#glta99

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I can get up. I swear."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Phai?"

"Hm?"

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

"It's not the same."

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

He visibly perked up about the matching outfits.

"Can it be yellow and purple?"

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

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

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

"Your lying!"

"I'm not!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

your head hurts once more, a reoccurring inconvenience. then again, work has been more demanding these days. it's the very reason you wake up so much earlier now. of course, mydei noticed after two days, reminding you not to overexert yourself and that he's always available if you need anything, whether it's cooking dinner for you, picking you up from work if he finishes his shift before you, or to simply hold you and play with your hair if you feel exhausted.

…despite being together for years now, you still feel a sense of guilt whenever you even imagine asking him to do any of those things. you don't want to burden him. he has his own responsibilities, too, doesn't he?

still, mydei seems pretty sound asleep right now. quietly, you creep out of your shared bed, making your way to the kitchen to grab a pain reliever tablet and a mug, starting up the coffee machine—

"ibuprofen and a cup of coffee is not breakfast, [name]."

at five in the morning, you turn around in a hurry, nearly letting out a scream of terror when you see a tall, shadowy figure behind you, only to realize it's your lover, a look of disappointment on his face.

when did he become such a light sleeper?

"mydei," you let out a sigh of relief, your hand gently smacking him on the shoulder. "you scared me half to death."

in return, mydei gently takes your hand in his, pressing a soft kiss on the back of it, "i'm sorry. my point still stands, though," he says, looking over at the sad display that you call breakfast, "you could've woken me up. i don't mind cooking for you."

"i didn't want to bother you, dei," you huff, trying to argue back.

but not before mydei had his own say in the matter, "you never do."

by now, you know that your lover is well-aware of your previous relationship history. two previous partners before him — one who was only with you because he thought you were attractive, then dumped you on the spot the moment you told him that you weren't interested in a 'no strings attached' type of relationship, and the other who was extremely emotionally manipulative, using your insecurities and secrets against you, always trying to make you feel like you can't do anything without him.

and now, here you are, with someone that doesn't make you feel like you need to depend on him, but rather stand by his side as his equal, while also acting like a reliable partner.

…but, then again, you aren't about to waste an opportunity to eat some of mydei's delicious cooking. especially after weeks of eating quick meals you made yourself, like a half-assed sandwich. especially if it meant eating his amazing honeyca—

"you want me to make you honeycakes, don't you."

a quick moment of silence for how quickly he was able to guess what you wanted just from one look. then again, it's only a testament to your bond, isn't it? nothing to be ashamed of, even if he was able to guess your current craving like it was second nature. actually, thinking about it now, his attentiveness only makes him more attractive in your eyes.

"ah, you know me so well. you're obsessed with me, aren't you? hopelessly in love with me and all that…" you sigh dreamily, poking fun at your lover as he picks up the pan and starts to grab all the ingredients from the pantry.

to that, mydei only lets out an exasperated, yet incredibly fond sigh, "we've been together for nearly four years, [name]," he starts, measuring the dry ingredients laid out in front of him, "but… yes, i guess i am."

you let out a soft hum, quietly watching him open the flour as you hand him the ingredients he needs next, "nearly four years now, huh? when will you pop the question, mydeimos?"

a teasing question. you weren't expecting a whole lot out of it. maybe, if you were to get lucky, you'll succeed at flustering your darling lover. that's only really happened a handful of times in the past.

but no. it ended up backfiring on you instead.

when you look over to see mydei's reaction, he pauses for a moment before continuing to mix the dry ingredients, answering your question as if you had only asked about the weather and not about a lifelong commitment to each other, "sooner than you might expect, my love."

"oh," is the only think you can get out of your mouth at first, your face beginning to turn a soft shade of red despite the only source of light in the room being the moonlight, "alright. good to know."

knowing that information now, you're beginning to wonder if anything… significant will happen later during the romantic dinner he said he's been planning for weeks now. he allegedly 'wanted to treat you after all the stressful work you've been doing.' now you're definitely going to wear the most gorgeous outfit you can find in your wardrobe.

when thoughts of marriage crept into your head in the past with your previous partners, you felt… emptiness. you never exactly imagined a 'forever' with them. you never felt a desire to have a future with them. if anything, the thought of it terrified you. whenever your mind wandered, it felt like being forced to board a ship and never coming back.

but with mydei? those thoughts, once filled with anxiety and fear, now felt warm. something you could look forward to. something that made your heart skip a beat, not with uneasiness, but with tenderness.

Truthfully, Alhaitham didn’t blame you for your bandaged up foot, not at all. It wasn’t quite your fault that Kaveh had shattered a vase on accident (?) and you’d went and stepped on the glass, was it? Nor, by extension, was it your fault that you were currently lying on your bed, too; although the usual restlessness that he’d eventually associated with you was all but present now as you tried to get up. 

He had no difficulties stopping you.

“It’s fine, Haitham! I’m fine. A little injury won’t stop us from going on our dinner reservation, will it?” Alhaitham was strong, and very much so. You huffed as his arm, already wrapped around you in a protective hold, tightened again, as if telling you you are not leaving your bed today. 

And honestly, he thought he was going out of his depth at some fancy restaurant one of his friends told him to go to with you for Valentine’s. Shame this had to happen, huh? “...You’re injured. It would be quite inconvenient to spend the day out and about. So it’s best if we just spend the day at home.” 

