#f.hsr

Phainon beamed and took the open chair next to (Name). He dropped his well-worn textbook onto the table, but his attention was put anywhere but the words on the page. 

“Are you an Erythrokeramist?” Phainon’s voice startled (Name) again. Professors were really the only people to call on (Name) and they weren’t used to such attention. Let alone from a Chrysos heir. (Name) nodded and shrunk further into their chair when Phainon leaned closer to take a peek at their textbook. “Tell me more? Erythrokeramists and Nousporists both deal with the soul, after all. It may help my own studies!”

Quite a fancy way to procrastinate, but with the way Phainon was smiling at them, (Name) couldn’t find it in their heart to refuse. They started with the basics of Erythrokeramist theory and the role of creation in wisdom, then half an hour had passed with Phainon succeeding in getting (Name) to talk about the intricacies of how art was an extension of the mind, body, and soul. 

The bells chimed and scholars and students alike began to filter out of the room, and (Name) shut up in an instant. Time passed so quickly when Phainon happily asked questions and indulged in (Name)’s favorite topics with genuine interest.

They covered their mouth and muttered, “I didn’t realize I was talking for so long…”

“Don’t worry about it!” Phainon tucked his neglected textbook under his arm and pushed his chair back in. “It was a very enlightening conversation. We should continue it another time, and I can tell you about some Nousporist theory. Deal?”

He held out his hand in all his radiant splendor. (Name) couldn’t quite meet his eyes, but they hesitantly reciprocated the handshake. Phainon’s hand was calloused but warm, and he grasped (Name)’s hand with more affection than someone should muster for a stranger.

“Deal…”

And Phainon made good on that deal. It wasn’t everyday, but he would show up once or twice a week to ask about (Name)’s most recent studies. It took some time to get comfortable, but (Name) eventually gained the courage to ask Phainon about his own endeavors. The conversations rarely centered around actual Nousporist theory, though; Phainon liked talking about his debates with Professor Anaxagoras that could turn into sparring matches (which was not something common within the Grove, but seemed to happen to Phainon quite often). He liked talking about what he made for lunch and interesting novels he was reading. 

A few times, he described Aedes Elysia to (Name) with a wistful look in his eyes. Phainon’s memories of home were vivid and laced with remorse for a place he could no longer return to, and (Name) wrote everything he said down in their notebook, trying to imagine what it used to look like.

When more time passed in this arrangement, (Name) found themself watching Phainon from a distance— the same as they always used to, before Phainon was even aware of their existence. The difference now, though, was that their gaze softened when they saw Phainon talking with their peers. They smiled when Phainon was animatedly arguing with Professor Anaxagoras. And their face bloomed with flames whenever Phainon noticed (Name) down the hall and waved.

Those blasted feelings! Just the thought of him made (Name)’s heart flutter— and they felt like a fool! It was unbecoming of a scholar to lose their composure to the point that it made it difficult to focus on their studies. (Name)’s notebook was neglected as they anxiously awaited their usual meeting with Phainon.

The sound of footsteps behind them nearly gave (Name) a heart attack, despite this being a routine. Peeking over their shoulder, they made eye contact with Phainon as he walked toward them. (Name) quickly focused their gaze on the desk, Phainon’s expression too bright to stand.

Phainon seemed to pay no mind. He took his usual seat and, for once, eagerly opened his textbook. “I think our discussion on transformation will excite you. It falls in line with what you told me about the question of the body being a vessel for change!”

(Name) thought they had composed themself well, but when their hand grazed their face, they felt their burning skin. Why was the room so warm? Were they sweating? Did Phainon notice? Was he being polite? There was nothing more unbearable to a scholar than not knowing.

He started talking about how the body could constrain the soul and brought out all his notes to explain, and (Name) was much too embarrassed to admit they weren’t processing any of it. Not with Phainon’s shoulder resting against (Name)’s after he scooted his chair closer.

They bounced their leg and it brushed against Phainon’s. How could he stand to so close? (Name) couldn’t take more and turned their whole body away from him.

“(Name)? Are you alright?” Their move backfired, because Phainon’s hand moved to rest on (Name)’s upper back. Any more of this, and they were going to combust. It would be a worthy event for future generations to study.

