Into a sea of stars

she/her || 18+ || I write sometimes || MDNI

[starfoamy]

I know I loved you

-✦- semi hiatus -✦- Xavier’s star -✦- Rafayel’s Bride -✦- ESTP

✦ MINORS AND BASIC DNI CRITERIA PLEASE.

✦ masterlist

✦ requests are open, I just don’t answer very quickly.

✦The only rules I really have are don't come into my DMS or askbox with hate, drama, or any opinions that hate on dynamics with LIs, there are culture differences between the US and China, please respect that. The rest really just depends.

--

I loved you to the stars and beyond

[starfoamy]

I swear to god Infold why tf would you do this???? Removing valko to the hate every other Li has received???

Sign the Petition

Bring Valko Back!

[starfoamy]

I’m sorry for my long absence , due to inflation and taxes, I’ve had to take on more of a workload. Unfortunately it’s not enough. Although I’ve never done commissions before, I’m willing to see.

I do NSFW and fluff in writing commissions. The prices will vary and range, but ultimately it’s up to the commissioner.

please message me if you have any sort of question, or interest

[starfoamy]

Caleb does not know how to take care of you anymore. At least, that’s what he thinks. Things have changed ever since his death. You’ve grown more resilient, independent. You don’t answer his calls on the weekend now, and you often venture into dangerous places without telling him anything. It always sets his nerves on edge. 

Because despite everything, he’s still Caleb. Caleb who secretly bought candy for you when you were kids. Caleb who learned youtube tutorials on how to cut hair. Caleb who used to cook for you in the middle of the night when Grandma was asleep and you were hungry. Of course, you guys got caught most of the time, but Caleb always had this instinctive urge to take care of you. And so it always pains him when you come home all drained, and he doesn’t know how to comfort you. How to push away all the tension in your body. He used to deal with this urge by simply taking care of you when you both visited Josephine. He’d cook, he’d drape your legs over his lap and massage them while you watched a movie. He’d get up and make you a smoothie, practically doing anything. But there would always be tension. In a way, the explosion was a blessing in disguise, but also a curse. Then, you’d see all of him which he allowed you to see. Now, you know both sides of his mask. It had broken down the thin wall of restraint, making way for something else. Something more. But it had also opened the rift between you two.

And so now, you lay in the medical bay, your hand in his as the nurse applies antiseptic to the gash on the side of your hip. “You should've called me.” He murmurs, a sinking feeling inside his gut. He can’t tear his gaze away from the bloody, scabbed skin. If only he was there. Maybe you wouldn’t have been backed into a corner and forced to dive and scratch your skin. There are a lot of regrets he carries. Making you cry about him. Making you weep as he watched. He still hasn’t gotten over your tears—how they streaked down your face as you sobbed over a grave that held no body. This is just another one of his regrets. Forcing you to become- “Stop moping Caleb.” Suddenly your fingers connect to his temple in the harsh motion of a flick. “I’m the one hurt here, aren’t I?” You give a soft smile, an attempt at soothing him. “So why are you sulking?” “I'm not sulking, pipsqueak.” He retorts, settling for waving the nurse away, taking the bandage as she raises an eyebrow. Nonetheless, she turns away and bowed, his gloved fingers already tearing open the large bandaid. “Why’d you do that?” “Just let me have this, xiao-mei.” Suddenly, the snark seems to bleed out of you. Just like when you were younger. Back then you’d thrash and whine about how you weren’t a little girl anymore. About how you didn’t need him to baby you and all that. But in the end, you’d always go soft when he worked in silence at your skin.

He peels off his gloves in one smooth motion. Hesitant. Back then he’d rub over the skin gently. Calm you down with soothing words, but never sugarcoated lies. Tell you, “it's gonna hurt but i’ll getcha candy after it, okay?”

A rhythm so familiar, he doesn't have to will the cold metal of his arm to do it.

He soothes and pets your stomach, gently with his left hand. Emboldened and reassured by the small workings of your relationship being stitched back by new threads. However, it is no less gentle than before. Because that’s all he remembers to do.

How to soothe your pain. How to reassure that small, scared child back into being a brave woman, even if it never showed. It’s mercy that you don’t flinch. That you don’t push him away. And so he peels off the white paper off the adhesive, and gently pastes it over the curve of your hip. His fingers sink oh so slightly in the plush of your waist. The moment is fragile. Like if fate were to dip her cruel fingers into time and shatter the glass, there’d be nothing to stop her.

Yet you both hold your breath, teetering between awkwardness and intimacy. A warmth beyond words. The hum of the machines does nothing to stop the pounding of his heartbeat. How it beats and beats and reminds him he is still dangerously mortal. That for the next hundred years that he gets to be by you. Neither of you speak, and he doesn't make a move to pull away. Instead he stays on the ground, his hands firmly placed on your hip, his grip firm but not unyielding. You could pull away any moment actually. He’d let you. Instead your fingers reach out, pulling back before the pads of them gently brush his hairline. Almost too eagerly, he presses his head into your palm, your fingers combing through the dark strands. You stay there for a while. Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad to learn new things about you.

[nurse-offical]

TAG GAME GUYS

think of a caracter with the same beginning letter as the beginning of ur account name

me first

nancy (from fancy nancy)

@da-police-offical @paranoia-offical @evilpineapple-offical @illegaldoctor--offical @isopod-offical @purple-morphsuit-guy-offical @supervillain-offical @sketchy-doctor-offical @somebody-offical @bill-cipher-offical @mabel-pines-offical @laciffo-natas @mean-girl-offical i think this is everyone i know

(open tags x)

[im-a-rock]

InuYasha from Inuyasha.

@penny-offical @raxlexander @kingtwink @thatsmyineffablelifeline @shiziv @homosexuality-offical @pukicho @i-am-a-fish + open.

[thatsmyineffablelifeline]

tori spring from solitaire!

@eleventhirtythoughts @shenanigan42 @lotions-and-potions @souperache @krow-offical @chr0nically-b0red @imgonnacryalltheusersaretaken @the-aricher @butidonotapprove @wallyblack1925-offical @notmyfaultnotmyproblem @221biandconfused @biancanotfound @candiceturner + open!!

