#m&ms.exe

Phainon blinks. “…Are you okay?”

“No,” Stelle says, grinning. “But not because of me.”

You choose that moment to mumble something incomprehensible into Stelle’s hair, which only makes her snort.

“You’re leaving, yeah?” she asks, eyeing the car keys in his hand.

Phainon nods slowly. “Yeah. Why?”

Her eyes light up with sudden mischief. That’s never a good sign. “Perfect! I need a favor.”

He narrows his eyes. “No.”

“You didn’t even hear what it was.”

“I don’t need to,” he replies flatly, already turning back toward his car.

But Stelle is persistent. She adjusts her grip on you and jogs forward, nearly dropping you in the process. “Wait—okay, okay, listen. I can’t leave. I’m the host, and there’s still like, fifteen people inside trying to start a game of strip Uno.”

“That sounds like a you problem.”

“It is!” she says, laughing. “Which is why I need your help.”

Phainon sighs. He already doesn’t like where this is going. “What do you want.”

“Just take them home,” she says, nodding toward you.

You look up at him through half-lidded eyes. “You have really pretty hair,” you slur, then burst into laughter for absolutely no reason.

Phainon stares at you. “Seriously?”

“C’mon,” Stelle pleads. “You two have classes together. You at least know each other.”

“Barely.”

“But you’re not total strangers. And you’re not drunk,” she adds with a meaningful raise of her brow.

He hesitates. You’re swaying now, your arms thrown dramatically over Stelle’s shoulder as you hum some off-tune version of a pop song. You’re a mess. But a harmless one, probably. A pretty one too, not that he wants to admit that part out loud.

“Why me?” he asks.

“Because I trust you not to murder them,” Stelle says, pushing you toward him. “And I’m desperate.”

He catches you out of instinct, your body slumping against his chest with a drunken sigh. You smell like cheap vodka and a hint of whatever overpriced cologne you wear. You blink up at him, dazed.

“Are we dating now?” you whisper.

Phainon flushes and looks away. “No. We’re going to your apartment. If you can tell me where it is.”

“I live… somewhere.” You smile proudly. “I can show you with my feet.”

“I don’t think your feet can walk right now.”

Stelle claps her hands. “Wonderful! This is going so well. Thank you, Phainon. You’re the best.”

“I didn’t say yes.”

“You didn’t say no,” she sing-songs, already retreating toward the house. “Get home safely, you guys!”

And just like that, he’s left holding a very drunk, very warm, very giggly you, with no escape route.

You look up at him again. “I want milkshake,” you murmur.

He closes his eyes.

This night is going to be a problem.

The corner store glows like a little haven in the night—one of those 24-hour places that somehow sells everything from cough syrup to fried chicken to, thankfully, milkshakes. The bell above the door jingles softly as Phainon pushes it open with you half-limp under his arm.

The guy behind the counter barely glances up. The woman in the back, though—older, with kind eyes and a hairnet—offers a small smile as she wipes down the counter.

You’re humming.

Phainon glances sideways at you. You’re perched on one of those tall stools by the counter, your feet swinging because they don’t quite reach the ground. You’re humming something loud and off-key, the kind of tune that sounds like it came from a cartoon. Or maybe a kid’s show. He has no idea what it is.

But at least you’re not shouting. Or crying. Or breaking anything.

He’s seen all types. Angry drunks who punch walls. Sad drunks who sob into their phones. Touchy-feely drunks who hang off strangers. And the tantrum-throwers—the ones who scream at vending machines and accuse chairs of betrayal. But you? You’re just… weird.

Weird and wobbly and maybe two sips away from knocking over your own milkshake when it arrives. But harmless.

Pretty, too, he thinks yet again.

You gasp when the woman behind the counter sets down the milkshake in front of you—a towering swirl of vanilla and chocolate, with whipped cream and a maraschino cherry on top. Your eyes light up like you’ve never seen something so beautiful.

Phainon watches you, completely captivated.

Yeah… you’re pretty and cute. Dangerously so.

