summary — all he ever wanted was to be good for you. this curse that binds your souls together is not one you should be doomed to bear.
themes — soulmate AU, fluff and angst, hurt/comfort, self-deprecating!lohen, not relevant here but it is librarian!reader, discussions of lohen's childhood trauma, suggestive ending, chai will probably expand this concept later
WC: 1063
He knew he wasn’t good for you.
“Lohen,” you said, your eyes filled with concern. “What’s wrong?”
He stumbled forward. Eyes bleary; face coated in grime, sweat, and tears; he draped himself over you like the cape at his shoulder. Another time, he might have cared about the blood seeping through his clothes, worried about how he was staining your pretty dress with that crimson color that never seemed to leave him. In the heat of the moment, he had no luxury to care.
Your arms reached up, wrapping around his waist. Even though he was filthy, even though you were pure, you still brought his body closer to yours. He felt your hand at the back of his head, stroking soothingly.
“It’s okay,” you said softly. “I’m here.”
With a start, he realized he was sobbing. How embarrassing—how unsightly. A man like him didn’t have the right to go breaking down like this, not when he had a woman like you to protect. He was supposed to stay staunch, to ensure that you could always rely on him, so that you might one day believe he was good for you.
“Shh,” you whispered, your voice light and soothing. “It’s okay. You’re okay, Lohen.”
“Sorry,” he gasped out, blinking the tears from his eyes. “Bun, I’m sorry.”
“No need to apologize. I’ve got you.”
“This is so embarrassing,” he whimpered, curling his arms tighter around your shoulders. “It’s been seventeen years. I thought I was over it.”
You said nothing. Hand stroking his head, arm keeping him pressed to your chest, you stood with him in silence. He bawled into the shoulder of your dress, his hands curling into the fabric along your back. Memories of his capture, the screams of terrified children, and the fear and frustration that had been embedded within him ever since that moment had consumed him like a raging fire. Killing monster after monster had done nothing to curtail the blaze, which burned away at his skin like a permanent reminder of his shortcomings. He hated feeling like this—like he couldn’t put a lid on these turbulent emotions. The last thing he wanted was to trouble you, the kindest person he had ever met. You didn’t deserve to be brought down by his scars of trauma, nor did you deserve the curse of being his soulmate.
“You deserve someone better,” he whispered, his brows knitting together. “I’m sorry you got stuck with me.”
You lifted your hands to his face, sharply thrusting it into your field of view. He was startled when he met those wide eyes of yours, that looked as though they were full of fire and fury. Something burned in that gaze of yours, and it had him by the throat, right where your bite had marked his skin all those months ago.
“Don’t you ever talk about yourself like that,” you said sharply. “Do you seriously think I would be with you if I didn’t want to be? Do you think my love is some kind of charity case?”
His eyes widened. The intense look on your face immediately dissipated, your lips curling into a sad frown. As you stroked your thumbs across his cheekbones, you slowly shook your head from side to side.
“I’m with you because I want to be,” you told him. “Don’t you feel the same?”
He let out a shaky exhale. Nodding at you, he swallowed back the dull lump in his throat.
“I love you,” he croaked.
You smiled, and his heart ached. “I love you, too, Lohen. I’m always here for you, you know?”
He nodded. Lifting his hands to your wrists, he gave you a gentle squeeze. Held under your touch like this, he allowed himself to close his eyes, sniffling before you without a shred of shame. You wiped his tears away and whispered sweet affirmations all the while, your voice filled with love and adoration. Oftentimes, you were too much for him—too sweet, too kind. He found himself floundering at your feet, trying his best to keep you happy, to keep his internal fears suppressed. Showing you this side of himself wasn’t something he ever wanted to do, but when you touched him like this, talked to him like you loved him, he could unfurl before you like the fall of a silken ribbon.
“Do you want to take a bath together?” you asked softly. “You can hold me.”
Immediately, he nodded. “Yeah,” he said, his voice hoarse. “That sounds good, Bun.”
“You can bite me again, too,” you said. “If you want to.”
“God, I’d love that,” he answered breathlessly. “You’re way too good to me.”
“You were good to me first.”
His eyes slid open. The smile on your face grabbed his heart between its palms, wringing him for everything it was worth. Without a moment of hesitation, he leaned down and mashed his mouth to yours.
You stumbled back slightly, but he anchored you with his arms, looping them around your hips. The way your hands went from his face to his shoulders made his skin prick with joy.
“…Mm,” you said, your hands squeezing his shoulders. You withdrew from his kiss with a coy look on your face. “Hang on before you do that. You’re filthy.”
In spite of the pressure behind his eyes, Lohen laughed.
“What, you think I’m trying to bite you right now? You know I’m saving that for after the bath, right?”
With your lips closed, you giggled. “Sounds like you might have some other plans, too.”
Heat bathed his cheeks. Giving you a cocky grin anyway, he purred, “I think you’ll like them.”
Your laughter made his heart swell with pride. Nodding your head at him, you said, “Now, I’m looking forward to them.”
“Eh? You weren’t looking forward to ‘em before?”
He pressed kisses to your neck, and you started giggling. Exaggeratedly, he whined, “You don’t like it when I bite you in bed, Bun?”
“Don’t be silly,” you giggled. “You know I love it.”
He loosed a dirty chuckle into your skin. You squeezed his shoulders encouragingly, and after another firm kiss to your collar, Lohen stood upright. He kept one arm looped around your waist, encouraging you with a nudge of his head.
“Let’s clean up,” he said.
You nodded at him, smiling as dearly as ever.
“Yeah, Lohen. Let’s do that.”
a/n: when i started this drabble, it wasn't even supposed to turn into a soulmates thing. then it just did. then i started thinking wait this is kinda tasty. so what was supposed to be a standalone drabble, will probably evolve into a full oneshot in the future! o_o
anyway, if you liked what you read, please consider leaving a me a heart! (˶>⩊<˶) ♡ reblogs and comments appreciated!
icymi! chai's last lohen post:
under wraps, lohen wip (200+ notes)
masterlist
your legs trudged to the door of your apartment, your bag ready to fall off your shoulder as you wearily brought your hand to your front door. Key in, turn. In a split second, you remembered to take the key out of the door- you would've forgotten had you not remembered at that moment. you used your back to shut the door behind you, and as you heard the click of the automatic lock, your back sighed in relief as the bag made itself at home on the floor.
work drained almost everything you had, but there was one smell that revitalized your spirit more than anything: chickenjoy. Without care for your posture, you made your way into the kitchen, and there it was: freshly made chickenjoy. But just the chickenjoy alone? Where was Jollibee, the one who had recipes like no other?
Before you could turn around to look for him, you felt a pair of arms around you.
SYNOPSIS | wanderer x reader | you should've kissed him sooner, you dumb fuck.
NOTES | reposted and edited!!
1,077 | WARNINGS | gettin a little handsy but all is sfw, messy first kisses!
"what?"
"i—don't make me say it again!" flustered, your voice muffles over the speaker, possibly because you smothered your face over your pillow from embarrassment. scaramouche could even imagine you rolling over your bed just from the shuffles that made through the mic.
but scaramouche wants—no, needs to hear it again.
"no, no, say it again," he waits in bated breath, anticipation coursing through his veins that pumped the erratic flow of his blood.
now that he thinks of it, his heart seems to be beating a little too fast.
"i…" you pause from the other side of the screen, the sound of your shaky breath unknowingly picked up by the microphone. "i wanted to kiss you earlier, before you left."
"...."
"...."
scaramouche felt his heart do a round of somersaults, an unbelievable warmth creeping up his face. before he could even stop himself, his mouth parted to speak.
"then why didn't you?"
another pause commenced, this time he can hear you trying to come up with a response, stuttered vowels spoken in broken sounds with sheer fluster and bashfulness.
it's a shame he couldn't see it himself.
"i didn't want to just kiss you out of the sudden!" you finally quipped, voice a tone higher.
"then you should've told me like you just did now."
"i was nervous, okay! stop pressuring me!"
scaramouche could literally see the pout on your voice, a soft thump on your side of the phone letting him know that you might have plop yourself on your pillow. "why don't you ask me, huh? bet you'd be too shy to do so too!"
that's it, that's enough talk. he needs to move his ass.
"give me twenty."
"what?"
the call ended.
and there you spent a while vibrating with anxiousness and if you were to be completely honest, excited beyond reasons. in fact, you were pacing so much in the living room in circles you might have made a dent on the floor, staring at your screen where you can see the panicking messages you sent him after he hung up.
he can't possibly be going through all the efforts to get to you, can he? just for a kiss? shut up, it's not just a kiss. he just got home after dropping you off at yours when the two of you started the call. he was, he denies it though, unable to go through a night without hearing your voice after a day well spent with you—his beloved you.
maybe you shouldn't have told him shit in the first place.
or better yet, maybe you should've just grew the balls and kissed him right after dropping you off at your door. by doing so, you could've saved yourself from this unnecessary feeling of anxiousness. perhaps the two of you might even spend the rest of the night on your couch kissing and kissing and kissing–
"eek!" you squeaked at the sudden rounds of urgent knocks on your door.
he took less than twenty minutes to get here.
standing in front of your door, your hand hesitates to turn the knob. oh, is your palm sweating? was it just you or is it a little hot in here?
"i know you're right there, open up."
"okay, okay.” with a huff and a quick prayer to the lord above, you pull the door to reveal a pouty scaramouche, arms crossed over his chest and his foot tapping the ground impatiently. his hair is in disarray, probably from how he haphazardly tossed on his hoodie over his head in his rush to get to you.
"you didn't have to go all the way here."
"i wanted to."
with an attitude huff, he welcomed himself to your house, kicking the door shut behind him before reaching over your waist to pull you close—the corner of his lip twitched up in a smug smile at your silent gasp.
"t—this is a little too close."
"hm?"
you couldn't stop the shiver that you felt when his breath warms your cheeks, the tips of your noses brushing against each other at close proximity and the gentle squeeze of his arms around your waist, chest pressed against yours. it's not to say that he hasn't been this close before, you've latched yourself on him a couple of times, but you've never been this intimately close to the point of kissing.
"you literally smother your face on my neck when you demand your cuddles, i don't see how this is different."
"shut up."
"make me," he grins at the starstrucked look on your face. “i'm pretty sure you know just how to do that."
