JUNE 2, 2026, 6:32AM: if you’re the girl dressed like a hot dog that just knocked me on my ass on the side of the road, please know that i am in love with you.
TO SUMMARIZE - miya osamu meets the love of his life on his way to work for about two minutes total, and then spends five weeks trying to find her.
PLEASE BE AWARE that this story contains written parts, longing, alcohol, swearing, lewd jokes, and everyone is out of character. warnings may change as the story progresses
How writers feel after starting a jaw-dropping, pearl clutching, thigh shaking, mouth watering, soul taking series just to leave me with no aftercare and discontinue it
Notes; this is inspired by my favorite art (made by my amazing mutual)
Warnings; possible OOC (?)
Children danced amongst the sea of colors. Petals flew up into the air, carried by the rustles of their little hands brushing through.
The flowers, brimming with beauty, circle around you—as you slowly descend and plant your feet onto the ground.
You watch the children roam around, their various laughter creating a harmonious sound. Echoing throughout the field. It is a heartwarming sight, though you show no interest in joining your comrades in entertaining the children.
You begin to walk, the floras part for each of your steps. Distancing yourself away from the others, and upon spotting a rock nearby—with its surface flat enough to provide a seat—you settle upon it. Spectating the scene before you.
It is odd, despite the unfathomable time you've spent walking this earth, you have never seen such a picturesque sight.
The field of flowers was meant to silence the children's insistence for magic, putting an end to their pestering. Which you succeeded in doing. But never had you imagined many would find such infectious joy in them.
You've stood on the peak of mountains. And there, you witnessed the clouds form a halo around the rising sun as it casts light upon the white surface. Awe was the word to describe what you felt, no matter how fleeting the moment was.
Though that's how you perceived everything, wasn't it?
Fleeting.
Only lasting for so long before dimming into nothingness. There's nothing special about moments once you realize that in the next hundred years, you'll witness it all over again.
You brush your fingers against flower petals. Delicate. And, fleeting. They wither in seconds for you, a beauty held by the sands of time. Slowly seeping through the cracks. You've long accepted that nothing ever lasts for your kind.
A soft rustle coming from behind you. Footsteps. Before something settles atop of your head, successfully pulling you out of your own thoughts.
“Daydreaming again, partner?” the hero jest with a soft chuckle as you lift your gaze up to meet his much softer ones. The jewels of his gaze sparkle like the ripples of a vast ocean, with you as the light casting over its surface. You lift a hand, ushered by curiosity as you try to figure out what he made. And when the tips of your fingers touch the familiar petals, before tracing over the intricate braids made from the stems. You're left impressed.
Phainon never gave you the impression that he's capable of crafting something made from such delicate material.
your gaze shifts over at the others as a member of your party topples forward face-first into petals. Distant laughter echoes into the air. “Shouldn't you be joining them?”
Phainon only hums in response, before settling beside you. “I prefer being with you.” flashing you a charming smile and wink. You swore sparkles started bouncing off of his head.
Silence sits between the two of you. For a voyage with an end goal of returning the coreflame of Worldbearing to humanity—restoring shining hope over the world once more.
The passage is laden with Titankins. All deathly loyal to their master. Yet, in the name of a better tomorrow, you all March forward. Even as you shake at the face of a looming end.
Despite all the imminent danger, the Deliverer remains.. Seemingly unbothered. Going out of his way to help others.
Whether it's to pick ripe apples for an old lady or fixing a bridge between villages. With that charming smile—he lends out a hand.
Though, it's odd of him to stay quiet for this long.
Driven by curiosity, and perhaps concern, you glance over at him.
Your eyes only met his. Barely hidden by his arm. His eyes flicker, surprised by the sudden reciprocation. And in this open field, with the sun casting its light—you're able to clearly see his dilated pupils. Nearly overlapping the deep blue.
“.. Daydreaming again, Deliverer?” You throw his jest right back at him.
Phainon blinks out of his dazed, “oh.. My apologies, partner. ” he chuckles.
Yet, his eyes stubbornly stay on your figure. “I'm simply admiring the view.”
This meal is served with potent scent of flowers. Fresh. Addictive, and sweet. I recommend you all check out the beautiful art establishment linked in our notes!
clingy, sad, soppy phainon, fluff, sfw, unedited, modern!au
phainon: Good morning baby!
phainon: Thinking of you :(
phainon: I hope you have a good day!
phainon: I just walked by a cafe that you would like
phainon: We should go soon!
phainon: Goodnight my love :>
phainon: Sweet dreams
phainon: I hope you're sleeping well
phainon: And on time
phainon: Don't stay up, ok?
phainon: I love you
For nearly a week and a half, Phainon has been texting you relentlessly. After you had told him you needed some space, that you weren't feeling like a priority to him and needed a break to gather your bearings, he had agreed with barely concealed disappointment, looking as if you had torn his heart out and stomped it flat.
Phainon was always someone who had one foot in many doors, an overachiever of sorts, and for how busy he was, he did try his best to accomodate and spend time with you. However, one person can only stomach so much before other things start feeling arbitrary, and after many rain checks and late meetups, you didn't want to be the thing to hold him back and drag him down.
You didn't want to lose him, and you still loved him dearly, but sometimes love is not enough. You needed time to see if this relationship was something you and him still wanted.
"You're not breaking up with me, right?" He asks through a wobbly frown, eyes silently begging and saying what he didn't after you proposed some distance from each other.
"No, I just- you're a busy person, Phainon, and I'm not feeling like a priority right now, or like you even want to be with me," you reasoned.
"What? You've always been a priority to me, and I do want to be with you, I don't want anyone else but you!"
"You say that, but it's difficult to believe when it feels like you've put me on the backburner."
"I'm sorry, I'll do better, we can work through it, I promise!"
"It's not your fault, Phainon, life gets in the way sometimes. I just need space to figure things out."
"I don't want space," he frowns, holding your hand even tighter, refusing to let you go. "I especially don't want space from you."
"Phainon..."
"What can I do to fix this?"
You bite the inside of your cheek. "Give me some time, I'll... I'll let you know when I'm ready."
Eventually, he relents, but he voices his resistance and asks for one last kiss for the road. You grant it, and he pulls you in and breathes you in like air, as if you were the oxygen he needed before diving into deep waters and swimming against tough currents, even refusing to let you go for a moment so he can sneak more than just one kiss, pressing his lips against yours again and again.
He lets you go after that, staring at you like a kicked puppy as you walk away.
You never said he couldn't text you, so here you were, reading multiple texts that he sends a week, most of them detailing how he was thinking of you or missing you. It seems as if you occupied a lot of space on his mind, and he was determined to let you know whenever you did.
You would offer a reply here and there, and he would respond with great enthusiasm, trying his best to keep the conversation going; to prompt more out of you.
phainon: [ photo ]
phainon: Look at this cute dog I saw! He had a little hat!
phainon: You would have loved him haha
phainon: Wish you were here
phainon: ...
phainon: Like. A lot
At the end of the day, you've realised how much you wanted him around too, and it was tough being without him. It seems as though he feels the same, if the texts were anything to go by.
you: can we talk?
For some reason, he doesn't respond within a close time frame this time. No, your message is left on delivered for a while, and you're left wondering if you've really messed up this time, or maybe you're too late and Phainon is finally fed up. Maybe he realised he deserved better than what you could give him.
Half an hour later, the doorbell to your apartment rings, and it's Phainon's voice that comes through the intercom.
"I'm here," he sounds breathless through the speaker, and you're so overwhelmed by the suddenness of the situation that all you can do is mutter a small 'come in', and hear him slam the door behind him.
You wait by the entrance, slightly nervous as you bite your nails. Why didn't he respond to you? Did he drop everything to come to yours?
A barrage of impatient knocks attack your door.
"Take me back," he pleads as soon as you open it. He has a big bouquet of flowers in one hand and his heart in the other, offering both to you with great desperation.
There are subtle deteriorations to his appearance- his hair is slightly matted, as if he has been running a hand through it, there are barely noticeable eyebags on his perfect skin, along with a few blemishes, and his cheeks are a little sunken. It seems like he hasn't been taking care of himself since you last saw him.
You forgot why you even asked for space in the first place.
Soulmates is a concept made by people trying to justify love and wholeness that being with someone brings you, that needed to put a label on this irreplaceable feeling of knowing you love someone and they love you in kind.
The feeling that Phainon brings you, and it's never been more clear that he's the only one for you.
However, in your daze, he has seemingly mistook your silence for rejection, watching your expression remain unreadable with a sense of impatience that creeps up his chest, squeezes his throat, and begs for an answer.
To your bewilderment, he drops to his knees, the bouquet falling to the floor as he wraps his arms around your hips and thighs, face pressed against your lower stomach.
"Please?" He pleads.
"Whoa, Phainon, stand up!" You exclaim, steadying yourself by putting your hands on his shoulders.
He shakes his head with firm resolution. "Not until you take me back, so please?"
"Phainon-"
"- I'll be good, I'll be everything you need!"
"I love you."
That silences him real quick, and all of a sudden he's jumping to his feet and wrapping you in his arms, keeping you pressed close to his chest until there's no space in between you. Then, Phainon breathes a sigh of relief, as if all is right with the world again.
He's all over you as soon as you let him in. When the bouquet is placed on the table, he's clinging to you like no other, laying on your lap and hugging your waist.
You fear he may burst into tears any moment.
The rest of the day is spent together. You go out for lunch, Phainon pays, you stay in for dinner, one that you cook, and things fall right back into place. He tells you about what he's been up to, you ask to know more, and he does the same, listening with great eagerness, and as his thumb rubs circles into the back of your hand, you realise how privileged you are to be loved by him.
When the moon is high in the sky and most of the lights in homes have been turned off, Phainon lays on top of you under your covers, his cheek resting on your chest and arms wrapped around your sides.
"I've missed you," he confesses while your hands run through his hair, untangling any knots they get stuck in.
"I missed you too, I'm sorry for being distant and thank you for being patient," you say. "You're too good to me."
He shakes his head. "I realised you were right, I've always had a tendency to keep myself busy and never give myself a break, I didn't realise how important that was until you brought it up."
"Still, I think there were better and less selfish ways for us to get there, but I appreciate that you were considerate of me, I needed some time to gather my thoughts. I love you."
Phainon presses a lingering kiss to your collarbone. "I love you more, I'm happy you're feeling better now, my love."
You hum happily, but suddenly, he wails very quietly, wrapping his arms around you even tighter. Before you can ask what's wrong, he speaks up.
"Never do that to me again, never ask for space again. If something's bothering you, we'll work through it together," he pleads. "Being without you was like prolonged torture, I don't want to go through that again."
You can't help but laugh softly. "I'm sorry, but I'm here now, right?"
silent treatment fic, i've probably written and thought about this scenario a million billion times, so very self-indulgent, hot-headed!reader and phainon is puppy coded
it's hard to ignore phainon, yet you've somehow nailed the art perfectly.
even as he trails behind you through the crowds of marmoreal palace like a pitiful chimera, even as he tries to strike up ways of talking to you, luring you with the best conversation starters, even as he drapes himself all over you. because while you may like your personal space, phainon likes it even more.
yet, none of it is enough to get you to budge, stubborn with your silent treatment as punishment for not listening to you and going out of his way to disobey your concerns.
from the last expedition aglaea had sent him out on, he had come back with a pretty nasty injury. you were concerned over him for days, pampering him, making sure he didn't exert himself too much so the wound would open back up.
only to find out that he couldn't resist sparring with mydei.
and lo and behold, it reopened and you were left patching up a bleeding phainon in deathly quiet silence, irritation dripping off you in waves. you had a mountain of things you wanted to say, scold him until his ears fell off, but you kept quiet and refused to let the frustration boil over.
your lover had sat as still as a tree while you worked, not making a sound- not even wincing as the needle pricked into his skin.
he was waiting for it, your wrath, the flames he'd have to endure, yet it never came. you packed up your kit and left him without another word, and phainon didn't know which hurt more; the ache in his side or the pang in his heart.
obviously, he ran after you, keeping five steps behind you obediently, your combined footsteps echoing off the marble wall like a ticking clock, waiting for you to explode at him.
but it never came. he was getting antsy, nervously rubbing his palms against his pants.
phainon followed you all the way to the markets, where you browsed the stalls with keen interest, never once glancing back at the despite all the commotion that flocked to him. enthusiastic children that came up to him, stall owners that wanted to thank him for helping, trying to give him something in return; while he was getting held back, you kept moving without so much a second thought.
he reconvened with you in front of a fresh food vendor, where you were carefully scanning the produce, and he simply returned to your side as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
"ah, phainon!" the owner greeted with a big smile. "thanks for your help carrying the boxes the other day, i wanted to say thanks with some produce on the house."
you didn't react to the praise occurring right in front of you, simply assessing which apple was fresher than the other.
"please, that's not necessary," phainon waves it off. "i'm happy to help any time, free of charge!"
"such a good lad," the owner turns to you. "aren't you lucky, y/n? got yourself the finest catch here."
phainon hears you huff. "so lucky that i have to spend my time fretting over him. i'll take these, thanks."
"i'm sorry," phainon murmurs just between you two. you don't move, waiting for your purchase to be wrapped up as phainon keeps staring at the side of your head, anticipating for the moment you'll finally look at him.
it passes by and before he knows it, you're setting off again. this time, heading back in the direction of your shared home.
he would open all the heavy doors in marmoreal palace for you, running ahead just to hold them for you to walk through without so much a glance at him. when you finally entered the privacy of your shared abode, he was all over you, arms around your shoulders, holding your waist, anywhere he could touch, he held on to.
"y/n," he'd whine your name over and over again, frowning even harder at every ignored attempt. "i'm sorry for worrying you, won't you at least look at me so i can tell you how sorry i am?"
you just acted like he wasn't there. as if there wasn't an oversized chrysos heir holding onto you, as if he couldn't just easily manoeuvre you with his ridiculous strength.
he didn't, though. didn't want to anger you even more.
he left you reluctantly when aglaea and tribbie summoned him for another thing that they needed his assistance with, but his thoughts kept drifting back to you, anxiety settling deep in his chest. even a dip at the hot baths couldn't even soothe him, mind running with ways to make it up to you- how can he even do that if you refuse to look at him? or even breathe in his direction?
her returned that evening to you preparing dinner, the portions still for two, and still accounting for his massive appetite.
it was even his favourite, phainon swears he didn't tear up a little. despite how angry you were with him, you still go out of your way to care for him. you didn't react when he sidled up as close to you as possible, chest pressed flush against your back. he thanked you for the food, and you didn't say anything, eyes glued to your cooking as he peppered gentle kisses along your shoulder, scared to provoke you even more.
even though you ate side by side, his thigh staying against yours, he was still antsy. you were so close, yet still felt so far, you still haven't even spared him a glance, and he was losing his mind.
phainon could only be so patient before the desperation boiled over.
by bed time, you slid into bed next to him and stayed on your side, reaching for the book on your nightstand. phainon, who had forgotten about his nightly-reading, stared at you, waiting for you to break, but you had simply opened your novel to the bookmarked chapter and began reading.
the sheets beside you rustle. next thing you know, there's a heavy weight spread completely over your bod, his chin resting on your chest as he was practically pleading for your attention with puppy dog eyes. yet, your book seemed to be more important, because you just adjusted your arms and used his head like a book rest instead of giving him what he wanted.
displeased, he wraps his arms around you with a suffocating tightness and rolls around so that you're the one lying on him, book dropping on the mattress.
he squeezes you close to his body, muscular arms constricting you like chains and you wheeze in his tight grasp.
"i'm sorry, please, stop this unfair treatment," he wails, pushing your head into his collarbones.
you squirm above him and punch his shoulder in protest. "phainon!"
"you need to forgive me first!"
"i can't breathe!"
"say you'll stop ignoring me!"
"i'll stop ignoring you!"
he finally loosens his embrace and you gasp for air, pushing your face out away from phainon's skin.