Continuing like this was too painful. True academics face problems head on, even if the problem made crawling into a hole and dying seem like a better option. With courage (Name) didn’t know they possessed, they looked over their shoulder. “I… have something I should tell you.”

Phainon tilted his head with a worried expression, yet the look was welcoming and warm as it always was. With a wary smile, Phainon rubbed circles into (Name)’s shoulder blade, completely unaware that he was contributing to (Name)’s agony. “Is that so? Well, I’m always here to listen to anything you’d like to say.”

(Name) opened their mouth, but nothing came out. How does anyone do this? Writing and reading was where (Name)’s communication skills layed, with speaking far behind. Should they explain themself? Ask Phainon how he felt? Thinking only complicated things, so (Name) forced out the simplest words.

“I really like you!”

It went silent after their exclamation, and they felt their heart drop into their stomach in fear of how Phainon would react. What if he didn’t share mutual feelings? That was the worst possible outcome, and in their fear, (Name) assumed it was the most likely. In an act of bravery and anxiety, (Name) finally looked up to gauge Phainon’s reaction.

Phainon looked confused, but unsurprised. His next words were somehow worse than (Name)’s hypothesis. “Oh? I’m quite fond of you, too. I’m glad we’re able to study together.”

For a scholar, Phainon might have been a bit oblivious.

“(Name)! Let’s get lunch.” Jiaoqiu waited for (Name) to pack up their belongings as class ended, bumping shoulders.

Their wallet was in their bag, so they took the chance to check inside. They cringed at the sight. “Damn, I only have $3 on me.”

He shrugged, “I’ll pay.”

As much as (Name) wanted to argue against him, they knew him well enough by now to know that he was stubborn and it would be no use. Yet another infuriating thing about him; he was much more friendly than what he implied with his coy smile.

So they let Jiaoqiu drag them to his favorite restaurant on campus, listening to him go on and on about whatever was on his mind as they walked. (Name) learned that Jiaoqiu lost track of all his notes and textbooks when his roommate organized his desk for him.

(Name) raised a brow, “how messy was your desk?”

“Organized chaos, not a mess. I have a system.” 

When they got to the restaurant, Jiaoqiu ordered (Name)’s favorite dish without even asking them first. He was good at remembering small details like that; a trait that made him a great chef and an even greater friend. (Name) liked that about him. A lot.

He handed them their food and leaned back in his chair. (Name) didn’t realize how hungry they were until the food was sitting in front of them. “Thanks for paying, Jiaoqiu. I don’t get my paycheck until Friday.”

“Friday?*” Jiaoqiu shot them a concerned look. “You’re living on $3 until Friday? (Name), it’s Tuesday.”

“It’s only a few days,” (Name) mumbled, voice small and body threatening to curl in on themselves. They regretted saying anything about their money situation if Jiaoqiu was going to fret over them.

“(Name), I’m serious. Are you gonna be okay for the week?” That uncharacteristically gentle voice of his was something only Jiaoqiu’s close friends were privy to. In their classes, Jiaoqiu was viewed as refined yet mischievous person. It would probably be difficult for their classmates to imagine there was a softer side to him— but, (Name) knew this well.

They knew Jiaoqiu was good person who cared a lot about his friends. But, if (Name) thought about him like that, they’d feel guilty over their frustration. Jiaoqiu was nothing but kind and helpful, if not occasionally annoying and bewildering. That was why (Name) liked him. That was why everyone liked him. That was why (Name) couldn’t help but compare themself to him, only to be dissatisfied with the results.

Bitter and jealous, yet Jiaoqiu was friends with them all the same. Infuriating.

“I’m okay, seriously. I have food at home, I can last. I just can’t get fast food this week.” (Name) poked at their food, hoping Jiaoqiu would leave them alone about it. It wasn’t worth his time to worry about them of all things.

A few moments passed with Jiaoqiu staring intently at (Name) before he relented, taking a spoonful of his curry. “If you say so. But, if you start to starve, I can cook you something.”

“Oh?” (Name)’s lips curled into a small smile. “A meal personally cooked by the Jiaoqiu?”