"you little shit."
with a sharp tug on his collar, your lips crashed like the rushing waves in the river against a rock. it's incredibly warm, the nerves that you felt when his lips touched yours with a little force and slightly clumsy pace. not just because his lips are warm but because suddenly your heartbeat started pounding aggressively against your ribcage, blood rushing through every nerve in your body whilst your lips melted against each other in a messy frenzy.
scaramouche felt no different from you, perhaps more. he feels too light headed to process that the both of you are still at the entrance hallway and that his hands are clawing around the back of your shirt, his nails digging a little across the fabric, eliciting a gasp from you that only excites him more. he took the chance to press deeper, his tongue almost electrified when it touches yours for the first time and he resist the urge to moan out loud.
god it felt too good to separate from you, he curses the irritating restriction of human nature to desire oxygen as he slowly pulls away from your swollen lips, warm breath mixing together.
your eyes follow the way his tongue peeks out to lick his lips.
"why didn't you do this earlier?" he groans, hot lips tracing warm kisses along your cheeks, jaw and neck. "could've saved us from wasting time on nothing."
"i know, i know." you sighed contentedly, brushing your hand through his hair and completely melting in his arms when his teeth nipping on a particular spot on your neck. "but you're here now."
"yeah," he cups your cheeks in his hands, eyes, flickering back and forth your lips and your eyes. he whispers lowly before closing the gap once more.
"and i'm absolutely not going anywhere anytime soon."
can I get hohenheim x female reader fluff 🥺 I want 2 kiss him so bad...
,, Thief of my heart, thief of my lips ''
a Hohenheim x F!reader fanfiction
Notable themes: Hohenheim loves his wife and you love him. Ewww paperwork….
Extra notes: I thought it’d be super cute if you and Hohenheim were married in this so kisses are extra special <333333 (I WISH IT WAS ME. LET ME MARRY HOHENHEIM PLEASEEE). Writing this I spelt Hohenheim like Hoehenheim like 3 times. I think it’s his destiny
Word count: 984
Paperwork. Paperwork, paperwork, paperwork.
Hohenheim’s favourite thing.
Since an incident had occurred just last night when an immature new hire thought they could take fragment of the universe in a fight (and were now pretty injured) so it was up to him as the chief researcher to handle these mishaps.
Fragment of the universe is a TETH level abnormality (unfortunately they have not been able to adjust its level to the new system they’ve implemented) it's not powerful at all… but that's new hires for you.
The pen flowed smoothly across documents, sighing things, writing statements about what happened and what is going to happen moving forward, how to prevent a new hire from attempting something like this- you get the jist.
It was all needlessly tedious work.
And man was one little incident taking hours to document. So many hours wasted on scrap pieces of paper when he could’ve been studying abnormalities or further refining the extraction methods of E.G.O. suits and weapons. But no, he’s stuck in his office doing this... And no, he will not stop complaining about it.
Hohenheim barely flinched when you knocked on the door, opening it before he could even spew a small ‘come in’
,, Hey ‘Heim! ’’
,, Greetings [Name]... What do you want out of me this time? ’’
Hohenheim sarcastically remarked, putting down his pen and turning his chair to look at you.
,, I wanna steal something really quick. ’’
Your husband raised an eyebrow at you, his suspicion evident on his thin face.
,, And what may that be? ’’
You didn't answer him, instead leaning in and planting a kiss on his lips, your hand coming up to cup his cheek. The blue haired man’s head hit the back of his chair as you did so, grunting softly in surprise. But you could feel the sly smirk crossing his face.
His calloused hand came up and pulled your hand away, urging you to pull away for a moment.
,, You didn't want to steal anything at all ’’
,, Yes I did? ’’
,, What? My heart? You stole that long ago [Name] ’’
You could feel your bashfulness start to shine through, heat rising to your cheeks. Hohenheim was never a man to be awfully romantic, especially in the work place, so this did unfortunately catch you off guard.
But when were you ever one to complain?
He sighed, tugging your hand towards him before speaking.
,, Go grab yourself a chair. ’’
,, Why? There's a perfectly good one right here. ’’
Your remark caught Hohenheim surprised. Yet maybe he should have expected this- you were always more open between the two of you.
,, Embarrassed? ’’
The researcher let out a huff, leaning back in his chair to give you room to sit. Taking your victory like a proud ruler upon their throne, you laid your head against his shoulder- mindful of the large blue nails poking out of it. His hand slinked around your mid section, holding you in place before he started to write again.
Tilting your head, you planted another kiss on him- this time on his stubbly jaw. He subtly leaned in, pressing his face against your lips before you pulled away.
,, So, what happened this time? ’’
Hohenheim let out an irritated sigh- not at you, but at having to relay such an idiotic incident.
,, New hire. Tried to do something stupid with an abnormality and it didn’t go very well. And here I am, left to write it all up ’’
You nodded against his shoulder, your eyes now on the papers- this was a bit much for one incident… but the LCE has always been hell-bent on security, even the smallest bit of security compromised meant everyone had to evacuate. It makes you subconsciously wonder when the next breach will be.
It wasn’t unjust however, more and more dangerous abnormalities have been found and transferred to your facility at the headquarters, so more and more security measures have been introduced since.
You both existed in silence for a moment, Hohenheim writing and you simply observing. The sound of his pen scratching the thick paper was oddly satisfying. But carefully, you shifted to a more comfortable position.
And you heard a familiar grumble from your lover.
,, Stay still. ’’
His words caused you to chuckle softly, looking up at him you responded.
,, Sorry, ‘getting frustrated? ’’
,, No, you’re just messing up my writing. You forget that handwriting needs to be neat on these. ’’
Hohenheim gently poked your side with an almost silent chuckle.
It didn't take very long for him to finish up whatever was left of the incident report, allowing him to kick the chair away from the desk and allow himself to lean back.You of course followed suit.
,, It's not even lunch and I'm exhausted. ’’
,, Right? I didn't realise we had a time-warping abnormality here. ’’
Your husband hummed in agreement, his eyes shutting briefly and his grip on you relaxing. Eventually his breath evened out and-
He suddenly flinched awake. Leaning forward in his chair, scrambling for his pen again.
,, You okay? ’’
Hohenheim was quick to respond- only after he found a couple sheets of paper.
,, Theres an abnormality behaviour report I have to fill out on false apple. ’’
The contrast between his slight panic just now and his surprisingly monotone voice was comedic. Astonishing almost. Enough to snap you out of your drowsy state.
,, You can always go back to sleep if you wish. As long as you don't have any other business to attend to. ’’
,, Don't have to tell me twice. ’’
You happily lean back into Hohenheim, your body going still.
Lets pretend you don't have that huge report to finish so you can stay in your husband's office…
It's pathetic, really. Albedo’s interest in you couldn't be any more lukewarm. Research. Alchemy. Sketching. The extent of his passion never bleeds beyond these confines. You can work with that. All you have to do is step inside those lines.
There are plenty of other men who are much more amenable to being pursued, and even more who would cut the work out for you entirely. None are so interesting as the Chief Alchemist of the Knights. He might be reclusive, but there's a kind and well-meaning air about him.
Intelligence is another thing. If his title isn't convincing, then all one has to do is listen to him speak. Facts and information are delivered like poetry—not the flowery sort, but as though each word is chosen through a meticulous study. Knowledge and skill together make competence, and competence is the most alluring trait.
You're not very alluring right now. Albedo is staying in the city for a while due to an ongoing investigation he's needed for. Opportunities to spend time with him are rare, so you had seized the chance to join in on his free time to sketch.
“My lines are a mess,” you mutter, analyzing the smudged graphite on your sketchbook page.
Albedo sets his own work in his lap and leans towards you from his position next to you on the couch. He studies your drawing—a sunsettia on the coffee table before you, illuminated by two candlesticks in an otherwise dark room. It would be a romantic setting if not for the mere explanation of practicing lighting.
Your eyes have since adjusted to the minimal light. Albedo smiles, made even softer by the dim glow of the short flames. He takes your sketchbook, stacks it with his own, and sets them both aside.
“There are no lines in real life,” he tells you.
He holds out his open palm to you. His gloves are off. There's a layer of silvery graphite on the side of his palm and pinky. You observe the reflective qualities in the candlelight, but Albedo smiles again. He reaches for your hand, lifting the union closer to your line of sight.
“What actually separates us?” He asks, shifting his hand to press his palm and fingers firmly against yours.
His hands are elegant in structure, yet surprisingly rough for someone so artistic—sword wielding, alchemical burns, exposure to the frost of Dragonspine. There's an uncanny dryness to his touch. It does not deter your heart from beating more quickly.
“Shadows?” You answer, observing the soft edges of darkness that act like a seam.
“It’s light,” he says and picks up a candle off the table, bringing the light to your hands. The warmth of the flame highlights the separation from his cold palm. “If anything, everything blends together in the shadows.”
Albedo blows out the flame. The shadowy seam pulls—your hands no longer separate cuts of fabric, but a continuous roll. The sole candle remaining on the table outlines the princely side of his face. A lesson and example.
“In the dark, we would not know where you end, and I begin.”
His eyes claim you. Your sight adjusts, but you won’t have it. Don't let the light divide you again. Advance into the smudge of shadows. You can work within his lines, but it's better when there are none. So lean towards the last candle and blow it out.
REPORTING FROM THE D99 QUARTERS !! WE HAVE NEWS FOR EVERYONE ... WHAT IS UP WITH EVERYONE IN THE NETWORK?
you've seen the recruitment post, but have you seen what happens in the network? well, we are here to deliver the news, the tea, the INSIDER INFO !!
01. this week, we just got one of d99's biggest achievement: huzzah ! 670 hours in VC. HAPPY SIXSEVEN !!
02. presenting the various d99 name variations and allegations...! we are one, we are two, we are the 99.
unfortunately, some of the records were lost as the 670 hours VC went down and disappeared (fly high, we will reach our peak once more)
03. OF COURSE, we will not forget the community favorite: MAKE IT A QUOTE !! here are some of the captures we managed to get whether from the bot or not:
04. this month, we uncovered the mystery of astrobot ("WHO NAMED HIM THAT?!)
how it all started...
fortunately, we got the criminal to confess. IT WAS STELLAR ALL ALONG !
05. last night, it was azul's birthday?
THAT IS ALL WE HAVE UNCOVERED FOR THIS NEWS EDITION ... it seems like we keep on seeing the same people, nevertheless, we will uncover more in the future. so stay on a lookout !
