yk that stupid anime trope where a girl has a really tight shirt and the butfom xomes off and the shirt opens anyways that but on noel noagghhfhh did u like my bunny tittie rirehquest i liekd reading it this isa requeast too gn player reader idc what team tho
Yes I really liked that req I think I did my big one for Bunny there
ââ(Too big.)âŽâââ 1.5k.
Your fingers work up Noa's shirt as the chatter outside fades to a faint buzz. When you reach the third button from the top, you have to pause. The fabric is already straining.
"Noa," you start, "what size did they give you?"
"A large," he replies, monotone.
Are we sure? You ask in your head as you shoot him a wary look. You sigh anyway and push your hands together, button looping through the seam with effort. You sigh as you squint your eyes at the two upper buttons. You contemplate letting him leave the two at the top alone, but decide against it with a shake of your head. This is the Ballon D'or, and all players should look their best. Plus, you're itching to just get this over with and take your seat for the big announcement, and you doubt Noa would let you leave without a fuss.
You move on to the next button and are required to huff in order to close the gap. You struggle to bring the fabric together, making Noa stumble forward in the process.
"Why do you need me to help you, again?" You ask. "I'm not the manager and you're definitely not some kid who needs help with his motor skills."
He watches you silently for a moment more, your fingers fighting to get the shirt closed.
"I just needed another pair of hands. Don't take it the wrong way," he quips coolly.
Your eye twitches. "I wasn't going to."
With a big inhale, you sharply tighten his shirt around his large chest and manage to button it closed. The poor thing's on it's last string, thoughâ literally. You quickly button the top one as it requires less (but frankly still a lot of) effort, and step back with a cautious hand. The white dress shirt makes his eyes pop. The buttons look like they're gonna pop, too.
"Don't make any sudden movements," you command him. "You'll burst out of your clothes if you do."
He glances down at his way-too-small shirt before staring into you again. His blank expression never rubbed you the right way when you'd meet his gaze.
"Let's go." You turn to leave the dressing room first with a smirk. "We need to see if I win this year or not."
You don't look back to see if he follows you.
Well, you didn't win.
Your hand slams into the solid wall as you struggle to regain your composure. This is the second year Noa's won the Ballon D'or, leaving you without the grand trophy again. Even after you were so courteous to button his lifeless shirt for him, he...
Well, the fact he won the Ballon D'or wasn't his fault. Except it was. God, I should've never helped that asshole! You berate.
The dressing room door creaks open and there's the golden boy of European soccer in the doorway. The trophy, now out of his hands, would make him look average for once if it weren't for the fact that you could very much see the fine lines where the cotton stitches of his shirt were stretched to their limit.
"Noa," you begin with gritted teeth, "congratulations." Fucker.
"You seem unhappy."
You exhale a loud breath in an attempt to keep yourself calm. Of course I'm unhappy, dimwit! But you wouldn't say that out loud.
"Well, it's natural to feel disappointed after losing what I worked so hard for," you grin.
He just nods. Just a nod. You wished to strangle him.
He steps closer as you straighten up from the hunched post-punch stance you'd taken. Noa stops in front of you with a keen glint in his eyes, gaze narrowing as he looks you up and down, rather rudely, you'd like to think.
"Is there a problem?" You ask carefully. Your arms cross as you try not to stare at the obviously struggling buttons in your line of vision. You'd tell him to take it off before it busts, but that'd be a little...
His voice jerks you back into reality. Your gaze focuses again as he speaks.
"No."
"Right."
There is no problem, therefore no reason to stick around, right? You can't stand another second of getting entranced by those sunny eyes or the steady, unwavering way he looked at you. You swear he does it on purpose, those disgusting goo-goo eyes when he wants your attention.
You move out of his line of sight and make a beeline for the door, but Noa's arms darts out to catch you. When you turn, it's in slow motion. The way his fingers grasp around your arm. The way his lips part to say "wait" in that stoic, husky voice. The way your head turns only to get shot in the forehead by a stray button from none other than Noel Noa's dress shirt.
You grunt and your head flicks back for a moment, a lingering sting under your skin as you wrench your arm out of his grip.
"What do you-"
You're cut off as the rest of the buttons follow suit. They fly towards you and you shield your face, one bouncing off of your hand. When that barrage of attacks stops, you lower your arm slowly with a more than pissed expression. You're met with ivory skin and pecs that look juicy enough to bite into, attached to a head with a face that carried as much surprise as you.
He didn't even let out an 'oh' when that all happened. His eyebrows are just mildly raised with his hands coming up to feel the empty string that once held a button.
You're the first to actually react properly.
"Seriously? That couldn't have been more comicalâ how about you actually wear the correct size next time? That hit me in the forehead, you know. What if that happened onstage?" You rambled. The thought of him flashing everyone in the audience and on live TV was pretty entertaining, but you were too busy dumping your emotional load on him to chuckle at the thought. "What kind of Ballon D'or winner doesn't even know his own size? Someone should release a tabloid about how Noel Noa's fashion choices are exclusively 'extra small' and 'size zero.' Is someone as incapable as you worthy of the Ballon D'or?"
Your rambling would continue if not for the fact he raised a thumb and pressed it into where his button smacked you. His warm hand catches you off guard and you take a leap back, not used to the big striker touching you so suddenly.
"Wh-"
"Are you injured?" He cuts you off. "You don't seem to be."
You also rub the spot where it stings. You couldn't help the way your cheeks start to heat up, and now your dress shirt was suddenly too tight. Too hot.
"I'm not about to be hospitalized because of a button," you retort, eyes still glaring but voice now unsteady. His pale skin hits you like a truck as he sheds his shirt, and you inhale sharply when he sets it on the counter beside him.
Of course he'd take off his shirt, it's broken, you reason. Still, it doesn't stop you from growing all warm. Does he have to have such a prominent 8 pack? Lucky bastard's winning in all the gene pools!
He steps closer and you visibly tense. He notices, because of course he notices, and moves closer. He's in front of you again, and he runs his hand over your forehead, this time covering the space with his palm like he's going to grab you.
"I suppose you're right."
That voice, in that angle, in this proximity makes your knees wobble. You catch yourself from actually wobbling of course, but it doesn't take away from the fact you're under the influence of this man's presence.
You gulp and swipe his hand away. The silence between you is only filled with the faint hum of fluorescent lights. It's suffocating. He's suffocating.
He tilts his head at you, as if tracking your every breath, and you decide you've finally had enough of this scrutiny. You don't like being watched under this... this prototype's gaze.
"Piss off, Noa," you finally say. You dropped the kind act long before. When you turn away this time, he doesn't catch you again.
Just as you're about to leave the room, you hear him pipe up. "Work harder next time," he calls out.
You swear you feel your blood boil inside your veins as you turn to him, but your angriness dies in your throat as he's standing only a good meter away. He would've been on the other side of the room when you turned away. How does a giant move so quietly?
"I- I told you already to piss off." But your stutter told him otherwise.
"Come and help me get my clothes on," he beckons. It's like he's trying to lull you to do his bidding.
"No."
He doesn't respond.
You take that as a win and swing open the door, slamming it against the wall as you storm out. Noa's left there in the dressing room with your scent in the air and the fading feeling of your skin under his hand.
You'll come around eventually. You shouldn't hide your feelings; they'll burst out of your head if you do.
Argenti has been on my mind all day so... Sick!Royal!Reader x Knight!Argenti for my own indulgence!! (~650)
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You were sick. You had always been sick. On the day you were born; on every birthday that followed. You were sick when your siblings were born and you were sick when the heir to the throne was finally named. It wasn't you, of course. Your body failed you and your mind took the brunt of the exhaustion. Fatigue: it clung to your bones with cruelty. Succession was not for you but solitude wasâa lonesome life was your destiny. The crown would not sit atop your weary head in this life. You doubted that it would in another.
The estate was silent, it often was when illness clung to its stuffy walls. Despite the countryside wind that drafted in warm currents through the corridors, a solemn air remained. Yes... loneliness. Many knights had left you for better stations. Many servants outgrew their positions within these old walls. You had watched them come and go. You had signed their letters of resignation. Their eyes... you knew they found you too numbing. Perhaps they thought you too dizzy to understand their sentiments:
Being by your side was punishment. There was no loyalty following your sadness.
Argenti was the newest knight appointed to you. A wonderfully kind man that served the kingdom with dignity. You were taken aback by his assertive politeness when he first spoke to you. His words were sweet, sickeningly so, almost cloying to hear. His eyes were gentle. His sentiments blunt in their passion. He was unabashed. He was filled with life.
You had always assumed he would leave you too; a knight like him deserved more than what a silent manor had to offer.
But Argenti never did.
It was obvious that Argenti saw beauty within you. At first, you had assumed his words were courteous liesâit wouldn't be the first time a person spoke in compliments to you. Rather, it was a common occurrence given the royal blood that pulsed haphazardly within your aching veins. Sugar-coated sentiments. Demands masked in silk. However, the more he said it, the more you knew he believed every single word that spilt gently from his glossy lips:
"You have been blessed by the Goddess Idrila THEMSELF," he would say when the sun kissed your skin at midday. "A beauty like yourself rivals the depth of twilight," he would add when sadness clouded your tired eyes.
Argenti went beyond your expectations. His kindness was immeasurable. Not only did he remain diligently at your side, fulfilling his role as your knight with great pride, but he also picked up the slack for staff that believed they could get away with negligence. His eyes, often tracing the curvature of the hilly landscape, settled on your body. He was intense and you knew that he was searching for signs of distress. He supported you when your legs grew tired. He fed you when you felt too weak to do so. He kept you company when silence was what you needed most.
You believed he took pleasure in your comfort.
When the prospect of him leaving was brought into the air between you, Argenti shut the notion down quickly. "It is more than duty that keeps me by your side," he said with no room for debate, "to forfeit the right to serve you would be a disgrace to my very honour and an insult to you, my lord/lady. I would blemish beauty itself!" You knew he meant it. That's why you felt a creeping fluster ebbing up your neck. "I do not wish to lose the right to your company."
Argenti never looked at you with pity; you were uncertain whether the knight could hold onto such sentiment. He was the very image of patience and riddled thick with passion. He was devoid of ill-intent and if time allowed it, he would serve you till the end of time itself.
pairings : Phainon, Dan Heng, Mydei, Anaxa, Blade, Sunday x m!reader (all separate)
summary : Your boyfriend got drunk while he was out with his friends, now you were tasked with picking him up to bring him home.
tags : fluff, x male reader, established relationship(s), a little angsty in Phainon's (?), alcohol consumption, comfort, they're all kind of clingy, mentions of being shirtless/half naked (Blade, Mydei, Sunday), a little suggestive but not really (Blade, Anaxa)
word count : 3.8k
a/n : some of them might be a little ooc, I'm still practicing writing for most of these guys
Also guys reminder my requests are open pls send me requests......
Phainon
This man will NOT shut up about you when he's drunk. Everyone around him is exhausted, the only thing he's talking about is how much he misses his beloved.
He's not a lightweight, but he doesn't have a high tolerance either. So he was completely gone about halfway through the night.
He was sobbing into Mydei's shoulder about how handsome his lovely boyfriend was and how lucky he was. Mydei was about ready to throw him out of the nearest window.
When you finally arrived to pick him up, he was a babbling mess, clinging onto you the entire time. He would have probably jumped into your arms if he wasn't too heavy for you to carry him.
"Y'er so... handsome," he giggled, pressing his face into the crook of your neck while you fumbled with the keys to your apartment. It wasn't exactly easy to take something out of your pocket when you had an oversized, human puppy clinging to you from behind.
When you finally managed to open the door, you practically had to drag him inside and push him onto the bed. He whined slightly at the loss of contact and looked at you with his signature pouty face, though he didn't seem to make any move to get up.
"Don't leave..." he mumbled and reached his hand out towards you. How could you say no to that man? He knew very well what effect he had on you, yet even in his drunken state he seemed to act clueless about it.
"I'll be back in a moment, Phai," you reassured, leaning down and pressing a gentle kiss to his flushed face. He took the opportunity and grabbed your wrist, pulling you closer again to place his lips on yours. His kiss was sweet, loving and gentle. He always was. Still, he needed to drink some water or he'll be whining about a headache the next morning.
You pulled away from him again and quickly left to the kitchen before he could grab hold of you again. After you got a glass of water, you returned to see him facing the wall while tightly glutching your pillow against his chest.
"Phai?" You asked, placing the glass down and gently placing your hand on his shoulder. His head perked up immediately and you noticed the way his eyes lit up.
"Hi.." He sat up and pulled you closer to him again. His grip on you was tight, but not to the point it could hurt you.
A comfortable silence settled as he just held you close on his lap, his face snuggled into your chest while your hand playing with the soft white strands of his hair.
After a few minutes of silence, you felt his body tremble slightly, a quiet sob eliciting from his chest. Your hand froze. He was always a bit more emotional than usual when he was drunk, but you didn't expect him to start crying.
"Phai?" You moved your hand under his chin and lifted his head up. There were soft tears staining his cheeks.
"I-I love you..." He sobbed softly. Your eyes softened slightly and you pressed a kiss to his forehead.
"I love you too, my dear," you laid down on the bed with him, his face still pressed into your chest.
"Promise.. to stay?" His voice sounded more vulnerable than usual.
"Of course, always," you reassured again and tightened your hold on him. He stayed quiet for a few more minutes before you felt his body relax against you, a sign he had finally fallen asleep. Although, because of how his arms, and even his legs, were wrapped tightly around you, there was no way you would be able to leave now. Not that you wanted to anyway.
Dan Heng
Dan Heng getting drunk was a... rather rare occasion. He likes to drink, don't get me wrong, he just doesn't get drunk easily.
On the rare occasion that he does though, he'll stare at you like you're the most beautiful man in all of existence. There's this soft look of fondness in his eyes and it feels like he becomes unaware of the world around him.
Although, he also tends to get a lot more bold and talkative when he's drunk. The normally laid-back and quiet vidyadhara might even get the confidence to flirt with you while others are around.
When he got drunk while out with March and the Trailblazer, they seemed surprised how much he suddenly started talking. Especially about you. He was normally a bit secretive about your relationship , but now he was confidently rambling about your small habits he loved or about things you had done on dates with him with a fond look in his eyes.
Once you finally showed up to bring him home, his eyes lit up immediately when he saw you. You stepped closer to him and leaned down, pressing a kiss against his cheek. A sober Dan Heng would have just blushed slightly at most, but now he went after you to peck you on the lips.
You didn't have to drag him, despite his unsteadiness on his feet. He was holding onto your hand tightly as you brought him back to his room and handed him a glass of water to sober up.
"[name]?" He said quietly after staring at you for a few moments.
"Hm?"
"You're really handsome," he declared, as if it was a fact he had read in one of the many data bank entries he had memorised.
You blinked a few times before chuckling in response and leaning closer to him. The fond but slightly clueless look on his face, as if he was analysing you, was adorable.
"You are too, my love." Your response brought a soft chuckle out of your boyfriend and he placed his arms around your waist. His normally rather cold body was now radiating heat due to the alcohol cursing through his system.
Time felt like it slowed down for a few moments as Dan Heng rested his head against your chest and seemingly just listened to the way your heart was beating in your chest. A soft, steady rythm. You embraced the vidyadhara as well and simply let him stay like that until you felt the tension in his body slowly vanish. He had drifted off to sleep while standing up, sadly, not the first time this had happened.
One time you had caught him sleeping while standing in front of one of the computers in the data-bank of the express. It surprised you that he hadn't fallen over, maybe it was a vidyadhara thing to be able to fall asleep standing, you made a mental note to ask him about it.
For now, you carefully lifted him into your arms and brought him over to the mattress and blanket he labelled as his bed. He looked so peaceful like this, his eyes shut softly and his chest rythmically rising and falling with each breath he took. The sight brought a smile to your face as you took off his coat to make it more comfortable and then tugged him in.
"Goodnight, my love," you whispered, gently pressing a kiss against his forehead and lying down next to him. He would probably be embarassed about all of this in the morning, especially once March and the Trailblazer start to tease him about all the things he had told them.
Mydei
Typically, Mydei was quite stubborn when it came to showing affection for you. Even more so when there were other people around that might see him acting all soft and cheesy. He had to keep up his image of being a strong, fearful, kremnoan after all.
"There is no word for being 'soft' in the kremnoan language." He'd claim with a huff, though the blush on his cheeks was always quite evident and difficult to miss.
However, when he was drunk that was a completely different scenario. The high and mighty prince of kremnos was no more, instead he would stare at you with furrowed eyebrows whenever you would refuse a kiss, even with his friends around. It was honestly a sight to behold, him suddenly refusing to leave your personal space and seemingly becoming even more dense than he usually was.
Phainon had been the one to inform you that your beloved boyfriend was trying to start a fight in the bar they were in, all just because he thought he had heard someone make a rude comment after he mentioned you. (They were involved in a totally different conversation at the table beside them and were frankly quite confused when this random guy began throwing threats a them.)
When you had arrived, Phainon had tried his best to explain the situation, while Mydei kept insisting he had "defended your honor".
You sighed as you pulled him out of the bar, luckily he wasn't trying to resist coming with you.
"They were sayinggg bad stuff," he slurred, "so.. I defenDed your honor. Are you proud?" He looked so smug as he said that. You seriously wondered how he managed to sound so full of himself sometimes.
When you finally arrived home, Mydei stubbornly sat on the edge of the bed with his arms crossed. You had told him to go to sleep, but apparently that was beneath him.
"I do not require rest," he commented. You sighed for the probably tenth time that night and stepped closer to him, your hands on your hips as you looked down at your boyfriend.
"Your hangover is just going to be even worse tomorrow morning if you don't get some rest." He huffed, turning his head away. Did he plan on fighting off the upcoming hangover like he did his foes? Seriously, he lacked all rational thinking whenever he was drunk or when he was hanging out with Phainon.
"Please?" If demanding didn't work, you would just have to try... a 'different' method. You leaned in closer and pressed a soft kiss against his neck, then against his cheek.
"For me?" You fluttered your eyelashes at him and watched as his face slowly but surely became as red as the markings on his body.
"Fine," he muttered under his breath, avoiding eye contact. Shy Mydei was one of your favourite things in the world.
"But- only because I love you," he slurred the 'I love you' at the end, sounding almost a bit timid as the words fell off his tongue. You couldn't help but chuckle softly as you left to get ready for bed yourself.
Once you came back, Mydei was already laying in your shared bed with a chimera plushie hugged close to his bare chest. So much for the intimidating warrior he had acted as only a few moments prior.
You climbed into bed beside him and laid down with your back facing him. It didn't even take a full minute when a pair of strong, muscular arms wrapped around you from behind and your beloved pressed his face against the back of your neck.
"Do you love me too?" He mumbled quietly.
"Of course I do."
"Good..." You smiled softly as the two of you drifted off into sleep. He was definitely going to pretend none of this happened by the time he woke up.
Anaxagoras
Anaxa was an arrogant and proud man. He was aware of that. You were aware of that. Most others were aware of that. It was one of the few many reasons why he had such a large number of people that opposed him.
That fact didn't change when he was drunk. He gained more confidence anytime he had a bit too much alcohol running through his system, which wasn't necessarily a good thing. If "the great performer" gained more courage to speak his, already difficult to understand, mind, chaos was sure to follow.
He had stood up on one of the tables in the bar and began proudly explaining some of his latest research result before he started to ask random people the most absurd questions. Anytime they gave him a response that did not satisfy him, he would bring uo your name and how you surely would have known how to reply.
When Hyacine and Phainon attempted to get him off the table, he tried to pull out his gun (which Phainon had luckily taken from him beforehand) to fend them off.
"You are not [name], onlY he has.. *hic* permission to touch me," he declared and stumbled backwards before falling off the table- right into your arms, to his luck.
Hyacine had contacted you a few moments prior and pleaded for you to pick up the professor. Now you stood here, holding the infamous blasphemer in your arms like a damsel in distress.
He glared at you before realising it was his beloved holding him. A scoff left the scholar as his arms wrapped around your neck and he leaned his head to your chest, something he would usually never dare to do while others were watching. Anaxa quickly started rambling about how everyone in this bar was 'utterly unreasonable', while you carried him out, waving a quick goodbye to a worried-looking Hyacine.
He kept rambling about his theories and how no one understood what he was saying all the way back home to your shared apartment.
Once you were there, you gently placed him down on the bed and started to help him get changed. He was still rambling. It was always quite surprising to you how much he could talk at times, you weren't even responding most of the time.
After you had finished changing his clothes, you sat down beside him and placed a hand on his thigh.
"If they just tried to view things my way then-" Anaxa was cut off when you suddenly leaned in and pressed a kiss against his lips. The scholar was caught off guard, his face slowly turning red as his eyes stayed focused on your lips.
"Hmph," he scoffed, typically he would give you a snarky response or tell you not to interrupt him, but now he just quietly leaned in a bit. He clearly wanted you to kiss him again.
You smiled softly as you pressed your lips against his again and carefully pushed him down onto the bed so that you were on top of him. You admired the way his hair was slightly messed up now and the soft blush spread across his face, paired with the somewhat pouty expression he had.
"Sleep," you said, laying down next to him and tugging him closer to your chest. You could hear him grumble something incoherent as he relaxed in your arms.
Blade
Blade wasn't a man of many words, he preferred to keep most of his thoughts to himself. He wasn't particularly quiet about your relationship, however. He made sure others knew he had a boyfriend, especially if they looked at him weird; he'd glare at them saying "I have a boyfriend." and watch with amusement as they walked away.
When Blade got drunk, however, he would be even more open about it. He still wouldn't speak any more than usual, but as soon as you showed up after Kafka called you to pick him up, he decided that you should sit on his lap instead of standing beside him.
To say he was a bit clingy when drunk was an understatement, he refused to let you get up from his thighs and instead kept his face buried in the back of your neck. His grip on you was tight, but not too tight to the point it was hard for you to breathe.
"Seems like Bladie is feeling a bit clingier than usual," Kafka commented in an amused tone. Meanwhile, you gently traced your fingers over your boyfriends hand. He hummed in response and slightly tightened his hold on you. Since it didn't seem like you'd be able to get up any time soon, you instead decided to chat with Kafka and Silver Wolf for the time being.
Some time later, Blade finally softened his hold on you a little, leaning closer to your ear.
"Home..." He said, his voice slightly hoarse. The sound and vibration of his chest sent a shiver down your spine.
You got off of his lap and took hold of his arm so he wouldn't bump into anything or anyone on his way out. You waved a goodbye to the other two stellaron hunters before directing your attention to the man practically glued to your side.
"You okay?" You asked, though the look on his face made you feel a bit nervous. His eyes were focused on you and you alone, drowning out everything else around him. He was always a bit hard to read, but now it felt even more difficult than usual.
You sighed in relief when you finally arrived home, taking off your shoes and guiding Blade to your shared bedroom. You turned around for a moment to get your pyjamas out of your closet, when you felt Blade's strong arms wrap around your waist from behind, and soft kisses being pressed against the exposed skin on the back of your neck. You chuckled a little, his bangs were tickling you.
However, when you suddenly lifted you off the ground and tossed you on the bed, you certainly felt startled. Even more so because you now realised he had removed his shirt and the only thing left were the bandages on his body.
"Blade what-" You were cut off as he pressed a kiss against your neck And another, and another. It wasn't rough or needy or anything, it was soft and loving, careful.
You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him down against you, feeling the weight of him press you down into the mattress as he finally stopped pouring his love for you out against your skin. He relaxed his tense muscles and closed his eyes, feeling the way your fingers ran through his hair in a calming manner.
"Tired?" You asked.
"Mmm..." He sighed, rolling onto his side and pulling you on top of him. You could tell by the way he was holding onto you that you certainly would not be able to get up again to get changed. His chest was way too comfortable for that anyway.
"Hm.. Goodnight, Bladie," you mumbled, but the only response you could hear was the soft sound of his steady breaths.
Sunday
Sunday didn't drink often. Partially because he was a lightweight, partially because he always seemed to embarass himself when he got drunk.
Like the one time he had thought you were planning to break up with him just because you got up to use the restroom. Or that other time when you were still living in penacony together and he had attempted to sing one of Robin's songs while intoxicated. He wasn't that bad of a singer usually, but when you had shown him the video of his singing the next day, he would have preferred to crawl into a hole and never come back out again.
He was only planning to spend some time in the party car with the other nameless, but had seemingly gotten carried away and drank one too many glasses of alcohol. Now, he was lying face down on the ground, having tripped over his own feet in an attempt to get up and go to the room you two shared. The Trailblazer had taken a picture of him and sent it to you, telling you that your "princess needs saving".
So, now you were standing over your boyfriend who still wasn't moving. You heard March mumble something along the lines of "is he dead?". He certainly looked the part. With a sigh, you kneeled down and poked one of his wings.
"Uh.. huh..?" Sunday tried to raise his head, though, much to his dismay, his head was definitely spinning too much for the halovian.
"[name]...?" He muttered, trying his hardest to focus his vision onto one of the multiple images of you he was seeing. You almost laughed at the dazed, confused look on his face.
"Let's get you to bed, Sunny," you mumbled. You bent down and carefully scooped him up into your arms, so that you were now carrying him bridal style, before you left to bring him to your sleeping chambers. He was clinging to your neck the entire way and staring at you as if he was trying to decipher some secret code hidden within your eyes.
Once you arrived at your room, you brought him inside and set him down on the bed. Knowing him, he would probably still insist on getting fully changed into his pyjamas.
You made your way over to the closet and opened it, taking out a baby blue pyjama. It's fabric was soft and silken to the touch. You were about to turn around when you heard a crash behind you, spinning on your heel.
Sunday was laying half on the bed, half on the ground, his head and arms stuck in the confines of his shirt. He seemed to have tried to remove it himself but gotten a bit... tangled up.
"Oh dear," you put the pyjamas back down on a chair next to you and walked over to Sunday, helping him sit up straight again. He was often a little disoriented when drunk, so this was no surprise to you.
You gently removed his shirt and the rest of his clothes til he was left in only his underwear. He was so out of it he didn't even seem to register being almost fully naked in front of you- not that you would mind. You had seen him naked multiple times already. Sunday would just typically get quite flustered over something like this.
After you finally managed to help him put on his pyjamas and made sure he had drank one glass of water, you finally laid down on the bed with him. You put on the tv in your room since you were yet to feel sleepy. There was a random cartoon running at the moment.
The little bird featured in the cartoon had happily picked up a cake from a bakery and was now escorting it back home, when someone bumped into it, causing it to drop the cake. The little bird's expression dropped and it started to mourn the cake splattered on the ground now.
Apparently the scene felt quite emotional to your boyfriend in his drunken state, seeing the poor bird grow all sad made tears form in Sunday's eyes.
"I-it was so.. happy about the cake," he said, sniffling quietly. You deadpanned upon realising that he was crying and hurriedly turned off the tv.
"Alright, enough tv for tonight..." You pulled Sunday's head into your chest and turned off the lights.
"The poor bird..."
"Sleep, love."
â stxrlitlibrary, do NOT copy, steal, translate or repost my work anywhere else.
The idea of Dan heng in his Permansor Terrae form, his tail just naturally wrapped around you as you walk passâ uebhebhghggnnn
AND I SAW ONE OF THE COMMENTS IN INSTAGRAM SAYING THAT A DRAGON'S TAIL HAVE A MIND OF IT'S OWN OMEGRBHRRFFGG
Somewhere in the express you can hear March's voice echoing in excitement as she asked for a certain Archivist to let her touch his horns, approaching the owner of the cheery voice, as the door to another wagon of the express revealing Dan Heng's large back and in front of him there's March who's extending her hands towards Dan Heng's horn.
Oh,
You just realized that he's in his Permansor Terrae form, his form looms over as he had to lean down a bit to let March do her actions.
And you were planning to walk pass, as you just casually strides to them. But as you were about to walk pass Dan Heng, his tail wrap itself around your middle, preventing you to walk further away from him.
Confused you look down at it and was just about to pet his tail before you feel Dan Heng's figure stiffens and immediately pulled his tail off you, "I'm so, sorry. It's uh.. it has a mind of it's own." He spat out as he turn away and covered half of his face with his hand. And soon enough you and March can see the tip of his ears slowly growing redder and redder, not to mention how his tail in his hold starts to flick up and down as if it wants to break free from Dan Heng's graspâ
Soon enough you can feel March cooing teasingly at the poor Archivist who is actually your lover, but still haven't announced the relationship with anyone in the express, but it seems like his tail refuses to let the relationship lay low as it recognizes you and your body shape so well it just casually wrap itself around you like how it was when you two slept together. Be it you two are back to back, his tail will always find it's way to you. Be it in his Imbibitor lunae form, or Permansor terrae form.
And when you're alone with him in the Archives, he walk up to you, standing right behind you he then wrap his arms around your middle and nuzzles his face on your neck. Soon enough you felt his tail slowly wrap itself around your right leg up to your thighs, "Are you okay?" He whispered softly.
"You're stealing my line." You responded at his question, earning a chuckle from the taller man who's body now looming over you from behind. "I, .. I'm okay, a little bit bashful after what happened a few moments ago with.. March." He muttered softly as his arms tightened just a bit around you, "I think she will just tell everyone that you and I are together." He added. Making you chuckle softly at his statement before turning your upper half just a bit to look at his face, letting your hand reaches up to his cheek, smiling at him.
"it's about time anyway." You mumbled before leaning towards him, letting your nose brush against his. Soon enough you felt something cold brushing against your neck, then his thumb brushing against your jawline. He exhaled softly before leaning down further to let your lips and his hover against eachother, "I suppose so." He said before he closes the distance.
Šonlyyourhallucination â 2026//Do not Copy/Translate/Use for AI
Ýę°.THE OTHER ITOSHI SIBLINGâ! random older sibling!reader and itoshi brothers texts ęą â¸â¸.á .
starring â older sibling!reader, sae itoshi and rin itoshi
content + warnings â smau. random ryusae mention. lush makes a poop joke everybody please laugh. rin and sae bicker all the time </3. everybody in this house has a potty mouth.
an â this was requested!
