Mydei had sat through countless battle strategy meetings with Phainon. There had never been a battle they failed to win. And yet, as he listened to Phainon drone on about his newest strategy to pursue the girl of his dreams, he couldn’t help but feel that his comrade was fighting a losing battle.
In the background of the tavern, the band's lead singer sang a song about unrequited love. How ironic. Mydei thought, as he took a huge chug of his beer. If he was going to have to play the role of an unlicensed therapist then he'd need a drink.
Mydei caught the bartender’s attention from across the tavern. “Another beer please.” After a brief pause, he added “Preferably several more.”
“I just..” Slamming his mug down on the wooden table, Phainon let out a defeated sigh. “What am I doing wrong?” He asked, genuinely perplexed.
“I wish I knew so we can put an end to my misery.”
Phainon’s lower lip jutted out into a pout. The ladies out in town might have taken pity on him. But Mydei couldn't be bothered. Especially not when Phainon simply refused to take his advice. “Just tell her! Say those magic words. How hard can it be?”
“Well.. Actions speak louder than words!”
“Yeah? And how's that working out for you?”
“Its….”
The memories flooded back into Phainon's alcohol induced mind.
A month ago
The orphanage yard buzzed with cheerful noise beneath the warm afternoon sun. Children ran across the grass in chaotic little groups, enjoying the simple freedom of childhood.
Somewhere nearby, someone screamed triumphantly about winning a game of tag. Mydei winced as his ears began ringing. He was starting to regret coming.
“Remind me again,” Mydei deadpanned as two boys climbed all over him, one currently dangling from his arm like it was a monkey bar, “exactly why did I agree to this?”
Beside him, Phainon sat on the grass, nimble fingers braiding a little girl's hair into French braids, all while she played with her dolls on his lap.
“Moral support.” he answered immediately. Mydei stared at him flatly. “You’re volunteering at an orphanage. What part of this requires moral support?”
Silence was his only answer. Mydei followed Phainon's line of sight instinctively and immediately understood the reason for the lack of response.
There you were.
You were all smiles as you chased several children through the grass.
A little girl suddenly grabbed onto your skirt. “Big sister!” Her muddy little handprints stained the fabric instantly but you didn’t seem to mind in the slightest.
Instead, you bent down to her eye level with that same gentle smile that always left Phainon feeling all warm and tingly on the inside.
“Yes, my dear?”
Your fingers carefully adjusted the crooked butterfly clip nestled in the little girl’s hair.
“For you!” she chirped proudly, holding up several badly arranged wildflowers. Your entire expression softened. “These are lovely.”
An angel. You were an absolute angel. If he stared long enough, he swore he could almost see a halo glowing above your head.
Beside him, Mydei sighed quietly.
“She’s beautiful,” Phainon murmured before he could stop himself.
The little girl in his lap perked up, her wide brown eyes darting between Phainon and you curiously. Then, taking a deep breath, she shouted at the very top of her tiny lungs. “BIG SISTER! THERE’S A MAN HERE WHO THINKS YOU’RE BEAUTIFUL!”
The entire yard fell silent.
“M-me?” you squeaked. Your startled gaze landed directly on Phainon. Beside him, Mydei nearly choked trying to suppress his laughter.
Meanwhile, Phainon had gone completely red.
“You’re always so encouraging,” you said shyly, your cheeks turning the same shade of red. “Most people aren’t usually that kind with their words.”
Only for you.
“…Encouraging,” Phainon echoed weakly.
Completely oblivious to his suffering, you smiled brightly at him. “Yeah!”
Mydei pinched the bridge of his nose. “Alright,” he muttered while grabbing Phainon by the back of his collar. “We’re leaving before you embarrass yourself any further.”
“I wasn’t embarrassing myself,” Phainon protested weakly while being dragged away. Mydei glanced back at him. “You confessed in front of thirty children.”
“…That’s fair.”
A week ago
“Repeat it again.” Arms crossed over his chest, Mydei looked every bit like the serious immortal warrior that he was. “What should you say when you meet her?”
“I bought these specifically for you.” Inhale. Exhale. Breathe. “Because you mentioned liking them before and I - ”
“Phainon?”
This was it. Mydei was certain of it. This was the moment that his friend would succeed, so that he could stop being a wingman and carry on with his life.
“For you because you like it.”
A brown paper bag was shoved into your hands. Even closed, you could smell the freshly baked pastries within it. And not just any pastries, but the ones from a little bakery across town that often sold out within minutes.
“You remembered?” You beamed, your face lighting up with joy. “Your memory is amazing!”
Phainon’s expression softened immediately at your smile.
“Well,” he said quietly, “things about the people important to me tend to stay on my mind.”
Beside him, Mydei nodded approvingly. Sure he had botched it with his flimsy opening but he had recovered well. Surely this time you'd get the hint.
“Ah. You truly are a member of the Chrysos Heirs for a reason.” You mused, impressed. “I can't even remember what I had for lunch yesterday.”
Phainon stopped functioning entirely.
Mydei needed a drink.
A few days ago
“Oof”
“Oh. Phainon? I-I'm so sorry”
Phainon looked down to see you - mascara smudged, eyes red and nose runny. You looked absolutely devastated. Phainon felt his heart ache at the sight of you. He reached out, hand hovering in mid air, before it settled gently on your head.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
The both of you ended up at that tavern. Phainon listened patiently as you spilled your heart out about the disastrous date. “My date said I talk too much. That I eat too much…” You sniffled. “Maybe I really am not that likeable..”
THUD.
Phainon slams his drink down with so much force, half of it spills across the table. Your eyes widened.
“He doesn’t deserve your tears.” His voice came out sharper than intended.
Phainon inhaled slowly before continuing quieter this time. “You deserve someone who treats you properly.” His gaze lifted toward yours. “Someone who loves you exactly as you are.”
Your expression softened and for a moment hope surged through him.
“You’re right,” you said brightly, wiping away your tears with the back of your sleeve. “I should find someone like that.”
Phainon’s heartbeat quickened, anticipation building inside of him.
“Someone like you”
Phainon held his breath.
“You’re so kind and emotionally mature,” you continued earnestly. “Any girl would be lucky to date someone like you.”
Phainon stared at you in complete silence. He wanted to scream. To shout. To pull his hair out.
Instead, he forced a stiff smile onto his face.
“Right.. Someone like me”
As the flashbacks ended, Phainon's shoulders slumped in defeat.
“Well its… Not working out”
“Exactly!” Mydei slamed his mug down in frustration. The loud commotion drew a few curious glances their way.
“Well I can't exactly just walk up to y/n and tell her that I love her!”
Mydei's gaze focused over Phainon's shoulder, at the figure that was slowly approaching their table. His lips twitched slightly.
“And confess that I've been in love with her for months! How creepy is that?”
“Phainon?”
Mydei snorted, grabbed his mug, and gave his friend a clap on the shoulder. “Good luck.” Phainon sat frozen at the table. Eyes wide. Mouth opening and closing soundlessly. Very much like a goldfish.
“I don't think that it's creepy”
Phainon wasn't sure if it was the alcohol or the warm tavern lighting. But your cheeks were dusted with the prettiest shade of red. He prayed that this wasn't a drunken hallucination.
“I think that it's really romantic”
The rest, as they say, was history. Or so Mydei thought, as he found himself seated across Phainon in the same tavern once again. Between them sat a velvet box that was far too small for the outrageously large diamond that Phainon had somehow chosen.
“She just doesn't get it. I've been trying so hard to propose!”
; yandere, this is based on a cliche trope so do with that as you will, pathetic phainon but #he gets his way, plot device sunday, manipulation, brief mention of self-harm + suicide threat (it's used as a manipulation tactic), proofread to the best of my ability...
; becoming enamoured with phainon is an inevitability that you had no chance of ever resisting. but it stings how he'll never see you beyond a dear friend from kindergarten. the moment you move on, however, begins a shift in your dynamic with him -- he wants you back, desperately so.
; push-and-pull trope with phainon. oneshots masterlist can be seen here.
I. Love is a bitter fruit grown from trees.
“I’m Phainon! What’s your name?”
The first time you met him, his small hand reached out, waiting for you to take it. You did.
A duo is often composed of an extrovert and an introvert: at the age of seven, you knew full well who was who between you and your newfound friend, Phainon. He has a birthmark resembling that of the sun located at the side of his neck. It suits him well, you can’t think of anything but the sun when describing him. He shines like one, is warm like one, and basks everyone with his golden presence like one.
You wondered often: If he is the sun, then what would that make you?
Ideally, you’d be the complementary moon for him. During childhood, you tried to force it down your own throat by using the yellow crayon for him, and the blue one for you in your schoolwork doodles. Sun and moon, yellow and blue, light and dark – phainon and you. Growing up a bit more, you soon came to realise that you are no moon.
You’re more of a sunflower who basks in his sunlight and greedily soaks up all his affection. You’d hate to be the moon, for this meant you’d only rise when Phainon is gone – you prefer staying right by his side, a sidekick he can always count on.
A sidekick wearing your heart on your sleeves, shy but never quite ashamed of the sincere feelings you’ve held for him growing up. A flower bud that slowly unfurls into a full bloom.
As your mother would lovingly refer to you both, you are: “Two birds of a feather!”
Your childhood memories of Aedes Elysiae, blurry some of them may be, are bathed in everlasting gold. While Phainon dragged you off to go play heroes or look through Cyrene’s cards together, you remember dropping pollen of your romantic affection, scattered across planes of time like trails of breadcrumbs left for him to decipher.
While the sun dipped into the horizon, you inched closer to him day by day, the fluttering in your heart evolves into a palpitation you can never stop, and small gifts handcrafted to show your admiration all gently whispered to him to ‘please, take the hint’. But reminiscent of an immovable stone, Phainon remained blissfully oblivious to the signs.
Cyrene certainly got them; her narrowing eyes and poorly hidden giggles as she sent you and Phainon away were enough of a testament. “I’m not feeling well today, you two can go on without me!”
You’d linger at the edge of her front yard, unsure how to proceed with her help. At Phainon’s call however, you move to follow him – “okay, phai!” – trying to contain the dandelion seeds dancing around in your stomach when he leads you by the arm, not letting go despite arriving at your destination. You didn’t want to let go either, even with the sweat building up in your palm.
High school sprouts in your backyard as a tall and looming beanstalk that would force you both to grow up even more.
Phainon’s high-pitched voice starts cracking like eggshells, making way for a deeper tone yet still carrying that warm lilt he always had. You grow taller, still incomparable to Phainon’s own growth spurt, but a good few inches nonetheless. Your sense of style reshapes itself, old interests thrown out for newer ones, and the patch of land where you’d all play heroes together becomes forgotten, the trampled blades of grass outgrowing their original length.
You start favouring the comforts of your room over the blazing heat of the sun, beginning to find sweat as something you can’t stand and only coming out when Phainon pleads with you to do so.
He shines brighter in High School – his presence a beaming beacon of light as he walks through the hallways and enters classrooms. Being the sunflower that you are, you faithfully stayed by his side. Fawning crowds come and go, you don’t.
Your infatuation is exposed to those who aren’t Cyrene; childish people who never grew past the mental age of twelve tried to pick on you for always ‘Sticking to phainon like some damn leech! Don’t have any other personality traits or something?’ – the teasing didn’t last after Phainon punched one of them square in the face. His heroic act only dug your cove of feelings a little bit deeper.
He’s your best friend and first love, a pillar of comfort you grew up with – you can’t imagine your life without Phainon. You pick up more hobbies, he joins more clubs he never expected he would, and you share your new life experiences with each other during lunch. Sometimes separated, but never for too long.
Several months flicker by, and during one of your high school Valentine’s, you received gifts from men who aren’t just Phainon.
Despite his locker overflowing with pink, glittery love notes and heart-shaped chocolates handmade out of sincerity, his gaze was pinned to the white envelope and bouquet of flowers you carried - neither of them is from him. His own gift is already hanging off your backpack, the cute sunflower keychain that it is.
“From a friend?” He asks, finally closing his locker before he risks more glitter explosions on the ground.
“I doubt it,” He’s the only friend you have in this school, embarrassing it is to admit. Cyrene studies elsewhere. “But they’re cute.”
You see his tongue in cheek, and you dare let a seed of hope plant in the root of your heart. Is he… jealous? That makes you giddy. Tentatively, you ask, “You think so too, right, Phainon?”
He grimaces, glancing one last time at the items in your embrace before smiling, “Yeah, they are. Anyway, done with your locker? Let me carry your bag now.”
You nursed that seed of hope from then forth, slowly but steadily hoping more and more for the plausibility that he returns your feelings. It wouldn’t be too far off, surely – even if you’re not meant for each other in the end, you still want to try with him. You water that seed by dropping more subtle hints to Phainon, and you fertilize it by observing your best friend like an animal in a zoo, analyzing his minuscule actions and trying to correlate them to the mannerisms of ‘a guy with a secret crush on his best friend’.
To be young is to be naive.
You didn’t need much. A simple ‘you should go for it! I’ve been rooting for you two since we were all children!’ from Cyrene carved out your decision to confess to Phainon near the end of high school.
In the end, ripped straight from the dramas you watched out of curiosity, you confess to Phainon at the height of spring after getting your high school diplomas; the scent of flowers in full bloom makes you sick with nostalgia and nerves simultaneously. Your family is off conversing with his parents, while you dragged him to a secluded spot in the school.
“Uhm… I’ve liked you for a long time now, Phainon. I’m not expecting you to return my feelings but…” You leave it open-ended, too afraid to settle your confession definitively. You love him, actually - but love is a strong word that some don’t like to acknowledge. For his sake, you won’t either.
A warm, gentle spring can never stay for too long. In the same breath, you, too, are forced to abandon the sunlight you’ve known for several years at the sound of his discordant chuckle – the awkward smile etched on his face as his eyes could only look down at you in what you assume to be pity. You avert your gaze from his blue eyes, opting to stare into his birthmark instead.
“Hey, of course I like you too - you’re my best friend! But we can always stay as friends, (Y/N). You’re dear to me, you know – maybe not… like that, I just don’t want things to change between us.”
You experience the first and biggest heartbreak of your life just hours after graduating from High School. Your best friend Phainon does not reciprocate your feelings and instead wishes for your relationship to stay the same, locked into the tight box of ‘close friends’ he never plans on breaking. The seed-turned-plant of hope in your heart withers down to a sad, pathetic, dried-out flora.
That’s okay. You’ll be attending the same college as him, located far, far away – even if it’s not, you have to be okay.
After a few tense seconds of utter silence, you smile – the most carefree smile you can muster in that moment before enthusiastically nodding at him, “I get it! Don’t worry, Phainon. I totally get it. Uh, hey, I think Cyrene’s calling me. I have to take this phone call for a bit, okay? Let’s meet again later!”
You bury that confession six feet under in your backyard, covered and only seen by inches of soil as you maintain your close friendship with Phainon. Best friends, close friends, friends - you are not to cross these labels unless you want to lose your close companion.
The months of free time leading up to college are nothing unusual, you spend it as you would in the past: Phainon picking you up on the front porch to spend the entire day together. It’s either his or your room where you’ll pour sweating buckets over study materials and banter over multiplayer games on his console.
Your heart still beats like drums just being in his vicinity alone, and it took you days of preparation to act like you’re unbothered when he invites you to his room – the walls and shelves containing time capsules from years before. Pressed white daisies you gifted him on his 10th birthday peeks out as his bookmark, and your kindergarten doodle of him as the sun proudly hangs above his bed, displayed as if it’s an artifact from the Belobog museum.
The most heartwrenching item is the printed photo sitting on his desk: it’s little him kissing little you’s frosting-smudged cheek at your 10th birthday party. The shock on your face is captured and frozen in time, a memory you both laugh about every month or so. 10th birthday… It’s the same age you realized you see him as more than a friend.
Seeing it for the umpteenth time never fails to steal the air from you; the ache never gets easier. You wish you could truly put these romantic feelings to rest in a coffin and seal it shut with a lid, never to be opened again.
“Phainon, next time… let’s spend the day in my room.”
Seeing bits and pieces of you scattered around his room hurts more than him verbally rejecting you.
He grins, all teeth and gums, “Sure!”
Even branches grow into a tree of their own, just as a fledgling must leave its nest.
Spring came and went, high school a chapter closed, and you’re now faced with attending school – college, you remind yourself – an ocean away from the familiar warmth of Aedes Elysiae. The wheat fields that were once taller than you, and Phainon’s house right next door, are all left behind momentarily. You can’t pocket your hometown to bring with you in Penacony, but at least you still have Phainon.
“Everything all settled?” He gently lets go of your dorm’s wooden table, finally in its correct position, “This layout is fine, right?”
“It is,” You hand him a towel, itching to help with wiping off his sweat, “Thanks, Phainon. You didn’t have to.”
“I wanted to, anything for you.” Anything for his dear best friend. He bumps your side before sitting down on the living room couch. You wanted him to stick around for a while longer, but he’s already out your door the moment he hears knocking – (‘Oh, your roommate is here! I need to go now, remember to call me if you need help, okay?’ he pats your shoulder on the way out).
The patch of skin he briefly touched is still tingling when you see someone walk into the living room, luggage trailing right behind. A tall man with shoulder-length gray hair and kind yellow eyes bows at you in greeting. He’s wearing a white cardigan with a blue sweater layered on top, the color alone reminds you of your best friend despite the difference in shades.
“Hello, pardon my sudden entrance.”
“...Hi.” You don’t know how to talk to people beyond Phainon and Cyrene - standing around here is making you shy. “Uhm, my name is (Y/N)... And you are…?”
“I am Sunday,” His hand extends for a handshake, and you hesitantly follow suit. “It’s nice to meet you. I sincerely hope we get along.”
You nod, staring back into pools of liquid gold while shaking his hand, “...Yeah, let’s. And please don’t mind the succulents on the windowsill.”
II. A close-knit friendship withers in winter, in its place is a new one.
Much to your relief, your late-night fears of college drifting you and Phainon apart never come to fruition. It has the opposite effect, to your surprise. While not overdramatically countries away, Phainon’s dorm room is located a floor above - a notable difference from when he lived right next door to you. The added distance often has him visiting your dorm room unprompted (you kindly gave him a spare key in case of emergencies) and easily greeting a confused Sunday who just finished his classes for the day.
“Call me your third roommate – don’t worry, I help around!” He’d joke. Using your headband to push his hair back, wearing a baggy tee and gray sweatpants, he makes himself at home. Sometimes doing his own homework or brings his gaming laptop along.
After the initial surprise, Sunday doesn’t mind his company – you certainly don’t.
Phainon waits for you outside your room to walk you to your class. He makes sure you sit next to him in the classes you share. He insists you join the same org as him, and predictably, you do.
You thought you buried your less-than-platonic feelings in your backyard; you truly did. But Phainon has your heart racing in excitement, rekindling the dying plant of hope. You still like him – truthfully, you never stopped liking him. But he’s closer to you now, a feat you previously thought to be impossible. The distance of just one floor away makes the heart grow fonder. Dare you say, clingy?