The woman chuckles as she hands over the second milkshake—his, much simpler. Just plain vanilla.

She wipes her hands on a towel and glances between the two of you. “Are you their boyfriend?”

Phainon nearly chokes on nothing. His hand shoots up in defense as his face goes red. “Oh—uh—no! No, no, no, nothing like that—”

But you’re faster. You turn to her, eyes wide with a dopey grin and whipped cream on your upper lip.

“We just started dating today,” you declare proudly. “I think I really love him.”

Phainon stares at you. The woman laughs, full-bellied and warm.

Phainon rubs the back of his neck, eyes wide. “N-No, ma’am! You’ve got it all wrong, I swear. We’re not dating. A mutual friend asked me to take them home—uh, safely. We barely even know each other.”

The woman just raises an eyebrow, still smiling.

“You’re a good man,” she says. “Not a lot of people would go out of their way for someone like that. And you’re only acquaintances?”

He laughs, awkward and strained. “Haha, yeah. That’s all.”

Then your phone starts ringing.

It’s not a sound he recognizes, which means it’s yours. You fumble for it with a dramatic groan, clearly annoyed at the interruption from your milkshake bliss. Your lower lip juts out into a pout as you dig the phone out of your bag and stare at the screen like it personally offended you.

Phainon watches you and, unbidden, a single thought pops into his mind: How is it even possible to be this adorable?

He exhales slowly and looks away, focusing on his milkshake instead.

You fumble with the screen, tongue sticking out in deep concentration before finally managing to answer the call.

Phainon tries not to listen—he really does—but he can’t help it. Not when it’s on speaker.

“Where are you?” a man’s voice says—deep, steady, a little stern. “You told me you’re coming home early.”

Phainon stiffens.

His milkshake suddenly tastes weird. Too sweet. Too artificial. It sits on his tongue like plastic.

Boyfriend?

His eyebrows pull together. There’s something tight in his chest. Annoyance? Discomfort? Jealousy?

Wait—what the hell is he even feeling?

You roll your eyes dramatically at the phone. “You’re sounding a lot like mom, De.”

Oh.

Phainon nearly chokes on relief.

Brother. Right. That makes way more sense. Still, he feels the heat creep up the back of his neck. Why was he even curious? You’re just classmates. Barely that. He’s doing a favor, that’s all.

“And you interrupted me!” you grumble. “I was enjoying my milkshake when you called.”

From the other side, there’s a sigh. “Sorry. Are you by yourself? Do you need me to come get you?”

“Nope!” you chirp, far too quickly. “My boyfriend is with me. We got milkshakes and he’s bringing me home.”

Phainon’s soul leaves his body. His hand freezes mid-sip. He slowly lowers the straw from his lips, blinking as the words echo in his skull.

My boyfriend is with me.

Silence stretches from the phone like a bomb waiting to explode.

“What do you mean by that?” your brother finally says, voice low and dangerous. “What boyfriend?”

Panic hits Phainon like a sledgehammer. He sees your mouth open—nope. Nope. Nope nope NOPE.

He snatches the phone from your hands before you can say anything else that might end in his funeral.

“H-Hello! Hi! This is—uh, this is not your sibling’s boyfriend,” Phainon blurts out. “I swear, we’re not dating! A mutual friend—Stelle—asked me to take them home because they couldn’t and—uh—it’s just a huge misunderstanding, they’re really drunk right now, I swear I’m not trying anything—!”

The line is quiet. Too quiet.

Then finally, “Do you even know the address to their apartment?” the man asks flatly.

“Uh—no. Can you…?”

“I’ll send it here.”

“Thank you!” Phainon says too fast, voice a little too high.

“…Whatever,” your brother mutters. A pause. “If you don’t bring my sibling home unharmed, I’m going to beat you into a pulp.”

Click.

Phainon stares at your phone.

He hasn’t realized he’s holding his breath until it comes out in one slow, shaky exhale.

Your brother is terrifying.

A ping snaps him out of it. He glances at the screen and sees the notification—a text from “De.” A dropped pin. Your address.

