#phantom arknights

To love someone was a choice made and a truth you often wished you did not learn of. The thoughts loitered and persisted more than usual today. Even as the reports spread upon the desk called for your attention, even as the portable music player hummed with a familiar song, even as you sat in a spare Rhodes Island office with countries of distance to separate you from the source did reality still plague you. Neither an unwanted nor unloved child; the opposite was far more true, but to be cared for as family was unrelated to being liked as a person.

Not a choice, but an obligation.

After so many years, it almost ceased to bother you. Only almost. After all, you could not blame the circumstances—all was average enough. You barely caused more or less trouble than any other child growing up and everyone knew that. The sad fact, to you, was it simply was; being an obligation was just your lot upon birth and nothing gutted you worse than that. All the effort and intent of more years than you could recall made no difference. Not a single preference remembered, no requests ever honoured, and of course never fault to be found in anyone but yourself. Because love is a choice and that was how your parents chose to love you: not as a person, but an obligation.

The plastic tip of the pen cracked with an audible snap and the deluge of ink was instantaneous. Before you could think to move your too tightly gripped tool aside, your report was ruined by the dark stain and scattered splotches. You sighed with little care for the papers themselves.

"Again, huh? Maybe I should ask Closure for a custom pen next," you mused to yourself with a smile.

Just a small curl of your lips that never meant anything. Anyone else on the landship could easily recall the expression since it never seemed to leave your face. You always smiled. You had to smile. If you just smiled enough, maybe someday it would be real and every moment before could follow in such irrational footsteps of your delusional—

Clack clack clack!

The wood frame of the free-use office door rattled on its hinges as a visitor tapped against the murky glass. When you glanced over, emptiness greeted you as no one stood beyond the room. Before you could ponder it, however, another series of raps caused it to shudder and your gaze darted down to the source. Seated primly as ever save for her single paw pressed to the glass, Miss. Christine awaited your attention. You were confused, but rose to let her in nonetheless. Just as you pulled the door in and poked your head out though, the shadow of a second presence fell over you.

"Ah, you're why she insisted I follow her."

Suppresing a startled jump, your head turned to find a familiar face.

"Oh, hello, Operator Phantom."

The Feline nodded minutely in response, but neither of you seemingly had much else to say. Thankfully, before the stillness could persevere, Miss. Christine chirped to announce her presence and brushed past you into the study space. You opened your mouth to protest, but just as quickly aborted the thought when even turning around had fatigue pressing along your shoulders.

"I was due for a break, I guess," you relented with a sigh. Opening the door wider, you let your free arm welcome Phantom into the room. "Did you want to come in as well?"

"Pardon," he excused himself as he accepted your invitation.

For a moment, you debated on whether to close the door or leave it open—social implications still festered in your periphery from your upbringing. The thought brought a bitter tang to the tip of your tongue and you quelled the urge to click it away. In an impulsive moment of (pointless) rebellion, you dragged the handle as you turned. It only stopped when it echoed with a minute click.

"So, to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?" If your smile had ever left your face, Phantom's expression made no note of it.

"Miss. Christine's reasons are her own; I simply deigned to follow her today," he answered.

You settled into one of the spare chairs closer to the entrance with a half-amused huff. "Well, then I should be honoured to have the lady's favour."

The lady in question had settled herself in full comfort on the office desk; she loafed right atop your half-finished reports. Phantom cast her a glance before he returned his attention to you.

"I hope you're not bothered."

"To be in an enclosed room with the Operator who almost killed me a few days ago?"

Your smile should have been cruel. Teeth glinting, upper lip curled, gums on show—anything but the demure tilt at both corners of your mouth. Yet, the airiness of your response somehow masked the cruelty of the words themselves, because they were not an attack. To you, it was a simple fact and not one that could be quietly hushed by social conventions. To Phantom's credit, you had to admit, his gaze never strayed from you. He seemed well aware of your reality (this time) and did not cower from his own responsibility. He gave a curt nod in acknowledgement.

"I'm not scared, if that's what you're asking. No grudges here, either," you practically hummed. "Do you feel guilty?"

"An apology would only be proper—"

"I don't want it." This time, your words caused a visible startle in Phantom. "Oh, sorry—that was sudden of me. What I mean is I know whatever happened wasn't on purpose, so I don't need an apology to sate my feelings."

"I… see," Phantom said with a low drawl.

His expression held a thoughtful downcast rather than hesitation. He accepted your words at face value, much to your relief. Quiet settled between you at that point, still but light. You gave Phantom his space to process your perspective while Miss. Christine continued to rest comfortably amongst your papers.

"…Lucian, right?" You did not dare to look away as Phantom startled for a second time. "That's what Doctor called you before. So your name is Lucian?"

Phantom remained silent for a moment before his chin dipped in a nod. "That's correct."

"Everyone does wrong at some point in their life—I don't care to hold onto grievances like that, though. Instead, you can make it an opportunity to do better," you offered, equal parts diplomatic and earnest. "How about I hold you to that? Not as Operators, but because I want to help the guy named Lucian. No matter what, you're going to be 'Lucian' to me!"

Was it a whim? You were not entirely sure, but something—too much—about Phantom felt familiar. The controlled expressions, the social awareness in contrast to his reticience, none of it was new to you. How many times had you been the one behind that perspective in so many years? Idling, regretting, and hoping were pointless pursuits. If you wanted change, then you needed action.

"…Very well, I'll accept."