But he still remains your best friend. A clingy, touchy one – but your best friend.
Sunday discusses the topic on a slow, school-less night. You’re in the living room finishing up the last plates needed to be washed when he suddenly chimes in, tone so sure of his words, “Ah yes, I remember now. Please tell your boyfriend to stop entering our dorm past 11 PM. The faculty recently deployed a curfew; it’s best we follow it.”
The ceramic plate in your grasp almost crashes headfirst to the floor. Out of embarrassment, you refuse to turn around and face your roommate. Boyfriend. Boyfriend – only one person is a repeat visitor in your dorm room, and he’s nowhere near being your boyfriend.
Meekly, you set the plate down and correct him, “I’ll inform him, but… Phainon isn’t my boyfriend.”
The silence that wafts through is more humiliation added onto your person. What is Sunday’s facial expression right now? Shocked? Ashamed?
He answers it for you: “I see… This is quite mortifying, my sincere apologies.”
But he continues, “You’re both seen together, and he visits you so often, not to mention the look you give him, I got the idea that…– I’ll be sure to be more observant in the future. Again, my apologies.”
You’re wiping the table clean when you reply, still angling your face away from his eyes, “It’s cool, don’t worry! No harm done! He and I are best friends, yes… the bestest of friends!”
You feel him raise a brow at that, “I don’t mean to pry, however…”
Cyrene always chided you for being a pushover to those around you. In this instance, you hear her disapproving frown when you fold like a wet blanket, “Whatever it is you’re thinking –! I-it’s probably right.”
Wilted sunflower that you are, you mournfully face him with your eyes cast to the floor.
“Ah. You like him?”
You slowly nod, a small part relieved that you now have someone other than Cyrene and Phainon to confide in. “Don’t tell him, please…”
“I won’t.”
His bird-patterned socks enter at the edge of your vision. You slowly look up. Sunday is smiling at you, although a bit tense.
“Perhaps it’s a bit presumptuous of me considering we’ve only known each other for months, but… They say I’m a good listener. If you don’t mind, could you tell me more?”
Sunday is a Borage you unknowingly planted, only just now peaking when you need him most. Sitting side by side on your dorm’s small couch, you gain an outsider’s perspective on your years-long pining toward your best friend. He hears of your rejection and your still-persisting feelings. In the end, the advice he offered to you is:
“He may not be stringing you along, but you still foster optimism in your heart. So long as you have it, you will never move forward past him. If you ask me… confess your love a second time; see if his opinion has changed.”
You gulp, “And if it doesn’t?”
He smiles, gentle as clouds, “Broaden your horizons permanently. Distance yourself if you must; your friendship will pick up once you settle your feelings.”
Winter break is soon; you’ll need to go back to Aedes Elysiae in a few months’ time. However…
“If it’s not too much. A-and I understand if you don’t want to! But, could I ask you to…”
Sunday’s words continuously ring in your mind, repeating circles of “confess your feelings” and “move on,” bouncing off of one another. Coincidentally, Sunday is out for the afternoon when Phainon barges in a week later. Something about groupmates and ‘I wish you were in my group’ going one ear and out the other as you nod at him in autopilot.
He picks up on your unusual behavior not even ten minutes in: brows raised to the sky and eerily getting close and personal with you, surveying your face like it’d shed off all the information he wanted. He retracts a few seconds later, less joking when he inquires, “Something on your mind? Missing Aedes Elysiae?”
Hanging out in your small room like this, laptop opened to play some pirated action movie, and his class notes scattered around your bedsheets like autumn leaves…
You shake your head, feeling the moment to follow Sunday’s advice is now. This is the perfect timing – no one else around to see your heartbroken face for a second time, and no Cyrene to find out you’re still hung up on him.
“Phainon, I…”
He shuffles closer to hear you better – traitorously, your heart clenches in affection.
“Yeah?”
You take a deep breath, screwing your eyes shut, “I think I still like you.”
You downplay your feelings for the sake of self-preservation.
His breath hitches, “Ah, that’s–”
“I’m sorry.” You apologize, remorseful at how uncomfortable he must be right now, “I really tried, but…” A deep breath, “I’ll move on from you soon, I promise.”
“Oh,” He pauses, staring anywhere but you, “Uhm… sure… I’m glad to have you, you know?”
You nod, too fragile to face him.
“...You’re my first and dearest friend. I truly, really liked you, Phainon.” You love him so, so much.
“You’re dear to me too, (Y/N). Forever and now.”
You’ve heard of an overseas concept where a person in an unrequited love begins to sprout flowers from within. You feel like that’s happening to you right now with how unbearable heartbreak is – yellow carnations form from your bleeding heart, wormwood seizes your lungs in a tight embrace, and pink roses mix with your innards. You’d cough out the feeling if you could; empty your stomach from all the flowers and be done with it.
Predictably, he’s quiet for the rest of the movie – immediately coming up with an excuse to leave your dorm room once the end credits begin rolling in. You break down into tears the moment the lock clicks in place. You cry for hours, long enough for Sunday to come knocking on your door, just knowing you managed to do it when he readily offers you one of his giantmoa pudding tarts.
Eyes puffy and snot stubbornly running down your nose, you take a bite and thank him through a mouthful of pastry. It’d taste better if you weren’t so heartbroken. He gently rubs your shoulder in comfort.
“It’ll be alright.”
He’s right– But Phainon has always been by your side, rain or shine. The following months of his absence from your life will be akin to traversing a dark forest with no light source.
But there’s light at the end of the tunnel; a rainbow at the end of the storm. When Sunday bans you from helping with chores that night, you know your heart will heal in time.
“Thanks a lot… sunny.”
He sighs in mock exasperation, “I see you’ve picked up on that nickname too.”
The sun: Hey
The sun: I came by to pick you up, but for some reason, your roommate’s lying?? He said you’re not going back to aedes elsysiae this winter break??? And even denied me entry???
The sun: crazy right
The sun: I’m right outside waiting for you rn
The sun: do you need help packing up? :)
You: No
You: He’s telling the truth.
You: I won’t be visiting for now. Maybe next semester break?
The sun: what
You haven’t read his one-word reply when your phone screen transitions to his contact photo with the text ‘The sun is calling…’ displayed below. You sigh, reluctantly sliding to accept.
Even with speakers turned off, you hear him without pressing your phone against your ear: “What do you mean? Did something happen? Don’t tell me you and Auntie got into a fight…! Don’t worry! I’ll act as the middleman like usu-”
“Uhm, Phainon.” You cut him off.
“Yeah?”
“It’s nothing like that, please don’t worry.”
He makes a sound of confusion, painfully close to a whimper, “So then… why aren’t you visiting our hometown with me?”
‘Because you’ll be there’. “I’m busy with some personal matters here, don’t worry about me. Say hi to Snowy for me, okay?”
“No, I’m absolutely worrying about you – why not? We can visit them next week instead if you’re busy! Why… why miss out on the entire winter break? Won’t you be lonely here?”
“No need, really! Enjoy aedes elysiae for me. And I won’t be lonely… so stop worrying so much, you softie. I have sunny with me.”
“Sunny…? Your… roommate? Sunday? He’s staying here for winter break, too?” He sounds choked up from disbelief; you’d laugh if you weren’t battling against your resurfacing feelings from talking to him on the phone. “Sunday?”
“Yes, he’ll take care of me. I swear!”
“...”
“...Phainon? Hello?” Did the call end already? You glance at your screen, frowning in confusion when you see that the call is still ongoing. Is he lagging on his end? But he’s outside of your dorm.
“If you need anything,” He suddenly speaks up, “Anything – call me, please. If your roommate makes you sad or uncomfortable, tell me right away, okay? I’ll call you again the moment I’m back in aedes elysiae. Stay safe, I love you.”
You flinch at his admission, knowing he didn’t mean it like that. “I know… safe travels, Phainon.”
“Phai.”
“Huh?”
“Call me Phai. Isn’t that what you used to call me when we were kids? Why’d you stop? Let’s bring it back.”
You lie on your bed, pondering. Why did you stop? Perhaps since it was a nickname from childhood, you let go of it and hoped Phainon would see you more than just… his friend since diapers. It didn’t work, clearly. So you don’t mind calling him that shortened version of his name again.
“Okay… Safe travels, Phai.”
Despite your emboldened decision to ask Sunday to stay with you for winter break, you are still, at your core, a floundering, unsociable person. You have your moments of being bold and talkative, but it’s covered by leaves of quietude and slight stutters. Socializing is not your strong suit. You’re not at the stage of being totally buddy-buddy with your roommate, but you’re slowly getting there.
You’re glad you met Sunday. Had it not been for him, you’d still be stuck hopelessly waiting for a day that’ll never come: a phantom of the past who’s deathly afraid of the future.
In the span of your one-month winter break, you get to know him better. Your roommate, who’s a good listener is also an older brother to an idol trainee, has a trio of friends who roomed together a floor below, likes sweet treats, and ran away from his adoptive home after graduating high school.
Your profound respect for him only continued to grow, stalking across your shared living space like vines. While Phainon’s frequent messages, consisting of photos of Snowy and with your family, make your heart twinge in longing, you start ignoring them for the sake of progress. He’ll understand why a year from now, and you’ll both laugh about it like the pair of best friends that you are.
It’s not college that severs you and Phainon – it’s you yourself, but cutting off a branch from your tree does not mean it’s not allowed to grow a new one elsewhere.
III. Regret burgeons when everything is said and done.
Phainon: I feel like you’ve been ignoring me lately
Phainon: did i upset you?
Phainon: :(
The Gen Ed courses you took unfortunately landed you in some shared classes with Phainon, the ‘sunny’ side is that they’re coincidentally shared with Sunday and his friends too. While anxious to meet them, he thoroughly reassured you that they’re nice people.
“Just a bit… loud sometimes, I hope you don’t mind.”
You don’t – anything to physically get away from Phainon. The one-month winter break may have taught you to rely on him less, but seeing his face again might cause you to fold like paper. You see his unanswered texts when you close your eyes, and you hear his voice right before falling asleep. You miss him, but you know what must be done. When he visited you on the day he left Amphoreus, you and Sunday worked together to pretend that no one was home when he came knocking.
He stayed for hours before going up to his own floor.
Sunday sits on your left, and Stelle (A kind woman who is equal parts loud and quiet) on the other. Your new acquaintances, Dan Heng and March, are a row ahead.
“I’m telling you, (Y/N)! His nickname really is cold dragon young!” March cackles in glee, making sure to point at Dan Heng in case you mistake him for someone else.
He sighs, pushing down her finger, “That was years ago, ignore her.”
Stelle chimes in, lazily putting her arm around your shoulder and whispering, “Because he had a gachalife phase.”
Cold dragon young hisses at her to shut up, only to serve as fuel for their cackling. Entertained, you let out a few quiet chuckles at their display. You can never be happy for too long – the classroom door soon creaks open, familiar tufts of white hair peeking in not a moment later. The realization that it’s undoubtedly Phainon has you clammoring in your seat, sitting rigidly in attention.
Sunday gently rubs your back, eases you back to your current circle, “Sorry…!”
“It’s okay,” Sunday whispers back, sharing a glance with you.
“Ah, (Y/N)! There you are! …And everyone too, hello!” Phainon greets from up front, hastily picking up his pace to approach your group. Facing you, he wastes no time firing question after question, “Where were you yesterday? I waited around and tried the key you gave me, but it never worked. Did your phone break? I couldn’t contact you at all, I was so worried!”
You smile at him, “Phai, it’s nice to see you again. Sorry, we replaced our door lock with a new key for uhm… security reasons, I’ll try to get you a copy sometime. And no… my phone isn’t broken, I was just busy, that’s all!”
He audibly sighs in relief, “...Really? That’s good, I’m glad – I missed you a lot, you know?” Adjusting his bag strap, he nods to the unoccupied seats in the first row, “Come on, let’s sit.”
Stelle speaks for you, “Oh, she’s sitting with us.”
“Hm? Right! Thank you for taking care of my best friend, but we’ll get going now–”
“No, I mean she’ll be sitting with us for this class.”
Phainon cocks his head, “Sorry, can you repeat that?”
You meekly affirm, “I’m… sitting with them. Uh, they’re really nice people, Sunny introduced me to them!”
“Huh?” He looks like a lost puppy on the verge of being abandoned, “...But our seats?”
“I’ll try to sit with you next class!”
You never do: you sit next to Sunday in every single one of them and ignored the bewildered look on his face each time.
He beelines for you after dismissal, blue eyes so eager and pleading when he asks you, “Let’s get dinner together – my treat? It feels like I haven’t seen you in centuries.”
Only for you to scratch the back of your neck while shyly glancing at Sunday, “Uhm… we already made plans after school. Sorry, Phai.”
“Oh.” He steps back, letting you and Sunday pass by him to exit the room. His blue eyes follow you until they can no longer. He’s left with himself when he mutters a bitter:
“I get it.”
“Let me carry that for–Ah, Sunday…?”
He’s a second too late, but Phainon stubbornly clings to your bag’s front pocket, the very bag that the other man is already carrying. You’re still in the bathroom when the professor dismisses the class. Wanting to do his usual duties, Phainon intended to carry your bag, but… someone already beat him to it. He smiles at him, polite, “Thank you friend, but this is my thing, if you’d kindly–”
Sunday’s lips curve into what seems to be a subtle mocking smile. He adjusts the bag closer to him before replying in a composed manner, “How chivalrous of you, Mister Phainon. However, it’s not needed. See? I can carry it for her.”
Phainon sees it as clear as day.
Childishly, Phainon thinks he can carry it better than he can. It’s what he always did for you since he still had some front teeth missing from his smile; it’s his duty, not your roommate’s.
He reluctantly lets go when you come up to thank Sunday, blatantly ignoring him just a few feet away. He enthusiastically greets you, but he still exists as an imaginary concept in your eyes. What’s going on? He ponders, watching you chat the world away with Sunday. What happened before that winter break that caused you to grow so tremendously close to that guy?
You said you’d give him a new copy of your dorm room, but you’re ignoring his texts, his existence, and now – letting someone else do his usual tasks. Seriously, what gives?
Sunday’s like a parasite attached to your hip, it unnerves and angers him.
Are you… trying to replace him? His heart threatens to drop just thinking about it.
You are.
You really are trying to replace him.
Sunday sits next to you, Sunday lives with you, Sunday eats with you, Sunday talks with you, Sunday texts with you, Sunday laughs with you – Sunday, Sunday, Sunday. Every time Phainon is graced with your presence, it’s quick to sour from your notable companion by your side. Your new circle of friends too, Phainon sees it clear as day: you don’t want to be around them all the time, but you’re peer pressured into doing so. If Phainon was by your side… he would never let that happen to you. He’d punch them into blindness should they dare to make you inconvenienced.
Two birds of a feather – that’s what your mother called him and you; A pair of friends so close you might as well be surgically joined together in the middle. When Seven-year-old Phainon first reached his hand out to you, his brain made the unconscious decision then: you’d be the sole irrevocable part of his life. Flowers bloom and wilt; they experience a death of their own, but under Phainon’s sunlight, he promised that he’d never let a sunflower like you be anything less than thriving.
He leads and you follow, only so he’d be the one to be hurt when braving the unknown. Scraped knees and bruised patches of skin are nothing because you’re not hurt. He shines so you can comfortably hide under the shade – you’re not one for people, he’s fine with the way you are. He adjusts around your existence, a mold of comfort that perfectly fits none but you. He’s your fighter and protector; sword and shield.
Skipping rocks on a nearby lake, teasing Cyrene together, learning from her cards, and discovering a poor abandoned puppy who’d eventually be named ‘Snowy’ are all flashing strings of gold in his memories. Moments carefully planted in his own backyard and given regular maintenance lest he start neglecting them.
He loves you, of course he does. There is nothing purer in this world than his love for you; a flower specially nursed and plucked with the greatest care, a beauty unparalleled for it’s fertilized from the attention you give him.
His room is centered around you; every item given is meticulously stored and given a special place. The polaroids, your kindergarten doodles, the yellow crayon you gave him, your pressed flowers – he still has it, even brought it along to his dorm room, where he’s embraced by your presence every night before sleep.
He loves you, he knows this well in his heart. But Phainon is simply not worthy of you. His love for you is pure, but he, as a person, is not. A Sun can also be damaging to a sunflower – he is the filth to your pure, the actual darkness to light.
Is it because he refused your confession?
He preserves you because no one in this world deserves you, but must you go ahead and leave him for dead after finding a different sun to seek sunlight from? Sunday… What does he have that Phainon does not? Is he the better him? Does he treat you kinder than he does?
Sunday is far from holy. If anything, he’s the snake trying to lure you to ruin. You don’t know any better, hence why Phainon is around to protect you.
This is the biggest hurdle you’ve ever faced together, and with his heart being torn to pieces by your own gardening tools, he’ll make it right. He always goes. He’ll make it right, he’ll get you back, and you two can go back to the way you were before – just more. Friends, best friends, lovers, and everything in between, he’ll really give it all to you.
Sunday… he’s poisoned your mind and rotted your pure soul.
IV. Desperation is a seed planted long, long ago – still, spring has come.
“Thank you for sticking around me, Phai.”
He’s in the middle of starting a pathetic fire using twigs and stone when you blurt out cryptic words beside him. He hums, continuing his work, “What do you mean?”
“Can’t I just say thank you!?” You fluster, quickly standing up and pacing around the edge of the forest you’ve both designated as your ‘camping spot’. “Mama said it’s nice to thank people! So, uhm- Thank you for being my friend, please never stop being my best friend!”
“‘Course I won’t!” Phainon toothily grins, fluffy white hair gaining a slight bounce from his motions, “Actually, I’ll never abandon you. Ever!”
You perk up like a sunflower dancing in the wind, “Really!?”
The fire finally sparks to life, small and flickering, but there. At the same time, he gazes deep into your eyes, only knowing nothing else but sincerity at such an age, “Yeah! I swear!”
A yelp, “Swearing is bad!”
Phainon’s eyes blearily blink open. His dorm room ceiling greets him first thing in the morning.
Phainon stalks and waits like a deep-rooted willow tree. He strikes you when he knows you’re alone. It all falls into place: Sunday’s trainee sister is dropping by a different part of the city over the weekend; logic dictates that he won’t be coming back to his dorm room until then. Your close proximity to Sunday will momentarily halt, and Phainon is free to slither in.
He’s waiting right outside your dorm room when you come walking down the long hallway, body language all languid, even resting against the paint-chipped-off stone pillar while scrolling through his social media feed,
You’d spot him a mile away, and seeing him without Sunday by your side makes you hesitate all the more. Your stupid heart starts speeding up.
“I just want to talk,” He calls out, pocketing his phone to spread his arms wide open for a hug, “I miss you, is that too much to ask?”
You slowly approach him, “...No, I missed you too.”
You miss him. You miss him. You miss him. You’ve been holding your sunflower keychain as your nightly comfort or else you’d end up calling his number at 2AM.
Phainon smiles, “Really?”
“Yes… I just got… busy, that’s all.”
He smiles wider, blue eyes turning into blue crescent moons, “Really?”