[krow-offical]

Katniss Everdeen from Hungergames :)

@joylivie @i-could-do-stuff2 @im-the-dead-girl-in-the-pool @darknesswrappedinfallcolors @lotions-and-potions @lavendertortoise12 and open :)

[joylivie]

Jack sparrow from pirates of the carabbean (idk how you write that)

Thanks for the tags btw:))

@wallyblack1925-offical @ravensncrowsx @eleventhirtythoughts @lotions-and-potions @darknesswrappedinfallcolors @dramaticinlyf @5tars-in-my-eyes @the-aricher @foundheaven013 @mayawithany @souperache @coneheadobviously +open tags:)

[darknesswrappedinfallcolors]

Tysm for the tag @krow-offical and @joylivie

Dorcas meadows from the marauders era

@7975348473 @darlingmylovethatsmurder @aryan717 @istillwishforyouateleveneleven @constantlymusing @lunarlee101

[7975348473]

oh har har. 🙄🥹✨

@lunarlee101 @inkstainsonmysheets @constantlymusing @clarissaweasley-10 @angelnextdooor @anintellectualintellectual @where-is-the-angst @a-nightfull-of-books etccc

[a-nightfull-of-books]

Alice Hawthorne came to mind but no.

Alina starkov.

@simplyumii @averagebookgirlie @elysianwayy77 @inejsgirl @coffeelovingreader @foreverwinter22

[coffeelovingreader]

chaol westfall and charlie lastra:)

tags : @dhazefawn @livlocus @fromrory @cherryseascns @sophiaurora @somewhereincairparavel @meangirlsbway @misdollie @yuunarii-arii @perseusargent

[yuunarii-arii]

Yukito Tsukishiro from Card Captor Sakura!

tags : @govnder @pearlescenthoney @viperify @leeny-leens @nottendo @puddlesoffrogs @jilycat @killa-mermaid @torturedpoetism @nottsnymph @blooberry-bagel and anyone else who wants to join!!

[pearlescenthoney]

panda from jjk 🐼

npt: @uninterestedseductress, @puddlesoffrogs, @viperify, @leeny-leens, @gojosamaa, @cocoaxia, @ytmkiz, @someonestopsoren, @txtworlddom and anyone else who wants to join!

[someonestopsoren]

Sephiroth from FF7!!!

thanks for the tag ahhh :> npt tags: @2013-1127 @starfoamy @stoopywalnut @bbnosylus @gardenialily @jellyelle @gegesbabysister

[starfoamy]

Ty for the tag!!!

uhhh Sunday from HSR-

Tags: @chaacoonnee @allimili @butterflypeachgrove @chibisproductions

[starfoamy]

The lgbtq+ one hehe

What am I doing (edited)

BAHAHHAHAHAHAH

[tekkerism]

let your moots tell you which one you are!!!

[ipaddres]

@mistic404 (you know me irl so it might be easier) & @thehollowmite whatami

oh and open tags

[mistic404]

Mixture of scared, famous one and gets into fights

👍👍

What am I :0

@ivy-p0is0n4ya what do you think :3

[ivy-p0is0n4ya]

hmmmm well, honestly, I would say you're a mixture of Lgbtq+ and... idk? Maybe scared?

Sorry, I'm really bad at this. It's hard to decide 😭💔

But now I'm actually curious as well :0

@micromacro222 , what am I? :>

[micromacro222]

Ez, you're shitposter (/pos) cuz you reblog a lot and also scared because you have a timid vibe.

You're also a banger artist but you don't post art as much 😔 This is your sign to feed us more 🫵🫵🫵

I think these suit you best!

Idk who to tag, but moots if you see this feel free to reblog and assign me a role. It is totally optional tho :)

[fellow-fanatic]

Hmmmmm I think you’re best suited to the bangin artist or shitposter role, espresseline in english book doodles is simply too iconic

I’m not sure who to tag either! @chibisproductions is this sorta post your vibe? @micromacro222 are tag backs allowed? not sure what tumblr etiquette is yet

[chibisproductions]

Now off of the vibes I would say…. An absolute banger artist! ✨ @fellow-fanatic now this may be bias cus of you beautiful fanart, but the wicked au has captured my musical heart.

now for my victi- Moots! Yup moots! I shall be tagging, @allimili, @butterflypeachgrove, and @starfoamy!

[starfoamy]

Banger artist hands down no hesitation RASSJBDKBDKDND

As for moots, I’m going to snatch @chaacoonnee @someonestopsoren and @weirdovictor ^^

[starfoamy]

suddenly I feel immense shame

[opossum-handz]

[axxxrael]

@ennarchy @aviscerate @paper-stars-still-glow @cutetrilobite2 @moonga-sucks @rio-and-the-cani @cl0verbeingcl0ver @izumi-kitty @manul-with-a-gun @kenyudotcom @cartoonenby @i-ate-the-sun13 @aceexists @neveronlinegumii @patrik6090 @jelly-kibtyfish

[kenyudotcom]

i love you omfg ☹️💔💔

@laerrebae @guravaa @livelaughalexisness

@cosmorainpuddle @flowerformeguru @kiyofiles

@kaikaikarasu @wowokmanchill @bachirasmalewife

@thetwinkims @ohagiyo @okkotsuus

@reositos did i miss any moots fuck

[gurarchived]

I love you bby 🥹🥹

@pomigranit @neversam @reverd-ck @aefilcres @sunathetuna @teabeexo @showhay @wabatle @tofumiarchives @x3nafix

[showhay]

i missed u!! every moot is my friend now, so each one is loved 🙈 @eudaim0nia-a @forgottensniper @j4zume @katzline @whimsybloom @tobioyaps @fiannee @pagesoflanguish @yunadln @lsirria @reverd-ck @x3nafix @gwenandy @imjustanobody2024 @whenandfromanotherworld @p01son3d-ent1ty @getopied @kuroken-divorce-arc @misasprout @nivabiva @seravalanko @strawbraki

[whenandfromanotherworld]

🥹 the bonds i’ve created through this little app mean so much to me. you’re all so special to me and i appreciate all the friendship 🫶 thank you for including me, <3

@reikodashi @tobioyaps @tobio-rs @florecielo @cornfielding @n-o-b-o-d-y123 @shoyosun @akaashiit @kired1467 @showhay @yunwangja