He knew how badly you wanted to go. And he didn’t care. For someone as emotionally reserved and closed off as he was, that didn’t mean he prioritized that book he’s always into above you all the time. Joke.

And yet, as you grumbled about bad timing or what not, his gaze was fixed on the minor cut on your forearm. Less damaging than the stitches you needed to get on your foot, but the memory of the incident clouded his eyes with something unreadable all the same.

He still remembered how as he strolled towards the kitchen as soon as he heard the glass break, he didn’t think much of it, not even as he heard Kaveh’s mumbles laced with worry, and then he heard a wince. As the kitchen came into view, his gaze immediately zeroed in on the two of you crouching on the floor.

Alhaitham observed in silence as Kaveh attended to the small cut on your arm. It was a simple  gesture of care and concern, and yet; he couldn't shake the tight coil of tension that had settled in his chest. Perhaps it was the way the two of you leaned into each other. The way your faces were closer than necessary for such a mundane task, albeit Kaveh spoke to you gently, clearly apologising. He didn’t understand.

The two of you looked at each other as he tied one of his handkerchiefs around your cut as a makeshift bandage. “Thanks, Kaveh.” Alhaitham didn’t miss that look — that look of warmth that passed, as if they were sharing an intimate moment with each other. Intimacy that didn’t include him. He even imagined Kaveh’s hands lingering a little longer than necessary. At last, he made his presence known.

“Ahem, we actually have bandages here.” The two of you looked up at each other simultaneously. “It’s more hygienic than a handkerchief. …we don’t have plasters.” 

You stared up at your lover, eyes blank. It was a small wound, so you didn’t really think a bandage was needed. It didn’t matter, you said, and something about your indirect push to keep his handkerchief left him feeling a little odd. 

And after a surprisingly brief shouting match with Kaveh for being so careless that he caused you a few cuts (and later, stitches on your foot), he decided to take you to get patched up, and then back to your place to rest.

After a minute’s silent recollection, Alhaitham’s gaze dropped towards a neatly folded up and cleaned handkerchief sitting tidily on your bedside as his thoughts dissipated and was replaced by a question he realized he didn’t know how to ask. He bit his cheek, unsure of what to say. Odd. The handkerchief burned in his peripheral like a glaring accusation.

Is there something between you two? burned in his throat. And yet he knew some way, somehow, he was yours. At least outwardly. Jealousy was not, he felt, an emotion he had any use of, but who knew what was going on inwardly? Why, to him, did it feel like you two were closer than you and himself would ever be?

“...You kept it. His handkerchief.”

The accusation clung to his curt words, if you caught it at all. It wasn’t like himself. He prided himself on being the rational, level-headed and logical one. So why… why did you still have it? He shook his head. Ridiculous. You looked at him with genuine surprise, eyebrows furrowed in deep thought, your gaze going to and from himself and the handkerchief., as if trying to draw a conclusion. “I didn’t get a chance to give it to him…?”

“Really? That’s all?” 

“...That’s all? Of course, what else? What, did you think I kept it ‘cause— Oh.” Now it was your gaze that seemed to shoot down any defenses he put up. He stared down at you too. Causing you to tilt your head. He deigned to look away, somehow, before you sighed heavily.

“I knew it had to be something like that. Well, you don’t usually get this annoyed at me when i get myself sick or injured or something. …Sorry.”

Surprise coloured his face. “What are you apologizing for?”

“What do you think?”

“It isn’t my fault that I… I…” Thought there was something going on? Felt like you and Kaveh shared a bond he would never be able to form with you? Silently believed you finally saw someone who was better for you?

Of course, you hit the nail on the head. Simple. “Got jealous of Kaveh?”

And Alhaitham, unused to such conversations, didn’t know how else to explain it that didn’t make him feel more illogical. “...I suppose.”

“...You know I really love you, right?” You forced him to stare back into your eyes. “Yes, Kaveh and I are close… So what? I love you. I chose you.” Those last few words were all it took for Alhaitham to regret his… insecurity, he supposed. Moments of intimacy with him were seldom, but right then, he pressed a delicate kiss to your lips, one that you graciously accepted. This was why he loved you, he thought.

After a moment’s silence, he spoke, somewhat tentatively. “So...What would you like to do today? Provided we stay at home for our date activities.”

“My choice??” You beamed.

“Your choice.” He smiled, if even slightly, at the enthusiasm of your tone as you started listing off all the ways you could spend the rest of the day with him. After all, he’d went ahead and cleared his schedule, just for today. Just for you.

Valentine's Day approached, and you opposed to the idea of spending your time pitying yourself once more, specially during this day. Mayhap the universe heard you this time; a coworker of yours invited you to have dinner together, and being honest, you only accepted in hopes of distracting yourself. You knew how selfish that was, but you just couldn't handle staying at home with Suguru the same way as you did last year — watching him eat all those chocolates he received, even having him to offer you some of them as he tried persuading you by saying he wouldn't eat them all anyways. No matter how sweet they may have been, the bitter taste you were dealing with was way stronger than sugar.

"Are you sure it's a good idea? You barely know him," Suguru said as you showed him a pair of heels, asking him if he thought they'd look cute with the dress you chose before.

"I know him, we work together, no need to worry, and besides that, what do you think?" you insisted while lightly shaking the heels, gaining a small huff from him before he spoke:

"Yeah, they're fine. They'll look good on you."

With softly curved lips, you thanked him and went back to your room, you grabbed the pretty dress that you left on your bed earlier and finally put it on.