“Normally, that’d be very expensive. I’m offering you a good deal.”

True to his word, Jiaoqiu showed up to (Name)’s apartment on Thursday night to treat them to jiugongge hotpot— without being asked. When (Name) opened the door, Jiaoqiu looked a bit too proud of himself.

And he had every right to be, because the hotpot was incredibly delicious even as it threatened to burn (Name) from the inside out. Jiaoqiu spent the first half of the meal explaining his choices for each square in the grid like he was being interviewed for a magazine, and once he was satisfied that (Name) understood his manifesto, he could enjoy his meal in peace. Until both of their phones lit up with a notification about their most recent food science exam.

“Hey, our exam scores are out.”

(Name) didn’t want to look. They didn’t think they did bad, or anything, but they probably didn’t do great, either. But even doing just good would feel bad next to Jiaoqiu, who wasn’t worried about it at all. He took one glance at his phone before locking it again. “I passed.”

With flying colors, probably. It would have been strange if (Name) didn’t also check, so they reluctantly grabbed their phone and were met with the results they expected. A passing grade. Nothing remarkable. Nothing to prove that they were on the same playing field as Jiaoqiu. They fidgeted with their chopsticks, sighing, “Awesome, Jiaoqiu! When you open your own restaurant, maybe you can hire me as a waiter.”

Jiaoqiu tilted his head to the side, looking at (Name) with a furrowed brow. “A waiter? If I’m opening my own restaurant, we’re going to be partners.”

The term partners crashed on top of (Name) at a fatal speed. Business partners, (Name) was sure he meant, but even that understanding made them shrink into their chair. All of their classmates knew how difficult it was to be in Jiaoqiu’s shadow. How everyone in their graduating class was going to struggle to stand out against someone as talented as Jiaoqiu.

Despite that, Jiaoqiu had the utmost faith in (Name). Unflinchingly.

(Name) sucked in a breath. “... You think I’ll actually be a decent chef?” (Name) wanted to cringe at how fragile their voice sounded, but being vulnerable was scary.

“Of course I do,” Jiaoqiu nodded. “Did someone say you wouldn’t be?”

Myself, (Name) thought, but refrained from saying out loud. “No, I just… Cooking comes a lot more naturally to you than it does to me. You have better instincts, or whatever. I don’t want to drag you down.”

“That’s stupid.” His blunt tone of voice startled (Name). If (Name) didn’t know any better, they would have thought Jiaoqiu was annoyed. “You work harder than everyone else. You’d never drag anyone down. I think I work better with you around, to be honest.”

A realization dawned on (Name) at that moment: they were only in Jiaoqiu’s shadow if he let them be, and Jiaoqiu wanted them to stand side by side. And, if the once in a generation talent thought that (Name) was capable of great things, it was hard to argue against him.

(Name) blinked, then offered a small smile as the tension eased from their shoulders. “Thanks for believing in me.”

“You make it sound like that’s a difficult thing to do,” Jiaoqiu scoffed. It was hard for (Name) to stomach the idea that Jiaoqiu had so much confidence in them that their low self-esteem was an issue for him. He piled more of the hotpot onto their plate with a sense of urgency. “You’re great, okay? Now, hurry up and eat before the food starts to get cold.”

There was no risk of that with how spicy Jiaoqiu made it, but (Name) laughed and nodded. “Yes, chef!”

A lone archivist was responsible for organizing and sending information across the IPC’s channels. It was not an enviable job; it meant spending hours and hours alone in a windowless, sterile room doing thankless tasks. But that archivist did not seem to mind too much. They sat at a large desk with a comfortable looking chair and extra comfortable looking blanket. With nothing in their queue right now, they used their computer to listen to music and scroll through social media. In Ratio’s opinion, it was quite unprofessional for his taste, but for this thankless job that no one else was willing to do, he understood why they would allow such a relaxed environment.

Ratio approached the archivist’s desk and addressed them, “(Name).”

(Name) looked up from their screen and smiled. It was a reserved smile betrayed by the sparkling in their eyes. They stood up, carefully putting their blanket behind them on their seat, and walked around their desk to properly greet the Doctor. “Ah! Dr. Ratio. It’s good to see you. Is there something you need from the archives?”