You, blissfully unaware of the chaos you’ve caused, are still sipping your milkshake with a dreamy smile.

Phainon rests his forehead on the counter for a second.

What the hell did I even get myself into?

By the time Phainon pulls up to your apartment complex, the milkshake incident and the accidental fake-boyfriend phone call have fried his brain into static. He parks the car carefully, shifts it into neutral, and sighs.

You’re asleep in the passenger seat with your head slumped against the window, a faint trail of drool on your chin. The milkshake cup is still cradled in your arms like it’s precious treasure.

God, you’re adorable even when you’re not doing anything.

Phainon rounds the car and opens your door, crouching to gently coax you out. “Alright, come on, you’re home. Up we go—”

You groan, eyes barely opening. “Is this heaven?”

“No,” he mutters, slipping an arm around your back, “it’s your apartment complex, which is definitely not the same thing.”

He pulls you out with minimal resistance, hoisting you bridal-style because your legs clearly don’t know how to function right now. You blink up at him, dazed, smiling.

Then he hears it—the heavy, deliberate thump-thump of footsteps behind him.

Phainon freezes.

He turns around slowly, instinctively holding you closer. And he gapes.

Standing in the soft yellow glow of the apartment complex’s outdoor lights is a tall, broad-shouldered figure in a black Kremnos University hoodie, arms crossed, jaw set, and a mop of unmistakably golden hair gleaming like a freaking anime character.

Phainon’s stomach sinks.

No.

No. No. No way.

“…You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he breathes.

Because the man standing before him isn’t just your brother.

He’s Mydeimos.

The Mydeimos.

The Golden-Haired Lion of Kremnos U. Captain of the basketball team. Star player. Media darling. Enemy of Okhema University. Phainon’s personal rival.

The same Mydeimos Phainon has spent three years trying to outscore, outrank, and outshine on the court.

And he’s your brother.

Mydeimos stops a few feet away and squints. Then his lip curls.

“It’s you,” he says coldly.

Phainon opens his mouth, but no words come out.

“You’re my sibling’s boyfriend, huh?” Mydeimos continues, like the words taste sour in his mouth. His eyes narrow, voice sharp as a knife. “Phainon of Okhema University.”

Phainon’s brain short-circuits. “Wait, no, hold on—this isn’t what it looks like—!”

Too late. You’ve stirred in his arms, letting out a sleepy sigh.

“I really, really love you, Phainon,” you mumble with a dopey grin before nestling against his chest like this is the most normal thing in the world.

Phainon’s soul leaves his body for the second time tonight.

Mydeimos raises an eyebrow. There’s a pause. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to.

He steps aside as Phainon carefully carries you inside and sets you gently on a couch. You’re out cold again, snoring softly.

When he turns back, Mydeimos is standing in the doorway, still as a statue, arms crossed like a final boss guarding the last checkpoint.

Phainon gulps as he walks himself outside the apartment complex.

“I know that look in your eyes,” Mydeimos says quietly behind him.

Phainon flinches, turning around and eyes darting up to meet his.

“You’re not getting my blessing.”

Then, without waiting for a response, Mydeimos turns on his heel and slams the door in Phainon’s face.

Silence.

Phainon stands there, in your apartment, with his heart racing, his face burning, and the distinct sense that his life has just gotten a lot more complicated.

© 2025 kominigiru.

note: i should really be writing hwftch but i decided to write a one-shot instead. i also dont know how apartments work so yeah 😁 hope this was an enjoyable read tho!! lots of love ❤️❤️

“What?” You look at him like he’s grown two heads. “I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“That’s not what you told me on the phone,” he replies, placing the empty glass on your nightstand with a little too much emphasis.

You blink, trying to focus through the fog of your own brain rot. Somewhere in the recesses of your memory, there’s loud music, alcohol, milkshakes, and someone really, really pretty holding your phone like it was grenade.

“I don’t remember calling you,” is all you manage to croak out.