“...Yes.” His hand gently pries the keys out of your hand; you let him.
You hear Sunday screaming on your shoulder, telling you that your blase facade is quickly falling apart at the seams. Unaffected, unmoved – you’re nothing of the sort right now. You’re a sunflower who’s been starved of sunlight for too long.
With a click, he opens the door for you and softly murmurs, “You’ve been hurting me a lot, (Y/N). You know that, right? But I understand, it’s not your fault.”
You step inside, letting him lock the door behind you, “Not… my fault?”
He shakes his head, hands firmly grasping your shoulders to sit you down on the small couch, “No, it’s mine.”
Immediately you protest, “That’s not true. We just drifted apart–”
Once more, he shakes his head before dropping to his knees before you. The sudden action makes you flinch, growing more uncertain when he holds your hand in his. Phainon’s eyes remind you of butterfly peas from up this close.
He’s quiet when he speaks, a deep rasp overtaking his voice, “...You don’t understand: I miss you.”
You understand what he means. Parting from Phainon is disorienting. Sunday and his friends may have managed to fill the gaping hole in your heart, but it’s incomparable to Phainon’s presence.
Are you a bad person for not finding satisfaction in your new friends? Are you sick in the end to still crave Phainon after being rejected two times? Is this what you get for sticking by his side for so long?
It probably is.
He continues speaking, “I’m sorry for pushing you away; that was never my intention. I wasn’t lying when I said you’re dear to me – you truly are. I never wanted to pursue a relationship with you because, I– I’m too lowly for you. I would only taint you.”
You run your fingers through his hair, reminiscing on all the nights you spent crying over him – it still bleeds like fresh wounds, “That’s ridiculous, Phainon. I’m not some holy figure to taint. I was just a girl in love with her best friend.”
“I know, but you… you don’t understand. You’re everything to me.”
“You’re everything to me, too, that’s why I loved you.” You still do.
“I think of you first thing in the morning. I brush my hair wondering how I’ll spend the day with you, I eat breakfast, thinking what yours was at that moment, I kept the homework you threw out. I always hate it when I talk to people who aren’t you. I still have the twigs you gave me during our 6th-grade camping trip. The reason the pressed flowers you were planning on giving out during high school graduation went missing is that I stole them – I didn’t want anyone else owning a piece of you. I make sure you’re always too shy to stand up for yourself, so I can save you. I… I hate Sunday for getting into your head – it should only be me. I should be the one you hate and love. I – you’re everything to me.”
His grip tightens, blunt fingernails leaving indents on your own fingers, “I’m sorry, please take me back. I’m unworthy, but I don’t want you to be happy with anyone else. I started cutting myself when you refused to go back to Aedes Elysiae with me – I don’t want to live in a world where I’m not by your side. Please. I’ll kill myself if you leave me. I really will.”
You swallow the saliva pooling in your mouth.
If Phainon is the sun that will incinerate you and your sunflower petals for getting too close, the question it poses is: Do you let it consume you whole? To forgive and forget, starting a new chapter anew in the process?
kill yourself or let (y/n) have friends and move on from you
Summary: Leon and you have been friends for years until you move in together and some things start to change.
The first thing Leon thought about when moving to Raccoon City and taking his new job as a police officer was, inevitably, you.
His best friend, the girl he'd loved since kindergarten when the other kids used to make fun of him because he preferred playing dolls with you, the girl who grew up into a beautiful woman, no, the most beautiful woman, the girl who always turned his world upside down just by existing in it.
God, he loved you.
Painfully so.
Everyone seemed to know that by now, except for you.
Cliché? Yeah, a curse Leon hadn't managed to break yet.
You were clueless about it, even when it was the most obvious thing in the world. He was the sweetest man you'd ever met, always spoiling you with flowers and letters, and don't even get me started on all those little details he somehow always remembered. Not to mention he was always by your side, hugging you like a lifeline, reaching for your hand every chance he got, and even kissing your cheeks or forehead every now and then.
But in your mind, that was because he was Leon.
Your Leon, your best friend, and now, your roommate.
Because what perfect timing from the universe that you got offered a job in Raccoon City right around the time he graduated. It was a divine sign for him, all the stars in the sky aligning to give him the perfect excuse to live with you. By now, he had pictured living with you a hundred times. You two would be happily married, all laughs and kisses and hugs and kisses and more kisses. Maybe two or three children would come along with all those kisses, who knows?
Yeah, well, this was not exactly as imagined, you were not married, and you definitely hadn't kissed...
Yet... Hopefully.
And then there was one extra problem for him to add to the list.
He never knew how freaking hard it would be to live with you.
You were not a bad roommate. You paid your share on time, you made food for both of you, the apartment was magically always clean and smelled good. You were perfect, and that was the damn problem.
Walking around wearing your pajamas, didn't you know he was still a man? That was tempting his natural instincts. Oh, and also your hoodies, your sweatpants, your jeans, your shirts, oh, don't forget the shorts, and Leon's clothes, and... yeah, you get the point.
Everything you did felt different now, at least for him. Watching you do mundane chores had his heart hammering against his chest like crazy because it felt so domestic, and you looked so gorgeous when you cooked and mopped and swept and fuck, Leon was losing his mind.
The best part, for him of course, was when everyone thought you were a couple, when someone confused you for newlyweds, like the time your neighbor, an old lady who lived upstairs, called you the most adorable young couple she had ever met. You had barely opened your mouth to deny it when Leon just smiled like a lovestruck puppy and simply said, "Thanks," with the proudest tone on Earth.
That should have given you a clue about his feelings.
It did not.
Even when that was not an isolated incident. It happened every time someone got confused or assumed the two of you were together. You thought maybe it was because Leon probably didn't want to bother with explanations.
He agreed because he did think you were the most adorable young couple.
Or at least you could be.
Your apartment was always adorned with bouquets, and he called them "friendship flowers" every time you asked what the special occasion was.
What everyone saw was a man so in love he was willing to spend half his rookie salary on you without a second thought.
What you saw was just Leon being as sweet as always.
Your doubts arrived the first time you saw him jealous.
Leon was not the type to get mad at anyone. If he ever did, it would probably last less than an hour. But then he saw you arrive home with a box of chocolates from work.
A heart-shaped box of chocolates.
"Huh," he murmured, trying to hide how jealousy was twisting his guts. "Chocolates?"
"Yeah," you answered casually. "Some guy from work brought me these. Very kind of him."
"You hate chocolate," he said, rolling his eyes.
How could someone not know that interesting little fact about you? He had memorized it back in kindergarten.
"Yeah, but it seemed rude to tell him that," you said, leaving the box on the counter.
Leon reached for it and opened it, looking at the chocolates inside like they had personally betrayed him.
"They look awful. You should throw them away. They might be poisoned."
Very subtle, Leon.
"Huh, really?" you asked, getting closer to inspect them. They looked perfectly fine to you. "I was planning to give them to you."
Fuck.
How could he be so jealous and still manage to blush like a teenager just because of that?
"I don't want them," he hurried to say, crossing his arms over the counter and looking literally anywhere except at you. He could feel even his ears burning right now. "Some jerk gave you those. Freak doesn't even know you don't like them."
He seemed to think for a moment, the idea alone making his blood boil.
"You know what? Maybe I should eat them. That would teach him a lesson."
"A lesson?" you asked, completely confused. "For what?"
"For giving my girl damn chocolates. I bet he doesn't even know your favorite flower. That's why he got you a generic box of chocolates. And it's pink. You don't even like pink."
Now he was just rambling.
But you were still stuck on the my girl part.
"Yeah, he should've brought you flowers. Those make you smile, not these stupid chocolates."
"Leon?" you called softly, finally starting to put the pieces together.
"I was going to throw them away, but I think I'll eat them just to piss him off. You'll go tomorrow and when he asks if you liked them, you need to tell him I ate them. Me. Leon. Your boyfriend. Your Leon."
"Boyfriend?"
Oh fuck.
"Um, yeah, like... guy best friend?"
There was no way out of this.
This was the end.
He was ready to abort the mission, maybe fake a fainting spell, maybe have a real one. His face was burning, his eyes squeezed shut as he tried to disappear, begging for the world to swallow him whole. Everything was spinning around him. You were going to be mad. You were going to leave. You were never going to look at him the same way again.
And then you were kissing him.
Wait, you were kissing him.
Fucking hell, you were kissing him.
It took a solid minute for him to understand what was happening before his hands found your waist like his body had been begging him to do that for years.
And then he kissed you back.
You felt warm and real and somehow even better than every impossible fantasy he had built in his head over the years. The kiss was everything he had spent so long dreaming about and somehow it still managed to exceed every expectation.
His brain completely short-circuited.
That day, his dreams came true.
Not the married part, not the kids...
Yet.
The kissing part, a lot of it.
And after that? He did eat those fucking chocolates, and the worst part was that they tasted damn good.
tags: star wars au!!!, forbidden love, Anaxa mentioned, fem reader, first meeting, slight angst, slightly ooc
a/n: if someone don’t know, the term padawan refers to aspiring Jedi knights whose education is overseen by a Jedi master.
𑣲————————————————————————
The young Padawan, Phainon of Aedes Elysiae, a student of the Jedi Anaxagoras who isone of The Council of Elders. It was his master who sent Phainon to guard Her Highness the Princess.
The Council of Elders, showing no response to the protests that you are fine and do not need a Padawan who has not yet completed his training, sent Phainon to protect you.
You feel his gentle voice, as he come in and takes off his mask. Blue eyes stare back at you, shining from the most stunning face you'd ever seen - flawless skin, tousled hair... you blush through your stupor.
He shifts slightly on his knee, suddenly self-conscious under your gaze. The sunlight spills through the trees and paints silver streaks across his face, his soft jawline still unpracticed by battle's harshness.
"Padawans are trained to protect," he says quietly, almost sheepishly - a tone you've never heard before. "But l... I didn't expect my princess to be so beautiful."
Jedi Anaxagoras looks at the two utterly flustered faces, clearing his throat quietly to draw their attention away from each other. “Your Majesty, I’ll leave Phainon with you. Phainon, take care of princess.”
The days blurred into weeks—weeks into months-and still, Phainon never left your side.
Not as a Padawan bound by duty. But as the man who chose to be near you every sunrise and sunset. The one who walked beside you through autumn gardens where leaves crunched underfoot... sat at formal dinners while his golden eyes scanned guests for threats-even though none ever dared approach with ill intent around him.
He fell in love with the way you hummed while reading letters and documents by the window... how you absentmindedly reached for his hand when watching theater plays... even that small frown you made when tasting bitter herbs in tea, he'd immediately memorize it and have your next cup perfectly sweetened.
Each kindness from him grew less about duty, and more about wanting to make you happy.
He started noticing things, how your hair caught moonlight like spun silver, the sound of your laugh during private jokes only he understood, how peaceful it felt just sitting beside you while silence wrapped around them both like a blanket.
And one evening, as rain tapped gently against palace windows, it hit him fully
This wasn't devotion as servant anymore. This was something deeper. Something eternal. But every time, Anaxa would bring him back down to earth with just one sentence:
“You remember the Jedi Code, don’t you? No attachments, young Padawan.”
Anaxa stood before him, robed in dark hues of a Jedi Master, his face unreadable as stone beneath moonlight filtering through temple arches. His voice was calm... but it carried the weight of centuries-old doctrine, discipline over desire, detachment above love.
Phainon had known this day might come, the moment when his past collided violently with his present heart.
And now here he was-standing rigidly before Anaxa while images of you flashed behind his eyes. You smiling at breakfast... your hand brushing against his during walks... how you kissed him goodnight without hesitation.
A life built on attachment.
Once, he had dreamed of becoming one-a guardian of peace, a wielder of light. He'd trained under Anaxa with discipline and focus, mastering control over emotions, or so he thought. The Jedi Code was his foundation: There is no emotion, there is peace. No attachments. No passion that could cloud judgment or lead to suffering.
You weren't just an attachment, you were everything. The reason his heart beat faster now than it ever did during meditation on sacred hillsides.
You gave him warmth when detachment demanded coldness, love where the Jedi taught restraint. He could not-would not-regret loving you.
But Anaxa stood before him demanding loyalty to doctrine... while you lived in every breath Phainon took without realizing it.
got second hand embarrassment (positive) while reading about streamer!phainon like this fucking guyyyy……………… surprised he hasnt suggested playing together privately……..
i'm sure streamer phainon has sane, normal fans, so every time they see him acting horrendous on stream all because of a username, then i'm sure they HAD to put down the device and pace around for a couple of seconds because whew..... it's embarrassing. new torture method just dropped, and it's watching world-famous streamer neikos496 act like a total simp in live 4k HD.
like man.... they're just here for the gameplay, why are they actually third wheeling (340956th wheeling?) right now 😭😭
furthermore, it's much, much more embarrassing when one is a longtime viewer of his that they know the patterns and behavioral switch-up phainon does when you're in the stream versus when you're not.
exhibit a: phainon deepens his voice. it's incredibly hard to detect for most of his streaming career, but phainon's voice is actually boyish and light compared to the deep, masculine one he adapts for his streams. he primarily does it because he wants to appeal to you, a la asmr alpha boyfriend approach. viewers only realized it wasn't his actual voice was when phainon made his first ever real-life appearance for a convention, and the voice that spoke through the mic was... actually charming instead of sounding like a hot daddy dom alpha? wowie. he also tends to get real close to his mic during his streams so his masculine tone is added on by asmr elements... just put the gameplay in the bag.
exhibit b: phainon acts dumber when you're in the stream. it's an ongoing joke within his fanbase that phainon cannot, for the life of him, solve puzzles in games and that he needs at least five retries to get it right. but he tends to abuse your helpful nature by making you solve the puzzle in the stream chat while he kicks back and lounges in his gaming chair. if he happens to have a cheesy smile on his face watching you type away, don't point it out...... but his clueless act falls apart when his fans watched him solve a complicated equation in under ten seconds during a variety show. literally had thousands looking him up until someone who attended the same university as him dug up a yearbook containing phainon's graduation picture. educated king who acts like a dumbfuck for his crush.....
exhibit c: phainon's shoves his face into the entire screen every minute or two. literally thirst-trapping in real-time. it would make his streams unbearable to watch had it been anyone else, but since he has actual features that justify him hogging the screen, he's let off the hook. fishes for compliments, too. essentially holds you hostage by saying he won't start the game until you tell him he looked handsome that day >:((( play in his face and tell him he looks ugly.
exhibit d: phainon acts frighteningly lifeless when you're not there. the most unsettling and telling distinction between when you're in the stream and when you're not. there had been scares in the past where phainon thought you weren't in the stream, only to sigh and smile in relief once he's informed that you just happen to not feel like typing. however, recently, it seems that you had stopped watching him for good.... and his behavior clearly reflects that. he's less human and akin to a lifeless husk during his game streams, focusing more on completing the level or task than engaging with the community. he reads the superchats and the spams, but it's obvious he'd rather be anywhere else. his fans ask about you, why you're not in the stream, why you're not being mentioned by him, but all it does is to further sour his mood. once had to end a stream early because he almost lost his cool at the ignorant people in his chat, telling him that they were glad you stopped being so active in his fanbase, etc.
but, hey... he's back to being all jolly and silly lately. that's good! :)
; you like your side piece, phainon, more than your boyfriend.
; yandere, modern au, female (y/n), (y/n) is NOT a good person, well. they both aren't, allusions to sex but nothing explicit, brief mention of baby trapping, cheating (phainon is the third party, but spiritually your main?), unhealthy relationship, not proofread.
unknown number: are we still on this friday?
you're in bed when your phone buzzes, the text briefly flashing across your screen.
receiving such a message should alarm any person. fortunately, your salacious lifestyle makes it easy to put a name to the sender: it could only be none other than phainon, your secret that no one else can know about. a personal indulgence that you willingly cross time and again.
the default gray contact photo and 'unknown number' name is a great disparity when you glance at your boyfriend's chat history from below: a personal, partially blurry photo taken from your gallery and a gooey 'boyfie 💘💘' for a nickname.
the difference between them makes you huff in amusement, rotten person that you are.
you hastily type, faintly hearing your boyfriend hum in the shower.
you: yes
you: make sure no one from college sees me.
his reply is instantaneous, never ashamed to show you just how deep he is in all of this.
unknown number: okay!
unknown number: I'm excited :)
you don't bother replying - the message you wanted to give has already been sent, no point in dragging out a conversation. you delete your chat history with phainon, remove him from your recent messages, and toss your phone back to your bedside table, perfectly in line with your boyfriend coming out of the bathroom - hair all damp, wearing a baggy t-shirt and basketball shorts.
your lips curve at the end, you lift the comforter and pat the spot next to you, "hurry up, i'm sleepy."
he quickly settles under the comforter until he's right next to you, languidly kissing and tracing over the bruises and love bites on your body that he thinks he left behind. you let him live with that fallacy, why break his perceived truth?
instead, you pleasantly hum, fingers caressing his face. you patiently wait until you're feeling drowsy.
right before you fall asleep, you mumble, "hey, i won't be available this friday... meeting with a friend."
yawning, your boyfriend nods in acquiescence.
you dream of white hair, a charming smile, and a persistent voice that rings throughout your mind.
"leaving already?" sweet kisses are peppered on your sweaty backside, sometimes teasingly bitten, phainon's own way of asking you to stay without saying the words out loud. he stopped asking head-on after you turned him down the first few times.
you remain undeterred, brows merely raised as you continue texting your boyfriend. your clingy boyfriend is already waiting for you back at your apartment.
"yes, sorry."
phainon whines, persistently nuzzling his head into your neck, huffing the mixed smell of sweat, sex, and your perfume. "but i haven't seen you for two weeks... i missed you so much. you were the only one on my mind while i was doing my internship, you know?"
he moves to suckling your skin, once again leaving you with the hassle of tricking your boyfriend into believing that he was the one who left you these marks.
you sigh, suppressing the urge to smile, "we'll see each other on campus."
you feel him pout against your skin, "you always say that, but you ignore me whenever i try to talk to you."
you shrug, bending down to gather your shoes strewn on his apartment floor. his body follows in perfect sync as if merged with yours.
"just trying to keep this arrangement alive, phainon, it'll be annoying if he gets suspicious."
phainon's greedy grip on your body tightens, blunt fingers close to leaving indents; he's getting riled up from the thought alone - selfish man that he is. he mumbles something incoherent to your ears.