OH IT SEEMS LIKE THE DIRECTORS LEFT A NOTE: D99 IS A FAMILY <33 do not be deterred by the questionable and out-of-context quotes. we would love to welcome you to our community, beloved writer.
the quotes channel with the quotes from people that have been quoted. the quotes channel. that quotes channel./ref
i do not know of any sort of prison wedding in d99 but I have been here enough AND had the "welcome ceremony" of deciding to be active for the first time RIGHT when when chaos is happening
♱ | anaxa was not one who willingly admitted to his wrongs. but not with you; not when he spent three weeks losing himself at the thought of you dancing with someone else.
𖤝 including ⠀! ⠀anaxa ◟ 𖤝 warnings ⠀! ⠀modern/college au, long fic ( 10k words send help ), word vomit, potential-ooc
❝ tags ⚜ . if you'd like to be tagged please send me an ask off-anon!!!
theoretically speaking, was it possible to see someone in a different light in just three weeks when you’ve spent your entire life disliking them?
the past anaxa would argue—without skipping a beat—that no, it was not possible. the sheer notion of a measly three weeks crumbling a philosophy a genius spent their entire life cultivating felt absurd. but now, he’s been proven wrong. and to add more salt to the wound, it was you who bested him in this argument.
to understand the suffering anaxa has gone through, we must first take a few steps back—specifically, three weeks ago when a pesky junior had put his name inside a ballot box for aglaea’s dancing competition as a joke.
anaxa was fuming. to put his name inside a random mystery box was one thing, but to have him be picked and participate in an art he was unfamiliar with was another. phainon spent the majority of his tuesday trying to escape from anaxa’s lividness. barely squeezing by when the said man was hunting him down like a poacher in the forest. to some, the sight may be endearing—anaxa did have a tendency to dote on phainon—but the snow-haired junior would argue.
and that’s how anaxa found you; patting down phainon’s hair as you shook your head in disapproval in his direction. anaxa’s mood sours further, a permanent scowl etched on his face as he demanded you to hand over the sulking boy behind you. phainon was just about ready to bolt out the room when suddenly, aglaea entered the room. an amused but barely noticeable smile on her face has anaxa’s skin rattled with goosebumps.
“thank you, phainon, for doing my job for me. this certainly saves me the trouble,” the blonde woman said, much to the trio’s question. aglaea cleared her throat, “now that everyone is present, i must congratulate you, [name] and anaxa, for being chosen as this year's representatives.”
“surely you jest, aglaea,” anaxa chimed in, irritation lacing his voice as he stepped closer to said woman. “i clearly remember the rules stating that the students chosen must be willing to participate. if you could not tell, i am not—in the slightest—willing.”
normally, a glare from anaxa would send even the terror professors of this university running with their tails in between their legs—but never aglaea. be it from the immeasurable amount of time they have spent together trying to one-up the other since pre-school, or simply the strange connection they have since childhood, it is an undeniable fact that even the great anaxa loses to aglaea.
aglaea only smiled, “yes, that is true. but i’m afraid i will have to make an exception this time. after all, due to your misgivings in one of the labs, the number of willing candidates have dwindled.” anaxa’s brow twitched in annoyance as you crossed your arms over your chest, much to aglaea’s amusement. “therefore, me and the teachers have decided, your participation in this event will be considered your punishment.”
and thus began anaxa’s three week long journey of being your dance partner.
— the first week.
much to agalea’s expectations, your chemistry with anaxa was nonexistent.
his logic and bluntness clashed with your more free-willed and creativeness. she heaved another sigh as you lectured anaxa on his hand placement and stiffness—if she imagined it hard enough, steam would be leaking out of your ears as your face turned a few shades red in frustration.
“it has been almost four hours!” you exclaimed in exasperation, throwing your hands up before they dragged down your face in defeat. “aglaea surely you agree with me that this is hopeless—he’s hopeless!”
anaxa scoffed and raised his head with a sneer. “hopeless in this situation does not describe me—it is you who’s hopeless. there is no subject i can’t master. the fault lies with the teacher.”
“excuse me?” you huffed out in offense. you strutted to his direction, boldly invading anaxa’s personal space, reveling in his slight flinch, and jabbed a finger to his chest. “there is no one i cannot teach, for your information. it’s not my fault you can’t understand the common principle of dance—a simple waltz.”
“if it’s so simple, why have we not made any progress?” he argued back, flicking your finger at his chest at the same time and glowered at you. “do not think of yourself as high and mighty just because you are the only chosen instructor in this university. compared to other dancers i have witnessed, you pale in comparison to them.”
“that’s quite enough from the both of you!”
anaxa watched in disapproval as your debate was cut short by aglaea’s intervention. he clicked his tongue, crossed his arms over his chest and walked past you to speak face to face with aglaea. “see? this just proves that this entire endeavor is meaningless. you cannot expect me to cooperate with someone so…” anaxa paused. he let out an infuriated breath and pinched the bridge of his nose, “insufferable. clearly our views are too different and neither of us are willing to compromise. go chat with mnestia and cerces and reach a consensus for a different punishment.”
aglaea sighed. her nimble fingers massaged her temple as her eyes come to a close, “and i vividly remember telling you that this is final. no more discussions. honestly anaxa, i thought you were better than this. of all things, i never expected this to be your tipping point.”
red eyes glared at aglaea, “watch it goldweaver.”
“enough,” she waved off anaxa and pushed past him, much to his dismay. aglaea called out your name—a lot softer this time, might he add—and announced, “both you, go home and cool off. we’ll try again tomorrow. i expect you both to be a little more amiable until then, understood?”
you only looked away and nodded, biting down on the words you did not trust yourself to say and simply gathered your bags. anaxa noticed your downcast gaze and the way your thumb rubbed at your elbow or the way your foot tapped incessantly on the smooth wooden floor. he clicked his tongue in annoyance and begrudgingly collected his things from the ground before he dashed out of the exit. he would deal with this tomorrow.
but when tomorrow eventually comes, anaxa found himself a unable to pay attention in class. lectures on his favorite topics such as history on alchemical transmutation, ancient theology, hell even simple subjects such as literature or readings, anaxa could not bring himself to pay them any mind. not when he's busy watching the choreo you submitted to the group chat last night.
anaxa clicked his tongue in annoyance. no, he was absolutely fuming because aglaea was right and you had proved him wrong.
your choreography was nothing short of dumbfounding—it was incredible in every sense from rhythm, energy, grace, and oh how anaxa hated to admit it, you evoked emotions so evidently with just a sway of a hand.
“now what has gotten you so glum?” a teasing voice with an equally teasing expression invaded anaxa's vision. he sneered in distraught having been caught by professor cerces—his mentor and detested guardian—in the acts of his exasperation.
he shoved his phone back in his bag and flipped his textbook senselessly, ignoring cerces’ presence as she took a seat by her lecture table. “it's none of your business.”
“i'd argue it is my business,” cerces rebutted. “i am one of the teachers who agreed on this punishment.”
anaxa looked up from his textbook to glare at the professor who only intertwined her fingers together. when a beat of silence passed, anaxa rolled his eyes in annoyance before his attention redirected itself onto his blank paper—not a single drop of graphite gracing its surface.
“child of reason, i have a question.”
“i’ll have you know i have no interest in your pointless inquiries.”
cerces smirked and leaned forward, the slight tilt of her head has anaxa's fingers quaking with aggravation. “oh but isn't that the point of it all? to ask questions even if they are pointless? what use is that curiosity of yours if you won't find opportunities to use it?”
another pause, the atmosphere continued to thicken. anaxa was the first to conceive with a heavy sigh. he cradled his head with one hand while the other picked up the stray pencil on his desk to tap it on his blank paper. “well? out with it already, i don't have all day.”
“ever the rude student,” cerces murmured with vexation. “well whatever, this is you we're talking about. now for my question,” she paused and unlaced her fingers to open the laptop on her desk. “i'm curious, what crime has poor [name] committed for you to dislike them so?”
anaxa stilled. of all the questions he hypothesized cerces would ask, this was not one of them. his brows furrowed further. he'd solved more complex formulas and memorized great philosophies in his sleep—so why couldn't he decipher you?
“when have i…” he muttered before his mouth snapped shut. he shook his head and massaged his temple before snapping back to his actual self. “and what good will knowing my reasons do?”
“oh, i don't know, help with your poor chemistry on the dance floor?”
another click of his tongue, and anaxa loudly gathered his things.
“and where do you think you're going?” she asked. “you still haven't answered my question, anaxa.”
“why don't you use your brain to pick apart my answer? you always seemed to do that, so why not do it again?” anaxa quipped, a certain kind of venom dripped from the skin of tongue.
cerces quietly watched as anaxa haphazardly threw his items in his bag and ungraciously slinged it over his shoulder. the professor heaved out a long sigh as she said, "so you're giving up after one attempt? how unlike you, anaxa.”
said man was halfway out the lecture room when he heard cerces' musing. the grip on the door handle tightened under his hand—knuckles turning snow white. “i am not giving up, you inadequate professor. there is no field i cannot master.”
aglaea mused, ‘something changed,’ but she's not quite sure what during rehearsals. sure, you're still at each other's throats—but there's a strange, sudden synchronicity in the way you moved. as if a switch had been flipped, anaxa was more compliant with your advice and you held your sharp tongue and lectures. (aglaea found great amusement in you making funny faces when anaxa was not looking—incredibly childish but your only outlet for frustration).
aglaea knew she was right—something had changed. she just didn't know how deep the crack ran.
there was this strange awkwardness to you, too, though she can't quite name it. yes, you held your back your sharp words more frequently, but aglaea can't help but wonder if there was more to it. she noticed—she always does—the way you looked at anaxa as if you wanted to say something, but you would back out before you could get the chance.
but she doesn't blame you for your cowardice—it was well expected. anaxa seemed more irritated than usual. he was quieter, more introspective but not in a good way. his eyes tracked your movement in quiet precision as if he's dissecting your being alive. there was a quiet yet turbulent kind of curiosity whenever his hand touched your bare back—the muscles in his fingers flexing uncomfortably as if he's been burned. anaxa's expression would shift from one of nonchalce to that of pain whenever you're too close for comfort. and aglaea found it painfully ironic—this field required you both to be close.
skin to skin; breath on breath. anaxa was being pushed to his limits while you pretended to revel in the situation.
— the second week.
“lovely mnestia has told me you've finally grasped the choreo,” cerces said as she walked side by side with anaxa who kept his face passive. “i'm relieved you managed to overcome a hurdle in such a short amount of time.”
anaxa scoffed, half offended half arrogant as he mused, “i told you, haven't i? there is no field i cannot master.”
“yes, yes i know. you've said the same line thrice in the span of a week. your arrogance truly knows no bounds.” the professor replied in annoyance. “how is [name] doing nowadays?”