If only you knew how bad he wanted you to be dolling up for him instead, how much he wanted to be your date. His blood boiled at the thought of you dressing up all beautiful just to meet another man, but what could he possibly say if you were only roommates? Good friends, of course, but nothing more. Maybe he was being a bit too pessimistic, or at least that's what he thought, trying to convince himself that things would end up working to his favor after all. Later on, he got to the conclusion that supporting you has always been the best he has ever done to keep you by his side, even with your stupid ideas like going out with somebody else in Valentine's Day. Ugh, what where you even thinking? He was sure you would get bored with that damned guy anyways.

The echoing sound of your heels when you were almost ready made Suguru lift his head to properly look at you as you stepped towards him one more time. His eyes reflected the burning sunset peeking through the window — calid love and blazing adoration. His lightly parted lips couldn't get any word said for a moment.

“You're beautiful," he tenderly whispered.

Rosiness arising on your cheeks as you smiled at him, both of your hearts drumming against your chests as if they were trying to fuse into one altogether.

For a brief moment, you forgot you were getting ready for a date. A date with someone else. Oh, how you hankered for him to be the man you were having dinner with. It felt so wrongly right to be trapped in that ethereal illusion for an instance, but that's all it was: a futile dream. You cleared your throat before hesitatingly voicing:

"Would you please help me with the back of my dress?" It hurt you like a poisoned arrow embedded in your chest. How could you be asking the man you loved to help you get ready to see the one that you didn't? It was ridiculous, but it too late as well.

His heart shrank as he silently nodded, giving you a small smile with closed eyes. You then turned around, and the view of your skin made him swallow hard, barely holding back from kissing the curve that connects your neck to your shoulders. The tips of his fingers brushed your spine before holding the zipper, looking at your bare back in an attempt to engrave it in his mind as he slowly moved his careful hand all the way up. Jealousy clenched his jaw momentarily, but your scent filling his nostrils made him breathe in deeply, tensed up shoulders falling back down with ease as he fell back on the dreamy cloud you sent him the moment he laid eyes upon you dressed like that.

"All done," he murmured near your earlobe, a faint taste of sorrow in between his lips.

"Thank you, Sugu," and once more, your smile made his helpless heart sting, just the same way yours did too.

Half an hour later, silence reigned all over the place, leaving Suguru and his thoughts alone as you already left. Every passing minute felt like an eternal torture for him, unstoppably spiraling into his own mind until he decided to get rid of the accumulated soreness on his body with a soothing bath.

Meanwhile, you were trying your best to focus on the person right in front of you, but it was clearly impossible with Suguru taking all over your mind. You couldn't stop mentally replaying that moment you had with him not so long ago; the way his fingers delicately touched you, as if you were the most fragile flower; the way his eyes looked at you, otherworldly beauty for him; and the way that, somehow, his voice sounded full of regret, as if he was hiding the most grief-struck secret of them all. Perhaps, someone he confessed to rejected him? He never talked about stuff like that, you hated it though you knew you wouldn't be able to handle the sight of him falling lovesick because of someone else.

The man sitting in front of you wouldn't stop talking, not that you cared enough to get mad about it. His voice emulating the sound of background noise, volume only just for you to hear it, but not to interrupt your daydreaming session about the charming man you were actually in love with. Suddenly, that hushed voice appeared again in your mind, reminding you how selfish you were acting. You interrupted your companion's nonstop rambling to excuse yourself from the table, walking towards the bathroom to have a moment of silence, to breathe and to clear your thoughts. You couldn't keep doing this, even if he was obviously not noticing how unfocused you were there and then, you felt bad about it, about the whole situation.

Time passed and the metallic clacking of keys against the door-lock gave you some sort of comfort after everything that had happened. You felt exhausted, both mentally and physically, the only thing you craved then was to lay on your bed and sleep the whole night. You were overwhelmed by your own decisions.

The tall figure standing right after the door took you by surprise the moment you opened it, making you almost crash onto Suguru's body. When his eyes met yours, a faint smile appeared on his lips, moving aside to let you in.

"Why were you standing there? You scared me," you said in a sigh that revealed the heavy tiredness you were dragging.

"I heard you and wanted to open the door for you."

A simple yet sweet action. He has always been like that with you, and it always makes your heart flutter. Him being the big gentleman he is didn't help you feel any better about the whole situation, 'cause how were you supposed shatter all the romantic attraction you had for him if he didn't help you not even the slightest?

"Seems like you didn't enjoy the date that much," Suguru added while carefully closing the door.

A part of him felt an unexplainable rush of joy and relief, while on the other hand, he also felt worried for you. He hates to see you feeling down, it breaks his heart. All he wishes for you is to have a life full of happiness, and if he is honored enough to be the reason behind of, at least, one of your smiles, then he will always do his best. He wants to take care of you, not because he thinks you're not able to do it by yourself, but because he truly cares, and even though he tries to be discreet, to maintain it all in a normal-friendship level, it' is unbelievable how unaware you still are about the immense importance of your presence in his life.

All you wanted now was to let him hold you in a big hug while you vent and let all your emotions flow through crystal-clear tears running down your cheeks. You didn't. It was, indeed, impossible to fall out of love with him, his name was already permanently tattooed on your heart, but doing as you desired would only lead to more hopeless tears.

"I don't wanna talk about this right now," you mumbled, not even having the courage to intertwine looks.

"Oh- well… I understand," he softly replied, "I'm here in case you change your mind."