"i'll make it up to you, i promise," you reach behind you to pet his messy white hair, cooing when he leans in. you stay in that position for a minute or two. thinking that he's placated, you begin to gently remove his arms from your body, only to huff when he returns his iron-tight clasp, desperate and pleading.
he faintly murmurs, "just leave him already..."
your heart excitedly races, threatening to break past your sternum - phainon always pulls this move every time you're about to leave. from the start, you had made it clear that what you have with him is fleeting, rooted in non-permanence - quick, sleazy fun between two assholes. you and him.
but phainon has made the bold declaration that he cannot live without you and your touch; you're simply doing the world (and you) a favor by giving him what he wants. but never giving in completely.
a gracious soul you are, in that regard.
your long nails sink into his toned arm. you can't afford any more seconds stalled, unfortunately. "i'll be going now, phainon."
deep down, you know you're lying about nearly everything.
the truth is far simpler: you like his desperation for you, you wear it like a statement piece, and cherish it as one would with a priceless treasure.
unknown number: we're good this saturday, right?
unknown number: and save my number this time! :(
you: yes
you: and no, i'm not stupid enough to do that.
you feel your boyfriend rest his chin on your shoulder, curiously looking over your chat. you swiftly set down your phone to give him a sickly sweet smile that's far too artificial. you are quick to speak, "finished with your worksheet already?"
subtly, you push your phone away from his line of sight. your fingers ache to tease the unknown number, you want to read the texts he sent you, and store them in your mind.
he shakes his head, "no, i got bored. who were you talking to just now?"
looking at his unfinished geometry worksheet, you hum innocently, "some delivery guy. oh, here, let me help."
you swiftly deleted the unknown number from your message history the moment your boyfriend wasn't looking. but phainon's texts are stored in your mind all the same.
cipher asks you if your boyfriend is 'the one' while you're hanging out with phainon in the campus library. it's such an abrupt question that you visibly feel phainon lag right beside you, mind stunlocked into the keyword that he abhors with all his being:
boyfriend.
once he processes the question cipher posed, his blue eyes are suddenly hyperaware of your every move - more than usual, that is. every blink, breath you take, swallow you do, and twitch of your fingers are caught under his keen radar. he's completely abandoned the textbook he was studying seconds ago. instead, phainon is waiting for your answer, alongside cipher's catty eyebrow raise.
he tries to play it cool, but the frayed sentence is all too telling of his true feelings, "well? don't. keep us waiting!"
should you tease him and pretend that you are enchanted by your boyfriend's eyes (you don't remember his eye color) and amazing hobbies (which are none)? or shall you throw him a bone and soothe the wound you've been slowly prying open out of his skin over the course of months?
you decide to play nice today. it's what phainon earns after the number of times you had to delete his contact details from your phone.
you pretend to ponder aloud, humming a bit before settling with a simplistic: "no, i don't think so."
phainon visibly perks up, lips turning into a wiggly smile as his legs begin bouncing from excitement. he's too obvious, you like that about him.
cipher is unamused, blinking back and forth between you and phainon.
you can't resist the urge to add on as an afterthought: "but feelings can change, right? maybe he will be after a few more years."
as if rain were poured down on him, phainon visibly deflates, triggering cipher to laugh.
unknown number: tuesday?
you: yes.
unknown number: got it!
unknown number: how was your day btw? :)
you leave him on seen before deleting your history.
you kick your feet as you think of him whimpering around his apartment, licking the wound you keep making on his heart, and waiting for your reply as he drives himself mad.
unknown number: i haven't seen you in two weeks, i miss you :( are you busy with your midterms? if i can help with anything, just let me know!
seen.
unknown number: saw you across the campus today, you seem troubled. everything okay?
seen.
unknown number: did you really have to kiss your boyfriend on the cheek just for the kisscam lol.
unknown number: i'm so jealous. i wish i was your boyfriend instead.
seen.
unknown number: cyrene told me you've been fighting with your boyfriend. i'm right here, you know? just tell me and i'll give him a good talking! ( •̀ ω •́ )y
seen.
unknown number: i miss you :( don't overwork yourself!
seen.
unknown number: just came in a sock thinking of your tight pussy
unknown number: fuck
unknown number: i miss you so much i think i'm beginning to hallucinate you
seen.
for once, it's you who reached out first.
you: i'll be one of the volunteers for the incoming college students' orientation tomorrow.
you: will you come see me?
always and always, his reply is instantaneous, never, ever ashamed to show you just how deep he is in all of this.
unknown number: hi
unknown number: of course i'll go
unknown number: anything for you
seen.
you don't bother replying.
it's a miracle in itself how you managed to hold back your smile when you feel phainon's burning stare when you come to greet him with an unexpected companion in tow. was he expecting that this volunteer work would be a secret date, free from your boyfriend's grubby hands?
he definitely was, judging by how hard his smile fell the moment he spotted said unwanted party - ironic, considering phainon is the outsider in your relationship.
with a smile on your face, you begin introducing them to one another.
gesturing to phainon first, you throw him a brief, playful wink, "baby, this is my junior, phainon. we often work together for college events, ah, i think i mentioned him in the past?"
from your peripheral vision, phainon's lips are crudely pointed downwards - a sign that his patience is at the precipice of capsizing. he does not enjoy the show you're putting on, but you do.
your boyfriend greets him back, but you're too focused on your adorable junior to care. his anger and well-hidden sadness are akin to a fresh meal served upon a silver platter to you, and you lap it up with no qualms.
your hand finds purchase on your boyfriend's bicep (not familiar, so unlike phainon's), giving it a gentle squeeze. you tilt your head to the side,
"and this is my boyfriend," you say his name, whatever it may be, "this is your first time meeting him in person, right, phai? well, thi-"
your fingers forcibly detached from your boyfriend as you're led by phainon who expertly weaves through the crowd of newbie college students. the orientation hasn't even begun, they still need you out there - your boyfriend needs you out there.
the curt apology, monotone and clipped, phainon gives out to every student he makes contact with, rids you of such thoughts, and turns your mind into a puddle that can only think of 'phainon phainon phainon'. your junior, and love affair for over a year now, has an exceptional talent for endearing himself to your eyes. dumbly, you let him.
"where are you taking me, phainon?" you sing-song, eyes trained on his silky white hair that you love to tug on during your trysts.
he sharply inhales, a sound you still pick up on despite the overwhelming background noises.
"(y/n), i-" he makes a sharp turn, and you know now that he plans to exit the auditorium.
"you what?"
effortlessly, he swings the exit doors open before abruptly shoving you into a secluded corner just outside. the sun is beginning to set, you belatedly note, before your vision is rudely obscured by his tall figure.
you coo, "what's wrong, baby?"
he snarls at that. you reach out your hand, but it's cruelly slapped away by him.
"stop. don't," he closes his eyes and inhales, "don't touch me with the same hand you touched that guy with. stop it..."
ah. you get it now, your love affair is jealous. it's so, so cute of him, and just what you'd expect from inviting him all the way out here.
"you know i didn't mean it," you try to touch him again, a different hand this time. to your relief, he lets you cup his face. "he can never compare to you, phainon."
he gnaws at his bottom lip, a whirlpool of conflicted emotions present in his eyes, "so why aren't you leaving him?"
"it's complicated." it's not. it's really not. your vision is clear, and the man of your dreams stands right before you.
"what..." he murmurs, the desperation you often see on his face once again donning him like a well-worn t-shirt, "i don't understand."
you hum.
"you don't have to," then, you remember, "let's head back inside, someone might catch us here."
he slowly shakes his head, burrowing his face into your chest in petulance that only you would know and speaking with a sense of finality, "i knew you'd say that."
you cock your head to the side.
"senior," he addresses you with a nickname he once used to tease you with, "you're graduating in three months, right?"
"i am," you nod, watching him with rapt attention. he's building up to something.
"what will happen to us then? will you break up with me?" then he smiles, forlorn, "but i'm not even your boyfriend, right? it's not official."
"that's true..." you play with a lock of his hair, glancing around to ensure no one else is roaming around outside the auditorium.
phainon pinches you, calling back your attention to him.
when you look back at him, he looks like a man who has it all planned out.
"(y/n), i... i've been poking holes in the condoms, i'll trap you with me, i swear. you won't be graduating with a baby in your stomach. then you can leave your boyfriend for me, right? then we'll be a real- a real couple. we can hold hands in public and go on dates. and- and shop for baby clothes too."
you blink, eyes widened in awe, left breathless at the measure he took just to drag you down to his level of depravity, locking you with a handcuff and throwing away the key.
no one else would do this - only him. no one else is as deeply entrenched; you love that. you love that he loves you.
you really, really like his desperation, no matter how ugly it may seem to outsiders.
besides, he's right where you want him - a puzzle piece that rightfully slots next to you.
(y/n): idgaf
phainon: i got you pregnant.
(y/n): omg husband 😍😍😍
aka freakxfreak. i'll give you actual homewrecking next time ((y/n) is actually committed to her relationship and phainon has to dismantle that), this dynamic is more of.... you, the guy you actually like (phainon), and the npc you're using for your happy ending.
cause and effect. (yandere! phainon x female reader)
; the guy she told you not to worry about: the fic, aka homewreckernon, yandere, college au, slight reader x npc, character pov for once, proofread to the best of my spotting ability, exploitation of trust, nonconsensual kissing, some cheating (phai x (y/n), influence of alcohol, .
; Having been in love with you since freshman year but unable to act upon his feelings due to your boyfriend, Phainon finds the opportunity to dismantle your relationship after paying you a visit while you slept. He's simply correcting the grievous mistake Mnestia made.
“Hey there, lovebirds!” March greets from a distance.
Phainon’s ideal reality unravels like a scroll painting from ancient Planarcadia; a blush would nicely settle on his cheeks before turning around to blow raspberries at the pink-haired woman. He’d pull you closer to him in a protective stance before he jokingly complains about the two of you getting bullied by your joint group of friends.
All in good fun; he loves the ‘loverboy’ reputation he has. Your hand would reach out to lovingly caress his face, laughing at his antics, and the atmosphere would be ruined by another one of your friends - Dan Heng or Mydei – who’d dryly comment something about keeping your hands off each other. Love is the key to eternal happiness, a moment this simple is paradise to Phainon. He needs nothing more.
When Caelus accidentally jostles against him, Phainon is forced to roll the scroll shut and come back down to his actual reality. He’s not the one embracing you in his arms while he preens under the endearing term of ‘lovebirds’. He’s not the one you call your boyfriend, nor the one you share your personal space with.
Rather, Phainon is your good friend; he takes on his role to chuckle and say, “Easy on the PDA now, you two.”
Your boyfriend, certainly not Phainon, laughs in embarrassment. He withdraws his arm from your shoulder to play with the anniversary necklace hanging off your neck. He shuffles closer to your side, always so shy when he’s reminded of the fact that he’s dating you, you, out of eight billion people. A lucky bastard who can’t seem to grasp miracles even when he’s hit in the head with one, Phainon sourly thinks.
Staring at him any longer will make him retch, so Phainon faces you instead and points at the drink you’re holding. All teasing, he remarks, “The party started an hour ago and you’re already running to get drunk, I see. I see!”
You bristle, now cradling the drink close to your chest - Phainon wishes he were it, “Oh, zip it. Weren’t you whining in my texts about unfinished homework earlier today? What happened to that?”
Caelus chimes in in his stead, “Don’t remind me of uni work at a party, (Y/N)...”
You roll your eyes, “Blame him!”
Phainon sticks his tongue out at you. A lighthearted scowl to take residence on your face while you flip him off.
You’re so cute like this – the heavy weight on his heart begins to ease up, savoring the current time he has with you. If he squints enough, he can pretend you’re not seated next to a parasite who gets to call himself your boyfriend.
It’s a moment cut too short, unfortunately. Not even a minute later, with the speakers blaring in the background, your boyfriend leans over to whisper into your ear, completely pulling you away from Phainon (and Caelus). A conversation limited to the lovebirds begins while your other friends settle into their own conversations and cliques, voices occasionally rising above the pop music circling throughout the house.
Phainon is still stuck on you. March taps his shoulder, but he can never tear his eyes away.
Wistfully, he wonders (he always does) what it’d feel like to be in his position.
Two hours in, a few friends have already excused themselves from the party hosted by March and Caelus.
Aglaea said she had an internship tomorrow, Hyacine and Anaxa had lab reports due, Sunday and his sister, Robin, must prepare for their theater troupe, Castorice needs to take care of her sister, and now…
“Going home?” Phainon asks when Mydei strides up to his spot on the living room couch. His friend nods, eyeing his lone beer sitting on the coffee table.
“I have a morning shift,” He quirks a brow, “You aren’t? You have an exam tomorrow.”
Phainon shakes his head, discreetly jabbing a thumb in your direction. “(Y/N)’s still here, I can’t leave her.”
He needs to keep watch of you since your jackass of a boyfriend is getting shitfaced drunk at record speed. The rotten, vile man that he is. If Phainon were your boyfriend, he’d be the one staying sober so he can keep watch of any potential creeps who wants to catch you off guard. But not everyone has your best interests in mind; he knows this well enough.
Mydei can only sigh, as if to tell him, ‘you’re hopeless’. Frankly, he doesn’t need an outside perspective to acknowledge the blatant truth: Phainon’s world has and will always revolve around you. His close friends know this as they’ve been subjected to the horrible depressive period in Phainon’s life after he found out you’re taken. They’ve seen him bounce back good as new in the aftermath, too.
Still, Mydei relents, knowing that Phainon’s reasoning is quite logical. Patting his shoulder, he murmurs, “Well, keep her safe.”
It’s a needless order; Mydei does not need to state the obvious.
Waving goodbye, the blond man exits the living room shortly after.
No longer occupied, Phainon picks up his beer can and resumes watching you from his place on the couch. You’re stuck in an IPC monopoly game with a few acquaintances while your boyfriend drunkenly babbles stupid, incomprehensible shit right next to you. It flares up irritation in Phainon’s chest - gives him such a profound feeling of disgust that he wills it down, if only to ensure that the hatred isn’t obvious on his face.
You’re clearly inebriated, tipping from one side over to the other – movements sluggish and frequently getting your property cards all mixed up. It makes him wonder how accurate the entire game has been if your group of players is in similar states as you.
Taking a sip of his beer, he continues to watch, no different from a loyal guard dog.
A defeat and alcohol-imbued ramblings over who really ‘won’ later, you’re unsteadily rising to your feet with your boyfriend following after. You mumble something to him before moving forward, or at least, trying to without stumbling over your own feet. Deeming it his chance to step in and help, Phainon sets his empty beer can down before coming to you.
Kindly pushing through dancing bodies, he smiles in the face of your (intoxicated) suffering and offers, “Let me help you with that, (Y/N).”
Completely and purposely disregarding your boyfriend lagging a few steps behind, he hoists your arm over his shoulder and nicely settles you by his side. His heart thundering, Phainon gently assists you in slow, measured steps before sitting you down on the living room couch. You grunt upon settling, mindlessly clinging to his T-shirt that you refuse to part from. He almost coos out loud – you’re too cute for his poor, yearning heart. Too adorable.
He doesn’t want to part from you either. Phainon leans in, the imagination of being your boyfriend becoming more tangible as he asks in a hushed tone, “How are you going to go back to your dorm in this state, you dummy?”
You grumble something he can’t decipher. He sighs. You need him, you really do. Phainon can be stripped of all knowledge, and this singular thought would still be glaringly obvious to him. How can you possibly function in this world without him? You can take your actual boyfriend out of the equation, and it’ll collapse nothing; everything will stay as it is without him around. But if you take out Phainon… ah, the thought tastes too sour on his tongue. It feels indigestible, like food that’s gone bad and begun growing mold.
When the other side of the couch dips to accommodate your equally drunk boyfriend sitting, an idea sparks to life, and he makes up his mind then.
Rising above the speaker’s volume, he asks, “How about staying here for the night?”
Your boyfriend tilts his head in confusion - almost in slow motion, “Wha…?”
Phainon flashes him a fictitious grin, all buddy-buddy. “Hey, don’t worry. I’ll go ask March about it. I’ll even stay here too!”
Yawning, you make a noise of agreement before flopping down on the armrest. Phainon hurriedly adjusts your position into a more comfortable one, secretly savoring the feeling of your skin beneath his fingers. Once he’s also ensured that your boyfriend will fall over the side opposite to you, Phainon maneuvers through the slowly dispersing crowd to negotiate with either of the hosts.
Who he finds isn’t the ‘all too agreeable’ March or the ‘laidback’ Caelus. It’s the ‘easy to get suspicious’ Dan Heng, who’s very much sober and reading a book in the middle of a party. Phainon hopes their friendship card will be enough to convince him.
“Hey, friend,” Phainon smiles, angelic with a hint of halo forming from the room light. “Got a moment?”
“I suppose so,” Dan Heng reluctantly replies, brows already raised as if he’s waiting for something that’ll ruin his night. “What do you need?”
Phainon leans his body on the door frame, “Those two are too drunk right now, so-! there’re a few guest rooms around here, right? Can we sleep here instead?”
Dan Heng audibly breathes a sigh of relief, deflating like a popped balloon, “I thought… Yes, they can sleep here for tonight,” At Phainon’s expectant face, he adds, “You included.”
Phainon grins and walks over to the table. He reaches his hand out, “Thank you, friend. And the room keys?”
Dan Heng digs into his pockets and fishes out two keys, the jagged edges of the metal softly dyed in a world of flashing purple, red, and green lights. The pair lightly jingles when he makes the move to pass it onto Phainon’s awaiting palm - when he withdraws, however, Dan Heng can’t help but be miffed.
“What’s wrong?”
“Why’re there only two keys…?”
“Because (Y/N) and her boyfriend can just share a room?” Dan Heng answers, somewhat surprised that he needs to state the obvious, “Other drunkards will have to stay in the other guest rooms, too.”
Phainon’s amicable attitude drops below freezing temperature in the next second. His arm unconsciously flexes, itching to rip your boyfriend apart if he even dares to be in the same bedroom as you, “Hey… Stop messing around.”
“Does it look like I am?” Dan Heng dryly replies, “If you want them to sleep in different rooms, then go home, Phainon. This house is not a boarding school.”
It’s a few moments later that Phainon makes his decision. He blinks, his smile settles back on his face, and then–
“...I… I can just sleep on the couch.” Once more, his hand extends out, “Sorry, can you give the keys back to me?”
Phainon’s ears feel the sudden, glaring difference of having full-speakers on blast playing the loudest pop songs the general public has ever known before it suddenly quiets down into tipsy, drunk, intoxicated individuals saying their farewells, and then, as everyone is lulled to sleep - a blanket of utter silence.
But even in quietude, his ears ring, remembering the soundwaves that went on from evening to night - his eyes feel the phantom imprints of vivid, strobe lights on his eyelids. Tossing and turning around here on the living room couch, Phainon concludes that he’s in no state to fall asleep. Not when you’re just a floor above him, sleeping peacefully with that parasite taking residence in the room right next to yours. The thought alone makes his heart beat faster.
Lying on his back, he turns his head to the side so he can look at the inconspicuous pair of keys lying on the coffee table. Reaching for his phone, located somewhere beneath the covers, the rectangular device with its blinding light displays the time to him:
2:55 AM.
Sitting up, Phainon stretches his body before reaching across the coffee table to nab the keys.
He observes it on his palm, thinking now is the best time to visit you.
Phainon is admittedly a tad bit too eager when he uses the key to unlock your guest room. In a house of stillness, the door shuts behind him in creaking groans, a sound that rouses you, causing you to shuffle around beneath the covers. He stills at the sight, grabbing onto the door handle in preparation. But when you sink back into the mattress, he breathes a sigh of relief and lets go. Everything is okay, nothing is at risk.