Now, the Doctor was more reserved than most. Most of the time he wore a bust because he couldn’t bear to look at the faces of the uneducated and rarely smiled even without it. No one could read his expression and whatever he was thinking was beyond the understanding of any normal person. Certainly beyond the scope of a common IPC grunt.

“Yes,” he began. “I was looking for you.”

In the empty archives, there was no facade necessary for them to keep up. And Ratio is reserved and patient at all times so he allowed himself to lower his guard in this moment. Ratio moved forwards and placed his hands on (Name)’s waist, pressing his fingers against their side. He pressed a kiss to (Name)’s neck, then another, and another, moving upwards until he reached their jaw. The premise of status disappeared and (Name) savored his embrace, giggling with each kiss and turning to face him once he reached their jaw. Their arms found their way around Ratio’s neck and (Name) leaned forward to steal a rare kiss from the Doctor. It had been several months since the pair had seen each other in person, and while messages were a decent form of communication, it could never replace the pure euphoria of being in each other’s embrace.

Those moments, though, are often too short. The couple separated, only for (Name) to pull Ratio in for a hug. There would be no greater scandal than such a low level IPC agent fraternizing with Veritas Ratio of all people, but amongst the shelves of data they were just two regular people. (Name) clutched wordlessly onto Ratio, savoring the feeling of his body against theirs. Ratio pressed a kiss to the shell of their ear then their cheek, his lips never leaving their skin. 

Their time together was always too short, but that just meant each opportunity was special.

Sunday put his book down, marking the page with a (Name)’s handcrafted bookmark. They gifted it to him when he first boarded the Express, beaming about how it looked like a ticket. “I know you’re not planning to stay long, but if you change your mind, you already have a ticket!”

And (Name) continued to be just as warm and friendly everyday. To say Sunday was charmed would be an understatement— he looked forward to his interactions with (Name) every day, to the point where he would pout in his seat when (Name) would greet but walk past him. 

“I’m not busy,” Sunday replied. “What do you need?”

He tilted his head towards (Name), trying to be calm about the few centimeters between them. When Sunday moved back, (Name) moved forward. “Well… This time of year is spring on my home planet, and I felt a little homesick. I got some plants, but I need some help setting them up. The conductor mentioned you had a green thumb!”

Sunday let out a humble laugh. “Green thumb is a strong title… I simply like to keep plants alive.” He used to help take care of the Family gardens when he was a child and took great pride in his work, but saying that out loud felt like a bit too much. “I’d be glad to help.”

(Name) had a smile that lit up the room and it was incredibly blinding up close. ”Thank you so much! Let’s go!”

He didn’t need (Name) to guide him to their cabin, but when they insisted by pulling his arm the entire way, Sunday had no heart to refuse. Sunday nearly tripped upon entering their room; a mess of open boxes and grow lights littered the floor, strewn about from when (Name) gave up and decided to ask Sunday for his help.

Leaves stuck out of one of the open boxes. Sunday kneeled down to inspect the plants (Name) had picked out. For the most part, they were typical house plants— those on the planet of festivities cared little about the greenery, but Sunday paid pristine attention to the planters around the dreamscape and the Reverie. So he recognized the pothos, the anthurium, and the orchid. But smaller flowers amongst the leaves caught Sunday’s attention.

“A lily of the valley?” Sunday picked up the white flower’s planter to admire it. It was in pristine, beautiful condition after surviving the trip to the Express without harm. 

(Name)’s eyes widened as they kneeled down next to Sunday. “You recognize it?”

“Yes, they also grow in Penacony.” A memory with blurred edges surged to the forefront of Sunday’s mind. He sat in a Family garden with Robin and they poured over a book of Penacony flora and fauna, trying to identify all the flowers in the garden. There were many extravagant flowers that grew on the planet of festivities, but Sunday found himself drawn to the lily of the valley. “It’s one of my favorite flowers.”