"have you gone mad?" you immediately ask, eyebrows furrowing with displeasure. your words fizzle away when you catch sight of his teary eyes and the pitiful sadness glistening in them, matched with a pout that made it seem like he was a second away from crying. "phainon?"
he rolls over on his side with you still in his grasp, shuffling down so he could hide his face in your chest. he wraps himself around you, arm snaking around your torso and thigh thrown over your hip. you couldn't even leave if you tried.
"i thought i was going to die," he whimpers.
"die? you?" you ask.
he nods. "please, never do that again. it felt like torture."
you sigh. "you deserved it for being an idiot and not listening to me when i was just showing concern for you. instead, you go out of your way to disregard my orders."
"mydei asked me to spar."
"you should have said no! i bet he even tried to be worried about you, asked how you were healing, and you just lied through your teeth and insisted you were fine, when you know very well you weren't!"
"i'm sorry, i was stupid, i won't do it again, i'll properly listen this time, i promise!"
"why didn't you listen to me last time?"
"i wanted to spar with him!"
"you buffoon! now i'm getting mad again!" you try to turn in his grasp and he whines, large hands forcing you to face him again, refusing to let you show your back to him again.
"be mad at me all you want, curse me out, pray for my downfall, but won't you at least look at me?" he pleads, lips quivering as he stares up at you, all teary-eyed.
"you're being dramatic."
"i'll jump off the highest mountain in okhema if i'm not in your gaze."
"you'd rather face my wrath then my silence?"
"yes, a thousand times yes," he burrows himself further into your chest, clinging to you. "i'll take everything you hit me with, but i can't handle it if you give me nothing, i'd rather fight nikador singlehandedly."
you sigh, hands snaking up to reside in his snowy hair and he hums in relief when you start playing with the strands.
"fine," you relent, "you're forgiven."
his fingers creep under your night shirt, and he all but nuzzles his face closer to your body warmth, content.
"you were very mean to me today," he mumbles.
you shift in his arms, pushing at his shoulders, trying to create some distance. "i was mean? you have the gall to say-"
"-i was kidding! don't leave me."
you sigh when you feel him pull you into a bone-crushing embrace.
"for your own sake, phainon, you should really stop biting the hand that feeds you. in other words, taunting me just because you find my reaction entertaining."
"but it's just so fun."
"it'll be real fun when i don't talk to you for a whole week."
"you can't do that!"
"i can. i'll run away, i'll hide from you," you joke.
"i won't give up until i find you, i'll search every corner of amphoreus, and i'll plead for your forgiveness every time."
"great, so how about we avoid that scenario completely and you exercise some self-preservation?"
"fine."
phainon manages to pin you to the bed for hours the next morning, insisting that it was to make up for all the time he spent agonising over your punishment, all the time he should have gotten with you, his neediness depleting slowly as he lays on top of you.
the d in divorce stands for 'despite everything, it's still you.'
sypnosis. [ 11.7k words ] lawyer!mydei x math!professor!reader. divorced parents + daughter au. — endless nights of waiting for him to change pushes you to the edge and file for divorce. almost six years after the divorce was finalized, mydei asks to see you without your daughter.
usagi's note: header credit here! PLEASEEE I KNOW I SAID 8K BUT IM A LIAR OKAY, ITS NEVER WITHIN 8K WORDS OMFG, BUT TRUST I COOKED WITH THIS ONE. ive been watching too many cdramas like a facebook mom omfg. i didn't give melina (your daughter, whose name means honey btw) any physical traits so u guys can rlly envision what she looks like as YOUR daughter! (personally i see melina like mel from arcane or like annabeth from pjo bcs i can't see myself having kids, but thats just me LOL). enjoy mydei lvrs!
“Melina, be good, okay? See you next week, honey.”
You hug your daughter tight and she nods against your clavicle as you look up for a second at the man in front of the doorway. The girl in your embrace pulls away and you give her a kiss on the crown of her head, then she walks to her father’s car.
You give Mydei the luggage you packed with Mel the day before, reminding him of her events during the week.
“Mel signed herself up for an archery class this Wednesday, I’ll send you the address later, but if you can’t drive her there, I can.”
The man shakes his head, “No, I can take her, I’ll make time.”
You pause and nod stiffly at that. Neither of you say anything.
Then a long beep comes from the car, followed by muffled complaints.
“Yeah, I’ll drop her off next week.”
“Yep.”
And that was it.
Five years. It’s been five years since the divorce finalized. Seven since you brought the papers up—but five years since this arrangement has been going on.
Melina was ten years old at the time, barely coherent enough to understand the weight of the effects of the decision you both had made. Your mother kept saying she was too young to understand, and you knew that. Really, you did.
But this was a situation where you could put yourself first without taking her childhood away from her or his fatherhood from him.
So here we are, five years of weekly dropoffs and pickups with your ex-husband, Mydei.
Was it ideal? Definitely not.
Was it necessary? Maybe.
Did you miss him? Next question.
…
It doesn’t take long for your daughter to update you.
Honey
Hi mommmm
We r getting ice cream
Dad is rewarding me for acing my test !!
You
That’s good, honey.
Make sure to drink water after, okay?
[ <3 ] reacted by Melina
…
You
Make sure she drinks water.
Mydei
Wouldn’t forget it.
[ thumbs up ] reacted by You
…
The rest of the week goes on just like that. Mel would update you, Mydei would clarify some things for her schedule, you and your daughter would call when she gets stuck in one of her advanced mathematic questions—she’d fall asleep on call saying she’s only ‘resting’ and you’d chuckle when you hear her snore after a while.
You decide to message your ex-husband after a while of just admiring your daughter, your heart blooming for fondness as you gaze at her through the screen.
How could one foster such longing for a daughter so loved?
You sigh and type out the message.
You
Mydei, can you carry Mel to her bed?
She’s gonna get a crick in her neck when she wakes up.
Mydei
She fell asleep at her desk again?
You
Yep.
Mydei
I’m coming up now.
…
It doesn’t take long for the doorknob to twist and open. You hear him sigh in amusement through the phone as he picks her up carefully and tucks her in bed.
You stay quiet through all of it and just… watch.
Mydei does, too. After tucking her in properly, he pauses—looking content.
It’s normal, you suppose. With her studying as hard as she can for her upcoming entrance exams—she’s 17 now. Almost an adult, and growing ever so fast. Neither you nor Mydei have the time to know everything she did like when she was a child.
He must not see her asleep often—being busy with cases and paperwork. Only having time to pick her up from school, cook dinner, and go back to working on the documents.
But he’s changed.
He isn’t the same as before.
And it does little to soothe the pinpricks of your heart bleeding out through your chest.
Mydei sucks in a breath through the phone and when your eyes flit back to your phone, you find that he’s already looking at you.
“You miss her already?” He asks in a hushed voice.
You swallow—trying to make sure your voice won’t croak, “Yeah.” Your eyes turn to Mel who was sleeping peacefully on the bed behind him, “Yeah, I do.”
That makes your ex-husband sigh softly, “It’s only Friday, two more days and she’s yours again.”
“I know,” you murmur, scrolling idly at your laptop—browsing through your students’ essay submissions.
You say nothing for a while and neither does Mydei as he starts to tidy up the papers, books, and pens on Melina’s desk.
You don’t know the right word for it.
You don’t know how to describe the feeling of it.
Domestic, maybe—but how is being on call from your daughter’s phone with your divorced ex-husband considered domestic? You don’t know. Maybe it’s just the familiarity of it all.
Maybe you’re just tired.
“Hey, Mydei, I’m going to end the call now, I have a few calls to make and a dozen papers to grade,” you tell him to catch his attention and you see him raise an eyebrow through the screen.
“This late at night?”
You swallow hard, caught in the lie, “Y-yeah… you know how it is with Cas and Aglaea, I need to consult a few things from the kids’ submissions.”
You pray to Nikador he believes your bullshit and doesn’t push.
He won’t.
He never does, but with how his brows are furrowed together—you know he doesn’t buy it at all.
Still, he relents, “Okay, goodnight.”
“Goodnight.”
The moment the call drops, you deflate into the ergonomic chair he bought—a matching set you and Mel have. You press your palms into your eyes.
God, five years in, and everything is still about him.
You don’t know how to feel anymore.
Ever since the divorce finalized, nothing felt right anymore. Mydei was respectful. Always have been. You never divorced because of any abuse, but because you felt… Well it doesn’t matter how you felt.
In the end, no matter how many times you’d try to talk to him, to think of a solution, to attend countless couple’s therapy sessions. It didn’t matter, none of it did. Because at the end of the day, he still didn’t have time for you nor Melina.
It was always case after case after case. His work always came first.
You had tried to understand at first, after all you were both chasing promotions at the time. You with your professor’s thesis, and Mydei with his heavy cases. You told yourself it was just a busy week.
Until a week became a month, a month became a season, and before you knew it, your daughter turns nine without her father by her side and he’s only been there for about half her life.
He’d come home, folders stacked under his arm, apologies spewing from his mouth as he tells you, ‘it’s the last time, I promise’.
The last time he forgets to attend a parent-teacher conference.
The last time he comes home late to a dinner long-gone cold.
The last time he puts work first.
It never happened.
And when one day, you give him the divorce papers, he doesn’t even ask why. Doesn’t even try to reason. He doesn’t fight you for it. Just stares at the papers you’d given him for a whole minute before moving to get a pen and signs his name on all of them.
That was it.
Eleven years of marriage, a daughter that’s ten years old, signed away in a minute, not even being fought for one.
Maybe that’s what hurts the most about it all.
Mydei’s a lawyer.
He fights for his client at the court almost every day.
He’s a fucking lawyer and yet he didn’t even fight you for the divorce papers.
Just looked like he’d long known about it. He just… accepted it. And signed away without a second thought, not even looking at you, just downing his black coffee and left.
It took you four hours to even move from your spot and even then your legs shook so much that you had to call your brother—Phainon—to take Melina to school and preferably for the rest of the afternoon.
…
The next two years following that were even harder.
Not only did you have to face him multiple times at court just to prove that you both really did want this divorce—you had to face multiple counselling sessions, the worried stares of all your friends and family, and juggle your job to prove that you can have custody and take care of your daughter.
But you were also faced with the daunting task of trying to explain divorce to a ten year-old child.
You let her ask whatever she wants—making sure you hold her in your arms or some part of her as she does. You try to answer as best as you can, Mydei answering some questions she asks him, too.
You just didn’t know her next question would make both your hearts stop.
“Does Daddy still love us, Mommy?”
Oh, how you wanted to know that, too.
“I’m sure he does,” you try to reassure her, trying not to look at the man behind her, and holding her hands, “It’s just… Daddy and Mommy need to… need to have a break from each other, okay?”
“Forever?”
You try to blink back tears, “Yes, honey. It’s… It’s kind of complicated.”
“But why?”
“Because… because Daddy and Mommy have different goals in life right now…”
Mel is quiet for a while—fidgeting with her toys on the floor as you rub your thumb on her knee in a circle, trying to reassure her in the subtlest way possible just so you couldn’t disturb her train of thought.
“Are…” her voice breaks—and you think a piece of your heart does, too.
“Are we still going to be a family?”
You swallow down your own tears and hold Mel as tight as you could.
“Yes, sweetheart,” your words catch on the hitch of your breath, “always, baby, we’ll always be a family.”
And she sobs. Melina sobs for the first time since she started asking questions and the way she does lets you know that she was trying so hard to be brave and mature about the whole thing.
You truly did not think your heart could break any further.
Until she calls out daddy in such a broken voice that you do all you could, shut your eyes and sigh quietly—just so you don’t break down, too.
Mydei comes up and embraces the two of you tightly, a pained inhale comes from him as Mel switches her position and buries her face in his neck instead. He tightens his grip around the both of you.
You think of it as him apologizing—maybe trying to offer some comfort for your daughter.
You tuck the thought that maybe this was as close to an apology that you were going to get from him to the very back of your head.
…
After the lawyer and social worker talked to Melina, the divorce agreement was drafted with a few new additions from your daughter.
Both parents must remain in continuous contact.
Custody exchange is scheduled weekly.
All of Melina’s events are to be attended by both parents.
You sign the papers without hesitation.
You’d give anything for Melina to be happy.
…
It was hard at first.
Melina didn’t want to adhere to the custody schedule during the first few months. She’d cry, she’d scream, flail around, saying she didn’t want to leave your house when Mydei came to pick her up, or that she didn’t want to leave his when you did, or when he had to drop her off. Instead, she kept asking ‘why?’
“Why can’t we just live in one house anymore?”
“Why can’t Daddy live with us again?”
“Why can’t Mommy just come over?”
It was… a lot.
Every time Mydei had to come in front of your doorstep, holding your sobbing daughter in his arms, he’d look so… mournful. Tired, even.
There are times he’d call you over at night—telling you that Mel refused to go to sleep without you beside her. You’d come over, only to leave a while after she falls asleep. He’d offer to drive you back and you would refuse, and he’ll leave it at that.
But eventually, it got better.
Mel got used to the weekly switches, you’d attend every event she had with her father, and just like your daughter’s terms in the agreement, you stayed in contact with Mydei.
He’d send updates about her, or even tell you when he’ll be picking her up and dropping her off.
Mydei changed.
He’s early to all Mel’s events—on time for pick-up and drop-off, has all her stuff accounted for, takes her for ice-cream or any sweet treat she loves every time she achieves a goal she’s set. It’s something she’s gotten from him, must be a genealogical trait or something.
The most surprising thing is—Mel tells you that he’s picked up cooking again.
It was something he stopped doing when she was around six and had gotten busy with work. It surprised you to learn that he picked it up again.
He’d cook their dinners and even send her some to take home. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t miss him his cooking.
And sometimes—quietly, unwillingly—you wonder if this version of him had always been there.
And you hate that a part of you keeps circling back to the same thought—that maybe it was easier for him to become this man when it was just him and Mel.
That maybe you were the variable that made everything harder.
The thing that didn’t quite fit.
If maybe… it just never showed up when you were still part of the equation.
You try not to think too much about what that might mean.
No.
You shake the thought off before it can settle.
You didn’t walk away for nothing. You didn’t leave because you were the problem—you left because the relationship was. Because love, on its own, hadn’t been enough to make it work.
And maybe things are easier now. Maybe he’s better now.
But that doesn’t rewrite what the two of you were.
If he can show up for Mel the way she deserves, then that’s all that matters.
That’s enough for you.
…
Months pass in a way they hadn’t before—steadier. Not exactly easier, but… manageable.
You fall into routines you didn’t think you’d ever get used to—Work. Home. Mel. The empty spaces in between.
Therapy becomes one of them.
At first, it feels strange—sitting in a room and saying things out loud that you’d spent years swallowing down. But eventually, the words come easier. You learn how to sit with the silence after them. Learn how to name things for what they are, instead of what you wished they could’ve been.
Some days are heavier than others.
But you get through them.
Mel does, too—though in her own way.
She throws herself into archery with a kind of focus that reminds you a little too much of Mydei, shoulders squared and eyes sharp with determination. What starts as a hobby turns into something she actively pursues, something she talks about over dinner with bright, animated gestures.
Somewhere along the way, she picks up taekwondo, too—for fun, she insists, even as she drags you along to watch practices and shows off new moves in the living room.
She’s… happy.
And that makes everything else easier to bear.
Things with Mydei settle into something else entirely.
Not what you had before—never that—but something functional. Something steady.
You talk when you need to. About schedules, about Mel, about the little things that come with raising her between two homes. The sharp edges between you two dull over time, worn down by distance and routine.
And somewhere along the way, without really noticing when it happened, you stop hoping.
Stop waiting for something that isn’t coming back.
You learn how to speak to him again without it meaning more than it should.
It’s… normal.
Or at least, close enough.
…
You’re in a lecture room when Mydei texts you on a random day during your turn of the custody exchange.
Mydei
I have to drop Mel off for a few hours.
Your brows furrow at the message, Mydei was supposed to pick her up from archery and spend a few hours with her today since he had a less busy week than you did. Neither of you wanted her to be alone as finals week loomed around the corner.
Immediately, you text back—worried something had occurred.
You
What happened?
Mydei
Nothing concerning her, don’t worry.
Just some stuff at the office came up.
It’s quite a gruesome scene of documents and images and I’d just rather she not see that
You
Alright, no problem.