The only response he got from you after that was a low hum, letting silence take over the place once again.

It wasn't that late, but you really needed to rest, your whole body was screaming for you to lay on bed already, hence the very first second your head touched the pillow, you fell asleep. A couple hours later, Suguru was ready to doze off too, but he didn't feel his eyelids heavy yet, he knew he'd stay awake that night, even against his will.

His quiet footsteps made his way to your room, the door was unlocked and almost closed, but the slight distance in between the doorframe and the door itself was just enough for him to vaguely see the inside. A tender curve appeared on his lips as his eyes met the one he would die to call his sleeping beauty right then. Oh, how he yearned for you to be sleeping on top of him — arms around your waist, breathes synced, slow strokes of his fingers on your hair, whispering sweet nothings as he kisses the top of your head and your forehead — his secret longing to have you forever, to have you in a way only he could. But all he did, was cautiously sit next to you, admiring the moonlit heavenishly illuminating your face with some lost strands of hair that he gently took care of, delighting himself with a clearer view of your peaceful expression.

He quietly adored your every feature, leaning in until he could sense your warmth on his lips, stopping only when there was barely a centimeter of distance.

He couldn't do it.

Not like that.

Suguru has been craving to kiss you, even if it wasn't on the lips, but he needed you both to remember. He constantly dreams about pressing his lips onto yours, but it wasn't the moment. Not yet, he wished, hoping that one day he'd be able to prove himself wrong whenever he used to think that maybe that moment would never happen. He brought a pair of fingers to his mouth, kissed them, and took them to your lips, stopping once again when he was about to touch your edges. His hand gently cupped your face instead, as he pressed his forehead lightly against yours. A shaky exhale escaped his lips after his pathetic impulses and withdrawn attempts of a closer skin-ship, same ones he promised to the moon at that moment that he would accomplish one day.

Memorabilia Passage.

the problem was, her words struck you right in the heart — a spot hurting most currently.

those eight letters you had come across in every piece of fiction you (chose to) read: "true love". and they left her mouth as if she knew your greatest weakness of yearning.

really, she could reel your gullible soul in any direction as long as the topic is about love. then you could insist how you "no longer believe in finding a soulmate" like the trillion times you had done so already.

which is why you are here. before mr. ashveil himself, a very much hardcore detective! hardcore enough that he has seen you in all possible stages of the past year you have known him.

"you're telling me… you disturbed my peaceful sleep because of an alleged spell an alleged witch cursed you with?"

the eyebrow raise sitting on his face screams he is one step away from telling the furbos next door to write an article about you. "hopeless adult still deep in fairytales, witches and true love! should this be written into a comic?" would be the title.

"i told you, i don't buy whatever she's saying!"

every single syllable sounds sour on the tip of your tongue… maybe you should stop lying?

"you do buy it."

"i do buy it." you grumble. for someone who has horrible deduction skills, ashveil manages to get that right only by looking at the sparkles behind your eyes.

the detective ponders, almost sarcastically, "why? what made you trust her, not yourself?"

same question perched so beautifully on your mind the past ten hours it becomes infuriating. is he not supposed to help you answer?!?

then again… why? is it due to your twentieth birthday being just around the corner and you are too young to die? an expected reaction, though both of you (even ashveil's monkey assistant who is not present today) understand there has to be another reason behind your "trust one's gut" instinct not working.

"a woman's intuition is always correct"… perhaps that is why you believe her? desperation… no, you may dread for love but not so far! um…

"you know, you're doing too much thinking when there's a detective right before you." ashveil's voice breaks through your chain of thoughts.

finally! his bright mind seems to have come up with something useful—

"have you not reached to conclude how delusion clouded your judgement at the moment? she could have taken your wallet while you were standing frozen there!"

oh. ouch.

nothing new you have never heard of though. words stirred together along those lines always wiggle their way out his lips — teasing and… unfortunately, obvious. like, wow! you could not have figured it out unle—

wait. wallet?!?!?

you scramble your hands around every pocket available on you, face immediately turning pale upon feeling the sudden emptiness. there is no visible rectangle bump on the side of your pants.

"are you FU—" profanities could not even take their chance as ashveil's hat is slammed against your mouth, the smell of cheap cologne and… refrigerator filling your nostrils.

after successfully shutting you up, he smoothly puts the cowboy hat back on his fluffy head of long hair, expression serious for once.

"well," the man starts, rubbing his temple in distress, "it seems i have jinxed it. or however you call it. regardless, we can't let the thief get away with taking your wallet!"

yet as ashveil says so, he crawls his way back in the barely working fridge — his home, he claims — planning to fall back into slumber.

utterly absurd!

you kick the side of his "bed". he possibly cannot be this chill when his most favorite regular client is requesting help!

as expected, he… does nothing. of course, what else? merely letting out a half-hearted groan, plopping the hat onto his face while shooing you.

same thing for months now, "i'll get to it! give me time." then a week later he randomly texts you saying to meet up with him because he has found leads. all he manages to confirm are his baseless theories and your insanity, rooted from some deduction he has made up on a whim.

you grumble on your way out of his tiny office, muttering about how unprofessional ashveil is — no wonder he cannot be an actual detective! only a few wives who got cheated on would love a guy like that!!

maybe you in the roster as well…

anyhow! he is not just going to rise from his cryosleep to get his work done. no, you will have to wait. could be a few days, could be until the day of your death.

you sigh, sliding your phone into the pocket where your wallet should be. normally, annoyance would fill you in a rush, "why now?!?" being the first thought that pops up.

but strangely, you are not able to find it in yourself this time around. perhaps since it has happened one too many times to the point where you are tired of making the expression.