[shoyosun]

OMG MY HEART

LOVE YOU SO SO MUCH THANKS FOR INCLUDING ME🥹🥹😭😭💗💗

you!! @whenandfromanotherworld and @lilikags @arcanefeelings @dayndream @cndrne @runsea @akaashiit @n-o-b-o-d-y123 @florecielo @kkoalaworld @barelyalivesstuff @janellion @jellyfishsart and honestly ALL my mooties🥺💞 also met my best friend for life thanks to this app @finestcurry <3

[arcanefeelings]

omgggg i did not expect this 🙈 i think you just made my dayyy

im shyyy bc I don't talk to my moots as much as I'd like to but hopefully that's where we go from here(?) no pressure tags - @grapejuice32 @saetiate @saltedburns @eiba-ashi @cuntphoric-main @sixeyesonathiel @iheartanzai

[sugurusplaything]

wait that’s so sweet I hope we get to interact!!! I’m pretty shy myself but i’ll try ( ⸝⸝´ ᵕ `⸝⸝)

i love and appreciate you guys!! i take mutuals serious (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶) ‹𝟹

npt: @kaekuna @kusluv @lunarevia @lemonjuicie @pacifistest @satorusrealm

[lunarevia]

ALY BB TYSM FOR THE TAG ILY 💗💗

I ADORE MY MOOTIES SO MUCH even though I'm really shy irl, but here they're literally my friends!

Npt: @caramelluxe @sapph22 @realalpacorn @liliklei @smd-nw @cloudykumo

[liliklei-deactivated20260419]

OMG TY FOR THE TAG ☹️☹️💗💗💗

i love my mooties youre all so cutieful even if i am a super shy person whos too afraid to interact with anyone <//3

tags 🏷️: @spacekittiesmeow @satorusrealm @rainlina @hushkuna @twinfaes @caramelluxe @killakuna @gardenialily @darlingbambii @valberryboos @kawaiikittenkawaiikitten @cherrys-wrld @//literally all my moots ily guys sososo much mwah mwah !

[gardenialily]

AWW LILI 🥹🫂💕💕 luv you too :3

omg ik im going to miss ppl but let’s try:

@souliloqui @lunarify @smiskit @luvinbloom @erenophilic @colonelkaboom @medicli @zayora @xinghuisknight @princesspeachi3 @deepspacenova @dissociativewriter @blessdunrest @hirayalia @yoruuluv @kingraspberry12-blog @maryy237 @maemi324 @xaviersbunny @lowkeylaufeysons @ink-and-nebula @loveanddeephistory @wetforsylus @cutiepips @bbnosylus @humanjarvis @atzeroo @/all of my other beautiful amazing lovely mooties :3

seriously love you all so much 😩🥺

you each make this community so beautiful and welcoming 🫶🏻 i am genuinely beyond grateful for getting to know/interact with each one of you and the amount of encouragement, love and support you all emit 🫂💕💕you’re truly amazing ppl and im sending over the BIGGEST smooches 💋💋

[dissociativewriter]

THIS IS SO SWEET I WILL SOB

im treating this less like a tag game and more like letting my sweeties know I love them lol (so a lot of you have probably already been tagged)

@gardenialily @heartofafiend @awionetka @thechaoticarchivist @abyssyby @blessdunrest @xaviersbunny @mythblossoms @souliloqui @wetforsylus @acaffeinated-constellation @orbitraiden @lumi-s-garlic @stoopywalnut @jellyelle and actually all my moots because im struggling so hard to think of usernames off the top of my head 😭😭😭 (i cant think under pressure guys)

I love you all SO MUCH and you make this a wonderful community to be in! im always so happy seeing your amazing works and interacting with everyone 😘🫶

[stoopywalnut]

Thank you for the tag @dissociativewriter 😭❤️

I LOVE ALL YOU BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE❤️❤️❤️💗💗💗💗

@jooniesylus @minicrumbs @fromthebeehives @kiss-me-muchoo @diamonrot @quill-for-glory @quillsanddaggers @someonestopsoren @theliving-radio @rcvcgers @writingaffairs @tiredasfuckuma @une-catastrophe @i-messed-up-big-time @inzayneforaj @izanakore @peachygelic @orphicmeliora @ah-reumgoh @arahiraaai @alexrosa13 @applecaviar @samoankpoper21 @sailorstar9 @sharieb @darlingsblackbook @dark-night-hero @fxckmarrykill @fictionrealms @froggiequarium @grwm-bbyt @hajimeowmeow @luvinbloom @lily-jaxk @leftpoetrymoon @lirienn @bronzealchemy @nicohii @azulesworld @ytmkiz

[someonestopsoren]

ASGAHAHDG thanks for tagging me @stoopywalnut <3

I am grateful for my friends as well!! @joboholica @fauxxtra72 @starfoamy @calebsloserbaby @im-0-0

[starfoamy]

im actually honored OMG? TYSM!!!! I APPRECIATE U TOO!!!

In fact cmere, @chibisproductions @butterflypeachgrove @allimili and @chaacoonnee

^^ Im so glad we're friends despite not interacting much currently!

[starfoamy]

I am a firm believer that Caleb’s headpats will absolutely soothe the soul of all worries. As soon as his hand meets your scalp, you seem to melt like ice cream in the sun, giving way to the ground. His large palm gently caresses your head, the pressure comforting against your head as his familiar teasing voice accompanies it. His fingers stroke your hair like sunrays through curtains, and his hand seems to find all the spots that beg for pressure. It’s like a balm to your soul, something to relax and fall deeper into as Caleb guides you to the couch, a seat, anywhere. You don't really have the capacity to think at the moment, especially since his hand is scratching the itch in your brain that you didn't know you had in such a delightful way. It’s always the best when your head is in his lap, thick meaty thighs cushioning your skull and his fingers storing your cheek, your nape, the crown of your head. A blanket over your body and his voice lulling you to sleep. Besides, your problems become his problems when he sees you turn into a puddle of goo with a single touch. Caleb’s headpats will absolutely soothe the soul of all worries. As soon as his hand meets your scalp, you seem to melt like ice cream in the sun, giving way to the ground. His large palm gently caresses your head, the pressure comforting against your head as his familiar teasing voice accompanies it. His fingers stroke your hair like sunrays through curtains, and his hand seems to find all the spots that beg for pressure. It’s like a balm to your soul, something to relax and fall deeper into as Caleb guides you to the couch, a seat, anywhere. You don't really have the capacity to think at the moment, especially since his hand is scratching the itch in your brain that you didn't know you had in such a delightful way. It’s always the best when your head is in his lap, thick meaty thighs cushioning your skull with his fingers trailing over your cheek, the crown of your head, and through your hair. A blanket over your figure and his voice lulling you to sleep.

