you finally arrive home at Lecord, he expects you to seek out Alex’s, maybe even Cyrus’s, counsel in regards to him. It’s not the first time he’s received complaints about his mercilessness and recklessness in battle, and though each one chip at his core, he stands tall because if not him, then who else?

Yet, rather than speak to somebody else about him, you visit his room late at night. He thinks he’s starting to hallucinate when he opens the door and there you stand, fidgeting with your hands. He doesn’t know what to expect from this conversation, but it’s the fact that you talk to him, that you’re trying to understand that fills him with warmth. He sees how your hands tremble as you rub your clammy palms against your thighs, and he asks why come here if you’re so scared. Something flashes in your eyes, then, and you tell him it’s because you chose him and, at the end of the day, he’s still the meister you’ll choose no matter what because he’s good.

That word pierces something in him. He’s so used to the whispers behind his back telling him otherwise, so to see you resolutely staring up at him, still in the belief that he isn’t just defined by his violence, makes him want to know why you even chose him in the first place. He doesn’t ask; instead, he gathers you up in his arms and embraces you tightly, finding peace in the lull of your heartbeat that races only for him. Because of him.

“You know, whenever I look at you, I really can’t help but think how much you resemble the sun…. Hahaha! Don’t give me that look! I’m being serious here! To me, you’re like a bright light that guides others. Hmmm, if you’re the sun, then wouldn’t It make me your exclusive Solar Knight?”

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Cyrus is surprised, to say the least, when it’s him you hold your hand out to.

He’s well aware of how he seems to other people, that he doesn’t exactly look the most welcoming out of all the knights. He’d expected you to choose between Harriet or Emilio, maybe even Alex, but definitely not him.

Nevertheless, he accepts, because he’s never really been the type to turn down anyone asking for help. The only problem is how to incorporate your requests with his schedule, and the two of you eventually come to a compromise over that. The days that he’s too busy to accompany you are the days when he usually patrols around town. You ask him if you can join him, explaining that you want to learn more about his job, and he tentatively accepts even as he wonders why.

The entire thing is an awkward experience for him. It isn’t that he’s uncomfortable around you. It’s the fact that he feels embarrassed by the people he’s helped in the past trying to offer gifts to him. He tries his best to refuse them as usual, citing that he was only doing his job, but with you expectantly watching him, he’s forced to reluctantly accept, not wanting to appear rude in front of you.

Eventually, the two of you are ushered into a restaurant. The owner is someone he’d saved a month ago from magical creatures. She’s all coy glances between him and you, coming up with a conclusion that he fails to dissuade. In the end, all he can do is sigh and watch as the table is filled with all sorts of specialty dishes.

This, unfortunately, becomes a routine on patrol days, but he finds that the time spent together is helping him interact better with you. When you ask him a question nowadays, he’s stopped giving you clipped responses, knowing that you’re genuinely interested and not doing it for awkward polite talk. He’s less hesitant to place a hand on your shoulder to comfort you, and he knows by heart what your favorite is as well as what streets you’re fond of roaming about.

On a day like this, he’s finally managed to gather the courage to ask you a very important question—what made you decide on him? It’s clear by how your eyes widen that it’s unexpected. He gives as much time as he can for you to mull over it.

However, just as you open your mouth, the hairs on the back of his head suddenly stand up high. Instinct taking over, he shoves you to the back, and just in time for a large magical beast to leap out from the nearby alley, all snapping jaws that clamp down unforgivingly onto his arm.

Even with his injury, he doesn’t let that deter him. He makes quick work of cleaning up the pests, barking an order for you to evacuate to the guild and get more knights on hand. He doesn’t see you again until after all of the monsters have either been dealt with or chased off, but he spots you waiting by the guild’s entrance, worry practically seeping from your face.

You immediately run towards him, hands fluttering about over his body as you check him for any wounds. He sees how you freeze over the one on his arm, the one that he’d gotten when he was protecting you, and before he could so much as offer any comforting words, you’re dragging him straight to the healer’s ward.

Once the healer has finished healing what they could, you take over the bandaging process. It’s clear that you’re not doing that great of a job at it with how shaky your hands are, but he doesn’t stop you.

In order to distract you, he repeats his question from earlier and watches you look up at him in disbelief before you let out a laugh. You tell him your reasons, your cheeks reddening with each truthful word that slips free from your mouth, and finish once you’re done tieing the knot of his bandage. When you collapse against him, he lets you, wordlessly bringing his arm around your shoulders and pressing you close against him, patting you consolingly.

“I made an oath to protect this kingdom from harm with my blade. However, if any threat is pointed your way……If you’ll let me, I’m willing to be your sword. This is a choice I’m freely making.”

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Ecstatic doesn’t even begin to describe how Harriet is feeling at the moment.

He’s barely able to keep his wings from stretching out when he meets you halfway, but he knows by the way your gaze strays to his back that his feathers must be excitedly twitching. Regardless, he takes your hands into his and hopes that the two of you will be able to get along!

He’s perfectly content to give both his guidance and support whenever he can, delighted to be able to be of help to others and bring smiles to their faces.

It’s only for combat-related requests where he stands stubbornly firm on, refusing to accept any one of them unless it’s really necessary. And for the ones that he does relent on, diplomacy is always his first choice even if it almost always devolves into a fight.

He knows that he must look foolhardily optimistic to you, but he explains his reasons to you—how can peace be attained if we don’t try to love one another first? So long as he believes in this, so long as he wants the world to become a peaceful place because of this, he can never forgo his faith for his life.

He tells you with a sad smile that he understands if you’d want to switch to another meister. He himself knows that he isn’t the best suited for what you’re striving for, and he doesn’t want to get in the way especially with all the exceptions you’ve been giving to him when it comes to requests.

Yet, to his surprise, you take his hands in your own and look him in the eye as you tell him that you chose him for a reason, and his unwillingness to do fighting isn’t included in any of them.

At that moment, if love could become turn into something corporeal and solid, he’s sure that it would be piercing straight into his heart because your words. the look on your face, how serious you sound—

Something clicks at the back of his head and he realizes then and there just how much love he actually holds for you. He’s known, since the day that you met him, that he’s already loved you in the same way he loves the determined way the knights fight to protect people. But, it comes to him now that his love for you has only been building with each new side of you he comes to discover, and right now? It feels full enough to burst straight from his chest.

And so, he can’t help but lean his forehead against your shoulder, his hands still trapped within the grasp of yours, and exhale deeply with this newfound realization that just as you’re unwilling to leave him, he too would probably come to the same decision when faced with it.

Still, something nudges his thoughts and he lifts his face just to ask why did you pick him then?

He watches as your cheeks turn as pink as his primary feathers, and he grins mischievously when you’re unable to hide your face because he’s still holding your hands. He’ll squeeze the truth out of you, and if he can’t? Well, he has all the time in the world to learn why and fall even deeper in love with you.

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As curious as he is about your rationale for choosing him, Oscar hardly puts any viable thought or effort into it.

He is, ultimately, a man of importance and with a commodity of enemies lurking at every corner. So rather than whatever intentions you may have, he’s more concerned about the kind of character you keep hidden within yourself.

After all, intent is malleable with the right stress—a better offer of money, opportunity, and the accessories in a dish. But character? Now that is something remains distinct, constant with little dynamics, the stock to the entire soup itself.

So, whenever there’s a chance, he invites you to have a meal with him.

Dining, in essence, is its very own social interaction. One can not only enjoy the food being served but also gauge just what kind of person one’s company may be by the way they dine.