She can hang out in my office or here in the lecture with my TA.
Mydei
You’re teaching right now?
I can have Phainon take her if you’re too busy.
You
No, it’s okay.
It’ll be easier for us when we go home, too.
Mydei
Alright.
We’ll be there in 10.
15, if she wants to get food.
[ haha ] reacted by You
…
“Can anyone tell me what the derivative of this is?” you ask as you finish writing on the whiteboard.
Coincidentally, the bell rings at that moment and you laugh at your students who breathe a sigh of relief.
“Alright class, hahaha, let’s circle back to this next week, reminders that your final projects are due next month—so please make progress on it. Your weekly exam is already posted online and will be due this Sunday. We will not be having a final exam so do well on your project outputs. See you all next week.”
While your students trickle out the door, a familiar face pokes her head in the door.
“Hi, Mom!” she greets and runs through the door, tackling you in a hug.
“Hello, sweetheart,” you press a kiss into her hair, looking up to see Mydei walking in.
“I’m really sorry to drop her off like this,” he tells you, running a hand through his bangs, his low ponytail in a bit of a frazzled state. It was obvious the case in his hands had gotten him shaken up. Yet, Mydei seemed composed if anything.
You wave him off, letting your daughter go so she could set up her books and iPad beside your Teaching Assistant—Polites.
“It’s no problem, besides, I’ll be going home after this next class. It’d save us both the trouble.”
He nods and fishes out his phone from his pocket, answering a message before it rings.
“Ah, I gotta go, I’ll see her for pickup next week. Bye, sweetheart!” He calls out to her before he rushes to take the call outside.
…
It’s only when you’re in the car and on the way home that your daughter tells you a very interesting and mildly concerning piece of information—interesting for you, and you being mildly concerned for Mel’s reaction to it.
“A client came over to Dad earlier.”
“Mh?” You answer absentmindedly, focused on switching lanes to not miss your exit.
“She was all up in his personal space, Mom, I swear, even I was uncomfortable watching them, and Dad wasn’t making that face he always makes when he wants to strangle Uncle Phai and he has to be polite because we’re in a public place. No, Mom, he was polite and smiling.”
Your attention splits and your brows furrow. That wasn’t like Mydei at all. He’d usually have no problem telling someone to respect his personal space—even if it was a client.
“Maybe he was just trying to be respectful, honey,” You reasoned with her as you took a right turn, turning off the blinker after you did.
Mel shakes her head at you, her hair and braid shaking as she did so, “Mom, that’s not even what I wanted to tell you—that’s just the context.”
You raise your eyebrow at her dramatic storytelling tendencies, “Go on…?”
“Mom, Dad turned her advances down and told her he was married.”
You let out a chuckle at that, you’d long given up on making it work with Mydei. You’d hoped that years after the divorce, he’d snap out of it and get his life together and win you and Mel back, but that was too far-fetched of a fantasy even for you.
“It’s just an excuse, sweetheart. I know what you’re trying to imply and your father definitely does not see me that way anymore.”
She sighed dramatically, “But Mom! I swear, if you were there you would’ve seen the look in his eyes.”
You actually snort at that, “You little missy, have been reading too many romance books. I gotta tell your Dad to limit your spending at Jayce and Viktor’s (this fic’s version of Barnes and Noble lol).”
“W-huh? Mom, you wouldn’t!”
You just laughed at your daughter.
…
Later that night you texted Mydei, making good on your promise to ask him to limit her budget on romance books. You fear your daughter might get too swept up in book romance and forget that real-life guys should be straightforward—none of that ‘playing hard-to-get’ game they try to play. Girls should be the one doing that, not the men.
You
Mel told me something today.
Within seconds, the typing bubble already appeared.
Mydei
I already told her not to tell you and it was an excuse, I swear.
Ah.
You
Yeah, I figured. No worries.
She’s been reading too many novels, I think…
Mydei
Oh.
It stays silent for a few moments.
Mydei
Got it. I’ll lessen our trips to JnV’s.
I’ll probably take her somewhere else that doesn’t involve romance books, huh?
What do you think she’d enjoy other than the sports center?
You
Please don’t bring her to the sports center anymore.
I will actually be sighing constantly if she picks up another sport.
I’m worried she’ll injure herself again.
Mydei
My thoughts exactly.
I was thinking of maybe bringing her to a farm or something.
Let her run around a field.
You
I’m raising an eyebrow at you right now.
[ haha ] reacted by Mydei
Do you think our daughter is a dog? TT
Mydei
Hey, it’s what my Mom did to me as a kid to burn off all my stress and energy.
You
Mydei, please do not.
Mydei
Got any ideas?
You think about it for a little while, then you get a few.
You
You could teach her how to bake?
Or to cook, as long as you don’t leave her long enough to burn the kitchen down…
Mydei
That’s actually helpful.
I’ll do that, thank you.
You
Make sure she won’t burn your house or herself down.
Mydei
Copy that.
[ <3 ] reacted by You
…
It’s a few weeks after that talk—during Mydei’s turn of the custody exchange—that Mel updates you with a video. You take a break from grading the final projects and watch.
“Okay, okay, wait, Dad, don’t start yet!”
The camera shakes as she fumbles with the phone, propping it up against what you later find out is a jar of flour, “I need to film this. Mom’s soooo gonna be proud of me when she sees how good these turn out.”
It turns out, Mydei actually did try to teach her how to bake to spend more time with her and give her something to do to burn off her energy—while increasing her dopamine when she accomplishes something.
You hear him huff from beside her as he comes into the frame—tying an apron around his waist, “If yours turn out bad, do not blame me,” He jokes.
“Excuse me?” she gasps dramatically, “I am the creative director here.”
“You’re the one who almost set the toaster on fire last month.”
“That was one time!”
He snorts, but there’s a softness in it now. An ease that wasn’t there years ago.
“Hands washed?” he asks.
Mel rolls her eyes but holds them up anyway, “Yes, Dad.”
“Properly?”
“Yes, Dad.”
“Show me.”
“Okay, now you’re just being annoying—”
“Melina.”
She groans but trudges to the sink again.
And later—when the kitchen smells like sugar and something slightly overbaked, when flour dusts the counter and her cheek, when she laughs at how lopsided their cupcakes look—She sends you a picture.
Honey
[image]
we cooked !!!
well… baked LOLL
they lowk look ugly but taste good I PROMISE
ILL BRING SOME HOMEE
And then a few minutes later, to which you assume the pause is because she started snacking, she sends another message.
Honey
Dad said I didnt even burn anything im so proud of myself !!!!
You stare at the photo longer than you should.
At the messy kitchen island, flour everywhere, metal and glass bowls still sitting on the counter, countless utensils in the sink, and the fridge left ajar.
At the uneven frosting on the cupcakes, some dripping on the island, some out of the cupcake liners.
At him, behind her—slightly out of focus, but there. Smiling.
You don’t realize you’re smiling too until your cheeks hurt.
…
Towards the end of the year, your students mention their siblings are applying for colleges now and that they would love to let them have you as a professor. The compliment makes you think about Mel and where she’d be applying for college in the summer.
You hadn’t really had the chance to talk with her about it. With her getting busier with her sports and extracurriculars and with you trying to improve your syllabus for the next term, you and Mel only spend time at home and when she needs help with her homework.
For a lack of information, you decide to text Mydei if he knows anything about it since Mel is in his custody this week.
You
Has Mel told you where she’s applying yet?
Mydei
No. Has she told you?
You
Nope.
Mydei
We should be concerned.
You
We are concerned.
I just don’t know if she’ll apply to Okhema U or maybe GoE.
Mydei
I’ll ask her tonight.
Maybe she’ll apply to Gibranipar U, like we did?
You
It’s Garbaniphoro now, don't forget.
Also..
Don’t interrogate her.
Mydei
I don’t interrogate?
You
You’re literally a lawyer.
Mydei
Unfair.
[ haha ] reacted by You
…
The day Mel’s supposed to switch back to yours, Mydei is called into a meeting into the office. Something about a client requesting him, specifically. When he explains this to Mel, she grimaces in discomfort.
Mydei picks up on this—but not for the reason he thinks it’s for.
“Sorry, honey. It’ll be quick, I promise,” he reassures her, “I’ll go over some parts of the contract with her, then we can get a sweet treat at The Orchard before we go drop you off to your Mom’s, okay? How does that sound?”
The girl all but shrugs, fixating on the fact that her Dad said ‘her’ and feeling queasy.
Mydei ruffles her hair, “Alright, go pack up your stuff, we’ll leave in an hour.”
…
Melina sits on a desk in view of Mydei’s office—he put her there so he could see her at all times, and she could see him—earbuds in, pretending to study and do her homework, but she’s watching her Dad and his female client.
The woman across his desk leans in too close, laughs too easily, touches his arm like it’s nothing, and it makes Mel narrow her eyes.
That’s definitely not how clients should act.
And the worst part of it all, is her Dad doesn’t react the way she expects. He doesn’t lean away dramatically, doesn’t snap—He just… shifts slightly and doesn’t do anything about it.
It… unnerves her. Like watching them feels… wrong. It shouldn’t be—they’re technically not doing anything bad, but her mind does nothing to dissuade the uneasiness in her guts—like the feeling that she ate something that didn’t sit right with her digestive system. The whole thing doesn’t sit right with her.
Then she hears the woman giggle through the glass.
“What is so funny that she has to laugh so loud and high-pitched?” she whispers to herself as she turns her attention back to her AP Geography homework.
And then she hears her Dad speak.
“Let’s keep this discussion relevant to your case,” he says evenly.
The woman speaks like she has a pout in her voice, “You’re no fun.”
“I’m not here to be.”
Mel fights the urge to snort.
It does little to lift the uneasiness in her stomach, but she’s glad her Dad is being professional about it.
…
Later, in the car, she squints at him.
“You know she was flirting with you, right?” she tells him, looking directly at him as he fumbles with the seatbelt and looks for his parking ID.
He gives her not much emotion about it, not even a raised eyebrow like he always does, “I’m aware. Put your seatbelt on.”
Mel huffs, quickly pulling her seatbelt on and facing him again, “And?”
“And nothing.”
She looks at him in disbelief, and tilts her head, “Dad.”
He sighs, knowing she won’t let this go until he answers all of her questions and complaints, “Mel.”
She crosses her arms and it reminds him of you.
“You didn’t even look annoyed!” Mel starts to gesture wildly with her hands now.
“I was working,” He stresses and puts both hands on the wheel.
She studies him for a minute. In silence.
Then she deflates and looks out her side of the window—arms still crossed, not even looking at him anymore.
Mydei doesn’t know what to tell her—how to reassure her that it really isn’t like that. The client is just a client, and that…
That he…
…
He still loves you.
But before he can even articulate any of his thoughts properly and move his mouth to speak, he hears her sniffle.
Then mutters—“Mom would’ve done something instead of just letting it happen.”
He stills, just for a second.
It sinks into him, then.
He did let it happen.
Mydei starts the engine.
…
It’s a very quiet ride home.
When Mydei asks Mel what she wants from The Orchard, she shrugs and tells him to get whatever he feels like. Eyes not meeting his and instead focused on her phone—texting who he saw was Phainon.
He sighs and tells her he’ll get her a strawberry cream cheese danish. If she has any indication that that’s what she wanted, she never gives it, and Mydei is left to order something for Mel, him, and you when he gets to your house.
He picks up a treat for Phainon, too, when he realizes Mel might’ve asked him to come over.
Mydei is no stranger to this. He’s dealt with Mel’s stubborness—something she got from both of you, and anger more times than he can count. And the best solution? Wait for her to be okay enough to talk about it.
He knows she’ll talk to him about it when she’s ready.
It’s something you’ve both taught her from a young age. She just needs to feel it out and gather her thoughts together before she tries to confront the problem she has.
If her eating the danish on the way to your house was any clue, he’d say he and Mel are doing just fine.
…
Phainon lets you know through text that he’s coming over as per the request of his favorite niece through text.
Most Annoying Brother Ever <3
I’m coming over.
You
???
Why??
Not that you’re not welcome…
It’s just so completely random.
Most Annoying Brother Ever <3
My favorite niece has told me she requests my presence.
You
…
Phainon, she's your only niece.
Most Annoying Brother Ever <3
I know.
Obviously, she’s gonna be my favorite.
Duh.
You
(eyeroll emoji) Whatever, get me a drink while you’re out.
Most Annoying Brother Ever <3
(eyeroll emoji) Fineee.
[ <3 ] reacted by You
…
To your surprise, he gets there earlier than Mydei and Mel get home, which really confuses you since he lives 25 minutes away, and he was able to get you the drink you wanted.
“Do you know why she’s asking for you?” You poke at him as you lounge on the couch behind him, sipping your drink as he flips through the TV channels with the remote.
“See, I would tell you, but that would render me a traitor to the Cool Uncle Club.”
You roll your eyes, “You’re sooo corny.”
Phainon flashes you a smile, “You can’t trick me with that anymore. You may be my little sister, but my cool status comes first.”
Finally, he settles on a channel that’s showing Andrew Garfield’s The Amazing Spiderman, and you both get quiet.
Then you lean against him a little more, your head resting against his shoulder.
“Hey, Phai?”
“Mh?”
“Thanks for always being there for Mel,” you murmur, “and for me.”
Your brother huffs out an amused smile, “Always.”
Just then you hear the honk of Mydei’s car—a signal you both gave out to let the other know you were there. You stood from the couch to open the door only to see your daughter already approaching.
“Hi, Honey. I missed you,” you say as she buries herself in your embrace.
“I missed you, too, Mom. Is Uncle Phai here already?” she pulls away, asking.
You jerk your head softly towards the living room, “He’s in there, what happened, you okay?”
She nods absentmindedly, “Yeah, Mom. Don’t worry about it.”
Mel then pivots to greet her Uncle and gives him a hug, “I’ll be down in a minute, let me just change my clothes.”
You exchange a look with Phainon as he shrugs, not knowing why she’s in such a rush to get out of the house. It’s at that moment that Mydei’s trunk slams shut and he appears in the doorway holding Melina’s luggage.
Quietly, he hands over her stuff and a paperbag from The Orchard.
You thank him and go to put it away in the kitchen before you ask, “Did… anything happen?”
Mydei stays quiet for a moment—like he’s debating whether or not to tell you, his hands fidgeting with the bracelet on his left arm, a nervous habit he never got rid of.
“Mydei?” you ask again.
Yet, before he can even answer, your daughter comes down the stairs and straight to Phainon.
“C’mon, Uncle Phai,” she tugs him up by her arm and your brother easily relents, telling her to slow down, there’s no rush.
Your eyes flit towards her father and you can obviously see it in his eyes that something happened. You watch as he chews on his bottom lip, like he’s trying to say something but is holding back from doing so.
“Aren’t you even going to say bye to your dad?” Phainon asks, making Melina stop in her tracks, three steps away from Mydei.
The air is charged with something you can’t quite name.
Then slowly, lacking enthusiasm, Mel hugs him and you hear a muffled, “Bye, Dad, see you next week.”
Mydei’s arms curl around her almost instantly, one hand petting the crown of her head, “See you next week, sweetheart…”
And that was it.
Phai then leaves with her dragging him out of the house—telling you he’ll bring her home before nine because it’s a weekend after all, with her hollering a different tone of goodbye to you, telling you she and Phai will be safe.
Leaving you and Mydei standing inside the house.
…
Mel doesn’t talk to her uncle at first. They walked around aimlessly to the park at first—Phainon asked her if she wanted him to drive them somewhere but she shook her head, asking if they could walk around instead.
Your brother was all too reminded of the way you’d walk around with him when you were young to refuse.
At the 30-minute mark, he suggested they get ice cream like they always do—her’s pomegranate-flavored and his would be caramel and vanilla, and she only nodded, still not talking.
When they got the cold treats, he dragged her over to sit on a bench by the riverside, and just… waited. Phainon watched her quietly as she pokes at her ice cream instead of eating it.
“That bad?” he finally asks.
Mel shrugs.
“You usually finish that before I even sit down.”
She sighs, pushing the pink cream around, “Not hungry.”