Besides, your problems become his problems when he sees you turn into a puddle of goo with a single touch.

The next day said problems are gone, and Caleb looks suspiciously innocent-

</3

[shukillz]

Hii!! Your art is so so beautiful, I would love to ask fem Xav... femKOD or fem Lumiere... or fem!Xavier in hunter uniform.... tysm

thank you soso muchh!! i tried to tackle em all since i love all xavis but…sighs i habe a soft spot for lumiere…..🥰

i hc xavi to be the same ish as a woman she just has boobs 🥰

[starfoamy]

HNNNN OH LORD SHES HOT HOLY FUCK SHSBDJDNDJDNDJD HNNNN IM ACTUALLY GONNA EXPLODE RQ SJDNDCNC

[starfoamy]

I'll probably be inactive for a while after this, (give take 2-3 months???) for personal reasons, so please don't expect much from me.

[xiaomikome]

Soldier, poet, or king?👑

[starfoamy]

YOU DID NOT HAVE TO THROW THAT BRICK AT ME

[starfoamy]

I really liked how detailed your writing was for Two Sides Of The Sea , it was really beautifully written. Will there be part 2 for Two Sides Of The Sea? Or that just it? Please if you think about writing part 2, please dooo.

Hmmm maybe if I can configure a plot!!! That thing took a lot out of me for logistics and reasoning-

[starfoamy]

Two Sides Of The Sea

AN: This is more to address some of toxic sides of idol culture but the whole fic isn’t about toxic culture :p, deal with lore bombs, and try separate opinions from reality. Rafayel was just an unwilling victim of this-

Contents: Non!mc, Idol AU, angst, ooc maybe.

WC: 6k (oh Shit that’s a lot)

It’s just you and me. Or at least I thought. — Being an idol has its perks in a world that grows faster and more demanding with each passing day.

There is the paycheck– comfortable, sometimes extravagant. There is adoration in overwhelming quantities, poured out through cheers, banners, letters, and screens that never seem to turn off. 

There is the quiet reassurance that you are special, that among countless hopefuls you were chosen. Fame brings a sense of purpose, a thrill that surges through your body when the lights rise and the music starts. 

Passion roars across the stages, rippling through crowds and settling into the hearts of strangers who swear you saved them, inspired them through nothing and everything.

From the outside, it looks like a dream carefully brought to life.

A fantasy.

But that is only the version people are allowed to see.

Behind the polished smiles, the flawless performances, and the meticulously edited images lies a reality far less glamorous and far more fragile. 

Every step is monitored.

 Every word is dissected. Every mistake is magnified. The pressure to remain perfect is relentless, unforgiving, and inescapable.

Death threats arrive alongside fan mail. Dating rumors spread faster than the truth ever could. Invasive fans cross boundaries with ease, convinced that devotion excuses intrusion. 

Technology becomes another weapon—AI-generated images and videos created without consent, stripping figures of control over even their own likeness. 

Stalkers wait outside dorms and venues.

 Management, meant to protect and guide, sometimes prioritizes profit over well-being.

And perhaps most unsettling of all are the fantasies people construct.

For some, admiration is not enough. The imagined connection grows distorted, stretching beyond reality into entitlement. There are those who believe the figures on stage belong to them—and only them—as though applause were a contract and loyalty a claim of ownership. They confuse visibility with availability, performance with intimacy.

In doing so, they forget something essential.

The people they idolize are human.

They are living, breathing individuals who once chased a dream with pure excitement. Some still love what they do. Others cling to the remnants of that passion, buried beneath exhaustion and obligation. What was once freedom slowly becomes confinement. What once felt like flight begins to feel like a cage disguised as opportunity.

Their faces become brands. Their emotions, commodities. Their existence is curated, controlled, and consumed.

Too often, they are reduced to objects—handled, judged, and discarded at will.

And the harm does not end with them.

Those they care about are forced into the shadows. Partners must remain hidden, knowing that exposure could invite harassment, threats, or worse. Friendships fade, strained by distance, secrecy, or resentment born from imbalance and fame. Even family becomes a risk—kept at arm’s length not from lack of love, but from fear. Safety demands separation.

Love, in this world, becomes something dangerous.

Yet despite all of this, they continue to step onto the stage. They smile. They perform. They give pieces of themselves to an audience that may never fully see them as people.

This is the unseen cost of being adored.

You liked to think you were different.

Not louder. Not brighter. Just… closer.

You were a lover.

A lover of Rafayel’s.

You were the one he returned to at the end of long nights, when the world had already taken all it could from him. The one who opened the door before he knocked, who knew when to speak and when to simply be there. You cooked without asking, waited without complaint, smiled because he was home. Through easy days and difficult ones alike, you stayed—steady, patient, someone he could trust with the pieces he never showed anyone else.

Some days, he would sink into your arms without a word, heavy and quiet like the sea at dusk. You’d hold him then, feeling his breath even out, letting silence do the work neither of you had the energy to name.

Other days, he was lighter. Inspired. He’d trail behind you, voice warm and animated, talking about melodies, colors, ideas that hadn’t yet found a place to land. His words would spill over your shoulder, into your ear, soft and excited, as if sharing them with you made them real.

And sometimes, he’d grumble—the lingering kind, half-serious, half-amused. Complaints about his boss, his manager, the contract, all the little frustrations that weighed on him. You listened to every one of them, not to fix anything, but because he needed someone who would hear him.

You didn’t need the stage.

You only wanted the moments in between.

But oftentimes, fantasies and reality bled into each other, and not in the way you’d like.

—-

Sometimes, when Rafayel is asleep, he whispers in his sleep—scattered words, frayed edges. He tosses and tumbles, a name that isn’t your own falling from his lips. It’s not a fancy term, no. It’s too melodic to be a singular word.