Even as he keeps the conversation going on between the two of you, he always has a watchful eye in the way you sit, in how you treat the restaurant staff, the way you hold your utensils, and how you tend to the food on your plate.

He keeps his vigilance high around you for quite some time; however, once he sees how constant you are with your routine, how unlikely it is that you’ve simply been acting for the sake of malice, then he’s able to lower his guard against you and truly begins to enjoy your presence.

Without caution to be an ever-active sign at the back of his mind, he starts to see the genuineness in your words and actions. You listen attentively to his lessons about what kind of dish you’re having, the history and culture of it, and though you may have some reservations about the brutality of his criticisms, you make it a point to understand why and how come.

It makes you even more endearing to him.

Before he knows it, you’ve become a precious existence to him, enough to make him worry about his threats becoming yours as well.

When he finally asks you what made you choose him, he’ll later on blame it on the atmosphere. On an almost daily basis, the two of you have dinner together. This night, in particular, the two of you are in a restaurant with an outdoor aesthetic with magically-lit candles decorating tabletops and making your eyes glow with something ethereal and hypnotizing to him, your smiles and laughter filling him better than any meal can.

It takes almost all of the discipline inside of him for him to be able to listen to your answer, but the fine line that is his control nearly snaps when he hears the genuineness in your words and he doesn’t even have to see that the dark flush on his cheeks is less so because of the alcohol but more so because of you.

“I’m well aware that we already spend a lot of time together, but, are you free for lunch tomorrow? I placed a reservation at that restaurant you loved, and I was hoping we could try out their newest dish.”

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Kuchen doesn’t bother beating around the bush, fudging the truth, sweetening his words, whatever. He doesn’t, because he isn’t the type of person to waste his time on something that isn’t the least bit important to him.

He has the decency to pull you into a secluded corner before he tells you, in no uncertain terms, to pick somebody else because whatever it is you want, whatever it is that you need to do, he won’t be able to be of any help.

The grave twist to his features is a stark contrast to his usual easygoing one, and he can tell from your expression that he’s caught you off guard with this side of him, but you have to understand. To him, making chocolates will only ever have his full concentration, and it’s best that you know this now rather than later after so much time has been meaninglessly spent.

He gives you time after that to make your decision, confident that you’ll see his way, and he spends his days as he usually does, that tension between his shoulders loosening as time goes by.

When next you drop by the guild, he merely spares you a glance before he turns his attention back to the lady he’d been enamoring. He expects you to wait for him to finish his business with her, to tell him that he’s right, to change your mind.

You, just like how white chocolate refuses to be tempered so easily like the rest, do not do any of that. Instead, you grab him by the arm, smile apologetically at the woman, before dragging him off the the storage room to have a private conversation with him.

He knows, just by the determined furrow to your brows and in the set of your gaze and lips, that you aren’t changing your mind. And he’s right, because you tell him so.

He informs you that it’s your loss, not in an unkind tone, but you insist that you aren’t losing anything and that you aren’t asking him to prioritize whatever it is you want over his passion. You chose him, and you aren’t going to treat him like a broken toy just because he’s harder to handle than the rest.

Something about your words rings significantly inside of him, resonating with feelings and memories he’s long since buried, and it’s really the only reason for why he lets you do what you want.

He doesn’t change completely, at least not at first. He still focuses on making chocolates, still spends his time flirting with women, but whenever you inform him of a request, he takes time from his busy schedule to accompany you even if he’s all complaints and side-tracking.

It takes time for him to warm up to you, and it doesn’t help that he’s kicking and screaming for you the whole time. But he’s seen how patient you've been with him, how genuine you’ve been with your promise, that it makes it hard for him to not come to care for you.

More often than not these days, he wonders why you chose him. It leaves him a little too scatterbrained than normal, affecting even his time when making chocolates. Next thing he knows, he’s staring at a dark red box filled with all of your favorite types of chocolate, each one crafted by his hand, thinking about how much trouble he’s in now.

“Here, take this...Huh? What do you mean who it’s for? It’s for you, obviously. You’ve never tried out any of my chocolates, right? Well, now you can. But prepare yourself, because you’ll never want to eat any chocolates but mine after one bite!”

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It isn’t that Cuit is ungrateful for the opportunity, far from it in all honesty. It just…appears to be a very daunting experience.

He’s never really experienced what it had felt like to be first in anything until you came along, so, so certain in your decision to choose him of all people. You’d grinned this side of sweet when he’d accepted, and that had been enough to send his heart thumping a mile a minute because you’d looked so earnest, so proud in your choice.

For a while, it feels as if he’s walking on cloud nine and, though he still has his main job in the Gourmet Guild, he wholeheartedly devotes as much of himself as he can into your endeavors.

However, with all things that go up, they must, eventually, go down. And for him, his practically crash lands like a stray meteorite.

The weight of his responsibilities come to him gradually. Little things, really, that amount to something great and harrowing that he’s forced to take a seat after a few absentminded blunders in the kitchen.

He has his elbows resting atop his knees, his hands cradling his head, fingers sinking into his hair, as he wonders if he even deserves to be by your side.

After all, who is he to stand alongside the other meisters? Each and every one of them were masters of their own craft, while he himself is still toddling along behind somebody’s shadow and barely succeeding. How could he even think that he could support you, when he could barely do the same for himself? Why did you pick? And why did he accept?

He doesn’t notice your presence until he feels a featherlight touch to the back of his hands, breaking his train of frantic thoughts. He looks up at you, the light from the ceiling acting as a halo of some sorts against the back of your head, and he knows he must look horrible in comparison to you.

You ask him what’s wrong, worry a stark hue in your eyes, and he internally berates himself for letting you see this side of him before he tries to placate you. It doesn’t work, by the way you furrow your brows, and underneath your steel gaze, he relents and tells you his worries.

Something in your face fractures as you listen to him, eyes rounding with each confession that slips past his lips, and he looks away when he’s done, feeling both humiliated and empty because surely now—

Yet, you merely take his hands into yours, a wave fondness overshadowing your sorrow as you run your thumbs over the bandages wrapped around his fingers. When you look up at him, the look on your face is enough to make his heartache horribly. Then, after licking your lips, you tell him gently as to why he shouldn’t worry about that—for why you chose him in the first place, out of everyone.

You gather him up in your arms when you’re done, quietly embracing him and running your hands through his hair. He returns your hug after a while, fingers gripping the back of your clothes, and he allows himself to live in the moment with the knowledge that he does have a place beside you and savors it.

“...I know that I still have a long way to go, but I don’t think I’m as scared as before. And I have you to thank for that, you know? So, I want to make a promise to you. Starting today, for every day we spend together, I’ll make you smile with my food.”

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Although Riche is careful to keep his features placid in response to your choice, there’s a hurricane of conflicting emotions that he lets lose inside of him.

For the most part, he’s flattered by your choice. After all, surely it’s the way he presents himself that makes him stand out amongst the rest, makes you believe that he’s someone that you can rely on. On the other hand, he’s irritated. Not only does having to support you means more work for him atop of everything else, but it’s also not as if it’s possible for him to reject your offer.

He’s been selfish once and has brought more than enough trouble to his brothers. He’s not going to start again after he’s just gotten a handle over it.

And so, he compromises. He’s cordial with you, yes, but he also keeps a certain distance from, always at arm’s length despite your best efforts. He isn’t here to make friends with you, but to fulfill whatever duties you give him.