Š Ęá´ęąĘĘá´É´ęąęąęą á´ęąá´ 2025, line dividers from; @/cafekitsune
the brothers aren't really the best at showing that they love each other sometimes, which is especially true when they fight.
harsh words were exchanged, items were thrown, lotan was nearly summoned and at the end of it all, none of them want to talk to each other and keep insisting that "the others are all such unreasonable pieces of shit", or something to that effect.
it made you worry all day, seeing them stare daggers at each other and refuse to speak at all during dinner. you were too scared to talk at all yourself, worried you'd set them off again. the tension was so thick you could barely breathe.
but then, when you flopped down on your bed and opened up devilgram to distract yourself from such an exhausting day, you came across one of those "i would choose you as my brothers in every universe" reels by chance. the cute childhood photos, the sentimental music, the whole shebang.
and just above the account's username, the profile pics of all the brothers were floating in a nice little group. you even clicked on the little cluster to find that every single one of the brothers had liked this reel.
it seems they didn't account for the fact that the new update made your icon appear publically in the bottom left corner of reels you liked at some point.
you smiled to yourself, vowing to not remind them about this and taking a cheeky little screenshot. just for safekeeping.
it's little things like this that make you realise that all is well, even if they fight.
from the corner of his eye, lohen notices the way your body starts to slow down. he didnât think much of it until you laid your head on his shoulder, settling into his warmth. when he hears your breathing turn to soft snores, he realized you had fallen asleep on him. considering the two of you had spent the entire day together, sharing lunches and dinners, going out for hikes and what not, he knew you would hit the hay eventually.
lohenâs heart started to beat faster than ever. he had left his gloves on the table, exposing his bare skin to the cool air. the contrast between the heat of his body and the room made him feel a bit clammy. in order to soothe his palpable excitement, he reaches over to squeeze one of your stuffed animals.Â
he fears that if he moved an inch, it might disturb the peaceful dream you were having. and he would rather drink acid than wake you. so instead, he takes it out on your rabbit doll, squeezing it by the neck as he takes deep, calm breaths.Â
youâre too cute.
a little too cute for his own good, as it takes everything inside him not to explode on the spot. his grip tightens around the doll, using it as a makeshift stressball as he slowly closes his eyes. when you brush your nose against his shoulder bone, he struggles to contain his happiness. his cute partner, snuggling up to him after a long dayâit couldnât be anymore perfect.
when you wake up later, seeing your poor doll lose some of its stuffing around its face and neck, you wonder who the culprit may be.
Although it sounds like a clichĂŠ romcom or a fanfiction Castorice would share with you, you can't seem to listen to anything but your heart. So, you say yes, and Phainon becomes your boyfriend in a way you donât quite imagine.
⼠synopsis. What itâs like to date someone who is ignorant of how you feel about them for four years. Or, the three times you try to confess to Phainon and the one time you succeed (by accident).
⼠tags. uni!au, modern Amphoreus, fake dating & 3+1, strangers (kinda) to lovers, idiots in love (keyword: idiots), slow burn, getting together, gender-neutral reader. Not beta read.
⼠wc. 35k
⼠note. This is ch. 1 but please read the prelude first! Text identification: Phainon (đ¤), Cyrene (âĄ), Castorice (âż). References Past Lives (film), and the in-game readables âFestive Culinary Guide,â âGeorios Festive Ceremony,â and âOn Rain Ownership.â
chapter list.
STEP 1. He confesses to you first.
When you are friends with someone like Cyrene, there are a number of topics you should never mention.
The first is your star sign. Immediately, she will sort you according to your natal chart or predict your future using oracle cards. Your introductory reading of the second of these will foretell who you may becomeâthe Deliverer, the Scholar, the Traveler, and so onâwhile any divination after is a matter of hindsight, foresight, and insight. There isnât any real empirical evidence to prove it, seeing as she isnât a Holy Maidan with the gift of prophecy from Calendar Years ago, but it does lead to the second piece of information you should avoid sharing.
Do not tell her that you need help picking out an elective. Not long after, you will be sitting on her bedroom floor with Phainon and Mydeimos who knows where, granting the two of you the privacy needed for her to dim the lights, burn incense, and spread an array of cards in front of you. Then you will pull the Weaver, funny enough, the card of Temperance and the first one sheâs ever read for you. But this time, Cyrene will warn you that you lack introspection before begging you to enroll in Professor Anaxagorasâ philosophy course because itâs just thinking.
You listen and, eventually, you will do exactly that. You will do it so often even if you donât understand, and you will continue even when you do. It will only get worse, too, after you realize that his eyes are all you can imagine when you think of the sea. So when you make your third mistake in expressing your interest in her childhood friend of all people, your fourth will shortly follow with the word yes once questioned if you need advice. And you will find yourself alone with her wishing you werenât as you take the plunge and trust her again.
âWhy are we doing this here?â you groan, dragging your hands down your face with the intention to rip it off and exchange your identity for another if that means you will not compete for the affection of the campus golden boy.
Though that prospect only lasts a moment. You could have fallen for anyone yet it feels strange to envision another in his placeâdismayed may be a better way to describe the unexpected reaction, actually. Regardless, the longer you stare at the ceiling, the more youâre reminded that Phainon may return any minute now; therefore, your best course of action would be to leave to keep your dignity.
Reading your mind, Cyrene answers, âhe wonât be back until later,â and spares you a glance over her shoulder whereupon she discovers you lying atop her bed. âYou werenât paying attention, were you?â she huffs, knocking the back of a dry-erase marker against the whiteboard she was scribbling on.
This isnât the only time youâve witnessed something similar. Sometime last year, you participated in monthly meetings with her and Castorice after the latter expressed her interest in Cifera. So, youâre not surprised, except you assumed any discussion of your predicament would occur later this week or the next instead of a quint after you told her your secret. But with the semester over, you suppose that all her reminders were no longer needed and would be wiped clean from the whiteboard anywayâwhy wait?
Squinting, you can still make out the shape of some of the words and hope the freshly written tidbits under the heading âOperation: Confess to Phainonâ will be easier to remove.
And to ensure he really is preoccupied, you double-check the group chat Cyrene and Phainon recently created. Over the past few months, youâve become closer with their band of friends. It's been a pleasant distraction that you struggle not to indulge in, and that itself is strange since youâre usually better at keeping focus. Today is no differentâthe messages almost seem endless, but your self-proclaimed matchmaker instructed you to stay quiet for now.
â§ The Cool Club + Phainon
Mydei: Has anyone heard from Cyrene? I need her help later
Phainon: I haven't since she left this morning
Phainon: But I can help, Mydei! Just say the word :)
Mydei: No.
Castorice: How mean, Mydei. ૮(â ⸠â )á
Castorice: Phainon is very helpful today.
Castorice: We added an accidental kiss to my story! (Ëś>âŠ<Ëś)
Phainon: Yeah! See? :D You can trust me, Mydei.
Hyacine: Is it possible for us to pitch in?
Hyacine: Just while you wait~
Mydei: Okay, thank you
Phainon: Now you want help???
Tossing your phone to the side, you roll onto your stomach and grab a plush toy resembling a raccoonâCyreneâs favouriteâto prop your head upon. âAll youâre doing is listing out facts I already know and itâs making it worse.â Itâs somehow making you like him more by reviewing every single one.
âWait.â Cyrene faces you, now, hands falling to her hips in scrutiny to ask, âyou know this already?â to which you respond with a pitiful sound. âThe sport he volunteers to teach and the name of his childhood dog?â You confirm with the same noise, now muffled when you press your face into soft fabric while she continues. âWhat part of his body is he proud of?â
âCyrene!â you cry. Of all the questions she may ask, it had to be of that nature.
âWrong!â she chirps with a bright smile, only to tap the length of the marker against her palm in a persistent rhythm. âAny guesses?â
âI donât knowâŚâ Your words trail off, avoiding her stare. Really, thereâs so many aspects of Phainon to name: how soft his hair looks, how steady his hand feels in yours, and how his eyes are so revealing.
Recalling her reaction to you, it could be his smile. Thereâs the polite one he shares with everyoneâsomething that often decorates his face to wordlessly share pleasantries or convey an invitation to converse. Other times heâs shy, and it grows slowly before disappearing like the low tide; or, in the opposite, it accompanies his laughter, bright and unrestrained.
But Cyrene returns to the white board, leaving you to ruminate as she writes out the answer. âHis arms!â
âOh,â you vocalize, unsure of how else to respond. It would make sense. The weather has warmed considerably, and his sweaters and hoodies were replaced with various t-shirts he fills out considerably well. And when you walk side-by-side, youâve noted how his muscles press against your arm once you loop yours through his.
âYou visualized it, didnât you?â Cyrene snickers, and her expression matches the roguery you find in her voice. You answer by chucking the raccoon plush at her, and she catches it when she asks, âokay, what about Kevin and Flame Reaver? Do you know who they are?â
Evidently, sheâs trying to throw you off, expecting you to think of people. âHis chickens,â you say with an air of indifference as you prove to her that you know him as well as you like to believe, growing as absurdly competitive as the chimeras you take care of.
âHe told you about that?â Cyrene seems delighted despite the slight shock in her question. âI thought he would be embarrassed since it sounds like he had a phaseâŚâ
âI asked for pictures and his parents sent some over,â you inform her.
Then, she hums, drawing out the sound and reminding you of the conversation's purpose and the intention behind her every word. âYou know his parents already, huh?â The interjection is not one of inquisition but a dangerous, dawning awareness.
âNo.â You sit up. âNo,â you repeat, pointing a finger as if that would stop the grin from blooming across her face. âNo,â you say it again when her eyes crinkle. âPhainon asked his parents so they sent the photos to him, and he sent them to me.â
âBut he must have mentioned you,â she croons, and youâre sure her thoughts are drifting towards daydreams. âWhich indicates they know you exist, and that also means you've indirectly met his parentsâthey would like you, you know?â Cyrene tuts up her chin, sure of her logic.
Within yours, youâre sure this is fact. âYou're delusional.â
âI'm right,â she says as her eyes flicker to yours before fishing out her phone.
âHave you considered that he would ask for pictures without saying why?â you propose. âThey're his chickens so he might want to check up on them. You know Phainonâa worrywart.â
âI know Phainon, you are correct.â Despite her reply, she does not look at you, quickly typing something to someone. âAnd he asked because you wanted to see them.â With every pause, she becomes more impatient, nails clicking against the back of her phone until she receives a reply.
âCyrene,â you call, but she merely hums after a moment so you ask, âwhat are you doing?â
âNothing.â The answer is too quick, now, to be anything but troubling.
You stand up, the bed sinking under your feet while you try to appear imposing to your coy friend. âCyreneâŚâ Her name leaves your mouth in a drawl, matching your threatening farce.
âOh, they do know you! How lovely!â Completely captivated by you, her laughter rings out at your reaction. âWhy are you whining? Really? Throwing yourself facedown on my bed too?â The mattress dips further as she kneels down and places her hands on your sides, rolling you over like a seal that requires assistance to do so. âI framed it as if I was curious because you're my friend.â Revealing the screen to you, she instructs, âlook.â
But once you do, thereâs a chime and Cyrene instinctively taps the notification, returning to the group chat to see a series of messages.
â§ The Cool Club + Phainon
Cifera: so
Cifera: did he ever find our little starfish?
Phainon: starfish?
Cifera: what? forget about ur darling pupil already?
Phainon: no, but I wasnât aware you called them that
Phainon: and how did you know I was looking for them?
Cifera: princess let me know when i picked her up for our date
Cifera: ended up running into them at the mall with cy. said they weren't staying long
New message
Phainon: thanks! I just got back so Iâll see if Cy's home and ask
âHeâs where.â
With terribly convenient timing, the door outside Cyreneâs room shuts and itâs promptly succeeded by a call of her name. You and Cyrene instantly shoot up, shoulders tense as though youâve been caught before it even occurs. And although the two of you are usually coordinated, that isnât the case when itâs crucial you are.
Tangled in the duvet, your foot catches and you tumble over the side of her bed, only able to brace yourself at the last second and prevent yourself from kissing the carpet. But this, however, causes you to collide with Cyrene, who trips and barely manages to steady herself on the edge of her desk. The impact rattles the objects on the disorganized surfaceâa book falls off the stack; a cup tips over, spilling pens that roll away towards the floor; and her desk lamp topples but, thankfully, does not break.
âCyrene?â Phainonâs voice is muffled but his steps grow in volume as he rushes over. âWhat was that?â He enters seconds after you pull yourself upright and erase the words âPhainon likes it when you laugh.â Glancing at the mess, he asks, âis everything okay?â
âYeah,â you answer with Cyrene, and look at each other in a manner that indicates youâre hiding something from him.
Phainonâs brows furrow as you lean into Cyrene, attempting to hide your expression. âIt sounded like someone fell,â he says, evidently disbelieving of the reassurance and noticeably suspicious of you. He takes a step forward before bending at the waist, plucking a few pens off the ground alongside the book, granting him an appropriate angle to truly look at you.
Itâs difficult to be dishonest.
âI tripped while getting out of the bed,â you explain and notice his expression tighten from the admission.
Placing everything back on the desk, Phainon stands before you and examines you from head to toe with a worry so close to your own when he burnt his arm on the Day of Devotion. Phainon seems to reach out but hesitates, so you take his hand and squeeze it, giving him the courage to inquire further. âDoes anything hurt?â
You shake your head just as Cyrene clears her throat. Turning to her, youâre about to apologize for making her a third-wheel to this conversationâoverlooking how the sentiment flusters youâbut discover that she was capable of erasing no more than the most incriminating evidence in the short timeframe granted.
Phainon cocks his head as he points at what survived. âHis arms?â Your eyes meet because thatâs the polite thing to do when someone is speaking, but considering the circumstances, you look away without thinking, and this makes him nosier, batting his lashes to get what he wants. âWhose arms?â
Cyrene tilts her head like Phainon, but she purposely knocks her temple against yours in a gentle thump. âKhaslana,â she answers.
Itâs such a terrible one but itâs enough to distract him. âIsnât he dead?â Phainon reminds her. The story has moved far from that characterâs focus, Castorice putting all her efforts into the primary love interest.
âWe were imagining what it would be like if the protagonist was with him instead of Neikos,â you lie, guilt swimming deep in your gut. It worsens when you observe the look on his faceâhonestly, guilt is an understatement since Phainon seems to be innocent in his curiosity whilst you speak to him frequently in regards to changing Castoriceâs mind, still saddened by Khaslanaâs fate.
âExactly!â Cyrene agrees but motions to you to stop the topic from fizzling out. âThey thought his arms were sexyâlike really sexyâbut one thing led to another and what do you know! We made a list of what we like about him.â If you didnât have to keep up appearances, your stare would have been so pointed that she would be able to feel it from another room. She nods at you with a smile you do your best to match when her explanation turns absolutely awful. âThey were really getting into it and was embarrassed if you saw, but you get it, right, Phainon? Itâs like when we were younger and youââ
Phainon laughs; or, tries to fake one to cut her off, but then he focuses on you. âThatâs not embarrassing,â he says, âitâs cute.â
âOh,â you vocalize. âOkay,â you say, struggling to put together a sentence and feign normalcy with how overwhelming today has been. From acknowledging your feelings to seeing the source of them whilst planning the best way to confess, it would be nice to be granted a short reprieve.
So, Phainon releases the knot in your chest using a laugh thatâs genuine in comparison to one earlier, brighter than any sunlight. âI mean it,â he insists, âitâs cute.â
Cyrene hums, and the sound starts low before rising softly as if she has some understanding youâre unaware of, but youâre too distracted to register the glee in her melody. âIâm going to call Mydei and see what he needs.â She quickly leaves but not before saying, âdonât have too much fun without me!â
Once sheâs gone, thereâs a strange sort of silence between the two of you, worsened by the sense of being watched in Cyreneâs room when it feels improper to be here without her, no matter how casual she was about it. Phainon looks okay, at least, perhaps even contemplative while he stares at the whiteboard.
Picking up the marker, he writes âKhaslanaâs fashion senseâ and doodles an arm flexing beside the words that are really about him.
You snort. âIs it because you like the colour yellow?â
âI like a lot of colours,â Phainon reminds you with a smile that never seems to leave his lips. It widens once he fixates on the next subject of his artistic endeavours, and you watch the tip of his marker glide over the surface to create what you suspect is you. âBut I like yellow a little more than usual lately.â
Finding another on Cyreneâs desk, you begin drawing Phainon beside your likeness and try not to stare too much when the corners of his mouth rise even higher. âI noticed,â you say, replacing whatâs in your hand with a blue dry-erase marker to colour his eyesâitâs the finishing touch. And after a beat, you say, âwhat did you want to ask me? It sounded serious.â
The text hasnât left your mind since first reading it in Cyreneâs car. The gravity in it, especially, feels like a mist you can't escape from, lingering for far too long through various distractions; it would be better to just ask outright and lift it from your worries.
âItâs nothing. It can wait.â Phainon chuckles as the sentence ends, a persistent habit of his that is, perhaps, more frequent than the way he twirls writing instruments around his thumb. And you observe both in this moment until heâs distracted by something.
âAre you sure?â you ask, forcing him to focus on you with the concern that itâll be dropped in its entirety. If itâs so serious, you only wish for him to share it with you when heâs ready, but you have an unusual hunch that thereâs something different about this. âCyrene is busy right now so we have some privacy.â
âItâs not a good time or place.â Phainon returns the marker to where it belongs to free his hand. Then, he holds up his pinky and says, âI promise Iâll tell you another day.â Hooking yours around his, you agree, and once you let go, he continues speaking. âDo you want to stay for dinner? Iâll cook whatever you like.â
Deciding itâs best to hold back, you nod and follow him out of the room, letting him prattle on about the ingredients he has and what he thinks he can make. Itâs easier for him to talk endlessly about it, attentive to your tastes and going as far as offering to go on a grocery run if thereâs anything youâre craving. You agreeâheâs the happiest like this so itâs all you can do.
Cyrene doesnât join, either, her grin indicating her intention before you leave, yet the entire way there, it only seems normal. Itâs normal to loop your arms together. Itâs normal for the quiet moments to feel comfortable against bursts of conversation. Everything about the rhythm you find with him is normal and ordinary and somewhat customary for the two of you.
You donât want to lose it.
Still, something must change when your affections only seem to grow. But you lock thatâand whatever it is he needs to tell youâaway, and cast it off to deal with on another day.
⥠Cupid
Cyrene: Any status update?
Cyrene: A cute little birdy told me that he spent a while getting ready today~
Cyrene: When asked, he told her that he has something important plannedâŚ
Cyrene: She flew away to give him privacy, but oh! the horror! sheâs practically fishing with the need to know how it went </3
You: lol the birdy is fishing, huh?
You: does the birdyâs name start with c and end with e
Cyrene: I live to entertain âŞ
Cyrene: But the birdyâs name starts with âPhainon hasnât stopped humming since he got home, but if I say something, he might get suspiciousâ
Cyrene: And ends with âso I have to be strategic and ask youâ
You: long name
You: are you sure the birdy isnât hoping to hear some juicy details?
Cyrene: So youâre telling me there are juicy details to be shared? âŞ
You: I wish :â) It wasnât planned
You: Cas was surprised when he showed up too. Gave her cookies for the short notice
You: We went to the beach
Cyrene: I didnât see him pack all the essentials
Cyrene: Only a lunchbox
You: Yeah :â)
You: Apparently I seem homesick? So he wanted to hunt for sea glass
Cyrene: Not seashells?
Cyrene: He wasnât the only one who noticed, just so you know
You: I collected sea glass when I was younger so he thought it would make me feel better
Cyrene: That's sweet
Cyrene: Did it work?
You: Yeah, it did
Cyrene: Do you want to get lunch tomorrow?
Cyrene: I miss you. youâve been working so much
You: I miss you too
You: but you wonât like my answer ueueue
Cyrene: What if I visit? I havenât seen Cyrup in forever too
Cyrene: Iâll keep you busy during your breaks~ maybe talk about the little get together Iâm planning?
You: Iâll make sure your favourite is ready before you get here <3
Cyrene: My! Phainon may have to fight me for you âŞ
Cyrene: Iâll stay all day~ promise I wonât be late! mwah <3
đ¤ Phai
Phainon: a little birdy told me youâre bringing Phagousaâs Laughter to the party :O
Phainon: is it a special recipe from Jericha?
You: lol you and cyrene
Phainon: Was she talking about me?
You: Nothing bad. She was wondering what we did at the beach
You: And itâs a family recipe
Phainon: is it a secret recipeâŚ
You: MaybeâŚ
Phainon: what if I join you when you pick up ingredients? :)
You: no, i know what game youâre playing! youâll figure it out!!
You: be a good boy and wait
Phainon is typingâŚ
You: if you can do that, iâll bring you to the best wet market in the area
You: itâs not in marmoreal market but the outskirts of the city
Phainon: deal :D how can I refuse an expert?
Phainon: I was also wondering if weâre going to do the full ritual
Phainon: and do you remember what happened last year when we went to the city wide festival
You: lol cas was so bad at pretending to laugh when she was blowing on it
You: i canât believe we all ended up laughing for real
Phainon: except Cifera laughed so hard she spilled hers on me :((
You: wow. you donât even remember i helped you clean up?
You: bet you forgot the joke i told you to make you feel better too
Phainon: Of course I remember
Phainon: âŚeverything except the joke, Iâm sorry.
You: prepare yourself
Phainon: preparing myself
You: You can tuna guitar but you canât tuna fish, unless you play bass!
You: Phainon?
Phainon: sorry, I was laughing
You: i canât tell if youâre lying to me or not
Phainon: Iâm not
Phainon: but I was thinking about how much changed in a year
You: Yeah, I canât imagine not talking to you everyday like this
You: Itâs weird we only spoke when our friends hung out
Phainon: better now than never
You: I guess youâre right
You: Wanna see how I displayed the sea glass we collected?
Phainon: okay, but I have to go to bed soon
You sent one image.
Phainon: oh
Phainon: is that the ribbon from the gift I gave you on the Day of Devotion?
You: It is. Pretty, right?
You: During the day, the light makes it reflect the colours
You: Anyways, itâs late. Sleep well, Phai
Phainon: I'm glad you kept the ribbon
Phainon: and it's beautiful
Phainon: sweet dreams
â§ The Cool Club + Phainon
You: i know this is late notice, but the cozy chimera is selling a limited time lemonade if anyone wants to drop by
You: the promotion ends in two weeks, specifically on the last day of the Month of Cultivation :O
Hyacine: That sounds refreshing!
Hyacine: Iâll see you tomorrow~
Mydei: Iâll join you
Phainon: Honeycake addict here is acting like he wasnât going to be there in the morning anyway
Mydei: I can eat more Honeycakes than you the same way I can bench press more than you can
Phainon: Oh? Telling lies, are we?
Phainon: Shall we bet on both?
Mydei: You'll eat your words tomorrow.
Castorice: That was a funny joke, Mydei! (ËľË á ËËľ)
Castorice: I'll accompany you three. Will you be coming, Cifera?
Cifera: pass
Cifera: tried it yesterday
Cyrene: I see~
Cyrene: So you tried itâŚ
You: âŚyesterday?
You: Is there anything else you tried?
Cifera: u mean succeeded
Cifera: is there anything else i succeeded in doing
Hyacine: âŚwhat did you do?
You: Master Cat-Thief is missing
You: Right before her physical too
Cifera: she doesnât like the gardener
You: She needs her booster shot!!!
Cifera: y can't u do it?
Cifera: she won't make a fuss if it's u
You: I can't
You: You know I'm not allowed to do that yet ueueue
Mydei: Cifera, return the chimera.Â
Mydei: What if she gets sick?
Cifera: she cries when i try to
Cifera: u try saying no to fig stew
Mydei is typingâŚ
Hyacine: Is there no other Gardener to administer it?
Hyacine: So long as itâs not the one on duty right nowâŚ
Mydei is typingâŚ
You: That might work :O But sheâs getting it regardless
You: and when did cifera learn to speak chimera???
Mydei is typingâŚ
Cifera: yeah that's what i thought mydei. u canât
Mydei left the group chat.
Cyrene added Mydei to the group chat.
Cifera: u don't know the half of what i can do
Phainon: anything but say no to master cat thief apparently
Cifera: do u wanna talk about that time u
Phainon: that time I what?
Phainon: you didnât finish your sentence?
Cifera: Does that make you nervous?
Phainon is typingâŚ.
You: It's okay, Cifera. I'll let them know and see if we can go with Hyacine's suggestion
You: Next time, just tell me instead of kidnapping them :â)
Cifera: technically she followed me home acting like a lost puppy
Cifera: kinda like baby blues over here whenever he sees u
Castorice: How adorable! I agree.Â
Castorice: ââżâ
Phainon is typingâŚ
You: oh she does that a lot
You: and what
Cyrene: Can Cyrup conveniently follow me home too~?
Cyrene: and what x2
Mydei: Nikador help me
Mydei: I'm not doing this for a second year in a row after Cas and Cifera
Phainon: CIFERAHHH
Cifera: LOL
Cifera: thatâs all u came up with?
Phainon is typingâŚ
Mydei left the group chat.
Hyacine: Oh dear
đ¤ Phai
Phainon: Did you try the charcuterie board yet? :)
Phainon: I baked all the bread and crackers! :))
Phainon: But Iâm really excited for the Phagousaâs Laughter you made!! :D
You: Did you take your turn to stir it? Donât forget!
You: And I tried it, donât worry. If Iâm left alone with it for too long, everything you baked will disappear
You: and why are you texting me? iâm sitting across from you??
Glancing from the screen, you sink deeper into the beanbag chair to catch Phainonâs gaze already on you. From here, you canât hear the snicker that leaves his mouth and, even worse, you canât see his smile when he hides behind his hand. Heâs sitting on one side of the couch with Mydeimos and Cifera filling up the seats and arguing about the board game Castorice just wonâyou and Phainon lost a handful of rounds ago, entertaining yourselves with each other.
A quint or so has passed since Cyreneâs party started, but you arrived early to help decorate, whereas even longer before that, you were cooking a pot of stew to bring to the potluck. Last year, you accompanied them in Okhemaâs streets, partaking in some of the revelry of Phagousaâs Month of Carnival, but itâs nicer this wayâintimate, in particular. And who better than you to make Phagousaâs Laughter if you wonât publicly join the ritual surrounding the dish this year? Itâll be the main event, but youâre always more excited for whatever Phainon puts together.
And although you want to return to your texts with him, Phainon gets up and makes his way over to you. He just stands there, looking down at you with a thoughtful expression that is enough to coax you into rising, yet when you move, he holds up a hand to stop you. Then, he turns his palm over, open and inviting. Confused, you take it but he brushes you off, so you mimic him, and he places his atop of yours for leverage in lowering himself beside you. An unintelligible sound flows from your mouth before breaking out into laughter.
âWhat are you doing?â Your voice lifts as Phainon joins you with his own giggles, doing his best not to slip off the side of the beanbag chair. âThereâs no way weâll fit!â Because youâre right, the aforementioned does happen, so you have to wind your arm around his middle to pull him back to you.
âWe will,â Phainon declares, leaning into your side to force you to do as he likes. âScootâyou just have to trust me.â
Seeing as he's a terrible influence on your common-sense, you listen. The cushion crinkles as you wrestle with gravity, trying not to take up all the space by sliding back into the centre from your combined weight. His hip knocks into yours and you ignore how distinct his cologne is when thereâs hardly any distance separating you. He steadies you in the midst of this goofy kerfuffle but you only let the length of his thigh squish against yours for a moment before tugging one of his legs over your lap. You've had enough of how difficult it is to get cozy that youâre willing to settle for a messy tangle of limbs.
When you peek at Phainon, his grin is brighter than the Sun. Itâs also so warm to be this close to him. Every time you are, the heat of him seems to radiate, and in the hotter months you can picture how uncomfortable it may feel. Still, all you can think of is how pleasant this is right now. Phainon likely feels the sameâor so you hope to believeâas he hasnât moved an inch from the strange position youâve contorted yourselves into. Heâs remarkably quiet, too, after his laughter died away, and the room even more so but youâd rather not come to terms with the attention thatâs likely on the two of you.
Apparently cheeky, Phainon chooses to answer your text aloud. âIt feels scandalous this way,â he says, and has the gall to continue beaming at you through Ciferaâs laughter.
âShould we leave you two be?â she suggests with a snicker. âAre we interrupting?â Her voice is coquettish, suggesting something you refuse to consider with Phainon cuddling you.Â
But before you can form a proper reply to admonish her, he speaks instead.
âNow you are!â he says, the words lilting with glee and absent of any inconvenience. Heâs practically confirming Ciferaâs romantic implication, yet you know heâs just playing along. Itâs easier on your heart not to think otherwise. âAnd donât mind us, I would say weâre quite comfortable like this, arenât we?â
When he directs his focus to you, you swallow down the feelings that were beginning to boil and hum in agreement. âWe were texting about something silly; itâs nothing important.â
âAlright, if you say soâŚâ Cifera trails off, offering you a searching look that tells you she wonât easily forget this. And, throwing one leg over the other, she leans over and slaps her hand over a deck of cards. âWhoâs ready to lose next?â
The answer is simple: no one.
Castorice thought it funny to start with Spoons, and youâre certain Cifera only agreed to play the reflex and chance-based game to witness her girlfriendâs delight. Between Phainon and Mydeimos, it turns into a mess, so vigilant of each other that Cifera is consistently able to snatch a utensil out from under them. Hyacine wins through pure luck and so do you in the second round that Mydeimos proposes Crazy Eights with rule variations to make it more difficult. Cyrene seems to love this with how viciously she plays, forcing your friends to draw more cards and reversing the ranks at her convenience. But because Cifera isnât able to win, she suggests Poker, and itâs here youâre surprised by how easy it is for not only her to lie but Phainon too.
With how well he knows everyone, heâs familiar with all your little tellsâthe subtle reactions when you have a good or bad hand, when youâre bluffing, and what to say to provoke you to help him find out. Heâs good at it, too, despite most of you playing casually with some needing to be taught. And his body language seems to change with each round, adjusting in response to each of your own. Cifera enjoys this the most; a real thrill in competition even as she comes out on top.
Sometime between the last quints of the Action Hour into the Parting, the games end and the lot of you partake in the typical revelryâindulging in the spread across the tables and chatting the time away. Eventually, youâre all full of food and thoroughly satisfied that lounging around is all half of you are capable of. Mydeimos, as common as it is for him, already seems to want to doze off, blinking slowly before following in bursts to stay awake, sleepy like a giant cat. You notice Castorice is no different, fused to Ciferaâs arm as she quietly giggles and hums in response to each conversation.
The extroverts of the group, however, seem to be a never-ending pit of excitement.
With your permission, Phainon has taken it upon himself to squeeze into yourâhis, reallyâbeanbag again. Truly, you imagine yourself incapable of refusing him as you use his shoulder as a headrest despite subjecting yourself to his cheerful voice. To most, Phainonâs volume would be enough to keep them alert, but you grew up in a neighbourhood not far from the sea, listening to crashing waves during stormier seasons and the blaring horns of passing ships in the busier ones to fall asleep. As long as that port was always moving and always hectic, it would mean another day closer before he would come home. Inevitably, Phainonâs happiness is incredibly relieving to someone like you.
So much so that you're completely absent-minded until you notice that the conversation has shifted towards Castorice's original story, specifically your opinion of a certain character.
âThey really like Khaslanaâs arms,â Castorice says with an innocent giggle. She's sitting up now, hands folded in her lap, of which Cifera is tapping her fingers against.
âThere isn't even any art; princess just wrote about them.â Cifera snorts. âYou drooling over them or something?â she asks, looking in your direction.
âThatâs what Cyrene said,â Phainon answers for you, unaware of you slowly coming to awareness. His fingers are drawing dizzying shapes upon your bicepâone of the causes of your drowsiness when that same arm circles around you.
Castorice begins prattling on about Neikos, hoping to make her main love interest more appealing and thereby turning everyoneâsâexcluding you and Cyreneâattention to her. At first, Cyrene appears thoughtful as she stares at you, and you furrow your brow with a silent what? Then, she attempts to stifle a small giggle that inspires a bright grin. The sight of it has your stomach churning with turbid thoughts over what's in her own head.