“Don’t leave me,” he once said to you.

But was that for you?

You’ve learned to ignore it—to ignore the gnawing in your gut and trust him. Perhaps it was the name of a friend; perhaps it was the name of a city in Lemuria. You hum while he slept, combed your hands through his hair, and held on.

You had no reason to doubt his love for you. 

You never did, and he never gave you one. He was nothing but the sweetness of a marshmallow after the golden crust was slid off. Warm and gooey, mild and soft. It was endearing. The way he looked at you with such love, the way he held your hand and asked you with such curiosity about your interests, culture, traditions, everything. He respected every part of you, from the skin on your flesh to the soul deep beneath your vessel. But there was always one problem. He knew everything about you, but you knew nothing about him. He told you about lemuria, but that was only after you caught onto the pearls randomly appearing upon the bed, after he whimpered in his sleep and clung to your body with such force. Everything you knew about him was what you gathered from his facial expressions and actions. He didn't tell you outright he loved seafood. You saw the way his eyes lit up. He didn't tell you that he painted. You only stumbled upon him at midnight, drinking from a glass of water as he froze.

He didn't tell you he didn't like cats. You caught him screaming and jumping nearly 6 feet into the air when he caught sight of one, begging you to shoo it away as he clung to you. Of course it was fine to you though. Could you really call it a relationship if you had to pry answers from someone’s mouth instead of figuring out yourself? Wouldn't that be proof of how insensitive you were? So you smiled, once again. It seems all you’ve been doing is smiling. You smile at home, outside, even to your own parents. Up on that stage, where Rafayel dances and sings, you are not known. You are just another fan, another person in the crowd who grins and cheers for your beloved, someone who wipes his sweat backstage. Who ignores how some of the backstage crew glare daggers into your spine. Someone who Rafayel clings to during breaks, whining about how hard practice was. You were content. —-

“Rafayel?” The smell of spices and seasoning wafted throughout the kitchen. Your form was stationed at the stove as you turned the burner off, the apron fell away and you peeked your head out into the hallway. You heard the door open, but unlike usual, he didn’t call out for you. Rafayel was glowing. A small grin was on his face, his cheeks just tinted a bit rosy. None of his usual exhaustion radiated off him, no. No, he was happy. His eyes were softened, pools of sapphire and sunsets glimmering with adoration and love. “Did something happen today?” you ask. There’s a content look on your face. It’s been a long time since you’ve seen him in such a way, these days he’s spiraling between complaints and sighs of frustration when his inspiration fails to take hold of him. You expect him to hug you, maybe crush you. You expect him to giddily kiss your cheek, or even just skip down to his studio with a joyful phrase. But he doesn't. In fact he doesn't acknowledge you at all. Not in a cruel way. No, he brushes by with a noncommittal hum, acknowledging you. He walks down the hall quicker as if he couldn't bear to see you. You’re left there in the hall, slightly confused as you watch his back. Did you do something wrong?

“Maybe he’s just in one of his states, “ You murmur to yourself. Yeah, that’s probably it.

When Rafayel is caught in a wave of inspiration, he tends to block everyone else out. He stays up at abysmal hours, murmuring incomprehensible words under his breath. Oftentimes, he’ll groan and whine playfully when you drag him to bed.

…. But this time a sinking feeling gnaws in your guts. —

Today, he didn't lean on you like usual. He sits still beside you, languidly leaning back with his arm thrown on the back of the couch, around you but not on you like usual. The movie playing in front of him seems like background noise. For once, you're the one who leans on him, clinging to his arm. He critiques the outfits, the plot, the songs just like usual, but just… differently. There’s a certain shift in the way he says them. It doesn't sound like he’s critiquing the movie. Rather he’s judging everything based on a new lens introduced to him. (You swallow, the coil of dread in your stomach slowly winding up more.)You were the one who suggested movie night, in fact, you were the one who set up the couch, pestered him just like how he used to do for you, and got snacks. But now all you feel like is a bother to him. He could be in his studio, painting. Maybe even practicing his choreography. He could be doing so much without you in the way. He could've been freer, maybe even better if you weren’t around to nag him all the time. “Are you alright?” Suddenly, a warm mass comes down to gently rub your shoulder. Familiar weight comes down to lean on your own shoulder and dual-colored eyes are on you, the movie ignored. His face is laced with worry, soft pout on his lips. “Don't tell me I’m finally annoying to you now, cutie.” You laugh, a startled one filled with relief, burrowing deeper into his embrace, the tension leaking from your shoulders. It seems to please him based on the way he hums, gently pulling you closer to him so there’s no space between you two. The smell of something citrusy and deep fills your lungs, and you practically melt in his embrace. 

“So I take it you’re not mad at me?” He murmurs, his fingers, long and slender, intertwing with yours. You shake your head, “No, just a bit tired.” The corners of his mouth lift, before the warm press of his lips against the crown of your head greets you. Suddenly the room doesn't feel like it would shatter, it feels like the home you’ve lived in for years. —- God you should've taken it back. No. Scratch that. You shouldn't have even come to a party meant for people like him. You shouldn't have worn dresses made for celebrities, you shouldn't have clung to his arm like a renowned idol. You shouldn't have stepped even a foot into spiraling walls of marble and crystal chandeliers. It wasn’t because you were anxious, no. It was because she was there. The name, spoken through scattered syllables and broken sentences . A name you thought only existed in dreams. — Make-up, check. A different pair of shoes, check. Wallet, check. You were going to ask Rafayel to do your make-up, but he seemed busy on the phone. So you steeled your nerves with procrastination and youtube tutorials. It wasn't that bad, but it could’ve been better if Rafayel were the one to do it. When you would go out together, Rafayel would barge into your room without question, sitting both you and him down on the bathroom floor. There were no arguments against him, he would pick up your foundation and suddenly it was his job to ensure you were the most stunning thing in the next mile around. ‘Why not the most stunning thing you’ve ever seen?’ You once asked. ‘You’re always the most stunning thing to me. I’m just proving it to others.’ 