This all changes, though, on a day where everything seems bleaker, his regrets stinging sharply in his knuckles and his guilt a heavy curtain draped at the back of his mind. It’s on days like this where he’s sharper with his tongue than he means, gaze more pointed. It’s also the day when he snaps at you for the first time, impatience winning out over his calmness. As soon as the words are out of his mouth, he clamps his lips shut, the makings of an apology glued to his mind yet incapable of being said.

When you leave, he knows he’s messed up. That this is it. He’d been given one chance to get his life together, but of course he goes and waste it.

He spends a few days in contemplation, getting his thoughts in order and preparing himself to confront you. His brothers ask him if he’s alright, but he reassures them that everything’s fine, not wanting them to take care of his business. He’s the one that had hurt you. He should at least have the decency to mend his own wrongs.

Once he has the words ready, he seeks you out. It’s awkward, having to sit with you after so long, but he is determined to see this through. The minute he knows he has your attention, he cuts straight to the point, bowing deeply to you and explaining himself, even if he has to reveal a few personal matters to you. He doesn’t expect any sort of forgiveness, but he does ask for you to not hold a grudge on the guild.

The silence that stretches on is so palpable that cutting through it would be like cutting through butter. But the moment ends when he feels you drag your chair closer to him, your feet appearing in his line of vision, and you ask him to meet your eyes so that you can explain your side to him. In the end, you forgive him. You tell him that you understand where he’s coming from—everybody has their good days and bad days, and you appreciate him putting a lot of thought into his apology.

Maybe it’s a spur of the moment or something entirely else, but he blurts out the first thing that comes to mind—do you still want him as your partner meister?

It’s clear that you’re caught off guard by his question, but the surprise on your face eventually makes way for amusement for you quirk a smile at him and tell him that nothing has changed since the day you made your decision.

Your words leave him reeling and try as he might to get an answer out of you for your reasons over choosing him, you’re cheekily quiet. This time, you don’t have to be the one to close the distance. He’s doing a mighty good job doing that on his own.

“...What’s with that look for, huh? For your information, I do know a thing or two about gardening. Most of the wine bottles here come from the grapes I raise. If I can do that, then I can certainly grow some flowers for you.”

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W A L T E R

So long as it doesn’t interfere with his job as Oscar’s taste tester, Walter doesn’t really mind being chosen to help you around.

Your company is nice to have. You don’t seem upset by his preference to be quiet most of the time, nor do you just assume that he doesn’t like having someone to talk to.

You take time out of your busy schedule to spend it with him, always looking delighted at the prospect of helping him out in the greenhouse that he can’t help but mirror your smiles with a shyer version on his own lips.

He finds your interest in the plants under his care endearing, though more often than not he always has to make sure that you aren’t touching the ones with dangerous appendages. The way that you smile sheepishly at him as you apologize only makes him even fonder of you.

He finds that his days with you not only become brighter but also pass by quicker than the ones without you. It’s during these times, when he’s tending to his plants all alone. that he dearly misses your presence beside him.

He wonders if the same applies with you—do you miss him as well? He feels silly for thinking like this, because you always come back the next day with food as if you had any reason to apologize for your absence.

What he does find amusing, however, is the horror that never fails to wash over your face whenever he plucks a leaf from one of his poisonous plants to test its quality. The first time he’d done that, you’d panicked, grabbing his hand with both of yours and encouraging him to spit it out even after he’d swallowed it. He’d explained to you how his magic had recycled the poison into something harmless, and he’d huffed out a small chuckle when you finally remembered what his job in the guild was.

In a way, he feels touched by your concern, especially with how fast you’d reacted when you’d assumed that he was in danger. It makes something inside of him feel warm, because he’s so used to protecting others and not so much the other way around. It’s a nice feeling, knowing that he has another person in his life who cares if something bad ever happens to him.

He tells you such during one afternoon and after all the plants have been tended to. Yet, the expression you give him strikes something deep inside of him, wrenching his heart this way and that, and makes him decide that he doesn’t ever want to see that kind of expression on your face ever again.

Before he can do anything to placate you, you suddenly reach up to squish his cheeks, an indignant look on your face as you tell him that you will always care about what happens to him, whether it be good or bad, big or small, because he’s important to you.

His eyes widen at your words but soften into a fond gaze. Bringing a hand up to touch the back of yours, he asks why.

And you tell him so. Your reasons for picking him in the first place, and why you’ll always pick him no matter what. The affectionate tone in your voice makes him feel warm from his cheeks down to his chest, but he listens reverently, thinking that if he was in your situation, he too would choose you.

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In Cinis’s head, there are two bodies of opinions currently engaged at war with one another, screaming pros and cons at each other in a way that makes him wonder if this is what being in the middle of two arguing guildmates is like.

On one hand, he’s basking in the praise of being recognized by sight alone that only he is truly worthy and qualified to stand by your side and succeed in whatever is thrown his way.

On the other, he knows that there’s really nothing worth reaping from joining your cause. If anything, he’ll just waste precious time and attention away from his duties to the guild—to gaming, clearly.

And besides, compared to him, it’s plain to see who’ll be doing all the heavy lifting.

Still, he knows better than to judge a game by its initial cover. He accepts with the condition of partaking in a trial subscription first to see if you deserve to stand with him or if you’re just one of many NPCs that are better off out of his way.

He keeps his tasks for you simple—gathering his sustenance from only his most trusted of catering services, cleansing the evil that stubbornly sticks to his armor, and sweeping the trash littering his floor as a consequence of attaining victory for the day.

He protests every time you point out that you’re only doing his chores, insisting that they’re for the greater good! With those menial tasks out of the way, he’s able to invest more of his focus on the things that matter the most—keeping his top rank amidst all this heated competition!

Still…he does appreciate what you’re doing, and he does feel some semblance of guilt for treating you like this. So, when he’s finally able to push himself away from his set-up, rather than getting some hours of rest, he turns to you and asks what can he do to return the favor. He is, if anything else, a benevolent king who knows how to pay back what he owes with twice-fold the amount for a tip.

Although you’re unamused with his rather horrible sense of scheduling and time management, you seize the moment and show him all of the requests that have piled up for the past few days. He stares at the intimidatingly long list, unsure of what to do. He’s sure he can finish it, but if it's within such a short time interval…then it would be close to impossible.

He doesn't hesitate in telling you so; however, in spite of the large hurdle standing right in front of you, you surprisingly don't seem the least bit discouraged. Seeing his confusion, you explain to him that with the both of you working together, you're sure that it'll be possible to finish all of this sooner than later.

Your words strike a chord in him. Together echoes in his mind like a lost soul trapped within an endless cavern, and he realizes how long it's been since he's actually depended on anyone.

Nonetheless, he knows a good plan, and yours is the only one you guys have. Reluctantly, he ascents to it, and the two of you set off to do your tasks.

By the time you finish, the two of you are sprawled against a park bench, out of breath and definitely feeling as if you'd run a marathon. You raise your hand, tapping at your wrist for some asinine reason, and when he glances at it to check just what has you so enamored by your own body part, he notices the watch that sits there and realizes what time it is.

His gaze strays back to your face where a triumphant grin is stretching your lips wide, an I-told-you-so look on your face. He permits such arrogance, because you were right. The two of you had managed to finish on time with a couple of minutes left to spare.

It's a quiet and peaceful time of the day, the sky's hues turning darker with blended splotches of purple and blue as dusk makes its approach. He doesn't know whether or not it's the scenery that coerces him into asking you the question that's been on his mind since the very moment he'd agreed to your offer.

Why go with him?

You blink back at him a couple of times, slowly processing his words, before your expression twists into one of amusement and fondness.