“That’s because I called you.” Mydei sighs, rubbing his temple like this conversation is actively lowering his lifespan. “Next time, if you’re going to get drunk and get yourself a boyfriend, at least pick someone more… sensible. Out of all the people in your school, you just had to choose Phainon.”

The name hits you like a defibrillator.

You jolt upright so fast your vision whites out for a second. “What?!”

Phainon?! As in Phainon?!

Okhema University’s Golden Boy?

The captain of the basketball team?

The senior you share half your classes with?

Your (and, let’s be real, half the school’s) low-key, high-key crush?

That Phainon?!

Mydei doesn’t even blink. “He brought you home in his car after getting milkshakes. You professed your love for him and then passed out. He said Stelle asked him to take you home.”

Stelle. Of course it was Stelle. The only person alive who knows about your ridiculous, slow-burning, definitely-doomed crush.

And of course she’s friends with him. Of course she is.

But hold on—what did he just say?

“Wait—what do you mean I ‘professed my love’?”

“I mean exactly that,” Mydei deadpans. “You declared you really, really loved him. Emphasis on the really.”

You make a noise that is not human.

Your hands fly to your head, gripping your hair like you’re trying to physically hold your soul in place. Fingers twist into your strands, tangling at the roots. You curl in on yourself like the fetal position might offer some kind of emotional immunity.

“Oh my god,” you whisper, horrified. “I can never go to class again. I have to drop out, fake my death, move to Aidonia, and start a new life as a sheep farmer.”

“Good,” Mydei says without missing a beat. “Fewer mistakes for me to clean up.”

You groan and flop back into the pillow, arms over your face like maybe, just maybe, if you stop existing hard enough, time will rewind and you’ll make better choices.

But deep down, you know it won’t. Because you got drunk, confessed to your crush, and even your brother witnessed it.

This is a disaster.

I need to call Stelle, you decide, already grabbing your phone like it’s a lifeline.

You shoo your brother toward the door with the urgency of someone trying to hide a crime scene. Mydei gives you a look—equal parts exhaustion and judgment—but thankfully doesn’t argue. He exits with a muttered “good luck,” and shuts the door behind him.

The second he’s gone, you fumble with your phone and stab at her contact.

It rings. Once. Twice. Three times. Then—

“…Hello?” Stelle’s voice is groggy, thick with sleep. “Did you get home safe?”

“I did,” you whisper-shout, “but that’s not why I’m calling. Why—” you hiss, “—did you ask Phainon to take me home?!”

You hear the faint sound of rustling fabric. “Did you two kiss or what?”

Your entire face catches fire. “No! Even worse! I made him buy me a milkshake, told my brother he’s my boyfriend, and apparently—I said I really, really love him!”

There’s a beat of silence. Then she yawns. “Okay, but like… what’s the problem?”

You stare at your ceiling in disbelief. “The problem is I embarrassed myself in front of my crush, who also happens to be your friend. And worse—Mydei found out. He knows Phainon! They’re basketball rivals from opposing universities! You basically threw me at the captain of Okhema’s basketball team like I’m a drunken offering to the gods of romantic humiliation!”

Stelle snorts. “Okay, drama queen. Want me to give you his number so you can apologize or something?”

You groan. “You owe me a milkshake for this.”

“Didn’t Phainon already buy you one? That’s two milkshakes in one day. This is the greed they warned us about in the Bible.”

“Stelle—”

She laughs. “I’m helping your love life, babe, so you’re welcome. But sure, I’ll buy you any milkshake you want.”

“You better. That’s a promise.”

“Yeah, yeah. See you in class.”

The call ends.

A second later, your phone buzzes with a new message:

You’ve been staring at the number for five full minutes now. You don’t even know where to start.

Should you just apologize and pretend none of it ever happened?

Should you offer to make it up to him?

Would that make it worse?

Would he even reply?

What if he hates you now?

You chew on your lip, anxiety churning in your stomach. The idea of seeing him in class again—with all this hanging over you—is enough to make you want to spontaneously combust.

And if he leaves you on read? Or worse—never reads it at all?

No. You have to send something. You’ll drive yourself insane if you don’t.