âWhat do you think of Mydeiâs?â she interrupts, voice cutting through the conversation. Glancing briefly at said man, her intention is clear despite his confusion. For him, she clarifies, âhis arms.â
At the same time, you and Phainon say, âwhat.â Even more, your shoulders knock together as you both shoot upright, swaying in the beanbag with the sudden movement and having to hold onto each other.
Briefly, you're dumbfounded, but you've always been good at remaining neutral in any situation so you do it with a smile. Though it may seem that way to anyone but Cyrene who is very familiar with your polite but menacing smiles when she gives you a little nudge towards what she presumes will help you.
Cyrene blinks, a perfect vision of blameless innocence. âHe has them out and everything.â
âItâs warm today.â Mydeimosâ rationale is sound; the weather is perfect for todayâs festivities as if Phagousa bribed Aquila with the honey brew they relentlessly covet.
âItâs spring,â Phainon points out.
âStill warm,â Mydeimos insists.
Anyone experienced in your group would be aware of how an interaction like this would make waves, revealing the competitiveness behind the pair. Admittedly, the water feels murkier tonight. Phainonâs tone is pointed and his shoulders are tense in spite of Mydeimosâ benign words. And although subtle, Phainonâs fingers are tapping against the side of his knee in a small, restless rhythm that you are the sole witness to.
Still, Hyacine is the first to temper what she assumes to be customary. âI think you look nice, Mydei! You work really hard on building your muscles,â she starts to say. âPhainon tooâyouâre so strict with your regime!â
âThank you,â they say in perfect sync.
Yet, Phainon continues to spare you glances from the side of his eye. If heâs trying to be subtle, heâs failing tremendously. Making a decision, you slide your hand down your thigh only to squeeze your knee in a relaxed impression. Within this close proximity, youâre able to extend your fingers, grazing the edges of his to pacify his fidgeting. I see you is what you want to convey. Whatâs wrong? is what you wordlessly ask.
All that leaves is an indistinct question: âare you pouting?â His lips jut out and seem to wobble, while his head tilts with complete displeasure cascading down his faceâan expression that is entirely endearing. âYou are,â you confirm with a short laugh. âYouâre pouting over this.â
âIâm not sure what youâre talking about,â Phainon says. He doesnât let go, regardless, playing with your fingers before releasing them. It may appear as a consequence to his faux tantrum but you know better.
Whatever this is about is bothering him, so you search for him again, pulling his hand into your lap and tracing the lines. Cyrene taught you what they meant some time ago, but all these intricate characteristics are difficult to remember, telling a different story for each stroke. Drawing from the depths of your memories, youâre sure that the one that sweeps over the cushion beneath his thumb is the one of life; the one down the middle is fate; and from the edge towards his forefinger is the heart line.
If you were to press your palm flat against his, at this moment, would it calm him? The way he had done for you when you first felt the complete surface of his when you were snowed in together, incidentally teaching you about the calluses on the base of his forefinger as opposed to the minutiae touches that meant nothing. And if you were to intertwine your fingers with his, just as he had when he explained Badhwar to you, would it link you to him?
This is all so sillyâyou should just tell him.
âYou're making the same face as when you lost to me the other day,â you point out.
âLook.â Mydeimos sighsâhis countenance informs you that this is more trouble than it's worth, aware that this goes beyond their healthy rivalry. âI work on my chest more than my arms; just have Phainon flex and you'll see what I mean.â
This immediately directs all attention towards him, and Phainon blinks unexpectedly, his mouth opening with an inability to decide whether to go along with it or not. So you squeeze his hand once and let go, focusing on his eyes rather than the twitch in his shoulder that indicates his desire to reach for you again.
âYouâre not going to do it? Maybe itâll motivate Castorice to revise Khaslanaâs parts,â she suggests, glancing at your roommate who giggles at her words.
âIf you like, I can see if itâs possible to add another romance scene or two,â Castorice offers, but itâs not enough to convince him.
Phainon curls inwards, surprisingly awkward from everyone's scrutiny and the discussion of his physical prowess when he is normallyâand rightfullyâproud and remarkably excited to speak on fitness. This experience is a tad amusing to bear witness to; for what youâve heard about him and seen yourself, his enthusiasm is a principal part of his character. Itâs also distinctly different from the shy quality he adapts with you regarding banter carrying flirtatious undertones. He struggles, in particular, to receive your attentionâbased on previous experiences, he normally seems to revel in it, outwardly pursuing it, too.
âItâs okay,â you say, primarily directed towards him and not the room. The topic originated from the lie told to preserve your affections until you were ready, thus, it is only right that you are the one to mollify the position heâs placed in. âI know Mydeimos is right.â
He straightens. âYou do?â Mydeimos says slowly, not expecting your de-escalation when this is not the first time Phainon has been shy aside from your combined fussiness over Khaslanaâs doomâMydeimos enjoys it as much as Castorice does. For that reason, this is all cordial and distinctly unlike anything that would go too far.
Yet, you suspect it may have, somehow.
Slowly, you throw your arm around Phainonâs shoulder, paying close to any display of reluctance before pulling him to your side, trailing your hand down to his bicep. âYeah, Phainon doesnât have to show off. We all know how dedicated he is, but even if he slacked off, he would still look handsome.â Your eyes flicker from the middle of the roomânot quite paying mind to the reaction of othersâand back to the man in your hold. Then, knowing Castorice wonât mind, you say, âKhaslana may be really cool, but I like Phainon more.â And because he merely stares, a small chuckle escapes you. âWhat?â
âMy!â Hyacine interrupts with a clap of her hands, momentarily catching you off guard. Sheâs facing you, but not quite looking at youâher expression is strange to say the least. You turn to Phainon and his head snaps to you with a questioning hum that is, again, interrupted by Hyacine. âItâs getting late and Mydei looks like heâs about to conk out!â
âDid you really just say conk out?â Cifera interjects, overtaking the beginnings of Mydeimosâ reply.
But Hyacine merely stands, grabbing Mydeimosâ arm and lifting it as if heâs a ragdoll who will partake in her schemes. He refuses to budge.
âWait, Iâllââ He tries again, but Cyrene chimes in.
âCastorice and Cifera will be leaving soon anywayâyou can go ahead and shoo, Mydei.â Swinging her legs, she lifts off the armchair to clear the coffee table.
You shift forward, falling to your knees to draw closer to the wood and help Cyrene, but you only manage to stack one plate before Phainon nudges you to the side. Your bottom bumps into the cushion of the beanbag chair, Phainon having tugged it forward to have you land in the middle, but you hold strong.
âDonât worry about it,â he says with a hand brushing against yours. Then, he exhales slowly, at a loss of what to do with you and your stubborn resolve to help with something as simple as this.
âOh, should weââ you start, looking towards Castorice while you stand with Phainon who passes the tableware to Cyrene. When she notices, she smiles and waves you off. âAre you going to stay with Cifera?â you ask next, leaning down to grab one end of a loose throw blanket and join it with the side clutched in Phainonâs hands, neatly folding it together.
âSorry, starfish,â Cifera says, emanating not an ounce of remorse. âWe havenât hung out sinceâerr⌠The fourth.â She nods to Castorice, and the formerâs small tilt of the head is shortly followed by a bob. âYeah, the fourth,â Cifera confirms.
âIâll walk you home,â Phainon offers, setting the bundle of fabric atop the pile in Mydeimosâ arms.
Exchanging a small good night with your blonde friend, you watch him retreat to another part of their apartment to put everything away and, as Hyacine remarked, go to bed. Returning to your conversation with Phainon, you protest, âbut Cyrene is still cleaning⌠Iâll help and walk home after. You should go to bed too, PhainonâI can manage.â
Preoccupied with you, Phainon calls out, âHyacine,â and veers his head slightly to the side, a short-lived intent to look over his shoulder but refusing to focus on anyone else. âMay I ask for your help if thatâs alright with you?â
Peeking over him, you catch Hyacine and Cyrene as they freeze amidst whispers over the sink, still filled with dirty dishes. And, noticing you, Hyacine apologizes. âIâm sorry, what was that? Cyrene and I wereâum, cleaning.â
âThank you!â Hearing exactly what he wants, Phainon beams, taking your hand and guiding you towards the door. âYou can leave half of it and head home. Iâll take care of it when Iâm back.â Then, he drops to the ground when you replace your slippers with shoes; you startle with the abruptness of it, and grab Phainonâs shoulder to stabilize yourself as his hand finds the back of your knee. Choosing to continue speaking to her, he asks, âis Cyrene going to give you a ride?â
Phainonâs fingers make slow work of your shoelaces, elegant fingers crossing one string over the other and pulling firmly with a is it too tight? He checks more than once with small, muted murmurs in his downward focus on tending to you. It almost makes your heart skip, but when he moves to your other foot, you have the urge to place your hand atop his head.
His hair is moonlight spun into fluffy strandsâeven in low tide, youâre willing to sink into him, and in its highest, you think yourself eager through your doubts. You also think Phainon may let you; maybe he would express a content sound, purring the same way Vigethos does when you pet him, or maybe he would seek more from you, as greedy as you feel.
You donât remember what Hyacine answered, but with everyone still here, you know sheâll be alrightâMydeimos would lose sleep to see her home; Cyrene would drive for as long as needed; and even if Cifera and Castorice prefer to be preoccupied with each other for the rest of the night, they would do anything to make sure sheâs safe. The same can be said for you, so you suppose thatâs why Phainon is remarkably determined in this.
âReady to go?â Phainon opens the door, tossing his keys before catching them in his hand.
Shaking your head, you step outside and say, âshow off,â just to hear him laugh.
The path taken is a familiar one, brightened with streetlamps that cut through the shine of Oronyxâs twin moons. As itâs the Curtain-Fall Hourâs last quint on a night belonging to Phagousa, the lonely stretch of sidewalk is greeted by more than just you and Phainon, either those making a similar trek home or wandering from one place to another to continue their celebrations. Itâs more lively than your usual solitary ventures after you escort Phainon home.
Itâs a bit strange to be on the receiving end.
Phainonâs exuberance remains, energized with the lingering contentment from the quints spent with your friends. Your arms are linked with his, but you jostle with the bounce in his step. If you were to hold hands, youâre certain he would swing them between you, a caricature of children who know nothing of the uncertain woes of adulthood, engrossed in fantasies of larger lives against the world they discover within each other. And, presuming that youâre sweethearts in this delusion, you can imagine Phainon intertwining your fingers together, fitting between each crevice in a hold you hope is as secure as he comes to you as.
The straightforwardness in this is currently found within his pointless ramblings. Phainon speaks of various topics concerning plans for the break, movies, books, and random anecdotes about you and your friends. He continues conversations that needed to be postponed without the next episode or chapter, and you remember it all. Then, when he continues by talking about you, he shows you that he does the same.
Phainon remembers to ask if Vigethos and Chocolate Pudding still slip away from their responsibilities to take a dip in Marmoreal Palace, having told him some time ago of their absence in their weekly check-up. He remembers when you mentioned, through text, a new restaurant you tried with Castorice, Cifera, and Cyrene, urging you to tell him about the dishes you enjoyed so he can attempt to recreate them. And, most of all, he remembers your plans to visit your family for most of the Creation Season, hoping to spend as much time as he can with you before your return home to Jericha prior to the start of junior year.
Stopping at a crosswalk, Phainon takes two steps backwards, tugging you away from the edge of the street when he asks, âare you working next Saturday?â
Thereâs another annual celebration that day, but not one of Amphoreus-wide rest. Despite being part of Phagousaâs various revelries, the Festival of Flowers caters to any person, young and old, through various activities instead of the intoxicating pleasures of honey brews and banquets.
Itâs said that Phagousa, produced from Georiosâ breath in the Era Luminosa, was deserted by their progenitor and forbidden to walk the earth, endlessly soaking the land, instead, from their station between heaven and earth until Talatonâs intervention. Eventually, a cavity was hollowed to become a brewing pool known as the ocean, of which its waters would evaporate under the heat of Kephaleâs Sun. The droplets would then wander into Aquillaâs sky before being cast out in anger to nourish the flora housed by Georios, the blossoming offspring of Cerces.
And on the Festival of Flowers, this union of earth, sky, ocean, and life is honoured.
But it is not an event your friends participate in as a groupâshortly after becoming a couple, Castorice and Cifera joined, aloneâso you labour. Jericha has no such celebrations beyond todayâs through Phagousaâs Laughter as the Month of Joy is a time in which the fishermenâs bounty flourishes; only Okhema is home to the seasonal Month of Carnival. So, you have no attachments or incentives aside from more Balance Coins though holiday pay.
âI was planning to,â you answer. The festival isnât one you go to by yourself, and you arenât one for socializing with strangers; if you are free, it is preferable to spend it with the others.
âDo youâŚâ Phainonâs voice fades away, unclear of how to broach the subject, and you watch him raise his armâthe other slacking in its link with yoursâto rub the skin on his nape. Sheepish is how the others would define him; cute is how you see him. It may seem rude for that thought to float through your head, but Phainonâs smile is undeterred. âWould it be alright if you took a day off?â
Understanding the careful avoidance of his true intention, you reply, âdo you want to go to the festival together?â When the pedestrian light turns green, you guide him forward. âShould I ask everyone to see whoâs available?â
Once you reach the other side of the road, a passerby travels past; Phainonâs hand quietly moves to your waist, gently tugging you closer. âYes, I want to go with you,â he answers, and glances over his shoulder, slightly short of breathâhe must be nervous with all the drunkards out this late. âBut, so long as youâre comfortable, I would prefer it if it were just the two of us.â
âAre you sure? Wouldnât it be more fun if we all went together?â you suggest. âMinus Cifera and Castorice sinceâyou know.â
âI know but Cyrene is volunteering for face painting, Mydei is working, and Hyacine is assisting with the first aid stations.â Phainonâs arm returns to its place, looped with yours when he says, âonly you and I are free.â
âTechnically, I have work,â you remind him, stopping at the entrance to your apartment complex only to watch Phainon continue through the doors. âThe chimeras are always so busy on holidays too, and thereâs no way the Cozy Chimera wonât be full of customers.â Following him, you head for the stairway and lead him upwards. âButâŚâ You playfully draw out the word. âIf you really want to go, Iâll take a day offâjust for you.â
Turning around, you expect to be met with Phainonâs laughter and a grin, yet you only find a wide, pleading gaze. The desperation begets a faint sheen to his eyes, glassy and torrential waves of blue that search for the answers within yours.
âPlease,â he says, voice tight with a rarely lowered timbre. When he clears his throat, it returns to normal. âI really want to go with you.â
âThen Iâll go with you.â Taking his wrist, you pull Phainon up a step to walk beside you, and the conversation subsequently falls away.
Although beautiful, itâs just a festival like all the others. You donât danceâwhat if someone were to watch? You do not enjoy one drink after another, drowning in honey brew when the hangover would interfere with your ability to do what you need to do, wasting an entire day. And you do not singâwhat if you were to make a mistake? So, even if the Festival of Flowers does not host the typical intoxications, you never found purpose in attending most celebrations until you came to Okhema.
It only matters if theyâre with you. And, to Phainon, it appears that itâs important that youâre by his side.
In your own dreams, you wish for the same. It would be preferable if Phainon is still your friend when you graduate from Okhema University. It would be nice if he visited you while you began your future placement in chimera clinics while pursuing your doctorate. You want to give him a bouquet after he accepts his diploma, a gift in exchange for hearing him cheer with that boisterous voice during your own turn to walk the stage. You should be there when he needs youâthis year, the next, and all the ones afterâeven if he never harbours the same affection for you. If possible, you never want to lose any of them.
So, with your back to him, you hesitate to unlock the door. Then, exhaling slowly, you face him with a smile. âIâll see you on Saturday?â
âYou will.â Phainon grins widely, yet his expression is softened by the dim light of the hallway. âIâll wait for you at the entrance.â
âI wonât be late,â you say, and head inside when he wishes you good night. He does not leave until the door falls shut.
Itâs unfortunate, then, as you realize what slipped your mind.
But it only takes you a few minutes to decide. You rapidly pull off your shoes, do your best not to trip as you change into slippers, and rush to your room, dropping your bag next to the door. Unlatching the window, youâre careful not to tip over the glass jar, and let the edge of your desk dig into your stomach as you lean over to see him in the parking lot.
This is foolishâthe Thief-Star is high in the sky, nearly finished its journey towards the Entry Hour. Youâll get in trouble, but Castorice may find it funny that you act so out of character when heâs around. Honestly, you think it laughable too, so you cup your hands around your mouth and shout his name.
Phainonâs shoulders jump; youâre certain he wasnât expecting your voice. Regardless, he turns, squinting to where he finds your window lit up against all the other darkened rectangles.
Equally as foolish as you, he yells back, âdid you forget something?â The sound resonates, a lure for anyone to scold either you, him, or both; at least he runs fast.
âNo!â you answer, and canât stop yourself from smiling. âI forgot to tell you: get home safe!â At that, you hear his laughter, the sound dampened as it floats up to you. Once heâs done, he raises his phone as an indication for you to open your own.
đ¤ Phai
Phainon: in the event that you and Castorice are kicked out, Iâm sure nothing bad will happen if we sneak you into our apartment
You: i think cifera will snatch cas up
Phainon: guess youâll be stuck with me
Phainon: âŚand Cyrene and Mydei
Youâre typingâŚ
You: But mostly you, right?
Phainon is typingâŚ
And the indication disappears and reappears, over and over. Looking up from the screen, Phainon is staring at your window again, towards you. When nothing happens, you cant your head. He shakes his in response, returns to his phoneâyou continue to watch him through a soft chimeâand then he waves before leaving down the path. You already miss him.
đ¤ Phai
Phainon: yes, Iâll make sure to stay with you
â Ciferaâs Adventures w/ AO3 Fanatics
Cifera: cy did u hear cas and starfish got a noise complaint the night of ur party
Cifera: and by cas and starfish i mean starfish
Cifera: cause cas was with me
Castorice: Please remind us who our chimera caretaker was with, Cifera. ââżâ
Cifera: down bad baby blues
Cyrene: Phainon did take awhile to return, and he was quite giddy when he didâŚ
Cyrene: I wonder what they were up to~
Cifera: L M A O
Castorice: Phainon wouldnât move that fast! He fits into a specific archetype!!
Castorice: Please refer to the group chat name. ૮(ËśâĽď¸żâĽ)á
You: of course this conversation happens AFTER my break
You: when i'm too busy to reply ueueue
Cyrene: The one you shared with him~?
Cyrene: This morning, I saw him making lunch for two âŞ
Castorice: Tell Phainon we say hello. (´ď˝ď˝)
Cifera: tell him to behave cause princess likes ur neighbourhood
Cifera: maybe take him on a walk to get it out of his system
Cifera: his pining for you u if u didnât know what that meant
You: please donât make that joke around him, i think he might actually woof to be funny
Castorice: He does like making you laughâŚ
You: NOT YOU TOO
You: CYRENE ALSO SAID THAT
Cyrene: AND YOU DIDNâT BELIEVE ME
Cyrene: I agree with Cifera! ask him out on a date <3
You: Itâs not a date butâŚ
You: Phainon and I are going to the Festival of Flowers together
Three people are typingâŚ
Cifera: NOT A DATE U SAY
Castorice: It can be a date without anyone saying itâs a date! (>/////<)
Castorice: There are nuances to thisâŚ
Cyrene: Call me right now!!
Cyrene: Wait, no. youâre closing and heâs going to walk you home, isnât that right~
Cyrene: Let me know if you need help, okay?
You: Please help. I donât know what Iâm doing ueueue
You: Can we meet up?
Cyrene: Iâll call you later and we can figure it out!
Cyrene: Your personal cupid is at your service! mwah <3
Cifera: booooo cas and i are working all week
Cifera: gl tho, yeah? don't sweat it. there's no way it'll go sideways
Castorice: Whenever Iâm home, I can assist you in any way you need!
Castorice: Donât be afraid to ask. (´ď˝ď˝)
⥠Cupid
Cyrene: How are you feeling? are you ready?
Cyrene: Which outfit did you go with and did you decide on your confession?
You: no hello? good morning?
Cyrene: Hello and good morning!
Cyrene: Itâs such a beautiful day that I can practically smell the love in the air~
You: lol good morning cy <3
You: I feel better than I thought I would, and I went with the outfit with the yellow top. As for the confessionâŚ
You: Planning it out exactly doesnât feel genuine and if I get nervous and mess up, Iâll lose confidence
You: Iâll still use some of what I ran by you, but I want to honestly confess how I feel when heâs right in front of me
Cyrene: Phainon is so lucky you like him~
Cyrene: And it will go well, trust me! just have fun and let it happen when you think itâs right
You: How can I tell?
Cyrene: Youâll know. I promise
From here, you can already see Phainonâs white tuft of hairâhis height peeking over the towering sea of people.
The crowds are larger today, filled with children running amok, couples holding hands, and groups of friends dressed in splashes of colour. The scent of flowers also permeates the air, wafting from the petals littering stone paths alongside planters and baskets replaced with fresh blooms. Okhema is always magnificent, but during its festivities, the liveliness forces you to stop and take it all in. However, the anemones clutched in your hand are what catches Phainonâs eye after he spots your approach.
âGood morning!â Phainon greets you. âYouâre right on time, just like you said.â His gaze flickers from your face again. âAlready buying flowers?â You shake your head, and that receives his rapt attention, speaking again. âOh? Did someone give them to you?â
The tightness in his tone has you answering immediately. âNo, there was a lady handing them out to anyone who wanted one.â Offering it to him, you say, âI wanted to give it to youâCyrene told me you like flowers.â That fact was part of her little lesson about him.
Phainon chuckles, and it must be directed to himself as youâre sure there isnât anything amusing about what youâve said. Fortunately, any uncertainty disappears as he coyly says, âdid she, now?â
âI would have figured it out on my own!â you declare through a desire for him to sense your interest beyond Cyreneâs involvement. âHow could a former farmer not like flowers?â you justify your own apparent ignorance, and try not to flinch when you feel his skin brush against yours as you pass the stem, more conscious of every touch.
âYouâre right.â He twirls it between his fingers.
Your head tilts, staring at the small tote bag hanging off his shoulder. âIs that why you have so many?â There are tulips in various colours sticking out from the top. You repeat his earlier question: âdid someone give them to you?â
âThatâsââ Phainon can't seem to find the words, unsure of how to explain what you believe is a simple yes or no. He glances at something behind your head, trying to be subtle, but his timidity isnât lost on you. âA few strangers approached me asking if I was free today, and despite my insistence that I wasnât, they told me to take them before running off.â
Again, you repeat after him, "a few?" Leaning closer, his hand finds his nape while you say, âI should have arrived earlierââ
Phainonâs aborted breath cuts you off, and in the confusion that washes over your face, he grins, sharp and delighted. âAre you jealous?â
âYes.â The bitterness from the feeling engulfs you, preventing you from considering the origins of his satisfaction. âI am. I wanted to be the first to give you flowers.â
And rather than fluster, the grin softens. âDonât worry. I intend to give them to Cyrene and Hyacine if we run into them, and bring back the third for Mydei.â Then, he fusses with his bag, pulling out something small that fits within his palm.
When he holds out his fist, you position your hand beneath it to allow him to drop a light figurine into your palm. Itâs a wooden chimera, rounded with stubby legs, so reminiscent of an illustration from a childrenâs book, and almost as colourful as one. Itâs Vigethos, you realize, with a circle of painted flowers on his head and another in the centre of his white ruff.
âThey make figurines of Vigethos?â Holding it up, you examine it all around. The edges are sanded down despite the tell-tale signs of being hand-carved.
âIâm not sure.â He taps Vigethosâ wooden horn. âI made it.â Your head snaps up with the information, and your face likely expresses the amazement you feel as he laughs. âIt was a hobby of mine when I was youngerâIâve always been good with my hands.â And aware of how you may react, he proves this to you by finding the strap of your bag, slipping it onto his own shoulder before looping his free arm with yours to prevent your opposition.
And, together, you step through the archway woven with flora to enjoy the Festival of Flowers.
Newly erected stalls decorate the streets, a garden of activities, vendors, and food. With how early it is, you and Phainon resolve to visit them one by one, walking down the aisles and dodging other visitors as the area grows even busier than before. Sometimes, Phainon is approached by a man or a woman offering small bouquets you are certain have romantic implications. He refuses each time, vaguely motioning to you with soft apologiesâwhatever that means, you are afraid to consider it too earnestly; surely your jealousy was not that grave.
When youâre half-way through, you listen to Phainon chat with various chefs and vendors about the food theyâre cooking, munching on various savory and sweet treats to fill your stomach, lucky enough to receive little deals with Phainonâs passionate questions. Then, following the path of painted faces, you find Cyrene to offer her something to fill her stomach amidst her hard work. Here, she takes a break, but refuses to join, while Hyacine provides the same answer with a similar excuse of being too busy. Seeing your disappointment, Phainon guides you towards an opulent sign overlooking a long line.
Fall in Love with Phagousaâs Sacred Philter!
It doesnât take long to reach the front. Phainon promises you itâll uplift your spirits, so you share a tall cup of swirling rose and lavender coloured liquid with a sprinkle of glitter youâre wary of drinking. But Phainon has no fear, so he takes a sip with a grin, tells you itâs good, and proceeds to chuckle when your face scrunches at the shockingly tart flavour that mellows out into something sweet. Heâs right, it does make you feel better, and you keep it that way by avoiding any thought of Phainon enjoying it with someone that isnât you.
Sometime around sunset, a creature nudges against your calf.
Phainon laughs, leaning down to catch an enthusiastic chimera that runs circles around the two of you, and once he straightens with his success, youâre faced with Cyrup in his arms. âIt looks like sheâs in charge of dragging a wagon around today,â he observes, petting her head.Â
She awoos in response, a happy trill that reminds you so much of Cyrene.
In honour of Phagousa, the chimeraâs laurel wreath is replaced by one of ivy and grapevine interwoven with small wildflowers. The miniature wagon sheâs drawing carries the same in various colours to be passed around and, recognizing you, itâs evident she was wondering why your head was absent of one.
Reaching over, your fingers brush Phainonâs as you mimic his gentle affection upon her, and he withdraws at the small touch. Cooing, you ask Cyrup, âdid you come to give us flower crowns?â
Again, she awoos, nudging her face into your palm. And when you sneak a quick peek at Phainon, your eyes meet instantly.
Clearing his throat, he says, âcan you understand her like Cifera?â
Truthfully, you can't unless they're simple sentences or responses like yes, no, and short remarks of whether or not something hurts, is disliked, or uncomfortable. By this, you only have a grasp of understanding if your actions during medical exams are consensual and can be appropriately continued. As you're always accompanied by a licensed Gardener, they can translate the rest while you've also grown accustomed to general chimera body language.
âOnly the basics and some of what I need for check-ups,â you answer, continuing to rub Cyrup's cheek as she nuzzles your hand. âBut our curriculum has advanced chimera language courses in the upcoming semesters now that everyone is specializing in what they're interested in.â
Phainon hums, the sound blending with Cyrup's purring as he joins you in showering her with attention again. âYou always planned to focus on chimera health, right?â
âThat's my dream.â Watching him scratch her belly, you chuckle softly and steady the laurel atop her head when she goes boneless in his arms. âI was permitted to assist in the medical exams as a pseudo-internship since I have experience from when I was youngerâmy little brother would bring home chimeras or baby seals with small injuries.â
His hand stills. âWas it scary the first time he did?â Phainon asks, and returns to scratching Cyrupâs belly after she grumbles in protest.
You shake your head. âMy mom helped, and after that, I started following our local Gardener around. Nothing better to do when I was waiting all the time.â
Phainon pokes your nose at that, compelling you to look at him instead of Cyrup. Once you do, he smoothes the scrunch in your browâthe touch simple and easy. âIs your mother a Gardener?â
âNo,â you say, âshe isn't, but she knows how to do anything. And if she doesn't, she can figure it out.â Releasing a soft huff, you remember. âWe needed to be resourceful with the way I grew up.â You shrug, casual, now. âEspecially when my brother was born and he always got up to trouble.â
âHow is Aratus doing anyway?â Phainon asks, gently fiddling with Cyrup's paws.
âWriting poems and stories,â you answer, although Phainon already knows of your brother's hobbies and the words he can never stop recording. âHe mentioned making a few new friends in school too.â
âSounds like he would get along with Castorice,â Phainon notes.
The prospect is something youâve thought about before. You hadnât expected your friends here to become such a significant part of your life, and you sometimes discover yourself wondering what it would be like to introduce them all to your family. And, if you save enough, you hope you can help fund Aratusâ education when he's older so he doesn't have to worry about a scholarship like you, and maybe he'll come to Okhema and meet Castorice too.
âYeah, he would be so excited to meet someone from Aidonia,â you say, and allow the conversation to subside as the two of you stare at Cyrup. âShe's practically asleep, Phainon.â Catching his hand, you try to stop his doting affectionâsimilar to Cyrene, Cyrup falls asleep easily but is difficult to wake up.
âChimeras are too adorable for me not to spoil them.â But despite the admission, he gently nudges her cheek to rouse her and says, âdon't you have flower crowns to give us, Cyrup?â
She tries to howl in confirmation, yet the sound is more slurred than anything, breaking off into a yawn. Allowing this to be her unapproved break, you and Phainon focus on the contents of the mini-wagon.
âWhat I should pickâŚâ Phainon wonders, his free hand finding his nape and rubbing the skin there.
âBlue would look nice on you,â you answer instinctively.
âReally?â You nod so he asks, âwhat are you going with?â
Again, your reply is quick. âI like the one with yellow wildflowers.â
With both your choice and his decided, Phainon bends at the waist but your hand falls to his bicep, halting him in his movements.
âIt's okay,â you start, and let go, forgetting the shape of his muscle in your hand. âI'll do it for youâyou're still holding Cyrup.â
Before his mouth opens in the beginnings of a reply, you instantly drop to your knees and sort through the various flower crowns. You pluck one with deep blue wildflowers and another in pale yellow from the pile before looking up at Phainon to show him the options you went with.
âThe one to your left is nicer,â Phainon recommends. âThe shape is pretty and it's the colour of wheat.â
Reaching for it, you hold up a crown of golden wildflowers. âThis one?â you confirm. The edges of each petal are pointed in comparison to the rounded ones of the crown you've chosen for Phainon, but they're brighter too, just like him. âActually, I think this might suit you more than me.â
âNo,â Phainon disagrees as he stoops to your level. Then, he gently sets Cyrup down and only retreats once she's steady on her feet, freeing his hands to take the crown from you. âSee? It fits perfectly, too,â he says, placing it on your head and adjusting it until he's satisfied.
The attentiveness in the gesture is so unravelling that you believe yourself capable of jumping into deep waters, not bothering to look when the feeling surges towards the forefront of your mind. This must be what Cyrene meantâthough the apprehension remainsâwhere you're overwhelmed with the need for him to know.
Unfortunately, there's a tiny sneeze.