“why do you ask?” anaxa raised a brow as cerces unlocked the lecture hall. being a professor's mentee had its own pros and cons, one of those pros being able to spend a couple hours in peace and quiet before other students arrive.
cerces looked at him in bewilderment. in turn, anaxa looked at her as if she's grown two heads. the professor sighed with a small shake of her head. “aglaea told me the poor child's feet has been hurting, badly might i add. just from your first week alone the clinic's band-aid supply has run out.”
anaxa's eyes widened involuntarily, “when was this?”
“did you not hear me at all?” cerces quipped. “since the first week, child of reason. i'm surprised you didn't notice.”
anaxa was surprised as well. for the entire week, you had moved with such proficiency—lectured with such fervor—he wouldn't think twice to ask if you were doing all right. and he cursed himself inwardly. not because he was worried, but because your character is slipping through his fingers like sand—you weren't even giving him the ability to hold on to something.
a click of his tongue and he's dropped all his things at his usual desk.
“anaxa, where are you going?” cerces asked with quiet curiosity as anaxa made a beeline out of the room.
“it's none of your business, professor.”
and that’s how anaxa came to be, outside your lecture hall with a grimace on his face, arms crossed. you were rightfully confused. you tried to side step his figure but anaxa would move in coordination with your movements and blocked the exit.
“oh so now you show me some foot coordination?” you snarled.
anaxa only rolled his eyes as his arms slowly dropped from his chest to his side. a lone eye unwittingly glazed over your foot as he muttered, “shouldn’t you be resting?”
your brows knit together, “well i was about to—until you decided to be an annoyance and block my way to the dorms.”
anaxa clicked his tongue—both in annoyance but mostly in embarrassment—as he moved away from the exit and let you pass. though he didn’t quite leave you alone just yet. the both of you walked in awkward and tense silence. anaxa was the first to break the delicate blanket over the both of you when he noticed you taking a turn that did not, in fact, lead to the dorms.
he grabbed your wrist—you noticed the way not all his fingers wrapped around your flesh, just like how he kept a few fingers up whenever he dipped you low during dance rehearsals. “and where do you think you’re going?” anaxa asked with a deep frown. he jabbed a finger to his left, “if i recall, the dorms are that way.”
you sighed, shaking your head as you felt an oncoming headache form. anaxa watched in quiet frustration and interest as you looked at anything but him. a finger gingerly scratched your cheek as you mutter quietly enough for him to mishear—but nothing escapes him.
“i’m getting bandages,” you muttered.
anaxa’s frown deepened—all five fingers now circled your wrist without him flinching away from the touch of your skin. “and from where? if i remember, the clinic has already run out.”
“the faculty,” you said, as if you’ve done this all the time, and anaxa is sure you have.
he stared at you as if you’ve grown two heads.
you’re quick to glare back at him and pull your wrist away from his hold. “why do you care all of a sudden?” you snapped.
he didn’t answer immediately. his lone eye flickered between your wrist, your foot, before they settled on the hand he used to cage you. anaxa sighed heavily, “i don’t. i simply find it incredibly foolish that you’re trying to hide your injury.”
“i’m not hiding it. i’ve told aglaea and she’s been helping me.” you seethed through gritted teeth. “and don’t throw the word foolish around so casually. for your information, don’t you think it’s stupid that you can’t even look me in the eye for more than five seconds during rehearsals?”
your words hit a nerve within anaxa as the air between you started to crackle and ignite.
when he glared at you, you scoffed in disbelief. “don’t think i haven’t noticed, anaxa. you flinch when you touch me. you can’t even stand to be near me.”
“that’s not—” he stopped mid-sentence when he caught a glimpse of your face—brows furrowed, eyes stormy, and lips wobbled every so slightly as they opened and closed but no words tumbled out. anaxa proves your previous point as he looked away, jaw clenched. “you know what? forget it.”
anaxa turned away and started walking in the direction of the dorms. he played deaf when your voice called out to him with equal amounts of frustration and annoyance.
“anaxa!”
another shout of his name, but he doesn’t spare a moment to stop nor look back.
“anaxa!”
his fists curled at his side, his teeth caught his bottom lip and bit down hard to have blood force its way between his teeth and land on his tongue. he can’t turn around—he mustn’t turn around.
“what are you so afraid of?!”
that was the last thing he heard before he started sprinting away—from you.
surprisingly, anaxa skipped rehearsals the following day, much to your annoyance. and aglaea’s worry is spiking with every jump, turn, and breath you take in the room.
you were frustrated, angry—but mostly tired.
time was running out and you were shouldering all the pressure, soaking it all up in your heart like a sponge dropped into an ocean. aglaea has never seen you so stuck in your domain. everything was tearing from the seams and you no longer had enough patience to stitch it all back together yourself—you needed anaxa by your side if you wanted to fix the tapestry you both started. and that infuriated you.
“dammit!” you cursed out loud as your body collided with the ground. you heaved and heaved, your entire body being supported by your arms in a plank position.
“what a mess our little dancer is in,” cerces commented, striding to aglaea’s side as the blonde woman sighed.
cerces frowned and crossed her arms over her chest, “now that’s a first. has he told you where he’s been?” when aglaea shakes her head, cerces dragged a hand down her face before they settled to hold her chin in contemplation. “where has that scholar run off to this time?”
“well wherever he is, he better return soon.” cerces watched as aglaea flinched as you failed another jump. you had no support—anaxa was supposed to be your anchor, but he has run away where vulnerability cannot find him. “if he’s not back by the day after tomorrow i’ll have no choice but to replace him as [name]’s partner.”
anaxa’s mentor frowned. “will you find someone in time?”
aglaea doesn’t answer and cerces understood. with one final sigh, cerces conceded, “alright, fine. i’ll have that phainon boy practice with our little dancer starting tomorrow. in that way he’ll at least know the flow of things.”
“thank you for your understanding, professor.” aglaea thanked the older woman.
“but i do have one question.” cerces followed up.
“what is it?”
“do you think they hate each other?”
aglaea paused. golden eyes gazed at your figure sitting on the polished wooden floors, staring at your own image reflected by the mirrors. you were fracturing, lights dimming out, but you were still trying to shine through all the cracks.
“no,” aglaea hummed. “they don’t. not really.”
anaxa felt ashamed—for skipping rehearsals and having to hear from cerces about your transgressions.
“dance is a conversation. what use would i be if you weren’t there to talk back?”
your words haunted him like a looming deadline as he gripped the handle of the rehearsal room’s door. he heard music inside—you were probably inside, dancing in your lonesome and falling to the ground with no one to catch you. anaxa’s teeth caught his lip once again as the thought of him not being there by your side had his stomach turning on itself in an unexplainable way.
he took a deep breath. his other hand gripped at the fabric over his chest where his heart rattled in uncertainty. when he thinks he can finally open the door—face you—he’s left with after images of your disappointed face. it was unlike him to act this way. he was a scholar—someone who dared to challenge the philosophy laid out to make sense of this chaotic world. but for all his intelligence he can never put his learnings to practice when it comes to you.
a laugh snapped anaxa out of his self-deprecating thoughts. his brows furrowed together and he willed himself to crack the door ajar to get a peek on what in the world could have happened to elicit something so uncharted from you.
anaxa wished he hadn’t opened the door.
there you were, squatting on the floor, as you laughed so casually at your junior—phainon. something turned inside anaxa’s gut as the snow-haired boy spewed something anaxa did not care for, his attention solely on you as you wiped a stray tear from your eye. he felt his blood run cold as you approached the younger boy and gently—far gentler than you would to him—lifted his arm into position while the other guided to hold you by the waist. the both of you stared at your feet as your voice—so tender and almost intimate it made anaxa want to vomit—counted so phainon would not lose his rhythm.
the warmth of your voice had left him feeling cold in the quiet hallways.
you moved with grace, phainon only messily tried to follow. anaxa watched with a pained look on his face as phainon carefully lifted you from the ground and twirled—your laughter echoed and bounced from the walls and phainon laughed with you as he sets you down. something snapped—maybe it was the doorframe, maybe it was him—when your fingers laced with phainon’s.
you were both effortless and right. he knew phainon was talented—perfect in some ways—but this? you don’t flinch, avoid eye contact, and you accept the closeness between the two of you. suddenly the image of you dancing better with someone that wasn’t him drove anaxa to a wall.
why do you not smile like that at him?
why don’t you move like that with him?
why does it feel like you’ve replaced him?
“now look at who the cat dragged in.”
anaxa shut the door in front him with a loud bang. he no longer cared for secrecy—he needed to get out of here.
cerces raised a brow, “and you’ve just blown our cover. honestly, anaxa, what has gotten—where are you going?”
he doesn’t answer. in fact, cerces’ presence prompted him to speed up his pace. taking sharp turns in corners and avidly ignoring how the professor tailed him with brows raised in parts amusement and worry.
“my goodness, if i had known you’d react so strongly then i wouldn’t have asked that boy to be [name]’s partner.” she joked.
anaxa paused as he turned to look at cerces. the professor was taken aback at his expression—wide-eyed, mouth hung open, as a flash of hurt circled in his eye. the two of them stood still in front of the campus building as the skies slowly turned gray, thunder rumbled in the far distance as anaxa spoke.
“you did what?”
cerces could not begin to describe the timbre of hurt that laced anaxa’s voice. she quickly tried to clear up the misunderstanding, “temporary partner, child of reason. you skipped two rehearsals and [name] had grown frustrated of their lack of improvement due to your absences. you gave me and aglaea no choice.”
“but phainon of all people?!” anaxa snapped.
“why not him? phainon may not be as academically sharp as you, but he listens. he adapts. and he certainly doesn’t run when things get too difficult for him.” cerces tried to reason. her reply discreetly jabbed at anaxa’s own actions.
“why didn’t you wait?”
“we did.”
anaxa scoffed, “i highly doubt that.”
“anaxa you are acting irrationally right now,” cerces lectured. “your insecurities are clouding your judgment.”
at her response, anaxa let out a laugh—mocking but strained. he was cracking and cerces cannot understand why.
“insecurities? when have i ever been insecure?!” he tried to argue.