He leans back on the bench, “I thought we already established years ago that you can’t lie to me? Try again.”
She sighs.
“They’re… fine,” she starts, “Mom and Dad.”
“That’s not what I asked, Meli.”
The girl presses her lips together.
“They’re good parents,” she insists, “like—really good. They show up, they talk, they don’t fight… They’re following my rules in the divorce, everything’s in place, everything’s good and steady…”
She trails off and Phainon waits.
“But it’s just…” she mutters, staring at her melting ice cream, “It just feels… wrong.”
His voice softens, “Wrong how?”
She swallows.
“Like… it’s almost right. But not really. Like when you make eggs a little too runny and you’re thinking, no—it’s okay, it’s been cooked under a fire, but you get the feeling that you might get salmonella. You know? Like, it’s supposed to be right, but it feels so… off.”
A pause.
“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it.”
Phainon sighs. He knew this day would come eventually, when the divorce would actually affect her in a way that she can fathom—not as a kid who only thought being a family was enough.
“Uncle Phainon?”
“Yeah?”
She sets her ice cream cup down on the bench and curls her fists in her lap, “Can you… Can you not tell Mom or Dad about this?”
Then she looks up at him, eyes teary and red—like she’s been holding them back. Looking the same way you did when you told him that you were divorcing Mydei and asking him if it was the right decision.
Phainon had always been weak towards you.
And with how Mel definitely inherited your crying face? He was weak towards her, too.
So he relents.
“Of course, kiddo.”
…
Back at your house, Mydei purses his lips and you just observe. When it starts to look like he’s going to turn and leave, you stop him.
“Still drink pomegranate juice?”
His gaze snaps to you, “What?”
“Pomegranate juice,” you repeat, “Melina got her preference for it from you, I guess—she’s always keeping a carton of it in the fridge. Do you want some while we talk about whatever that was?”
Mydei nods, low ponytail bobbing a bit as he does so.
“Take a seat.”
…
When you finally settle on the couch, you take a bite of the pastry he bought from The Orchard, “Okay, spill, what happened?”
And he does, Mydei talks so much, you think it’s the first time he’s talked to you face-to-face this long since you served him divorce papers. It baffles you, if you were being honest.
He lays out every detail from start to finish—leaving out the part where he can’t say that he still loves you. And when he ends, he deflates into the couch.
You sigh as you ponder over the information he just gave you and shake your head softly as you come to a realization.
“She’s scared you’ll find someone else, start a new family, and lose time for her.”
Mydei snaps back up, “No, no, I wouldn’t do that, I would never lose time for her, not again.”
Not again, the words echo in your mind.
You shrug, “That’s how she sees it.”
“It’s not like that!”
You put your hands up in the air in mock-surrender, “Hey, I know that because you told me just now. But you haven’t told her.”
Mydei sighs again, deeply this time.
You know exactly what he wants. Advice. A solution. A way to make your daughter understand that you were still going to be a family no matter what—even if her father might find someone else. You knew he wanted to know how exactly he would tell her that.
You murmur his name softly from across the couch and he responds with a tired, defeated “Mh?”
“Talk to her,” you urge, “maybe not now, since I’m sure Phai is taking her out of her bad mood and if you talk to her now, you’d probably just undo everything he did.”
He keeps quiet.
“She’s just a kid, Mydei. She’s just scared, you didn’t fuck up your relationship with her. You two will be fine as always.”
He exhales.
“I know.”
“You two will be fine.”
…
The following weeks were strangely quiet in a way that unsettled you more than any outburst ever could. Melina would come home from her father’s place with that same faraway look she used to have when the custody exchanges had just begun—back when she didn’t understand why she had to leave one home for another—only now, there were no tears, no protests, just a tightness in her smile and a heaviness in her silences.
It was subtle, easy to miss if you weren’t looking closely, but you were.
You always were.
You considered asking Mydei if he’d said something to her, if anything had happened, but something told you he was just as in the dark as you were.
So you tried asking her instead, but she only waved you off with a tired laugh, insisting it was just stress from college applications, nothing more, nothing to worry about. And you wanted to believe her. You really did.
But something was bugging you, so you texted Mydei again.
You
Hey.
Mel wants us to be at the Foundation Fair for her school.
The family day thing, just like last year.
Mydei
Hey, yeah.
I saw it on the school forum.
I’ll be there.
You
Also…
Have you noticed Mel’s been… off lately?
Mydei
Yeah.
She’s been quieter.
You
She said it’s just application stress.
Mydei
Do you believe her?
You stare at the message longer than you should.
You
I don’t know.
No message comes through for a moment.
Then the typing bubbles come up again, and—
Mydei
We’ll keep an eye on her.
There’s a pause.
Mydei
We’ve got her.
And for some reason, that steadies you more than it should.
…
It’s noisy at the Foundation Day’s Fair. Kids ran around everywhere, balloons of different colors strapped to their wrists. The student band playing had really cool live music.
You and Mydei arrived together, he picked you up from your office when Mel texted him that there was limited parking and it would be better if he picked you up to save time trying to find a space to park in.
She let you know through text as well that her Dad was coming to pick you up. Which to be completely honest, saved you the time of going home and parking your car then hailing a ride to her school.
The moment you got there, Mel was already waiting for both of you at the entrance, dragging you off to… well, everywhere. She rode on scary rides and insisted that you both ride with her. She asked Mydei to buy her cotton candy, win her prizes, and all the sort.
It made you smile, seeing how happy she was just to run around the fair with the two of you. Her weird attitude towards her Dad disappeared, and it was just like before. Like you were a family. It brought a warmth to your chest as you can only sigh in content as she enjoyed the day with you both.
Then she got hungry.
“Dad, please, I wanna eat nachos, please, please, please, please,” she repeated over and over, tugging at her father’s arm as his other carried all the prizes he won for her that afternoon while her other hand was looped around yours.
“You will eat real, actual food, Meli,” he replied.
“And then nachos?”
Mydei sighs in defeat, “Yes, and then nachos.”
The girl can only squeal in triumph.
When you got to the food caravans, you both told her to go find a seat somewhere for the three of you while you and Mydei ordered food—taking all her prizes with her.
You only shook your head in fondness when she asked if she could get ice-cream, too.
“She takes after your sweet tooth too much,” you jokingly scold Mydei and he raises his eyebrows, an amused smile on his lips.
“Please, like she didn’t get your taste for cold drinks?”
“Hey!” you swat him on the arm, “That’s a need in this weather, you know.”
“Uh-huh…” he nods like he believes you even though the grin on his face tells you he doesn’t buy it one bit.
…
From a few tables away, Mel had her eyes on the two of you—finding a seat in the cooler area of the venue. She saw the two of you talking and even laughing.
Even without the romance books, she knew that look in her Dad’s eyes.
There was something.
And then she hears it a few tables over, someone from the Parents’ Association was talking about the two of you, about her family.
“It’s a shame really, I mean, come on, Mydeimos Gorgo is a gorgeous man,” the voice starts, “The ex–wife isn’t that too bad looking either.”
What?
“But obviously, she’s done something wrong for them to divorce.”
Mel stays silent, she couldn’t believe someone would talk about her parents that way without even knowing the full story—actually, no! They shouldn’t talk about them like that at all!
Her eyes darted around, ears straining to hear where exactly the voice was coming from over all the noise.
Then another voice speaks.
“I don’t know whether to feel bad or embarrassed for them, I mean, they’re not even a real family anymore, why would they attend Foundation Day when it’s obviously known for being a family day? They’re just prolonging this charade for their daughter at this point.”
Melina stands up so abruptly that her chair scrapes the ground and the voice stops talking. She realizes the voice was coming from behind her all along—and the horrified look on the woman’s face when she sees that the daughter she was talking about was right there? Priceless.
But not enough to undo the damage.
“Next time, keep your comments to yourself,” she spits out before walking away.
…
It doesn’t take long for Mydei to notice your daughter missing.
The moment he scans the area when you finish ordering, he tells you immediately.
“Melina’s gone.”
Your attention takes a 180 and you scan around immediately, “What? Gone?”
Then Mydei spots the bag of prizes she had—now laying on a lonely table a few ways away and holds onto you to take you there.
“I’ll look for her, between you and me, we know I have better eyesight, I need you to be here in case Meli comes back, okay?” He tells you and you nod, panic steadily creeping up your back.
Mydei takes notice of this, places a hand behind your head, and pulls you in to place a kiss on top of your hair as he wraps a hand around you in a hug.
“I’ll find her, don’t worry,” he reassures, “I won’t let her slip away this time.”
You nod—still in a daze—still processing what the hell he just did, and watching as he walks away in search of your daughter. Phone in hand as you wait for any text that Mel might send you.
…
Just like it didn’t take long for Mydei to notice she was missing, it didn’t take him long to find her either.
He breathed a sigh of relief and texted you that he found your daughter, waiting for you to reply before pocketing his phone.
The field is loud in the way only campus events can be—whistles cutting through the air, laughter spilling over from picnic blankets, parents calling out to their kids with easy familiarity. It’s bright, full, and alive.
And somehow, that’s what makes it feel so quiet when Mydei finally spots her.
Melina sits alone on the bleachers, a few rows up, elbows on her knees, chin resting on clasped hands. She isn’t on her phone. IShe’s just picking at the skin beside her fingernails. Just… watching.
Watching the families gathered below, the ones that fit together without effort.
Mydei slows his steps.
For a moment, he doesn’t say anything—just takes it in. The way her shoulders are slightly hunched. The way her gaze lingers a second too long on a father lifting his kid onto his shoulders, on a mother brushing grass off her son’s shirt.
He exhales quietly and walks up the steps.
The metal creaks softly under his weight, but she doesn’t turn.
He lowers himself beside her anyway.
Not too close. Just enough to give her space if she wants that, and enough that she can lean on him if she wants to. For a while, he lets the silence sit between them, lets the noise from the field fill the space instead.
Then, gently, he tries.
“Did I do something wrong?”
Melina blinks, like she hadn’t expected that, but shakes her head quickly, “No, Dad, you didn’t…” her voice falters, just slightly, “It’s just… I heard some people talking.”
Mydei hums, low and patient, eyes still forward, waiting for her to continue.
She shifts then, leans—just a little—until her shoulder presses against his arm. Not quite a hug. But close. It’s enough for Mydei.
And then it all spills out.
“You and Mom have been nothing but good to me,” she starts, words rushing over each other like she’s afraid she’ll lose them if she slows down, “you both didn’t do anything wrong, it’s just…”
Her voice wavers.
She swallows hard, shoulders trembling like she’s holding herself together by sheer will.
“It’s me.”
Mydei’s arm comes around her without hesitation, pulling her closer, anchoring her to him and Melina presses her face into his side, fingers curling into the fabric of his sleeve.
“I feel like it’s wrong,” she admits, the words muffled but heavy, “I know you and Mom divorced years ago, I know that, I get it, I should be over it, but—” her breath stutters, “—but here, today, it just feels like…”
She squeezes her eyes shut.
“Like we’re not really a family.”
The words land heavier than anything else.
“Like we’re just… pretending. Like we’re faking it for me.”
Mydei’s chest tightens.
He doesn’t interrupt.
Doesn’t correct her.
He just listens.
“And I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel,” she continues, voice cracking now, slipping past the point of control, “because I am happy, I am, I swear, but then I see them and it just—” she chokes on the rest, shaking her head against him.
“It feels wrong that we’re not like that.”
A pause.
A breath.
And then—
“Why can’t you and Mom try again?”
Mydei stills.
For a moment, the world narrows down to just that question.
His throat tightens and the corners of his eyes sting. He takes a moment and inhales slowly, deeply—like he’s bracing himself against something unseen.
When he speaks, his voice is quieter than before, rougher, like it pains him to try to answer it—because it does.
Is there anything so undoing as a daughter?
“Meli…”
She doesn’t look up.
So he continues anyway.
“From the moment I lost you and your mom… I never found anyone else.”
Her grip on his sleeve tightens.
“It’s always been her for me,” he admits, the words sitting heavy on his tongue like something long kept in, “there wasn’t anyone after. There isn’t anyone now. There won’t be anyone else.”
He lets out a small, breathless exhale.
“That woman you saw at the office—she meant nothing. Truly. I was just doing my job.”
Melina sniffles, but she’s listening.
“I love your mom,” he says, more firmly now, even if it costs him something to admit it out loud, “I still do.”
A beat.
“But…” his voice dips, quieter, “I don’t think I’m right for her anymore.”
Mel pulls back just enough to look at him.
Really look.
And then—smack.
Her hand hits his bicep. Not hard, but definitely not gentle.
“If you love her, then tell her that!” she bursts out, eyes still wet, frustration cutting through the tears, “You can’t just decide that for her, Dad!”
Mydei blinks, caught off guard.
“Meli—”
“No!” she cuts him off, shaking her head, “You always do that! You just… decide things on your own and don’t even ask! That’s probably why you ended up here in the first place!”
That one lands heavily.
It makes him wince.
She sniffles again, wiping at her face with the back of her hand, breathing uneven but steadier now that it’s all out.
For a moment, neither of them speak.
Then slowly…
Mydei exhales.
A small, almost helpless smile tugs at his lips, “…Okay.”
Melina frowns, “Okay?”
“I’ll tell her,” he says, softer this time, “I’ll… try again.”
She searches his face like she’s making sure he means it.
Then, she nods.
They fall into silence again, but it’s different now, lighter, like something that had been pressing down finally shifted. The wind picks up slightly, brushing against their faces still sticky with tears.
Mel leans against him again, this time without hesitation.
Mydei glances down at her, then sighs quietly.
“You know,” he starts, tone shifting just enough, “we really have to limit your book purchases at JnV’s.”
Mel groans immediately “Oh, be quiet, Dad.”
And just like that she sounds like herself again.
…
Whatever happened on those bleachers, neither of them told you.
Melina came back first, eyes a little red, nose still pink from sniffling, but smiling softly, like something inside her had finally settled. Mydei followed a few steps behind, expression calmer than you’d seen it in weeks, the usual tension in his shoulders eased just enough to notice.
You didn’t ask.
You didn’t need to.
There are some things a parent learns to recognize without words—and the way Mel slipped her hand into his sleeve for a second before letting go, the way he rested his palm briefly against her head as he passed by—you could make a pretty good guess.
Whatever it was, it helped.
The strange distance that had crept in over the past few weeks seemed to dissolve after that day. Mel laughed more, talked more. Fell back into that easy rhythm between the two of you, and with him. The quiet heaviness that had followed her around finally lifted, replaced with something lighter. Something closer to how things used to feel.
Things were good.
Melina ended up applying to The Grove of Epiphany University in the end, where Phai went—after weeks of deliberation, second-guessing, and late-night rambling about pros and cons that changed every other day.
When she finally told you and Mydei, she looked… proud and certain.
“That’s a good school,” you told her, squeezing her shoulder.
Mydei nodded, something unreadable flickering across his face before it softened, “Your grandmother would’ve liked that.”
Mel tilted her head, “Grandma Gorgo?”
He hummed, “She always wanted me to go there.”
“You didn’t.”
“I didn’t,” he agreed, a faint smile tugging at his lips, “We went to—” he paused, frowning slightly like he was trying to recall it properly, “Gibranipar—no, wait—”
It was easy, in moments like that, to forget everything that came before.
…
It’s one of those quiet evenings during your week with Mel.
Nothing particularly special—just the hum of your home settling into the night, papers half-graded on your desk, your phone lighting up every now and then with notifications you don’t feel like checking yet.
Until it buzzes again.
You glance down.
Honey
Imma be sleeping over at uncle phai’s !!
for movie night 😎
Pls say yes
You smile, shaking your head slightly.
You
Don’t stay up too late.
Honey
no promises
THABKU LOVEU
[ <3 ] reacted by You
You let out a soft huff and set your phone down—only to pick it up again a moment later, already opening your messages with Phainon.
You
Is this true or is she plotting something?
It doesn’t take long for him to reply.
Most Annoying Brother Ever <3
Wow… no trust. I'm hurt.
[ haha ] reacted by You
No, yeah it’s true, I invited her over.
I’ll pick her up from school in a bit.