But now you’re in the bathroom, staring at your reflection unsatisfied with your own work. Did Rafayel raise your standards or were you just horrendous at this? You sigh, gathering your courage. He would be proud of you no matter what, he always has been. “Sorry for being slow, I was struggling on how to apply eyeliner properly.” You walk out, the crisp sound of your heels bringing his attention. “Don't worry, we'll be early anyways.” He smiles, a light familiar thing as he approaches you. The back of his hand lingers over your cheek, a light brush like the wind’s caress before retracting. Something’s wrong. And you can’t figure out what. “Cutieee, you should've let me handle that!”“Come on, I’ll put your heels on.”“I mean… we could always just not go….”….You feel yourself shrink, before shaking the feeling away. Don't read too much into it, you’re just overreacting. Rafayel wouldn't do anything that would mean you harm. He’s a naturally upfront person after all. Suddenly the room feels too cold, the space between you too big, and the world before you daunting. “Are you sure you want me at the party?” you ask. It’s a valid question really, no one would respond well to an idol with a woman hanging onto his arm, Especially Rafayel and his nature of pushing away persistent fans. “They’d come after you like wolves after fresh meat.” “That’s silly, we’ll go as friends!” He gives a bright smile, unaware of how your heart sank. As friends. Right. (Usually he would've said it was perfectly fine to skip. That he didn't want to go with stuffy people and even more egotistical idols.) …. Just what was at that party? What was waiting for him?

—- There are so many people here. The car ride to the venue was silent, settled with tension and unspoken words. However no one wanted to break the fragile glass between you too. There was no need to. There was no fight, so there was no reason to argue. So now, once you’ve opened those opulent doors, the music and sight makes you want to sprint and run far away from this impending mess of problems. “Rafayel…” you whisper, looking up at him. You two walk beside each other at a respectable distance for colleagues. You wouldn't say you had a pretty face, but you weren't exactly inherently ugly either. So at least no one would question you. You would just simply say you were a singer. “It shouldn't be that bad,” He says, his eyes flickering to you, a hint of worry in them. Was his usual nature kicking in once again? “Tell me if you get uncomfortable cutie, I’ll wrap things up quickly.” … That should reassure you, but you’ve been with him long enough to catch onto the shift. Usually, you’d be the one persuading him to go to parties, lingering in corners and hanging with him as you held up the disguise of a simple friend. Usually you’d be the one to suggest such things. To force him to stay out of courtesy. But now? Instead of immediately ditching, he stays to ‘wrap things up’ God, you don't want to be jealous. You don't want to seem like one of those obsessive, terrible lovers who hoard time from their loved ones. 

You don't want to remind him of those fans who stay and linger after him, those occasional stalkers who creep and weird him out. Those idols and business collaborators that approach him for ‘small talk’ only to press matters and deals upon him. So you stay silent. He walks beside you, but a fraction too far, the space between you widening with every step. 

You remember when this distance would have been unthinkable.

Somewhere along the way, Rafayel gets dragged into conversation, his usual impassive tone leaking through with exasperation. Didn't he want to be here? You watch from the other side of him, a coincidence you two are so close. 

You watch him smile with thinly veiled patience. Usually by now his eyes would be begging you for the chance to get away underneath the guise of dedication to his practice or an emergency in his home. But he merely endures it, his eyes unfocused.

You swallow a coil of unease gathering in your stomach before you sigh. No one is talking to you, only the man you call yours. It’s to be expected, but here and there, there are some rather unpleasant conversations about you that you overhear. 

Even if it’s a sentence or two, you realize gossip in this industry goes deep. 

And you aren't made for it. “Hey, I’ll be in the restroom for a bit if you wonder, alright?” He nods. Does he want you here?  You wonder. But you don’t let that thought  linger. Instead you briskly turn away, making a firm path towards the lavatory. 

But your thoughts are traitorous. Or are you merely tolerated now? —

You weren’t gone for that long. And yet. You swallow, something heavy settling in your core as you watch your beloved drift farther away. A star who shines so brightly, rising amongst ranks with looks and her voice alone. You know her name. You always had. And yet this time, instead of it being a fragment of his dreams, instead of having the comfort of ignorance, the truth is a thinly veiled blade. It was her name.Her who he whispered and tossed around in bed about. Her who he wrote down in pen sometimes and threw the letter away. Her who you thought was a memory, someone long gone that he still remembered and grieved from the sea. Perhaps she was still the sea to him. Except the sea was home. You feel yourself stare. You want to tear yourself away.

No—

You need to tear yourself away.

But you can't. Because she is simply that stunning. She is simply that beautiful, she is simply… Everything you’re not’ 

A traitorous part of your mind whispers. You choke on your words. You want to go up to him and finally demand everything. What everything is you don't know. You want an explanation, you want consolation. You want. You want. You want to go home. … The realization settles deep in your mind. You feel like a bucket of ice-cold water was dumped over your head, knocking you awake from the feverish haze of belief and delusion you swam yourself into. Everything makes sense, the aching feeling inside of you gone. But instead it’s replaced with dread, thin, needle-like pins of pain that stab and stab until whats left is a thin piece of fabric that is the rest of your sanity. He laughs with her like he does you. He smiles at her like he used to with you. But he does not ghost around her waist, he does not bring her in. And maybe that’s what hurts most. Because he is talking to her like she’s a friend. . Like. Like he’s known her all her life. “Did you know? Apparently the Idol next to Rafayel actually just debuted! I’ve had a look at some of her choreography and gods, the talent!” “Rafayel! Are you seriously afraid of cats?” “Maybe next time, I should bribe you with seafood.” “I never knew you could paint! Maybe I could come over and-” “No, preferably not, it’s too unorganized, I just know it!” … Suddenly the fabric feels too tight, your make-up too cakey, and the room too big. Streams of people walk before you, bumping into each other and you. But your eyes always linger on her, frozen in place. 

Her with her bright, joyful, perfect smile.

Her with her long hair framing her face perfectly. 

Her with rosy cheeks and perfect make up. God, how could you hate her? She’s done nothing wrong.

He’s done nothing wrong. It’s just you watching. Nothing has happened. It’s. Just. 