…or, you have been waiting for his text. for him to initiate a meet up between you both.

whatever reason it is, at least you heard back from him. though the word "deduct" cannot get worse when it comes to ashveil, it still is better than nothing.

you hope, footsteps slowly marking the road to the ashen detective agency.

his office is a mess. as soon you step foot in it.

documents scattered everywhere. papers and what you assume to be mr. narrator's banana peels stacked atop each other. red threads connecting pieces of evidence together, like you losing your wallet is an entire crime scene.

then an ashveil. practically collapsed on his fridge — a sight much inappropriate to anyone who walks in the room. his loud snores do not help better it either.

you should not wake him up. you should let him sleep after spending days and nights investigating your situation—

"MR. ASHVEIL!"

it seems the monkey assistant has other plans.

poor man jolts awake in such a panic that he chokes on his snort, lips opening and eyebrows furrowing clearly indicate the scolding about to let itself be known…

"don't disturb my slee—" until he sees you.

suddenly, every word is swallowed back into their origin. the detective instead stands up, fixing his appearance while stuttering out apologies to his dearest client.

even mister n rolls his eyes beside you, unable to take in ashveil's babbled sweet nothings.

"he's all yours now." the slumbernana monkey takes his exit, shutting the door for some privacy. yet, you cannot necessarily shake off the feeling that the creature knows more than he lets on, and is quite obviously trying to play his part.

…

…

…

the fridge's humming does all the talking for you.

"ashvei—"

"aHEM," your quiet calling fades with the background noises as ashveil fumbles with different case folders, searching for a very specific one where he placed a furbo sticker in the middle and titled it "[name]'s hopelessness".

not too nice of him to do so.

"AHA!" whether he is exclaiming because it has been found or he is summoning the aeon, who knows? but him pulling out the familiar file means your answer is probably the former.

from then, you completely miss the point of whatever he is yapping about, mind stuck on a single problem.

how do you mention losing your wallet is not the only thing he needs to look into?

"you see, i have deducted — and i have done so very well, i brought out the entire deduction guide 101 — to two locations, both in duomension city."

"hey um, ashveil—"

"if i'm wrong you can… throw bananas and tomatoes and whatnot at me every day for a month, but you have to consider the possibilities weighing here."

"detective, listen—"

"your wallet, that cute object with charms, surely it'll be easy to find—"

"ASHVEIL!"

finally.

his ears perk up, violet eyes turning to you. as if it just occured to him how to do his job — he has to take in his client's opinion, not ramble on about what he thinks.

maybe the combination of sleep deprivation and improper diet is getting to him…

"…yes?" will a person believe it if they hear the ashen detective himself sounding almost scared right now?

you ruffle your head in distress, "you forgot one important detail."

a most skeptical eyebrow raise toward you. as the winning contestant of various competitions concerning his work field, he would never—

"oh."

yeah. oh.

to be fair, you cannot fault him for this. the reason he was prompted to investigate in the first place is your wallet. well, was. now there is an additional issue: the curse.

he steals a short moment to mull things over, "can't we find the lady herself and ask her?"

a logical solution, though not particularly what you are hoping looking for. the smallest wince shows itself when you notice ashveil catching onto your thoughts.

"…"

"…"

"…are you saying i should kiss you?"

and he sure caught on fast.

"NO! …i mean yes, but—"

"ME? KISS YOU?" why does he have to make it seem like it is the most disgusting act in the whole of planarcadia?!? "WHO'S TO SAY I'M YOUR TRUE LOVE?!?"

another pause. he has a point. you cannot go around kissing people. he cannot be refusing his client's orders either.

"right," the detective averts his gaze to anywhere else that is not you. honestly, the faint peachy pink is a good look on him as he tries to steer the topic of conversation to someplace else, "how about we give the witch a visit?"

judging by his expression, he merely is trying to delay the part where he kisses you. come on! who would not want to kiss you?! (ashveil, apparently) (he wants to, actually).

"rather chill of you when my death is nigh, but fine."

sigh.

ashveil would not shut up during your walk to duomension city.

"your birthday's tomorrow right? we just need to find your true love by midnight!"

wow! who knew? you surely did not, "let me check my pocket! i keep my spare true love in there."

unless he can pull "your true love" out of thin air, he is practically leaving you to die alone.

"mm…" the detective puts his mind to work for once. you clearly do not have many options here, so if he really does want to save you…

a kiss it is.

those usually sharp eyes change into softness as they dart to your lips, before quickly going back to where they were — a random tree behind you, because he cannot bear to make eye contact. then, one deep inhale taken in to mentally prepare himself.

"let's get this over with," is the final thing you manage to hear. next thing you know, his face is already barely an inch away from yours.

said inch soon reduces to a half, a quarter—

"AMAZING! THEY KISSED!!!" you really have not gotten the chance to, as you and ashveil turn to spot the source of the familiar voice.

that wrinkled cape, that bent hat…

no one else other than the witch who cursed you, in broad daylight.

she also seems to be more insane compared to the last time you saw her, all snickering as she hops her way out of the dark alley she was in.

"oh, you two make a cute couple… i'm assuming he is your true love, dear child?" she peers at you expectantly, like pushing for a romance story to be told between you and the ashen detective.