[ <3 ] reacted by You
You
Alright.
Have fun, just keep her alive please.
[ <3 ] reacted by Phainon
Most Annoying Brother Ever <3
No guarantees.
[ ?! ] reacted by You
You roll your eyes, but there’s a fondness in it.
You set your phone down again, and a few minutes later, it lights up once more.
Mydei
She texted you too?
You blink, then pick it up.
You
Yep.
There’s a pause.
Just long enough for you to think the conversation’s over.
Then—
Mydei
Can I see you?
You freeze.
Your fingers hover over the keyboard, unmoving.
Almost six years.
Six years of schedules, of updates, of polite conversations that begin and end with Melina at the center of them.
And this… This is the first time he’s asked for something that isn’t about her.
The cursor blinks.
Waiting.
You
What is this about, Mydei?
There’s a pause. Longer than usual. Long enough for your chest to tighten in a way you don’t want to acknowledge.
Mydei
It’s important.
You stare at the message.
Important.
Your fingers hover again, hesitation curling at the edges of your thoughts. Somewhere deep down, something stirs—something you buried months ago, something fragile and dangerous and entirely unwelcome.
Hope.
You press your lips together.
No.
You’ve already made peace with this. With him. With what you are now.
You shouldn’t.
And yet.
You
Okay.
…
He arrives twenty minutes later, ringing your doorbell with a bag of ingredients slung over his shoulder like this is just another normal night. Like he hasn’t just tilted something off balance with a single message.
You stand at the door and he stands there, staring right back at you.
“…Hi.”
“Hi…”
God, it’s awkward.
You step aside anyway, letting him in.
He moves through the house like he remembers it—like muscle memory guides him more than thought. Straight to the kitchen. His kitchen.
Just like he used to.
Before…
You linger by the doorway for a moment before closing it and following after him. He’s already unpacking the bag, pulling out ingredients, setting them down with quiet efficiency. You lean against the counter, watching as he does so.
“You didn’t change anything in the kitchen,” he comments, taking note that it looked just like how he customized it.
You shrugged, “Didn’t have the chance to back then, you know. I never really set foot in here until maybe a year after it all.”
He keeps quiet about it and starts to wash the ingredients.
“Now, I don’t really see a reason to change it, I don’t think there’s a need to.”
Mydei takes a look at you and hums, “I see.”
“…Did you just come here to cook?” you ask, unable to keep the curiosity out of your voice, “Is that the important part?”
He huffs softly, not quite amused.
“No,” he mutters, focusing a little too hard on chopping, “I’m… working up the courage to say it. Okay?”
You blink.
Mydei? Working up courage?
That’s… new.
“…Okay,” you say slowly.
You don’t push.
Instead, you give him space—moving back to the island where your papers are spread out, laptop open, red pen in hand. You sit, trying to focus on grading, but your eyes keep drifting up to him, sneaking glances every now and then.
And every now and then, his eyes drift back to you.
It’s quiet.
Not uncomfortable, exactly.
Just… charged.
Like something is waiting to happen and neither of you knows when it’ll break.
…
“I’m almost done,” he says eventually.
You blink, snapping out of your thoughts.
“Oh, okay.”
You stand, moving automatically, grabbing plates, setting them on the table. The motions come easy, it’s familiar. Pause. Too familiar, actually… It feels… domestic.
Again.
And yet—there’s something different now. Something cautious. Like the two of you are circling each other, careful not to step too close too fast. Like you’re both trying to test how far the other is letting this go on for.
You decide you’ll wait for his move. The ball is in his court and it’s his turn to do something.
But for now, you sit, he serves, and you’ll both eat.
The lasagna comes out of the oven still bubbling at the edges, the surface a perfect, blistered gold where the cheese has melted and browned just enough to crisp. The smell hits first—rich, slow-cooked tomato, garlic softened into sweetness, a deep savory warmth that wraps around you before you even take a bite. When he cuts into it, the layers give way with a soft, satisfying slide—tender sheets of pasta, velvety bechamel, and a thick, meaty ragu that’s been simmered long enough to taste like time itself.
Steam curls up from the slice on your plate, carrying that same intoxicating aroma, and when your fork sinks in, it’s almost effortless. The first bite is warm in a way that settles deep in your chest—the cheese stretching slightly before melting on your tongue, the sauce rich and full, balanced with just a hint of acidity that keeps it from being too heavy. It’s indulgent, comforting, and familiar.
It tastes like something made with patience.
Like something made for someone specific.
Like home.
“This is really good,” you compliment with a smile, “I haven’t had your cooking in years.”
He pauses mid-bite and raises a brow, “…I’ve been packing food for Melina to bring home,” he says slowly, “What do you mean?”
Oh.
You wince, shrugging a little. You couldn’t tell him that you couldn’t stomach the thought of his cooking back then, because you were… you were angry. At him. But that was back then, therapy had made you come to terms with these feelings, so you try to pivot the conversation back into a safe area.
“I just thought they were for her specifically,” you say lightly, like it doesn’t matter, “You know… I’m not your responsibility anymore.”
The silence after that is so thick and heavy it’s as if the air’s been knocked out of the room.
“Myd—” you try to start and he interrupts you quietly with your name on his lips.
You immediately backtrack, “Hey, it’s okay, I didn’t mean anything by it, I just—”
“It was always for you.”
You stop.
You blink.
He’s looking at you now.
Really looking.
“I cooked extra because I knew you’d be there,” he continues, voice tight, “I just thought… I thought you knew.”
You let out a small, nervous laugh, shaking your head, “It’s fine, I’ll—I’ll eat the next one you send, okay?”
He looks… pained, as you tell him that.
“I thought we were okay.”
“We are—”
“Then why does it feel like you’re avoiding me?” he cuts in, frustration slipping through, “I know we’re not… great, I know I fucked up, but I thought we were okay enough to… to—”
He trails off and you sigh, rubbing your temple.
“Mydei,” you say softly, “why did you come here tonight?”
That stops him.
Completely.
For a moment, he just sits there.
Then he exhales and something shifts.
“I didn’t fight for you.”
The words hit you like a blow.
Your heart stutters.
“…What?”
“When you gave me the papers,” he continues, voice low, steady only by force, “I didn’t fight you. I didn’t ask you to stay. I didn’t even try.”
You shake your head slightly, “Mydei—”
“I thought I was doing the right thing,” he says, a bitter edge creeping in, “I thought… if you were unhappy enough to leave, then the least I could do was not make it harder for you.”
Your chest tightens.
“I told myself it was respect,” he continues, “that I was respecting your decision. Your autonomy.”
He laughs dryly, “But really, I was just a coward.”
You stand up from your seat, the chair scraping off of the floor and you back up, “Don’t—”
“No,” he cuts in, sharper now, standing as he does so, “you don’t understand.”
You take a step back, “Don’t do this, Mydei.”
“Please—”
“No, please,” you echo, your voice breaking, begging, as months of therapy start to unravel at the seams, your heart bleeding out in your hands once again in this very kitchen, “please don’t do this.”
“It’s you,” he says, stepping forward.
You shake your head, another step back.
“It’s always, only ever been you.”
Your back hits the island.
You didn’t even realize you’d been retreating.
He’s there in front of you now.
Close—Too close.
“Despite everything,” he murmurs, voice dropping, hands coming up—hesitant at first, then certain and gentle as they cradle your face, “it’s still you.”
You feel dizzy.
Like the ground’s been pulled out from under you.
His forehead presses against yours. His scent flooding your senses.
The sensation too warm, too familiar, and eternally devastating.
“Please,” he whispers, breath uneven, “tell me what I have to do to win you back.”
Your vision blurs.
This is—This is everything you ever wanted.
For him to fight, to choose you, to try.
And now that he is—you don’t know what to do.
“I’m scared, Dei.”
The nickname slips out before you can stop it, and it breaks something in him.
You feel it.
The way he inhales sharply. The way his grip tightens just slightly.
“…I know,” he murmurs.
You shake in his hold, barely able to contain the tears that spill out from your eyes.
“How do I know it won’t end the same way?”
It’s barely a whisper, but it carries everything.
Every late night, every empty chair, every broken promise.
Mydei’s hand trembles as he brushes a tear from your cheek.
He leans in and presses a soft kiss against it.
“I won’t let it happen again,” he says, voice fierce despite the quiet, “I lost you once. I won’t—” his breath catches, “—I won’t let it happen again.”
His hand slips down, finding yours, intertwining your fingers.
He brings it up between your face as he looks up at you—despite being taller—and presses a kiss to your knuckles.
Gentle.
Reverent.
“I’ve got you,” he whispers, “if you’ll have me.”
Your chest heaves, your eyes burn, and you nod.
Just once, but it’s enough.
He lets out a shaky laugh, the sound wet and broken.
He’s crying too.
You realize that distantly.
And then—softly—just like the first time.
“I, Mydeimos Gorgo, take you,” he continues, voice steadier now, like he’s anchoring himself in it, “to be my lawfully wedded wife.”
“I don’t have perfect words, I never did. But I know this—every version of my life that meant something had you in it. And every version without you… didn’t feel like mine.”
“I vow to come home to you—not just in place, but in heart. I vow to make space for you in every part of my life, the way I should have from the beginning.”
“You are not an afterthought. You never were. You are my first choice.”
“And if you let me again—I will keep choosing you. Every day. For the rest of my life.”
Your breath catches.
He remembered.
After everything—he remembered.
A breath.
“I do.”
“Do you,” he begins, voice trembling, “take me, Mydeimos Gorgo, as your lawfully wedded husband?”
“I do,” you sob, nodding through tears, the words breaking on a hiccup.
He smiles at that and slips a ring you didn’t even know he had into your ring finger. His face soft as his heart remains aching.
“I know this may be sudden, but I think this is long overdue, what about you?”
Your hands come up, cupping his face like you’re afraid he’ll disappear.
You answer him by pulling him down and crashing your lips against his. Like you’re dying of thirst in the desert and he’s the only thing that can save you.
It feels the same.
God, it feels the same.
And that’s what breaks you.
You sob into the kiss, your fingers tightening against him, and he smiles—smiles—against your mouth, holding you like he’s afraid to let go.
When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours again and presses a soft kiss to your nose.
Your breathing is uneven. Your chest is aching. Your mind spinning from trying to process everything, but you feel lighter.
So much lighter.
“…Meli’s going to be ecstatic about this,” he murmurs.
And despite everything—you laugh.
…
Meli
DAD UPDAET
Plss im dying of anticipaton here
Meli
HEY DONT LEAVE ME ON DELIVEREED
DADD !!!
On nikador bro i swear u are taking
So longgg
read at 8:04 pm
Meli
HEY I SEE U READ IT
Dad reply pls oh my strife
Uncle phai and i are dying here
Meli
Give update to revive pls pls pls
Dad
[ sent a photo: ring in someone’s finger, hand covering her face as she’s leaning against someone’s clavicle ]
Got her back.
[ <3 ] reacted by Melina
Meli
THATS WHAT IM FUCKING TALKING ABOUT !!!!
Dad
Language.
Meli
God forbid a girl is happy she's no longer a child of divorce.
[ haha ] reacted by Mydei
…
Bonus scenes!
You
Meli and I are on the way to the grocery store.
Do you want anything?
Dei <3
My beautiful wife and daughter home safe
You
Corny.
[ <3 ] reacted by Mydei
…
Favorite Niece 5Ever
Can u sneak me out and drive me to a party
It starts at 11
On the 12th
Pls pls pls u would be blessed with a gf w a big ass
Coolest Unc 5Ever
Girl what ??
Your mom AND dad will kill me.
Favorite Niece 5Ever
Soo is that a no…?
Coolest Unc 5Ever
If your mom catches me we are soo dead.
Send me the addy.
[ <3 ] reacted by Melina
Favorite Niece 5Ever
THX LUVYEW 5EVER !!!!
[ <3 ] reacted by Phainon
…
Mom
Melina Hera Gorgo.
Where are you.
You are so grounded when you get home.
usagi's note: can u guys pretty please tell me what melina looks like for u guys PLEASEEE i begggg, anyway i have another mydei fic coming up soon, can u believe i did this in 2 days? me neither. i am so insane wtf. stream dawtde!
@usagiarchive 2025. do not repost, translate, or use for AI. reblogs, likes, and comments are very appreciated!!
synopsis he’s injured and refuses medical care from anyone but you. despite being his ex, you reluctantly come to help but discover a few letters while searching for medical equipment.
tags ex bf phainon x reader, fem reader, second person pov, hospital setting, does ts count as modern au cause i hope it doesn’t and does amphoreus even have medical equipment, snooping, pre 3.4 mission, 1.8k wc
a/n jonny, why couldn’t you be ready, too? i was ready, ready to.. be happy. ready for that long look that never ends. /lyr anyways i was originally gonna write this for kaiser but..
Could Hyacine not have employed her own faculties in the management of such an affair? She bore, after all, the sanctioned offices of physician and healer, duly entrusted to her within the dominion of Amphoreus. It felt as if you had been dragged through an inescapable rip within the ocean once you had received the call Hyacine conferred, aware you had been summoned to tend to a patient you found displeasing to ameliorate. For it was Phainon whom you discovered; his occupancy had not slipped unnoticed, evident in your scrutinising gaze. Where the room was rendered too bright—as though the building itself tried to void any shadow—and saturated by the pungent redolence of antiseptic, never failed to provoke a subtle aversion regardless of all your frequent visits to such walls. Had the words of your coworkers been truthful when reporting how Phainon declared he would refuse medical care from anyone but you?
Phainon’s coat lay absent from his battered body. White sheets were curled against him, and your peripheral vision caught a hummingbird visiting a white lily flower. The bleak white of the bed reflected Phainon’s own childish air, something unguarded within him. In your presence, his reason seemed calmer, his composure quietly undone; for there was, in the way you carried yourself, an omnipotent power to enthral him, to entertain a brief and fragile world in which he was no longer burdened by the name of Deliverer, but permitted—if only for a moment—to exist simply as Phainon. The heavy weight of his gaze was drawn to your attention against your will, the way one becomes aware of heat: gradually, and once it has already settled and suffocated you. Sunlight—gentle in its heat—had filtered through the window, resting upon Phainon’s enlivened smile and eyes that seemed to admit more colour in the interval you occupied him. You draw on your gloves. You do not inquire after his comfort. You do not ask why Phainon specifically required your name. His plaintive gaze lingered on the motion of your hands, precise and unhesitating, in a way that said your actions were out of inclination, and not warmth. When you pressed near an old wound—one long since healed but never forgotten—his breath faltered.
“This mark,” you observed lightly. “It’s improperly healed.”
“I know.”
“You didn’t fathom the action to report such a wound to Hyacine?”
“No.”
Your head inclined, neither approving nor reproachful. “You ought to have.”
“I’m aware.” A light chuckle escaped his lips. The admission came too readily. You did not remark upon it. There are habits you have trained yourself not to indulge in. When you reached for the gauze, you realised the drawer was empty. You turn to the cabinet behind him, shoulders brushing the edge of the bed as you pass. The cabinet was open just enough to suggest use. Inside: medical supplies. For when your fingers abruptly brushed paper, you came to a halt. The bundle was narrow, tethered with fraying twine, and concealed in a way that spoke of something forbidden. One page slipped free. You recognised the handwriting at once. You should’ve put it back, but your thoughts were restless, and you couldn’t help but pry into the page’s contents. You should’ve closed the cabinet. You should’ve taken the gauze and left the rest untouched. Instead, you took the papers with you. Phainon’s eyes flicked up the moment he heard the sound. Something tightened in his jaw. Once you returned to him and set the stack down on the metal tray beside his bed, you did not dare to let your eyes linger too long on the inked paper.
“Those aren’t medical records,” you say.
“No.”
“You shouldn’t keep personal items in here.”
“I had not planned to.”
You resumed tending his wound. Phainon had not spoken again until you were done. Until your gloves were discarded and the bandage was secured. Only then did he say, in a hushed tone, “You don’t have to read them.” You did not reply. In the docile room of the rustling of clothes, the coarse bandage chafed against your palm as you finished binding the last knot against Phainon’s forearm, as if keeping your hands busy would’ve resolved the unsettled words of your circumstances. Your chair glided back and squeaked against the floor.