It was simple and elegant. It relied on no flashiness or bright colors— it existed quietly in understated beauty. As a child, Sunday couldn’t quite understand why he appreciated the flower. When he grew older and took his place as the head of the Oak Family, Sunday reasoned that it embodied the Order. Simple flowers aligned in rows, able to be admired from the safety of a garden; that was the dream that Sunday wanted to cultivate.

But life slumbered so it could wake up from the dream, and faced with the flower again in the presence of (Name), Sunday could find a new meaning in it. “It’s my favorite, too! I think it’s a really beautiful flower. Not to mention that it’s also really low maintenance, hehe.”

Sunday wasn’t one to believe in fate— for most of his life he was greatly opposed to the idea that destiny was out of his control. But he found it comforting that he had the same favorite flower as (Name). Maybe it meant something. He looked up at them, a small smile on his lips. “May I ask why this flower is your favorite?”

“Hmm…” (Name) raised a brow at Sunday’s question and tapped their chin in thought. “How should I describe it… When someone thinks of a ‘beautiful flower’ they probably imagine something like a lotus flower, right? Any flower that has the petals arranged perfectly symmetrical. Those flowers are definitely beautiful, but…”

They beckoned Sunday for the flower, and he gently placed the planter in their hands. “It could have a few flowers, or a lot. They’re not always in perfect rows, either! Sometimes they’re in pairs and sometimes one flower is by itself. Every flower is unique and… I don’t know. I really like that.”

Sunday blinked. He looked down at the flower again and he saw it in a whole new light. What he labeled as perfection was imperfection in (Name)’s eyes, but still beautiful all the same. “I never thought about them like that,” he admitted. “I used to think of them as tidy and perfectly aligned…”

The wistful expression Sunday had gave (Name) pause. He had warmed up since he boarded the express— thanks in no small part to (Name) worming their way into his heart. They started chatting with him because they wanted him to feel welcome but Sunday had turned into quite the people pleaser. Maybe he was just trying to be nice, but he would never turn down a conversation. So (Name) learned plenty about him, and he learned plenty about them. He knew (Name)’s favorite food, the way they liked their tea, and what their favorite Robin song was. Now he knew their favorite flower and he still wanted to know more.

Taking a chance, (Name) leaned forward. “Well, I guess you’re just like it, then!”

Sunday felt his face heat up. He would’ve covered it with his wings, but that would’ve made it even more obvious. “What do you mean?”

And taking another chance, (Name) scooted closer so that their knees bumped against Sunday’s. Now their face started to burn. “You dreamed of order, but you chose to wake up. Maybe things in the real world aren’t as perfect as you wanted it to be, but you’re committed to learning.”

There was a tiny voice in the back of (Name)’s mind screaming, WHAT ARE YOU DOING? This was a terrible idea on all fronts and (Name) was risking the friendship they had built up. Not to mention it would make meal times on the express horrifically awkward. If Sunday didn’t share mutual feelings, (Name) might throw themself into the cosmos.

Sunday was no fool— he understood what was happening. The question to consider was what he wanted to do about it. He had his reservations, but he was supposed to start anew. Maybe this could be one of the new things he could explore. “I see,” Sunday smiled. “I suppose I could be one of the flowers on its stem.”

(Name) decided to pass the point of no return. “Maybe you’re a pair? I could be… the flower next to you.”

Thankfully, Sunday passed the point with them. “I would like that.”

Much to both of their surprise, Sunday closed the distance first. Despite being the initial instigator, (Name) was lost on what to do when Sunday’s lips met theirs. His lips were soft but the pressure was firm, whether it was out of intensity or inexperience (Name) didn’t know, but it was exhilarating. One of Sunday’s hands found (Name)‘s neck, resting his thumb against their jaw. His other hand rested on (Name)’s as they clutched the delicate flower for dear life.

Before Sunday fully pulled away, he pressed a chaste kiss to the corner of (Name)’s lips. Leaning back, Sunday pulled one of (Name)’s hands with him. He kissed the back of their hand. “Careful,” he murmured against their skin. “You’re going to crush the flower.”

(Name) set the planter back on top of the box and leaned forward once again. Sunday felt their warm breath against his skin. “It’s safe and sound… So, let’s keep going—“

Sunday closed the distance before (Name) could finish.