"ah, no—"

"yes." ashveil nudges your elbow. let's just pretend for both sakes — your death is imminent, more time cannot be wasted on searching for your "soulmate". he is the perfect one for you.

the lady giggles in absolute elation, "lovely! i really am the spectacular matchmaker… anyhow! no need to worry about death. the curse never existed to begin with."

"…what?"

oops. slip up.

"look at the clock! i should get going now. have fun!" the older woman immediately excuses herself to return to her tiny corridor.

…

well.

you and ashveil do not move for the slowest second ever.

"so whatever we did for the past three days meant nothing." the man beside you slumps his shoulders, fingers gripping the cowboy hat even tighter. he drags his feet backward, quite embarrassed of what he did. was he too obvious?

yes. but at least he is aware the feeling is mutual. kinda.

you spend the night of your birthday over at the ashen detective agency, sharing the small office desk with the detective and his monkey companion, who cannot hide his excitement despite being reminded countless times that you are not yet dating!

"take notes, [name]! do not let him eat only bananas for his meals! for someone like mr. ashveil, he needs to keep a balanced diet!" mister n prods his tail on your arm after every sentence, as if to emphasize how important this is.

"mister narrator! stop!"

as much as you try to deny it, you both know. everyone knows.

this is a repost from my old blog !! T^T still, reblogs/comments are very much appreciated. thank you for reading! <3

"When did you get this one?" was the question softly raised as perfectly-clipped nails lightly dragged along a straight, darkened line that ran across your skin, firmly separating where your cheek ended and your jawline began.

"Hm…?" the question barely registered at first, for you had found yourself more distracted by the hand carding through your hair and the heated weight halfway atop of you…that was until said hand left your hair — and right before it could brush against your animal ears.

Your eyes opened immediately, but the sight before you causes the sudden spike of irritation melt away in an instant; pretty ruby eyes, sparkling with curiosity and way too much worry for something as meager as a scar. It prompts you into breaking the oh so rare silence that had fallen between you two.

"It's nothin' serious," you started, panning only your eyes to the side as you were too comfortable to be bothered to move your whole head to look at him.

"Just a flesh wound. I'm surprised its even still visible."

"How did you get it though?" was the golden question you couldn't seem to evade — not that there was any real story behind it.

"Spelldrive practice," you finally answered, "Things got intense when everybody got into their grooves and someone got a little rough with their toss. I wasn't fast enough in dodgin' it and got this pretty little number on my cheek as a reward."

Now it's Kalim's turn to hum, seemingly satisfied with your answer as he didn't push further. That didn't stop him from running his hand along the mark, however.

In a way, he seemed almost entranced by it; drawing shapes around it with his touch ever so featherlight. You usually didn't mind him doing it, no matter the time of day or the place, but something about this setting — the dimmed lights, the breath-mixing proximity, the uncharacteristically intimate and prolonged silence that came with hands all over your skin — made your stomach flutter and, in a way, made you feel kind of shy.

And so, in an attempt to escape such a flustering feeling before it could spread across your face and turn the situation unbearably awkward, you begin running your mouth like water in a faucet that's been switched on.

"I know it's ugly," you commented, your lips quirking into a smirk, "but don't worry, come mornin', I'll do whatever I can to make it fade quickly so I can be more presentable for ya', pretty boy."

It was meant to come off joking, teasing, and overall unserious — simply something to steal laughter from his lips or even get a little blood rushing to his light-brown skin — but your reply was given silence, which unfortunately turned the previous atmosphere awkward regardless when Kalim prolonged his silence.

You crack an eye open and peer over once again, only to then open both eyes fully when you catch the sight of something truly unexpected; jutted out lips, furrowed brows, and a disapproving look.

"Are you pou—" "Your scar isn't ugly!"

You wince and tilt your head away from, the deafening exclamation making your face scrunch with discomfort. Kalim seems to catch on quickly — to your very obvious pain at the very least — and his regret is instantaneous.

"I'm sorry!" he tells you in an octave less ear-splitting, but still much too loud for your liking. His hand that once played in your scalp now coming up there again to scratch apologetically at your fur ears — which twitched irately under his touch. It made him feel even worse for his sudden outburst, but didn't seem to dissuade him from speaking the rest of his mind.

"The scar doesn't make you ugly," he reiterated, "Nothing in this world could ever make you ugly.. Not if you gained or lost weight, not if you changed how you styled your hair or wore your clothes — I'll always find you perfect and love you with every ounce of my heart!"

"You could gain a million scars and it wouldn't change a thing! You'd still be absolutely radiant to me — no, I'd probably find you even more gorgeous!" he continues, and at this point, your face is beginning to burn from his onslaught assault of affirmations. It's then, flustered from both embarrassment and endearment ( but mainly embarrassment ), that you slap a hand over his mouth to silence him.

"Dude, I was joking! Chill out!" you told him, but quickly find yourself regretting speaking when you heard your own voice and it reminded you of a squeaky chew toy.

You wished nothing more than to crawl in a hole and bury yourself alive now.

With his words and your whiny voice replaying in your head like a bad memory, you turn on your side with a huff as first-hand embarrassment rips through you…which ultimately meant that you had to remove your hand from your boyfriend's mouth to do so.

And — just like your boyfriend Kalim Al-Asim would — instead of taking the hint, he sits up even more and slides closer, twisting a bit as he leans over you and plants his hand down firmly onto your pillow by your head to keep himself propped up.