“You don’t have to leave immediately.” Phainon shot up, despite sustaining injuries that would have immobilised any other man. A silence followed.
“I do.”
You picked up the papers, and the door clicked behind you. Later, much later, you sat unattended.
Letter I
I am writing this with the understanding that it may never be read. That knowledge is, in some ways, a relief. It permits a degree of honesty I would not trust myself with otherwise. I love you. I loved you when I first gazed upon you, when our first argument unfurled, when I dozed next to you in the baths; my love for you still endures. Often, my thoughts replay conversations, not to revise them, but to gain a deeper understanding. In your absence, I have unearthed the habits I have not yet learnt to let go of. One of them is the instinct to reach out whenever anything happens, though I’ve realised now that you’re not there for me to run to anymore, and with this, the true weight of your absence is soon to crush me.
Had I engaged more time, more capital, more endeavours with you, would this have never happened? I will not contest the separation. My failure to listen when it mattered was the catalyst for your conclusion. I recognise that now with a clarity that admits no defence. I was attentive to outcomes, to solutions, to what I believed necessary. I was not attentive to you. That distinction, once overlooked, now appears decisive.
But there were times when I was upset, too, and I would have never gone to drastic measures like these. I am enraged at you, at the casual certainty with which you walked away. You left, and with that leaving, you left me behind—not merely hurt, not simply disappointed, but reduced to the absurdity of wanting something that has already departed. But ultimately, I am most enraged at myself. I should loathe you, and a part of me does, but you were never cruel. Every attribute of you that I should have treasured more carefully was merciful, compassionate even. Hate is too linear a concept. What I feel for you is an unruly and unforgiving love that defies all virtue. You have done nothing wrong, and you are still an amazing girl.
( Some of the ink has smudged due to what looks like teardrops. )
Letter II
I dreamt about you, and I find that my thoughts have been plagued with ‘what ifs.’ Perhaps it was not quite a logical deduction from my premises, but my soul yearns for you. Come hither, be mine once more. I’d incline towards a do-over of the past few years with you. Because I’ve rationalised now. My errors were not born of confusion, but of confidence. I believed myself correct too often to claim innocence in the result. That is what failed us. I wish I had contended and fought for us more then. You were the woman of my heart, and a flawless model of the benevolence one seldom sees. You’ve brought the most delight into my world and yet, the most anguish, too.
No piece of sword is heavier than my heart. No battle has punctured such a hole of sorrow into me. While the chance for the black tide to relinquish its terror over Amphoreus is greater than the chance for us to reunite, I am still consumed by my desire for you—despite knowing I hold no weight in your life anymore. What I accomplish from now on will not alter your judgment, nor get you to take back your words that day; that is what pains me most. Childishly enough, I cannot help but gratify the frivolous hope that our split was but a momentary error of judgment, and that you might yet be persuaded to return to me.
If I had been cognizant enough, I could have prevented this conundrum. I had not loved you amply. I knew you, but I did not understand you. And now, with the recollection of your words oppressing me, I bring to thought that a bright and serene future without you in it is a future I am not in the humour for. I ought to have done more.
Letter III
I had intended for the previous letter to be the finale. That resolve has not held. There is a flicker of ironic dishonesty in pretending that my awareness alone is ample to heal my heart. I am aware that what follows is improper, that it does not align with the values I have so intensely facilitated since that day. With that, I state this openly, knowing my words will never reach you.
I do not want you to belong to anyone else.
I think of you more often than I can allow myself to reminisce while still free of guilt. You haunt me, and I cannot decipher whether that is beneficial for me. I’d label you a disease that I’ve been plagued with yet do not wish to be cured of, but that would mean I’d have to picture you in a negative light to connotate you with something as corrosive as disease.
I’d prefer to believe this dilemma is superficial and easily answered, that it is my vigilance misdirected, or that sense of heroism I often find embedded in me. But I have come to terms with the conclusion that lying to myself may govern the myriad of impulses I have, but, unfortunately, it does not eliminate those impulses. I am woefully conscious of the many grounds I should not permit myself to give a speech to. This letter is not a confession, nor is it an appeal for you to love me back. I have no claim, no ownership upon you, but even with that, the knowledge that another might assume the place I once held does not settle comfortably with me. I fear they would be ignorant and flippant about the things I learnt too late. I imagine an error. Their unfamiliar hands drifting where they are not yet cognizant of when and where to be careful, their words spoken too quickly, and their minds will misunderstand your intricate and beautiful character. If another were to gaze at you with that particular attention, it compels me to experience a sense of unease in a way I cannot reason rationally. For you to be pursued by someone who is not me makes me want to take measures unbecoming of reason, even to the consideration of violence.
I seldom require your affection, and I must not relish the idea of your presence. I demand only the certainty that no one else will enjoy you in my stead.
Sister says we have to practice writing. I told her I don't like writing. She said write anyway.
So I'm writing to you.
Remember yesterday? You threw my fishing rod into Cider Lake because I wouldn't let you use it. You stood there with your arms crossed, looking so proud of yourself. I was furious. I wanted to push you in. But then you jumped in to get it for me and came out shivering with that stupid, triumphant grin. And I wasn't angry anymore.
I think you're the best person I know.
Don't tell anyone I said that.
—V
To the girl who fell off the tree
You're an idiot.
That's the nicest thing I can write. You're a big idiot.
Who climbs to the highest branch of the oldest tree in Mondstadt just to prove they're not scared? You. You do that. And then you fall and break your arm, and I have to carry you all the way to the cathedral while you cry into my shoulder and get snot all over my shirt. I told you not to climb that high. I told you a hundred times. But when you looked at me with those eyes, I couldn't say no. I never can.
Your arm looked wrong. All bent. I wanted to throw up. But I didn't. I just kept walking and told you stupid stories until you stopped crying. You fell asleep before we got there. Your head against my neck, your breath warm, your tears still wet on the collar of my shirt. I stood outside the cathedral for a long time before going in. Just holding you. Just pretending.
Don't do that again. Please.
—V
To the girl who hides in confession booths
You were found asleep in the confession booth again. The parish came to dinner tonight and told my father about it. Said you told him you were "contemplating divine silence." My father laughed so hard he choked on his bread. I laughed too. But inside, I was thinking about how you always find the best hiding spots. Remember when we played hide and seek with all the kids in the city, and no one could find you for three hours? Everyone gave up and went home. I kept looking. I found you in the bell tower, reading a book you'd stolen from the library. You looked up and smiled and said, "Took you long enough."
I sat with you until the sun went down. We watched the whole city from up there, all the lights coming on one by one. You pointed to your house and said, "That's where I sleep." You pointed to mine and said, "That's where you sleep."
—V
To the girl who fell in the fountain
Remember when we were at the market and you leaned too far over the fountain trying to see the coins at the bottom? Remember how you fell in?
I remember. I remember how you came up shivering, your hair plastered to your face, your dress ruined. I remember how everyone stared. I remember how you started to cry. And then I remember jumping in after you. Fully clothed, boots and all. Standing in that fountain with water up to my waist, just so you wouldn't be alone. We walked home soaking wet, leaving puddles everywhere. Your mother was furious. Mine was too. But you laughed the whole way, and that was worth every scolding.
I'd jump in a thousand fountains for you.
—V
To the girl who isn't afraid of anything
There's a stray dog near the windmill. It's hurt its leg bad, and it won't let anyone near it. The adults say it'll die soon. They say there's nothing to be done. You've been bringing it food for three days. I know because I followed you. Today it let you touch it. I watched from behind a barrel as you sat in the mud, not caring about your dress, and let the dog sniff your hand, and then very slowly, very gently, touched its head. It whimpered and leaned into you. You stayed with it for hours. I stayed too, watching. When you finally left, you were crying. You didn't think anyone saw.
I went back later with my father's old cloak. I wrapped the dog in it and carried it to the healer. Cost me all my saved coins, but they fixed its leg. I told the healer to tell you someone found it and brought it in. Not me. Just someone.
You smiled for a week after that. That was enough.
—V
To the girl who wants a blue bird
The traveling merchant came through town with his painted wooden birds. You wanted one so badly. A little blue one, with glass eyes. You stood at his stall for an hour, just looking at it.
You had no money. Your family couldn't spare any. I watched you walk away, and I made a decision. I stole it for you. I know. That's wrong. Stealing is wrong. I'm not proud of it. But I couldn't stand seeing you want something and not have it. I snuck into his stall while he was at the tavern. Took the bird. Left three copper coins I'd saved from chores. It wasn't enough, and I knew it. But it was all I had. I left it on your windowsill that night. Didn't knock. Didn't stay.
The next day, you had it in your hand. You kept touching its wings, its eyes, its little painted beak. You kept smiling. You asked everyone who gave it to you. No one knew. You'll never know.
That's okay. The smile was enough.
—V
To the girl who punches boys
A boy called me clumsy today. In the market, in front of everyone. Said I walked like a baby deer, all stumbling and awkward. Before I could even react, you punched him. Right in the face. Knocked him flat. He was two years older than you. Twice your size. Didn't matter. You hit him so hard his nose bled.
His mother came to your house that night. Your mother made you apologize. You said sorry through clenched teeth, and I could tell you meant none of it. Afterward, you found me at the training grounds. You sat next to me on the beam where we carved our names and you said, "No one calls my friends clumsy."
I wanted to kiss you. I didn't. I never do.
But I wanted to.
—V
To the girl who reads too much
You borrowed a book from the library today. A thick one, with no pictures, about saints and miracles and things I don't understand. "Why do you read so much?" I asked. You thought about it. "Because books take me places I can't go. Because they show me people I'll never meet. Because they make me feel things I wouldn't feel otherwise."
"That sounds sad," I said.
You shook your head. "It's not sad. It's... more. Life is just one thing. Books are everything."
I didn't understand then. I think I understand now.
You were right. Life is just one thing. But you... you're everything.
—V
To the girl who prays
You've been going to the cathedral more lately. Not just for services, but in between. I see you there when I walk past. Kneeling in a pew, hands folded, head bowed. I asked you once what you pray for.
You said, "I don't pray for things. I just... talk. To someone who listens."
"Does anyone listen?"
You smiled. "I think so. Not in words. But in... feelings. In peace. In knowing I'm not alone."
I wanted to say: You're not alone. I'm here. I'll always be here. But I didn't. I just nodded and walked away. I don't understand prayer. I don't understand faith. But I understand you. And if being in that cathedral makes you happy, makes you peaceful, makes you feel less alone then I'm glad you go.
Even if it takes you further from me.
—V
To the girl who told me
You told me today.
After choir practice. You grabbed my sleeve and pulled me aside, and your eyes were so bright, so certain. You said you'd received your calling. That you'd enter the novitiate next spring.
I said, "That's great. You'll be the best nun ever." You laughed and punched my arm. "You're supposed to say congratulations, you idiot." Congratulations.
I walked home and sat on the roof for three hours. Mother called me for dinner. I didn't go down. I'm writing this by candlelight, and my hand is shaking. Not from cold. I should have said something else. I should have said "Don't go." I should have said "I love you." I should have said a thousand things. But I didn't. I never do. You'll be a nun. You'll wear a habit and pray for people you'll never meet. You'll give your whole life to someone who never answers.
And I'll be here. Watching. Wanting. Writing letters I'll never send. This is stupid. You're happy. That's what matters.
I'll keep this with the other ones.
—V
To the girl who is leaving me
Tomorrow you take your vows.
I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't be writing this. I shouldn't be anything to you anymore. But I'm sitting in the barn, where we used to hide during thunderstorms. It's late. Everyone's asleep. I climbed through your window an hour ago and I watched you sleep for a while.
You looked peaceful. Happy. Like you'd already gone somewhere I couldn't follow.
I wanted to wake you. I wanted to say something that would make you stay. But what could I say? What could I offer that compares to what you've found? Nothing. I'm nothing. Just a boy with a sword and a stack of unsent letters.
So I left. I climbed back down and walked here, to the barn, and I'm writing this by the light of a lantern I stole from your kitchen. Tomorrow you'll kneel before the altar. You'll speak the words. Poverty, chastity, obedience. You'll give yourself to Barbatos, and I'll stand at the back of the cathedral and I'll watch you become someone I can never have.
I should have fought harder. I should have said something years ago, when we were children and the world was simple and loving you didn't feel like a sin. But I didn't. And now I never can.
Goodbye.
—V
To the girl who saw me during your vows
I wasn't going to come.
The ceremony. Your final vows. The moment you became truly, completely theirs. I told myself I had training. I told myself I had reports to file. I told myself a hundred lies.
But I came.
I stood at the back of the cathedral, where you couldn't see me even if you looked. And I watched you walk down the aisle in your white robes, your hands folded, your head bowed, your face so peaceful it hurt to look at. You knelt before the altar. You spoke the words. Poverty, chastity, obedience. Each one like a knife.
And when you rose, when you turned to face the congregation for the first time as a devotee of the Anemo Archon, your eyes swept over the crowd, over all those faces, and for one impossible moment, they stopped. On me. You couldn't have seen me. You couldn't. I was too far, too hidden, too much a coward to step into the light. But your eyes stopped. And you smiled. Just a little. Just for a second.
Then you looked away, and the moment was gone, and I slipped out the side door before anyone could see me crying. I walked to the training grounds and broke three practice swords against the dummies. Then I sat on the beam where we'd carved our names and I didn't move for hours. I should have fought harder. I should have said something. Anything.
But I didn't. And now I never can.
—V
To the girl who still lives in every corner of this city
I saw you today. At the cathedral.
I was delivering a report to the Deaconess, and there you were, walking through the cloister with another sister. You were in your full habit, like you'd always worn it. Like you'd never worn anything else.
You didn't see me. You stopped to talk to a child who was crying about something. You knelt down, right there on the stone, mud soaking through your robes, and you listened. Really listened. Then you wiped her tears with your sleeve and said something that made her laugh. I stood there like an idiot, holding my report, watching you walk away.
You were always good with children. Remember when we used to watch the little ones during festivals so their parents could dance? You'd tell them stories about brave knights and clever maidens. They believed every word. So did I, honestly. I went back to the headquarters and swung my sword until my hands bled.
I don't know why I'm still writing these. I should burn them. I won't.
—V
To the girl who once told me she was afraid of thunderstorms
The storm outside is ridiculous. Even for Mondstadt. Thunder shaking the walls, lightning so bright it hurts through closed eyes. The whole camp is shaking.
I hate storms.
No, that's not true. I used to love them. Remember? We'd sit in your family's barn and watch the rain come down, and you'd count the seconds between lightning and thunder, and I'd pretend I wasn't terrified. You knew, though. You always knew. Halfway through, you'd lean against my shoulder and fall asleep, and I'd stay awake the whole time, just so you wouldn't be alone.
I wonder who you lean on now. I wonder if you ever get scared anymore. You seem so steady, so certain. Like you've found something to hold onto that won't let go. I'm glad. Truly.
But tonight, in this storm, I miss you so much it feels like someone's sitting on my chest.
—V
To the girl with the blue wooden bird
The Nod-Krai expedition is official. We leave at dawn. It will be years before I return. If I return at all. They asked me what I wanted to do before I left. Say goodbye to anyone special. Settle any affairs.
I said no. But I went to the cathedral anyway. Late at night, like always. I stood in the shadow of the bell tower and looked up at the windows, wondering which one was yours. Wondering if you were awake, if you ever thought about me, if you ever wondered why I always seemed to be just out of sight.
I thought about climbing the wall. Like when we were kids, and I'd sneak into your room to show you the stars through your window because your parents wouldn't let you out after dark. I didn't climb. I left something instead. Small. Hidden in the garden wall. A little blue wooden bird, with glass eyes. I carved it myself. It's not as pretty as the merchant's, but it's mine. All mine. You won't find it. Or if you do, you won't know it's from me.
But I'll know.
—V
To the girl who would hate this place
We've been traveling for months. I'm writing this by firelight, huddled in a tent while the wind screams outside like something wounded. Nod-Krai is endless snow, endless grey, endless cold. The kind of cold that seeps into your bones and stays there.