You look away to stare at the setting sun, a small smile dancing on your lips. You tell him your reasons for doing so, and with each syllable that leaves your lips, he becomes more and more away of how short the distance is between your pinky finger and his.

He doesn't reach out to you, at least not for a long time. For now, the two of you are coworkers, but if he gives you the chance, if he actually accepts your offer after this trial run, then he'll have all the time in the world to get to know you and evolve this relationship into something more.

He thinks that...maybe having somebody like you by his side wouldn't be such a bad thing.

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The thing is, Canaan knows that he’s a handful.

He’s under no illusion that he isn’t. He’s well aware of what he’s like, knows the kind of whispers being exchanged behind his back, of the gazes that track his back no matter where he goes.

He’s the kind of man who’ll expect you to go with his flow or to get lost. He starts a ruckus every now and then, his reasons for each one undisclosed because shouldn’t it be obvious enough?

And, in spite of all of this, you still chose him.

He doesn’t know whether or not you’ve caught word of the rumors spiraling behind him, but, in the grand scale of things, that hardly matters because every trait of his beneath his smile should have pushed you away, should have made you back off.

But the fact that you didn’t, that you still don’t, is what throws him off. And when you tell him why, he finds himself unsure now of how to handle you anymore.

You linger by his side most of the time, shadowing his steps as he does his job, your eyes wide as you watch his magic curl around pieces of metal and stones to create a ring just as beautiful as the rest sitting on plush cushions for his customers.

You show appreciation for each one of his works, fingers hovering over the air above the rings as if hesitant to lay even a single touch on them.

It’s during one of those moments, where he’d just finished a ring and presented it to you for your perusal, that an idea comes to him as he sees you admire his work.

He doesn’t commit to it completely, since he wants to keep it a secret from you. He does it on the side in between requests and when you’re much too busy with other matters to sneak a peek. It takes weeks for him to finish, his meticulousness to blame, but as he inspects his latest creation once more, he supposes that it was time well spent.

His efforts are rewarded when he shows you the ring and he sees how instantly your eyes brighten. Something like satisfaction floods sweetly into his mouth when he slips it on your finger and tells you that it’s yours and your expression transforms into one that he’s never seen before.

Later, when you ask him why, his neck feels hot when he tries to nonchalantly pass it off as something casual.

“Isn’t it obvious? It just feels wrong to me that someone this close to me isn’t wearing any of my pieces. Hmm, that just gave me an idea. What do you think about matching ones?”

----------------------------------------

To Adel, you choosing him is both an opportunity and a threat to his line of business.

With you around, he finds himself with another pair of helping hands. Though you don’t possess the same skill as he does when it comes to weaving magic into the seams of fabric, you listen well enough when he asks you to get something or to fill up an order for another bolt of this and that.

However, it’s the fact that you chose him to guide you certainly adds another set of responsibilities to his growing list. A list that definitely did not need another item on it, yet here the two of you are.

Still, if he were to weigh benefits against the drawbacks, he would begrudgingly admit, at least only to himself, that he was certainly getting more of the former.

Lately, he finds that his productivity has been higher than ever in your presence and he see why. You’ve been accomplishing the tasks needed for preparation, allowing him to place his undivided attention on the actual design and craft. Furthermore, he doesn’t have to worry about forgetting to eat since more often than not, you come by with food on clockwork.

In a way, if he had to compare you to something, then it would be a soothing balm. A walking and talking soothing balm that eased his nerves that frayed whenever he felt daunted by the expectations he’d placed on himself.

It occurs to him, as he’s in the middle of needlework, if you’re getting just as much as he is in this…relationship between the two of you.

And so he’d asked you, in a moment of curiosity and concealed unease, if you were truly amenable to your current situation with him.

You’d paused, having not expected his question, but a certain kind of look had appeared on your face before you placed your hand atop his and told him, in no uncertain terms, just why did you stick by him and why do you continue to do so.

He’d by lying to himself if he said that he wasn’t shaken to the core by your resolve, with how you’d stared straight into his eyes. Even up to now, where he’s supposed to be concentrating on the makings of an evening gown in front of him, his mind keeps straying to that one moment.

Before he’s even aware of his actions, he’s already reaching out for a sheet of paper and charcoal, a design coming to life in his head and pouring out through the tips of his fingers.

His inspiration? Well, who else is there?

“I was wondering if you perhaps you’d want to accompany me to one of my past client’s parties? Ah, don’t worry about what you’ll wear. I’ve already prepared something for you.”

----------------------------------------

The first time Volks had laid eyes on you, a slight prickle of something had surfaced at the back of his mind. It was the same kind of feeling that arose whenever somebody would present an unrivalled quality of gem to him, or when the person he was talking to truly was telling the truth no matter how unconvincing their tale might have been.

Basically, it was his instincts telling him that you would be a worthwhile individual to befriend.

So, when you’d chosen him out of the other Meisters, he was only all too pleased to go along with your whims.

After all, he now has a solid excuse to seek you out whenever he wanted to.

His intuition is once again proven true when, after quite some time, he can say for sure now that your company is something irreplaceable.

There’s a unique charm about you, much like a gem with a magnificent clarity, that keeps drawing gaze towards you, beckoning him to listen to whatever came out of your mouth.

From past conversations with you, he learns how just how dedicated you are to your aspirations, the kinds of food you’d prefer whenever the two of you would catch lunch together, and your concerns for an uncertain future.

He’s sure that you probably know just as much about him, and it’s because he knows that he has your trust and that you have his, he is always ready to lend you a hand if the time comes and you’re unable to shoulder everything weighing you down.

Eventually, rather than seeking your company for the sake of befriending you, he does so because he wants to, missing your presence whenever you aren’t there.

He’s aware, on some level, that you feel the same way.

After all, he can see how you gravitate towards him in the same way that he does, your hands brushing his every now and then during a stroll, and the close proximity between the two of you that only seems to shorten with each passing day.

Had you felt what he’d felt when you’d seen him for the first time? Or was it something else that drew your life into his? Whatever the answer may be, he’s just glad that he’s able to have this with you.

“Hmmmm, hmm, hmm. Oh? Ah, sorry, I just thought that this gem would look nice against your hair. But then again, maybe it would look best on your wrist...Hmm!"

----------------------------------------

Curious as he is to know of your intentions for choosing him, Merry Rose understands that everyone has a right to their own secrets. So long as you don’t pry into his, he won’t ask for any of yours.

Yet, over the course of knowing you, of seeing what makes you smile, what drives you to tears, and what pushes you to anger—

He finds his grasp on his secrets gradually weakening.

When he realizes this, he’s torn between letting them slip free from him or pulling them even closer to his heart where nobody else could see them. The time he spends mulling over it is meaningless because, in the end, all it has to take is you reaching out for his arm, this look on your face that sends his thoughts into a jumble, and asking if everything’s alright.

He doesn’t blurt everything out at the spot, of course, but it’s seeing you concerned for him, seeing that you care, that really makes it feel as if this was all just inevitable.

He mentions the experiences he’d had in the past every now and then, lets himself feel vulnerable in front of you during the bad days, and lets you trace the vines mapped out underneath his skin.

Your touch feels like fire against his skin, and the goosebumps they leave in their trail remind him of the bubbles that form occasionally when different chemicals are mixed together in one beaker.

When he sees the questions in your eyes but the restraint in the firm line of your mouth, he only chuckles and places a hand on your cheek, his thumb caressing the crescent swoop of the apple there, so very, very, fond of you,

You, who could have been a stranger in another life, but chose him in this one.