He's hovering above now. Staring down at you with stupidly soft eyes that were capable of making an entire herd swoon, you were sure.

You avoid his gaze and bit your lip, fearing what emotion your face may give away and what your mouth may further humiliate you with if you let it open once more. Alas, that seemed to only urge Kalim closer and prompt him into apologizing again.

"I'm sorry, please don't be mad," is what he tells you, voice thick with velvet remorse, "but I hate hearing you talk down to yourself like that.."

That should've been the end of it. Should've been the moment Kalim leaned away and laid back down on his side of the bed and curled up into your back. Should've been the moment you were allowed a much-needed break to finally deal with the deep swirl of mortification that came from Kalim's sudden adulation…but, as Kalim finally closed the distance between you and him and planted a kiss right atop that scar he'd been tracing earlier, you groan as you realize that this was only the beginning of this torture.

"I really like you, and even before we got together, I admired you a lot," he confessed in a low murmur as he moved upwards to plant his lips on another, more permanent scar near your eyebrow; a result of roughhousing with your friends sometime during your childhood.

"I always thought you were really cool — and all your scars were part of that reason. I used to think, 'wow, they look really tough!'"

"Kali', please…" you begged. Your hands coming up to hide your face — that was definitely blazing at this point — from him. It's then that Kalim makes his way down south; kissing a tiny, light mark blemishing your nape before moving even lower down to kiss an oddly-shaped scar on your shoulder joint.

Then, at long last, he relents — giggling without a care as if he hadn't nearly sent you into cardiac arrest.

"Okay, okay, I'll stop.." he leans all his weight atop of you, his head falling on your chest where he sighs almost dreamily. Drinking in your body heat and the beats of your heart, as if he were close to dying without it.

"Sorry for getting a little carried away."

You can do nothing but huff.

"A 'little' carried away doesn't even begin to describe what that was.." you grumbled, but as you removed your hands from your aflame face, you found your irritation extinguishing as quickly as a poorly-lit flame — for Kalim looked as though he could die happy from merely being snuggled up so closely to you.

It was truly pathetic, but damn, did he manage make pathetic look freaking cute.

You huff again. One of these days, this loser is going to seriously kill you.

The next night, you're pretending to be Ashveil's date. It quickly becomes clear why he roped you along when you see everyone else checking into the venue linked in pairs. Seems like a pretty hoity toity party with the heavy security at the door and the expensive outfits of everyone around you.

You're dressed just as finely, but made sure to avoid complementing Ashveil's black, white, and red. Does that jeopardize the facade of parading as a couple? Possibly. But you wouldn't be caught dead matching with that man. The thought that people will actually think you're dating him isn't very appealing. You have higher standards than broke detectives.

For your bank account, you remind yourself. The only other bright side to this is that Ashveil's monkey assistant is tagging along too. You hold him in your arms as it's finally your turn to be sized up by the security.

"What is that?" The burly guy barring your entry points to the monkey. Ashveil steps between you and the guard.

"Don't tell me you've never seen an exquisite creature such as this before. You would not believe what it took to get my hands on him. He cost a fortune."

The monkey slow blinks.

The excuse works though, accepting the two of you and the monkey inside while also reinforcing the belief that you belong at such a high end party.

"The couple has somehow successfully made it into the venue. They keep their eyes sharp under the dazzling lights, searching for their target," Mister N says from your arms.

"Where's our guy?" You whisper. Ashveil tilts his head toward a short man, donning a velvet suit and close to balding. He's surrounded by a group of women at least ten years younger than him.

"Well, it looks like the allegation that he's cheating is pretty crystal clear," You snort, "Can we leave then?"

"The client wanted details on who he's having an affair with too. As much of a womanizer as he appears, it's possible none of those ladies are the one we're looking for."

You stake out next to the refreshments table, piled high with treats your meager funds could only dream of. Your plate is an assortment of cheese cubes, fancy meats, various crackers, and bananas that you pass to Mister N. Chowing down, you leave Ashveil to do his work and watch the target from across the room. The detective grumbles when people walk in front of him, blocking his view.

"Hey!" He taps you on the arm. "Dance with me."

"Excuse me?" You say through a mouthful of food.

"We need to get closer." He holds out his hand insistently.

"Watch this for me," You grumble to Mister N, placing your plate down next to him. The minute your hand takes Ashveil's he's whisking you onto the dance floor.

Dancing has never been your strong suit. You can never figure out the correct place to put your feet in time. It seems that Ashveil at least has some experience with the way he's able to maneuver your clumsy steps into something akin to dancing through tugging on your hand or shifting your waist. Or maybe he's just a good improviser.

"Someone's gotten him alone," You murmur. Despite the spinning across the dance floor you've been doing, you've managed to keep the direction of the target in mind. A dart of your eyes and you can see a woman with curly auburn hair and a slim teal dress leaning in a more than friendly distance. Unlike you, Ashveil is much less subtle, eyes locked on the couple instead of his dance partner.

"Likely that she's the one we're looking for."

"What now?"

"We need evidence. Our client would be able to identify the woman better than we can." He swings you back around to your carefully preserved plate of food. "It'd be best if we can catch them leaving instead of trying to do it around all these people."

You decide to enjoy more downtime and grab some of the cookies that were just placed out.

"It's become a waiting game, a stakeout as the colleagues attempt to catch this sleazebag in his debauchery. The detective's eyes are like a predator waiting for the right moment to strike. His partner bides their time, preoccupied with jello shaped like wispae."