Cyrupâs nose wiggles as she blinks, and you may even describe her as sheepishâas much as a chimera can be, anyway. She was quiet the entire time, watching you and Phainon interact with a curious admiration originally disguised as lethargy from Phainonâs soothing affections.
He chuckles. âCyrup agrees.â
And she does with a small howl only to place her paw upon your hand, patting you three times before turning her head to Phainon.
âLean your head down, please?â You don't want to see him watching you as you do this. âThatâs good,â you say after he listens. For a second, you observe the blue flower crown; each blossom has five petals, rounded and cute, with a yellow centre adorned with five anthersâcushioned by a star. You swallow the lump in your throat and tell him, âyou look nice.â
âJust nice?â Phainon repeats after you, as troublesome as ever and never missing a beat.
The smile fixed on his face draws a sharp line, but his features are ultimately softened by the light catching on his lashes with each glance towards the stone path or the merry-making surrounding you, indecisive in his intent. Out here, in this agora, there is nothing that impedes nor covers the Sun, only your shadow upon him with your undivided focus.
All you can do is give voice to truth. âYou're beautiful.âÂ
But Phainon blinks with your quiet acceptanceâheâs right, heâs not just niceâand is unreadable regardless of you granting his desire. To your surprise, he does not flush nor clamour, and neither is there a gasp or any laughter, merely something fragile. It makes you feel tender-hearted, yet he nods, thanks you indiscriminately, and stands with an offered hand to detach himself from the moment.
Taking it, you do the same while he asks, âwhere did Cyrup go?â Somehow, she escaped with the wagon, slipping away to return to her duties or grant you privacy, neither of you know.
âLooks like she was busy,â you propose. And, remaining polite in conduct, you feign eye contact by staring up at the flora circling his head. âWe should get going too.â
So, after taking a quick photograph together, you do.
As the quints pass, the streetlamps begin to glow, but they're not as pretty as the string lights bridging one stall to another, reminding you of Jerichaâs bioluminescent summersâa radiant array illuminating the dark blues of the sea, and now, the sky.
The activities and games are perhaps more enjoyable, too, because of it. And perhaps that is why Phainon drags you back to those youâve already played, or maybe he just wanted to beat you at whack-a-mole this time. He loses again. Alternatively, Phainon challenges you against the strength tester, swinging the mallet in a wide arc that nearly rings the bell. Before you can make your attempt, however, you allow a child to try, and when the puck reaches the pinnacle, it chimes, loud and clear so you usher Phainon to Skee-Ball instead, hoping to chase away his pout. This he wins, and you take turns doing so back and forth across the stands until you reach the lastâa ring toss in which every one of your successes is accompanied by his little cheers.
Phainon and you reap your rewards in more flowers and various treats and trinkets that fill any leftover space from your earlier browsing. There are small plush toys in the form of an otter for you and a sword for Phainon, enamel pins for all your friends, a new journal for Aratus, and other miscellaneous items that you would normally be reluctant to purchase.
Of these, Phainon is currently looping the string of chimera charm through the divot in your phone. Itâs a close imitation of Vigethosâsimilar sized horns rather than asymmetrical, a complete grey body lacking any cream-coloured fur, and signature blue eyes. When he hands your phone back to you, you remind yourself to ask your mother to help you repaint it. On Phainonâs, the chimera is also as close as it can be to Chocolate Pudding, and with how rare it is for the little creature to follow Phainon around, itâs no surprise he wants to keep the one in their image. He must see Vigethos enough as it is.
If not for the festive lights winding the colonnades, the area within the stoa would be completely darkened, dashes of colour creeping between each gap of shadow. Itâs quieter here, in comparison to the trance that has overtaken the crowds, dancing hand in hand amongst bards and buskers. The music crests and quiets, a wave of sound the city revels in, but you and Phainon only sit and watch at the edges.
Through nearly three Periods, the conversation was endless until now, encroaching on a fourth as you lean forward to cast your gaze upwards. Although the Thief Starâs trajectory changes each night, you kept a promise to always search for it. Phainon mimics you, too, with a small but content huff before he fixes your flower crown.
âIt was lopsided,â he explains, taking way too long to balance something that hasn't fallen off your head for more than five quints now.
âDid you fix it?â you ask anyway. When he nods, you reach for his own. âItâs lopsided,â you repeat.
Again, Phainon releases a hushed breath, but leans down, which almost causes it to slide off entirely. On impulse, one of your hands finds his cheek while the other tries to steady the crown. Then, he lifts his head, leaning into your palm and baring his face to you once again. His eyes are closedâhe must be content. Had that been you in the winter? Half-asleep and determined to study just a bit longer and elongate the memory with him, yet your surrender is why you can detail his hands.
Pressed to his cheek, can he feel the tip of the crater carved out of the cushion of your thumb? A careless handling of fishing line and hooks as foolish as your first attempts to soothe Chocolate Pudding before they were named. And when Phainon finds your wrist in your attempt to end the contact, he keeps you stationary by curling his fingers around the joint. If he were to rub his fingers along the skin there, he would discover four sunken reliefs, the size of the chimeraâs claws.
The next smile he offers you is bewitching, accompanied by an airy laugh with a gaze shaded by Oronyxâs night, irises lost to a stormy blue coruscated by momentary flickers of light, floating over from the celebrations. The affection in his countenance is heavy although it is not crushing; you are extraordinarily free, and the feeling, you realize, is immeasurable when you think of where this may lead. And when the edges of your mouth rise, slowly like a flood that gently reaches its zenith, Phainon follows you. He always does.
It makes you wonder why you were so afraid in the first place.
But when you drop your hand to compose yourself and interrupt the serene moment, you simultaneously say each otherâs name.
âYou go first,â he offers, yet it's as if he's lost all confidence.
It reminds you of before. âThis is about what you texted me more than a month ago, isn't it?â
Phainon pauses, realizing how easy it is for you to understand him. âIt is,â he confirms. âYou could tell?â
âYou look so nervous and thatâs all I could think of.â Admittedly, you're also selfishâyou want him to focus on you and not what he will say next regardless of any desire to help him through his worries. âMine is a bit long so it's better for you to start.â
With that, he straightens almost imperceptibly. âOkay, so don't freak out.â
âMaybe I should just because you said that,â you jest.
âPlease don't.â He meets you with a poutâyou've succeeded in providing him some relief. âI don't want anything to be strange between us,â he admits.
Your stomach drops. Does he know? You werenât exactly subtle about it whereas you're also aware that he consistently rejections the odd confession without any consideration. There was a day you asked him about itâbefore you became one of those admirersâand he explained that he had no grounds to accept as he didn't know them. And if he didn't, then that also meant that any affection was for a person they didn't recognizeâthe only âPhainonâ they knew was an idol or a myth.
Cyrene didn't tell you about this part: how the world falls apart when it doesn't work out.
Still, you maintain a gentle smile. âWhy would it be weird?â
âI have to explain.â Then, he laughs, particularly awkward at the irrationality in whatâs to come. âYou remember Auntie Aglaea, right?â
You nod. âWe met briefly on Cyrene's birthday and that fashion show the cosmetology program hosted.â But he's also spoken of her extensively, mirroring the anecdotes both Cifera and, especially, Cyrene have told.Â
âThat's even better!â He takes your hands in his, initially excited before his cheeks stain pink. He lowers them so he can look at you properly, going rigid as if he has to be on his best behaviour and as polite as can be. âI have a favour related to her.â
âWhy do I have a bad feeling about this?â
âIt won't be that bad!â Phainon pipes up, grip tightening. âYou're the only one I'm close to that Auntie Aglaea doesn't know well or who I treat like family.â
You're rightâthere is something terrible about thisâso you simply say, âPhainon,â in a tight voice.
The explanation tumbles out anyway. âShe's hosting a soiree; itâs not public like a gala, but she invites her close friends, acquaintances, and colleaguesâyou get it.â He canât meet your eyes.
âI get it, but Phainon, do not tell meâŚâ There would be an absolutely horrible amount of important people, of which you would need to impress. Youâre not ready; you donât believe any amount of preparation would make it so.
âWould you be willing to attend Aglaeaâs soiree?â Your mouth opens to speak but Phainon quickly continues, shoulders drawn together to brace himself as the words escape. âSpecifically with me as your boyfriend?â
You snatch your hands away. âWhat kind of favour is this?â His touch no longer soothes youâa torrid hold that could do nothing but worsen the reality that viciously devours your delusions.
âPlease.â Phainon offers you a pitiful look with even more pathetic eyes. âAuntie Aglaea loves playing matchmaker and it doesn't help that a few guests are either our age or have children who are.â With a firmer hold, he finds you again, not enough to hurt but it feels all too warm. Heâs afraid youâll reject him completely. âPlease spare me this one year,â he pleads.
âPhainon, Iââ You canât form a proper thought, and even if you could, nothing would come out right when pretending is too heavy to comprehend. âI donât knowâŚâ
Despite hearing that, he looks so hopeful. Why do you still want to help him?
âThe food is really good!â Phainon says, trying to convince you through fancy dishes and treats.
âI do like foodâŚâ you reply, disregarding the slight disappointment that it wouldnât be his cooking, no matter the extravagance.
âYouâll have an excuse to dress up and we could do something fun like coordinate outfits!â
âThen you won't show up in something unflattering.â
âI'm not that bad at fashion,â he mutters.
âYou do dress cute.â It slips out before you can stop it, whereas Phainonâs grip finally seems to loosen so you hastily add, âbut you also make questionable choices sometimes.â
âSee?â Phainon says, convinced heâs persuading you. âWe work really well together!â
Because you agree, you still have doubts. There are so many logistics to cover; stories you have to stitch together so tightly that they're believable when you bring them to life. But when does playing pretend turn into method acting? Or is that inconsequential when you want it to be real? Maybe that makes it easier in the end.
You take a long inhale and release it with a sigh. âIt just seems like something is bound to go wrong.â
âIt's just one night and we can say we separated amicably or that it didnât work out.â Heâs certain this will work, and by the sound of it, heâs thought it all through. âSo we can remain friends afterwards.â
âSince when do you lie?â you mutter, and ignore how it catches him off guard.Â
His mouth is slightly agape, opening and closing to put together a proper response. And, avoiding your question entirely, he discloses, âIâve done this for a few years nowâentertaining people under the guise of pleasantriesâshe doesn't push, but it feels strange when thereâs an intention behind every interaction with my âdate,â even when thereâs an event going on around us.â Phainon swallows, aware of the concern flowing from your face. âI would tell her but, like today, thereâs stillâŚâ His face scrunches into a troubled expression.
âPeople who flirt with you?â You finish for him to which he nods.
âOr those awkward instances when someone hopes youâll be interested in their son or daughter,â Phainon adds. âI want to support Auntie Aglaea and enjoy myself without feeling pressured.â For someone like Phainon, it must be difficult for his amiable personality to be confused with attraction, afraid of someone reacting negatively or expressing any unkindness in exchange for his own discomfort.
âAlright,â you say, refusing to look at how wide his smile is that his dimple shines through. âJust for one night.â
âI promise I'll be a good âboyfriendâ to you,â Phainon declaresâyou're certain he willâand squeezes your hand one last time before letting go. âThank you for helping me.â Now that itâs settled, he places all his attention on you. âSo what did you want to say?â
How foolish. The time and place for it is gone now, and it will likely stay that way for a while. So, you tell him, âitâs nothing.âÂ
âBut you said it would be long,â Phainon pressed, regardless of his usual politeness. His head tilts, eyes darting as he examines you, attempting to discern the motive for your reconsideration.
It'll be like always, then, doing what you hate.
âThe Garden of Life is having an open house and I wanted to ask you if youâd like to volunteer with me since itâs something you already doâwell, for sports instead of chimeras, but I know Vigethos was made in your image and heâs important to youâŚâ Your rambling eventually dwindles out, completing a little white-lie.
The open house is a real event held every year for charitable purposes, raising awareness of how important chimeras are for her Holy City while inspiring dreams to become a Gardener. Itâs scheduled to take place in the Month of Everyday, a week before your leave for Jericha, so you always intended to ask Phainon and the others to either participate or visit if theyâd like. And this was meant to be done with Hyacine as Krenabis assists her at the clinic, but youâre sure she wonât object to you asking Phainon first.
âWhy wouldnât I agree?â he wonders.
âYouâre always so busy,â you counter. âI wasnât sure if you would be able to.â
âIâll make time,â he says. âItâs the least I could do.â
Preferably, it would be better if he wanted to go because of you and not to make up for this âfavour,â but for all you know, he would have said yes at the prospect of doing something nice for Okhema. Youâve had enough of your daydreams for tonight.
âThank youâ is what you express, and itâs all that you can. âItâs getting late, do you want to head back?â
Phainon agrees. He stands first, stretching to his full height as he overtakes your view, a silhouette back-lit by tonightâs revelry, of which blocks their happiness from you. You think he smiles too, when he offers you a hand, as itâs practically a permanent feature on his face. If you refused his charade, would that have changed? It doesnât matter, you suppose, as your persuasion is in vain and Phainon walks you homeâthis was always your responsibility to him, not the other way around.
And it only leads to a conversation you hoped would be of different circumstances.
As you leave through the archways of the festival, you reject stalks of free flowers when your bag is already so heavy and any more would crush the rest. He tells you the soiree is at the end of the monthâyou have exactly fourteen days. When you cut through a darkened alleyway, Phainon holds your hand tight, keeping you close to his side with no fear in his heart, too busy planning another gathering of games and movies that you always share together, alone. Then, he chooses to discuss contingencies and rules and falsehoods and when can you spare time to figure it out?
You answer. All you do is answer and you never ask beyond that. You tell him good night and thank him for today, and how wonderful it had been. At the door, you donât hesitate. You say get home safe because thatâs what you always do, and leave everything behind you.
But when you call for Castorice, you find no answer except for a text on your phone that she will be with Cifera tonight. So you also make your way to your roomâyou take longer to peel off your shoes; you stumble while putting on your slippers since youâve been on your feet all day; you drag yourself towards your desk, setting your bag on the floor next to it; and you stare at your windowsill whilst removing any trace of the Festival of Flowers.
Then, pretending everything is okay, you tear the flower crown apart, petal by petal.
⥠Cupid
Cyrene: SoâŚ
Cyrene: I assume it went well~
You: The opposite, actually
You: He asked ME
Cyrene: Iâm sorry but Iâm failing to see the issue
Cyrene: Donât tell me Mydei is rubbing off on you and you wanted to one up him by asking first
You: Itâs not real
You: He needs a date to Aglaeaâs soiree
Cyrene: What happened to all those ideas you shared with me? and everything you kept a secret because, and I quote, âonly he should hear itâ
Cyrene: Tell him you want to go with him as your boyfriend!
You: HE IS
Cyrene is typingâŚ
Cyrene: Wait
Cyrene: Do NOT tell me
You: YES.
Cyrene: NO.
Cyrene: Why did you accept? why would you do this to yourself
You: I couldnât say no to him
You: How could I if he needs me?
Cyrene: You can always try again when the time is right
Cyrene: But Iâm worried
Cyrene: Wouldnât something like this hurt?
You: I donât know
You: But he would never hurt me
Cyrene: I hope you know what youâre doing
Cyrene: Cifera never attends, but I'm going to be there
Cyrene: Iâm always going to be here if you need me, okay? no matter what
You: I know. Thank you, Cyrene <3
You: And whatâs the worst that can happen?
Tomorrow is Thursday and instead of spending your free time resting before a long day of chimera physicals, youâre at Phainonâs apartment. And you specifically say Phainonâs because Cyrene and Mydeimos arenât here for once while the weight of being alone with him again is exceptionally heavy on your heart. Nevertheless, youâre so taken by him that the other two may practically be non-existent at the moment as Phainon has distracted himselfâand youâwith romance.
From movies to k-dramas, then books, manga, and fanfiction, the two of you have spent the past few quints prattling on and on about what you like, dislike, and swoon over. Itâs only when you return to a fake dating trope that he recalls why youâre here in the first place.
"We should figure out our story before the party," Phainon says. "How we started dating, what we like about each other, and any rules we should have for the night."
All this planning and set-up is an integral part of the typical motions characters go through for their fake relationships. A lot of it is the same old same old that is adjusted for each couple, and the classic sequence for these stories has one or both wanting for more after all this is over. However, because you already did much longer before, you tell yourself this will be a sufficient diving board towards it; an excuse, perhaps, to lessen the prospect in his request as equal to solidified disinterest.
"Is this the reason youâre so into romance lately?â you ask, the words leaving your mouth with a fluidity that beguiles even you into believing your indifference to it. If you werenât, it would be easy to crack open and tell him. âSo we can prepare for our act?â you continue.
âI've always been interestedâŚâ Then, he averts his eyes and says, âit's only proper. You're doing this as a favour for me and I don't want to make you uncomfortable.â
You nod; even with something like this, you and Phainon are on the same page. It's comforting to know that, which makes you certain of how it should go. There's no other way.
Taking a deep breath, you admit, âI confessed to you.âÂ
Phainon blinks. âNot the other way around?â His voice lifts at the end of the question, indicating an amused interest.
You shake your head. âNo, you're tooâŚâ Careful. You're unsure if he would take the risk unless he had an inkling of mutual feelings; afraid of pushing too far. Sometimes, he does surprise you but he has never shown you that he would do otherwise, so you cast your gaze over him and choose to change the subject. âI realized I was interested in you, courted you withââ
âWait,â Phainon interrupts and follows it with a small apology. He even leans closer on the couch, drawn in by your proposal but insistent on knowing. âWhy did you confess first?â
It makes you tense up. âIs that a problem?â
âNo, of course not. I was merely curiousâŚâ Phainon trails off, tapping his fingers on the pillow he pulls into his lap. His eyes flit between it and you as he works up the courage to return to your previous words. âAnd you courted me?â he repeats after you, opening the conversation back up.
It's formal, you know, but that's how you would do it. Earlier, Phainon referred to this preparation as proper; to you, this is proper too. So, you reaffirm, âyes, I courted you. And I don't think you would do it because I would beat you to it.â
It should be enough to distract him.
He takes the bait. âWhy not?â he questions, but it's evidently more of a retort, as if your idea of him is so incongruent with what's real that he's disbelieving. âI can be romantic.â
âIt's not whether or not youâre romantic, it's that you would...wait.â
He hums, a long sound that rumbles through his chest. âAnd you wouldn't?â Phainon asks next, growing more comfortable as he anchors his elbow upon the backrest to prop his cheek against his hand. The attention is fairly disconcerting.
Still, you hold strong. âNo, I would court you.â
His eyes turn into slight crescents, alight with interest. âWithâŚâ He trails off, urging you on again.
âWith flowers and baked treats or making sure you get home safe,â you sayâthe answer comes easily when youâve determined this long ago.Â
âYou already walk me home,â Phainon simply notes, face set in an impartiality that hints at his doubts in reading into it.
âThen it's more believable,â you retort, and grab a throw pillow to gently whack him with for no other motive than to dislodge his train of thought. He allows you to do it.
âAlso, I thought baking was my thing?â
Itâs maddening when heâs like thisâso difficult to avoid. This moment isnât right to be truthful yet you say, âit is, but that's why I would do itâbecause it's important to you. I know you like flowers, you walk Castorice home, and you feed everyone. I would do it because I should show you the same care.â
âYou don't have to do those things.â Phainon huffs, not irritated but as if what youâve said is entertaining. âI want to be a good boyfriend to you so I would be the one to do it. You don't have to concern yourself with that.â
Heâs taken your words so seriously that your heart aches. Phainon wouldnât want you to lift a finger to be a good boyfriend to youâspecifically to you is what your mind absurdly focuses on. Had you confessed, it would not be strange to have an almost identical conversation to this one, familiarizing yourselves with how to look out for, satisfy, and love the other.
You clarify, âare you saying that, because you're my partner, you want to take care of me?â
âExactly!â At that, Phainon unravels into something elated, reminding you of a dog Cifera alluded to him being akin to.
Maybe a samoyed would be perfect? The coat colour would be similar with a constant smile and a matching attitudeâfriendly; energetic and notably playful; social with a desire to be with the people they love, and slightly protective for that reason; a need for sufficient stimulation or a need to be useful; and, at times, stubborn.
âThat means I should take care of you too, right?â you remark, and watch him realize what youâve just done. âBecause Aglaea would never believe a relationship where love isn't showing care,â you add, ensuring he cannot dismiss you.
But, surprisingly, he only cocks his head, contemplative as he finishes with a little nod. âOkay.â
âThat's it?â you question. Whenever such a thing occurs between Phainon and Mydeimos, Phainon only becomes more resolute and increasingly vivacious as if a challenge has been set.
âI can't argue against it if you flipped it on me.â He chuckles but it tapers off into his previous introspection. "What did you say when you confessed to me?" The timbre he takes is a quiet one, voice lowered despite there being no one here but the two of you.
"I told you I liked you.â
"Is that all?"
The slight repetition almost makes you laugh, but to you, this is all very simple. So, you say, "does it have to be anything more?â
âI didn't intend for it to come across negatively.â His head lowers with a small shake, bangs swaying as he directs his attention towards the pillow heâs still holding. âI only wanted to know how you would do it,â he admits.
Itâs enough to garner an answer from you. "And..." You hesitate regardless. "And I asked if you liked me too."
"What did I say?" he probs as his hand reaches for yours. Your fingertips touch first, flinching briefly when you were busy waiting for the moment he would show you his face again. He doesnât, so this is enough.
Sliding your fingers against his, you feel the curve of a joint and, then, fit into the divots between his. "You told me you felt the same," you mumble, watching him untangle from your hold to fiddle with your hands.
"Did I?" His provocation is a reticent one, almost cheekyâmaybe, in your imagination, he wants more.
âDon't mess with me.â You huff like he had but, rather than being primarily amused, you are ostensibly miffed. Threatening him, you pinch his thumb between yours and your forefinger. âI'll eat all the chocolate in your pantry.â
He pinches yours back, smiling quietly. âYou wouldn'tâyour stomach would hurt like when you challenged me to eat the most chimera cookies.â Phainonâs eyes find you despite his lowered head, a certainty in how to reel you in before you make things difficult for yourself.
The tip of his bangs must touch his eyelashes in this position. You want to brush them away.
With a grin, you let the desire sink by challenging him. âDo you want to bet on it?
But he straightens to say, âI think I told you that it was impossible not to like you.â
âWhat happened to the bet?â you ask, doing your best to remain impassive.
You donât understand him, whereas failing to incite the coyness within him makes his declaration affect you differently. It would be far more simple to let this stay within the confines of the little âact,â but the longer you plan, the less it feels like fabrication. Every smile he offers you is the softer one, too, and it gentles with each new addition, especially with his.
Phainon shakes his head. âI'm not taking you up on that betâa good boyfriend wouldn't let you suffer like that.â
It's difficult not to ask. âWhy is it impossible not to like me? That seems like an exaggeration. There's a lot to like about someone.â You swallow something downâyour throat feels tight, and your chest even more so. âIt's not believable.â
The one facet of love you undeniably know is that it changes. People change according to what happens to them. They change when others love them and also when they donât. There must be ways you behave that irk even Cyree, Castorice, Cifera, and your family. Youâre convinced that love is a feeling and also an actionâthe choice made to persistâbut to say that itâs âimpossibleâ not to feel that way for someone is equally as impractical.
And when you mean love, it is in the most general sense as you, yourself, donât think youâve reached a point where youâre able to say you love Phainon, merely like. There are still many sides of him you donât know, and even more that you regularly try to understand. If it were possible, you hope to continue discovering them with him, and that he would do the same for you, disregarding your romantic folly for him. Would all your affection for him remain, you wonder, if he showed you some new part of himself or turned into someone you donât recognize?
âI think it is,â Phainon answers. âDo you remember what Badhwar said about love for person A being different for person B?â
You do. You do because you held onto every word from that day, and from then, you wanted to know as much as you could about him if that meant being able to hear his voice and have him speak to you, endlessly, about any topic he likes. So long as you have more time together, it doesnât matter.
âShe said that love is unique to and between each person,â you reiterate, and grow uncertain shortly after with the recollection. âExcept for when person C is biologically the same as person B and would also make the same choices.â
Phainon confirms your memory correct and then says, âwe spoke of Nietzsche's eternal recurrence, too, do you remember that?â You nod, so he continues, diverting the topic towards something similar. âIf we were stuck in a loop, it would be like fate, wouldn't it?â
Following up with your own question, you hesitate to propose, âwhat if this is our first time?â
Concepts like fate and free will are horrifying, really. Believing everything will work out simply because it will, or making the wrong choice and concluding that it is meant to be are both absurd to you. Janus may know all paths, Oronyx may extrapolate all they like and grant Holy Maidens dreams, and Mnestia and Nikador may send prophecies, but if there is something you must do, you will do it. If there is something you want, you will work towards it.
Phainon had told you, once before, that there are so many different viewpoints within determinism. The simplestâof which you would trust if forced to pickâis one that is straightforwardly referred to as âcasual.â One decision or event made prior leads to the next, whereby past and present determine the future and the outcome of your environment and the people you may directly or indirectly impact. Phainon said this sequence was antecedent in nature, which only led your line of thinking towards behaviour, stimulus, and everything you know about animals and conditioning.Â
So, in love, you donât want for fate. If you were at the mercy of a loop as Phainon imagines, then you hope there is nothing of the sort. You will strive to remember. From one eternal recurrence to another, you will pull that memory of him and your feelings from the depths of your recollections, and you will find and meet him again. You will become familiar with him, as you did in this life, and you will wait and see if that affection returns. Even if he is different, it will ultimately be intentional. Although, you suppose, that returns to Badhwar and the possibility of love being replaceableâif Phainon is still âPhainonâ in an alternate world with a different life.
With his hand raised to your forehead, directly within your line of sight, you startle slightly from his gentle touch.
He smoothes the furrow in your brow. âThenâŚâ he starts to answer once your focus returns to him. âIt's because I chose you.â
âI thought love was a feeling beyond action,â you remind him of the objective of his and Castoriceâs debate topic. You donât want to linger on your thoughts concerning the matterârefuse to when this conversation is rushing towards something dangerous, a current you wonât be able to fight against.
But Phainon doesnât know, and so, he says, âit is, but the person I'm looking at is you.â He doesnât elaborate any further, assured that nothing has escaped you.
It hasnât, and for that reason, you cannot maintain his gaze. âIt sounds like you're the one who confessed,â you suggest with a taut laugh, âdo you want to change it?â
âNo, I don't,â Phainon declares, conclusive and eliminating any prospect of something different. He wants this to be how it goes. âYour version feels right.â
âYours is more romantic,â you swiftly say, âlike you said: you can be romantic.â
âDoes that matter if yours feels real?â Phainon cants his head with a peculiar air to himâheâs observing you. Thatâs the only logical explanation for these purportedly still behaviours he demonstrates; waiting for your reaction in body language and spoken words, even how you say it and especially if you opt not to say anything at all.
It doesnât mean anything, you remind yourself. He conducts himself in a similar fashion with everyone elseâyouâve seen it, time and time again. Itâs ridiculous to assume without any basis to prove it, and you understand that misunderstanding a charade as potentially disastrous as this will only hurt you someday. In wanting to convince him to feel the same, youâve already decided to take this slowly, so that is what you will do.
Thus, you settle with "okayâ and clear your throat after the word comes out wrong. âRules?â Your thoughts feel so muddled, too, that you have to clarify. âI donât want there to be any mention of Aratus or pretending our familiesâor mine, at least, since Miss Aglaea speaks to yoursâthink weâre perfect for each other. If anyone wonders what my family thinks of you, just say weâre waiting before I introduce you to them.â And when you look at Phainon, he nods; youâve never seen him so serious. âWhat rules do you want to make?â
âNo kissing,â Phainon says without delay, ânot on the lips, forehead, or cheekâlet's keep any affection the same as always. We don't have to kiss to prove anything.â The insistence in it is so strong that your genuine curiosity must show on your face as he elaborates. âI'm not comfortable doing it outside of a real relationship.â
Of all romantic measures, kissing is something you wouldnât be able to manage either. The simple thought of one already makes your skin feel warm, heat creeping up your neck and settling on your cheeks with your head equally dizzy.
âI agree, donât worry.â Then, pulling yourself together, you add, âif weâre asked about something we didnât prepare for, let's make it similar to what we've been through as friends to minimize the chance of our stories not matching.â He hums in agreement so you allow it to settle before abruptly piping up with a pointed finger. âAnd you have to tell me if anything is too much or uncomfortable too.â
In a show of exaggeration, he rolls his eyes, gently pushing your hand away, yet intertwines your fingers together, again, during the descent. âLikewise,â he says before turning brazen, leaning closer with an impish attitude. âIn fact, I think thatâs something you should remember.â
âNo,â you argue, squeezing his hand tight to physically express your defiance. âYou hide more often than I do,â you insist, but it fails to persuade him to take it back, so you let it be while the room falls into silence. It forces you to face what has bothered you since he first asked you to play this part. â...Why me?â
âWhat do you mean? Why not you?â Phainon asks with a wry puff of air that you interpret as finding the question funny. âCyrene and I are practically siblings, I could never do something like this with Hyacine, and I doubt Mydei would be willing to put up with a charade like this.â
âSo you didnât have any other choice, huh?â The tone you take is so mordant that it may as well betray you.
Yet, thereâs no hesitation in his voice; he doesnât pause nor does his voice waver. âYou were my first choice. It took me so long to ask youâI thought about the ways I would bring it up, how I would say it, and the reasons why.â He steadies your hands only to repeat, âbut you were always my first choice.â
This canât go any further; you are sure to say something outside of formalities you wish to take when it comes to him.Â
âI guess thatâs it?â You pull away completely with the conclusive remark, of which Phainon nods again before you realize youâve forgotten something crucial. âWhat are we telling everyone?â Castorice is going to be immeasurably concerned, while Cifera is sure to be affected by the formerâs reaction aside from her inevitable doting of you being concealed by mischief.
You donât know how to face that kind of pity.
âWe donât have to say anything. Itâll only be one night,â Phainon decides. âIt can be a story for another time.â
âAlright,â you say, and find that it's become remarkably awkward with the ocean between you two. You were the one to end the physical contact, but it feels very final, now, with the prospective touchiness transforming into something with significantly more intent.
Phainon seemingly feels the same, tapping that rhythm he always plays when he fidgets. âOkay,â he says, struggling to respond with anything else until he glances at the clock. âCyrene and Mydei should be home soon, do you want to help me with dinner again?â
Old habits are always a painless solution, even for him.
âI promise I wonât burn the roux this time,â you jest, letting yourself revel in the sound of his tiny laugh.
Phainon raises his pinky. You hook yours around his.
đ¤ Phai
Phainon: opinions on my little oyster
Phainon: like the saying: âthe world is your oysterâ
You: are you saying iâm your world
Phainon: hypothetically
Phainon: I think itâs important that romance doesnât take up our entire lives
Phainon: but to be cheesy and romantic, yes, you are my world
You: aka your oyster.
You: let me set the stage, okay?
Phainon: should I get some lights and curtains ready
Phainon: or a fish tank
You: youâre gonna have to find a big one
You: anyways, miss aglaea is asking about our matching outfits because, you know, sheâs a fashion designer and everything
Phainon: of course, how could I forget?