Still, even if after you’ve held everything he’d buried deep inside of him, he doesn’t ask.

But you can tell, in the same way that he knows what you want to ask, and, when it’s just the two of you in his laboratory with him working on a new scent and you watching him, you tell him why.

Seeing him pause just right as he was about to pour his concoction into a bottle, you lean in closer to see how the flower bud initially sleeping behind his ear suddenly unfurls into a magnificent bloom pinker than his blush.

----------------------------------------

When you’d chosen him, amongst all the other meisters and fairies, Est had initially felt somewhat…pressured.

After all, it’s no hidden secret within Magia Seminar that he isn’t exactly the best of teachers. Proficient as he is with his magic, he has no doubts about his ability to protect you.

But to guide you? To answer whatever questions you had about this world? To be your tutor?

Est could only brace himself for your dismissal of him in the future.

Yet, to his skepticism, that day never comes and he doesn’t understand why.

He’s seen the way your features twist into an expression of confusion whenever he tries to explain something theoretical to you, the sigh that always escapes from your lips when he hands you supplementary readings for you to peruse, and how tired you always seem to be whenever you take a seat in one of his classes.

He wants to question you about your intentions, but he can never seem to find the right moment to ask you. The only times that the two of you are together, he can’t find it in himself to pop the question, especially when he’s how stressed you’ve looked from other matters.

So, because he still is a researcher, he observes.

He watches how you turn to him for any questions lingering in your mind, something thoughtful appearing in your eyes despite your difficulty with understanding the technical terms he uses. He comprehends, then, that the reason for why you studiously read the books he recommends is so that you can better understand his reasoning and lessons.

Once he’s collected enough data, all he can do is stare at the only conclusion he’s able to come to.

You rely on him. No, that isn’t right. You chose to rely on him, even if there are easier alternatives for you to choose from, and this sudden recognition of your efforts just to stay by his side fills his chest with something that bubbles warmly.

When you enter the library in search of him, you’re treated to a sight you’ve never seen before: Est, with a hand pressed right up against his forehead and his entire face blazing red.

“Here, this is for you. I know it doesn’t seem like much, but these are the notes I made when I was younger and magic had been new to me. I hope these will be able to help you.”

----------------------------------------

As both a student and a medical magic practitioner, Kai can acknowledge that he truly has too much on his plate right now.

So, when you chose him, a refusal was already forming at the tip of his tongue. And he would have, if he hadn’t seen the knowing look that Sion had sent him; from thereon, his pride was honestly the only reason that made him grudgingly accept the offer.

Initially, he’s sullen whenever he has to accompany you, a constant sour twist to the corner of his mouth, his thoughts constantly straying to what he could have been studying at that time or which patient would be dropping by in an hour.

But, regardless of how time-sensitive he feels, he sincerely devotes himself to the task of protecting and guiding you.

He always has his medical kit on his body in the case you get hurt, his magic a sporadic thing that lashes out at the sign of hostility from others, and he makes it a point to answer your questions to the best of his capability.

He can sympathize, after all, what it’s like to feel lost.

For him to warm up to you, all it takes is one realization. He’s of the assumption that you expect him to invest most of his attention on you, but when you break it out to him that you understand that he has other duties to attend to and that you don’t mind, the weight he’d been carrying on his shoulders lift.

From thereon, rather than having a thunderous rain cloud following your wake, it’s as if you’ve acquired an excitable puppy trailing after you.

In what little reprieve the two of you are able to afford, he drags you out for lunch, visiting businesses owned by his former patients who are all too happy to have him there. Sometimes, when you find yourself free and waiting for him, he lets you into his infirmary where you’re able to see him at work, the energy constantly buzzing beneath his skin turning into a calm hum as he treats his patients kindly.

He’s aware that he’s showing a foreign side of him to you, but he doesn’t particularly mind it. Still, it does make him wonder just what made you decide to choose him out of everyone, because he can concede that he’s neither the strongest nor the smartest.

When he asks you, he doesn’t bother beating around the bush. He looks you straight in the eye, his cheek pressing against the back of his hand, and looking for the all the world like the question doesn’t have a grasp on his heart right now.

But when you give him a genuine answer, you’re treated to the sight of his composure fracturing, a flush riding high on his cheeks that he tries to cover with his hand, his gaze meeting everything but yours.

“Oi, come here…Are you serious? Look, I won’t bite, so just come closer. Your neck’s been hurting right? I know a thing or two about massages, so let me give it a try.”

----------------------------------------

To put it plainly, Sion doesn’t really care whether or not he gets chosen by you.

Because in the end, whichever route you go with, you’ll eventually find out that not only is he incompetent to his own lineage but also opposed to the very magic that flows through his veins. A combination that, truly, you’ll most likely want to distance yourself from.

Yet, your gaze turns to him, something clicking into place in the space between the two of you, and Sion doesn’t even bother hiding his glower when he realizes just what this means—just a prolonged denial for the inevitable.

He keeps his distance from you, for both of your sakes, but he’s bound by duty to return to your side whenever you need it the most, be it for protection or guidance. He keeps his words curt and clipped, his tone uninterested and cold, and he can very well see the bewilderment on your face as to why you’re being treated in this way despite having only just met him.

He expects you to talk to him about this being a mistake, about him being the mistake, as is always the case, but that never happens. Instead, whenever he tries to scurry away from you after helping you with a task, you persistently dog his steps, sticking close to him just to keep the conversation going.

Sooner or later, your interactions begin to look less like a master calling for their pet and more like a cat chasing after a mouse. Sion will swear up and down that it isn’t true, because if it were the case, then wouldn’t that make him the mouse in this situation…?

Things come to a deadlock when you finally figure out his best hiding spot.

It’s a quaint area that used to be a side courtyard for the guild that has been now abandoned due to the fact that mostly everyone stays inside the libraries to study. Sion goes there often for the sake of it being a quiet place. And, as you soon come to learn, for the kittens play there.

The two of you stare at one another for a good long while, stunned, but the moment is broken when the little animal in Sion’s hands paws him in the face, meowing for more kisses on its tiny head.

Sion looks ready to bolt, completely horrified, but it takes you sitting down beside him and taking another kitten into your lap and playing with the little guy for him to calm down, a suspicious eye trained onto you.

It’s probably because this is the longest time that the two of you have spent time together than you tell him, keeping your gaze carefully trained a kitten, your reasons for choosing him.

He listens and, at the end of it, he doesn’t say a word. You worry that you might have been too impatient with him when he leaves, but the next morning, instead of having to initiate another one of your games of hide-and-seek, you find him waiting for you at the entrance of the guild.

“...I’ll only say this once, but—If you don’t mind having me, then I’ll do my best to take care of you and erase any of your worries.”

----------------------------------------

At first, Gui thinks that you’ve made a mistake. Surely, you didn’t just call out his name? Or had you perhaps mistaken him for another meister?

But no, it’s not a mistake, because you’re looking straight at him, truly at him and not through him, with a smile on your face that’s gradually becoming more awkward, hand stretching out towards him for the taking.

It’s a clumsy first meeting, one that he’ll later on learn will be the general description for his relationship with you.

Because that’s technically what it is. No, scratch that, that’s what he is whenever you’re around, which is almost all the time.

For some convoluted and omnipresent reason, it’s as if whatever he’s holding suddenly turns into butter the minute you take a peek over his shoulder and ask what he’s working on, your face so close to his that he could feel practically every breath you exhale against the side of his neck.

It’s led to a couple of accidents within the guild that always lands him a scolding in the hallway, curious onlookers trying their best to listen in as they slowly walk by.