Maybe you should get a monkey assistant too. Mister N's narration makes the time pass much quicker. Although, the jello certainly helps as well. The flavors range from strawberry and lime to blueberry pie and lemon parmesan. Rich people really are something.

"They're on the move!" Ashveil swivels to look at you. As sad as you are to not try the other ten jello flavors, you acknowledge the fact you have to leave. You sweep up Mister N and follow Ashveil through the crowd, matching his pace of trying to be subtle but also desperately not wanting to lose sight of the target when you're so close to success.

The two of you make it out before the couple, crouching below some bushes in anticipation. You've just settled into your hiding place when the velvet-suited man and auburn-haired woman walk into view. A car pulls up in front, and just as the woman steps inside, a bright light, accompanied by a click comes from beside you. Both your targets have their attention immediately turned on you.

"Oh shoot, I swore I turned the flash off." Ashveil rechecks his settings.

"You have got to be kidding me!" You bark at the same time the man who's just been caught red-handed shouts, "Security!"

The same burly guards who granted you entry inside are now charging after you. No words need to be exchanged between you and the detective for you to take off into Planarcadia's maze of alleys. The twists and turns give you some advantage, but you can't fully shake the horde chasing you. You cannot—you refuse to—end up in jail because of Ashveil.

"I think I know a shortcut we can take to evade them." He sounds just as out of breath as you feel. You're not sure how much more running your lungs can take.

"Okay. Where is it?" He leads you around a sharp corner before stopping to stomp his food on top of a sewer grate.

"I hate you," You growl, but don't hesitate to jump into the manhole at the sound of approaching footsteps.

"Hey," You set down a bunch of bananas with a sigh upon entering the Ashen Detective Agency. The faint stink in the room is already conjuring up bad memories of last night.

"Look who it is!" Ashveil pokes his head out of the freezer, yelping at the bag of takeout you throw in next to him.

"I had to burn my nice clothes, just so you know."

"You could have just done what me and Mister N did and run them through the laundry until they're fresh again."

"And how many loads did that take?"

"Five…"

"I knew accepting your offer was a bad idea! That's one too many sewer treks for my liking."

"Well, on the good side, I sent off the evidence to my client and just transferred half of the payment to you."

You immediately go to check your bank account, the deposit making your eyes light up despite earlier complaints. Jumping up and down, you show your new account balance to Mister N.

"We make a pretty good team, don't we?" Ashveil muses.

"Don't tell me you already need help on another case after we just got back from running for our lives."

From the bottom of the freezer, Ashveil pulls out a file.

Welcome to GOTTA LOVE THEM ALL! A writing event hosted by DISTRICT 99 for this month of FEBRUARY until MARCH.

We have crafted interactive (fiction) quizzes that will determine your fate. Based on your choices, you'll be assigned a writing prompt tailored just for you. Complete the prompt within a certain amount of time, and you'll earn a collectible card designed by our team. One quiz will be released per week, so be on a lookout for them! <3

[GENERAL] 1ST WEEK, February 14: click here to take the quiz!!

[REGULAR] 2ND WEEK, February 16: click here to take the quiz!!

[PLATONIC] 3RD WEEK, February 23: click here to take the quiz!!

[AU] 4TH WEEK, March 20: click here to take the quiz!!

There are 18 original Fakemon cards waiting to be collected! Finish a prompt, earn a card. Keep writing, keep collecting. The writer with the biggest collection at the end wins the grand prize!

use the tag #GLTA99 in your works

HOW IT WORKS

Take the Quiz: Click one of the links above to start your journey. Answer the questions and see where the stories take you.

Receive your Prompt: Your quiz results will reveal your unique writing prompt.

Write and Submit: Write your piece based on the prompt and post it before the deadline. Make sure that you use the tag #GLTA99. 

Collect Your Card: Send the link of your post to one of the STAFF (don’t be shy, we won’t bite!) or send an ask off-anon with the link to receive a card!

Win: The writers who collect the most cards by the end of the event will win a special prize!

GRAND CHAMPION: A battlepass of their own game of choice (for as long as it doesn’t exceed PHP 600 or 10 USD) or any item that falls under that same price. Will also be declared as the WOE, Writer of the Event.

GIVEAWAY: But do not fret! Everyone who have submitted a work for this event will be eligible for the giveaway and automatically be entered. 1 winner will be chosen to receive a MONTHLY PASS or any item that falls under the same price.

FAQ

Q: Do I have to be a member of the network to participate?

A: Yes, this event is open to the network’s members only.

Q: I was assigned to the section for SONG PROMPTS when I took the General Quiz, however, the quiz for it is not released yet. What do I do? Can I only do SONG PROMPTS?

A: Fret not. Each quiz for each category is set to release on a scheduled date — you’re not stuck with just one section. The assignment is just a suggestion for where to go next. If your quiz isn't out yet and you don't wanna wait, retake the quiz and aim to get one that's already available.

Q: How long do I have to write my piece?

A: Prompts must be submitted within 10 days of receiving them to receive the reward card, but you have until the event ends on March 31st to submit your works!

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A: Pieces should have a minimum of 200 words. No maximum word count! Be free!

Q: Can I get more than one prompt?

A: Absolutely! You can take the quiz as many times as you like, but you can only earn one card per prompt submission. Keep writing to keep collecting! However, we don’t recommend tackling more than one prompt at a time as doing so may be overwhelming.

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A: All content must adhere to our network's rating and content guidelines.

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