You: you say, âmy little oyster and i picked these out together.â
You: i respond, âi couldnât trust my angelfish to do it alone!â
You: and she has no doubts that weâre madly in love. the end.
Phainon: wow
Phainon: not in love but MADLY in love?
You: only someone madly in love would call their partner an oyster
Phainon: context matters ૮(ËśâĽď¸żâĽ)á
Phainon: oysters are easy to hold and I like hugging you
Phainon: so when I hold you, I'm holding the world in my arms ueueue
You: using casâ emotes and saying ueueue...
You: acting cute wonât work on me!!
Phainon is typingâŚ
Phainon: you try!
You: what about something simple?
You: maybe Iâll call you sunshine
Phainon: we could match again
Phainon: Cifera already calls you starfish so what about starlight?
Phainon: If youâre comfortable with that.
You: thatâs fine :O
You: do you like it?
Phainon: I do
Phainon: do you like it?
You: Yeah, itâs cute :) But I think yours fits you especially
You: Youâre always smiling so itâs nice to be around you⌠But even when itâs all too much, all you have to do is go outside and take in a bit of sun and it feels like itâll be okay
You: To me, youâre like sunlight [Message read.]
You: Phainon?
You: lol did you fall asleep? sweet dreams, phai
New messages
Phainon: Good morning! I did, Iâm sorry.
Phainon: todayâs one of your days off, right? hopefully you sleep in until noon
Phainon: you look really tired lately⌠if you need anything, please tell me
Phainon: Iâm rambling, sorry haha.
Phainon: but thatâs sweet of you, thank you. Iâll do my best to live up to something like that
You: You're being silly. There's nothing more you have to do
Phainon: and why are you awake?
You: Okhema usually receives shipments today so Iâm heading to the wet market
You: If youâre free, I have a promise I have to keep
Phainon: Iâll pick you up
You: It might be easier if I send you the address and meet you there
You: We have to walk past your place to get there anyway
Phainon: no, Iâll come get you. rest for a little longer while I get ready
Phainon: I wonât keep you waiting
Phainon is wearing his glasses today.
Oftentimes, he uses contacts, easy to wear when he exercisesâwhich is every morningâso it's rare to see him this way instead. When he was tutoring you, there were days where Phainon would arrive in mismatched colours, disheveled hair, and the rounded square frames perched low on his nose, too tired from his own schedule to maintain appearances. Back then, it was fun to see a different side of someone always so put together. Now, with him leaning against your shoulder, you find him so endearing that you have to restrain yourself from sneaking glances.
The movie chosen for tonight is a quiet one, a pleasant way to end his visit when you spent most of the Action Hour's quints playing games, and the Parting, conversing until this movie. The story is slower than most yet it doesn't necessarily build into a dramatic climax or ending. Really, it's quite austere, and it's because of it that your eyes drift towards him; however, this is not from boredom.
The music swells. The credits roll. And reminded of the other day, you ask, âdid you like it?â You catch him wiping tears, his glasses propped atop his head.
Pulling them back down, he chuckles, resigning himself to your observation. âI did,â he says, âwe picked this at random but it's similar to the conversation we had.â
You make a joke. âIt's providence thenâfate.â Reaching over, you gently straighten the frame, pushing it up the bridge of his nose. âHow many layers do you think this is?â
How many lives have you lived with each other?
Phainon shifts on the couch to face you properly, and he folds his legs under him as he answers, âI was cuddling you during the movie, so that's one.â He lets you come closer. âYou touched me when you fixed my glasses, so thatâs two.â Phainon picks a piece of lint off your shoulder. âThat's three⌠Have you kept track of every other time weâve touched?â
He's grinning despite the question. The topic of reincarnation, the relationships you have with others, and âprovidenceâ must interest him. It's so close to the branch of determinism that you're glad to have watched this movie together, if only to see him like this. The story proposesâthrough a borrowed word whose full understanding cannot be translated into standard Amphorean without elaborationâthat even a momentary brush between strangers is an indication of being significant to someone in your past life, but it doesnât mean that youâre bound together.
Is it fate to meet again, even indirectly?
âNo,â you answer, âI havenât counted. I think there's too many to count.â Poking his knee, you hear Phainon snort. âThatâs four now.â
The couch dips as Phainon adjusts himself using the backrest as leverage, but his arm doesn't leave. His hand follows the fabric path, across until it lies next to where your bicep presses against the cushionâbarely an inch separates you. It feels much larger.
Then, he says, âit reminded me of what we had to do.â Because the recognition makes your heart ache, Phainon must feel the same; only him and Cyrene understand this part of you.
âDid you leave anyone behind other than your parents?â
âAedes Elysiae is a small farming village so we all felt like a big family. When Cyrene and I went to high school, it was at a nearby town, but I donât have anyone waiting for me there, either.â Phainon's fingers tap against his thigh in a neatly paced rhythm. âYou said you never fell in love, but was that because you left Jericha before you could?â
âIt wasn't something I thought about,â you admit. The tone you take is a melancholic thingâyour life is always defined by meetings, partings, and reunions. And although the movie had a romantic undertone, spanning years you haven't experienced yet, both you and Phainon evolved the same way without it.
He already knows the reason.
âWhy do you think they call it fate?â you ask. âIf it's destined, how can things change between each life?â
âDeterminism also involves quantum mechanics,â he explains. âAnd there's a theory that weâre influenced by our immediate environment, so every different choice is made, but separately in other lives or worlds.â Phainon brings a hand in front of you, facing the ceiling, and when your palms press, he rests his other hand atop the back of yours. âLike the movie, they pile on top of each other in layers, and if you connect it to Nietzsche's eternal recurrence, then we don't remember because of these differences, but it does mean that we're meant to meet, no matter how miniscule the interaction.â
Your hands separate. âProfessor Anaxagoras must like this topicâfate, free will, and what ifs.â
He huffs, amused, but pivots to something that interests him especially. âI know he complains about the shorthand, but you call Mydei by his full name too.â Phainon tilts his head. âWhy?â
You shrug, casual with your admission. âIt's⌠special. What did the guy in the movie say? That she was someone who leaves, and he liked her because of who she is, so he has to accept that too, even if the person he remembers isnât in front of him anymore.â He nods to confirm your memory, so you continue. âSome peopleâs names are rooted in their culture, but theyâre always related to who we are and what it means to someone else by hearing or saying it. When I think of the name âAnaxagoras,â I think of our professor, plus, itâs kinda funny he isn't as strict with me because of it. When I hear âMydeimos,â I think of our MydeiâŚbut Iâm also not that close to Mydeimosâand Hyacineâyet to call them something different.â
It would be nice to get to know them more; you want to be closer to everyone. You wish that you were.
âSo out of the group, it was just the three of us left, huh?â He hums, thoughtful. â...you call me Phai sometimes.â Then, he quickly says, âyou also say Cy and Cas.â
âBecuase that's special too.â You hold up a finger with each explanation, counting them off. âMy Cy is different from the Cyrene you grew up with, and you wouldnât fully understand what Cas is like as a roommate even if I told you. The way I use those nicknames will always be different from you.â
âWhat about me?â
âYou're the person who spent so much time tutoring someone you barely knew in exchange for coffee and tea.â Grinning, you watch Phainonâs countenance match yours just at the sight of you.
âAnd the person you're living out a romcom plotline with,â he jokes, and then seriously asks, âdo you think we're ready?â
The apprehension in his voice somewhat concerns you. When you established your fictitious love story some nights ago, the two of you decided to make it closer to life. How you first met is exactly the same: meeting at Cyreneâs birthday party last year. How you got closer, too, is based on the numerous moments spent together studying. And your first date was when he took you to the beach to search for sea glass in the Month of Cultivationâsomething real.
But, through this, each idea was effortless, and perhaps he thinks itâs too straightforward that the deception will be as easily unravelled. In your opinion, the rest is not as important as how you wanted to confess since that would be the beginning of the freshly sprouted, falsified romance. That moment is the only one of divergence; otherwise, itâs not that different from reality.
When itâs genuine, love is simple and you find the strength to make choices even in the stormiest seasons of your life: you always save the best of everything for Aratus; your mother and father give up everything for the two of you; and you sit on Jerichaâs beach, waving goodbye to sailing ships.
No matter your complaints about getting in trouble, you keep up with Ciferaâs mischief so she always has you to fall back on. Sometimes, she does things that donât make sense at the moment, but sheâs always thinking about the rest of you. Because youâve always loved stories, you memorize each piece of worldbuilding of Castoriceâs, studying it as seriously as chimera biology to see her smile, infectious and radiant as she chases her dreams. You never let Cyrene feel unwanted or excluded; sheâs the first person you involve with most activities and conversations, especially when youâre lonely. You know sheâs afraid of being alone, too.
And when it comes to Phainon, itâs every little thing you do together, and every single conversation youâve strived to retain since falling head first into this sea of feelings before you even realized they were there. If he ever leaves, you need to remember.
âWhat about lockscreens?â you ask. âPictures are sentimental, and matching lockscreens are something couples usually do.â
âOh,â Phainon vocalizes. âThat would be sweet.â
He leans towards the coffee table to grab his phone but you already have yours out, searching for the idea that immediately came to mind.
Showing him, you say, âsomething like this?â and see his eyes flit over the screen, scanning everything. Thereâs not much to look at when the focus is on the modelsâ faces; heâs staring for far too long. Your mutter, âdonât like it? Do you think itâs a bad idea?â
âNo,â he says, shaking his head and repeating, âno, it's cute.âÂ
Since youâre in agreement, you get up to prepare.
âż CASket of the Second Male Lead
You: can i please borrow any old lipstick you donât use?
Castorice: (㼠â˘. â˘)?
Castorice: Try the dark purple pouch in the bathroom sink cabinet.
Castorice: What do you need old lipstick for?
You: umm an experiment
You: thank you, cas!!
Castorice: Iâm glad to help! (´ď˝ď˝)
When you find it exactly where Castorice said it would be, you return and pull out a vibrant carmine colour with a twinkle in your eye. Motioning for him to sit forward, he listens, and you knock his knees apart to stand between them. Phainonâs head drops with the action and you mutter a quick question of is everything okay? to which he responds with a small confirmation as he looks back up to you.
âMay I justââ Your hand hovers under his chin, intention clear. Once Phainon wordlessly agrees with a nod, your thumb presses into the skin of his cheek while the rest of your fingers settle on the opposite side.
Although Phainon is so lean, his skin is a soft cushion, the plumpness of it sinking around your fingertips. Unable to help yourself, you squeeze softly until his lips pucker, fooling around as a splatter of pink surfaces under your holdâyou tell yourself that it's the lingering effects of his earlier tearsâwhereby he makes no indication that he dislikes the contact. Phainon can only hum in this position, weakening into a sound closer to a purr as he surrenders himself to you and closes his eyes.
âHold still,â you instruct him, and do the same as his hands find their place above your hips.Â
Uncapping the lipstick with your mouth, you tilt his head to the side and slowly draw a curved line over his cheek. Phainon is patient with you the entire time, without so much as a twitch in fear of disturbing you. And his breaths come out soft where, if not for his steady touch, anyone would suspect him capable of dozing off like this.
Once youâre finished, you plop down on the couch next to him; you donât wait for him to open his eyes. Youâre afraid of what you may find in them, and worse, of how you may react.
âHere,â you say, watching Phainon blink to awareness as he focuses on you. âPress your cheek to mine so we make a heart, but donât move after. Iâll pull away to make sure it looks the way itâs supposed to, okay?â Carefully, you pull him closer by the shoulder, giving him ample time to stop you or change his mind.
He doesnât.
Phainonâs hand snakes around your waist after pulling off his glasses, afraid of them hurting you when your temples touch. âOkay.â He nods, listless and submerged in your every word and action.
Following your guidance, Phainon leans closer to do as youâve said. His cheek is warm against your own, and you chuckle softly when they press to imprint the other half of the heart, doing your best to smoosh together for a proper transfer. Phainonâs own laughter bubbles up and you have to reprimand him softly by squeezing his shoulder with how much it causes him to shake.
Once you assume enough time has passed, you gently peel your cheek from his, careful not to smudge the lipstick as a heart forms with your faces still slightly squished at the edges, side by side. Then, you position the camera to your liking, smiling wide when Phainonâs grin is already ready and plastered on his face. Taking a few for good measure, you pull apart after a few moments to review the photographs.
Within them, Phainon isnât staring straight at the camera but towards where your reflection had been. It would be better to retake them, but before you can say anything, the phone is snatched from you. You joltâthe action is so impolite, nothing like Phainon and resembling a child who cannot share or is afraid of something being taken from him.
âThese are fine,â he says, fingers flicking through each one. The next lands on a photograph you took together at the Festival of Flowers; Phainon stays on it for a quick beat before moving in the opposite direction, inspecting each image again.
âAre you sure?â you ask, taking your phone back when he hands it to you. He watches over your shoulder as you select the photographs, only to conspicuously avert his eyes when you open your messaging app, avoiding the sight of any conversation that does not involve him.
Phainonâs phone dings; he opens it without a second to waste. âPositive,â he remarks, already changing his lockscreen.Â
âLet me wipe it off,â you say when he cannot tear his attention away from the image.
There is nothing special about it that denotes this kind of observance, but considering how you feel about him, your attachment to it is clearâto you, his does not make sense. He responds with a mutter of wait, shifting in his seat and obstructing your view of him.
Your hand finds his shoulder, grip tightening as you urge him to face you again. âPhainon, thereâs still lipstick on your face.â Itâs only when you shake him a little that he makes a sound to indicate he hears you.
This time, he listens, letting the screen dim as he leaves his phone beside him. But when you reach for him, his own hand darts forward, smearing the carmine curve in a messy streak. âForget about yours?â His voice lifts, the question ending with an aborted chuckle. When you roll your eyes, he croons, âyou should pay mind to yourself before taking care of me.â
âYouâre so annoying,â you complain, failing to appear irritated when your smile is so fond.
Then, he takes pause, eyes darting from one part of your face to another while his mouth opens slightlyâis he offended? The prospect is enough to convince you to take it back, but, all of a sudden, his eyes narrow. âYou seem to enjoy it, hm?â Phainon rhetorically suggests, far too pleased in his ability to taunt you.
Making a decision, you dive for Phainonâs sides. Back when Phainon used to sit in your lectures, you dozed off for a moment before being awoken with Professor Anaxagorasâ excited meanders about dromas. His voice was so loud that you caught Phainonâs attention by poking his side, but your friend flinched with a sharp yelp that silenced the room. Youâre certain then, that this will work, so you wiggle your fingersânever straying from his sides, remaining no higher than his ribs and no lower than his hipsâand hear Phainonâs voice swell, breaking into a deluge of giggles and shrieks.
The punishment only lasts for a minute or so, not wanting to terrorize him for too long. And when you cast your eyes over him, your heart sinks in panic. Phainon is panting, trying to catch his breath with cheeks stained a faint pink, the colour softening the edges of the lipstick still smeared on his face, but his smile is so disarming. His eyes are squeezed shut, too, and they continue to be barred from you when he throws his forearm over his face, revealing only his lips. If you were to see his eyes, it would be impossible for you to bear it. And although his mouth is the only feature you can see, itâs all you need to point you towards his gleeâthroat bobbing after swallowing a stuttered breath that dissolves into another grin.
Once heâs calm, Phainon reveals his complete countenance to you. His eyes are somewhat hazyâa mist that covers a sea of blue, of which you would have no qualms in getting lost in. When he murmurs your name, his voice is faintly raspy.
Thereâs a knot in your chest.
âPhainon,â you mumble, yet your words die out when his fingers find your hand, lingering before trying to snake into your palm to release the clench of your first; you hadnât realized how nervous youâve become. âI should tell youââ
The slam of a door cuts you off, and both you and Phainon yelp while itâs promptly followed by a loud call. You look in the direction of the sound, but once you return to Phainon, his expression is scrunched up, distinctly disappointed.
âHello, starfish!â Cifera announces. âCas and I are back early so you wouldnât be too lonely!â And it only takes a second for them to round the corner of the entryway and spot you straddling Phainon on the couch.
âOh!â Castorice releases a delighted gasp. âYouâre still here Phainon?â But you know from the glint in her eyes that she's particularly happy about his position under you rather than his presence here entirely.
Pulling yourself away from him, you ignore how his fingers seem to graze over your wrists, following the path to your palms and then along the length of your fingers, hesitating to let go. âWe were busy,â you justify, wincing immediately with the implication. And when you peek at Phainon, he shares your bashfulness in such a way that causes his already present flush to deepen into a ruddy complexion.
âReally?â Castorice asks, heading over to the kitchen to set down various treats she's brought home. Her movements are graceful, lacking an explicit excitement that you are certain is stirring within herâa matter of pretense. âQuite an adorable way to be âbusy.ââ
Cifera plops down onto the arm of the sofa only to nudge Phainon with a grin. âThis late? Alone?â
âIt's only the fifth quint of the Parting Hour, Cifera!â you hiss, leaning over Phainon to get closer to her. He startles so you apologize under your breath. Her grin turns wicked, but before she can say anything else, you argue, âI'm not the one stealing Cas all the way into the early quints of the Entry!â
You're aware that holds no significance right nowâCifera brought Castorice back home from workâbut it's still something they do, which means she is, with all the affection you have for her, a hypocrite. She hums a low, suspicious sound, glancing at Castorice for a moment, conversing in a manner only understandable between the two of them.
Oh no.
âWould you like him to?â Castorice says and you hear Phainon sputter before she continues. âThere would be no reason for me to worry since you'd be with Phainon.â
You groanâof course she would be like this. So, you whine her name next, trying to sullenly flop onto the cushion of the backrest like a fish, but when you drop your head forward in a pout, your forehead bumps into Phainon's shoulder. You make the mistake of remaining there. His hand brushes against your cheek, urging you to lift your head, and once you do, his face softens.
âDid that hurt?â he asks, thumb brushing against the point of contact. Only, he turns guileless with a certitude of what is between you. âThat was another layer, you know.â He doesnât sound playful; resigned, at most, of something you cannot discern.
âLayer?â Cifera interrupts, and silently seeks out Castorice who only shrugs. âWhat does that mean?â
Cifera's is unmistakably attentive, observing how Phainon checks your forehead over something as simple as an insignificant collision. Then, she releases a little huff of acknowledgement, choosing not to tease you for this. If you were to linger longer on the reason why, you are sure to have another sleepless night.
But when Phainon glances at you, he meets your eyes with coquettish intent. You grin at the sight of himâyou adore him like thisâand, together, in perfect coordination, the two of you answer.
âIt's a secret!â
âż CASper the Friendly Ghost
Castorice: Despite everything, I am sorry for interrupting you and Phainon. (@_@;)
Castorice: I will make sure Cifera keeps quiet until you are ready.
You: just throw me into the ocean
You: let me sink to the bottom
Castorice: Iâm fairly certain Phainon would follow you there.
You: this is crazy
Castorice: Isnât he crazy about you? [Message read.]
đ¤ Phai
Phainon: Hey! :)
Phainon: Do you want to get breakfast with Mydei, Hyacine, and I tomorrow?
You: Yes, please!! <3
Phainon is typingâŚ
You: No Cyrene? ;â;
Phainon: she's working late tonight so I want to let her sleep in
Phainon: Mydei and I will bring her back something
Phainon: but weâll pick you up and drop you off at work after :D
You: lol why am i so excited
You: iâm gonna head to bed early
Phainon: oh?
Phainon: is that all I need to do to get you to fix your sleep schedule?
Phainon: invite you out early in the morning?
You: excuse you :O i would wake up early to see the ships roll in even when i couldnât sleep from excitement!!
You: how could you forget ueueue
Phainon: no, I remember
Phainon: I would never forget
â§ Fishing and Farming
You: How are we going to coordinate?
You: Should I bring my clothes to your place??
Cyrene: Half of Phainonâs wardrobe is gym and casual wear
Cyrene: Weâll bring anything salvageable to you~
You: Are you sure?
You: I donât want to be any troubleâŚ
Phainon: donât worry about that
Phainon: Iâm asking you for this favour already so take it easy, okay?
You: Okay
You: Thank you, Phainon
Phainon: <3
They arrive sometime past the third quint of the Lucid Hour. Cyrene, your resident cosmetology student, is unfortunately stressed over this entire ordeal and how you've decided to share Phainon's intention to coordinate at the last minute. Initially, you were certain you could handle it together, but your confidence waned with every suggestion that he, mind you, didn't always own.
If Miss Aglaea found out, she might become a professor just to force him into a fashion fundamentals course.
At least Castorice and especially Cifera may think it funny. You did too until you realized he was serious. The first idea was a yellow suit, so you clarified if he actually meant to say beige or perhaps slacks in the same colourâeasy mistake: yellow and beige. Then he sent you an image of a lemon-yellow two-piece where, if accepted, you may as well pair up with a midnight blue outfit and explain yourselves as crayon colours.
His solution? Break up the monochromatic ensemble with purple. Now, they theoretically do look good togetherâCastorice explained the point of complementary colours during one your first craft nights with herâbut Phainon insisted on both being equally vibrant through bright yellow slacks and an intense purple suit jacket. The combination is cute when he's studying with you, wearing his favourite neon hoodie with dromas patterned sweatpants, but you have to be a good partner to Phainon so you won't let him stick out like a sore thumb.
Your solution? Beg Cyrene for help when it was impossible for you to resist his puppy dog eyes during his impromptu video call at the mall. From her stories, Cyrene was always the one to wrangle a younger Phainon around Aedes Elysiae; only she would be able to assist you in this. Even more, he likely wasnât aware of what he was doing until your distress gradually became more apparent, the increase of your stress levels accompanying the descent of his lips.
And that expression is the one you wear together after Cyrene finishes scolding Phainon after another terrible combination while you register her words.
âWe wonât be arriving together?â you ask, shoulders drooping as you follow her path from one side of your room to another. Your voice is as pathetic as Phainon appears; you squeeze his hand and he smiles while you huff a tiny laugh.
Cyrene watches with a contemplative hum. You brace yourself for a quip but she only informs you of her plans. âI want to network and it wonât be difficult if I'm there as everyone comes in. Auntie Aglaea knows Phainon is bringing hisâŚpartner.â She offers you a meaningful look before continuing. âSo she won't mind if you arrive laterâthe soiree runs for a few hours anyway.â
With that, you alternatively ask, âwhat about on the way back?â The possibility of being alone with Phainon after pretending to be in a relationship is terrifying. How do you even begin to act normal when you want the lie to be real? It's already a struggle to act unaffected by him that years of pretending you're stronger than you are is nothing in comparison to this.
âHey?â Cyrene calls your name, peering at you with a blouse clutched in her hands. Her features indicate she is at ease, but sheâs crinkling the fabric. âDid you hear what I said?â
You shake your head and smile with a prompt apology. âI'm sorry, Cy. I was thinking about work.â
âRightâŚâ Her voice trails off and you hope Phainon doesnât notice too. You smile wider. âWell,â Cyrene starts, shaking off her worry. âI will be staying until the end to catch anyone I miss or if I think there's a good opportunity.â
Since you've known her, Cyrene has always worked hard despite how she carries herself. You've seen her cry over lost chances only to smile as if she succeeded, getting up again and again to march towards something else on the horizon. Her conviction that it'll always work out is so inspiring, while you, on the contrary, feel as if you're running out of time. And because you admire this side of her, you know what she needs. So, you get up and ease her hold on the poor blouse.
âYou'll find it, and everyone will be clamouring for a chance to be styled by you,â you assure her as Phainon makes a few comments of similar confidence.
During this short conversation, he's floated around the room just as Cyrene had, putting together his own ideas to match the ones either you or Cyrene make, yet he never touches your wardrobe that he almost seems averse to it. Phainon simply offers compliments and gives his opinion, of which is notably positive whenever it comes to you, always agreeing in a manner that has you wondering if he likes everything you wear so long as you're the model. But perhaps that's something your heart supplies you with as he does hold other opinions too.
Currently, Phainon is staring at the yellow blouse you wore to the Festival of Flowersâyou tried to revisit his prior suggestion by creating another ensemble.
âNo,â Cyrene says before a word leaves his open mouth. âAbsolutely not, and Auntie Aglaea looked like she was about to skin you alive when she saw what you wore with your treasured yellow dress shirtâIâm sure sheâll have flashbacks even if we style you correctly.â Just to prove her point, she exhales, long and slow in a dramatic sigh.
You snort; so Miss Aglaea has witnessed it before. Although Phainon is pouting again, it's more likely that he's fishing for attention as he's already leaning into your palm before it meets the top of his head in a comforting touch.
He's quiet until your hand retracts. âWhat if you pick your favourite colour?â he asks you.
Cyrene shifts from one foot to the other, hip canting to adopt a stern posture. She reminds him: âisn't it yellow?â Then, she points a clothes hanger at him and says, âyou won't fool me!â though the words are lightheartedâafter years of silly escapades, she must enjoy unravelling his schemes.
However, Phainon doesnât know your favourite colour. You don't believe you've openly discussed it, either, with anyone but Castorice. So, you answer the question Cyrene expressed as rhetoric. âItâs blue,â you say.
âOh.â Cyrene blinks, her lips drawing a pretty line. She's visibly perplexed. âYou've worn yellow a lot lately,â she points out.
Shrugging, you glance at Phainon who hastily averts his eyesâit hasn't happened once since you voiced the truth. What a pity. You explain, âI like yellow a bit more recently, that's all.â
At that, his shoulders freeze, pulling tight as he finally looks at you.
âYouâre not sick of it despite living by the sea?â Cyrene asks, rifling through the duffel bag filled with Phainon's clothes while tilting her head from one side to another as she makes a list. âThe sea is blue, the sky is blue, some of the buildings in Jericha have blue roofsâŚâ
âItâs nice because itâs constant,â you answer. âIt doesnât change. The sky is always there and so is the sea, and I'll always love Jericha, so I'll always love the colour blue.â It's the clearest justification you can possibly assert, even as you focus on folding up discarded clothing to make room for more of Phainonâs wardrobe, trying not to mistake his for yours by taking care in appropriately separating everything.
Cyrene hums with your explanation, and returns to the messy pile to put together another outfit. You would help, but she waves you off, nodding towards Phainon who hasn't said a word since his suggestion. When your brows furrow, you intend to ask if something happened, but her face scrunches as she fails to stop her mouth from curling into a grin.
You roll your eyes, so she wordlessly declares, he blushed. Jutting out your lip, you slowly mouth your response: he didn't look in our direction. She adds, he did when you looked away, and pretends to gag. She also catches the pillow you toss at her face; one day you'll get her.
Leaving her to her expertise, you find him staring at the small jar of sea glass perched on your windowsill, situated beside the wooden carving of Vigethos.
Its neck is decorated with the light blue ribbon from Phainonâs gift to you on the Day of Devotion, and he takes it into his fingers, rubbing the fabric with his thumb. Itâs pretty, but not incredibly interesting aside from your affection for the memory. When Phainon took you to the beach, you insisted on only taking those in white, gray, or blueâespecially blue. They reminded you of the sea and your childhood, wherein you gravitated towards soft, almost translucent, icy blues. Life has such strange coincidences.
His hand curls around the body, palm pressed flat against the surface. The way he observes it is so tender, and it looks as if heâs about to pick it up but you interrupt.
âPhainon?â
He startles only to play it off with a stiff cough, immediately letting go as if caught doing something he shouldn't. âYes? What is it?â
âDoes that sound good to you?â you ask, but Phainon seems to hesitate, requiring further elaboration. âTo wear blue?â When you reach his side, you take the little display in your own hand, aligning your palm and fingers over the residual heat.
âNo objections here,â he says, yet his stare remains on the jar within your hold.
Lifting the lid, you direct the open mouth towards him. âTake one,â you murmur. âYou gave them all to me.â Thereâs a hesitation in his eyes that notifies you of his incoming abnegationâhis expression is drowned in want. âHow will you remember?â
âIâve been doing it all this time,â Phainon tells you.
Setting the lid on the desk, you reach inside and grab the one sitting at the top of the pile; an unremarkable shape in a dark, murky blue. Holding it up to the window, you show Phainon how it catches the light, turning resplendent as the edges dissolve into lighter shadesâshallow water that drains into a bottomless expanse.
âYou really donât want it?â you ask again lest he changes his mind and chooses to be forthright in his desires.
âNo,â he says, âthe trip to the beach was for you, so you should keep itâŚâ Phainonâs sentence trails off, but before you can question if he truly means that, Cyrene ushers you over.
She positions you and Phainon side by side, standing in front of your bed and hiding the results of her efforts. âSo!â She clasps her hands together in a sharp sound. âI've put together something I know both of you will absolutely love!â Cyrene's so excited that her voice raises an octave, almost melting into a charming squeal. But, turning serious, she instructs you, âclose your eyes.â
Obeying, you do, and hear a rustle of fabric as Phainonâs voice fills the air.
âShouldn't you leave the room too?â he wonders.
âI will, but I need to say something.â For a moment, it goes quietâyou almost want to take a peek.
âTelling secrets without me?â Phainon asks next, curiosity dripping from his tone.
âYes!â Cyrene confirms, and thereâs shuffling as she wrestles him out the door. âNow shoo!â
Once it shuts, you open your eyes. âSo⌠What's the secret?â
âDo you remember when I had a little party after my major held a faux runway show?â she reminds you, but forgetting is practically impossible. All throughout last year, Cyrene worked so hard to secure a chance to help style the models and succeeded.
You point towards the cork board on the wall, its surface decorated with various pictures including those from that night, and retort, âis that a question you should be asking me?â
âYou're right, silly me.â Cyrene giggles, taking your hands in hers and intertwining your fingers. âWell, a little birdy told meââ
âThis again?â You laugh with her, yet you fail to yank your hands awayâwhen did she get so strong?âand fall quiet at her grin.
âA little birdy told me that you looked stunning that night so,â she drags out the word, suggestion clear. âI think you should wear it again for the soiree!â
Rolling your eyes, you sidestep her to see that she's picked out a similar outfit to the one from a year ago. You only wore it onceâspecially bought it to celebrate her, actuallyâas you often find yourself in clothes fitting your needs when it comes to wrangling and taking care of chimeras rather than more lavish parties. And it was also a surprise. You spent hours upon hours seeking something that would complement you but mimic her chicnessâa physical representation of your support of her as you know how much Cyrene enjoys dressing up and wanted to make her happy.
âI also think it's perfect for you,â she adds, squeezing your shoulder as she peers at your face, trying to discern your stance on it. âAuntie Aglaea is important to me and PhainonâI've longed to introduce you to her. You chose this yourself.â She turns soft, just like Phainon does, and declares, âI want you to be yourself when you meet her.â
Picking it up, you mutter, âeven if I'm pretending to be someone I'm not?â
Cyrene blinks, evidently taken aback. You try to smile again but she hugs you. âIf you donât want to do it, you shouldn't.â When she pulls away, she forces you to face her properly, not allowing you to look anywhere else. âPhainon would understand, and your feelings⌠Theyâre precious, I know. Donât force yourself if it's painful for you.â
The first night after the Festival of Flowers was a sleepless one. Telling him you couldnât do it did cross your mind, keeping you up as you repeated his request until the Sun rose. Phainon would have no remorse if you were to go back on your word the day of, while you know it to be best to say such a thing as soon as possible, but the irrational part of you justified it as a way to just see. See if you really are compatible and whether or not it would have worked out; or, even, as a way to prove to Phainon that you are someone he can consider as a romantic partner.