Just wing it, you tell yourself, fingers already flying across the screen.

After multiple rewrites and a minor existential crisis, your thumb finally hovers over the send button.

The message reads:

You hit send.

Instant regret floods your system like battery acid.

You clutch your phone, staring at the screen like it might explode. Then—eight minutes later—the “Read” appears.

You scream.

You throw your phone face-down on the bed like it’s cursed.

You bury your face in your hands and seriously consider deleting your number, your name, your entire existence.

Then your phone buzzes.

You peek. One message.

You stare at it. Then you see the typing bubble pop up.

…Then disappear.

Then reappear.

Then disappear again.

You hold your breath, heart in your throat.

Another message chimes in. Then another.

And when you read it, your brain short-circuits.

© 2025 kominigiru.

note: this was sooo fun to write! as a fan of smau, i enjoyed making the fake chats (even though i had to go back and forth to make and edit it lol so if the images seem low quality and you notice the timestamps don’t make sense, just pretend otherwise ❤️). unfortunately though, this will be the last part to this series. it was supposed to be just a one shot at first but seeing as a lot of people liked it and requested for a part 2, i decided to make one.

i think romcoms suit phainon really well. he’s the ultimate male lead—the opposite of a northern duke. a duke of the south? hmmmm

he’s the young, fresh-out-of-grad professor who’s already infamous across okhema university for assigning the most absurd projects in recorded history.

sure, he drifts into tangents, but that doesn't make him any less scary. he has a predator’s instinct for spotting when a student’s attention is drifting, and once he’s locked onto you, it’s over. he’ll lob a question so painfully specific you’d rather melt into the floor on the spot rather than try answering it.

so here you are, phone buzzing in your pocket, weighing the risk: answer your boyfriend’s call, or ignore him so you don’t risk yourself getting called out by your demon of a professor.

in the end, you take the call—but not before whispering to stelle to keep watch for professor anaxagoras in case he decides to wander dangerously close.

you slip under your desk, phone pressed to your ear. in a hushed voice, you speak, “phainon?”

“hi, baby!” his tone is all sunshine and adoration, and your heart does its usual leap at his voice. “how are you? did i call at a bad time?”

“i’m alright. and it’s okay, i was feeling pretty sleepy during lecture anyway.” you can’t help the grin stretching across your face. “what’s up?”

“you know hyacine, right?”

“from the med department?”

“yes! well… she may have just given me a puppy. she said she can’t keep it—something about already having little ica and her apartment’s strict one-pet policy. so now we have a puppy! i think he’s a samoyed—at least that’s what hyacine told me. what should we name him? he’s really cute. and i know our schedules are crazy, but—”

“wait, wait.” you cut in. “you got a puppy? from hyacine?”

phainon’s response is immediate. “yes!”

“and you want to take care of it… with me?”

“of course! you’re the only person i can imagine raising this puppy with.”

the sincerity in his voice catches you off guard, and something warm blooms in your chest. “okay. but, uh… can we talk about this later? after my lecture? we can figure out his name then.”

you can’t see him, but you can picture it perfectly—the way his smile must be stretching, wide and bright. “of course! puppy and i will see you at the apartment later. see you, baby!”

the line clicks off, and you’re left staring at your phone, pulse still racing.

you slide your phone back into your pocket, and begin to straighten up in your chair—

—only to find professor anaxagoras standing directly in front of your desk, arms crossed, and with the most deadpan expression.

slowly, you turn your head toward stelle. she’s staring straight ahead, stiff as a statue, but the guilty, apologetic twist to her mouth says everything.

so much for keeping watch.

you met them your freshman year. one of them probably spotted you during the first day of classes and went “i want that one”

they literally drag you everywhere HABSHSHDHA

you’re often seen with stelle though, only bc caelus likes to sleep in so he’s always absent during lectures lmao. stelle is more chaotic, but i feel like she’d be the responsible one out of the two. caelus is just there for the vibes ✌️

having caelus and stelle as best friends would be so chaotic but also really fun. your trio’s dynamics would be just like this: