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࣪ ִֶָ☾.Thinking about Childhood best friend!Phainon who always saw you as a sister. From nagging you about your wounds when you got hurt to chasing boys away with a stick when they got too close to you. You were always like family to him, and he always thought of you as family. So imagine the shock and surprise he got when he saw youㅡon an ordinary day, with nothing special happening or no particular reason, no lessㅡand his heart started to beat rapidly out of his chest. At first he hated himself for it. He'd scold himself for feeling such ways towards youㅡyou were his sister, for god's sake! He actively denied and pushed down every inch of his feelingsㅡburying them so deep that not even a telepath could read them. But time went by and things changed. You had gotten undoubtedly prettier, and he himself couldn't help but admit that there was something more whenever he beat off those boys to 'protect' you. And one day, when he was sitting next to you in front of a bonfireㅡgazing softly at the way the light framed your features, listening to your laugh, echoing across the room and lighting a matching bonfire of its own in his heartㅡhe realized. Maybe, you weren't just a friend to him after all.
A/n: Feeding yall bcs I haven' done so in a long time and I feel bad haha...also this is gonna be the last fic I post for a while bcs I'm gonna take a teeny tiny break haha! Ty for reading this ily <3
Taglist!: @winteryreads @millucid @usagiarchive @lyra-angel-81194 (+let me know if you want to be added!)
waves hih lysa omg SCHOOL HAS BEEN TORTURING ME BY TAKING AWAY MY PHONE BEFORE CLASSES <//3 I HAD TO SUFFER THROUGH THE THOUGHT OF HOW EXCITED I AM TO SEND IN A REQUEST FOR 3HRS I WAS GENUINELY TWEAKING UHUHU but hi hello i’m here now ehhehehe 😈
i’m gonna gooo with bladie blade my beloved (and because . i know zoey’s probably gonna request mydei LOL) and “be with you” by the ridleys :3 SIGNED WITH LOVE PLEASE I CANNOT HANDLE . HEARTACHE UHUHU (i know blade would probably fit . heartache more but erm…)
LOVE YOU LYSA HEHEHHE THE DESIGN ON THE POST IS SO GOOD!! do . dm me if there’s something wrong with the request btw ^^;
hlep this ask is so long SO SORRY
🎙 CONFESSION FOR BLADE! ﹚) FLOWERS AND TOKENS
💿 ゛during a mission on jarilo-vi, blade is entrusted to pick up a bouquet kafka ordered at eversummer florist. little did he know, this small trip to a quaint flower shop would rekindle his need to show appreciation through a hairpin.
♯ Warnings: not proofread fully, expect some grammar mistakes + might be ooc
Lysa’s Notes ◞ lowkey didnt know what to do with this because.... im already running out of ideas BUT THEN BOOM flower shops so yeah. tysm for requesting mila and i hope you like it <33
if you were to tell blade he would find himself a lover in the future, he’d scoff and say, “you’re delusional. i have no time for something frivolous like love.” but, as time went on and he traveled across the cosmos with his fellow hunters, blade eventually stayed long enough in jarilo-vi to meet you.
some soft florist that worked part time at eversummer florist — the quaint flower shop in the perpetually cold planet. blade wouldn’t have even set foot in its vicinity if not for kafka and her perplexing request for a bouquet. blade couldn’t wrap his head around why it had to be him that picked it up when firefly was right there — he’s quite sure the girl would be ecstatic for such an errand. but alas, here he was, looming over one of the corners waiting for you to finish another order before attending to him.
“welcome, your name?” you asked. your eyes immediately looked away when you noticed his own was set in an infuriated glare.
with a huff, blade replied: “order for kafka.”
you blinked once, then twice, before smiling and nodding your head. blade followed your frame as it disappeared in some strange corner in the back and came back out with a fresh collection of soft blues and reds. you laid them on the desk in front of you, and looked back up at him expectantly. blade blinked in confusion as you expected him to speak, but he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say.
as you noticed his furrowed brows, you grabbed some colored parchment from the drawer adjacent to you. then, you finally spoke, “did your friend not tell you how they wanted it to be wrapped?”
wrapped, of course. blade chastised himself for not listening to what kafka had been prattling about earlier today, too busy thinking of their escape route. with a heavy sigh, blade pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers and grumbled out a response. “just… do as you please to make it look appealing. i’m in a rush right now.”
from the corner of his eye, blade watched as you simply nodded and began cutting the parchment in different sizes. every now and then, you’d disappear to get something from the back — returning with a piece of paper and kafka’s signature, different colored ribbons and a sponge to serve as the stems’ stand. blade watched you intently as you arranged the flowers in a decisive manner, reading through the message kafka must have left for you before they arrived.
when you finished, you rolled out the two shades of ribbon for him. “why don’t you pick what color i should use?”
blade raised a brow. “couldn’t you pick it yourself?”
“i could, but,” you looked up at him, a small smile tugged at your lips. “it’d be more meaningful if you picked it.”
he scoffed. blade had no more use for sentiments like giving meaning to a colored ribbon. but, something about the way your eyes lit up with a waiting light, that tug on your lips turned into a patient smile as if coaxing him to come out of the hardbound shell blade had trapped himself in.
in just a few minutes — spent looking you up and down, watching as you nervously shift from one foot to another, too stubborn to not let his choice go unnoticed — blade finally conceded.
a bandaged arm held the fragile ribbon and leaned forward to inspect closely. he heard a quiet squeak from you as his brooding figure bent down, and only now could blade smell the scent of flowers. it was… calming. he realized that even the mara that had struck him with an incurable pain seemed to have calmed down, even if it's just for a moment.
blade raised his head slightly — just enough to catch the way you’re stare is broken and blood rushed to your cheeks. he let another huff of breath, almost akin to a laugh as he stood back up to his full height.
“you can use this one,” he informed. two of his fingers pinched at the corner of a crimson ribbon. blade watched as you nodded and took the roll from his — your fingers brushed slightly with his and blade thinks something must have been in the scent of those flowers. his body felt incredibly hot. suddenly, blade continued to helplessly clear his throat and tug at his collar to let some air in and he found more interest staring at the view of the outside than watching you fumble the knot of the ribbon.
when you finally finished, your hands lingered for a little too long. your fingers threatened to clasp at his wrist before you recoiled in mortification.
“oh i’m so sorry! i don’t know what gotten into me. well, um, thank you for your patronage! please come again—”
“your name.”
“sorry…?”
blade hadn’t meant to ask that aloud. he’s quite sure now that the flowers in this shop had made him delirious to prompt him to ask such a thing when he could just ask kafka when they see each other again. but your eyes widened, lit up with this warm kind of excitement as you mumbled out your name.
he tried it out — felt each syllable roll off his tongue with quick ease.
another huff of amusement escaped him as he turned his back on you and made his way to the exit. he heard another shout for gratitude and for him to return once more, and for a moment, he entertained the thought.
from then on, you’d quietly see him around belobog. near the alleyways, sometimes in broad daylight with a woman with glasses and another with light blonde hair. his little group stood out like a sore thumb in the usually barren streets. and sometimes, he’d catch your stare. you’d quickly look away — but more often than not, you’d shoot him a small wave when you see him nod in acknowledgement in your direction.
and as quickly as he arrived, the strange man left no trace of him.
you’ve tried asking about him around town. the hotel they stayed at, the vendors you saw them talking to, even made your way to the underground to ask if they’d seen him. but they’d all say the same thing with a fearful gaze, “that man is dangerous. stay away from him.”
with a defeated sigh, you returned home with no fruits to reap about the handsome — and apparently dangerous — customer you had almost a week ago. you plopped down face first to your couch and took out your phone. you needed to double check the order for lady bronya. but something caught your eye.
something shiny was atop your dining table. your brows furrowed in confusion. you don’t remember leaving anything out in the open from this morning. so, you stood up and cautiously made your way to the table. as you grew closer, you let out a quiet gasp as the full image came into view.
a hairpin lay there, a note right beneath it. gingerly, you took the pin in your hand — fingers grazing the golden flower that resembled a lotus and the dangling pearls from it. then, your fingers moved to open the note. your heart leaped to your throat when you realized from whom it came from.
‘kafka enjoyed the flowers. she said there was something special about it — i agree.
have this as a token of appreciation. take good care of it.
— blade.’
Cw: Reader is a typical Savannaclaw student, i.e., they have animalistic features (unspecified hybrid) and a slightly rough behaviour.
Wc: 1.2k
Spelldrive tournaments always attracted a huge crowd. Even with so many volunteers, keeping track of all the stalls and guests surrounding NRC was difficult. And this made it all the more easier for visitors to lose things.
Or, in this case, a bunny.
Your ears twitch in anticipation, trying to pick up even the slightest of sounds. Near the tournament grounds, the kid that lost his bunny is crying into your sports jersey, holding the piece of cloth hostage, refusing to let it go until he gets his “little Snow” back.
That sly kid.
They say RSA kids are all goody-two shoes. And yet here you are, getting your warm-up done in the form of tracking down a bunny for some irresponsible little brother of someone from your rival school.
You can’t even wear your jersey to the match now, it must be drenched in his snoot.
The rustling of leaves draws you out of your thoughts. Your tail perks up, stiffening, trying to pick up any further movements.
“The wind around you seems troubled.” A soft, husky voice emerges from your side.
You tilt your head to meet silver hair and ruby eyes, a delicate, fond expression on his face and bandaged hands softly stroking a white bunny.
“Is that the thing I’ve been looking for?”
“Thing? Alistair’s brother would get very mad if he heard you.” The white-haired boy chuckles, his voice as light as the gentle breeze.
Despite the arduous search serving as a warm-up, your muscles feel stiffer than before. Watching the little animal being stroked so gently, nuzzling into his finder’s chest, almost makes you want to…
“Uh I should give Snow back to that boy. He’s still holding my jersey hostage.” You stress on the bunny’s name, gritting your teeth, seething at all the trouble you’ve had to go through before a match.
“If you’re looking for ear rubs, I don’t mind. I’m curious as to what a beastman’s fur feels like as well.”
Caught.
You don’t respond. Instead, you carefully take the bunny from his arms and prepare to return. You hesitate for a second when turning away from him, accidentally meeting his eyes.
And that was all he needed.
“I’ll be here after the match, in the courtyard hoisting the statues of the Seven, waiting.”
You try ignoring it, distracting yourself with all sorts of things. The spelldrive match, the roar of the crowd, that obnoxious kid in the stands cheering you on like he hadn’t cried into your jersey earlier.
But before you know it, your feet have led you back to the courtyard. Your legs feel heavy, like you aren’t in control of them. More than once, your tail tries tangling between your legs, slowing you down further, both hesitant and eager to meet him again.
Funny. All this for some unnamed individual from your rival college?
Your heart drops when you don’t see him there. Relief and longing clashing with each other, confusing your emotions and weighing you down.
You are about to continue walking on, pretending that you are out for a casual stroll, when his melodious voice erupts above you. “Looking for someone?” He chuckles, blowing a leaf from his palm such that it floats down right in front of you, almost touching the bridge of your nose.
“It’s not possible to look for someone if you don’t even know who they are.” Your tail droops down, the tension in your muscles relax.
“You must be searching for Kaedehara Kazuha, a soul who wandered here from Royal Sword Academy. You played well today, [name].”
“Let me guess — I left such an impression on you that you desperately tried to catch onto my name during the match.” You smirk, folding your hands and looking up to where Kazuha was casually resting on a branch, like a cat that climbed up to get a good rest.
“It’s just another melody I picked up from the wind,” he smiles, his legs dangle in the air, swaying with the breeze. “Would you like to come up here? Or would you rather have me come down?”
You climb up instantly in just a few, swift, clean moves, straddling the branch beside him, as if trying to prove something. Kazuha only smiles in response, as free as the breeze, as gentle as feathers settling on the ground.
Your ears twitch in the direction of the fading echoes of the departing crowds, urging you to look ahead. The statues of the Seven are bathed in the evening sun, ethereally shining, standing tall. People are exiting the campus, some excitedly chattering while others stretch after a long day. The sight from up here is breath-taking.
“Inviting an NRC student to hang out… you could get in trouble for that.” You scoff, eyes still fixed on the view, but there’s no bite in your words.
“Accepting a RSA student’s invitation… that makes two of us.” He chuckles, voice airy.
You lazily glance over at him. His unkempt uniform, his messy ponytail, his habit of playing tunes on a leaf, the smooth, easy, poetic words falling past his lips… everything about him seems to remind you of the wind.
He catches you staring at him, but doesn’t comment on it. The lazy up-turn of his lips remain stapled on his face while the two of you sit in an awkward silence.
The evening sun catches in his red eyes, shining with a soft, orange glow. The wind blows through his loose, white jacket and for a minute you fear that he would be blown away with how lightly he’s carrying himself, effortlessly balancing on the wood. The branches rustle above you, a singular leaf floating down and catching in your hair.
Your eyes drift upwards, nose scrunching in response and green-brown obstructing a part of your vision. Before you realise it, Kazuha has moved much closer to you, hand already outstretched and reaching for the leaf on your head.
“May I?” He whispers, soft and careful.
You hum in quiet approval, knowing that he’s not asking for permission to just rid your strands of the leaf.
He starts off slowly, almost hesitant, as his fingers rub the fur on your ears. You have to resist leaning into his gentle touch, biting your lips to keep them in a steady line and gripping tighter at the branch to hold yourself down.
You sit in controlled silence for a while, each second testing your restrain. Kazuha’s fingers rhythmically stroke your ears, smoothing out the hair with delicate precision. His lips part in awe, eyes shining with child-like wonder. He looks like he’s never going to stop.