“right now—you are insecure right now, anaxa.”
anaxa’s mouth opened—then like always, it shut. what was there left to say? all explanations would sound like excuses as cerces cut straight to the heart of anaxa’s problem. slowly, anaxa’s facade of arrogance began to crumble—and he made no effort to catch himself and patch it all back together. he didn’t care if the rain had started to pour—he didn’t care if the world blurred into one giant mess of emotion and logic, or that his clothes clung to him like punishment. he just kept walking, away from his cerces, away from you, away from the version of himself he could not recognize.
he let it rain. because maybe, just maybe, if it poured hard enough, it would drown out the sounds of your laughter with another man.
anaxa had gone mad, he was sure of it—everyone thought so, too.
the way he’d drag his sleepless body into lecture halls, head always buried in his folded arms, and the dark circle under his lone eye, anaxa was nothing short of the typical overworked student. but the thing is: anaxa hasn’t done any work since his last encounter with you and phainon in the rehearsal rooms four days ago.
four days of no sleep, anaxa was just about ready to rip his hair out due to the absurdity of it all. whenever he’d close his eye, the haunting images of you and phainon on stage smiling as you raise a golden trophy hand in hand had him jolting awake and pacing around his room. he’s tried to wrap his head around why that single thought sent shockwaves of hurt into the crevices of his heart but none ever made sense.
when the professor at front dismissed the class, anaxa heaved out a tired sigh. he had wasted another perfectly good lecture dozing off—burning down images of you in his mind in hopes you’ll fade away with the cinders. but you’re just so stubborn. whenever anaxa is alone at home and he’s pacing around the room in the dark, he hears your voice. he hates how he’s got the timbre of your tone memorized and how his mind plays tricks on him. but it's as if his body moved on its own last night—when he heard your favorite piece playing from his phone, as if by second nature, anaxa’s arms lifted and placed it around the misty image of you in his imagination and led you to a waltz.
anaxa shook the thought away and rushed out of the room. he needed another cup of coffee, something to wake him up from the daydreams he didn’t think he could have.
“anaxa?”
his eye widened and before he could fully process who had called out to him, his body had turned around in lightning speed.
there you stood, your duffle bag slung over your shoulder as your hand held your typical dance shoes. you were in no better condition than him, he surmised. bags lined under your eyes, hair a mess, your lips chapped and lacking its usual color. anaxa hated it—how his gaze immediately fell to your feet to make sure you were okay now. or how he noticed the slight twitch of your hand and how your lips fell just to snap shut. he smiled as some sick twisted part of him felt happy—overjoyed at the fact that he’s not the only one being affected by all of this. but it’s short lived when sirens blared in his mind when you took step after step in his direction.
anaxa fled like a coward.
“anaxa wait!”
anaxa was fully sprinting and when he slammed the exit doors open, he cursed under his breath when he realized it was raining. he heard your footsteps closing in on him and against his better judgement, he ran straight into the rain. ever since that day, anaxa had learned how it felt to hate the cries of the sky. during the first few hours when the flesh wound of you being better without him was inflicted, he found comfort in the rain washing away the blood from his body. but he later realized that not every part of him will be abstained from the pain—your smile, your grace, your voice, they remained etched into his psyche where the rain could not erase. and he hated that more.
he hated the rain—incredibly so. but now, as he’s sprinting away from the same ghost that had haunted him for the last ninety-six hours, anaxa finds himself hoping that it would at least wash some madness out of him.
the rain would have felt nice if the water did not sting his eye or felt like bullets piercing his skin. if he wasn’t careful, anaxa would slip and the bravado he had cultivated all his life would melt away like paper meeting a flame. you were the flame—you always have. always warm to touch, bright with your smile, and captivating with the way you danced. someone that always had anaxa recoiling back in timidity because he’s never felt like this with you before—you were the only thing anaxa wasn’t willing to study because he feared the inevitable result of his findings.
“anaxa, won’t you hear me out, just this once?!” you pleaded.
anaxa was winded, his pace was faltering but he pushed himself to continue. he could not—he would not—allow himself to fall right into the palm of your kind hands.
“ANAXA!”
before he knew it, a body collided with his just in time for a vehicle swerved past him. anaxa felt his heart stop, eye grow unfocused for a moment as his back fell onto the cold and damp pavement. on instinct, anaxa’s shaking hands cradled something delicate to his chest as another kind of rain soaked his chest. you were soaked to the bone and trembled within his embrace as gasps of exhaustion and fear escaped from your lips. when he looked up, the first distinct thought he had was, “you don’t belong in the rain.”
“you nearly got yourself killed and that’s the first thing you say to me?!” you screamed at him. your feeble hands gripped at his shoulders as they shook. “anaxa have you finally, genuinely, gone mad?!”
anaxa wanted to pull away, run past you like he always had these past four days—he needed to get away from you. but he can’t get up—not this time. not when you’re crying and afraid, not when you still don’t know the truth of what you’ve done to him in a measly three weeks.
“have i gone mad?” anaxa laughed, bitter and breathless. “yes, yes i have. ninety-six hours of pure excruciating hell.”
you glared at him, the grip on his shoulders turned bruising as you rebut, “so this is your solution? to get yourself killed?! anaxa this is a new definition of madness! if you were in hell just as you said why didn’t you tell anyone?”
the rain poured harder as if it were laughing with anaxa. with a shaky hand, he pushed his damp bangs out of his eye to get a good look at your distraught face and smiled, “you still don’t get it. it’s right in front of you! you are the reason for my suffering and still, you don’t see it—how you ruin me!”
“what are you talking about?!” you say in incredulity.
“you’ve rendered me unable to breathe after a glimpse of what it would be like if i weren’t by your side—when you’re dancing with someone else. just one glimpse of another wrapping his arms around you and i’m sent into this spiralling hell and you ask me what i’m talking about?”
something snapped in anaxa—maybe it was his self-control or the lock that he used to hide his feelings. you were still panting but your eyes had gone wide in shock of his confession. anaxa continues, “i saw you with him—phainon. laughing. dancing like nothing happened. like i never happened. like we hadn’t spent a week skin to skin. and do you know what that did to me? ninety-six hours, ninety-six, of no sleep, no peace. just your face in my mind and your voice under my skin. all because i caught a small glimpse! and i know it’s still my fault in the end.”
anaxa dragged a hand down his face roughly. “i hate you. i hated you. but i hate how i care more. for fuck’s sake i don’t think i ever hated you to begin with. i tried so hard to find faults in our interactions—how you get under my skin, your incessant nit picking at dance rehearsals, and the hours i spend debating over useless topics because you just can’t accept defeat.”
you gasped when anaxa’s hand slid up to cradle the side of your face as his eye narrowed into a glare, his other hand covering half of his face to hide the involuntary flush on his cheeks. “you don’t even have to try. you ruin me with a single touch, your voice—you ruin me by just being you and i hate it.”
“i couldn’t bring myself to study you because i knew the answer would wreck me.” anaxa laughed and slowly pushed himself off the ground with you still on his lap. “and it did. there, are you happy now?”
“anaxa,” you tried to interject.
his head fell to your chest, his ear placed right above your erratic heart as anaxa took a deep breath. the hand that cradled your face fell to his side as the other gripped your forearm in a desperate plea, “please, tell me you feel it. or tell me i’m mad once more. tell me that this is all just in my head so my misery can finally stop.” he grit his teeth and buried his face further into your chest, “if you truly feel an ounce of pity—something, anything—for me, then don’t leave me standing here like a fool.”
you sat there feeling as if the wind had been knocked out of you.
anaxa’s head still remained buried in your chest, trembling—not from the rain, but from the weight of something he’s kept close to his chest. his words ricocheted in your mind, tangled with the sound of your heartbeat and the rain that refused to let up.
for a second you did nothing, stayed motionless and let his feelings sink in fully. then—
you brought your arms around his shoulders, pulled him impossibly closer to your heart, and held him there—not tight, not desperate, just enough for him to infer your response.
“anaxa”, you whispered and you felt him stiffen in your hold. “i was wrong—you’re not mad. or if you are, then i must be, too.”
anaxa tried to pull away, look at you, but your arms would not let him. just like him, you were afraid, scared of what he would respond with your vulnerability laid bare.
“you… you’re just so hard to read sometimes. the first day you’re baring your fang but the next you’re suddenly so tame. so when i noticed you pulling away, i thought—i thought you were just done with me. that you were tired of me pushing your buttons. so, i let it go, because i thought it was for the best—for the both of us. i didn’t think… i never thought it would end up hurting you.”
you let out a shaky breath and continued, “i danced with phainon to fill in the space you left. at first i thought, ‘i’ve done this before. i can make it on my own again.’ but i couldn’t. i didn’t want to admit that i needed you there with me.” you swallowed hard, then laughed. “i’ve been in hell too, you know—for one hundred sixty eight hours, i’ve missed you incredibly.”
memories of your bickering resurfaced like flowers floating on top of crashing waves. though both your tones were meant to kill, they often died down after a few minutes, replaced by something uncharacteristically soft as you both stretched and started warm ups. how you would glance at your phone in that week anaxa had not appeared, waiting for him to reach out, and you hated how whenever the device lit up, you’d make a dash for it only to be disappointed because it's not him.
you pulled back—ignoring the flutter inside your chest when his arms wrapped just a tad bit tighter around you—just enough to look at him. your thumb brushed the side of his face—careful, hesitant, almost reverent. and you smiled, “you’ve always caught me with every throw and hadn’t let me go with every dip—i’d never leave you standing alone, anaxa.”
aglaea mused that something must have happened—again. after all, it wasn’t everyday you and anaxa enter the rehearsal room soaked straight to the bone, your hairs clung to your faces, eyes puffy and red as if you had been crying.
with a worried lecture, aglaea sent you both to the locker rooms to get a warm shower, change into dry clothes, and eventually drive you both home. though, deep down, aglaea is elated with this sudden change. something soft had taken root in both of your sharp edges around one another, especially with the way anaxa held your hand in a firm grip and how you looked at him as if a heavy weight had been lifted off of your chest.
the blonde woman smiled as she watched you two leave the room, hand in hand, muttering secrets to one another—pretending as if aglaea wasn’t in the same space as you.
you were both stuck in your own world where the storm quieted when you two were together.
— the third week.
the following rehearsals were painfully quiet.
not in the usual hostile way—just in the way where the remnants of a storm finally settles and everyone is left to pick up the stray pieces. the room felt heavy, like the walls in the locker room where you both sat were waiting for something to happen.
you and anaxa sat facing each other, avoiding each other’s gaze and tucked behind a closed room as aglaea stepped out to take a call. you were both grateful and distraught over the silence neither of you knew how to fill. you fiddled with your phone, opening the group chat out of instinct before swiping it shut again. your reflection greeted you when the device fell asleep—hair still a mess, eyes just a tad bit more red than usual, and you looked pale due to spending too much time under heavy rain.
something soft fell on your shoulders. when you looked up, anaxa was already sitting down beside you, drinking nonchalantly from his water bottle. you mutter a soft thank you, all the while ignoring your hyperfocus on the few inches that separated your fingers from touching and causing a chain reaction. you bit your lip in contemplation, hand letting go of your phone to clutch the jacket placed on your shoulders—tugging it closer for warmth and if you closed your eyes, you’d catch a small whiff of anaxa’s favorite cologne.
anaxa was the one to break the heavy silence.