…. They look perfect together. All the words you had to learn, all the worlds you had to remember… They’ve just been given so easily to her. Handed on a silver platter while you scribbled down small habits in your memories, trying to love him despite the walls he came up with. Perhaps that was why you loved him. Because despite his arrogance, his ego, and unapproachable gait, he was a loveable person. Someone who loved and thought with a burning passion that most could not comprehend. The mystery and process of finding and breaking down walls to love someone is an intimate thing.

A system of dancing around each other, slowly learning each other’s moves just like how those ballroom competitions go. To know someone so intimately and thoroughly you can adjust and predict their movements with ease with no words. 

To look at them with such love, and for them to know what you mean. 

You thought you were the only one with the honor of knowing him

— Days go by, and you are much more quiet. Perhaps you are being petty. You do in fact still do the same, but you don't talk that much anymore. You wait for him until his hours are over at the practice rooms. You cook and laugh with him, but there is a hollowness to your words and eyes, something unraveling beneath the surface. He’s paid more attention to you lately, and it makes you jittery. Just weeks ago he was in another world, drifting past you like currents in the sea. But now he holds your hand and begs you to stay with him in his studio. He gives you samples of his choreography, something about confidentiality. 

He’s much clingier, or are you just touch-starved? You don't know, but you’re afraid to break the fragile illusion of domesticality, the sweet words and tender caresses. 

However, each time you make eye contact, there is a storm in his eyes. one that lurks and slithers with an emotion you don't know. Today you’re in his painting studio, settled in his lap like a coddled pet. You would say a cat, but he’d probably give you a look that spoke of disgust and fear. His thighs bracket yours and his spine curves over your own to hitch his chin over your shoulder. The warmth of his body is comforting, familiar in the way he spoons you in his sleep. His breath ghosts over your neck, and you tense as his own fingers cradle yours over one of his prized paintbrushes. 

Painting is a hobby he hasn't been able to indulge for a while now. He’s very particular about what he uses, how he uses his items, and the texture he’s looking for. There was a time he nearly made a dent in your forehead with a book because you nearly stepped on a paintbrush. 

(He laid you down on the bed and practically begged for your forgiveness soon after, almost as if he, a peasant, had offended a queen of the highest status. You had to spend the evening and afternoon in bed shushing him and telling him you understood. However, he wouldn’t let it go for a week and coddled you to no end.)

“Cutie? Are you still with me?” 

A hand ghosts over your waist, and you jolt.  Quickly you look back at him, nearly knocking into his face. “What’s wrong?” “Nothing, don't worry! Just spacing out-” He tilts his head, narrowing his eyes before he takes his newly wetted paintbrush and sets it to the side, taking favor to your hands. His thumb runs soothing circles over your knuckles, a lazy pattern that you used to find comfort in. Maybe you’re taking it too far. “You can tell me anything, you know?” He murmurs, right next to the shell of your ear. The room is eerily silent before you sigh . “I could say the same for you.” you reply. He pauses, seemingly taken aback before the corners of his mouth lift and he presses a soft, intimate kiss to the side of your head. 

“Alright, just tell me when you’re ready, okay?” 

You nod, compliant. 

And then the day resumes, and your world stops holding its breath. He picks up his paintbrush again and guides your hands across the canvas, changing your messy streaks into purposeful streaks of color. He does not exclude you and your messes. He guides them to become something. 

Your heart clenches.

—

Life has returned to normal, or well. As normal as possible. Paparazzi still crowd him wherever he goes, cameras flash, and he smiles like the perfect idol he is on stage. 

Except now she’s up there with him. Smiling and answering interviews. Like she belongs with him. There already are posts about whether or not they're dating. Intensive evaluations of gestures and eye contact, chemistry and old connections. They’re so through it makes you want to never pick up your phone again, toss it against the wall of your shared bedroom and rot in the comfort of your sheets. But you can't. He would get worried. You sigh, miserably actually. Rafayel had gotten up early today, leaving you alone in the expanse of your bed with a cold side. In all honesty, you would've clung onto him like there was no tomorrow, but in the end the bed was too warm and he was too good at coaxing you to sleep. The sunlight flashes in your eyes, the curtains parted just the slightest, reminding you of how much time you had spent staring at the ceiling in bed. Gods. What is up with you today? Something settles beneath your skin, unsettling and unfamiliar. As if warning you to keep underneath the covers, to bury your head underneath pillows and sleep the day away. 

To leave the phone on your desk ringing with no abandon. So likewise you force yourself out of bed. Paying no attention, you switch ‘do not disturb’ on, leaving your phone on the nightstand as you get ready for the day. When you open your fridge, you realize it’s been getting barren,the plastic cold shelves lonely without the accompaniment of vegetables and what not. You would have to stock up today, you wouldn't want Rafayel only getting take-out. His manager would get mad at him. 

Today is relatively warm, it’s the beginning of May. You leave the coat Rafayel gifted you on the hanger. The door opens with a swift turn and shuts close with a firm tug. You’ll trust the fact that you have a key and your fingerprint to unlock it. The walk over to the store is uneventful, yet you simply can't shake off the feeling of something. 

You don't know what ‘something’ is. 

So you ignore the building pit in your stomach in favor of picking up water spinach and immediately going nope.  God, it’s hard to find something that’s both healthy yet appetizing. (Of course you know you have to cook it but still-)

You spend a few more minutes being picky about the leafy greens, before giving up and searching up a recipe online. This would save you some time at least. 

Once you reach the checkout, it’s. Complicated. You see posters of Rafayel and her all over the place. It’s to be expected after the major campaign they just launched, announcing their collaboration coming up. But still, you can’t help but feel… inferior. A burden to him despite everything. So you turn a blind eye. He wouldn't do anything to hurt you. He wouldn't. —-

Ignorance is bliss for those who experienced the truth. The truth is a blessing to those in ignorance. There is no inbetween. 

—-

“So Mr. Rafayel! How was the shooting process on the newest album you created with the new, rising star, Ms. Hunter?” The lavender haired man gave a polite smile as the woman beside him crossed her legs. Tension runs through the Idol yet the woman doesn't seem concerned. 

The host looks at him with expectant eyes, and it is only then does he shift his expression into a contemplative look. ‘For the cameras’ it always is. To show a part of them that seems perfect in this world of imperfection. 

Frankly, he prefers it more with imperfection, it gives him more to work with instead of the standard of glass skin, serene land, and blandness. 