It’ll be hard to wake you up after your intoxicated state, he reminds himself.
He looks around and notes that the guest room is dimly lit; moonlight seeps through the window, nearly dyeing everything in his vision a serene blue. The only exception is the night lamp on the bedside table, glowing a soft hue of orange – brushing your face in a soft gradient between tangerines and blueberries. His heart painfully squeezes in his chest, a love so intense it hurts him.
You look so unguarded, peaceful. Wrapped in a vulnerability that you’d never allow him (and your friends) to see otherwise. Phainon bites his lip, hastily walking around the dim room to find his way to you. He loves you. He loves you-
Crack. Ah, he accidentally stepped on something.
Phainon lifts his foot, squinting to see a little clearer: lying on the ground is the anniversary necklace you wore to the party earlier. He remembers it still hung on your neck, even teasingly dipping into the valley of your breasts, when he settled you into this room hours ago. He chuckles to himself, did you drunkenly remove it before going to sleep? It’d explain the reckless positioning.
The metal stringing it together is all shattered from the force he exerted. Unfortunately, the main accessory, a locket containing a photobooth picture of you with your boyfriend, stays unharmed. It’s even flipped open, as if to mock Phainon from where he stood - just mere inches away from your unconscious body. He clicks his tongue and picks up the broken necklace.
Would you be mad if you lost this?
He pockets it, deeming the locket to be an item that’ll further drive you away from him. Ever since you got that necklace from your boyfriend, you have stopped wearing the friendship bracelet Phainon gave you a year ago. All you do is break his heart, but his unwavering love and golden loyalty will always persevere. True love is not a painless process - it’s okay if Phainon is the only one hurting right now. Soon, you will, too.
Discarding his shoes, Phainon climbs onto the bed and crawls over until his face looms above yours. He breathes you in, unabashedly smelling a mix of liquor, sweat, and remnants of your usual perfume. You smell so good. Licking his lips, he slowly leans down, nose nuzzling into the base of your neck where he can smell you better. He closes his eyes and drinks it all in, savoring the smell and cataloguing it in his brain - no different from a tantalizing wine. If he leans down further, your breast will press against his chest - his arms threaten to give out just thinking about it.
Your smell, your neck, your breasts, your face, your fingers, your arms - so many wishes he wants to fulfill, yet so little time. But even neck-deep into his (Y/N)-induced haze, he knows that he can’t be caught by you or anyone else. His love story with you can’t end before it even started.
Phainon pulls back, whimpering at the loss of contact. Blearily opening his eyes, he locks onto the apple of his eye: your lips, the main show of his romantic fantasies. He’s always wondered what it’d be like to kiss you. Foolishly, he even thought about being your first kiss before your boyfriend cruelly shattered that dream into dust.
Kissing you now, with you deep in slumber, can serve as practice for him. So when he kisses you truthfully, you’ll be awed at how well he knows your body. And perhaps, it’s also because he’s a pervert who can no longer contain his perverse nature in his mind.
A kiss is a kiss, regardless of his true intent. His right hand softly parts your mouth open, greedily wanting all tongue and spit for his first time with you.
“You won’t mind, right?” He softly whispers, centimeters away from your lips. A reply never comes, but the way he devours your mouth may as well serve as a yes. It’s everything he’s dreamed of. An accomplishment that no award or credential can hope to compete with. This is his life’s calling; with you, inside you, lavishing you.
Unknowingly, clear droplets fall from his eyes, rolling down his cheekbones and disappearing into the fabric of your T-shirt. Phainon thinks you are too mean. In fact, you’re quite heartless for withholding this exhilarating experience from him. You’re too mean in the way you treat his heart carelessly, even if unintentional. It breaks even under your gentle caress and airy touch, for it knows that your own heart is not his to treasure. It beats to the syllables of your name, but you're unaware.
For that: He can’t take it anymore - he can’t. He can’t. He just can’t. Phainon cannot live as your best friend, he can’t be satisfied with anything less than being your husband. He must be your other half, else, what would be the point in life? He refuses the reality he has right now; craves the ideal one in his dreams.
Had he met you a few years earlier, the outcome would surely be different. It's not fair, he childishly thinks. Love shouldn't be first come, first serve; it should be just like the storybooks he read during his childhood, where true love waits for hundreds of years, immune to the passage of time.
He parts from your lips, panting. Desperate for more, yet wanting to abstain from your lips, fearful he’ll be too addicted to you.
“I love you,” his toned body collapses on the bed’s free space, limbs akin to jelly, eyes utterly fixated on you. Always has been ever since he met you during freshman year. He repeats again, “I love you, (Y/N).”
A shaky hand intertwines itself with your unconscious one. He wonders if married life will be like this.
With a faraway look in his eyes, Phainon whispers to no one in particular: “I’ll correct everything, I promise.”
Then, he dives back in to kiss you until he's shed off all thoughts irrelevant outside of this room – careful not to wake you. He must kiss you until you familiarize yourself with his saliva and lips, ridges of his teeth and heat of his tongue, the crevices of his mouth and vibration of his moan, even in your sleep.
He stays in the guest room for an hour more, uncaring for your boyfriend sleeping all alone next door.
Months ago, the moment Mydei realized Phainon wasn’t giving up on you, even with a boyfriend in the picture, he had asked: “Are you this stubborn with your past crushes?”
Phainon shook his head and answered honestly, “I’ve never had a crush before. (Y/N) is my first and true love.”
You are the one for him; an outcome stating otherwise will have to be bent until it, too, rings true.
Phainon is ‘studying’ in the library a few days later. Tucked into a corner with the seat next to him occupied by his schoolbag. Truthfully, he’s only here because you asked to study together, but knowing you for this long, it’s simply code for ‘I need to complain about something to you’ since you prefer to study in your apartment.
His laptop has gone to sleep mode, notes strewn about in an illusion of productivity, while Phainon makes a growing pile of bird origamis on the table. It’s a him and you thing - tradition born from a shared class with a professor who had melatonin for a voice.
He hears your footsteps a few meters from him at a hurried pace. He briefly speculates whether you still remember his kisses in your subconscious before brushing it off, you’ll remember soon enough.
Right when you’re behind him, Phainon smiles and asks, “What’s wrong?”
“My boyfriend’s mad at me,” you groan, haphazardly dropping your bag on the table. You collapse into the chair, limbs sprawled out, and take a deep breath.
Phainon’s paper folding is paused, neck snapping to face you. Your boyfriend never amounts to anything, so- “Why?”
“I realized I lost my necklace the day after the party,” you begin, “I thought I just left it lying on some floor, so I asked March to check for me but she couldn’t find it. I told him, and he started lecturing me that if he can keep his necklace, then he expects me to keep mine safe, too!”
He frowns, feeling the warmth of your locket in the pocket of his jeans. “That’s ridiculous - you didn’t mean to.”
You nod vigorously, “Right!? That’s what I told him, yet…! I get it! Ugh, I really do! But he’s so worked up about this for some reason. Acting like I purposely lost it at the party - someone probably saw it and threw it in the trash by accident, so what? Nothing I can do now!”
Phainon clicks his tongue, “I never knew your boyfriend could be so immature. He’s probably sensitive from other problems in his life, but that’s no excuse to be such a jackass to you.”
It’s a good call that he pocketed your locket, then.
“Oh, please,” you roll your eyes, mindlessly picking up one of the countless bird origamis, “Shy types like him are always the most entitled, I feel like. But wait- don’t tell him I told you that.”
“Why would I?” Phainon bellows a laugh, “I’m your friend, not his. Always on your side, you know?”
He looks elsewhere, “Besides… Maybe it’s not my place to say this, but he really shouldn’t be talking to you in that manner.”
“Hm? Oh, don’t worry, this is just a normal couple argument.” You reach up to ruffle his white hair, “I don’t take him too seriously when we’re fighting.”
He sighs, anchoring his head down for better access, “I just think you shouldn’t settle for someone like that.”
You smile, endeared by his thoughtfulness. “I wouldn’t. I’ll talk it out with him, don’t worry.”
That’s not what he meant.
He takes a while before speaking again, “Well. Either way, if there’s a problem – just call me, okay?”
He mulls it over his head for an indefinite amount of time: How can he remove your boyfriend from the picture?
If this truly played out like his childhood storybooks, then it’s easy to assign the roles: you are the princess in need of saving, the parasite by your side is the monster who threatens the livelihood of the entire kingdom, and Phainon is the knight in shining armor protected by the narrative. He needs no deep contemplations because the monster’s defeat has already been woven into the story’s ending, bound through inked letters. No matter what, it will be a happy ever after: the knight saves the princess, and they are wed. A linear process with no real complications.
Unfortunately, Phainon is a college student who’s never held a sword in his life, and you have no royal blood. This is the cruel, harsh real life. But the monster is still a monster, regardless of setting.
But he loves being around you too much to ever plan on removing him by the means of murder, even with his constant violent urges.
He’d tried seducing you during your shared class together, but loyalty is a virtue you strongly hold onto. Even manufactured incidents, such as forgetting an umbrella with a storm outside, tripping into your arms, or being too clingy with you under the influence of alcohol, were all for naught. You never saw him beyond the title of friend because you’d turn your phone on, and your boyfriend would be there waiting for you on the lockscreen.
He understands. The possibility of seeing Phainon as a dating candidate will remain zero so long as your boyfriend is within arm’s reach. But he remains selfish, unreasonably so.
Once night falls, Phainon is absentmindedly playing with the locket he stole from you, repeating the question in his mind: How can he remove your boyfriend from the picture?
The metal warms beneath his fingertips as it’s slowly rolled around his desk, silence in the room stretching on into uncertainty. He lays it face up to toy with the lid, the clasp making a clicking noise every time he slams it open and shut. Phainon doesn’t have it in him to look at the frankly disgusting couple photo nestled inside - he refuses to.
Click. Click. Cli-
His finger slips, losing its momentum and forcing the locket to stay open longer than necessary. Phainon is forced to look at the atrocious couple photo as he repositions his hand. The image is still the same: your boyfriend looking at you with slimy, gooey eyes while you gave finger hearts inside the photobooth. It’s unsightly - your boyfriend taints your perfection and infects you with the mold that he perpetually carries around.
He’s tempted to ruin this locket and the printed picture over an open fire, only to see the satisfying visual of your boyfriend melting before his eyes. You don’t need this dingy thing after all - it’s all your asshole boyfriend’s fault for kicking up a fuss over it.
Yet Phainon pauses his train of thought in favor of a new one. Remembering what you confined in him earlier, he picks up the locket and observes it up close, shadowed in its display from the fluorescent lights overhead.
If your boyfriend is truly the immature rascal that Phainon hopes he is, then perhaps this very locket he stole may just be the key to all his problems; sent down from the heavens to answer his wish, just like they do in fairytales. So long as he withholds the locket from you, then your relationship will crumble to its own accord.
It’s less about the locket and more about the principle behind it, you find yourself explaining.
Not even a week later, Phainon agrees to meet up with you in a cafe not far from campus, intent on listening to you complain about your most recent argument with your boyfriend.
In your own words: “I have to speak to you because I need a guy's perspective on this.”
He nods, anchoring his elbows on the table, “Got it. I’m all ears!”
To reiterate your point: your boyfriend is hung up on the reaction you had rather than the locket as an item itself. He thought of your non-panicky reaction as a form of disrespect in your relationship, because if it were reversed, he would’ve gone crazy trying to look for it.
“That’s still his point?” Phainon briefly cuts in to shake his head in disapproval, “He needs to let this go.”
Your boyfriend should drag it on further, Phainon hopes.
You roll your eyes, “You’d be surprised. Every conversation we’ve been having lately is about that locket. I don’t get it, I’ve lost couple items before, even he did! But for some reason, he’s frothing at the mouth looking for that thing. I already placed my order for a new one on a different site, but he insisted that I cancel… which kind of hurt, to be honest.”
“That’s fair,” He easily agrees, “You’re trying to make up for an honest mistake but he’s refusing - that would hurt me, too.”
“I knew you’d get me, Phai,” You sigh in relief. “He told me to go back to that house and re-check it myself and if I keep refusing, he’ll be the one to go.”
“Oh? I didn’t know he had it in him.” Phainon laughs under his breath. Your shy boyfriend? Marching up to that trio’s house to survey the floors like it’s his job? He doubts that man would actually pull it off. It’s all bark, no bite.
“He’s going crazy looking for it, I’m telling you!” You take a long sip of your ordered beverage, “That’s why I wanted to ask for your thoughts on this. What would you do if you were in a similar situation to my boyfriend?”
Phainon pretends to think about it.
“...Well. I'm speaking as a man, you know? Man to man,” He licks his lips, “But I swear, I wouldn’t treat my girlfriend like that. This entire problem is blown out of proportion because of him.”
“You’re making it sound like he’s abusing me.” You deadpan.
“Listen! If my girlfriend told me that she didn’t mean to, then that would be the end of the situation. I wouldn’t dare to drag it because that’d bring distress to her. I don’t want her to feel anything less than the center of my world. Her happiness is my happiness… if that makes any sense.”
He, Phainon, would never sully your relationship with a pointless argument. If you were with him from the start, you’ll never find yourself in this situation.
You blink, “Huh. That was sappy.”
His ears burn bright, retort to defend his honor at the tip of his tongue, but you intercept before he can speak.
“But really sweet. I can’t believe guys like you still exist,” A soft giggle, “Keep that up, Phainon, and maybe you’ll find yourself a girlfriend before the year ends.”
Phainon scratches his cheek, “I’m speaking from my heart.”
“I know.”
“So… Please find it in your heart to think about your boyfriend’s refusal to see your point. There’s plenty of fish in the sea. You’ll find someone else, I’m sure of this.”
This time, you visibly hesitate.
“...I know. I don’t want to break up over an annoying locket, but I’ll keep your advice in mind.”
Your boyfriend’s reaction is unnatural; there’s more to it beyond being mad at your lack of urgency. There has to be.
Phainon re-examines the locket in his hand, eyeballs mere inches away from it as he pours time to solve this apparent mystery. He’s never been the closest to him, yet Phainon knows it’s not within his usual behavior to hold grudges against you. One of the main reasons your relationship has lasted three years and ongoing is his amicable nature - for a switch to be flipped, this locket must be hiding something important to him.
It twists and flips in his hold, tilted left and right, front and back, opened and closed. And repeated until he finally sees something.
There, at the side of the inner lid, read the engraved words: ‘Will You Marry Me?’
Oh.
He laughs, finding true humor in your boyfriend’s actions. He gets the fuss now, this locket is meant to be a proposal plan in motion for years. He understands that loser’s line of thinking: he gifted it to you during your 3rd year anniversary, it becomes a familiar item after a few years, and one day - graduated and now a working man - he’ll slip the ring into the compartment with the picture while you’re not looking and he’d ask you to look inside, angle your head, and squint at the small text hidden in plain sight.
It’ll be a proposal rooted in the sentiment of, “It’s been here all along; how could you not have noticed?”
You’d swoon at this, you certainly will. This would be the type of proposal that’ll have you retelling the story to your children and grandchildren down the line, recalling the moment with nothing else but utmost fondness. The arguments that resulted in this locket would be rendered null from the effort your boyfriend exerted. You’d forgive him in a heartbeat and leave Phainon in the dust.
The locket is enclosed within his palm as Phainon breathes out a sigh of relief.
With this in his possession, that proposal won’t be happening in the future. Not happening at all.
He’s fortunate. A man blessed by the Amphorean Titans, he truly must have been a world-saving hero in his past life.
“My boyfriend claimed you’ve been saying nonsense.”
Phainon raises a brow, “He knows I’ve been in the know about this entire locket situation?”
“Unfortunately,” you shake your head, “He found out after he saw your text notification on my lockscreen. You know? The one where you called him a jackass.”
“Oh… But I’m not in the wrong, am I?”
You laugh, “No. You’re not.”
A wedge driven between you and your boyfriend is Phainon’s own benefit.
Arguments don’t last forever. A week and a half later, Phainon is informed through text that you’ve made up with your boyfriend. Everything is fine now, apparently. But Phainon sees the cracks that can’t be patched up in the aftermath of that locket spiel your boyfriend had been on. Not glaringly obvious, subtly there - for him to see and exploit. All he needs is a minuscule crack in your perfect relationship for him.
You think less of your boyfriend now, not as trusting with him anymore in fear that he’ll trip up and go on another temper tantrum over a minor issue. A situation purely in his favor, as the moment March announced another party the ‘Express Crew’ will be hosting, who you gravitate to is not your boyfriend, it’s Phainon.
“Come to the party, please!” You begged him while the professor’s back was turned.
“Your boyfriend’s not going?” Phainon subsides the hope poking through his chest, but when you look up at him with those pleasing eyes…
“No. Not that I’d want him there,” You frown, “He might flip if I end up losing another necklace or something, so come with me! It won’t be the same without you. Be my watchguard!”
“Oh, I see,” He feigns hurt, “You just want me there to watch over you while you get drunk!”
Shamelessly, you nod. “Correct! Correct! I can’t have my boyfriend ruin this for me, pleaseee Phainon. I need you for this!”
He folds under zero pressure - his agreement to come with you was cemented even before you asked.
It’s come full circle.
Perfectly mirroring the last party, the current one plays out as its reflection, with only one singular change: your boyfriend isn’t in the picture. Phainon is in his rightful place now - right by your side. You fall into a familiar rhythm: drinking liquor while playing board games, arguing who really won that round, stumbling to walk, so inebriated that Phainon has to coax Dan Heng for those two guest rooms once more.
It’s so, so similar yet different in the same breath. Instead of observing you from afar, Phainon is placed front and center. A taste of what his future will be, he salivates just thinking about it. He can’t wait to be your boyfriend turned husband. He really can’t; he’s been patient enough.
For now, he opens the door of the guest room and gently ushers you inside, treating your drunken state with the fragility of handling glass. You trip and fall into the bed, causing Phainon to yelp in surprise. Instead of stepping out to enter his own room next door, he stays. There’s no boyfriend to tell him off, it’s free rein as far as he’s concerned. He can stay here with you under the guise of genuine concern and ‘looking out for you’.
He sits at the mattress’s edge, fondly watching you savor the plush pillows and fuzzy blankets. His happy ending is within his grasp now, no longer miles away compared to the last time he was in this room. You mumble something incomprehensible, he inches closer.
“Hm? What was that?”
“...ow… up…” You groan, groggily pushing yourself to sit. He steadies you with one hand, “I.. I thinkI’mgonnathrowup.”
He helps you into the bathroom, flickering the light on and gently rubbing your back in circular motions. You had too much alcohol this time. His arms wrap around your waist to sit you down on the sink. He makes conversation with you while wiping your mouth clean, feeding you deception after deception.
“Dan Heng only gave me one guest room. I hope you don’t mind sharing a room with me.” He lies with ease as he throws the paper towel into the trash can. You nod, not fully understanding the gravity of the situation.
Phainon knows this, but he still smiles; grateful for your blind kindness, “Thank you, let’s go sleep.”