He would ask you to stop visiting him during his tinkering hours, but it feels wrong for him to do so.

He knows that it really isn’t your fault, even if you are the catalyst. It’s more of a him problem, really, so he lets you drop by whenever you want with a promise extracted from you that you’ll at least try and get his attention first from a distance.

Besides, despite the consequences, it feels…nice. To be appreciated like this. For him and his efforts to be seen.

It’s this sudden awareness of why he feels so happy lately, why he’s so reluctant to spend less time with you, that makes him wonder—just what had piqued your interest in him? So much so that you chose him out of the other meisters?

It takes time for him to gather the courage to raise the question to you, but he does so eventually because quitting is one thing unfamiliar to him. He keeps his eyes on his latest invention, trying his best to ignore the anxious fluttering in his gut.

Seeing his nervousness through the slight tremors in his hands, you reach across the table and take them in yours, caressing your thumbs over the back of his hands. You wait until the shaking stops before you answer him, giving him a fond smile that only succeeds in making the butterflies in his gut fly high up to his chest, filling him with a sense of adoration.

----------------------------------------

Amused is one way to put Shiharu’s opinion of the entire situation.

Even since the beginning, he wonders what exactly had drawn him to you. He knows that many see him as a ghost—willowy, translucent, and certainly as vengeful as one if wronged—and he muses if that’s something you find interesting. To prefer a ghost instead of a sun.

He treats you cordially enough at first, close but not so, keeping an imaginary abyss between the two of you, and he doesn’t expect you to take the leap, because why would you? What are your reasons for doing so? Why make the effort when it will bring you neither fortune nor reward?

It’s best, in the end, to keep a certain distance, or else you’ll get dragged into something that you’ll regret and he’ll later have to do damage control for.

Yet, no matter what he does, you’re always there to spend time with him. You attempt to get closer to him beneath the cover of guidance and seeking his help on matters that pertain to your requests. He can see your endeavors in creating a bridge through that bottomless abyss that he’s tried so hard to keep permanent between the two of you, and he protests.

He doesn’t outright ignore you or shut you down, because that would defeat the purpose of him being a catalyst for your future. He wants to help you, not delay your progress, so he does what is needed of him but politely refuses any situations that are superfluous, even going so far as to point out the reasons to support his case.

He doesn’t know whether he should feel frustrated or incredulous when you merely find loopholes against his reasons.

If he doesn’t want to spend more money eating out? Then you can go and buy groceries and make something together at the guild! If he doesn’t have the time to do so? Then you can help him with other matters so that he’ll have more time! And if he tells you that you might not have the skillset for that? Then you inform him that he can always teach you so that the guild will be more effective as a whole in the future!

It drives him somewhat insane, just how persistent you are, and he reaches his tipping point one day and nearly snaps at you—why go so far just to get close to him? His purpose is to support you, to help you reach your full potential by achieving your dreams, and you can’t accomplish any of that if you turn your attention to him, someone who doesn’t even deserve to be considered a person after all he’s done.

It takes him a moment to realize what he’s done, and an apology is already prepared at the tip of his tongue but he’s interrupted by hands coming up to cradle his face.

There’s a heartbroken expression twisting your features, one that he wants to wipe clean off your face, but that determined light comes back to your eyes and you tell him, explicitly, your reasons for choosing him.

Suffice to say, he’s floored by the truth, and something on his expression must show the chaotic jumble of emotions he’s feeling deep inside of him because you embrace him, bringing his face into your shoulder. And, for once, even if it's with reluctant arms and a shaky heart, he returns the gesture.

“Even if it’s me, would you still be willing to hold my hand? … No, you don’t have to answer me. I can already tell by the look on your face. Thank you… From now on, if you need anything, I’ll go and fetch it for you. No matter what it may be.”

----------------------------------------

Alma is indifferent to your decision.

And why wouldn’t he be? It doesn’t exactly change anything, aside from having more work to deal with, but even that isn’t too big of a problem. Things have been getting boring as of late, and he appreciates anything that’ll keep him from getting antsy.

But he can’t deny that it’s fun to relive what he’d thought he’d long since given up. Being able to have a reason to journey to places he’s only heard rumors of, to experience the difficulties of travel and the luxuries of a warm bed and meal after a hard day’s at work, and to meet a bunch of strangers that you have no idea if they’ll be a friend or a foe in the long run.

It helps that you’re there too. Your company is surprisingly pleasant to be in, even though you pester him whenever he feels like sleeping in, but you’re fun to talk to and you don’t care all too much about getting a bite of whatever he’s fancying for dinner as you two go over your reports. He feels more energized whenever you’re there, like he has even more reason to fulfill his job, which is something that he both sighs and smiles over.

Karma, on the other hand, feels inconvenienced by your decision and in turn you.

He prefers to stay hidden beneath the stillness of Alma, loath to have any sort of interaction with you, but he forces ripples upon the surface and makes an appearance when you get in the way of his job, sneering at you that it isn’t any of your business, that you have no right to intervene into any of his affairs with confessors.

To him, your requests have been disrupting his duties, making it less and less likely for him to hunt down the guilty and hear their cases before he executes judgement upon their souls. And it’s not as if he can just abandon his duty to you. He’d made a promise to you, and he’d be a hypocrite if he went back on it due to personal reasons, so only you have the right to break it.

Both sides of him can see the bewilderment that appears on your face whenever he switches between his personas, but the desire to understand is there, so he sits you down one night and explains it to you, holding your trembling hands the whole time.

He doesn’t expect you to understand, doesn’t expect anyone to understand why he copes in this way, but his heart does flip into itself when he sees that you’re trying to. He squeezes your hands, unwilling to let go, but the words are out of his mouth before he even knows it—it doesn’t have to be me.

And you understand him, judging by how eyes snap wide open. In any other situation, he would have smirked at how easy it is for the two of you to read one another, but this isn’t just any situation so he gives you a tight-lipped smile. (10)

What seems like hours pass by between the two of you before he sees you clench your jaw, a flash of indignation passing by your the curl of your lips, and before he knows it, you have a hand on his braid, tugging him down to your level and making him hunch over. You tell him, in words that ring out fiercely in his head, that you want it to be him, and whatever thoughts he’d had, whatever thoughts that Karma had of your weak resolve, they crumble just like that.

Why? He’ll ask on another night, because it seems like full moons are the perfect setting for a serious conversation between the two of you. And you’ll look at him as if he’d grown a second head before chuckling, your hands finding his, and this time, it’s you who does the explaining until he understands.

“Aha! You should see the look on your face! Ah, but don’t worry! I won’t drop you, see? I just wanted to try carrying you, but man I didn’t think you’d weigh this much… Kidding! I’m just joking! Aww, don’t give me that look! … You wouldn’t! You promised me that we’d get to try out that barbecue restaurant! I already said I was sorry—!”

----------------------------------------

Lykos can see it as clear as day—another obligation to add alongside the shackles lining his limbs.

At the very least, your intentions seem to align well with his objectives, giving him no reason to reject your offer. If you, too, are in the pursuit of foiling whatever schemes evil has in store, then it would only be right to support your cause.

With Shiharu’s permission and assurance that he’ll be fine on his own, he goes out of his way to help you out whenever he can, from day-to-day tasks and up to life-threatening ones. He prefers the latter, and he knows that it shows whenever a conflicted expression appears on your face as you give him the requested details to take care of a harmful entity hellbent on threatening the lives of civilians.