He prefers you more. He prefers the messy strokes on the canvas, the rumpled sheets after the night, and the warm echoing laughter of yours. 

But unfortunately his job demands more. His contract is a bottomless hole with picky standards. 

It makes his skin crawl whenever he sees the desolate expression on your face. Especially when the ads of him and Ms. Hunter comes up upon the screen. It makes him want to break the contract and hold you in his embrace, to wrap you in a layer of seawater free from the messy sands of the land. But he can’t. That method would sustain neither of you. So he grits his teeth and smiles. The flashes of the camera do nothing to the light in your eyes. The figure of his companion is nothing to the figure of you next to him, squished against his shoulder. Her voice, while pleasant, would not compare to you. So he bears the incessant questions thrown at him, Ms. Hunter at his side seemingly getting more and more uncomfortable. Well at least that makes the two of them. Seriously, why are they asking so many questions about an unreleased album? Did they not sign the confidentiality contract or are they trying to work around it? He sighs, leaning back with a relaxed gait as Ms. Hunter tenses. The people behind the camera stare daggers into the side of his head, the performance slowly reaching its end. Somewhere along the way he zoned out, nodding every now and then. When he gets home, should he pick something up along the way or…. “So, I’ve heard, you and Ms. Hunter are dating now?” The host laughs, almost heartily. But Rafayel’s heart goes cold. He chokes on his spit, sputtering indignantly with a flush on his face, but it’s not of embarrassment, it’s of indignation. 

“I’m sorry, what?” there’s barely veiled rage in his voice, forcibly soothed to remain the same calm person. But up on that screen, it’s cut to make it seem more like a love-struck fool. 

He knows you’re going to watch this.

Ms. Hunter beside him goes pale.

It seems they both came to the same conclusion. You.

Her hand tightens as her smile turns strained. For the last few months they reunited, he’s done nothing but  talk her ear off, gushing about how lovely and beautiful his beloved was. How to spend more time with you, how to evade his contract, and what to get you if he ever returned late. He’s blabbed her ear to the moon and back for you. And now? Everything seems to fall apart. 

“Yes! Your agency announced it just moments ago! They told us this interview would be the big reveal!” The Host gestures over to his manager, Thomas, who freezes in place in sheer horror.” Goodness, son! You must be so surprised! But Congratulations!”

No. Not congratulations.

Rafayel is absolutely terrified. “Is this live?” Rafayel miraculously keeps a steady voice, clearing his throat as Ms. Hunter frantically looks at the time. “Why yes!” …

—

“I have something to take care of.”

The man on the TV scrambles out of the camera’s view, the woman beside him hurriedly making another excuse alongside him. On that screen it seems the ‘happy couple’ is just flustered. 

There is glass on the floor. 

Someone’s hands lay open, as if they were holding something just moments earlier, shocked into loosening their grip. Your hands tremble, your eyes wide at the screen in front of you. Oh. (“Rafayel would never do that to you-”) But the words said on the screen say otherwise, the way they fled like ants discovered. The way the live chat explodes with ‘ I knew it!”, “OMG! They look so cute together!”, “The Idol industry really is getting better!” 

.

Suddenly the screen goes dark, the cool plastic of the remote in your palm as your thumb presses on the off button. 

You remain there, frozen like the paintings and sculptures in museums, left recorded down in cold silence and history. It is too quiet. The once lively thrum of the stove and the hum of the refrigerator gone, turned off at the most convenient time. 

So you were right. —

“Cutie?”

The door rattled like someone was running for their life. Like a child banging on it during a lockdown.

“Where are you? I swear—it isn’t what it looks like!”

Rustling clothes, something knocked over. Footsteps pounded through the hallway, desperate, chaotic. As if he had run a marathon just to get here.

You sat on a stool by the kitchen island, nursing tea that had long gone cold.

“What’s there to explain?” you murmured, bitterness in your voice.

Then a warm weight fell into your lap with a thud.

His head. On your lap.

He was crying.

Pearls with a delicate luminescent sheen, ones that would surely go for hundreds, dropped onto your pants, warm and small, as his hands clutched your waist like he wouldn’t let go.

“Please… please. I’ll talk to them. I’ll fix this. I swear they’ll clear it up—”

Your hand cradled his head, gentle, reassuring. For a moment, relief softened him. You understood. You were here.

But then he looked up, and your eyes were calm, detached—still loving, but colder than he’d hoped. A pool where waves used to ripple.

“It’ll always be there, won’t it?” Your voice cracked.

“I—”

You cut him off.

“Rafayel… reality is never as kind as fantasy, is it?”

The words were quiet, almost a whisper, but they felt like the floor collapsing beneath both of you. He, with all his wit and playful defiance, could find no words to soothe you, or the pieces of your heart.

A pearl rolls onto the floor, clattering softly. One by one, the rest follow.

“The public thinks you two are a couple,” you said gently, each word heavy.

He flinched, unable to hear more.

“If you take it back… they’ll just think you two are shy,” you added.

Silence fell. The weight of the world pressed down on both of you, and for once, words were not enough.

The corners of your mouth lift, but the smile is thin. Strained. 

“Rafayel. I can’t live like this.” No one can. 

You wish you remained ignorant. You can endure silence.

But what you cannot endure is applause for a love that replaced you to please everyone else, knowing your own existence had to be buried to make room.

Rafayel loves someone, yes. But on that side of the world, the person he loves isn’t you.

—

The house is empty. What was once filled with laughter is now filled with dust and unsettled grief.

A man sits on a stool, the canvas in front of him blank. 

A woman, his companion, stands beside him, wringing her fingers. “I’m… I’m sorry Rafayel-” ‘There’s no need to apologize.”

A sigh. “It wasn’t your fault.” She looks at him, pity and guilt in her eyes. “Still. I'm sorry for your loss.” “She isn’t gone, she’s just. Not with me.” Silence blankets the room once more, heavy and oppressive. 

—- There is no villain in this story. Just time. And erosion In this world of bright lights and stages, love is messy. Devotion can never truly be devotion. 

[lyuluuh]

Dragons like flower-filled valleys.

[starfoamy]

time to cry now ig

[scorpyuu]

He’s upset. 🤔😳

Xavier Celestial Yearn

[starfoamy]

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