“you were going to say something. back then,” he said, voice low and casual in the way people speak when they’re trying to sound like they don’t care.
you blinked, “when?”
anaxa didn’t look at you. “the first week. after our first rehearsal together. you typed something, then deleted it.”
you pause momentarily before a small smile tugged at your lips. “yeah… i was gonna ‘sorry’.” you admitted. “but i wanted to say it in person. i guess i missed the right time.”
anaxa scoffed and clicked his tongue. his head leaned back against the lockers behind him. “you’re free to judge my poor choices—you always have. it’s not that you missed it, i didn’t let you have it.”
you slowly turned to look at him. he chewed on the inside of his cheeks, his eyes glared at the ceiling as if the concrete structure would reveal to him all the answers. the moment felt raw—no heat, no fire, and no bickering, just the truth sitting between the few inches of your fingertips.
“you don’t have to be too harsh on yourself y’know?” you lectured, following his gaze and settled them on the ceiling as you confessed, “i was scared that if i said it too late, it’d mean less. but if i said it too early, it wouldn’t fix anything.” you let out a teasing chuckle before continuing. “you aren’t exactly the easiest person to apologize to, anaxa.”
he didn’t answer right away, anaxa only scoffed. then he muttered, “i would’ve ruined it anyway. i wasn’t looking for an apology.”
“then you’re really gonna hate this part.”
anaxa finally glanced at you and he wished he didn’t.
you leaned both of your hands on top of your legs, your hair falling seamlessly around your face to accentuate your soft smile and eyes, and anaxa hated the immediate jumps of his heart at the sight.
“i still want to say it. i’m sorry, anaxa. for being such a pain in your ass, for pushing all your buttons, and for letting you walk away thinking it didn’t matter to me.”
something passed through his eye—quiet, deep, but not quite forgiveness. maybe fond, intimate.
and then he frowned. “we’re taking a break. why are you still sitting on your toes?”
“huh–?”
before you could argue, anaxa is already on the floor pushing, letting his hands push your legs down until the sole of your heels meet the ground. for good measure, one hand gently pressed on your shin and kept them in place. “flat. you need to rest your feet, especially after your injury. it’s laughable at how to try to present yourself as someone taller or tenser than you are.”
“hey!” you huffed but your mouth snapped back shut when he looked up. that single crimson eye stared at your soul—all knowing of the effect he had on you. your voice turned quieter as you complained, “that’s rude to say…”
anaxa only let out a breath of amusement. he shifted in his position and you tensed, jumping in slight shock as a heavy weight landed on your thighs.
“anaxa what are you–?!”
you fumbled with your hands, unsure of where to place them. you’re heart racing erratically inside the columns of your chest as your cheeks erupted into a flushed pink. anaxa turned his head carefully on your lap, looking up at you with a deadpan expression as his hands slowly snaked themselves around your mid-back.
“if you try and sit on your toes again, i’m staying here for the remainder of our rehearsals.”
you stared at him frozen, hands awkwardly in the air and mouth slightly ajar.
he turned away. “you’re more comfortable than the benches. don’t get a big head about it. and not a single word to professor cerces.”
“i’m not a damn snitch,” you muttered. after an exasperated exhale, your hands slowly fell to your side. for the next few minutes, you let anaxa lay his head on your lap. you couldn’t stop the small laugh that bubbled out. slowly—and very unsure—you carded your fingers through his hair. anaxa flinched at the contact and you quickly retracted your hand. but his hold quickly seized your wrist.
“did i tell you to stop?” he asked—more like demanded—through the fabric of your pants.
you let out another sigh. “well sheesh i’m sorry.”
your hand hovered over his hair as your brows furrowed, mind going a hundred miles a minute before you’re broken out of your daze. anaxa sighed, the warmth of his breath tickled your thighs as he gently led your hand to lay on top of his hair.
“i was caught off guard,” he murmured. “i don’t dislike it. feel free to continue.”
you remained hesitant. hand laid limp on the crown of his head, but when anaxa tapped your wrist—a motion that’s just so him—you let yourself smile at his attempts in sharing his feelings. you don’t notice how time passes like a blur when you brush anaxa’s hairs with your fingers.
for a moment you think you forgot how to breathe. but anaxa’s warmth, that gentle rise and fall of his chest, reminded you that you had the best student in campus to teach you how to breathe again.
“good morning my favorite seni—”
“get out.”
phainon physically deflates at anaxa’s blatant rejection. the snow-haired bow dejectedly walks back to mydei and castorice’s side—the latter offered him small comfort while the blonde man crossed his arms with a small smirk on his face. anaxa felt an oncoming headache invade his senses as he looked to aglaea who seemed far too amused at the situation.
“i was not informed we would be having guests today, aglaea.” he spat out. his arms crossed over his chest out of habit as he raised a brow at the three new faces in the studio.
“we’re sorry for the intrusion,” castorice intervened. “but we were informed by professor cerces that our presence was required here. though she never fully explained why.”
anaxa sighed. “if i were to take a guess, you three are our audience.”
aglaea smiled and urged the trio to come forward, “and you would be correct, anaxa. once [name] arrives, we’ll begin like usual, but with these three as your pseudo-judges.”
“fine,” anaxa replied and made a beeline towards the locker rooms.
phainon sat there, on the polished wooden floors, with his mouth hanging open. his head looked to where anaxa had disappeared into and then to aglaea who only smiled—he repeated the actions for a while before mydei grabbed hold of his head and forced him to stop.
with a shaky hand, he pointed to where the locker rooms were and asked, “was that really senior anaxa…?”
aglaea chuckled under her breath. “yes, he is. why do you ask?”
“well it’s just, i don’t remember him giving in so… easily?” the junior sounded confused as the two students beside him nodded in agreement.
“i have to admit, it seems hard to believe.” mydei interjected.
castorice only nodded when aglaea’s eyes landed on her. with an amused smile, the older woman entertained them, “even the sharpest of blades grow dull with constant use. though to use the word ‘dull’ would be nothing short of incorrect. it’s more of, anaxa is now—”
“good morning, everyone.”
“taken care of.”
all head turned to you. phainon could feel his eyes bulging out of their sockets as mydei let out a huff and castorice covered her mouth in shock. there you stood by the door, your bag slung over your shoulder, hair in its usual messy hairstyle, but hanging delicately on your shoulder was anaxa’s jacket.
you notice the added presence in the room and tilted your head in question, “i wasn’t informed we were having guests today.”
“they even talk the same now…” phainon muttered under his breath.
“huh?”
“what phainon meant was,” aglaea interjected. “they’ll be watching you and anaxa rehearse. only for today. think of it as a small prep for competition day.”
before you can step out of the way, phainon sprung from his seat, and wrapped his arms around your torso with comical tears streaming down his face. you let out a startled yelp, “phainon?!”
“please don’t turn into another mean senior, [name]! you’re the only one who treats me really nicely, i can’t lose you!” the boy cried out and buried his face into your side. half-amused and half-confused, you gently pat down phainon’s hair as mydei and castorice tried to pry his crying figure from you.
the room turned a little colder when phainon was roughly tugged backwards.
“and what do you think you’re doing, phainon?”
said boy, shook like a leaf, as he turned around to meet anaxa’s glare. his face turned paler than it usually was and cried out your name like a plea.
“[name] save me!”
“what do you need saving from, you buffon?”
you let out an amused breath at the sight. anaxa holding phainon by the back of his collar like a mother cat holding her kitten by the scruff. phainon kept flinging his arms around like a child caught sneaking candy before bed time as mydei and castorice send their quiet prayers to their friend. when you turned to look aglaea, she held that same quiet yet amused expression—she was not going to stop their little scuffle.
with a sigh, you let an elated smile break free from your face as you approached the two.
“alright, that’s enough,” you said. a hand softly wrapped around anaxa’s wrist as you turned to him, smiling with mirth in your eyes, “won’t you let him go, anaxa? he’s learned his lesson. isn’t that right, phainon?”
anaxa stiffened ever so briefly at the contact—your touch still felt like a searing iron when meeting his bare skin, but he welcomed the pain wholeheartedly this time. his grip on phainon’s collar loosened slightly, but not enough to let go. instead, he glanced at where your bare skin met —eye flickered between you and the contact before he averted his gaze.
“i’d beg to differ,” he muttered, voice a lot softer than normal. “he still has much to learn.”
“hey!” phainon protested.
“anaxa,” you called out once more. anaxa actively ignored your gaze as he felt something warm trickle down the system of his nerves when your voice came out gentler than the last. your thumb gently pressed against his pulse with idle care—you knew what you were doing to him. “please, won’t you let him go?”
he took a deep breath before letting out a shaky exhale. he finally looked at you, and for a moment, everyone in the room thought he’d argue. instead, he looked away—cheeks ever so slightly flushed—and released phainon with an exaggerated sigh. “fine. are you happy now?”
phainon dropped to the floor with a thud, scrambling back like a cartoon villain escaping the jaws of death. “i’ve never been more afraid in my life,” he whispered, crawling behind castorice.
aglaea let out a quiet, knowing hum—a smile tugged at her lips. “i see we’ve entered the negotiation stage.”
“negotiation?!” phainon squawked.
“that,” mydei said under his breath, a knowing smile on his lips. “was not negotiations. that was flirting.”
“flirting?!”
“are seniors anaxa and [name] in a relationship now?” castorice whispered, wide-eyed.
anaxa whirled around, clearly having heard their conversation as aglaea quietly exited. “we are not.”
you blinked, a teasing smile graced your lips as you asked with mock innocence, “not what?”
anaxa’s face flushed as he glared at you. his hand circled around your wrist as he dragged you to the locker rooms. your laughter bounced around the walls as the trio watched you exchange quiet codes only you knew how to decipher. when you think you’re out of sight, you tugged anaxa closer as you planted a soft kiss to his cheek—the man in turn scurried back a few inches, a hand covering half his face as you continued to laugh.