If Dan Heng asks, Phainon will lie again and tell him that you really wanted him to stay in your room. It’s as easy as that. The lights in the room are turned off, but the lamplight stays. Phainon discards his pants, leaving him in his boxers as he crawls inside the warm covers. You’re so close to him, it’s been too long since he’s last had you like this.
He needs to kiss you again.
Scooting closer to you, Phainon grows bold with his actions. You’re most probably blackout drunk, unfairly tempting in his eyes, and he’s hungry for everything you have; he wants it all and then some. Testing the waters, he lifts his hand to play with your bottom lip. You don’t push him away even in your intoxicated state, it’s enough of a permission for him.
Reminiscent of the first time, he’s centimeters away from your lips when he softly whispers, “This is fine, right? You’re okay with this.”
You blink a few times and nod. His hand travels down to your neck, holding you in place as he replaces the remnants of vomit in your mouth with the unknowingly familiar taste of his mouth. It’s vastly different from the first time - your tongue isn’t limp, it’s reciprocating, albeit in clumsy motions.
The missing locket remains in his pants’ pocket, lying pathetically on the floor a few feet away, reminding him he wouldn’t be winning had your boyfriend attended the party with you.
A narrow crack; a single event is all he needed to tear your relationship down to the ground.
Tomorrow, he’ll retell the events of what happened and paint it out to be an accident born from mutual inebriation, but it won’t erase the blaring problem that you’ve cheated on your boyfriend.
You’ll be so scared, he imagines, and he’ll swoop in to save you like the hero he’s always wanted to be.
Phainon and the bad bitch he pulled after stealing her locket.
he pays attention to the littlest of details, has your smile permanently etched into his mind but never thinks he’ll ever have a chance with you
he spends his time learning about things you like and trying to make the perfect jokes so he can hear your laugh, it makes his heart sing in his chest and he feels like he’s floating
he buys your favorite snacks and leaves them in the fridge in the office and makes a point to ask you if you had forgotten it, as if he never took the time to buy them and plant them where he knew you would see them
thinks he might explode when you brush past him, the sensation of your body heat making him flush and stumble over his words
you’re always just so kind to him, but you’re kind to everyone, always being considerate of others
when the weekend comes, he’s genuinely disappointed, trying to find any excuse to run into you or text you
meanwhile, you’ve been dropping hints for months, losing hope each time because he simply can’t be this oblivious
you laugh at all of his corny jokes and touch his arms, you tease him and always search for him when he’s in the office, as rare as it was
Phainon can't fully control his other form just yet.
➵ Notes; A request made by a lovely anonymous customer!
➵ Warnings; Possible OOC, needy (or clingy) behavior from Phainon, and canon details being incorrect!
It started off simple—you woke up before him.
With the sunlight beaming past your curtains, bathing your bodies in its warmth. A large arm laid over your midriff, taking away your ability to move. If you were to attempt to, Phainon would drag you back against his chest without delay.
After an incident of waking up and finding you missing from your side of the bed. In matters of seconds, your dearest husband stumbles out of your shared chamber. Tripping over his own limbs—It's remarkable how his composure seemingly disappears when it comes to you.
His eyes, previously the color of the vast sky, lit up in the glow of molten gold. He searches for you. Swinging open any closed doors with a desperation never seen in the Deliverer. But once he spots you, the blue returns in a slow blink. He let out a shaky sigh before approaching you. His steps unbalanced and sluggish.
“.. You're here.” He breathes out, his words aren't meant for you. “You're.. Here..” His arms tighten around your body. Confirming the weight of you against his chest.
“Don't leave me, Angel. You—You scared me...” he buries his face in the crook of your neck. Seeking that familiar warmth. “Don't leave me, okay?” he brushed his lips over the surface of your skin, enticing himself into indulging. Tethering over the line of need.
With the way he reacted, anyone would assume you had been taken by Thanatos themselves and recently returned to your love. Although the real reason is much simpler, so simple it makes him look rather ridiculous, you went out to quench your thirst.
In the end, you allowed your husband to continue holding you. Planting kisses over the side of your head, drifting down to your neck, before stilling in the crook of your shoulder as he weeps over the terrifying experience of losing you. No matter how short it was.
And now that Phainon has made a one-sided, unspoken rule for you. You're stuck beside him until he gains consciousness. But from the gentle rise and fall of his chest, it seems you'll be here for a while. Made apparent when you feel him shifting against your back, tucking your head under his chin.
While you don't necessarily verbalize any complaints regarding your husband's… persistent nature—held up from being one of the Chrysos Heir, solidified by the endeavour of fighting for a chance of tomorrow in an otherwise doomed world—admittedly, it gets overwhelming having him constantly be there.
You feel terribly guilty for enjoying moments of peace without having him bound to your side. And you can't even blame him—you've heard about the unfortunate destruction of his home. Having everything he loved burnt away in the sea of flames, leaving behind the ashes of memories for one to carry.
It must've been painful and you can't fathom how isolating it is to be the lone survivor. His village being reduced as a mere cryptic tale, a reminder of how little to nothing left there is to proof its existence.
Instead of falling down into despair, the lost only pushed him to regain it all back. Fill up the void left behind by the scorching flames.
You eyes flicked over to his half open fist. Catching the golden glint of the wedding ring. Despite how familiar the sight have become, your hand grasp hold of his palm. Finger curling, barely covering the surface.
Phainon's left hand always remained hidden under a layer of fabric. Black colored glove. Which he wears only one. Specifically on this hand. Perhaps it's Lady Aglaea's personal preference for unsymmetrical style.
From his palm alone, you could see the ramification arising from his relentless voyage under the title of Deliverer. The one bringing an end to suffering.
He claimed to feel grateful in being chosen by the prophecy because if not for it, he would've been a wandering soul on the battlefield instead of returning home. To you. It was his attempt to reassure, after seeing the worry your gaze held when you found him injured.
Gently, you pull his palm closer to your lips. Tracing over the faint scars left on the callous skin. You're able to feel each one. A scratch that glide across his palm to the rough later formed over the pad of his thumb.
You rest a kiss over the surface. Closing your eyes for the moment, and while there are moments of doubt in your marriage, you cannot deny the love you two hold for one another. No matter how intense his version may come out to be—you'd stay. For it meant being with him.
Hah..
You really are a hypocrite.
The muscles in his fingers twitch, giving him away.
You freeze. In an attempt to see his face, you tilt your head but to no avail. “.. Phai?” Your call receive no answer. You furrow your brows. “Honey?” it seemed calling him by the sweet pet name had an instant effect, as you feel him shift above before he buries his face into your scalp.
You can hear a faint whine. No, you can feel it. You can feel him whining against the top of your head.
“.. How long have you been awake?” the thought of him feigning sleep this whole time is rather embarrassing to know.
Phainon didn't give an immediate answer, but his fingers curl against yours. Cupping your hand in his fist as he pulls you close. He takes a whiff of your scent. Once he's satisfied, he murmurs against you, “when you held my hand. I woke up.. I thought you needed something.”
“.. Oh.” You nearly forgot how much of a light sleeper he is nowadays. He has a habit of waking up early, so you should've known being awake before him is already odd on its own.
The two of you stay like that, ignoring how much brighter the outside world is by each passing seconds.
“.. Can you continue..?”
“Hrm?”
“Kissing my hand.. You—You were in the middle of that.” He clarifies. Unable to control the strain in his voice. “Please.” He added softly.
You huff. It's a one-of-a-kind type of intimacy. One you never imagined for yourself, it always seems distant and out of reach. Yet, here you are. “.. Can I look at you while doing so?”
“Of course,” he loosens his hold, allowing you the chance to shift your position to your other side. Once you're facing him, his hold returns. Perhaps even tighter—more eager.
You lift your hands. Still curled together in a ball. You lay your lips against the side of his hand. A faint whimper escapes him. You drift down, a kiss to his wrist.
“.. I love you.” The words came out naturally, a spontaneous moment amidst your intimacy.
When the air between you began to rise in temperature is when your eyes flick up to meet his. Wide in shock.
And, although you never left his side this morning, his blue eyes are overtaken by the swirling gold. Glowing brightly. His pristine locks is burnt away in a slow, flickering flame as the blonde underneath makes its appearance known.
Next thing you know, you're shuffled closer to his chest by the two charred wings that have emerged from his back. Forming a cocoon around you.
“.. Honey,”
“.. I'm sorry. I couldn't—” he squeezes his eyes shut. The heat rising up to his cheeks as he tries to subdue his body back to its original state. “.. I promise you, I didn't mean to.. Transform.”
“it's okay.” You chuckle, lifting a hand to cup his cheek. Ignoring the burning sensation that greeted your palm. “.. I didn't think I had this much of an effect to you.”
Phainon—no, Khaslana visibly squirms. Unable to deny your words. “.. You uttered it without warning and I couldn't control myself.”
“I like it.” you admit, without shame.
He blinks. “.. You..”
“It's like a reward, you know? I made you feel so loved that your wings sprang up.” you couldn't hold back the giggle that escapes your lips.
Khaslana huffs, unable to respond and choosing to bury his face into your chest. His wings closing in even more, responding to his emotions.
“Hey, you haven't answered me.” You feign offense, brushing past the golden locks. Playing with the longer strands of hair.
He let out a soft laugh, unable to hide his smile. His lifts his head, cheek pressed against your collarbone as he whispers, “Love doesn't begin to describe the adoration I hold for you.. But—”
He leans up, and now it's you whose breath hitches.
“I love you too.” his lips, filled with so much warmth and deep affection, finds it's place against your own.
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phainon who wakes up in the middle of the night with cold sweat running down his forehead and clammy hands grasping at the sheets like it's his lifeline.
the first thing he sees is the dark room, blanketed in the moon's dim glow. the smell of fresh grass and elysian wood makes his nose twitch, muscles relaxing just a bit at the familiar scent of home.
the second thing he sees, and looks for, is you. phainon stares, unblinking and focused, watching the way your chest rhythmically falls up and down—and finally, he lets out a breath. one that he didn't even know he was holding.
his heart still trembles, even as he slowly rests his head back onto the pillow.
there's a deep-seated, and nearly irrational, fear of losing it all again — losing you again. he knows it's unhealthy but knowing something is not the same as feeling it.
so phainon silently counts every heartbeat and monitors every flutter of your lashes as you mumble incoherent sentences. he often wonders what you dream about, if it's anything like his—phainon cannot bring himself to ask, scared of the answer you might say.
he wonders if you wake up with a burning ache in your chest too, anxiously looking for something to anchor yourself to reality. he wonders if you also imagine his smile when you find it hard to breath through the tears and anger.
phainon wonders if you'll ever understand how horridly he needs you to be within his sight at all times. a terrible dependence on a fleeting existence—yours, to be exact.
he hopes you never will.
by the time he's reached the two-hundredth hearbeat, he's already fallen back into sleep, face buried in your chest as he softly snores.
Phainon, who got so nervous asking you out that he meticulously planned out everything months in advance, only to suddenly blurt it out one evening when he was sleepy and he thought you looked too pretty (not that you always weren't, but with the moonlight framing your face and the quiet atmosphere, he couldn't help it). Even when you say yes, he insists on asking you out "properly" anyway.
Phainon, who is so excited to show you off to everyone he knows. He always holds your hand in his whenever you're both walking down Marmoreal Market, always kissing your cheek even when you're embarrassed from the public displays of affection.
Phainon, who, for all his confidence and teasing, blushes incredibly easily. That man cannot take even the slightest bit of flirting from you without turning bright red and stammering. This is something you like to take advantage of, especially to tease him in front of his friends who already know how absolutely down bad he is for you.
Phainon, who was — and always has been — a lover boy at heart. He writes you letters while he's away on long missions, letters that would put the most renowned poets to shame. Not once would he let you doubt that he's found someone else or that his love for you was fading. If anything, he was the one afraid of you falling out of love for him, and he expresses this very clearly in his letters. When you receive them, it always came with a little gift. A flower he found by the road, a cool coin he found at a ruin… whatever it was, it always made you smile with how excitedly he wrote about it.
Phainon, who is so, so soft with you. He knows how physically strong he is, so he tries extra hard not to hurt you. It's especially evident during late nights when you're spiralling as he holds you close, head to his chest, as if he could take away everything that's bothering you. He whisper quiet reassurances, fingers running through your hair to drown out the thoughts.
description: after a long day of work at the dso, you were streaming when a subscriber admits they embarrassed themselves in front of a crush. to make them feel better, you tell them about the time you embarrassed yourself in front of an older agent, who you just so happened to have a fat crush on.
fluff ✿ 2.3k words -> leon kennedy masterlist
You had been working at the DSO for about two years. It was pretty mundane until you were moved to the location where some of the best field agents and dispatchers clocked in for work.
Among them, 30 year veteran Agent Leon Kennedy.
You heard so many stories about the guy growing up. You couldn’t believe he was the one to save the president's daughter by himself, let alone survive Raccoon city in ‘98.
Needless to say, it was sort of surreal seeing him stalk around the office your first day at work.
He was insanely good looking, but the years weren’t kind to him. You could tell from the way his shoulders were slightly hunched over from carrying the weight of the world for so long, the silver strands paving their way into his otherwise dark hair, and the faint lines etching their way across his face.
But, man, was he delectable.
You couldn’t help it! It wasn’t just the way he looked, but the way he acted.
He was kind to everyone around him. His dry jokes were awful in the best way. He was smart and you could tell he went out of his way to make everyone comfortable, including you.
You actually felt a little out of place on your first day, but he made sure to introduce himself to you first and mention you to his other colleagues to save you the awkward introductions.
Sometimes when he’d stumble into headquarters fresh from a mission, you’d steal a few glances, partly in concern and partly because a hot older guy was groaning and panting around headquarters with blood all over him.
Leon always looked a little rough when he returned. His hair would be slightly disheveled, jacket gone for whatever reason, clothes creased and worn from travel.
Sometimes there were faint bruises under his eye or temple or dried blood that wasn’t even his, splattered across his collar and arms.
Despite looking like a hot mess, he still carried himself with that conviction that made everyone move out of his way without even thinking about it.
Almost every single damn time you snuck a glance, he’d catch you red handed. Those sharp blue eyes would flick your way and he’d nod, or if he still had the energy, come over and talk to you.
You always looked away in record time, suddenly finding the report in front of you wildly interesting.
You internally screamed whenever he’d walk over to your desk, lean against it, and ask you how your day was like he didn’t just come back from hell.
It took everything in you not to act like a horny teenager and stare at the veins in his forearms, the little hairs and the speckles of blood decorating them.
And you could never weather that beautiful stare of his.
Why’d he have to look at people so intently when they spoke?
Damn blue eyed stare.
You needed to convince him to get brown contacts or something.
As exciting as the job was sometimes, you just wanted to go home, hop on your computer, and forget the world existed by playing whatever games you found interesting.
You started streaming about a year ago and had recently reached a following of about two hundred thousand.
It was insane, but you were glad you weren’t popular enough to be blasted all over TikTok or Instagram.
You were mid stream when someone donated fifty gifted subs.The message attached admitted they’d embarrassed themselves in front of their crush.
You thanked them of course, but chuckled at their admission.
You sighed, the memory of the other day resurfacing.
“I know how you feel, girl, trust me,” you said, giving the camera a knowing look.
Your chat instantly exploded with people egging you on.
And Leon surely wasn’t on Twitch so…
you spilled.
“If it makes you feel any better, I embarrassed myself real bad in front of my crush at work the other day too.”
You bit the skin on your hand as the memory plagued you.
Then you shook your head with a nervous chuckle. “Oh man, I don’t even know if I should say this…”
Another gifted sub popped up.
girl spill the tea I won’t tell anyone I promise
“Alright but if you clip this you’re all banned. Well actually I’m like ninety nine percent sure this guy isn’t even on social media okay he’s…he’s older so I don’t have to worry about him finding out.”
You rolled your eyes as new chats came in.
OLDER??
like how much older?
You scratched the back of your neck, “he's like....50?”
FIVE ZERO?
beekeeping age
an older man you say???
Dilffff
Oh so he’s a dilf
You gave the webcam a flat look.
“…Okay yeah he’s kind of a dilf, “ You faltered, “but he doesn’t have children okay, not that I know of.”
You shifted in your seat.
“This guy is very well known within our company. And I don’t know—he’s just great. He’s nice to everyone, he’s funny, and he cares about people.”
You huffed at the incoming words of encouragement, or words of delusion.
girl get him
SEDUCE HIM
Ooo a little age gap momentt
WHAT DOES HE LOOK LIKE
whats his name
“I don’t know if I should describe him cause I wanna respect his privacy,” you said with a small laugh. “But let’s just call him ‘the dilf from work’. He’s so out of my league it’s ridiculous.”
You leaned closer to the mic.
“So the other day I was in the break room grabbing a snack before my shift. I was half asleep, okay? Like barely functioning and he walks in.”
You buried your face in your hands for a second before continuing.
“And I panic because I didn’t expect him to be there so early. So I try to move out of the way really fast so he can get to the coffee machine. He sort of leans down to grab a coffee pod, while I grab my steel water bottle…and it sort of swings down—”
You pause, biting your tongue.
Your chat instantly filled with NOOOOOOOOs and you're assuming people know what comes next.
“…He stands up and slams his head into the water bottle as it’s swinging toward him—”
You clutched your forehead, “So now I’m panicking and apologizing cause I bonked him in the head and he’s just crouching there looking confused while I'm holding a hand over the area to prevent it from bleeding more.”
Oh honey…
Yea i would clear out the whole room
loll no he probably thought it was cute trust….
real
“I felt like a fucking idiot!” you cried with a little laugh, rubbing your face in anguish.
You covered your eyes with your palms and peeked through your fingers to read chat, "At least he was nice about it, he didn’t even complain.”
You sigh, “but that was still embarrassing.”
“I would never wish harm on anyone,” you continued quietly, “but I hope he got a concussion and forgets that even happened…or just forgets I exist in general.”
Comments rolled in again.
imagine he sees this
help
yall better not clip ts
“No, don't worry,” you reassured. “He’s not gonna see this. No one at my work is on Twitch or social media or anything like that.”
You let your arms fall back to the armrests and rocked the chair once, eyes flicking over the flood of messages.
Most of them were variations of there’s no way that’s true.
You just smiled to yourself.
And despite yourself, you suppressed a stupid little smile.
Because there was still a part of that embarrassing story you hadn’t told them because thinking about it still made your heart do something extremely annoying.
It happened right after the water bottle incident.
You’d found the little first aid kit in one of the cupboards and patched the cut on his forehead as best as you could while apologizing about twenty times. Leon had been sitting on the edge of the counter, head tilted forward a little so you could reach him, one hand braced against the surface beside him.
You were trying very hard not to think about how close he was. Or how embarrassing it was that you had nailed a federal agent in the head with a metal water bottle.
“There,” you muttered once the bandage was finally in place.
Your fingers were still a little shaky as you stepped back. “Sorry,” you added again.
Leon waved you off with a soft grin, “Ah, don’t worry about it.”
You turned toward the sink to throw the wrapper from the bandage away when you noticed there was dried blood on your fingers.
His blood. You froze for a second, staring at it.