So, you assure Cyrene. âIâm okay. Thank you for worrying about me.â And she lets you wind your arms around her, pulling her to you and squishing your bodies together in the hopes of conveying the truth in your declaration. âIâm nervous about the soiree itself and less about pretending to date himâwell, lying to Miss Aglaea too.â
The instance that leaves your mouth, Cyrene snorts. âOh.â Her voice is alluring with the interjection, something devious with no opportunity for your curiosity to win against your suspicion. It would be best not to know. âAuntie is going to absolutely love a story like this; donât you worry one bit!â Then, she leaves without your response and, through the door, you hear a muffled what are you doing followed by I wanted to give you two privacy.
With that, all you can do is change.
By the time the door opens again, both you and Phainon struggle to look at each other. Heâs dressed in a silm, navy vest to pair with slacks in the same colour, while his dress shirt is a few shades lighterâa slate, almost glacial, blue. With no suit jacket, itâs easier to see the length of his shoulders, the curve of his arms, and the slight cinch of his waist. But aside from your blatant observation of him, his outfit is the opposite of yours, with you in primarily light blues accented by darker ones. It must be a lovely contrast; almost similar but not quite.
âPhainon will look way more dashing once I have the fabrics pressed!â Cyrene is fussing over the fitting of the garments, flitting back and forth between you as you awkwardly stand in front of each other. Sheâs smoothing out the wrinkles of yours as she croons, completely casual despite her impish expression, âbut you think Phainon is always handsome, donât you?â
Your hitched breath is a shared one, and his cheeks begin to flush, crawling down his neck. You mumble, to which Cyrene laughs, the sound ringing out like a joyous bell.
âWhat?â Phainon asks, head tilting as he stuffs a hand into his pocket, the other finding his nape.
âCyrene is right,â you say as she leaves to go fiddle with somethingâmaybe thereâs a purpose other than helping you, you arenât sure. You canât stop yourself, anyway. âYou look very handsome.â
It causes a small laugh to bubble up, and he follows you to your desk while you pretend to clean up. âAnd you look nice,â Phainon proudly asserts, assisting you in distracting yourself from your embarrassment.
âJust nice?â you repeat as a small jest. He never forgets.
And because he doesnât, his next laugh is more breathless, a thin expellant of air that ends with a grin. âSorry,â he says, and deliberately finds your hand in a terse touch, pretending to reach for the same piece of clothing when another lays in a messy lump in front of him. âI was lyingâyouâre beautiful. I know I already saw you in this at Cyreneâs party a year ago, but I thought you were beautiful back then too.â
âOh.â It leaves your mouth quietly, caught between the knowledge of how he sees you against the honesty in an admission that is useless for the purpose of your attire.
For once, being genuine is something you dislike. You don't know how you're supposed to wear an outfit he feels so strongly about whilst also pretending heâs yours. Even further, to be capable of that compliment, does this mean that he likes the way you look? Phainon is objectively attractive so itâs natural on his part, and you have received an odd piece of praise here and there, but you can't avoid overthinking this. He wasnât as familiar with you back then, too, so does that also mean you're his type?
Itâs too much. Still, you hide the thought within the depths of your memories, saving it for when you're alone and can sufficiently think about it endlessly.
So, nothing more is said. Phainon and you merely return to folding whatever is no longer needed as you listen to the soft rustle of fabric and the clink of whatever Cyrene is doing on the other side of your room. Itâs frivolous, but you end up with a little system of folding, stacking, and passing each other the clothes you respectively own. And once you finish what remains, you find Phainon already done and staring at the jar resting on your windowsill again.
The odd expression on his face releases only when you call his name, reaching for the glass.
When you lift the lid once more, he shows you his palm, open and enticing, and you place the sea glass in the centre. His fingers close around it with a small huffâhe knows you want him to have it. Youâre sure he wants it too. Thank you is what his eyes seem to say, pocketing it as Cyrene calls the two of you over for accessories next.
You donât tell Phainon, but you were saving it for him.
đ¤ Sunshine
Phainon sent one image.
Phainon: before you say anything, the dirt is from my village and was cleansed
Phainon: it felt right to place the sea glass with it
You: It looks beautiful, Phai. Iâm glad you displayed it
You: And isnât that an Icatus tradition? I thought Aedes Elysiae followed Oronyx :O
Phainon: we do, but the ritual is for harvests so I thought it wouldnât hurt to participate
Phainon: youâre meant to use fresh soil each year, but I keep it as a reminder of home now
You: I should give you a ribbon so our jars can match
Phainon: I would like that, thank you
Phainon: out of curiosity⌠why donât you like seashells?
Phainon: theyâre both pretty, but sea glass is harder to find
You: The animals died or had to abandon the seashells
You: They make me sad
Phainon: well, we canât have that
Phainon: before you leave, we should go look for more sea glass
You: No, I donât want your jar to fill up
You: Iâm going to bring you some from Jericha
Phainon is typingâŚ
Phainon: that makes me want to give you a gift from Aedes Elysiae
You: I want to try your dadâs specially made grilled fish
You: The family recipe :O
Phainon: you're crazy haha. how am I supposed to bring that back?
Phainon: Iâll cook it for you before Cyrene and I go home, but Iâll give you a proper gift when we get back. deal?
You: Deal :D
Phainon picks you up in his old car.
Itâs nothing fancy but itâs carried him through his last year of high school until now after he worked so much to afford it in the first place. There are little things about it that remind you of him, tooâthe paint colour, the interior, and the ornament hanging from the rear view mirror. You would ask if the decoration was replaced since he first bought itâsomething that survived the changes from his life out by the countryside to here, in the cityâbut youâre too busy humming along to Robinâs new single, accompanying Phainonâs own singing.
The soiree started two quints ago but, just as Cyrene explained, it was fine to arrive later. And Phainon must have realized how nervous you are as that would be the only explanation for his tardiness upon picking you up. You were mostly ready around the tail end of the Action Hour, actually, pacing back and forth within your bedroom so as to not worry Castorice, whilst busying yourself by reviewing the plans set forth and every story you must know by heart. In the midst of your growing panic, Phainon chose to video call you with the desire to converse as he completed his own preparations.
Now, for as long as youâve known him, he has always been early. Phainon is the sort of person who believes being on time is equal to being late unless there is some important matter that pushes him to arrive exactly at what is agreed upon. But heâs also attended these events for Miss Aglaea since he was seventeen; the first time being his inaugural visit to Okhema before deciding he would attend university here. Year after year, how different can soirees be? Thus, there is justification for his leisure aside from you. He is not treating you specialânot at all.
Though it doesnât matter anymore because he ultimately pulls in, silences the music, and turns off the ignition.
Phainon reaches over, slow as his head tilts to meet your downward gaze. When his hand finds yours, he squeezes; you release a fist. âYou look as if youâre about to faint,â he remarks, slightly teasing but wholly concerned. âIf you want to back out or go home at any point, even right now, tell me and we'll leave.â
The sentiment is comforting, however you're not one to quit an endeavor that's right in front of you. You yourself are aware of how adept you are at persevering through anything, except when faced with his astuteness. So, you take a peek from under your lashes to warble out, âpromise?â
He has the decency not to laugh, although you can see the miniscule shake in his shoulders. You must resemble an image Phainon is so endeared to that he uses it to sulk over textâa baby seal with soggy eyes looking up at the camera. Yet there is only fondness when he agrees, âI promise,â and raises his hand.
Your pinky hooks around his and, with the action, a small laugh bubbles up, releasing the coil in your chest. It continues to unravel when Phainon intertwines your fingers in a momentary touch. âI'm ready if you are,â you say, not feeling ready at all.
âWait here,â Phainon instructs with a goofy grin, and proceeds to get out of the car alone. Rushing to your door, he makes a show of opening it with an elaborate bow and an offered hand. âAm I doing well?â
âAsking ruined it.â You snort, encouraging the faux pout growing on his face. It disappears when you take his hand again where, upon standing, he moves to position yours within the crook of his elbow.
It's not right.
It's too methodical and nothing like Phainon and you, linked together as usual. Every step feels clumsy, a strange tempo you can't seem to match, but Phainon merely directs you with ease. He continues to talk about nonsense that means everything because it's coming from himâa historical fact about the area, the food they'll serve, and if you want to bet on whether or not he can figure out the ingredients. Then, it focuses on identifying those likely to be invasive of your ârelationship,â a reiteration of how important your comfort is to him, and that he's happy you're with him.
That's enough, you suppose.
From its external appearance, it was evident that the venue would be a magnificent one. The building is one that prevailed through a myriad of Calendar Years, repurposed for banquets, parties, and the like. The reliefs within the stone portico Phainon leads you through are quite ornate with engravings reflecting the Era it was erected in, one you regrettably cannot recall. Prior to arriving, you completed some research, finding it popular for weddings in particular due to its high ceilings and adjoining balconies overlooking a well-maintained garden. The charm in it is what you remember most.
Cyreneâs anecdotes about Miss Aglaea did always point towards a more romantic nature, while Cifera assumes her own interest in impressive nick-knacks is a result of her guardian's love of anything beautiful. Back in Jericha, you also came across her in magazines but paid no mind until you caught wind of rumours at the harbour. Despite being close to gossip, it was never unflattering nor defamatory.
The vendors would primarily discuss her kindness that arrived in the form of clothing in exchange for properly handling the fabrics she coveted. If not that, then she would occasionally make donations for all the hard work throughout the harbour. You're certain that you would be able to find an old garment with her brand stitched along the tag. Although, after handing it down, Aratus may own it now.
Regardless, she must be a kind woman to take in Cifera when she was young, only to look out for Cyrene and Phainon the same.
âI was wondering when you would make your appearance.â Her voice is silk upon your ears, smooth and rich, and undeniably spirited through the gracefulness you discover in her. âI was afraid Phainon would keep you from me, and here I was, stealing glances waiting for your arrival.â
Dressed in a gown effortlessly draped over her shoulders, Miss Aglaea is a portrait best described as the pinnacle of elegance. The light catches her form akin to that of divinity, with eyes so piercing they seem to bore right through youâintimidating is what your mind supplies you with. Perhaps that is why the sentences she strings together are undercut by playfulness.
Phainon immediately hugs her, too, casually tight and surely warm. She holds him a short moment but you believe that she may have wanted for longer. Miss Aglaea is not as terrifying as you expected.
When they pull away, he says, âwell, my partner is so breathtaking that I need more time to prepare myself to proudly stand by their side.â
My partner. Tonight, you are his and he is yours. And the referral of who you must be strikes you, a savage wave that would have caused you to capsize at its first mention; however, the part you play overcomes you.
Thanking her after she conveys a similar compliment, you share a polite greeting. âItâs nice to see you again, Miss Aglaea.â Should you offer a handshake? Bow? Genuflect? Your hand twitches at your side, a half-raise with your indecisiveness; she chuckles at the sight. Your stomach drops.
But she reaches for you with a steady hold, one hand pressed over the back of yours and the other under your palm. When she says your name, there is only fondness behind it. âThe pleasure is mine. We didnât speak enough during Cyreneâs celebration. Imagine my surprise when Phainon shared that his significant other turned out to be one of her best friends." Miss Aglaeaâs touch is slightly distracting; you can feel a small callus on the tips of her fingers. It reminds you of him. âDo tell me if Phainon ever upsets youâI will correct him.â
At that, you canât help but bark out a laugh. Too loud, you realize last-minute, and clear your throat quietly; you hope the widened grin on her face is not jeer. âPhainon isâŚâ You look at him for a moment and receive a smile that encourages you to continue your rectification. âHeâs very sweet to me. He supports me in everything and takes care of me when I struggle, and I promise I do the same.â You can feel your heart beating against your ribcage, the words easily leaving your mouth to defend him despite your awareness of her attempts to ease the tension you cannot hide. With her relevance in Phainonâs life, itâs essential that she approves of you.
Miss Aglaea hums, her grip tightening for a moment before releasing you entirely. âAnd chivalrous, yes?â She arches a brow with the question, looking towards him with a readiness for reprimand if your answer is anything but.
âYes,â you swiftly agree, âPhainon always opens doors for me andââ
Again, she laughs, cutting you off and hiding her smile behind her hand. âMy apologies. I was only teasing you.â As you visibly deflate, she offers a reassuring touch upon your sagging shoulders.
Phainonâs fingers intertwine with yours as he cocks his head towards you. âAuntie wouldnât let me hear the end of it if I wasnât.â
âDoes Phainon not tease you?â she asks, and the answer must be obvious on your face as you fluster, unable to meet her stare; he does. It satisfies herâa gleam in her eyes you would interpret as a trick of the light if she wasnât Ciferaâs guardian. Then, she speaks to Phainon before he can retort, âI know how you are,â and lets her expression gentle into something closer to a parent speaking to her child. âThis relationship must be quite serious.â
Your breath catches, so you feign bashfulness to hide your guilt.
âWeâre still figuring it out,â Phainon simply explains. âTheyâre the first person Iâve ever dated so I want to do my best and treat them well.â
âWhat?â you squawk, failing to maintain any decorum regardless of the timid smile he offers you in response.
When you previously discussed love with him, it did not go beyond being in love. Subjects such as embarrassing stories, old crushes, and dating werenât touched. In your case, you liked a peer or a neighbour on occasion, but had more pressing matters to attend to. You always did. Phainon, on the other hand, is someone youâve always believed to feel deeply for others whereby you assumed that everything he told you didnât indicate not having any experience at allâjust that he never felt such an intense affection.
Miss Aglaea is equally puzzled by your ignorance, her eyes flitting between the two of you. âDid you not speak on past experience?â Already knowing how he will reply, she sighs. âPlease take care of him. Thereâs only so much advice I may share.â
âOh,â you say, slightly dense. âPhainon is also my first boyfriend.â The words grow quieter as you complete the declaration, squeezing your partnerâs hand in yours to avoid acknowledging his attention. By this, you mean: you didnât share your own inexperience either.
At that, she drawls, âis that so?â and dissolves into something more devious, a mix of Cifera and Cyrene.
But before Miss Aglaea can say more, a woman approaches. Sheâs fitted in an ensemble Cyrene would deem as arrogantly lavish. And although you are not one to judge so quickly, both Phainon and Miss Aglaea turn rigid with recognition.
âNew blood?â she says, directing the question towards Miss Aglaea, âI was under the impression you had no intention to take on other ordinary models.â
Ignoring how ostentatiously this woman carries herself, Miss Aglaea extends you a curt introduction. âThis is Caenis. She is the editor-in-chief for BASTION Magazine and enjoys posturing annoyance to scare off those with wonderful aspirations and dreams.â And when she refers to you, her timbre returns to before, doting and kind upon uttering your name. âThis is Phainonâs significant other,â she says, ensuring you remain in control of any personal information shared.
You're thankful for it. Caenisâ amusement feels more like ridicule whereas Miss Aglaeaâs biting words do not deter her. Of all things, Caenis appears smug at the description, believing that she's filtering out novices who would be a waste of time rather than leverage their potential. A coarse woman, indeed. One that observes you, from head to toe, with a scrutiny you always try to avoid.
Itâs a relief, then, that Phainon informed you of Caenis and how to handle her prior to the soiree.
She lingers on your intertwined hands and remarks, âIâm surprised. I took Phainon as someone particularly⌠touchy?â He tries to interject but she raises an open palm to mimic a hand puppet that closes its mouth. âPardon me!â Caenis cackles, bitter and high. âI meant to say âaffectionate.â Otherwise, I paint Phainon as someone who has no consideration for appropriate occasions, and that would look terrible for Aglaea.â
âIt must be nice,â you swiftly remark, âto know how to speak so well.â When she tries to interrupt, you imitate how she silenced Phainon while you free your other hand from his hold to wind around his waist, pulling him to your side to be âtouchyâ before continuing. âIt must be scary to be in a high position where condescending comments reflect badly on the publication youâre in charge of.â Shrugging, you lean your head on Phainonâs shoulder, pressing your temple against it to feel his attempts to suppress his giggles. âBut what do I know? I only study chimeras.â
Miss Aglaea does not seem to fare any better as she struggles to feign indifference while ushering Caenis away in fear of any escalation. When their backs turn, she looks over her shoulder and rolls her eyes only to remark, âlet me know if there is anything I can provide, and I hope you enjoy yourselves tonight.â
With Miss Aglaea busy, Phainon pulls you towards the buffet area to fill your plates, attracted to the smell and surrounding merry-making. Itâs nice to see him so happy to stuff his face.Â
Not long ago, you spent a full day telling stories from your childhood with him, Cyrene, and Mydeimos lying in a pile on their apartment floor. Mydeimos was discreet about his own, which was understandable with how distant you two were and still are, so Phainon redirected it towards himself. It was standard and cute, until Cyrene interrupted with mention of his large appetite, nudging the story towards adorable. He would run around with pudgy cheeks, splitting snacks with everyone in his path, and perhaps sharing happiness is why he pursued culinary studies. Even now, he wants to know everything you enjoy so that he can put his own twist on it.
It's possible youâd like almost anything if Phainon was involved, and many seem to share the sentiment, slipping into his vicinity to partake in a short conversation. Some are older and choose to engage in small talk: if university is kind to you both, whether heâll disclose any newly created recipes, and who are you? Those similar in age speak much more casuallyâa break from the formalities of the event yet also end in questions of your significance to Phainon. Children, too, gravitate towards him, and with them, his answer remains the same. Iâm their significant other. Iâm their partner. Iâm their boyfriend.
Itâs frightening, what each admission does to you, somehow more staggering than when he had referred to you as his.
And despite Phainonâs capability to read you, he fails this time. He doesnât recognize how you sink into his side, unable to pull away and feeling far more heated than usual when he reciprocates every touch. He doesnât grasp that every time his interest in you heightens after being granted privacy, you cannot prevent yourself from fixating on his mouth when he begins to speak endlessly about benign topics in aimless conversations heâll continue on a day where heâs no longer yours. And he doesnât notice how well you succeed at pretending everything is okay.
Currently, heâs staring at the centre of the banquet hall where a sea of couples dance in gentle ripples. The band plays a song so hypnotizing that it may as well be an intoxicating dream experienced through a sip of Phagousa's sacred philter. This is reflected in each nameless face, incredibly peaceful while they sway and turn; some rest their heads against their partnerâs temples, shoulders, or the top of a head. It must be nice.
âWould you like to dance?â Phainon's voice is so soft you nearly miss it, but there arenât many people around.
After three quints, you and Phainon retreated to the raised gallery overlooking the middle of the room to view the entirety of the party at once. You were slightly exhausted and significantly more overwhelmed, so Phainon kept his promiseâalthough leaving was just withdrawing into a quieter area. You donât think you're ready to go home yet.
Still, the feeling doesnât completely subside.
What if you make a mistake or step on his toes? And, worse, dirty the clean surface of his dress shoes? Cyrene went through the efforts to ensure your attire was perfect for tonight, and it would be so easy to ruin it. The idea of tripping or stumbling is equally as mortifying when a wide fraction of guests also know Phainon. Some may be watching the dancing alike the both of you, too. Your face crunches up.
Seeing it, Phainon laughs. âNevermind, but if you do...ignore everyone else.â His elbow gently nudges yours where theyâre folded atop the railing of the balustrade. âJust have fun and slow dance with me.â
It would be so easy to take his hand and accept. Everything with him is. It was easy to accept his help throughout the past year, and a will like yours wasn't impervious to his vortex, rapidly pulling you in. You let it grow bigger and bigger and bigger, and enjoyed it all the while. Whereas he accepted you through each facet of yourself he's come to know. Every side. Any angle. None of it mattered so long as it was you. You want to dance with him.
But youâre always interrupted.
âThere you two are!â Cyrene practically floats over, throwing her arms around the both of you and squeezing into the middle. âLook who I ran into,â she croons, giddy over her discovery.
You don't remember it well. You made a promise to yourself that you would, but you really did want to dance with him. Cyrene introduces you to their old friends, who of which they made when they first arrived in Okhema during one of Miss Aglaeaâs social events. They're kind. How could they not be? Cyrene and Phainon would refuse to form relationships with anyone who wasn't.
The newly reunited group speaks about university here and a hobby there, flowing through topics one after the other in a stream so rapid you cannot keep up. Phainon also begins fidgeting, which doesn't help. His arms are crossed, tapping his fingers in that terrible rhythm of threes that ends with a worried glance in your direction. Youâre always beaming.
And while you do, you debate if his practiced ability to play his distracting song translates into his dancing skill. He would be remorseful if he were to step on your toes, and exceptionally so if he were to dirty your shoes. But you wouldn't mind because it would be like a mark in the sandâa memory of tonight that you wouldn't wash away. If he were to trip or stumble, you would catch him, completely endeared. And if anyone were to watch, it wouldnât be terrifying because Phainon is with you.
You want to tell him.
And maybe it shows on your face because Phainon reaches for you as their old friends make some remark about stepping away, without you. âWaitââ
âIt's okay.â You grin, nice and wide. âGo have fun.â
Like he said: he usually isnât able to. You remind yourself that you're not a typical âdateâ for tonight but, even then, he doesnât have to stay by your side in its entirety. Nor should he worry about you or wonder if you'll be alright without him. You will be. You know how to be fine if he leaves. Phainon should be happy. Itâs why you like him so much, after all, so you don't stop smiling when he repeatedly peeks over his shoulder to check up on you as he walks away, as if there will be an instance in which your countenance will change. There won't be. This is exactly what you're here for.
So it is also no surprise that it doesnât take more than half a quint for Miss Aglaea to descend upon you.
âHow are you faring?â Miss Aglaea wonders as she swishes a glass of champagne between her fingers. It coruscates with the movement, bubbles rising and popping in golden liquid you considered partaking in to ease the pressure but decided against. âYou didnât join them?â
You shake your head, resting your forearms over the railing, instead, to wring your hands over the hall below, the dance completely out of reach. âI needed to step away for longer and didnât want to intrude.â Concerning how many want for his attention with you capable of granting him that freedom, it would be better to withdraw. The Parting Hour is almost up, too, and the sociable atmosphere will not dwindle anytime soon.
âIf I may ask⌠has your time here been pleasant?â She must see where your concentration has taken you; Phainon is holding hands with Cyrene and their friends, forming a circle amidst the now upbeat tune. They draw inwards, folding like a bud before stepping back into a bigger shapeâblooming beautifully. Miss Aglaea is also glowing by the sight.
Turning to her, you reply, âit has,â and make a small remark, âmy family may follow Phagousa, but I unfortunately donât have as much energy as them. I donât know how youâre able to spend hours celebrating without getting exhausted.â
âAnd why do you think Iâve decided to keep you company?â She huffs softly, tickled by what you believe to be true. âBearing witness to everyoneâs happiness is just as lovely as participating.â
âIs that why you always paired him up with a date?â The words are more matter-of-fact than anything, absent of any unkindness and dripping with unmistakable curiosity.
âYouâre fairly straightforward, hm? I was slightly shocked by your interaction with Caenis too.â When your lips part, the edges of hers curl upwards. âDonât apologize, now, I found it funny,â she clarifies only to subsequently award you with a proper answer. âAs for playing the role of a matchmaker, you could say the reason is similarâhe seemed lonely moving to Okhema.â
âPhainon did?â Itâs almost unbelievable with how he carries himself.
She hums. âI was hoping, even if it was not love he found, that someone would eventually alleviate whatever heâs carrying.â Miss Aglaea takes a small sip; you wonder if she is wetting her throat or using it to dawdle, deciding how much and what she wants to share with you. âThere are countless people you will meet throughout your life; those who come and goâand maybe theyâll returnâbut how they shape you will be different each time.â Her voice weakens, seeking reassurance you donât have the right to give. â...Can you blame me for trying?â
âNo,â you say even as your stomach drops, a heavy stone that disturbs muddy waters. âI canât.â
âAnd it seems he didnât need me at all.â
Sheâs wrong. From the anecdotes he tells to the timbre he takes when recounting them to you, you know she is wrong. The intention within the statement and her gaze upon you tells you that she believes you to be the solution, but Phainon is surrounded by so many who care for him profoundly. Prior to your increased involvement within his life, you already knew how often others were touched by him and there is no doubt a fractionâif not allâwould reciprocate. Evidently, this was never voiced between them, but you are positive that Phainon not only needs but loves her.
âNo,â you repeat, resolute this time. âI think he would disagree with you.â
âIs that so?â Miss Aglaea appears to entirely loosen, shoulders slacking with a relaxed smile and even softer eyes. âIâm delighted to hear that,â she says, before exhaling in something similar to a sigh, long and relieving to allow for happier things. âBut enough boring life lessons from me. Cyrene and Cifera speak of you often, and now Phainon does too; I fear Iâm missing out by listening to stories rather than your own voice.â
So, you fulfill that desire. Whatever Miss Aglaea wants to know, you tell her as long as itâs within the boundaries of your comfort. You elaborate on the stories she already knows and about more than just Phainon, extending into your family and friends. She enjoys, especially, when you focus on those that involve Cifera, an unspoken glee that always cascades over her features by mention of her chargeâs name, of which flourishes further when you recount Ciferaâs familiar little habits against situations sheâs ignorant to.
You also get to know Miss Aglaea, too. Her family was a lover of various arts, and encouraged each member to pursue what they liked. She always loved to danceâitâs why parties such as this have time carved out for the activityâbut she loves making clothing more. It started small with tiny jackets for teddy bears that shifted into mending articles needed by anyone so long as she could practice. Back then, she believed her dreams of building her own brand seemed impossible but, now, despite Goldweaverâs success, she hasnât forgotten why she loved garment making in the first place. To see others happy within them and outgrow them are all that she asks.
Because of this, Ciferaâs attachment to old clothing from her adolescence is clear: they remind her of Miss Aglaea finding her and giving her a home. And, soon, the two of them visited the countryside and met Phainon, Cyrene, and the family created by the connection surrounding that little village. Miss Aglaea also seems to be delighted to recite these moments, giving you a piece of your friends from the perspective of someone who was not that much older than you are now. Itâs a pity, then, that youâre so captivated by her words that you almost want to beg her to stay when sheâs summoned by a colleague.
At least, Phainon is still somewhere in that crowd. But with how distinct his and Cyreneâs hair is, you suppose itâs not that difficult to find them. They both look happy, resolved to prattling on and on about something you likely wonât ask about to maintain their privacy since youâre already satisfied by their smiles. Although not many minutes pass before Phainon cranes his head upwards, lured by your stareâhas he been checking up on you all this time?
You watch as he exchanges a few words with everyone before pulling out his phone, waving it in view, and glides his fingers across the screen. Yours chimes.
đ¤ Sunshine
Phainon: I saw Auntie with you so I do hope youâre alright
Phainon: Iâm sorry I was dragged off :(
You: Donât worry!
You: I had a lot of fun talking with her :O
Phainon: Did everything go well?
You: Yep! Our cover remains intact, sunshine!
You: You can count on me
Phainon: Didnât doubt you for a moment :D
Phainon: meet me at the balcony on the left?
You: bet I can get there faster than you
You: on your mark, get set, go!
Phainon: thatâs not fair!
Phainon: youâre already on the upper floor >:(
You: sounds like something a sore loser would say :P
You: hurry, what kind of boyfriend keeps their oyster waiting </3
Phainon: Iâm coming, starlight <3
With your face directed towards the skyveil, youâre connecting the stars of Aquila when Phainon sneaks up behind you. He does so wordlessly and you arenât able to identify him by his steps, either, but when he taps your shoulder, you know it to be him. When you jolt, he spares you a modest apology, accompanying it with a hand dragging down your spine before pulling away.
Eventually, he starts naming them, one by one, but you also know this too. You stay quiet, anyway, since youâve only shared the Thief-Starâs significance to you; he likely thought you were ignorant to the patterns the stars makeâwhy would a chimera caretaker look upwards rather than down towards Georiosâ creatures?
He traces the small shape of Corvus, leaning over the railing of the balcony as if reaching farther would ensure your understanding, and follows it to Aquila. Then, he shows you how similar their constellation is to Mnestia, not far from it and at a slightly different rotation with a matching pointed arc; your eyes are already on the extra starâthe tip of Aquilaâs eyelashâbefore he reaches it, so you listen to his little idea of arranging cupcakes to form each cluster.
And by the time heâs reached the Serpent-Bearer, you donât have a single clue of how much time has passed, but the music within the banquet hall has grown louder. Itâs a bit faster, too, wistful and urging for guests to partake in cheery dancing or more frivolous conversation that may be pleasantries for them but deceit for you. Had you permitted yourself even a second to peek back into the room, you would be aware of how the first of these is not true.
Phainon clears his throat.
âMay I have this dance?â He offers his hand with the question; the action absent of any flourish and no coyness to his voice. Phainon is perfectly casualâhis arms remain folded on the top of the balustrade, his right over the left, allowing for that hand to extend itself to you. âThereâs no one here⌠Just me and you.â
Facing him, now, you release a small puff of air in disbelief only to give in and meet his touch. âJust you and me,â you echo, head tipping as you follow Phainon when he straightens to his full height.
âDo you know how to dance?â he asks, and you let a chuckle escape when he gasps, accidentally stepping on the tip of your shoe after he orients himself properly in front of you. âAuntie taught Cyrene and I.â
You arch a brow to say, âreally?â and let your eyes flit to the ground, informing him of the source of your doubt. Heâs already starting to jut out a lip, so you answer with your fingers grazing over his arm, palm pressed against his bicep. âWhen I was little, my father would dance with me; and when Aratus was a toddler, I would do the same to make him laugh.â He acknowledges it with a hum, distracted by your intertwined fingers, raised to shoulder level; so, you continue. âDo you want to lead, or should I?â
âDoes it matter?â
âNo,â you say, breath faltering with such a brief word when Phainon traces your side to splay his other hand across the middle of your back. âI guess it doesnât.â
It starts clumsy with you and Phainon especially uncoordinated. Sometimes his hand signals for you to step forward, drawing you near while, others, you tug him closer to match your step. Although Miss Aglaea taught him, he needs more practice, that much is evident. Each movement is slightly stiff, as if he's reciting in his head what he should do with occasional glances to verify the position of his feet.
âPhainon,â you call, watching how the light graces the planes of his face when it filters through the entrance of the balcony. âLook at me.â He does. âYou're supposed to look at me,â you repeat.
Something shifts with your instruction. His movements are more fluid, but perhaps that's because you've begun to act sillier. You're holding each other's hands now, pulling and pushing and laughing about nonsense that will be impossible to remember. And when he suddenly pulls you close, your head tips back with an abrupt guffaw you can't be bothered to contain.
Then, he extends his arms outwards, to turn you until your back presses against his front in an embrace, letting you catch a whiff of leather that is difficult to pinpoint when you can feel his breath against your ear. Fortunately, it doesnât last long when Phainon decides to spin you out until your only connection is within your hands. It's not enough.