More often than not, these days, he has to resist the urge to pat you whenever you look worried, to offer some means of comforting words to you, but he holds himself back, unwilling to cross the line of professionalism. For all he knows, your concern may be directed to only the civilians in the line of danger, and it would be presumptuous of him to assume otherwise.

His mind is eventually put to rest when you seek him out one day, brandishing a protection charm from who knows where only for you to give it to him with a firm look and an even firmer promise extracted from that he’ll always have it on his body.

He keeps it in a hidden slit on the belt wrapped across his chest, letting it rest against his heart so it’s there where he can first feel the warmth of its magic when it activates.

After that, it’s laughably easy for him to return your gesture. No longer does he shy away from patting your head or giving you kinder words, now that he knows you wouldn’t spurn him like so many others have.

He allows you to worry over him, staying quiet as you fuss over any injuries he sustained in battle that day and letting you run your fingers through his fur as a means to distract you whenever you’re stressed. He finds himself wishing that he can bring peace faster, so that you don’t have to spend so much time tiring yourself out in this battle, but even he’s realistic enough to know that it’s an impossible dream and that the best he can do is to protect you from harm’s way.

He enjoys being with you, more so than he could have ever imagined, and it’s precisely so that he lets you see the more vulnerable sides of him, even if at his own expense. Even now, he can still remember the look on your face when the two of you had visited the orphanage he frequents to in order to donate what spare coin he has and all the children had come running up to him, asking for tosses and climbing all over his body as if he were a playground.

It’s because he trusts you so much that he asks you, as the two of you are staring up at the stars after a long day, why you chose him.

The way your eyes had looked when you’d turned to him could have put the moon itself to shame at that very moment, but as much as he’d want to lose himself in them, he keeps his ears open for your words, raptly listening to you.

He feels even more at ease after that, knowing that even if many gazes look his way and don’t see someone willing to die for their protection, you at the very least will always know. And that’s enough for him.

“You should take this. It’s going to be a chilly night. … Hm? Me? Don’t worry about it. I have my own coat, don’t you see? I’ll be fine…. You do know that we don’t have to share? … If it puts your mind to ease, alright then. But keep close, we don’t want you getting sick.”

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The first thing Daste does when you make the offer to him is to complain.

If it were up to him, he would have outright shut you down. Better to not waste either of your time, right? But Shiharu’s gaze in itself feels like a piping hot brand even across the room, and he’s not stupid enough to ignore what is basically an unspoken command.

He doesn’t make it easy for you, no, because if anyone’s adjusting, it’s definitely not him. He’s already done his part, agreeing to this kind of trouble, and it isn’t as if he rejects any of your requests or goes out of his way to sabotage them. He’s not that much of an asshole.

In the end, he isn’t made to be indestructible nor has he ever wanted to be. It takes time for him to warm up to you, and he doesn’t even realize that he’s grown attached to you until you don’t show up one morning on a day of the week that you usually do and he’s getting fidgety to the point he would have nearly blown up his workroom if not for his mind telling him to doublecheck his mixture of chemicals.

When you drop by the next day, he’s instantly at your side, shooting questions and generally fretting over you. He catches himself when he sees how your expression shifts, and he clamps his mouth shut, getting all red in the face because of his actions.

It’s a turning point in his relationship with you, for him to know just how much he cares for your wellbeing, and he awkwardly stumbles through it in the beginning, not quite sure where he stands in your life because he’s been a total ass to you.

It’s only when you take the initiative to reach out to him once more, this time with the both of you truly open to the idea, that he realizes that all this time, you’ve only really just been waiting for him, and what else can he do but catch up to you and make up for lost time?

And boy, he really does try to make it worth your while. Suddenly, stilted conversations become full of life and grand gestures that it’s hard to remember anything from the past. He shows you all of the combustibles and explosives he has in store, both the ones used for work and the ones used for pure aesthetic, and he offers to show you each one of them with an excited grin and anticipating heart. (9)

The minute you give him the go, he knows exactly what he’s going to show you and he sets it up quickly, telling you to clear up your schedule for tonight, and he’s practically vibrating in his skin as he sits by you, far away from the stack of fireworks he’s arranged in the center of the empty field. He glances at you before lighting the fuse that’s just at his feet.

Seconds later, an unimaginable number of colors burst into being in the night sky, illustrating wide-petaled flowers that trickle down as if drawn with actual paint that hadn’t been given the time to dry. It’s a sight that still makes it feel as if his heart is imploding upon itself, but he risks looking at you, wanting to see your expression.

His breath hitches when he sees the look on your face, something taking hold of his lungs and squeezing it mercilessly. He doesn’t know what comes over him, but when the sounds from the fireworks die down a bit, he can’t help asking you just why had you picked him. Just why had you still chosen to stick around.

Your eyes widen, caught off guard by the suddenness of his question, but your surprise softens into something, dare he say it, loving and you take your hand in his, intertwining your fingers, and you give him your answer. At the end of the night, he can say for sure that it isn’t the fireworks that had made his day.

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By the end of the selection process, Lagoon is incredulous when you choose him.

Vaguely, he wonders if you’d done so just because he’s the eldest amongst the meisters here. He has mixed feelings about this because even though he’s accepted a long time ago that he’ll be the butt of the old man jokes, he still doesn’t necessarily like it when it’s pointed out to him!

He doesn’t question your motives for choosing him (not because he doesn’t want to hear you calling him an old man!), but he does give you a heads-up about his current predicament.

As a senior in his guild, he already has a lot of responsibilities on his plate alongside his own personal matters. If you’re looking for someone who can dedicate their entire time and being to whatever projects you're taking on, then he should be standing at the very back of the line.

To his utter bafflement, you don’t change your mind. You’re open to the fact that there’s always something preoccupying him; however, what surprises him the most is how you go out of your way to help him.

You may not have the same experience that he’s collected over the years, but the effort that you pour into your work, the heart that you show whenever he assigns you to do something, is enough to convince him that you’re serious about this.

With you taking a portion of his workload, he frequently finds himself being able to finally take a deep breath and lean back against his chair, realizing that, after a long while, he truly has nothing to do now.

It’s times like these when he can finally turn to you and ask how can he help you now, and it fills him with a sense of pride that he’s capable of repaying your hard work with nothing on his mind weighing him down.

The requests you give him range from menial tasks like helping some townsfolk to definitely more dangerous ones that involve trekking to somewhere that his poor knees would protest at. He occupies the silence between the two of you with jokes, to which you always respond with a cheeky cheer that you’re always rooting for him! More often that not, it hacks out a sharp bark of laughter from him, and being able to travel with you to all sorts of places makes him feel younger than his age—to know that there are still things in this wide world that he’s never encountered before.

It’s these moments where he’s able to look up at the bright blue sky and let his mind roam free with a dream that he’s kept carefully secured close to his heart. He shares it with you, around a campfire, and he’s prepared for whatever sort of reaction you give because he knows how ridiculous it seems. Yet, as the two of you tuck into your sleeping bags, you give him a soft smile and tell him that you believe he can do it.

It stuns him far longer than he means it to. When he snaps back, he’s met with your peaceful sleeping face and he can’t help but feel nothing but fondness for you who chose him, a man past his prime, but still insisted that he wasn’t beyond his dreams.

He mulls over the idea of asking you about your reasons for choosing him tomorrow morning, but he easily sweeps that off the table. Whatever it is, he can just find out about it when the right moment comes. After all, he has all the time in the world to learn more about you.

“Hey, what are you doing out here without a jacket? Don’t you know the temperature’s been dropping lately? …Fuu, well, whatever. Here, you can have mine. Don’t worry ‘bout it, I work with vehicles, remember? Their engines usually keep me too warm.”