“Oh,” you murmured quietly to yourself.
You reached for the sink to wash it off before it could smear on anything else, but you barely had time to turn the faucet when Leon spoke.
“Here, " he slid off the counter, "Let me.”
You glanced back.
Your pulse jumped the second his fingers wrapped around your wrist, they were huge and a little dry and calloused.
“Sorry about that,” he said, before he gently rinsed your hand under the faucet for longer than necessary and squeezed it a bit to ring it dry, like all this was his fault.
Back in the present, your chair rocked softly as chat continued flying up the screen.
“But anyways…I’m sure I’ll get over it someday.”
The next day at work you were running on maybe four hours of sleep.
You barely noticed Leon approaching until his shadow fell across your desk.
When you looked up, there he was with two cups of coffee in his hands.
He slid one toward you, and you straightened in surprise, “Oh—thank you!”
“Figured you’d need it, you’ve been here all day,” His voice was low and warm, a little rough around the edges like he was tired too.
Leon leaned forward, resting both elbows on your desk like he always did. The sleeves of his dark shirt were pushed up just slightly, revealing those familiar muscles you tried very hard not to stare at.
His hair was a little messy today, strands falling loosely across his forehead. There were faint shadows beneath his eyes that hinted he hadn’t slept much either, maybe he was working late, but somehow it only made him look better.
Your eyes were so dry they almost made the SpongeBob blinking sound, so you rubbed them.
“Tired?” He asked, gaze flitting around your face.
“Yeah…I was up all night finishing some reports after streaming.” You grin sheepishly.
He nods, “Streaming huh?”
You blinked.
“Yeah—you know…like on Twitch. Playing games and talking to chat and stuff.”
Leon’s mouth twitched faintly as he raised his cup to take a sip,
“I know what streaming is,” he clarified, eyes nearly piercing at you over the rim of his cup, like he was staring right into your soul.
You shifted in your seat, “Oh.”
“I’m not that old,” he added, voice softer this time.
You laughed, “Sorry, I just figured it wasn’t your kind of thing.”
He shifted his weight slightly against your desk, one shoulder dipping as he leaned more comfortably into the conversation.
“You’d be surprised,” he continued. “I’ve actually seen a few of yours.”
You froze completely.
“…Huh?” You said stupidly.
“Yeah.” Leon gave a small shrug like it was nothing, though the corner of his mouth and the glint in his eyes hinted he was enjoying your turmoil.
“I’m not really online myself, but Sherry said you had a big following…figured I’d take a look and see what you got up to after work.”
Your stomach dropped straight through the floor.
Damn Sherry.
Whenever he talked with the two of you, she was always looking at you with that little smirk. Or worse, nudged you on the shoulder whenever he approached you guys and made up some lame excuse to leave you alone with him…you knew she could sense your fat crush on him from day one.
“Oh.” Your brain was replaying every second of last night. “Okay.” You cleared your throat, trying to behave normally.
Then you noticed him rub the side of his head absently, fingers brushing along his temple.
“I’m so sorry again about hitting your head the other day,” you blurted out.
“What do you mean?” he blinked.
You stared, “When I hit your head with the water bottle?”
An amused huff left him, “I actually don’t remember much, I think I got a concussion. Been forgetting everything lately.”
You straightened immediately.
Wait, he actually got a concussion?…From a water bottle? So much for America's toughest agent.
You shook your head, what were you thinking?
So insensitive.
“I’m so sorry,” you frown, a wave of guilt washing over you, “Is it like a short term memory loss kind of thing?”
Leon watched you for a moment, then a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You could call it that.”
You nodded slowly, completely serious.
His eyes softened slightly as he looked down at you. Then he pushed off the desk, standing up straight again, “Ah, forgot I’ve got a meeting to head to.”
“Good luck,” You say a little dejectedly, expecting him to walk away, but he leaned closer.
You blinked, swallowing at his proximity.
“You might have to remind me what happened later over dinner,” he crooned.
What.
“Over dinner?...”
“Over dinner,” He concluded, leaning away to slip his jacket on, “You know, since you ‘bonked’ my head so hard.”
Your soul left your body.
“But—“
“I’ll pick you up at seven.” Leon winked and walked away, leaving you sitting there, face burning, realizing two horrifying things at once.
One.
He definitely watched your stream.
And two.
You were absolutely going to dinner with the dilf from work.
A few months later, things were different, but in a good way.
You had somehow survived the embarrassment of that stream and maiming Leon, the panic of realizing he heard about the stream, and the nerves that came along with that first dinner.
And now here you are, still streaming.
Except now there was a six foot government agent occasionally wandering through your apartment like it was the most normal thing in the world.
You were mid stream when your front door clicked open.
Your chat was already moving fast, colorful messages flying past your screen as you tried to focus. Behind you, you heard the quiet thud of footsteps and the rustle of a jacket being set down. You didn’t turn around right away since you were in the middle of a fight in your game, but you could hear him moving around the apartment, unhurried and quiet in that way he always was.
Your chat, unfortunately, noticed.
who just came in?
DOOR?
Is that a mannn???
You tried to ignore them, but a second later Leon stepped up beside your desk.
You caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of your eye. His hair was a little messy like usual, the collar of his jacket slightly rumpled, and he looked tired the way he often did after work.
He was holding a small paper bag. Without interrupting you, he quietly set a couple snacks down beside your keyboard. You looked up, giving him a soft grin as he crouched to give you a quick kiss.
Your chat exploded again.
HELLO?????
wait guys whose that
SNACK DELIVERY???
IS THAT HIM
tHe WORK DILF…
You snorted softly under your breath.
Leon leaned a hip against the side of your desk, folding his arms loosely as he watched your screen for a second.
His expression was calm, faintly amused for someone being examined by thousands.
When the chapter of the game ended with a cut scene, you leaned back in your chair with a relieved exhale.
“Okay guys, relax,” you said, grabbing one of the snacks Leon brought.
You glanced sideways at him.
He raised an eyebrow slightly, “Don’t be rude, Hon, aren’t you gonna introduce me?”
You rolled your eyes.
“Chat this is the work dilf I told you guys about a few months ago.”
Leon let out a quiet chuckle at that, ““The work what?”
He braced one hand on the back of your chair and leaned down further until his head appeared on the edge of the camera frame. He squinted slightly at the screen, trying to read the messages flying past.
HELLO SIR
Yo is that Leon Kennedy??
HI LEON
easy white chocolate
Your work dilf saved the presidents daughter?
Easy there white chocolate
BE cool chat
guys she said she works for the dso it makes sense
His brow furrowed with genuine confusion. “Why are they calling me white chocolate?”
You shook your head as the chat spammed even more at the sound of his voice.
ooo he’s real
HIS VOICE
flash us
BEEKEEPING AGE
Leon leaned a little closer to the monitor.
“…What’s beekeeping age?”
You dropped your head into your hands.
Leon glanced down at you, a small crooked smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“Should I be concerned?” he asked quietly.
You shook your head in defeat, “I don’t even know.”
While your chat was having the time of their lives, Leon leaned one arm on the desk, settling in like he had officially joined the stream.
He scanned the chat slowly.
“Alright,” he murmured, “I’ll read some more.”
You winced,
“Maybe don’t—“
Too late.
HOW OLD ARE YOU
Leon huffed, “Old.”
Wait so what do you guys do for work?
Leon paused, “…We work for the government.”
ARE YOU ACTUALLY THE WORK CRUSH
Leon glanced sideways at you, eyes softening just a little, “I hope so.”
aww how did you fall for her??
“Well, I knew she was the one for me when she clocked me in the head with a bottle.”
You smacked his chest, “It wasn't on purpose!”
Your heart flipped a little when he grabbed your hand and placed a soft kiss on your palm.
He straightened up after a moment, grabbing a snack from the bag. “Well, this has been…enlightening.”
“Sure was,” you muttered under your breath.
He glanced down at you, “You’ done embarrassing yourself online for the night?”
You huffed, “…No.”
Leon chuckled quietly, then ruffled your hair as he walked away.
You looked at the webcam like your chat was in timeout. “I hate all of you.”
Leon’s voice drifted from the kitchen.
“Be nice.”
Your viewers immediately sided with him of course.
shiii i mean, if leon worked with me, the world would neverrr hear the end of it.
I FOUND OUT WHAT IT MEANS and I was right :D i was worried it had some crazy double meaning
Summary; hcs Yandere! Leon Re9 for his darling as same age as him or an age gap (10 years+)
Word count: 755
Cw: yandere
The ChaGold member, thank you, @alexex8sts as always for keeping me motivating to draw more :-)
Oh boy..
For sure, Leon has been around the block. You know, saving the world couple times is another daily life for Leon. Outbreaks? Checked. Beating Bioweapons? Easy, checked. Government agent? Expert of it, checked. Since the disaster of Racoon City, he learnt something for sure:
Anything he loves…will be in danger.
Leon is not pessimistic nor some paranoia, he claimed, either.
It is that an experience taught him in hard way.
If his darling is the same age as him:
I definitely guarantee that his yandere tendency dramatically develop over time… Well—presumably, you were there when the outbreak happened. Confusing, panicking, paranoid definitely—everyone running for their lives while the world collapsed around them. Still, Leon found and rescued you. Always protecting you like you and him knew each other for a whole life, even though you just met him like what… an hour ago? You thought— maybe it’s because he’s a police officer, so that’s why.
Leon has always been protective since then. It would look like nothing unusual because what you and Leon have been through together seemed understandable. It’s just simply part of who he is. Anyone who went through something like that would hold onto each other tightly. So it feels natural.
He walks slightly closer to you in a crowded street while his hand is always gently touching you— like making sure you won’t disappear in front of him.
You might think he’s just being cautious cause you know… trauma bonding.
Over time, his protectiveness grows deeper.
He remembers your schedule without trying. It is like you’re having a real-life reminder application all the time. Even if he’s out for a mission, he still finds time to message you. He notices when you change the usual route home, or when someone stares at you for a little too long.
He’s just simply… pays attention.
Because Leon knows, in his mind, if something ever happened to you again—
The world would become hell for everyone.
If his darling is younger than him (age gap: 10 years+):
Leon becomes consciously and painfully aware of the gap between your world and his.
He’s old. You’re young.
You still laugh easily at things. You still innocently believe that the world—despite everything— can be better.
Happy.
Sunshine.
Optimistic.
Such a naive view.
Leon wants to protect that.
He doesn’t like the idea of danger being anywhere near you. The mere thought of having someone or something harm you destroys him. He’s slowly getting rid of possibilities to protect your innocence. Leon makes sure that you wouldn’t notice the disappearance of… some friends—not like you have many in the first place, as Leon forbids it.
Not directly, of course.
He is the Leon S. Kennedy—a DSO agent. Careful planning is practically second nature to him.
Instead, it happens subtly.
Plans suddenly change. Invitations disappear. A friend who used to visit often now moves abroad to study. Or maybe they found a new job in another city which is extremely busy to message you. Maybe they simply… gone.
What a strange coincidence, really.
And every time you ask Leon about it because why not—he’s an agent, super good with investigation! He simply shrugs it off.
“People drift apart sometimes, baby.”
His voice is calm. Reassuring. Gentle.
Sometimes he calls you “baby.”
Sometimes “sweetheart.”
The words slip naturally from his mouth, warm and affectionate in a way that makes your chest feel lighter.
You believe him with all your heart.
Because why wouldn’t you?
Leon is the one who’s always there for you. The one who always shows up when things feel uncertain— it’s like he can read your mind! The one who’s always listening to you no matter what you say— not to mention he laughs at your jokes! — always!
To you, Leon is incredibly supportive.
To anyone else, Leon is so… terrifying.
There is something about Leon’s presence that makes everyone wonder. Like why his eyes always follow you. Or why every time your presence is here, Leon’s presence is also… somewhere near you.
So most people don’t dare to ask. They probably go along with it and keep their distance from you.
And Leon prefers it that way because the fewer people around you, the fewer risks exist.
Protecting you… is the only mission that truly matters.
As Leon gently brushes a strand of hair away from your face, his voice soft when he speaks.
“Careful there, sweetheart.”
— his hand lingers just a little longer than necessary.
⠀. ⏝ི𓏶. ゜ imagine ⠀leon⠀being obsessed with you⠀ ⋮
It starts slowly. Like a bruise.
A bloom beneath the skin, rich and purple, touched first by something so soft it couldn't have been malice. Couldn’t have meant harm. You don't feel it at first—not really. Just a press of eyes on your back when you're not looking, the quiet ache of someone remembering you far too deeply. Like bone remembering breaks. Like scars whispering in the dark.
Leon notices before you do.
It starts with your voice—how it curls at the end of sentences, how it coats the inside of his ears like honey left too long in the sun. Your laugh plays on loop in his memory, a scratched record, skipping and repeating, skipping and repeating until it drills something into the meat of his thoughts. Something soft, and pink, and wrong.
It itches.
He scratches.
Blood under his nails becomes normal, eventually. Skin under them, too.
It’s not your fault. You didn’t know.
He loves you in the way the sea loves a corpse. Gently. Reclaiming.
Again and again, like it’s your right to float. Like it’s his right to pull you under.
He used to be normal once. A good man. A hero, even. A dog sent on missions to fetch the impossible and come back wagging his bloodied tail.
But then came you.
You, with your dumb jokes and bad coffee.
You, who pressed gauze to his wounds and said, “You look like shit,” like you cared.
You, who touched him like he wasn’t already rotting inside.
And something inside him moved.
Something shifted.
There’s a horror in love when you’ve lived through what he has. When your nights are stitched together with screams and the smell of iron and burning teeth. When every person you’ve ever let in has been torn from you like flesh from bone.
So this time—this one time—he digs his fingers in. Hard.
He won’t let go. He can’t.
It’s not the kind of obsession that sings.
It gurgles. It twitches. It weeps.
It leaks through the cracks in him like a black oil slick, slow and steady, coating everything it touches. He begins to think in you. He dreams in you. Even when he looks in the mirror, it’s your eyes he sees staring back—soft and wide and terrified.
He changes in ways you don’t notice.
He starts standing closer. Listening harder. His pupils don’t dilate right anymore; they stretch, ripple, like something inhuman underneath is blinking.
You brush your fingers against his arm once, and he swears he hears a chorus of wings inside his skull. White feathers. Wet feathers. Broken feathers.
He bites the inside of his cheek until he tastes copper and dreams of you tasting it too.
It gets worse.
(For him. For you. For both.)
You start dating someone.
It’s nothing serious—some guy, some smile. You’re allowed to live.
But Leon… Leon rots.
Jealousy is not a fire in him. It’s a sickness. A fungus. A bloom of spores in the hollows of his ribs, clogging his lungs with thoughts of him touching you. Of you laughing for someone else. Of him stealing what should've never been his to begin with.
Leon dreams of peeling the man's skin back like wrapping paper, slow and deliberate, just to see if you’ll still kiss what's underneath.
He doesn’t act on it.
He’s still a good man.
(He thinks.)
You cry in front of him once. Small tears. About nothing. Life.
And he breaks.
He reaches out and cups your face like you’re made of glass—and maybe you are. Maybe that’s why he loves you. You’re so fragile. So human. So mortal.
He presses his forehead to yours, breathing hard, shaking. “I could make you happy,” he says, voice torn from something too deep to be a throat. “I wouldn’t let anything hurt you. Not again. Not ever.”
You pull back. Smile. You think he’s being sweet.
He isn't.
He’s desperate.
You leave. The door closes. The air is empty again.
He screams, but only on the inside.
It festers.
Like meat left out in the sun. Like a heartbeat with no body.
He starts collecting things.
Your used coffee cup. Your grocery receipts.
A strand of your hair he finds on his jacket.
He wraps it around his finger like a ring.
Sometimes he holds it to his nose and breathes so deep his ribs creak.
Sometimes he puts it in his mouth.
Just to know what it’s like to be one with you.
If you’re inside him, maybe he won’t be so alone anymore.
One night, you call him crying. Your boyfriend left.
Leon doesn't smile.
He doesn't move.
He just watches the ceiling and whispers, “Finally,” like a prayer.
He visits you the next day. Brings you soup. Holds you while you sob. Tells you that you’re okay. That you’re better than okay. That you're everything.
That it kills him to see you hurt.
And in that moment, you believe him.
Because the monster doesn't wear fangs around you.
He doesn't have claws.
He has tired eyes, and gentle hands, and a voice like a lullaby.
He’s Leon.
Your friend.
You hug him tight.
You whisper thank you.
And he holds you like the grave.
Like something sacred.
Like he’ll never, ever let you go.
And deep in his gut, where the rot blooms and the hunger grows and the love festers like a wound, he thinks—
Maybe if he keeps holding you… you’ll never leave.
Maybe if he holds you tight enough… you’ll become part of him.
Skin to skin. Muscle to muscle.
Bone to bone.
Forever.
It doesn’t happen in a burst of passion.
It doesn’t need to.
When you tell him you love him, your voice is hoarse. Raw.
You say it like you’re afraid of it, like it’s a creature with too many teeth.
But you say it.
You still say it.
And Leon—Leon doesn’t breathe for ten whole seconds.
Not because he’s surprised.
But because this is the moment the thing inside his chest finally hatches.
It unfurls like wet wings, veined and trembling, inside the hollow of his ribs. It was always there. Nesting. Waiting. And now it knows. You love him. You chose him.
He smiles. Quietly. Softly. A little too wide.
And when he pulls you into his arms, he thinks, this is it.
This is the moment he stops being a man and becomes a body built to hold you.
Living with him is easy.
Too easy.
You barely remember how it happened. It was slow. Like ivy climbing the sides of a house. One overnight bag turned into drawers, drawers into closets, closets into keys. His apartment began to smell like your shampoo. His bed started to hold the shape of your body.
You cook sometimes. He mostly just watches.
You sleep in. He never does.
You cry in the shower once—he hears, but he doesn’t interrupt. He just presses his forehead to the door, and whispers, “I’m here,” over and over, until you stop.
He starts keeping odd hours. Coming home later, with blood on his knuckles and not much to say. You assume it’s work. You don’t ask. Not really.
He doesn’t need you to.
Because you're his now. And the truth doesn't matter when the lie is beautiful.
There are rules in this home.
Unspoken, but enforced by the weight of his gaze:
Don’t leave without telling him.
Always answer your phone.
Don’t worry about the basement. It’s locked for a reason.
You listen. Of course you do. You love him.
And he? He worships you.
He memorizes your body in ways no one else ever could. The way your lashes clump when you cry. The vein behind your knee. The birthmark on your hip. He kisses them like a sinner at the altar. He whispers prayers into your skin, low and fervent and broken.
You think it’s love.
(And it is. Just not the kind that leaves people whole.)
Sometimes, he holds you at night and you can feel it.
The tension beneath the surface. The thing straining in his bones.
Like his body isn’t enough to contain his devotion.
Like his flesh wants to crawl into yours.
His nails dig too deep.
His breath comes too fast.
He says your name like it’s the only thing that’s real in the world.
Like he’s drowning in it.
“Leon,” you whisper, brushing his hair back. “I’m right here. It’s okay.”