So, when you return to him, you urge him to stay, raising your linked hands to twirl him in place. Leaning down to avoid bumping into your hands, Phainon does as you wish, and he doesnât stop. He sways with you as you like, but once you drag him forward, chest pressing against his, his breath leaves him in a startled, aborted gasp. And when you try to dip him, your soles slip on the floor with Phainon barely managing to catch himself by grabbing the railing. Alas, he lacks a proper hold that he's forced to brace a hand backwards while you follow his descent.
You're straddling a leg, your own arm extended forward to prevent yourself from completely collapsing upon him. Still, youâve done this beforeâcatching chimeras at the last second after years of narrowly snatching Aratus before he hurts himselfâso your other hand instinctively finds the back of his head. However, Phainon managed to land on his bottom rather than sprawling out completely so there is no worry over a potential accident. Focusing on every point of contact, you can feel his own hand between your shoulder blades, no doubt ensuring that if anything were to happen, you would land on him and he would break your fall.
Once you both realize you're fine, you dissolve into laughter, muffling yours into his shoulder with his in your hair. Each breath is warm, but you can smell his cologne. It's different. More mature, if you were to describe it. And itâs not that he isn'tâPhainon is dependableâbut it's mature in the same way you wear business attire and pretend you have your life together. It's muskier, heavy with a distinctly spiced noteârich leather and smoked wood. In Phainon's old car, you couldn't smell it. It was just him; tart citrus, fresh laundry, softened tea, and sunlight. When Phainon presses his cheek to the top of your head, you inhale sharply.
You don't like it.
Pulling away, the laughter dies out and, again, she finds you quickly.
âWe were interrupted earlier but you were no longer where I left you,â Miss Aglaea croons, watching you and Phainon stand and dust off your attire with a weighted look. âItâs a good thing I can recognize Phainonâs laughter anywhere.â
âAh,â you vocalize with a sheepish smile. âI was thinking of heading home now.â Youâre certain Phainon is surprised by the admission, so you hope her focus remains on you as you step forward to take her hands within yours in apology. âI have an early shift tomorrow and itâs already the Curtain-Fall Hourâs third quint.â Itâs not a lie; you donât want to lie to her beyond what youâve already done.
Aglaea blinks softly. âI see,â she remarks, and when she glances at Phainon, you make sure to fidget. Meeting your eyes again, she agrees, âthe Thief-Star will complete its journey soonâyou should hurry on home before the Entry Hour arrives. We should avoid any mishaps from you being too worn-out come morning, shouldnât we?â
âWe should.â
Phainon hugs her, and with the balcony separated from the soiree, Aglaea is able to hold him for longer. âThank you for inviting us,â Phainon says before adding an affectionate quip. âIâm sorry we have to leave but the chimeras love themâVigethos may cause a bigger ruckus than a dromas throwing a tantrum!â
At that, she smiles beneath a hand and admits, âthere is no thanks when I wanted to see you both,â before embracing you for a short, warm moment. âWith that said, weâll also be seeing more of each otherâIâll be tenuring at your university for the foreseeable future so leave at your discretion.â
Phainon stills, surely grasping that this situation will become far more difficult to manage, so you jump in immediately to prevent his behaviour from arousing any suspicion.
âReally?â Your voice raises at the ends of the word, a blend of cold shock and excitement staining your tone. Truthfully, itâs a good thingâCyrene will be especially happy about this. âDo you know what courses youâll be teaching?â
âFor now, history and design fundamentals.â
âThatâs wonderful,â Phainon says after he recovers.
âIt is. I know Cyrene helped you put together that outfit, so perhaps I can teach you between all your cooking and your debate club withâwell, you know.â When you appear confused by her avoidance, she clarifies distastefully through the wry smile she exhibits. âThat scholar Phainon loves to invite for coffee so frequently.â
â...How was I supposed to know you werenât on good terms?â
Before he can begin brooding, you wrap your hands around his arm, pulling him closer in a side hug as he continues to sulk about his failed (surprise) attempt to have those important to him meet in the hopes of getting along. And Miss Algaea proceeds to explain how she tried to be cordial for Phainonâs sake upon arriving, but it melted into a disastrous exchange of thinly-veiled hostility, years of tension sunken beneath any attempt of civility. Put that way, the reality of the situation is troubling, but she recounts it with a wicked satisfaction that, if you didnât know any better, you would believe it to be provocative banter.
Phainon privately makes the aforementioned comment when youâre back in his car so any subsequent ideas are his fault, not yours. Instead, you suggest that Castorice would love to write a story with such a premise, but Phainon explains that she and Cyrene loosely have. Because of it, the car ride to your apartment is filled with pointless babbling when you should really be discussing how the âdatingâ situation will be handled moving forward. It was a success; there is no other way to describe it. Whoever approached Phainon tonight did not show one ounce of skepticism in your significance to him and the stories told, unwavering belief poisoned by the affection you shared so honestly.
And when Miss Aglaea sought you out, she wordlessly expressed the same sentiment Cyrene had after you first shared your feelings weeks agoâPhainon is happier. The responsibility of it is almost crushing or, perhaps, it would be better to say you're submerged in frigid waters, trapped under ice and forced to deal with what you knowingly walked into. You canât disappoint them; you can't hurt him. It's fine. This is normalâit's not the first time and it will not be the last, and you've lived years with the worry of failure that it wouldnât be so terrifying had the ordeal not verified to you that, with time, you could love him.
You hesitate at the door.
âIt's late,â you say, slowly searching for your keys with your back towards him.
âIt is.â
âDo you want to sleep over?â The question is perfectly enunciated with no change in your register and only a short pause before itâs said. âItâs not safe to drive so late at night.â
Thereâs a small shuffle followed by a hushed okay as Phainon steps closer, his shadow swallowing yours on the surface of the door when the top of his head likely blocks out the dim light of the hallway. You can feel his breath on your nape as Phainon suggests, âI don't think she would mind but⌠shouldn't we let Castorice know?âÂ
âShe's not home.â
âOh.â
âYeah.â
You turn the key; Phainon follows you inside. He steadies you as you slip off your shoes, and you offer the same stability when itâs his turn. You also mix up your slippers with the pair Phainon likes to borrow, distracted by his fingers hooking into the knot of his tie, loosening it as he begins unbuttoning the vest whose texture youâre now intimate with. The thought of continuing from earlier is difficult to bearâwould he have allowed you to help him get comfortable?
When you move to the kitchen, he heads for the bathroom, and once he returns in the middle of you holding two boxes, heâs replaced his contacts with his glasses. Phainon points to one to make the decision for you, and then opens the cupboard to pass you both your mug and the one he usually usesâitâs strangely ordinary but you donât dislike it. Whenever he visits, he finds his natural space within your kitchen; bumping against your hip as you cook for your friends, arguing with Mydeimos over pastries, or listening to Castorice speak about her writing over the same tea youâre making now.
Determined, you stare straight at the kettle, yet fail to prevent yourself from sneaking a brief peek at what heâs doing, unfastening the cuffs of his dress shirt and the first few buttons of his collar. The skin of his neck doesnât matter when it wonât smell like him anyway. And heâs silent while watching you pour warm tea into the ceramic, the attention causing your mind to empty, filled only with how relaxed he carries himself with his hip pressed against the counter. But when he takes the mug from your hands, your fingers brush, warmer than its surface, and you have to avert your eyes from the bob of his throat as he swallows.
You rush to the living roomâhe acts as if he belongs here, with you.
The absurdity in asking him strikes you, too, when there was no sense for it. Itâs not winter. You arenât snowed in and the roads of Okhema are certainly clear. There is, however, reduced visibility at night regardless of Oronyxâs twin moons and his carâs headlights, but even that is a weak justification. It doesnât matter, anyway, since youâve already said it, yet why had he accepted your request so readily?
If you think about it for too long, youâll feel dizzy with the hope that he feels the same. So, you set the mug down on the coffee table, collapse to the carpet, and slouch over the seat of the sofa.
Looking down at you, Phainon chuckles. âWhy are you always on the floor?â
âI like it,â you argue, choosing not to acknowledge how petulant youâre acting, as if youâre not allowed to do it and have to prove yourself when youâve spent the past three Periods doing just that. âLet me have this.â
He already knows this habit of yoursâpressing your cheek into any surface youâve chosen to slouch over. Itâs one of the only ways youâve allowed yourself to be anything but appropriate: wanting for something, stressed over a problem, or desiring a short reprieve when you never permit yourself one.
He joins you, discarding his glasses and setting them beside your mugs so he can flatten the side of his own face against the cushion. âThis feels like when I was younger,â he says, letting you whack him softly with a throw pillow before urging him to lift his head. Listening, he says, âIâd look for the patches of wheat that grew all packed together. It was a good hiding spot.â
Then, he lowers into the soft fabric you've gifted him when you reply, âand a good pillow?â
âIf you donât mind being surprised by the occasional field mouse or getting pricked by spikelets,â he jests. Then, his arm contorts into an awkward angle, scrambling and patting around until his fingers catch on fabric.
Assisting him in drawing the blanket across the two of you, you scoot closer so more of it covers him. âField mice are cute.â
âYou think almost every animal is cute,â he retorts, his voice a low murmur. There must be something on his mind as his eyes dance across your face, unable to focus on one spot, but before you can ask, he does instead. âDid you have fun tonight?â
The question is trivial. You attended for a reason unrelated to âfun.â Still, you admit, âI did,â because itâs honest.
He swallows, suppressing a yawnâitâs way past his bedtime. âI'm really sorry I left you alone.â
âYou looked really happy, and I had fun speaking to Miss Aglaea.â And, reminded of her, you whisper a secret you canât share with anyone else but him. âI'm a little scared about Miss Aglaea.â
âWould you like to break up?â Phainon proposes, eyes half-lidded as he searches for your hand under the blanket. âWe can do exactly as we plannedâit didnât work out and we thought we were better as friends.â
You hum in disagreement, words failing when Phainonâs yawn influences your own. The two of you would need to find another excuse to explain the separation and, after tonight, you are sure that any mention of a break up would be more unbelievable than revealing his scheme.
âWeâll be in classes while sheâs teaching so sheâll be too busy,â you point out, resting your palm between the two of you as Phainon fails to find you. âAnd I want to take more shifts at the Cozy Chimera to practice speaking to them.â
Phainonâs touch is warm when his hand overlaps yours, palm pressed over your knuckles. You can feel itâthe calluses on his hands, yet the skin isnât dry. In preparation for tonight, youâre certain he took care in every inch of his appearance; and when you recall how youâve changed with your feeling for him, you had done the same every day just in case he would look at you differently, even for the briefest of moments. He also pays close attention in shifting his hand after you initially meet, a miniscule bend at the wrist noticeable to no one except for you. It allows his fingers, long and elegant, to arrange themselves between yours. At another point of time, this would all be so idiotic, but you think of those romance stories Castorice, Cyrene, and Phainon love and believe your hands fit together like puzzle pieces, snapping together as if Kephale designed him to complement you perfectly.
âSleep in tonight,â Phainon says, the words tumbling out slowly with too many pauses in-between, âIâll drive you to work tomorrow so donât worry about anything.â He hides his eyes from you, so it makes you braver.
âNot even pretending to be in love?â
His grip tightens, fingers curling until you can feel the tips under your palm. âWhatever happensâŚâ he whispers but his voice is slurred, taking on a quality you refuse to consider further. Itâs too tender, as if youâre lying in someplace that is inconsequential to the feeling of sunlight grazing over every surface. If you were still in Jericha, you can imagine Phainon wrapping himself around you, breath fanning over your cheek with everything warmâso warn because itâs him and every touch from him is heat that will never leave you even as the ships do. And despite how deeply your heart aches, sore and impossibly fragile, he makes an oath you can only wish for. â...I'll be with you,â Phainon promises, lured away by the temptation of sleep and, possiblyâfoolishly soâyour voice.
So, you say, âokayâ in the faintest acknowledgement you can manage, the lone word breaking in syllable when your chest is so tight that it barely escapes you. Then, you say his name, watching his eyelids twitch as if he can still hear you; you say it again just because you can. Youâre unaware of what time it is, tooâif the Entry Hour is even here. But if you donât look, then you donât know.
Heâs still yours.
One. Two. Three. You count Phainon's eyelashes. He twitches in his sleep, countenance scrunching up, so, to soothe him, you give voice to his name. It works; thus, you resume, again and again and again, eventually lost in every serene feature. The supplication comes easy; youâre already on your kneesâmay there never be a moment where you miss him for long. Yet, Phainon is right here, in front of you, with his hand over yours, but the hold is too loose. When he was still conscious, it was firm and steady, so you'll mimic it, now, turning your wrist even when you're certain it'll be sore tomorrow morning. Your palms press and, despite your lack of faith, you hope each groove aligns.
Whatever you dream of no longer matters; tonight, you fall asleep with Mnestia's prayer on your tongue and his name engraved over your heart, half-hidden and half-revealed.
all these I got off the png site I use, picsart, hypic, yandex, diffrent wikis, and pintrest. Do not credit me! If asked Iâll take these off and credit them reblogs always appreciated as usual. Also please check out this big master post with a ton of resources in multiple dropboxes đ
caleb and nonMC!reader in an loveless arranged marriage, where he's secretly in hopeless love with her
warnings. angst fest, eventual fluff, failing marriages, misunderstandings, suggestive content, jealousy, stalking/following, caleb getting rejected, reader in denial, feelings are hard
preview. "Why wouldn't I be romantic? I'm your husband." He's been doing that lately--dropping lines like that out of nowhere, like they're nothing. Somehow always when you're least prepared for it, and always with a lopsided grin that tells you he's either completely oblivious or knows exactly what he's doing. You're willing to bet on the latter.
wc. 7.4k
Your husband does not love you. He doesnât love anyone except for one, and it is not you.
You used to like romance. Youâd fantasize about who your beloved forever would be in your room, kicking your feet childishly at the thought of someone loving you so purely. So innocently. You wondered what kind of person theyâd be, what kinds of foods theyâd like, what their family is like. You wondered which holiday would be their favorite, whether theyâd want children, whether theyâd have a time-consuming job. But really, none of it mattered, because you only wanted someone by your side.
So when you were told youâd be put into an arranged marriage, you tried to be hopeful. An embarrassing, pathetic hope that maybe this man could love you the way men love in books and movies if you tried hard enough.
Caleb Xia is not a loving person. You realized this the moment he stepped into the room with cold, lifeless eyes that seemed to stare straight through you as if the wall was worth more than your presence. Heâd smiled, but it felt stiff. Awkward. But youâre sure yours was the same.
Still, his eyes were beautiful. Your hope flickered like a small stubborn flame in your chest that you wanted to guard against the blizzard. The marriage was simple. You showed up to the courthouse in a knee-length white dress, constantly adjusting at the pearls around your neck anxiously while he signed the papers. Once he was done, heâd simply slid it over to you, evidently avoiding your eyes.Â
âAre you sure?â youâd asked meekly, as if speaking any louder than a whisper would shatter your heart. You werenât sure if you were asking him or yourself. Not that it mattered, much.
He spared you a soft smile. Pity, maybe, with how his eyes remained empty, but you took it anyway.Â
A starved man does not beg for more. The flame remained.
The only reason he married you was because MC had gotten married to another childhood friend of theirs. When he mentioned it, you thought nothing of it at first. But when the only photo heâd put up throughout your entire house was one of him and her as children, while your awkwardly situated courthouse picture sat beside it, you knew. He didnât stop to stare at your photo, ever. Not any of the photos. Only hers.
The final blow to the puny flame remaining in your heart was when youâd finally initiated physical contact. To perform the marital duty, heâd hovered above you in just his pants while you stared up at him in your thin pajamas that did little to hide what was beneath it. There was no setting the mood. The air was cold, the room dull because only your half had any semblance of effort that had gone into decorating it. When he kissed you, it felt more like his lips were simply touching yours gently. Almost tapping it.Â
It felt like nothing.
This was not romantic at all.
âAre you okay? Is this okay?â he asked, pulling back with a furrow in his browsâprobably because you were lying lifelessly while holding your breath. You wondered how he could ask something so softly when his eyes remained so muted. Maybe not softly. Maybe just quiet.
âItâs okay.â You wanted to curl up and go to sleep, but he was the only semblance of warmth in the freezing room.
But when his hand slid up your shirt, resting atop of your stomach, you stopped breathing again. He stopped as well. Your gazes met silently, and for a moment, the world seemed to stop. A dull, slow stop. And then suddenly, he was off you, clambering to pull his shirt back on as you sat up in confusion, eyes wide.
âI canât,â he muttered. âIâm sorry.â
The flame went out.
Were you really so distasteful? So disgusting that he didnât want to lay his hands on his own wife? Or was it that you were just too different from her? Should you be offended? Are you even offended? Relieved? Hurt?Â
Does it even matter?
Once you were sure heâs gone, you cried yourself to sleep.
The next few years are a blur that you wish had somehow gone even faster. The days are a bore. Heâs away for weeksâmaybe even monthsâat a time. In those periods of time, the house feels like a maze not meant for only one person. At the same time, maybe itâs better heâs away.
Caleb Xia is not a mean person. On paper, heâs a decent husband. He cleans, cooks, and never complains if you ask him to do something. He smiles, nods, and goes on his way. Yet, it feels more like a vaguely close roommate than a husband. The two of you eat in silence, watch TV in silence, and even go to bed in different rooms. You suppose you canât complainâitâs not like you put in much effort to get to know him well anyway.
The only thing he does that even comes close to romance is bringing you flowers. Youâd told him once that you wished the house had space for a garden to plant them, and heâd brought you a bouquet later that week. Since then, he brings them every few weeks routinely. They appear in the vase beside the couch as if theyâve just magically appeared.Â
Theyâre pretty, you think.
Resentment builds, slowly but surely, probably on both ends as in most marriages. This kind of life is killing you inside. This lonely, aimless life in a house that makes you feel like youâre the only person in the world, in a bed that feels too large.Â
âI want to work,â you say one day, picking at your food blankly. âI have an interview tomorrow, so I wonât be here for most of the day from now on if I get it.â
A fork clatters from across the table. âWhat? Why?â
You donât necessarily have to work given Calebâs plentiful paycheck, but you want to anyway because you canât stand being in that gigantic house all by yourself. But of course, how could you tell this to the man in front of you? The man you donât even know the favorite color of?
âItâs a regular office job.â
âI didnât ask what it was,â he blurts, eyes narrowing in concern. âIâm asking why? Do I not give you enough money? You know you have access to everything on the card, right?â
You shrug. âItâs not about the moneyâŚI just think I need something to do throughout the day.â
âWhat about picking up another hobby?â
âIâve exhausted most of them.â
âThen traveling?â
âBy myself?â you frown. âItâs not like youâre ever here.â
Youâre not sure why the words slip through your teeth, but they do, and the disdain is apparent. He seems surprised at first, blinking, before his shoulder slump again and the corners of his lips twitch downward. For some reason, it makes you feelâgood? Alive, more so. So you keep talking. âYouâre always working. You even missed my friendâs wedding after I told her weâd be there.â
He shoots back immediately, brows tight. âThat was a special caseâit was an emergency.â
âThatâs fine,â you chew slowly on your food. âBut I donât want to wait around all day for you to get back.â
âYou shouldnât work if you donât have to. I make more than enough.â
âAgain, not the point.â
His lips tighten, pursing. âWhat will your family think if they hear that Iâm making you work after I told them that Iâd take care of you?â
You snort. âIs this what you call âtaking care ofâ?â
Immediately, you can tell that youâve struck a nerve. And for some reason, it feels good again. Like youâre alive, again. Maybe you just like pissing him off. His expression shifts momentarily to something you canât recognize before it settles disapprovingly and silence befalls the both of you. You like when he doesnât have that stupid smile he always has. The fake, lifeless smile heâd given you when you first met. Youâd rather he just be upset, just like this. He looks like he wants to say something, but then shuts his mouth, swallowing the lump in his throat.Â
His phone rings, slicing the tension in the air like a knife. Caleb glances at the caller ID for a split second before heâs already on his feet, pacing to the sink to put his plates away in a hurry. âIâm sorry, I need to take this. Let me know how the interview goes..â
You stare at your plate, listening to his feet pad around in a hurry. âIs it MC?â
He whips his head around. âWhat?â
You stand from your seat to dump your food into the sink, ignoring the slight clench in your chest. Heâs always been this way. Jumping at any opportunity to be useful to her, while he leaves everyone else in the dust. âNevermind. Go.â
Once you hear the front door shut, you slump into the couch face first, hoping it swallows you whole before he comes back. This has to be some sort of humiliation ritual. Perhaps you committed a grave sin in your past life, because youâre not sure what you couldâve possibly done to warrant such a feeling. The sunset seeps through the window planes and hits half of your face, bathing you in a warmth that had been missing from the rest of the house. The heat makes you sleepy, and you soon find your eyelids drooping shut, gazing lazily at a photo of the two of you on the coffee table. You donât remember when it was taken, but in it, you genuinely look like youâre almost enjoying yourself. You canât tell with him, though. You can never really tell.
âStupid Xia,â you mutter as you fall deep into slumber.
When you awake again, the sun has fully set. Thereâs a blanket draped over you and when you blink away the blots in your vision, youâre met face to face with a fresh vase of flowers on the coffee table. They smell nice.
Damn it.Â
Sometimes, you wish he was just an asshole.
You learn about him through the photo albums he has stashed away in the attic. Itâs not like you were looking for them. Youâd only been cleaning when they managed to topple right into your hands, and since he always says whateverâs his is yours, you figure you might as well satisfy your curiosity. Thereâs less than you expected, unfortunately. Most photos are taken by him, but thereâs a few in between where heâs the subject. Him at his birthday party, his graduation ceremony, him packing for college, and the day he left for the DAA.Â
Itâs odd. You forget he was a normal teenager at one point, and not a high ranking colonel.
The pictures are through his eyes. Before you can stop, you find yourself becoming engrossed in lacing the photos together into some semblance of a story in your head. You see his childhood home and the model planes he enjoys building. His outings with MC and his grandmother. His last minute halloween costumes. Him and his friends carrying out a prank on someone. His studies. His likes. His dislikes.Â
Caleb Xia is a charming person. If you hadnât met the way you did, you think you mightâve liked him a little more.
When you ask him a question regarding one of the photos at dinner, he nearly chokes on his food. You quirk a brow in response. âWas I not supposed to see them?â
âNo, itâs fine if you lookâŚâ he mumbles, taking a sip of water to gather himself. You squintâare his ears pink? You didnât know he was capable of doing something kinda adorable. âItâs just a little embarrassing.â
âLike the picture of your airplane swim trunks from when you were a kidââ
He coughs again, and you snicker.
You think heâs tolerableâjust a bit.
Weeks pass. Life gets a little easier with your job and more to doâit might even be a bit fun. With your new friends at your workplace and a new sense of accomplishment, the less you stress about your loveless marriage and the more you appreciate what you have. Your interactions with Caleb become less forced. Not because youâve somehow managed to miraculously understand how his brain functions, but because you put less weight on what you say. Itâs hard to see someone as intimidating when youâve seen a photo of them in a stupid halloween costume. He seems to notice the change too.Â
[Caleb Xia]: I got us fried chicken for dinner. Donât be too late so it doesnât get cold :)
Your mouth waters. Itâs nice, almost. Emphasis on the almost.
Outside, the evening chill hits your cheeks, sharp enough to wake you up and wrap your jacket tighter around yourself. The street is busy but not crowded, as the sun has just set. A couple laughs too loudly across the road. Somewhere, a bus exhales.
You start down your usual route.
At first, itâs nothing. Just footsteps. Not out of place. People exist. People walk. People go home.
But somethingâs off. Your gut insists on it, and itâs hard to ignore.
You slow slightly, just enough to be subtle. The footsteps slow too.
Your fingers tighten around your bag.
Coincidence, surely.
You donât turn around, yet. Turning means you have to see something and acknowledge that itâs real. Instead, you adjust your pace again. Faster this time.
The footsteps quicken, dropping your heart to your stomach.Â
Your eyes dart around you anxiously. Itâs dark. Streetlamps are guiding your path home, and though the neighborhood is nice, itâs empty. Well, except for you and the footsteps that seemingly sound like theyâre getting ever so closer every few seconds. You throat feels dry.Â
Phone. You need to tell someone. Even if youâre wrongâeven if itâs just a hunch.
[You]: Still there?
[Caleb Xia]: Yea. why?
[You]: I think thereâs someone following me
Your message sends, and for a moment air doesnât enter your lungs.
The typing bubble appears. Disappears. Appears again.
[Caleb Xia]: Iâm coming.
You donât know how heâs going to find you, but you donât bother questioning it at the moment. You swallow, and your throat is dry enough that it hurts. The streetlamps cast long shadows across the pavement, and itâs hard to discern whether something is just a shadow or something else in the dark.
You donât turn around.
Your legs carry you as fast as you can go without breaking into a sprint, and your grip tightens around your phone until your fingers ache. Hurry, you think. Hurry up, Caleb.
A car passes.
Heâs closer now, whoever it is.
Your breath catches. Your shoulders tense, every instinct screaming at you to run, but your legs feel like theyâve forgotten how.
Suddenly, a car turns the corner too fast, tires kissing the curb before readjusting and you nearly jump out of your own skin. The tint on the car makes it too difficult to see inside, not that youâd be able to see much regardless due to the dark. It slows to a stop as it sees you, and you think if this isnât who youâre expecting, it might actually be the end for you.Â
The passenger door swings open.
âGet in.â
Relief floods your body when you hear his voice and you stumble to clamber in.
Relief?
This is Caleb Xia youâre talking about. Now that you think about it, youâre unsure why he was the first you contacted instead of the police. Your fingers had tapped on his profile faster than you could think. Was it just because he was at the top of your contacts? Was it because he was near? It must be, right? It had been instinctual. Your body had reactedâand it had somehow worked out.Â
Regardless, you canât possibly deny how relieved you feel right now.
You wonder if this is how MC always feels. It must be nice to know that someone so reliable is always at her beck and call, right? To come running at just a few wordsâmaybe she wouldnât have had to walk home in the first place. Maybe he wouldâve driven her. You feel sick. This isnât what you should be thinking about right now. Right now, you need to report it to the police and take a much needed nap.Â
A part of you is envious of her.
âYou shouldâve called me earlier.â
The chicken doesnât look as appetizing anymore even despite it sitting before you in all its crispy fried glory. The growling in your stomach from earlier is replaced by a slight pain, and itâs difficult to tell if youâve only lost your appetite or if itâs a different kind of anxiousness. He watches you from across the table with a perplexed frown while you pick at the chicken aimlessly, nodding blankly.
âIâll report it first thing in the morning,â Caleb sighs. âI should pick you up from work from now own. Or Iâll call you a taxi if I canât.â
You nod again.
âAre you okay?â
Ah, heâs asking that again. You hate when he does.
You tilt your head. âIâm just sort of in shock, I think.â
âI know, but you should eat at least a bit. Here.â He holds a piece of chicken on a fork to your face and you scrunch your nose. He smirks. âHere comes the airplane?â
âI might vomit all over you.â A half lie.
He replies instantly. âThen Iâll clean it. Eat.â
For a reason that you just attribute to exhaustion, you donât bother arguing. Instead, you pop it into your mouth, cheeks dusting pink at the intimacy of the act. He hums in approval and you try your best not to choke. Why was he feeding youâa grown woman? And why were you letting him?Â
How bizarre. This whole day is bizarre.
At least youâre homeâthanks to him.
âThank you,â you mumble softly. âFor getting there so fast.â
He looks almost offended, shaking his head. âDonât thank me, it was a given. Iâm just happy you thought to call me. I was worried you wouldnât.â
Why did you call him? Well, you suppose he is your husband at the end of the day. One who has eyes for another, but your husband nonetheless. âWhy wouldnât I?â
He stops for a moment, as if in thought, and then smiles sheepishly. Not the annoying fake smile he puts on for show, but one thatâs riddled with guilt. Shame. You want to know why. âJust assumed you wouldnât.â
Strangely, the words make your chest tight.
Your eyes meet his usual striking violets, shoulders slumping as you look away once the eye contact feels too intense. âIâm glad I did.â
You barely catch the tips of his ears turning pink.
Caleb keeps his word for the months following the event. You never have reason to pass by that street again on foot, and although you continue to insist itâs not necessary, having him as your private driver of sorts does feel kind of nice. You think eventually, youâve come to call him more than a stranger. Heâs easier to talk to. Funnier than you thought, actually, when heâs not being annoying to tease you.
Youâd never tell him that though, of course.
You blink warily, rubbing at your eyes with the back of your hand when a ray of sunlight escapes through the shades of your bedroom and hit your face. However, itâs not what awakes you. Rather, itâs the insistent buzzing of your phone on your bedside table, which you barely manage to snatch without falling off the edge of the bed.Â
[Caleb (husband)]: morning sleepinghead, you awake?
[Caleb (husband)]: Come eat breakfast :> made apple juice too
[Caleb (husband)]: I better hear you shuffling around in your room in the next few minutes or iâll have to come drag you out.. :)
Caleb Xia, you find, nags a lot.
âSleep well?â he chuckles when you finally emerge, still half-awake despite being fully dressed. You scratch the back of your neck, yawning as you perch yourself on one of the chairs at the counter where heâs standing with an apron tied neatly behind him. If you were just a tad bit more awake, youâd have a field day making a snide comment about it.
âMm.â
He laughs again, gently. Did he always sound so soft?
âYou can always quit your job, yâknow,â he shrugs, placing a plate of breakfast foods in front of you. It smells immaculate, as usual. âOfferâs always on the table.â
You shove a forkful of eggs into your mouth, squinting at him. âWhy do you wanth me shoo be unemployed sho bad? My parentsh donât care.â
âItâs not about your familyâŚIt just doesnât seem necessary.â
âI like working. Just not waking up so early.â
âI only want you to avoid overextending yourself if you donât have to,â he pops a tomato into his own mouth. âI make enough for you to get whatever you want, donât I?â
âBut I want my own money, too.â
âMy money is your money. This is the least I can do.â
âCareful,â you snort. âYou sound dangerously close to being romantic.â
He tilts his head. âWhy wouldnât I be romantic? Iâm your husband.â
This time, you really choke on your food, coughing as he quickly hands you the apple juice. Heâs been doing that latelyâdropping lines like that out of nowhere, like theyâre nothing. Somehow always when youâre least prepared for it, and always with a lopsided grin that tells you heâs either completely oblivious or knows exactly what heâs doing.
Youâre willing to bet on the latter.
Caleb Xia, as you figure out in the time you spend with him in his car on the way to work, has terrible taste in films.
âThat movie is awful. Thereâs no way thatâs your favorite.â
He gasps dramatically and you donât bother suppressing the urge to roll your eyes. âHey, donât judge before you try it.â
âIâd like it if I never had to try it, actually.â
The smile adorning your lips falls in an instant the car slows to a stop. You find yourself growing disappointed when you arrive at your workplace, because it means youâll have to leave him. You want to scold yourself for thinking such preposterous thoughts. What are you? A teenager whoâs hanging out with a boy for the first time?