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From Towa’s perspective, this hardly changes anything.

His main objective has and will always be to build automata meant for helping human beings, and if you’re in need of his assistance, then he’s inclined to lend his services.

At first, if his presence isn’t necessarily required of him, he sends his automata in place. It’s a good opportunity to introduce his skillset to you and for his creations to experience an immersive lesson, and he doesn’t think anything wrong about it until you bring up your concerns to him.

When you try to explain to him that while his automata are doing their jobs, you prefer him, he’s perplexed. The conversation eventually descends into whether or not his automata are really performing up-to-task, but you manage to steer the topic to the main point: people appreciate seeing the face of the one who built the automata that makes their lives easier.

Understanding dawns on him then. Although he may be reluctant to comply with your wishes, he sees the weight of your words. If he wants his dream to succeed, then sacrifices must be made.

He doesn’t really know how to bring up the fact that he isn’t the best when it comes to idle discourse until you’re witnessing face-first how awkward his mannerisms are. He expects you to be disappointed, as this is an area that he’s lacking in; however, thankfully, you intervene and manage to salvage the situation.

With his social progress moving at a morosely sedate pace, his interactions with others almost always demand you to do damage control. It makes him feel somewhat helpless, even more so when you turn to him with only smiles and comforting words.

He’s supposed to be one helping you, not the other way around. He feels as if he’s violating the dream that he’d set his sights on.

You notice his predicament through the deviations in his behavior. His hands have started to twitch more often than not and his lips have been more downturned than normal. You confront him about it, and when he asks why, you tell him it’s because he’s your friend.

It’s a groundbreaking discovery if there ever is one. He’d assumed that you’d wanted a tool, someone malleable yet effective. He’s never entertained the thought of you choosing him to be your companion, your confidant, and everything else above utilization and disposal.

He informs you as such, because findings are important to share, and he’s witness to how something on your face breaks before you take his hand into yours, flint appearing in your gaze, as you tell him why you even chose him in the first place.

The truth settles in as both a burden and a promise. The former because now, more than ever, he wants to achieve his dream with and for you. The latter is so that he doesn’t forget that he can fall back and depend on you as much as you depend on him.

“...? Oh. It’s just you. Do you need me for something? ...No? ...Ah. You came here to spend time with me. I apologize, but I’m in the middle of working on a new project. Hmmm...come closer. Do you want me to teach you how automata work?”

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Link is only all too delighted to have you choose him!

Not only have you just presented him with the opportunity to meet the people who have no access to his level of technology, but also now he’s able to further his dream by connecting all sorts of different individuals and deepening the discourse of ongoing problems.

He tells you as such, making sure to be as transparent as possible because this is a considerable offer, and he makes sure to double the amount of dazzle in his beam when you accept.

Things start off shaky at first, now that he has you as an occasional partner in his broadcasts regarding your requests, but that’s how things usually are so he brushes them off, his mind set on the finish line.

He notices the curiosity from his audience about you, but he keeps his words casual yet careful, deflecting here and there when the questions become too personal and moving the spotlight back to him.

A fan asks him if he and you are friends, and it gives him pause. It isn’t as if he goes out of his way to spend time with you outside of work hours, but there are instances where catching dinner with you sounds appealing especially after a long day of work. He values professionalism most of all, and introducing friendship into your partnership might only complicate things.

In the end, he doesn’t answer the question, thanking the heavens that a distraction appears from behind. Still, he does mull over it before bringing it up to you. After all, a dialogue between both parties is only for the best.

The way your face scrunches up as you think over it is cute, and he wishes he had anything on his hands to document it but he’d left everything in the next room.

Eventually, you say yes with a shy smile. You tell him how much you enjoy his company, what traits you admire about him over the course of knowing him, and that his dream is a beautiful one that you want to support. Later on, when next he checks a mirror, he can perceive the pinkness of his ears that thankfully blends well with his hair. He bites his lip, trying to contain his smile.

Things start to change after that, and by how quickly it does, it makes him realize that it really only has been him that’s been halting the process. However, instead of feeling regretful, it only encourages him to improve on his relationship with you to make up for lost time.

With your permission, he starts to include you in more of his streams, promoting you from the person who gives him requests to an actual partner host. The two you end up having a question and answer segment and where the audience is free to shoot questions at the two of you. It’s his turn to read and he scans the list until his gaze lands on a particular one—what made you choose Link?

It’s an ambiguous question, one that doesn’t really pertain to why you chose him as a meister, but he asks you this anyway, curious to hear your answer. This time, it’s you whose cheeks turn rosy and the pointed look you give me only makes him grin cheekily. He regrets asking you, soon enough, when you give your answer because now he’s the one embarrassed.

“Hey, guys! I hope you’re all doing well. I’m at a farm with—guess who? Yup! Hahaha! Who else would it be? Well, I’ve got to go. We’re going to be having lunch, and I prepared a surprise picnic! I’ll tell you guys all about it later~”

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Hollow takes one good and long look at you before sticking his hand out.

He watches you stare at it, dumbfounded, before you realize what it means. Gingerly, you slip your hand into his gloved one and shake it awkwardly. He beams at you as best as he can through his mask and is relieved when your eyes light up and you don’t pull away.

The thing is—he’s aware of how people talk about him. The God of Death, they whisper under their breaths. It’s honestly embarrassing because he neither meant nor wanted to ever get that sort of reputation.

You can never find out about it. You’re one of the few people who don’t cower beneath his gaze and you chose him. He doesn't have to be a genius to figure out what you’d do if you found out that you just picked someone called the God of Death.

He does his best the first few weeks, ensnaring your attention to him as he distracts you from the rumors with conversations about everything and nothing. He also faithfully keeps his mask on because he knows that he doesn’t exactly look like the sun when he smiles.

However, this all comes to heed when the one thing he can’t control rears its head.

He’s waiting outside of a pawn shop as you negotiate with the owner. It’s really by chance when his gaze catches onto something interesting, something that he’s thought he’d only get to see once in his life. Before he knows it, he’s on the other side of the street, hands reverently running across the antique automobile that must date back to about twenty years. He tries—really, really tries—but it’s futile.

When you leave the shop with more money than you’d entered, you’re surprised to find him missing. You squint, trying to spot a head full of pale hair, and you smile when you catch sight of it. That same smile freezes on your face when you process just what you’re seeing.

As if sensing your gaze, he turns his stare towards you and his eyes widen. It would look comical, really, especially with him being elbows deep within the automobile’s hood, his fingers working into the engine that he’s never seen the same type of before. But neither of you owns that car, and you’re willing to bet that the elderly man clutching his chest just a few feet away and staring gobsmacked at the entire situation is the owner.

After getting dressed down by the owner and having to repair the engine, he still walks you home even though by now, you already know the truth that he’s been trying so hard to hide. The old man really hadn’t spared any mercy, laying out just why his epithet had fit him so well if this was how he acted.

A hand grasping his own snaps him out of his miserable thoughts. When he checks, he sees you looking up at him, concerned, before you smile fondly at him and reassure him in spite of everything. Something must show in the furrow of his brows because you stop, your smile widening, before you laugh and tell him that you’d know all along.

He is full-blown gawking at you now, because you knew? You nod, saying that you’ve already heard of him long before you two met, and the why that comes out of his mouth is unintentional. Your smile softens and you squeeze his hand once before looking off, your reasons slipping out of your lips like a prayer and dismantling him whole in the process of it.