And he nods.
He nods, but he doesn’t blink.
Because he can still hear it—the heartbeat in your throat. The sound of your blood. The way your warmth bleeds into his chest like you're trying to become part of him, too.
He dreams of it.
Of melting into you like wax.
Of crawling under your skin, curling up beside your heart, and never leaving again.
He buys you flowers one day.
Not roses. No—he knows you hate clichés.
He buys lilies.
White.
Silken.
Lovely.
You laugh and say they’re beautiful.
You don’t know why he smiles so deeply at that.
You don’t know that he imagines them clutched in your hands on a wedding day
—sacred, his.
There are days he watches you sleep.
Not because you look peaceful (though you do).
Not because he’s worried (though he always is).
But because he needs to memorize you. Every line. Every breath.
In case something happens.
In case the world tries to take you away from him.
In case he has to build you again from memory, from scratch, from bone.
You never question how safe you feel in his arms.
Even when he shakes.
Even when he mumbles things in his sleep that don’t make sense.
Even when you catch him staring at your reflection in the mirror and not at you.
You don’t ask.
You love him.
And love means trust, doesn’t it?
Even when the thing loving you is not entirely man anymore.
Even when it claws at the inside of his skin, begging to break out and drag you inside with it.
One night, as you lay curled against him, you whisper:
“Do you think this is forever?”
And Leon—he doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t even smile.
He just leans in, presses his lips to your temple, and breathes in like your scent is the last thing tethering him to this plane.
He whispers:
“It always was.”
And beneath his chest, the thing that used to be his heart—
bloated with want,
cracked with need,
pulsing with a love so heavy it warps the ribs around it—
finally stops rotting.
Because it has you.
And in Leon’s mind, that means it can rot in peace.
With your name in its mouth.
Forever.
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GENRE: Fluff / Humor / Domestic Fluff / Established Relationship
SUMMARY: You knew Leon could be funny. You'd known since Spain, when he'd crack jokes between waves of cultists, making you forget you were about to die. But that was your Leon—young, ironic, not yet broken by the world. Now, sometimes, you feel like you're living with a stand-up comedian having a midlife crisis. Bad puns, terrible food comparisons, and the worst pickup lines you've ever heard. But every single one of them means the same thing: I love you. I want to make you smile. I'm here. With you. Forever.
You knew Leon could be funny. You'd known since Spain, when he'd crack jokes between reloads between waves of cultists, coming out with such gems that you forgot you were about to die. But back then, he was your Leon—young, ironic, not yet broken by the world.
Now, sometimes, you felt like you were living with a comedian who was having a midlife crisis.
It started small. At first, you didn't pay much attention. So he'd say something stupid, make a joke. You'd always been direct, and he'd always tried to lighten the mood. It worked.
But then it stopped being just jokes. It became... a system.
The first time you noticed was at the supermarket.
You were grocery shopping, a regular evening, nothing special. You were picking out meat, Leon standing by the cart, watching you with an expression that suggested you were doing something incredibly interesting.
"You know," he said as you picked up a package of chicken breast, "if you were a steak, you'd be well-done."
You froze, package in hand.
"What?"
"Well-done," he repeated. "Because you're... well... done. Well done. Like, good job. You did well. And also—"
"Kennedy," you said. "Did you just compliment me through meat?"
"It was a pun."
"It was idiocy."
You turned and walked on, but out of the corner of your eye, you saw him smiling and tossing something into the cart that you definitely hadn't asked for.
After that, it became regular.
Week two. You were sorting papers in the kitchen, trying to focus on a report that needed to be submitted by morning. Leon sat across from you, twirling a pencil, watching you.
"You know why I love watching you work?" he asked.
"No, and I'm afraid I'm about to find out."
"Because you're always in focus."
You looked up. He was looking at you with such pride, as if he'd just formulated the theory of relativity.
"That was a camera pun," he explained. "Focus. Get it?"
"Leon, if you don't shut up right now, you're going to have a focus with my fist."
He shut up. For five minutes.
Week three. You were walking down the street, coming back from a friend's place. The night was warm, starry, you were in a good mood, and even your back barely hurt. Leon walked beside you, watching you, and you knew that look—something was coming.
"You know," he began.
"No," you said.
"I haven't even said anything yet."
"And you don't need to."
"You look tonight like you..."
"Leon."
"...stepped off the cover of a magazine."
"Which magazine?"
"Any of them." He smiled. "The 'Your Wife Is Out of This World' Weekly."
You stopped. Looked at him. He stood there, hands in his pockets, with that stupid happy face.
"You made that up just now?"
"That was an improvisation."
"That was terrible."
"You're smiling."
"I'm not."
"You are. I see it."
You turned and kept walking, but he was right. You were smiling.
One month. You were watching a movie. Some old detective film you'd already forgotten because all your attention was on your husband, who sat beside you apparently preparing his next line.
"Look," he said when the hero on screen drew his gun. "He's got the same model as mine."
"You have a different one."
"I mean the model." He turned to you. "You know why I love my gun?"
"I don't want to know."
"Because it's always loaded. Like me when you're around."
You slowly turned your head. Leon was looking at you with the expression of someone who'd just said something profoundly romantic.
"You just compared your dick to a gun."
"It was a pun."
"It was a cry for help."
He laughed. You rolled your eyes, but when he reached for you, you didn't pull away.
Two months. You were cooking dinner, Leon sat at the table drinking coffee. You could feel his gaze on your back, knew he was smiling, knew something stupid was coming.
"Y/N," he said.
"Mm."
"You know what you and a good wine have in common?"
"No, and please don't say you've aged well."
"No." He paused. "You both get better with time."
You turned. He sat back in his chair, cup in hand, looking at you as if you were the only thing that mattered.
"That was almost sweet," you admitted.
"Almost?"
"If you ignore that you compared me to alcohol. Given our history, that's..."
"I didn't mean it like that," he said quickly.
"I know." You walked over, took his face in your hands. "You're an idiot, Kennedy."
"Your idiot."
"That you are."
You kissed him. He kissed back—soft, warm, and you could feel him smiling against your lips.
"I love you," he said when you pulled back.
"I love you too. Even when you're insufferable."
"That's the important part."
Three months. You were sitting on the couch, reading a book—or pretending to read. Actually, you were watching Leon, who was scrolling through his phone and periodically glancing at you with the look of a man preparing for a major presentation.
"Y/N."
"Mm."
"If you were a vegetable, you'd be..."
"If you say a cucumber, I will kill you."
"No." He put down his phone. "You'd be a pepper."
"A pepper?"
"Hot," he explained. "And sweet at the same time."
You looked at him for a long time. A very long time.
"Did you Google these jokes?"
"No."
"You're lying."
"A little."
You couldn't help it—you burst out laughing. Loud, genuine, head thrown back. Leon watched you with shining eyes, and in that moment, he wasn't an agent, not a hero, not a man who'd seen too much death. He was just your husband, who loved you and didn't know how to say it directly.
"You're an idiot," you said when you finally stopped laughing.
"I know."
"But you're my idiot."
"That's the important part."
You moved closer, settled on his lap the way you always did. He wrapped his arms around you, pulled you close, buried his nose in your hair.
"Why do you do it?" you asked. "All these stupid jokes?"
"Because you smile," he said simply. "You so rarely smile for real. And when you do, I forget about everything else."
You were quiet for a moment. Then you turned and kissed him—long, deep, so he would understand without words.
"Thank you," you said.
"For what?"
"For making me happy. Even in stupid ways."
He smiled. That same smile that had made you fall in love with this cop all those years ago.
"It's my job," he said.
"Your job is saving the world."
"This is the bonus."
You laughed again, and he laughed with you. And in that laughter, in that warmth, in this home where you were alone together, was everything. All your lives, all the trials, all the losses and all the gains. And all those stupid jokes that had become something more than just words.
Because behind each one of them stood: I love you. I want to make you smile. I want you to be happy. I'm here. I'm with you. Forever.
Summary: different Leon eras telling you for the first time he's yours.
This part includes Re2 Leon and Re4 Leon, next part coming soon!
Re2r:
The first time Leon told you he loved you was sweet. You thought that was the sweetest thing someone could ever tell you. But the time he told you he was yours felt completely different. It felt even better.
It all started when you two arrived at the restaurant after a long day at the station, still in uniform. The young waitress came to your table, and you noticed it immediately, the moment her eyes landed on Leon. On your rookie. On your Leon. The way she smiled like the night had suddenly become interesting. She scanned him without even noticing that you were scanning her right back.
Young, confident, and extremely bold.
She leaned a little too much on the table, looking directly at him, completely ignoring your presence. Leon, who was already planning on ordering half the menu, was too focused to notice. But you did.
“Good night, officer,” the girl purred, playing with her hair.
Leon didn’t even look up. Of course he didn’t. He was naive. Naive in a way only he could be.
“Night,” you said, cutting straight to the point.
She finally looked at you, and the small flicker at the corner of her lips gave away the annoyance on her face.
“I’ll take your best wine. The boy will have a burger. Extra cheese.”
Leon looked at you with a smile. You were perfect for him. If you hadn’t ordered, he would have spent half an hour reading every dish just to end up choosing a burger anyway.
By the time the waitress came back, you were holding your glass like a lifeline, and once again, Leon didn’t notice anything wrong.
It wasn’t until mid conversation that he realized it wasn’t really a conversation. He was the only one talking, going on about something while you weren’t even listening.
“Are you okay?” he asked softly, reaching for your hand over the table.
You looked at him. He was still new to this kind of affection, you could tell by the way his cheeks turned pink.
“Yeah. Don’t worry your pretty head about it, rookie,” you said, taking another sip, but not letting his hand go.
“Is it because I messed up the paperwork earlier? I promise it won’t happen again. It’s just… you looked so pretty and I… you can’t blame me, I-”
“Rookie, you’re fine. It’s fine. Eat your fries and let’s get out of this place. I don’t like it.”
He tilted his head slightly.
“But you only ordered wine.”
“Yeah, the wine’s fine. It’s the service that I don’t like,” you murmured quickly.
“Why?” he asked, frowning in confusion. “The waitress was kind.”
“Well, that’s the damn problem, rookie. Now eat your food.”
He obeyed for about three seconds before everything finally clicked.
You were jealous.
You. The prettiest woman he had ever seen. The one completely out of his league who had somehow ended up interested in him. You were jealous?
“You don’t have to be jealous,” he said softly, even softer than he intended. “I mean… you know I’m your rookie, right? I’m yours.”
You looked at him again.
The soft blush from earlier had turned into a deep crimson spreading across his entire face. The way he offered himself so honestly, so hopefully, made your heart jump.
“I know, rookie.”
Re4r:
Leon was a stubborn man. A really stubborn one. But he was also your partner. The one who stood next to you in life or death situations, the one who had saved your life more times than you could count, just like you had saved his.
And that was it. Just two coworkers who had somehow not killed each other yet.
So when you received a call from him in the middle of the night, you picked up immediately.
Music was playing on the other end. Voices in the background. Then a soft “shh” that made you double check the name on your screen.
“Leon?” you asked, your voice still heavy with sleep.
“Sweetheart? You there?” he said. He sounded strange. That tone he only used with you was mixed with something else you couldn’t quite place. “I told you she would pick up, you asshole.”
“Leon? Who are you talking to? Where are you?”
“Oh, you know, just hanging out with some guys from the station,” he answered, trying to sound casual.
That’s when you realized.
He was drunk.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he continued, laughing a little now. “Can you tell them you like when I call you that? They keep calling me a liar. Say you’re too bossy.”
Laughter followed, not from him. You recognized one or two voices in the background, murmuring and teasing.
“Leon, I need you to send me your location,” you said, trying to stay patient. Even if you wouldn’t admit it, you were worried. He wasn’t the type to drink, so his tolerance was probably nonexistent.
“Huh, you’re not asking nicely,” he replied, now laughing with them even though he clearly didn’t understand what was so funny. “Come on, sweetheart, just tell them how much you love me.”
“Put me on speaker, Leon,” you said.
The moment you heard the echo of your own voice, you sighed before speaking again.
“Listen to me. I will track this phone down, and if anyone other than Leon is still there when I arrive, you’re all fired.”
You hung up, already putting on your shoes. The last thing you heard was the laughter turning into nervous murmurs.
It wasn’t hard to find him. The place was just a few blocks away from your apartment.
Leon was there. Alone this time. Sitting at a big, now empty table, barely awake.
“Get up, Kennedy. We’re going home.”
“Mm… your home or my home?” he asked, trying to stand. He stumbled immediately, and you had to throw his arm over your shoulder to steady him.
“I’m taking you home.”
He protested instantly, letting his full weight lean against you, making you stumble this time.
“No, sweetheart, don’t leave me alone. I wanna be with you.”
“That’s not negotiable, Kennedy.”
“Don’t call me that,” he mumbled. “Call me one of those pretty names you use. Please, sweetheart, I need it.”
“Leon, get in the car, okay? We’ll talk about it at my apartment.”
“Woah, ma’am. I’m not that easy,” he said, smiling like a complete idiot.
You couldn’t help it. You laughed.
“Well… maybe I can make an exception just for you.”
“Well, thanks, Leon,” you said, rolling your eyes.
“My pleasure, sweetheart.”
You got into the driver’s seat, focusing on the road, the streetlights passing by in silence. Leon stayed quiet for a while, staring out the window.
Then he turned to you.
“You’re my sweetheart, right?” he asked, suddenly unsure. They had mocked him, called him a liar.
You had an answer ready. A simple no to shut him up for the rest of the ride.
But then your eyes met his for a second.
And that was enough.
“Yeah, Leon… I’m your sweetheart.”
The way he smiled could have melted you completely. He let out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding and turned back to the window.
“Great…” he murmured, eyes already closing. “I’m yours too, Sweetheart.”
You glanced at him.
That wasn’t what you meant, but he was already drifting off. “All yours.”
hello could i request a very clingy phainon towards reader especially when he gets sick and expects reader to be with him 25/8 :33 bonus points if he says hes ok and he can stand up from his bed but hes actually burning up
Temporal Displacement (Phainon x Reader)
A/N: Hi anon! :) Thank you for the request. Clingy sick Phainon immediately sounded adorable to me. Enjoy! :)
Tags: Fluff. Comfort. Sick Phainon. Clingy Phainon. Phainon Is Dramatic Even With a Fever. Caretaking.
Word count: 861
⋆ ✦ ⋆
Phainon insists he is perfectly fine.
Which, under normal circumstances, might be believable. He is sitting upright in bed, posture still straight despite the blankets pooled around his waist, hair slightly mussed in a way that would be unfairly attractive, if he didn’t look so miserable.
The problem is his cheeks are flushed, his eyes are slightly glassy, and when you press your hand to his forehead...
You sigh. “Phainon.”
“This is nothing,” he says, voice rougher than usual but still attempting that assured tone. “A minor disagreement between my immune system and the universe. Hardly worth mentioning.”
“You’re burning up.”
“Only somewhat.”
“You can barely sit upright without swaying.”
“That,” he replies, attempting dignity, “is a dramatic interpretation of events.”
As if to prove his point, he pushes the blanket aside and begins to swing his legs out of bed.
Three seconds later he sways dangerously.
Phainon goes very still. Then, slowly, he sits back down.
“…The room is moving,” he observes, with complete seriousness. “Which is strange. Rooms don’t usually do that.”
“You’re dizzy.”
“The architectural structure appears to be experiencing some kind of temporal displacement.” He pauses. “Also yes. Possibly dizzy.”
You pull the blanket back over him before he can attempt another heroic display of stubbornness.
“Stay.”
His hand catches your wrist immediately. “Are you leaving?” There’s something almost plaintive in his voice, the usual eloquence fraying at the edges.
“I’m getting you tea and soup.”
“Ah.” He doesn’t let go. “That’s acceptable. But you’ll come back?”
“Of course I’ll come back.”
“Promise?”
You look at him and something in your chest goes soft. “Promise.”
He releases your wrist reluctantly, fingers trailing against your skin.
You return to find him exactly where you left him, watching the door like he’s been counting the seconds.
His whole face lights up when you appear. “You came back.”
“I said I would.”
“Yes, but—” He accepts the tea with both hands, fingers brushing yours and lingering. “Time feels strange at present. Minutes go very slowly when you’re not here.”
You settle beside him on the bed. Immediately his shoulder presses against yours.
“Phainon.”
“Mm?”
“You’re being very clingy.”
“I’m ill,” Phainon says, like this is obvious. “The ordinary rules of space feel less important when one’s body is staging a full rebellion.”
He sets the tea aside and his hand finds yours, fingers threading through yours with a desperation that makes your heart ache.
“You’re cool. Temperature-wise.” He presses your joined hands to his too-warm cheek. “It’s very nice. You’re very nice. I’d like you to stay and I think those two facts are connected somehow.”
“You’re using me as a cold compress.”
“I’m using what’s available.” But there’s the ghost of a smile at his mouth. “Also you’re here and you feel...right, is the word. Everything else feels wrong today and you feel right.”
His thumb traces absent circles on the back of your hand. He’s not quite looking at you. Like he’s afraid if he asks directly you might say no.
“I’m not going anywhere,” you say softly.
His breath catches. “You shouldn’t stay too close,” he murmurs, even as his grip tightens. “If you get sick because of me I’ll never forgive myself. That would be a tragedy entirely of my own making. I’d have to carry that guilt for—”
“Phainon.”
“—years. Decades, possibly. Depending on how long I—”
“Phainon.”
He stops, looking at you with fever-bright eyes.
“If I was going to get sick from you, it would have happened already.”
He considers this carefully. “So you’ll stay?”
“I’m staying whether you want me to or not.”
Something in his expression just crumbles.
“Oh, thank everything,” Phainon breathes, and then he’s leaning into you properly, head dropping to your shoulder, arms winding around your waist like he’s afraid you might dissolve.
“I was trying to be very noble about it. Insisting you keep your distance. For your sake.” His voice drops. “But I’m genuinely terrible at noble when I feel this awful.”
You wrap your arms around him, one hand sliding into his hair. “You don’t have to be noble.”
“Good. I was failing completely.” He burrows closer, sighing against your neck. “Has anyone told you that you’re very comfortable? It’s nice.”
“You might have mentioned it.”
“Well, it bears repeating.” He settles more fully against your side, like something finally giving up the performance. “Everything else feels terrible and wrong and you feel…not that.”
You pull him down against the pillows, and he comes willingly, curling into your side, one arm draped across your waist, face tucked against your shoulder.
“Stay?” he asks quietly.
You press a kiss to his too-warm forehead. “I’m not going anywhere.”
His arms tighten. “Promise?”
“Promise.”
“Even if I’m being unreasonably clingy?”
“Especially then.”
Phainon exhales and finally lets himself go still.
Within minutes his breathing evens out.
His hand never leaves yours.
When you try to shift slightly an hour later, he makes a distressed sound in his sleep and pulls you back, muttering something about temporal displacement and staying right here.
You settle back in, smiling.
Some things, apparently, are non-negotiable.
Even in sleep.
⋆ ✦ ⋆
A/N: Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed it. :)
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