Youâre married, for godâs sake.
Then again, so what if his company isnât so bad? What if you think heâs a bit more to you than tolerable? Isnât that allowed? Heâs your husband, after all. If it doesnât feel so bad, maybe you could let yourself reprise and enjoy it while it lasts.
âAh, right, I should tell youâIâll be leaving this weekend for work.â
Ah, nevermind. Reality has a way of slapping you across the face when you least expect it.
âHow long?â
âA few weeks at best,â he pauses, voice quieter. âMonths, if Iâm unlucky.â
You really despise the subtle aching in your chest.
You hate how easily it slips in. How, for a second, it makes the flame thatâs gone out years ago flicker, as if these moments could mean more than they do. They donât. You know they donât. They arenât yours to keep. None of it is.
The warmth, the ease, the way he looks at you like thisâlike youâre something he actually cares aboutâitâs all fake. Stolen. Youâre just standing in the space where someone else is supposed to be.
You press your lips together, forcing the feeling down before it can spread any further. Get a grip.
His palm pats the top of your head, making your cheeks heat against your will. With a grin, he nods. But itâs stiff. The slight crinkle between his brows. Upset. Upset? âIâll see you tonight.â
Itâs like he knows what youâre thinking before you know yourself.
âWho said I want to?â
âYou wound me.â
As soon as you enter the building, you feel your phone buzz in your pocket.
[Caleb (husband)]: I know youâre at work, butâŚ
[Caleb (husband)]: Movie night tn ?? i can make us popcorn :D
[Caleb (husband)]: And yes weâre watching my fav so you can stop calling it bad :>
[Caleb (husband)]: Last hurrah before i leave
This is dangerous, you think. Really, really dangerous.Â
You seriously hope you donât fall for him, if it isnât too late already.
A few hours later, the living room is dimly lit with soft lights, the low hum of something playing in the background as Caleb sets everything up. The bowl of popcorn ends up a little too full, a few pieces spilling onto the counter as he carries it over, muttering something under his breath as he munches on the ones that are about to spill over. You sink into the couch, watching him move around the roomâadjusting the volume and flipping through options heâs already decided on.Â
Itâs strange, how easy it feels. How normal.
You donât realize youâre staring until he glances over.
So you look away quickly, fixing your gaze on the screen. But a few seconds pass, and you can feel his attention still lingering.
You pretend not to notice.
What are you doing? What are either of you doing?
You donât say anything, swallowing the question down into the pit in your stomach.
The movie stars a side character with a passionate devotion to his family, who reminds you of Caleb. Oddly enough, the resemblance is almost uncanny. You kind of want to root for him but also want him to lose terribly. You huff quietly. âHeâs so intense.â
Caleb glances over, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. âWhat? You wouldnât want someone like that?â
You tilt your head, pretending to think. âI mean⌠heâs a bit much.â
A pause.
ââŚbut it comes from a good place. I like him.â
He stills.
You pick at a piece of popcorn, rolling it between your fingers. âHe reminds me of you a little.â
âYeah?â
You shrug, still not quite looking at him. âYeah.â A small breath escapes you before you can stop it. âMC is really lucky to have you.â
He goes quiet. When you glance over, heâs already looking at you.
ââŚLucky,â he repeats, almost to himself.
You hesitate, then ruin it by saying more. "I mean, you're always there for her, you know? If she calls, you come running. Everyone wants someone like that."
It was supposed to come off lightheartedly, but it only digs the hole deeper.
Something in his expression shifts. His smile fades, his face losing its usual ease as it drops to something youâve never seen on him before. It contorts in phases. Surprise, and then confusion, and finally into one you prefer the least.
Panic. Something is wrong.
You wish youâd just shut up. The long pause makes you wish you were just a fly on the wall right now.
âIs this why?â he blinks, and his eyes glisten with something you havenât seen from him. Void of the usual emptiness but replaced with something fuller. Heavier. âIs this why you hate me so much? Because of MC?â
Huh?
âFuck,â one hand pulls at the roots of his hair, his top teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he attempts to hide his face from you. âIâm a moron. I shouldâve known.â
What? Despite your hands growing clammy, you feel cold. Like the blood is draining from your face.
âYou must hate me so much.â
When did you ever hate him? Youâve loathed him, certainly, when heâd disappear for weeks on end leaving you all alone in this cold, lifeless house. Youâve wanted to punch your balled up fists into his chest, knowing that it wouldnât phase him in the slightest simply to alleviate some of your own anger. Youâve wanted to run away a multitude of times. But hate? Have you ever hated Caleb? Can you hate Caleb?
âCaleb.â
âThis is my fault. I shouldâve been more aware. Itâs so obvious now, I feel like an idiot.â
âCaleb.â
âI thought you just hated me because this isnât a marriage you wanted,â his voice cracks, and heâs burying his face into his palms. âI thought staying away from you was what you wanted. Shit, Iâm so stupid.â
âCaleb,â you say, more firmly this time, and he finally looks at you. Thereâs a watery film over his usually lifeless eyes, glistening against the light of the TV screen, and it makes the pit in your stomach grow deeper. You donât like seeing him like this. You thought you would, but you donât.
His voice is a mere whisper now. He looks like he wants to vomit out a million words at once, but thereâs three specific ones that linger on his tongue. Is this what they call a woman's intuition? Youâre not sure how, but in the moment, it feels like youâre in his head. For the first time in the 4 years youâve been wed to Caleb Xia, you feel like you can understand him.Â
A victory that doesnât feel like one at all.
âListen to me,â he grabs your hands in his, holding them in front of his chest. âI donât love herânot as a woman. I havenât in a long time. She and Zayne are like my family, and Iâd be a terrible person not to be happy for them. Iâm sorry I didnât make it clear to you. Iâm so sorry.â
Your heart doesnât seem to be beating anymore.
The air is too thick. Like liquid entering your lungs.
Caleb opens his mouth and then shuts it again, his words stuck in the back of his throat. Youâre not sure if you want to hear what he wants to say. The words hold too much value, too many years of hurt, and you donât know how youâll react. You donât want to acknowledge any of this as real, because if it is, what was all of this for? What were the years you spent holed up in your room meant to achieve? Were you just being a fool? And in that case, would you even want to know?
No. You donât.
So instead, you kiss him.
A wordless, messy kiss. Though heâs taken aback at first, heâs quick to slot his mouth against yours eagerly, hands flying to your waist to pull you closer as if a man starved. Itâs desperate. Different from the kiss you shared with him at the courthouse, or for transactional purposes. His mouth feels hot against yours, and when his tongue swipes against your lip, you let him in.Â
You climb onto his lap, straddling him as he presses you flush against him. The movie is long forgotten. His hair weeds through the crevices between your fingers and he deepens the kiss as if heâs trying to physically become one with you. His heart hammers against your own like a timer, warning you of what this could mean, but you donât care.
âPut your arms around my neck,â he mumbles against you, and then youâre suddenly being lifted up to your room with his hands supporting your thighs around his waist. But even those few seconds arenât worth staying apart for, because heâs kissing your neck, mouthing at spots that have you pursing your lips to avoid making any embarrassing sounds. He lets you down gently onto the middle of your bed and follows suit, pushing you onto your back.
Youâre here again.
Heâs looming over you, face flushed in a deep red this time. Heâll ask if youâre okay. If this is okay. And then heâll take off his shirt and his hand will slide up yours. Itâll be better this time, because itâs not out of some twisted sense of duty. Desire pulses at your core, but you canât help but shake off this curdling feeling in your chest, as if you want to hurl. You wait for what you expect, eyes never leaving his.
Instead, he breathes sharply. âI love you.â
The world stops.Â
âYou donât have to say anything back that I donât deserve. I just want you to know,â he whispers.
Can anyone love someone like youâmuch less, your husband? You start breathing again because you have to, staring up at him as if heâs gone insane. In fact, you think youâve gone insane. Kissing him, lying beneath him, enjoying his presence, looking forward to his breakfasts, letting him drop you off at work, feeling disappointed that heâs leavingâyouâve most definitely died and come back as another person, because this is not you.
This is Caleb Xia. He is an unloving person. He cannot love. But what happens if he does? With tears stinging at his eyes, watching you with a mix of pure adoration and sorrow, heâs telling you he loves you. Love is a strong word, isnât it? But he means it. He loves you. Caleb loves you. You want to call him a liar, but heâs not.
You want to cry into his chest and run away at the same time.
The flame flickers, and you panic. Not because you despise him, or because his confession is one you donât want to accept, but because this flame is not one you welcome with open arms anymore. Itâs too easy to hurt. Too easy to shrink, yet somehow impossible to destroy.
âI canât,â you croak. âNot right now.â
Even Caleb canât mask the hurt that deepens his frown, as if youâve torn his heart straight from his chest. For a man with so much power, heâs never looked more powerless than he does now.
It feels too vulnerable. Open. As if youâre naked and heâs fully clothed, when itâs infact the exact opposite. You donât want to open up to him again. You donât want him to snuff out that small flame you have that never seems to go out no matter how much you douse it in water. Or maybe you do?
He forces a crooked smile, strained against his very will and nods before leaving the room. As the door slips shut, he doesnât turn to look at you. âSleep tight.â
You donât get much sleep that night at all.
Morning comes anyway.
And then another.
And another.
His absence returns, but this time because youâre the one avoiding him. You leave earlier than usual, linger longer at work, find excuses in the smallest thingsâemails, errands, anything that keeps you just a little out of sync with him. When you do cross paths, itâs brief. Polite. A short good morning or a quick goodnight. Itâs easier that way.
You tell yourself this is what you wantedâto put distance back where it belongs. Whatever that night was, whatever flame flickered between you, it will fade. It must fade.
He isnât yours. Even if he says he is, thereâs too much pain--too many years of resentment built up that you donât know what to do with.
You catch yourself thinking about it at mundane timesâstanding in line, walking home, staring at your coworkers chatting amongst themselves. The apartment feels different already, like itâs preparing to be emptier. As cold as it was a few months ago, when he was still Caleb Xia, and not just Caleb.
You take the time away from him to reset. To think, but not too much. You find yourself flipping through his photo albums again, smiling when you flip to a particularly embarrassing one. You hear him shuffling outside your room, probably packing for his business trip. Youâre aware of what he risks everytime he disappears for weeks at a timeânot only his life, but the lives of his menâand you donât know how he bears to leave home everytime he does.Â
But he always comes back. He has to.Â
You suppose itâs for the best for now. And when he returns, things will return to normal. The house wonât be as awkward as it is. The two of you will slip into your usual routine of a loveless marriage, and youâll find other avenues in life to derive joy from. So will he.
The front door shuts faster than you anticipated.Â
Heâs gone.
This is fine.
This is what you wanted.
The house is empty again. You pace to the living room, and surprisingly, a fresh bouquet of flowers is propped inside their usual vase. You lift the vase into your hands, letting the scent of the flowers waft into your nose. They smell good. New. Sort of like the detergent he uses when doing the laundry.
You set the vase back down, nails pressing faint crescents into your skin.
His face when you last saw him keeps flickering in your mind. So much hurt. Raw with fear.
âI love you.â
You want to tell him he doesnât. You want to remind yourself that this is your husband. Your heartless, cunning husband who kills people for a livingâwho doesnât care about anyone but his family.Â
But youâre his family, arenât you?
You can still smell his cologne in the air.
You mustâve missed it from the glint of the sunlight in the glass coffee tableâthereâs a small shimmer of something sitting beside the vase. With a quirked brow, you pick it up. He usually never leaves trash lying around.
You nearly drop it.
His wedding band.
Your breath stutters, sharp and uneven, like your lungs have forgotten how to work. Your heart pounds as you realize that you're shaking, eyes wide as saucers as you stare at the object in your hands.
No.
He wouldnât. He wouldnât just leave it.
The ring sits in your palm like a brick that weighs your entire body down. This isnât something you can pretend will reset when he comes back.
This means no more quiet dinners. No more stupid arguments over movies he insists are good. No more messages waiting for you when youâre at work. No more him, standing at the counter every morning with a pan in his hand. No more him.
And worst of all, no more chance to fix it. To tell him your side of the story.
Your body moves before your mind catches up.
You wrench the front door open, not bothering to lock it behind you as your feet hit the pavement with just your socks. The air burns your throat as you run, lungs screaming, heart still pounding like itâs trying to break through your ribcage.
He canât leave.
The stinging beneath your feet go unregistered as you clutch the ring so tightly that it feels like it might dig into your flesh.Â
Just forward, you hiss to yourself. Faster. You turn corner after corner, your body begging you to stop overexerting yourself, but you canât bother to care. You donât even register where youâre going, but you need to go somewhere. It feels like ages and seconds at the same time, as you beg nobody in particular for one more chance.
A chance for what, you're not sure.
Reconciliation? Love? Understanding?
Is any of that possible? And if not, why are you running like your very life depends on it?
The ring digs further into your skin, and you realize it doesn't matter as long as you find who it belongs to. Him. Caleb. The reason and bane of your existence, and apparently what has you running across the entire town in hopes of bringing him back.
Finally, you slam into something solid.
The impact knocks the breath out of you, your grip loosening as the ring nearly slips from your fingers. A hand catches your arms before you can stumble back too far, steadying you with a familiar scent that somehow lets you breathe again.
âHeyâwatch itâoh.â
You freeze in place, breath hitching as you look up. Standing right in front of you, he appears slightly disheveled, one hand still gripping your arm while the other awkwardly balances a paper bag of groceries. Caleb blinks, his eyes immediately scanning over your frame before landing on your feet. âWhy are you here? Are you okay? And where are your shoes, itâs dangerouââ
âDonât go, Caleb,â you sniffle, tears already stinging at your eyes as your body finally has a chance to rest, though it doesnât feel much better. âPlease donât go.â
He stares at you as if you've grown a third eye, nearly dropping his bag of groceries at your pleas. Even the tips of his ears turn red, flustered. "What are you--"
âWhy did you leave the ring? Did you lie?â About loving me?
His expression falls, attention honing in on the ring gripped in your fist. Something seems to click in his head, and immediately, he shakes his head. âNo, of course not, I was going to leave a note. I just went out to get groceries before I leftââ
âSo you were going to leave the ring?â
âWell, yes, but can weââ
âDo you not like me anymore?â you blurt, finger bunching at the fabric of his sleeve. âIs it because I ignored you for a week?â
He almost looks offended. âOf course I still like you.â
âThen why?â
His voice softens, as if speaking too loud will scare you away. Hesitantly, he sheepishly releases your arms. Instead, he slowly takes your hand in his, lips pursing as he sighs. His palm feels rough with calluses from the work he does, but light as feathers against your skin. His touch is gentle, as if youâre the most precious thing in the world. âI figured there was no reason for me to tie you to me anymore. I wonât force you to be with someone you canât even stand to be around. Someone you hate. Itâd be selfish.â
Your words tumble out before you can process them. âI donât hate you.â
Finally, with your hand in his, the world feels okay again. This feeling tells you youâre screwed, but you donât care.
âIâve been mad at you, and I donât know what to do with your feelings because they make no sense, but I donât hate you,â you mutter. âYouâre just too confusing.â
â...Confusing?â
âI justâI donât know what to do, Caleb,â you wipe vigorously at your eyes with your free hand, head falling to avoid looking him at him. âI donât know what to think about you. How to feel about you.â
His eyes ease, and you feel him squeeze your fingers. âDo you want me to leave?â
âNo.â
âDo you love me?â
âI donât know.â
Caleb has always been better at reading you than yourself. A flash of hurt ripples across his face, but his eyes maintain its soft glimmerâbecause he knows. Even if you say you donât know, he knows. He also knows that youâre afraid of those words, and he doesnât blame you for it.
So instead, he asks something else. âWhat am I to you?â
You want to call him a million things. The man who left you by yourself, the man who refused to touch you for so many years, the man whoâd chosen to sleep in the guest bedroom just to avoid taking up space in yours. Heâs felt awful, inconsiderate, and cold. But heâs also the man whoâs gotten you flowers, the man whoâd break four speeding laws to make you feel safe, the man who makes sure youâre never hungry, the man who folds your laundry neatly and organizes it color-coded in your closet. The man who you wish you could slap across the face and hold close to you at the same time. The man whoâs made you feel alone yet so cared for all at once.
You like him, you think. In some strange way thatâs never been covered in the romantic films you used to clutch onto like a life line, you like him. The âLâ word teeters on the tip of your tongue like a marble rolling around to decide what these emotions settling in your heart really are, but it doesnât really matter. All you know is that you need him. You want him. You want him to hold your face and kiss you tenderly, like he did that night. You want him to do it again and again until you canât breathe, and all you can feel is him. You want to eat dinner with him every night and wake up in the morning to his stupid apron. You want to go grocery shopping with him. You want to fall asleep watching a movie in his arms.
âWhat am I to you?â
Tears fall down your cheeks in fat globs and you try your hardest not to let your voice crack. âMy husband.â
His eyes widen for a moment, and then his lips split into a wide grin that resembles the lovesick expression of a teenage boy whoâs holding hands for the first time. Caleb drops his grocery bag to his feet and reaches either hands to the sides of your face, cradling you gingerly as he guides you closer. Before youâre even registering it, he brushes a strand of hair out of your forehead and presses a soft but firm kiss to your temple, where you can feel him smile against your skin.
âWho am I to say no my wife?â
Your marriage is a messy, complicated jumble of emotions. The confusion. The fear. The warmth. Itâs not perfect. It never will be. And despite it all, you donât want it any other way, because Caleb Xia is a loving person.
taglist. @inzanekillian @someonestopsoren @sweetieelilii @3rdslide2heaven @gabburabbu @moltensceptergambit @cherrysherryblossom @younbeanz @txtworlddom @glitterykingdomheart @applebrat9 @ephemeraleb @cherrybomb5000 @chartreuxxlikesboba @corvusmemoriae @toorulee @ilovecoffe8 @cordidy @younghideoutberserker @yesbiaswrecked @madnesslusy @bypanana @noosummert @littleappleorchard @anyeeyna @xie-hua (I apologize if I didn't add you! I always struggle with tagging on tumblr lol!)
phainon x gn!reader fluff, set post-ampho in a perfect world, cipher meddling, pre-relationship.
"and why do you have such a large plushie of phainon?" you stare down at the toy that cipher has thrust into your arms.
its likeness to him is uncanny; from the strands of his snowy hair to his overly complicated outfit that was hand designed by aglaea, every component of phainon was captured so well that this truly looked like a one-to-one replica. whoever designed and produced him has obviously put great care into his design.
except...
"why is he crying?"
little fabric tears dot his eyes and its small frown really makes it seem as though he's truly upset.
"don't judge a book by its cover, little y/n!" the titan of trickery scolds, "this one was the most popular! i stole him off the shelves just for you because he was one of a kind, everyone in planarcadia was a fiend for this specific one."
"you got one just for me?" you ask, looking up at her with a puzzled expression. "why me?"
"don't act like you don't want it, dear y/n."
you glance away, embarrassment creeping up your neck. you regret telling her about your (huge) crush on the hero. "do they enjoy watching people cry or something?"
"i don't know and don't care, i'm still waiting on a thanks, you know."
"thank you, cipher," you hold the soft plushie against your chest, "i'm glad i have an adorable version of phainon now."
she chuckles, "you should give plushienon a kiss to cheer him up!"
"don't call him plushienon, and i'm not kissing a toy!"
"aww, c'mon, it's just the deliverer boy, what's wrong with that?"
"it's embarrassing and juvenile!" you murmur, hiding behind the tufts of white hair.
"it's embarrassing to show the love of your life some affection?" she pouts, dramatising a pout. "this isn't even him, what will you do when it is the real deal?"
"fine!" you huff. "i'll kiss him!"
she giggles, satisfied. you press a fleeting kiss to his covered forehead, the fabric soft underneath your lips. you don't linger long, getting ready to sass cipher with a quip, but the words die on your tongue when you notice something unbelievable.
the small frown and teary blues that plushienon previously had have morphed into a beaming smile and bright eyes, the sudden change catching you off guard.
what is this elation magic- you swear he was crying before!
"little y/n, you look like you've seen a ghost! what's wrong?" cipher asks as she studies your expression with great amusement. "surely kissing him can't be that unenjoyable-"
you turn him around, "why is he happy all of a sudden?"
she begins cackling, her tail whipping. "oh my! i didn't know this thing was going to be true to life!"
"did you do something to him? you didn't use your trickery powers, did you?" you ask wildly, looking at him again to make sure that he was still smiling- and indeed he was. in fact, it seems as though he's grinning wider.
"this is brilliant! wow, i didn't think the deliverer's obnoxiously obvious affection for you would transcend into inanimate versions of himself as well!" the demigod is beside herself now, holding her stomach with tangible glee.
"hey! what do you mean affection? and obvious?"
"you'd find out if you just show him!"
"no!" you shriek, holding the big plushie to your chest now as your flustered cries get hidden by the bustling nature of okhema's markets. "i'm not showing phainon anything!"
an all-too-familiar voice pipes up from beside you. "why not?"
this is the worst day of your life. phainon absolutely can not see you holding a large plushie of him, and he can not know that you discovered it had the ability to change expressions as soon as you kissed its fabric-covered forehead.
cipher, however, had other plans.
"deliverer boy," she greets, "you have many fans outside amphoreus, did you know that? while i was in planarcadia, i found this!"
she gestures to the plushie that you have pressed against your chest. for a moment, the two stare at you expectedly. it is with great embarrassment that you reveal the item in your arms, unable to make eye contact with the white-haired before you.
"is that me?" he questions, "am i⌠crying?"
"isn't it so cute? wouldn't you agree, y/n?" cipher prods.
"i don't think it's cute because it's crying!" you murmur, trying to defend what is left of your dignity.
"so you think it's cute because it's lord phainon?"
"cipher!" you wish the ground could swallow you whole.
"anyways, what's more important is that y/n has found an interesting discovery by kissing plushie-you's forehead. why don't you show the great hero of amphoreus?"
you frown, the heat in your cheeks now unbearable. with a grumble, you turn around so that your back was towards the pair, not allowing either of them to see you peck the plushie's forehead. turning around, its frown has now transformed into a beaming smile, delight completely painting over its previously-woeful expression.
phainon is quiet for a moment and you brace for the worst, your heart thumping wildly in your ears as you wait for him to be offended or disgusted by your discovery.
instead, it is him who completely rips the carpet from underneath your feet.
"interesting, they've captured me scarily accuratelyâŚ"
^ these are the plushies if anyone was curious/has not seen them
i just want you to love me as much as i think about it
giving your boyfriend the silent treatment after an argument ft. anaxa, sunday, blade
notes: gn!reader, attached/obsessive men, sunday being both manipulative and pathetic somehow, blade is a warning
ŕź anaxa:
⣠droves of students come out through the doors of one of the many science buildings, yet the one sight you actually came to see is nowhere to be found. a despondent sigh exits your mouth as you stand and accept your defeat.
how pathetic it was â you were the one who started this childish ignoring game when you found yourself on the back-burner of anaxa's priorities once more. truly, you'd thought this would knock some sense into him and make him realize how much he missed having you around. instead, you stand like a fool on a campus you don't even attend, coming to terms with the fact you seem to care about him much more than he cares for you.
"oh, are you waiting for professor anax?"
you glance up to see a vaguely familiar face. one of anaxa's students, clearly, and one you assume you've met before. the fog in your brain must be showing, because he just laughs and tells you his name after a brief apology from yourself.
"no worries! i don't expect you to know everyone. the professor just brings you up a lot, so it's hard for us not to know who you are."
interesting.
"he does?" you ask with an even tone, not trying to seem too eager. "complaints, i'm sure."
the student only gets a couple of words about how 'prof anax looks super dopey when he talks of you!' in before a loud cough echoes besides you two, making him freeze as the smile quickly drops from his face. you peer and see the source of your problems himself, eye slanted and foot tapping in a staccato rhythm.
the young man besides you seems to stop breathing as anaxa coldly breaks the silence, "i was sure the work i assigned was ample enough to keep you distracted, but i see you still have other priorities."
with a curt nod, the student rushes away as anaxa makes his way closer to you. bitterness overtakes your thirst to win, and you mutter, "so he can speak," just loud enough for him to catch the resentment in your voice.
"if i recall correctly," his lip twitches into something mirroring your displeasure, "this childish escapade only happened because you were insistent in your own misguided assumptionsâ"
"that is the problem, anaxagoras," you cut him off, moving on from your yearning spell to being defensive of his criticism. "whether i'm in the wrong or not, the way you dismiss and belittle me for it still makes you an asshole."
he brushes off the insult with ease, "an asshole who's partner is speaking to him again. a net positive, if that slipped your mind."
the remark makes your brow raise. really? that was his mastermind idea?
"what, piss me off to make me stop talking to you, piss me off more to make me talk to you again? that didn't seem like a stupid plan to you?"
"if it was stupid, it wouldn't have worked," he says with a final tone, taking two more steps towards you until he's able to grasp your hand. one, two, each of your knuckles is kissed with intent. an apology in every touch.
"if for even a brief moment, you've questioned the severity of how much i crave you, i have my doubts about who is the true imbecile of this relationship."
never-mind. still an asshole.
ŕź sunday:
⣠"my love," sunday begs, matching the way you speed your movements to try and shake him off.
you don't even react, staring straight ahead as your footsteps echoed on the sidewalk. according to sunday, the only thing worse than fighting with you was not hearing from you at all. in turn, you're not surprised at not only the level of desperation he feels to try and satiate your indignation, but the fact he hasn't stopped vying for your attention since the moment it originally started â
"two days, seventeen hours, thirteen minutes, and fifty one seconds," he starts with stiff timbre, "is more than enough time for us to sort out our disagreements, isn't it? i'm sure you're aware of how deeply remorseful i am by this point, darling."
still, your conviction is unwavering no matter how pathetic his displays become. he always tries to sweet talk and love-bomb his way back into your good graces, knowing how achromatic his entire world becomes the moment you're not with him.
images flicker in your mind, not conceived of your own imagination. the true magnitude of his grief is prevalent, as he normally would never allow his telepathy to be so carelessly mismanaged. in his frenzied state of trying to subdue his emotions, he's allowing his thoughts to leak from his brain without consequence.
barely perceivable, you glimpse at him for what must be a millisecond, but he hones in on the action like a starving animal.
a throb pierces your head ; more of a pleasant singe as opposed to any real pain. you stumble slightly from the unexpected feeling, and sunday is in front of you before you could even figure out you were going to hit the ground. a satisfied smile worms it's way onto his face as you land in his hold, and his arms constrict quickly so you have no chance of getting out.
"my angel," he coos with pleading eyes, covering the sides of your face from any bystanders. "i'll carve out my heart if that's what it takes to be blessed with your affection once more, but please don't deprive me of the melody from your lips."
you bite the inside on your cheek, glaring at him. even when you know he's trying to twist your heart to his liking, part of you can't help but want to just concede. the emptiness left behind from being adored by sunday isn't easily filled, not with nearly as much earnest emotion that he provides you. if nothing else, it wasn't a question if you were truly the world that he orbits.
with a sigh, you wriggle and push him away, standing straight up, noticing how the fabric of his gloves tightens from clenching his fist. you acquiesce in spite of better judgment, but still lace your first words with malice, "maybe if you got on your knees and asked nicely."
the instant the request is spoken into the air, he's on the ground, staring up at you with devotion so reverent you worry that ena is standing behind you. you quickly look around, praying that nobody sees such an insane display. you truly had thought he'd have too much pride to deny the outrageous suggestion.
"is this enough to placate your animosity? or would you rather i go further?" he asks with just enough smugness that you question whether or not it's actually there. maybe he's playing games, maybe he really is that needy, but it's gotten to a point you no longer can justify.
"for aeons sake, sunday. get off the ground," you groan, rubbing your temples. he complies easily, standing before you with happily fluttering wings and a pleased look on his face. even if you were annoyed, you were speaking to him, and you were sure he was filing this as a victory in his brain.
you roll your eyes and continue down the street, this time letting him follow next to you and grasp your hand in his own. you're not exactly happy about the outcome, but what's done is done. as a last jab as him, you grumble, "you're sleeping on the floor tonight."
"whatever you'd like, my love."
ŕź blade:
⣠the buzzing of your electric toothbrush fills the bathroom as you finish getting ready for bed. even though nothing really happened today, every minute seemed to drag without your boyfriend by your side. no matter how many times you've begged him to at least send you a text to where he's gone when he gets pulled away for a mission, you're left worrying yourself sick every time he disregards your words.
evidently, actions are the only thing that will cause the gears in his brain to turn. if blade can't understand how you feel, then maybe a disappearing act of your own will shock him with realization. in turn, the past two days have felt like a horror survival game for you. avoiding blade is a task even his most slimy of enemies have a hard time achieving. when he knows your breathing like the creases on his palm, it becomes roughly twenty times harder. luckily, kafka had been in the mood to play and kept you in the loop of blade's general location while also concealing your own.
after rinsing off the bristles, you sigh and turn off the lights before heading for your bed. maybe you'll message blade tomorrow, try to get through by telling him it doesn't feel so good to ignored, does it?
when you click the remote to turn your fan on, two distinct eyes stare at you from behind it.
blade doesn't flinch at your ear-piercing scream. his gaze simply narrow as he slowly steps towards you, speaking lowly as if he's cornering his prey. which, considering the blood sprayed across his face like a careless painting, is exactly how you feel at the moment.
"did your time away give you what you desired?" he asks lowly and ice-cold. there's no room for joking in his tone. clearly your little game had irritated him to the highest extent.
you try to recollect yourself while dealing with what is going to be a very large problem. while you didn't expect him to be giddy once you were reunited, you also didn't think he'd be this irate.
"i couldn't locate you. no heat readings from your house, despite what's in front of me at this moment," he states grimly, close enough to grasp your chin in his hands. his eyes bore into yours with such intensity you feel as if it might light you aflame.
"⌠now you know how i feel?" you retort with a stiff chuckle, hoping to play it off like some ill-thought out joke.
he doesn't laugh.
his sword gracelessly drops to the floor as his other hand rests on the small of your back, pulling you closer. his forehead rests against your own, filled with such uncertainty that your entire theory seems like little more than cruelty towards your lover.
he lets out a shaky exhale, murmuring into the dark of the night, "even if you no longer decide i am needed, if this body is to no longer serve it's only purpose, there is nowhere in any galaxy where my hand will not reach you."
it's a promise he's made before, the one you hang on to during the nights where you're worried if he'll even return to you at all. this time though, the weight is much heavier. you don't know who he cleaved through in a mindless rampage to find you, and you're not sure you want to ever find out. all you know is how sincere he seemed to treat those words.
your lips part to apologize but he's on you faster than it can come out, kissing you with enough desperation to ensure you'll never try something like this again. when you whisper a quiet, "sorry," into the kiss, his hold on you tightens.
"never again," he says with a somber tone, as if he's already seeing flashes of the atrocities he'd commit if this were to ever occur once more. you can't help but agree internally, if not for the fear of everyone around you â never again, indeed.