You would hate it. You always complained about Mondstadt winters, even our mild ones. I remember that one year when it snowed for three days straight, and you refused to leave the cathedral except for absolute necessities. I brought you soup every evening "from the kitchen," but really I made it myself, burning my hands on the pot, ruining three batches before I got it right.
You never asked who made it. You just thanked the cook and drank it by the fire, wrapped in blankets, your nose red from the cold that snuck through the ancient windows. I wonder if you still get soup brought to you. I wonder if anyone makes it just the way you like it, extra pepper, hold the onions, with bread for dipping.
Probably. You're easy to love. You always were. The others are asleep. I should sleep too. Tomorrow we push further north. I should be thinking about strategy, about survival, about the mission. Instead, I'm thinking about your laugh. The way it echoes in the cathedral during choir practice, even when you're trying to be quiet. The way it used to make me smile, no matter how terrible my day was.
I haven't heard it in so long.
—V
To the girl who made me promise to come back
You never actually made that promise. I realize that now, writing this. You never asked me to come back. You never asked me for anything. But I remember something you said once, years ago, when we were sitting on the city walls watching the sunset. You said, "The world is so big, Varka. I hope you get to see all of it." And I said, "I hope you're here when I get back." You laughed and bumped your shoulder against mine. "Where else would I be?" Here. There. Everywhere but where I can reach you.
We found ruins today. Ancient things, buried under the ice. The kind of place that makes the hair on your arms stand up, that makes you feel like you're being watched by something older than the gods. I went inside alone because I needed a moment away from the men. Away from the constant pressure of leading, of deciding, of being the one they look to when things go wrong.
Inside, the walls were covered in paintings. Faded, crumbling, but still visible. People dancing. People praying. People loving. I stood there for a long time, looking at a painting of a man and a woman with their arms around each other, their faces turned together, their bodies curved toward each other like they couldn't bear to be apart. And I thought about you.
I thought about all the times I could have held you. All the times I could have turned my face toward yours. All the chances I let slip away because I was too scared, too careful, too convinced that your path and mine could never cross. I was wrong. I know that now. But knowing doesn't change anything. You're still there, in your cathedral, living your life. I'm still here, in this frozen wasteland, living mine.
And neither of us will ever be the people in that painting.
—V
To the girl who never liked silence
You used to hate silence. Remember? You'd fill every empty moment with humming, with chatter, with questions you didn't really want answered. "Why is the sky blue?" "Where do the birds go when it rains?" "Do you think the wind gets lonely?" I asked you once why you couldn't just be quiet. You thought about it for a long moment and then you said, "Because if I'm quiet, I might miss something important. Someone might say something, and I won't hear it. Someone might need me, and I won't know." You always needed to be needed. That's why you became a nun, I think. Not because you were particularly holy, but because you needed to be useful. To matter. To be the person someone turns to when they're scared or sad or alone.
I turned to you once. Do you remember? It was after my first real battle. I was seventeen, and I'd killed a man, an enemy, a threat, someone who would have killed me if I hadn't acted first. I know it was justified. I know it was necessary. But knowing doesn't stop the dreams. I found you in the garden, late at night. You were supposed to be in bed since novices had strict rules, but you were there, sitting on the bench, looking at the stars. You didn't ask why I was crying. You didn't ask what happened. You just moved over, made room, and sat with me until the sky started to lighten.
I didn't say thank you. I should have said thank you. Here in Nod-Krai, the silence is endless. Acres of white, miles of nothing, hours of wind and snow and the sound of my own breathing. I've learned to tolerate it, even appreciate it. But sometimes, late at night, I miss your voice. I miss the way you filled the world with sound, with life, with yourself. I wonder if you're quiet now. I wonder if the years have taught you to sit with silence, the way they've taught me. I hope not. I hope you're still humming during chores, still chattering at the orphans, still filling every empty space with the sound of being alive.
Someone should.
—V
To the girl who loved the wind
Today we climbed the highest peak in the region. The weather cleared unexpectedly, the first clear day in months, and from the summit, we could see forever. Mountains and valleys and rivers, all of it white, all of it frozen, all of it beautiful in a way that hurt to look at. The wind up there was fierce. It tore at our clothes, our faces. Some of the men had to turn back. But I stayed at the summit for a long time, just letting it howl around me. And I thought about you.
You always loved the wind. When we were children, you'd stand on the city walls with your arms spread wide, eyes closed, letting it whip your hair and dress around you. "Can you feel it?" you'd shout over the gale. "It's alive, Varka. It's alive." I never understood what you meant. Wind was wind, just air moving from one place to another.
But today, standing on that peak, I understood. The wind up here doesn't care about you. It doesn't know you exist. It tears through you like you're nothing, like you're less than nothing, and for a moment you understand your place in the world. You're small. You're temporary. You're a breath, here and then gone. But you're also here. Right now, in this moment, you're alive. The wind proves it, because you can feel it, can fight it, can stand against it and refuse to fall.
You taught me that. You taught me that being alive means feeling things, even when those things hurt. Even when they tear through you and leave you gasping. I'm still standing. Still fighting. Still refusing to fall.
But gods, I miss you. I miss you like the wind misses the places it can't reach.
—V
To the girl I should have told
One of my men died today.
His name was Henrik. He was twenty-three, from a farming family near Springvale. He joined the Knights because he wanted to see the world, to prove himself, to make his parents proud. He had a sweetheart back home, a girl named Liesl who he wrote to every week, even when we had to burn precious supplies to keep the ink from freezing.
We were crossing a glacier. The ice gave way. One moment he was there, walking beside me, complaining about the cold. The next, he was gone. We couldn't even recover the body. I had to write the letter to his parents tonight. To Liesl. To tell them that their son, their sweetheart, their Henrik won't be coming home. It's the worst part of this job. Worse than the cold, worse than the fighting, worse than anything. Sitting here with a pen and paper, trying to find words that will somehow make it better, knowing there are no words that will make it better. I thought about you while I wrote. I thought about all the letters I've written you over the years, all the words I've put on paper that you'll never read. And I wondered: if I died tomorrow, if the ice swallowed me the way it swallowed Henrik, would anyone write you a letter about me?
Would they tell you that I thought about you every day? That I carried you with me through every storm, every frozen night? That the only thing that kept me going sometimes was the hope that one day, somehow, I'd find a way to tell you? Probably not. They'd write a formal letter, full of duty and honor and empty phrases. They wouldn't mention the way your laugh sounds like bells. They wouldn't mention the barn during thunderstorms. They wouldn't mention the wooden birds hidden in the garden wall. Only I know those things. Only I remember. And if I die here, in this frozen wasteland, those memories die with me.
I should have told you. I should have said the words out loud, where someone else could hear them, where they could survive beyond me. But I was a coward. I am a coward. Still writing letters I'll never send, still hoping you'll somehow know, still too afraid to take the one step that would change everything. Henrik won't get to be a coward anymore. He won't get to make mistakes or have regrets or wish he'd done things differently. I will. I'll carry this cowardice with me for the rest of my life.
Unless...
No. There is no unless. There never was.
—V
To the girl who probably forgot me
It's been years since I saw the cathedral, since I walked the streets of Mondstadt, since I stood outside your window watching your shadow move across the curtain. Four years since I left that bird in the garden wall. I wonder if you found it. I wonder if you've found any of them. Probably not. You have more important things to think about.
We've found something. Something wrong. Traces of the Abyss. Not just traces. Something active. Something growing. I've seen the Abyss before. We all have. But this is different. This is old. This is patient. This has been waiting. I'm sending a message back to Mondstadt. Official report, full of careful words and measured assessments. But the truth is simpler: I'm afraid. Not for myself, I've made peace with whatever happens to me. But for the men under my command. For the people back home. For you.
If the Abyss rises here, none of us will be safe. Not me in Nod-Krai. Not you in your cathedral. Not anyone. I should tell you to run. To leave Mondstadt, to go somewhere far away, to protect yourself. But I know you won't. You'll stay with your orphans, your prayers, your duty. You'll stay because that's who you are, the girl who couldn't bear to miss something important, who had to be there when someone needed her. I need you. I've always needed you.
But I'll never say it. And you'll never know.
—V
To the girl who gave me courage
The Abyss rose today.
Not fully. Not completely. But enough. They came pouring through, creatures of shadow and corruption, things that should not exist. We fought for hours. We lost good men. I killed more of them than I can count. I'll dream about them tonight. I always do. But I'm still here. Still standing. Still fighting.
When we were children, you used to call me brave. Remember? After I fought those older boys who were teasing you, after I stood up to your mother when she was unfair, after I climbed the tallest tree in Mondstadt just because you said you wanted to see what the world looked like from up high. I wasn't brave. I was terrified, every time. I just didn't want you to know. But you knew. You always knew. And you called me brave anyway, because you understood that courage isn't about not being afraid. It's about being afraid and doing it anyway. I'm afraid now. More afraid than I've ever been. The Abyss is here, and it's growing, and I don't know if we can stop it.
But I'm still fighting. Still standing. Still refusing to fall. Because somewhere, in a cathedral in Mondstadt, you're probably praying. Not for me, you don't know what's happening, but for someone. For the orphans, for the sick, for the world. You're on your knees, hands folded, eyes closed, And somehow that gives me strength.
I can believe that I'll see you again.
One more day. One more fight. That's all I need to get through. Just one more.
—V
To the girl who taught me how to hope
The fighting has been constant for months. The Abyss pushes. We push back. They push again. We're losing ground, slowly, but we're losing it. I've stopped counting the dead. That's terrible, isn't it? That I can no longer put numbers to the faces, to the names, to the families who will never see their sons again. I still write the letters. I just don't count anymore. But tonight, for the first time in weeks, there's a lull. The rifts are quiet. The creatures have withdrawn. My men are sleeping. Actually sleeping, not just pretending.
And I'm sitting here, writing to you, because it's the only thing that keeps me sane. I found something today. In the ruins of an old watchtower, buried under centuries of ice. A book. A journal, really, written by someone long dead. A knight, I think, from some forgotten order. He wrote about his home, his family, the woman he loved. He never went home. I found his bones in the tower, still wrapped in his cloak, the journal clutched to his chest. I read the last entry. He wrote: "If anyone finds this, tell her I thought of her at the end. Tell her I loved her. Tell her I'm sorry I couldn't come home." I buried him in the ice. Said a few words. Took his journal.
And I thought: that's going to be me. Someday, somewhere, I'm going to die alone, and no one will know that I thought of you at the end. No one will tell you that I loved you. No one will say I'm sorry. Unless I write it. Unless I say it. Unless I stop being a coward. I'm going to come home. I'm going to find you. And I'm going to tell you everything.
I promise.
—V
To the girl who waits
Do you wait? Do you ever think about me, wonder where I am, hope I'm alive? Or have you moved on, found peace, forgotten the boy who used to climb and leave birds in your wall?
I don't know. I'll never know. But I hope you wait. Just a little. Just enough.
The Abyss is retreating. We're pushing them back. It's slow, brutal work, but we're winning. The rifts are closing. The corruption is receding. Another year, maybe two, and we can go home. Home. I've been gone so long I barely remember what it feels like. Warmth. Green things growing. The sound of the fountain in the square. Your voice. I remember your voice. I could never forget your voice. Someday, when I come home, I'll find you. And I'll say the words.
I'm coming home. Wait for me.
—V
To the girl in all of my letters
The Abyss is broken. Not destroyed, you can't destroy the Abyss, but driven back, sealed away, pushed into the dark places where it belongs. The rifts are closed. The corruption is fading. We've won. We're coming home. I'm writing this on the last night in Nod-Krai. Tomorrow we begin the long journey south. Years of cold and death and fighting. Years of writing letters I never sent.
I have a stack of them now. Thick as my arm. Every one addressed to you. Every one full of things I should have said out loud, years ago, when we were young and stupid and had all the time in the world. I'm going to give them to you. I don't know how. I don't know when. I don't know if you'll even want them. But I'm going to find you, and I'm going to put this stack of paper in your hands, and I'm going to say… I don't know what I'm going to say. Maybe nothing. Maybe the letters will say it for me.
But I'm done being a coward. I'm done hiding in shadows and leaving birds in walls. I'm done pretending that what I feel for you is anything less than everything. I love you. I've always loved you. I will love you until I don't exist anymore. And when I get home, you're going to know it.
You make soup in a big bowl. You serve it in a smaller bowl. And then you convey it, using a spoon, to your mouth. But what is the spoon? Simply a smaller bowl still
You make soup in a big bowl. You serve it in a smaller bowl. And then you convey it, using a spoon, to your mouth. But what is the spoon? Simply a smaller bowl still
Silver Tongued [tattoo artist /piercer!Phainon x f!reader]
Summary: You've booked a second appointment for a tattoo, and you were supposed to be scheduled with Mydei. However, someone else wants your attention, and he doesn't stop short to get what he wants.
Warnings: Body mods, modern au, tattoo artist/piercer!Phainon, tattoo artist!Mydei, possessive Phainon if you squint, author knows nothing about body mod procedures so she's taking an educated guess, erm a little suggestive
─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───
3:24pm
The shop smells of fresh ink and soap, the ambient buzz of the machines in the background.
It wasn’t your first time getting a tattoo here. It was your friend who recommended this place, a lady named Aglaea specifically. You booked your first tattoo with her, and enjoyed the vibes and hospitality here ever since. This time you were getting a second one, just a small but pretty design, just on the back of your shoulder.
“Hey, you’re on time.”
A voice greets you, making you look up from your phone as you double check if you got your appointment time right.
A man comes out of the back, the curtains draping over him as he walks through. His hair was blonde and unruly, with hints of red at the end. With his short sleeved shirt, you could see his own tattoos- red and crawling up his arms, likely continuing down his back and chest. He walks towards you, his expression stoic.
“(Y/n) right?” He asks, and you nod. You glance at his name tag which reads Mydei, confirming this was the right appointment. “You’re lucky. The shop barely has appointments booked for today, so you’ll have the whole place to yourself.”
“Really? Lucky me then.” You beam as you reply. You always liked how the employees here were good at making light conversation. It was a part of the job you suppose, since some people needed it to distract them from the pain. “Is it just you then, today?”
Mydei shakes his head. “No, just me and some other guy.”
Suddenly, you both hear the subtle padding of footsteps, and you turn your head towards the source.
A man practically slides into view from the shop’s break room, abruptly stopping as he takes notice of something that’s intriguing him. His whitish hair was a mess, but somehow tossed as if it was natural for a modelling gig. He wore a short sleeved white t-shirt, that was tight enough to cling to his body. If you looked closely, you could see the golden sun tattoo just peeking from the collar of his shirt on his neck. His piercings glints under the shop lights- a metal stud through his eyebrow. You watch as his eyes land on you, seeing the exact moment a switch flips inside him.
“Mydei.” The man walks closer, now at Mydei’s side. His voice drawls, a grin creeping up on his handsome face- a sign of trouble. “You never tell me when cute people come in the shop.”
The words leave his lips almost as a whine, and his eyes lazily flicker over to you before looking at Mydei again. You look down at his chest, where a name tag reads Phainon. So this was the other guy.
“Out.” Mydei’s words are curt, and you watch as a man who was all cool and professional slowly slip into a more honest yet tempered version of himself. You smile, amused at the banter that Mydei likely doesn't want to start.
"What's your name pretty girl?" Phainon swivels a rolling chair around, sitting with his arms folded across the backrest. He turns to you, his blue eyes piercing through you.
He glances at your form laying on the black leather chair. He shamelessly looks down at your shoulder, where you've pulled one of the straps of your top off, likely where you were going to get the tattoo. He couldn't help himself as he lets his gaze wander elsewhere-
"(Y/n)." You reply with a sweet smile. Mydei almost loses his customer service composure, but sadly wasn't quick enough to stop you from giving Phainon your name. From the way Phainon's eyes light up and his smirk gets wider, he knew he was going to have a field day.
"(Y/n)..." he repeats, purposely drawling out your name. He grins as he tests your name out on his lips. Phainon seems to daydream for a bit, and his eyes drifts down to your body, wondering where your first tattoo was. Speaking of, he feels slightly offended that Aglaea put you with Mydei. How could Aglaea schedule you with Mydei? He does tattoos too you know!