“yeah”, mydei huffed. “they are definitely dating.”
by the time the trio had left the studio, the sun was setting in the horizon, leaving only you and anaxa with aglaea as she gave you final reminders before the day of the competition.
“your chemistry has improved greatly,” she complimented with a smile. aglaea tucked her tablet back into her bag before her gaze returned to her two dancers—both heaving and sweaty, but content and proud of their progress. “all that’s really left is to prepare for the competition. i won’t nag you on the hows—you can figure it out by yourselves. have a pleasant evening you two. shoot me a message when you get home.”
you and anaxa nod in tandem and quietly watch as the older woman leaves the room with a quiet click of the door. you collapsed to the floor with a heavy sigh, your legs stretched outwards as you massage the tender muscle with a quiet wince. anaxa kneeled in front of your figure, his hands rubbed at the sore spot near your ankles with worry in his eyes.
“i’ll be fine,” you reassured him before he could say a word. when he looked up, you only gave him a tired smile and reached for his hand to intertwine your fingers. “i trust you to catch me when i stumble.”
anaxa huffed—a breath so full of tender fondness you’re not sure how to put it into words. he stood up and brought you along with him. his hold delicate and still slightly hesitant—the warmth of his palm ghosted the skin of your waist. you only nodded in approval as he quietly asked with his eyes, “can i touch you?”, without saying the actual words itself.
when his hand made itself home on the base of your flesh, you hummed the music and let him guide you through the dance. left and right, then turn. distance yourself from him, but never too much. he pulled you back, not roughly nor gently, just enough for him to quietly plead for you to stay. turn away from his gaze, lest you want his eyes to burn his name in your bones. try to run away, build a cage to shield your heart, but leave your hand reaching for him so he could take the key and open it. your feet are off the ground before you can fully process the dance—and you laughed at the absurdity of it all.
when you land back on the ground, it’s as if you’re taken back to that stormy day. when you looked at anaxa, that frosty layer of uncertainty had been washed away by the rain. your hand reached to cup his cheek and you smiled brightly when he leaned into your touch—nuzzling his face further into your palm as his lips ghosted the point of your pulse.
“after all this time, you still can’t find your balance,” he muttered—fondly.
“maybe i’m doing it on purpose,” you joked. your other hand trailed up his chest—the sensation being followed by flames being ignited as anaxa’s breath got caught in his throat—and you lay it where his delicate heart is hidden. you chuckled, “if i had known you’d be so keen to catch me maybe i would’ve thrown myself at you sooner.”
anaxa retaliated by pulling the hand at his chest into his own, raising the one settled on your waist to your upper back and dipping you low. you let out a startled scream, eyes squeezed shut as the world blurred before it stilled.
“open your eyes.”
when you cracked your eyelids open, it took you a moment to let the sight fully sink in. anaxa’s figure bathed by a soft iridescent glow courtesy of the studio lights, his long bangs tickling your face as his breath threatened to become your own. his lips quirked up into a smug smile and you fight the urge to roll your eyes. anaxa leaned impossibly closer—he wanted to merge your souls into one at this very moment.
you could hear the erratic beating of your heart as anaxa’s hold of the position remained firm. the way anaxa looked at you now—as if you’ve penned every book he’s ever loved and recited every lecture he’s always so keen to listen in—it made it hard to breathe, let alone think.
“you’re so dramatic,” you whispered, eyes still locked on him.
“and you’re reckless,” he replied, tone warm, almost teasing. “for playing with my heart like this.”
you grinned. “then maybe it’s only fair that we fall at the same time.”
anaxa took a breath in. he searched your face—gaze flickered from your eyes to your lips where they lingered for a moment too long—like he was asking for permission if it truly was okay to cross the border that would unravel his existence. anaxa needed—yearned—to know if you’d still want him even when the music has stopped.
“what’s on your mind, anaxa?” you asked—pretending to remain oblivious to his wants.
“an inquiry,” he replied. “one i’ve been trying to understand for the last few weeks.”
the hand that quietly rested on his shoulder snaked to cradle his face. “does it include me?”
“when has it ever not included you?”
his words hung in the air like suspended notes, trembling, waiting for resolution.
you felt the ache in his words—the feelings so palpable you could catch it in the way you would desperately try to grasp at burning cinders. anaxa’s breath hitched when your thumb brushed under his eye, tender and deliberate.
“please ask,” you murmured. “please say it.”
anaxa swallowed hard, voice soft—his self-control fraying at the seams.
“is it foolish of me… to want this to mean something beyond the stage?” he finally asked. his brows furrowed as his eye narrowed in uncertainty, “would you still let me feel your skin against mine even if it burns? let me experiment on your soul until it only knows my name—and mine, yours?”
your breath hitched.
“no,” you answered. “not foolish. not even close.”
for a moment, neither of you moved. not out of hesitation, but reverence. hoping to make this fragile moment that could break with one wrong breath last just a second more.
then—slowly, almost nervously—anaxa leaned forward, closing the painful distance, not with grand dramatics but with aching certainty with your permission. and when your lips met, it was not fire that invaded the moment, but a slow-burning sun that ached to see the horizon—steady, warm, constant, and real.
his hand tightened just slightly at your back, as though ground himself in your bare presence where only the two of you mattered. your own fingers curled against his jaw, pulling him like a tide, like homecoming.
you parted only when the need for air became undeniable, and anaxa cursed this mortal body for its necessities—he only needed you.
“not a word to the professor,” he chimed.
you laughed as he pulled you back to your own two feet. your hand still on the edge of his jaw and his on your back. you smiled as you pressed your face into his neck, listening to the way his heart rattled your name in the columns of his throat.
“not a word to the professor,” you echoed.
theoretically speaking, anaxa once believed it was impossible to change your mind about someone in a matter of weeks. that it was absurd to undo years of contempt with a few shared dances, a handful of late night rehearsals, a string of glances too long to be innocent, or a confession made under a stormy day.
but now, as you buried your face in the crook of his neck and his hand splayed firm against your back like a promise—he knew.
anaxa had been wrong.
not just in theory, but in practice. utterly, wonderfully wrong.
because it only took three weeks for all his logic to crumble. for you to rewrite the entire philosophy he’d built his whole world around—not with arguments or with evidence, but with the way you moved around the stage, the emotions evoked with your reckless courage in the steps you take, the soft curve of your smile, and the infuriating way you slipped past his defences like light through stained glass.
and for the first time, anaxa didn’t mind being wrong.
Summary : In which, you find a poisoned meal at your doorstep every morning. And so, you make it your life's motto to savor it and provide your thoughts.
Much to Lohen's dismay, you never seemed particularly impressed by any of his carefully crafted poisons.
While most love stories begin with flowers, yours began with poison.
Most people reacted poorly to poison. They cried, screamed, and maybe even succumbed to death.
You, apparently smiled.
Lohen had first heard the rumor by accident.
"Apparently the new medic (Y/N) has a strange fascination with toxins," a knight muttered over drinks.
He hadn’t meant to care. He really hadn’t. But something about the word 'fascination' lodged itself under his skin like a splinter that refused to be ignored.
So, naturally, he did what any reasonable man with too much curiosity and too little restraint would do—he investigated.
Two alchemists confirmed it later, whispering that you had once voluntarily tasted diluted snake venom just to observe its effects.
That further piqued his curiosity.
And what better way to find out the truth than test the rumor himself?
After a day of locking himself in his house, he had come up with his very own poison. Made from the remains of a dendro slime, mixed with a few crushed petals of Dendrobium, and a generous splash of expired alcohol stolen from the Cat’s Tail.
He didn't know if it was truly toxic. In fact, he just mixed random ingredients he found revolting.
He wasn't planning on truly poisoning you after all. In its current concentration, it would merely cause temporary numbness (maybe).
And so he placed a cute little package in front of your house (he stole the documents that held information of those working under the Grand Master to find your address). Inside the package was a plate of Hash Brown he had cooked himself.
Of course, the poison was sprinkled on top as well.
He knocked on the door to your house and hid in a bush nearby.
He watched the door open, a shiver of excitement going down his spine.
But when you stepped out, his eyes widened. You weren’t what he had imagined. Not old, not bitter, not hunched over with tired eyes and stained robes.
You looked... young and composed. Normal in fact.
You glanced at the package, shrugged, and brought it inside.
The next day, he had half hoped there would be some commotion. Instead, nothing happened.
Lohen found that significantly more unsettling than if you had screamed.
Did you not open it?
Did you die?
Worse, did you throw it away?
By the second day, irritation curdled into curiosity again, and curiosity dragged him back to your house.
He hadn’t even reached the door when something stopped him.
A box.
His box.
He stared at it, then at the note pinned neatly on top.
It read-
---
Observation Log
Possible dendro slime derivative.
Taste profile:
Slight bitterness.
Floral aftertaste.
Perhaps traces of alcohol.
Symptoms:
Tingling lips.
Mild numbness in fingers.
Onset approximately twenty-five seconds.
Conclusion:
Sloppily made poison.
---
He stared at the handwriting. The faint smell of alcohol lingering on the hastily ripped paper.
'..... Sloppy?' he scoffed, annoyance creeping up into his face. He crumbled the paper, staring at the door with a sadistic smile.
"Fine then. I'll show you real poison."
The next morning, another box appeared at your doorstep.
Like last time, you took it into your home. You had no idea who was delivering these, but the last package being drenched in a mild toxin made it interesting enough for you to open.
You tore open the box.
This time, it was a plate of mushroom pizza.
"Oh, that looks delicious." you muttered to yourself, noticing the unusual purple coloring on the crust.
You reached and held a piece of the pizza near your mouth. And without a care, you took a huge bite from the area where the coloring was the brightest.
The following day, Lohen returned to find another note on your doorstep. This time it was more detailed than the last.
---
Observation Log
Low concentration of Aconitum.
Taste profile:
Initial sweet-bitter note.
Followed by burning sensation.
Symptoms:
Numbness.
Dizziness.
Loss of strength.
Conclusion:
Good posion. Easily countered.
Although, I liked the taste of the pizza.
(attached are my other observations)
---
There were six pages attached.
Six.
Lohen stared, flipping through the pages with a smile. "God. She's insane."
This started the exchange of poisons and paper notes.
The next package that Lohen put on your doorstep had a small note of his own.
---
To the Medic
Firstly, fuck you.
Secondly, you missed a secondary ingredient. (Hint : It was Naku weed)
Thirdly, thank you for complimenting the pizza.
I made it myself.
---
Your response appeared the next morning.