"Have you ever gotten a piercing? You know, people say I'm rather good with my hands- the best actually." Phainon boasts, his expression confident. You knew Phainon was probably trying to get more sales and improve the shop's reputation. Still, he gets a giggle out of you, which only makes him wish you were his client more.
"You'd look good with one, or two... A piercing, I mean. I could do it for you..." His voice turns low and soft. You keep looking at him, for a lack of better judgement. He's grinning, lazily and confident, like he's trying very hard to be charming while not seeming desperate. In the corner of your eye you can see Mydei, very close to losing it. But even so, Phainon's eyes held something more honest- hope. Hope that you would pay attention to him. That you would come to him.
As he talks, your gaze drifts down to his mouth- or more specifically inside his mouth. A small glint of silver catches your eye and you realize, oh, he has a tongue piercing.
"Is that a tongue piercing?" You ask, interrupting Mydei and Phainon's bickering. Phainon straightens up, his grin turning so smug again, his tongue deliberately pressing against the inside of his cheek. Mydei let's out an exhale.
"Yeah," he replies, grinning wickedly.
"Oh for fuck's sake-"
"Ever kissed someone with one?" Phainon asks shamelessly. He tilts his head at you, ignoring Mydei completely. The tone in which he asked the question was as if he was pretending to be cute and innocent. But you knew what he was really asking- what he wanted. And it was trouble.
"That's enough." Mydei puts his hands out as if to stop whatever this was. He grips the backrest of Phainon's chair, pushing him to roll away, then quickly turning his attention back to you. "Don't answer that."
You bite back a giggle, though you're not sure if you would have liked to continue that conversation or not. The heat creeping up your neck lingers for a while longer as your brain oh so helpfully fills you with that information on Phainon's tongue piercing. That and- the thought that he probably knows exactly how to use it.
A sweet talker.
Phainon's smirk only widens as he catches your reaction, hoping that you were thinking about him as much as he's thinking of you right now. Mydei then rolls himself between you and Phainon, purposely blocking the view.
"I'm so sorry." Mydei says, pinching the crease between his brows. "He gets delusional sometimes. Ignore him- he thinks he's charming but he's not."
You gently laugh at Mydei's attempt at damage control. You listen as he takes a deep breath in, like he's bracing himself for the worst from you. "If you want him gone, I can kick him out. No offence taken."
A whiny hey... comes from behind Mydei, but he ignores it. For a moment, Mydei looks like he was expecting to lose the sale. Maybe even get a bad review from you like, "I will not be coming here again. The piercer with the white hair and dumb face is unhinged." which will then get him a stern scolding from Aglaea. He's about to spiral into what the consequences might be.
Somehow, you end up letting out a laugh.
"It's fine. I don't mind him." You say, shrugging. Mydei's eyes widen, to which Phainon's light up- even more victorious as he soaks in Mydei's reaction.
"Are you sure?" Mydei enunciates, in utter disbelief of what you've just unleashed by giving him permission to be here. You nod, claiming that you should be fine, enjoying the hustle and bustle of the shop from last time. A guy with a tongue piercing shouldn't shake you from the background.
"Fine. You know the drill already, so I'll take your word for it." Mydei lets out an exhausted sigh as he explains, disinfecting his hands and beginning to put on the black latex gloves. "If you need a break or need him to shut up, just say the word."
"Will do." You smile and nod, and Phainon pouts at that.
You watch as Phainon begins to retreat back into the break room, but not before giving you one last look with a teasing glint in his eye.
"I'll be right here, if you change your mind." Phainon softly promises, his hand mindlessly tapping on the doorframe.
The truth is, he's seen you once before, he remembers. It was a long while ago, and he just caught a glimpse of you saying bye to Aglaea. You must have just gotten a tattoo from her, he thinks, since that was likely how it came into this shop. God, you were gorgeous. He didn't dare pester his own boss about a client, deeming you just a beauty that got away.
Now that you were here again, he wasn't letting you go.
⋆⋅☼⋅⋆
Twenty minutes pass, and half your tattoo was already done if you had to guess.
You've been lying down in the chair, mindlessly scrolling on your phone as Mydei ran the machine, concentrated as he inked your skin. He had been quite accommodating, letting you play your music on his speaker and having light conversation with you.
"Is he always like that?" You ask.
"Who?"
"Phainon." You clarify. Mydei scoffs a little, and just from that you knew there was some history between them. Still, you couldn't lie but admit you intrigued by him.
"If you're talking about the stupidity, yes." Mydei replies. You snort. "Known him since we were in high school. After that we both decided to get into tattoos. He was annoying then too."
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah. Just with less piercings and a bad hair cut. You should've seen when he went blonde."
You laugh, about to comment and ask further. But speak of the devil-
"I heard my name. Mydei were you talking about me again?" Phainon emerges from the back room again, making Mydei roll his eyes. You spot him holding a plastic water bottle and a white cloth.
Phainon notices Mydei giving him the silent treatment this time- which was valid since he had to stay focused. Phainon continues anyway. "If I'm correct, it should be time for a break now."
Mydei pauses, checking the time then clicking his tongue. He shuts off the machine as he takes in Phainon's words. Mydei had asked you a few minutes ago if you needed a break, to which you said no. But Phainon was correct, it was the halfway point, and usually they were obligated to give their clients a break. He feels a migraine coming soon.
"He's right." Mydei sighs, setting the tattoo gun down. "Five minutes okay? Stretch, drink some water. Don't speak to strange people."
You hum as a reply to Mydei who backs off for a moment. Phainon immediately takes the opportunity, swooping in like he's been waiting for an eternity.
"Hey." He says, giving his best smile, handing you the water bottle in his hands. How polite you think. You grin, looking at him already knowing he was trying to get brownie points.
"Hey." You say after taking a sip. Phainon sits on his rolling chair again, scooting himself closer to you.
"You doing okay?" He asks. You note the white cloth in his hand- it's a damp towel, likely also for you, you suspect.
"Mhm." There's a teasing lilt to your voice- a little indulgent, like you're humouring him. Even so, you're not bothering to hide your smile. So Phainon doesn't bother hiding his either.
Fuck, it does things to him.
"If you need anything, I can always bring it to you. I could bring you more water." He's leaning forward, his attention completely on you. He folds the towel in his hands neatly, setting it within your reach like an offering. "And I brought a warm towel."
You want to laugh, you really do. But a part of you finds it endearing that this hot guy with piercings and tattoos was acting like a puppy chasing you. His smirk was always so troublesome, but you couldn't deny there was a part of you that liked it.
"I could even hold your hand if it gets painful-"
Somewhere in the shop, Mydei spits out his imaginary water.
Your eyes blink at Phainon, and suddenly you feel your skin getting warm. His eyes became dark and dangerous and you realize something. Oh. He actually means it.
"Okay, that's enough of that." Mydei comes in again before you could say anything, gripping Phainon's shoulder and attempting to pull him away.
"My client is on break." Phainon pouts, as if defending you.
"I'm sorry- your client?" Mydei grimaces.
"It sounds like you want to do my tattoo." You say, smiling.
"I do." He admits softly. And somehow you can't be mad at that. "I would, if you let me."
Mydei looks like he's reached his limits, and pinches his brows, shaking his head. He remains professional and against his better judgement, he presents an offer. "Do you want him to do your tattoo?"
"Are you sure?" You ask Mydei. You weren't sure if this was allowed for tattoo shops. Mydei shrugs, knowing there was no one booked for the next hour at least.
"He doesn't have anything better to do right now. And he gets real stupid, in case it wasn't obvious." Mydei crosses his arms, not holding back as he lets out catty remarks at his friend. Phainon smiles at Mydei, as if to thank him for being a good wing man, then looks at you, anticipating what your answer would be.
"Sure, why not?" You finally reply.
And it was at that moment, that Mydei knew: You liked Phainon too.
Holy- Phainon was insufferable. He always has been, showing off and going the extra mile to butter up clients to get more sales and repeat customers. It was annoying that it worked. But it was even more annoying that you were indulging in his antics. What Mydei didn't expect was for someone to come and match his freak.
"Do not flirt with the client." Mydei says as he doesn't even try to argue. Phainon has a smug look on his face. So smug that he knew Mydei wouldn't like to see it, thus retreating early.
"You know I wouldn't." Phainon drawls out teasingly. You let out a small laugh, and Phainon looks triumphant like he's just won something.
"You gonna take care of me?" You ask, in a sugary sweet tone you knew Phainon would like. He smirks, already slipping on his latex gloves to get started.
"Of course I will."
⋆⋅☼⋅⋆
Minutes pass, and Phainon was uncharacteristically quiet. He was quick to set up and study the design you wanted. His hands were soft and steady, just like he said earlier. Mydei would come in sometimes, hovering over him briefly to make sure he was doing his job. Your tattoo was almost done.
"You doing okay?" He would ask periodically. "Breathing steady?"
"Mhm, doing good." You'd reply.
"Good." You feel his thumb stroke your skin as if to respond to you. "I'd notice otherwise."
You try to glance at him to read him, though he was partially out of your line of sight. Whatever suspicions you had that he was just playing with you was slowly slipping- replaced by something warmer. If this wasn't a tattoo, you might have even thought this was... something else. Something more intimate and indulgent.
"Almost done, baby." He whispered. You swear you're unsure if you were hallucinating, but you swear you saw a faint blush coat his cheeks, like he was flustered that he let that petname slip out.
Soon enough, the buzzing of the machine flips off, and Phainon starts wiping the area with practiced care. Despite the long twenty minutes, he still has the energy to give you a gentle smile as he wraps your arm.
"All done." Phainon announces, and he helps you sit up, holding up a mirror to let you see how it looks. "Looks good."
"Yeah, it does. Thank you." You look at the inked area, pleased with the work he's finished. When you back at him, you realize he's been staring down at you, not the tattoo. A part of you suspects the "Looks good" wasn't for your tattoo.
Phainon nods at your praise, continuing the aftercare. "Keep it wrapped for a few hours. Wash it softly with mild soap. Be gentle and don't scratch it or touch it with dirty hands." Phainon's instructions are gentle but strict. You've heard it before during your first time. Still, there's something different about how he says it. He skillfully finishes wrapping, and flips back to his flirty self. "Wouldn't want your pretty skin to get ruined."
His tone was low, dangerous as ever. You shake your head at him.
You sit up from the chair, but yelp slightly when Phainon comes around, taking your hand and tugging you up. His other hand supports your back, steadying after laying down for so long. He plucks mindlessly at the strap of your top, looking at you with hazy eyes as he reminds you to fix it.
You're stunned for second, quickly composing yourself before walking to the counter to pay. Mydei returns to do the bookkeeping, knowing he'll probably need to lie a little to Aglaea about this.
He processes your payment, but slowly gets annoyed again as he recognizes the big white haired nuisance. Phainon doesn't even pretend to be ashamed as he hovers, his tall frame leaning in and eyes glued to you, even though he didn't need to be here. Finally, Mydei gives up, exhaling long and tired.
"Is there anything else you want to say?" Mydei asks flatly. "Before I kick you back to prepare for piercings."
"Yes." Phainon doesn't hesitate, stepping closer to you from the counter. Phainon's eyes never leave yours. He's trying so badly to behave, the yearning practically radiating off him. With a beauty like you, it makes it difficult for him to sit still and do nothing.
"You're really pretty. I mean- I've noticed. But when I see you up close? Fuck, it just does things to me." Phainon breathes out. It catches you off guard with how easily he said it, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
"If you ever want to come back for a piercing, or another tattoo- anything you want, I'll do it. For free even." You stare at him- half amused, half flustered. Phainon keeps going. "I'll even buy you earrings."
God, he was bold.
"You can't- that's not how this works." Mydei interrupts, scolding him. He can't even believe the words coming out of his friends mouth. "Aglaea would kill you."
"She doesn't have to know." Phainon says, casually waving Mydei off.
"She knows everything." Mydei remarks. And Phainons shoulders droop, suddenly remembering his boss's wrath.
"Okay- slight miscalculation there." Phainon says sheepishly, but he remains determined, leaning in as he drops his voice again. "Still... I think it would look good on you. The piercing, I mean."
A pause. Your eyes close as you smile softly. You don't mean to smile, you really don't. You've never had a guy try this hard for you, and you know what? You don't hate it. Phainon was hot and flustered at the same time, like he's pulling all the tricks out of his sleeve to impress you.
You sigh, finally deciding to indulge him.
“What about dinner then?” You ask, smiling with your hands on your hips.
“Yeah, what about it?” Phainon blinks enthusiastically. But you look closely, and realize there are no thoughts behind his eyes. You want to giggle- he really is stupid. Still cute though.
Mydei leans back against his chair, glancing at Phainon to address the utter stupidity he just heard. Sometimes he wishes he could record these moments to show his clients who get infatuated with him to show that he’s a lost cause. Not that they’d believe him anyway.
“She means how about you ask her to dinner first, dumbass.”
"Oh."
You giggle as you watch the exact moment a light bulb turns on in his head. Mydei smacks his own forehead, utterly disappointed at his clueless friend.
Phainon snaps out of his shock, and straightens up. "Dinner... with me?" He asks, pointing to himself. You giggle, nodding. Then Phainon grins, boyish and breathless as he answers you. "Yeah- I'd really like that."
"Then it's settled." You beam, taking your purse to leave. A promise hanging heavy in the air.
And for the first time today, Phainon stops talking. Because he finally got exactly what he wanted.
⋆⋅☼⋅⋆
Bonus(?):
You leave the tattoo shop, smiling and satisfied as you walk out with your new beautiful tattoo, ready to show off once it healed. Plus, the hot man you happened to get-
"Hey- wait up!"
Or... did you?
"Hm?" You turn around to answer the voice. You hadn't walked too far from the shop, but Phainon still jogs after you. His hair still messy and gloves still on, clearly not bothered about it when he had more important matters.
He slows down as he sees you stop for him. He's breathless, but he doesn't care.
"You didn't give me your number." He says.
You tilt your head sweetly, considering his words. But perhaps this was exactly what you wanted.
"You have it." You reply, to which Phainon gives you a confused look. "It's with your friend."
"Mydei?"
"Mhm, you can get it from him."
And then it finally hits him as he realizes what you meant. Phainon's jaw tightens. He smiles through clenched teeth as he hears your words. You knew you had him wrapped around your finger, and watched as he did everything in his power to make you look at him- grabbing you water and towels, stealing you from Mydei at the halfway point... You must have noticed how much of a nuisance he was to Mydei. So this was your way of making things even, for everyone. And now-
You wanted him to work for it.
"Sweetheart-" He doesn't even stop the petnames this time. He didn't care anymore, wanting to indulge in your little game fully like you did for him. "You know he wouldn't let me go through the client book."
"Yeah." You lightly shrug, which only riles Phainon up more. He exhales again, shaking his head.
"You're a temptress," He accuses, slowly walking closer towards you. "You know that right? Making me work this hard."
"Maybe. But it shouldn't be too hard for you." You reply, batting your lashes at him, and letting him get close. "You are a sweet talker, aren't you?"
A grin spreads across his face again, slow and dangerous. Still, his smile is tight, because despite the annoyance, he was undeniably hooked.
"I don't like that I want you more when you say that." He seethes, his eyes never leaving yours.
"Then get my number the right way." You say, eyes wide and innocent, but your lips absolutely sinful as you keep teasing him. If only he could kiss the grin off your face right now, things would be so much easier for him. But just as you've proven, it was the first time he had seen the consequences of his own tongue.
You finally turn to leave, your hips swaying, and perfume tauntingly teasing him as it wafts into his nose. He watches you go, his jaw still tight. Annoyed. Attracted. Hopelessly committed to the chase.
God you were smart, and oh how it turns him on.
─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───
Notes:
POIDH ch5 is killing me so have this instead
Another fic I wrote on the train, so once again sorry if this sucks
tangentwithtanner
vaporwave
dailybridgerton
annaxmalina
theartofmadeline
romaincrisis
andulkaphoto