---
To the Poisoner
1. Rude.
2. I did not miss the ingredient. Naku weed has no toxic properties. Just color.
3. The posion on the crust was obvious. Are you perhaps new to this poisoning thing?
---
Your responses pissed the Vice captain even more. Because how dare a lowly medic like you have the audacity to critic his cooking?!
He tried even harder after that.
More precise blends. Better masking. Controlled dosages. Carefully calibrated ingredients. Tried perfecting the recipe so you couldn't find any faults.
Everything.
After making sure everything was perfect, he delivered the next package. A plate of Northern Apple Stew.
The reply next day was written in a crumbled paper with messy handwriting.
---
Rules for Future Poisoning
1. No explosive diarrhea.
2. No permanent injury.
3. No organ damage.
4. No blindness.
5. No poisoning children.
6. Food should remain edible
---
Lohen rolled his eyes at the rules. "Killjoy." To him these rules just were unnecessary boundaries that ruined his fun.
But he never wanted to stop this exchange between the two of you. It was much too entertaining for him.
Unknown to him, that night ended with you locking yourself in your room. Having non stop diarrhea for hours.
Soon the notes became longer than the poisons themselves.
One morning, the package you opened had a plate of Cream Stew.
And this time the note attached had a list of ingredients used.
---
Current Theory
The toxin should produce localized muscle weakness.
Estimated duration:
Two hours.
Possible side effects:
Dizziness.
Drowsiness.
Complaining.
Will you be able to guess what I used (Y/N)? °^°?
---
Three days later Lohen received something he could only call a report.
A dossier.
Twenty-two pages which included diagrams, charts, annotated symptom timelines.
And corrections.
So many corrections.
---
Page 14: dosage error.
Page 17: please stop using kitchen spoons as lab tools.
Page 19: “Did you eyeball the concentration?”
---
Unfortunately Lohen had. And he hated that you noticed.
Months passed and somehow it became a routine.
Your medic colleagues grew increasingly worried seeing you drowsy every other day.
"Do you know who keeps sending you poison?" one asked.
You shook your head. "No, not really."
"Shouldn't that concern you?"
You looked confused. "Why?"
"Because they're poisoning you...?"
You blinked. Honestly, if the person wanted to kill you, they could have used other deadly toxins. Yet, they always made sure to use small doses and non lethal ingredients.
You smiled to yourself. "They are very considerate actually."
"... Oh." the medic froze.
You tapped a finger on your cheek. "They also have lovely handwriting."
"..."
The medic walked away. Unable to continue the conversation.
Lohen, meanwhile, was also not doing well.
Varka had his suspicions when he first saw the crazed man laughing while tasting the exotic plants he had ordered.
One day, while Lohen was away on a mission, he broke the lock of his drawer and read through all the papers in there.
Papers about toxic plants. Possible ingredients. And of course, all the notes you had written to him.
He ran a hand through his hair. "What the hell is happening in Mondstadt?"
Varka immediately dragged Lohen by the collar and pushed him into the store you worked in to apologize.
You looked up from your desk and instantly recognized him as your mysterious poisoner.
Not by his face. But by his hands.
The stained fingertips. The chemical burns. The ink marks. The quiet proof of obsession.
"Oh," you smiled softly. "It's you."
Lohen blinked.
Varka shoved him forward. "Apologise to the lady Lohen."
Oh. So his name was Lohen.
The boy looked deeply offended. "I don't want to."
"Apologize." The Grand Master repeated, his gaze cold.
Lohen sighed dramatically. Then glanced toward you. "...Sorry for poisoning you."
You immediately shook your head, a small laugh escaping your lips. "There is so need for apologies. I should be thanking you actually."
Silence.
Even Varka froze.
You continued, brighter now. "The poisons were genuinely fascinating."
Varka looked horrified.
"I learned to make dozens of new antidotes!"
Lohen stared. Mesmerized.
"Also the toxins were quite creative! Honestly, every morning became something to look forward to."
Varka took a breath, and turned his gaze to the ceiling, perhaps praying to Barbatos why they allowed these two people to exist.
"Also the notes were fun!" you added, opening your drawer and placing a the stack of notes you had carefully stapled.
Lohen wasn't even listening anymore.
Because you were smiling.
At him.
Because of him.
Because he had poisoned you.
It was a stupid conversation. The girl in front of him was grateful for poisoning her. It was reckless, idiotic and yet...
At that moment his heart made some several terrible decisions.
He realised.
With a lot of hesitation...
That-
'Oh.'
'Oh no.'
'You were kinda cute.'
He had known your name for months. Known where you worked. Known your habits. Your favorite medicinal herbs. The way your handwriting became messier when excited.
But seeing you in person? Actually talking to you?
He was finished.
Absolutely in love.
That night he didn't sleep. Instead he sat at his desk surrounded by herbs, powders, vials, and failed formulas, staring at his next experiment like it might hold divine answers.
Most men wrote poetry.
Most men gifted flowers.
Most men confessed.
But Lohen was not most men.
He lifted a vial of deep red liquid, watching it swirl under lamplight with a manic smile. "If she barely liked the last one... I'll just make one that is even better."
And thus began the greatest romantic pursuit in history.
Not through gifts or heartfelt letters.
But through an escalating series of increasingly sophisticated poisons.
Lohen's new life goal was simple.
Create a poison so fascinating, so beautiful so perfect....
That when you tasted it—
You'd fall hopelessly in love with its creator.
Unfortunately for him, the only thing you fell in love with was the chemical composition.
Fin
😭 😭 😭 I CANT WITH THIS GUY. I FEEL LIKE HE'S SOMEONE WHO'D GIFT YOU A BOMB CUZ HE LOVES YOU.
Some of the ingredients used r actually toxic while others r just bs. I tried making it as Canon as possible but I'm sure there r some mistakes. Sorry abt tht.
Anyway! Hope you enjoyed! Let me know your thoughts.
my mist clouds your judgment??? WAT IS DIS im so curious :3
sooooooo this is a very very long story.
essentially back in 2021 it was 4-5 am and I sleep-deprivedly and jokingly made an incoherent smutfic about two gacha club characters (fierin and satsuna), which i deleted shortly after (to my dismay... i lwk kinda cooked i want it back but i searched all my devices and it has not shown up since)
now in 2026 i rediscovered gachatok and redownloaded gacha life, i found their presets and was like huh interesting what if I wrote about them again. I rechecked my gacha club (because I like made my own versions of their presets in that app but i kept their information as reference) and got more inspired
now my mist clouds your judgement is a fantasy college au where one of them is an incoming freshman who belongs to an underground society and the other is a valedictorian in her sophomore year and they have a whole meetcute and stuff
it is VERY MUCH in its starting stages lol but... mayhaps it will be public one day for viewing lol. might not post it on tumblr though
here is visual reference
(how did i just notice they both have pink hair...)
thank you for picking the title with the most craziest backstory to it for me to yap about LMFAOOOOO
rules: make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous, and tag as many people as you have WIPs. people send in an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and you post a snippet or tell them something about it!
got tagged by @haniekai to do this oneeee :] laughing at "tag as many people as you have WIPs" because...too many HAHAHA! here's the list of the ones i picked:
"kiyoko nb"
"atsumu - need for speed"
"inuoka - daycare"
"kita - memory strategies"
"michimiya yui - phoenix"
"seijoh? - mint"
"alhaitham - double trouble"
"bkg - sick of me"
"aizawa - eye love you"
feel free to send asks yayayay! (they'll be tagged #ask games: wip game)
also, npt: @azullumi @felibrary @aritsukemo @amorsial @lilikags @amiaimpxct @marisolls @aeuqinox @kinbedo + anyone who wants to join!
*+.~ Sandrone x Columbina : AO3
content warning/notes: angsty, spoilers for nod krai archon quest (after first dottore fight), flins is here for some reason idk, i also debated posting this because its really short and not that great :(
Columbina sat in her garden, the flowers' petals pulsing with khuvakki when she breathed, her fingertips barely brushing them as she floated by.
Months. It was months after Sandrone's limp body fell to the floor from Dottore's hands. It was months after she took one last look at her disheveled parts before the shipping box was sealed and sent away.
It was months after she had "died".
Columbina knew she would probably come back. Mechanical parts by itself don't lose their functions that easily.
"I'd like to say some more mean words to you."
Columbina lowers her head upon that memory. She could remember the sound of Sandrone's hitched mechanical breath, the way she twitched after she hugged her, the feeling of Sandrone's sleeve brushing Columbina's torso, hesitant, but eventually lax. The soft murmur before she walked too far , "I missed you too, Columbina," thinking that she couldn't hear her confession.
Columbina kept this memory close to her heart, closer than most.
Before she knew it, soft tears landed on the backs of her hands, the cold sensation startling the moon maiden.
Why am I crying?
She had cried plenty on her own after everyone involved with Dottore had left. Did that memory strike her so deeply so late?
Memories flashed through her mind. The smell of the freshly brewed tea, Sandrone yelling "SHUT UP AND STOP SINGING!!!" at the early hours of the morning that Columbina liked to bother her at, the day she left the Fatui Harbingers, the day they met again in Nod-Krai, and the day she died... again.
Once more, Columbina wept. She cried until the flowers flickered and the footsteps drew closer and closer and—
"Loss is hard to accept, my friend."
Columbina whipped her head towards the source of that voice, yet she knew who it was.
He did not step into the cave, but his voice resounded throughout and was audible enough to which she could tell who was the speaker.
"F-Flins," she croaked out, her voice broken, "for what purpose have you come here for?"
"To check on companions." He replied, plainly. "I knew you would have suffered the most, knowing how close you must have been with The Marionette."
She stays silent, out of acceptance, not of disrespect.
"I have seen many Lightkeepers suffer with loss. It can consume you, drive you to madness, make you lose your inhibitions. But it is not the end." He continues.
He steps a foot into her abode, and she doesn't make any effort to push him out.
"She was... she is, strong-willed, stubborn, and mean. And yet she cared so much, so much it hurt her. I don't want to forsake myself while she recovers." Columbina murmurs to herself.
After a beat of silence, Flins chuckles to himself.
"What's funny?"
"...I do apologize, I mean not to disrespect you. I just find your dedication to her quite endearing."
Columbina blushes bright red.
"Ah... is that so..."
"In any case," Flins continues, "I don't blame you for feeling distraught, nor should it be dismissed. I wish only the best for you. I'm confident you will not lose yourself, Hyposelenia."
Columbina nods.
"Thank you for your kind words, Flins."
"You are welcome. I wish not to disturb you further, so I will take my leave."
And with that, she hears his footsteps echo back out of the cave.