“Don’tcha think it’s getting late now? Head back to your own school, boy.” Your voice trembles slightly, barely noticeable, but the hesitation, the desperation, is there. And for someone as sensitive to emotions in the wind as Kazuha, it was painfully obvious.
You swat his hand away, instantly regretting the unnecessarily instinctual force applied, but try to gather yourself to not let the cracks widen.
“Do you think we will meet again?” He asks, hopeful, star-struck.
Weird, why not ask for your magicam? Although, on second thought… yea that might feel a little out of character for him. The thought makes you smile for some reason.
A gentle breeze rustles the leaves overhead, easing the tension and carrying the hope and tenderness left unsaid along with it. Kazuha could pluck it out and read the untold emotions like poems on a leaf, understanding, optimistic.
both mods not only are busy right now, but also mentally drained. there is a high possibility that november's applications will not be available as we'll try to arrange our schedule and perhaps even decide the future of this network.
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Summary: Flins’ has never had an ice cream before, so you take it upon yourself to introduce him to the delicacy.
A/n: Omg guys user kinbedo writing an actual, proper, no hidden meanings or intentions, no warnings, not a single trace of even mildly disturbing / dark content, romantic fluff fic??? Not even yearning?? Straight up fluff??? With a heavily implied relationship instead of leaving it with a platonic interpretation???
(this is over-exaggeration btw, I do write fluff, just not very often 😭 wrote a Hokusai fluff fic a while back but the fandom is so niche it’s not even worth mentioning help)
wc: 801
Tw: none!
pure fluff <3
Spoilers for Flins’ anecdotes and voice-lines.
— ♡
“Ice cream?”
“Yes, surely you’ve heard of them at least?”
Flins hums, thinking and then nods. “Yes, I have seen a few children around Nasha Town indulge in them as well. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t curious.”
You are sitting atop a parapet near the lighthouse, dangling your legs with the wind. “Then shall we head to Nasha Town and get some?”
‘Right now?”
“Right now.”
Flins smiles at the thought of this being a date, immediately nodding to show his approval. “Then let’s head out.” He offers you his hand, which you happily take, pushing off the parapet like a giddy child being promised their favourite treat.
Nasha Town bustles with activity, per usual. But you don’t linger too long, opting to buy a few different flavours of ice cream and heading out to eat them. You place them in a box of dry ice — something you prepared before setting off. If Flins was to get a taste of the sweet delicacy, you might as well expose him to various different flavours to help him pick a favourite.
(But will he even be able to taste all of them properly? Or will the coldness numb his tongue before he even gets to try the second flavour? Oh well, that might as well be a good reason to come back for more.)
If you walked all the way back to the Cemetery, the ice cream would melt. So you decide to find a comfortable hill overlooking both Nasha Town and Hiisi Island. Somewhere midway through the path, the giant crane at Clink-Clank Krumkake workshop clatters while lifting scraps. Despite being so far away, you feel like you can still hear the loud clattering of the machine from the last time you visited Aino.
Flins sighs at the sight, scrunching his eyebrows. “I nearly forgot that Miss Ineffa was planning on hosting another session. I need to find a good distraction beforehand to ensure that Miss Aino's attention gets diverted long enough for me to get off the hook.”
“Why not pay attention in class instead?”
“That would be a vexing ordeal.” Flins pouts like a little child and it makes you laugh.
“Well, how about you try these first and then think about everything else later?” You push the box to sit between you both, the cold permeating off its surface.
Flins hesitantly pulls his lantern out, ready to absorb the ice cream the way he does with his emergency rations. You tut in response, frowning.
“What if they’re too cold?” He tries justifying.
“It’s icy cold, but still tastes good. At least try them before deciding they aren’t edible enough.”
“...Fine. Which one shall I have?”
“Hmm how about starting with some classics? Either vanilla or chocolate.”
“Vanilla or chocolate?” Flins asks, surprised. “Those sound surprisingly normal.”
“Even if you find the taste a little dull, you won’t be able to deny that they are rather refreshing.”
Flins carefully picks up a cone and peels apart the wrapper. The pale texture tells that he has picked up a vanilla. Hesitantly, he licks at the cream, eyes widening a little at the sweet taste. “Oh.”
“What do you think?”
“Hmm it’s alright.”
“Would you ever like to try more?”
“If it’s with you? Absolutely.” The corners of his lips twitch upward, eyes directed at the cone in his hand, unfocused. Truth be told, Flins didn’t quite fancy the dessert. But he loved peaceful moments like these — sitting on the grass with beautiful scenery, you beside him, doing whatever you preferred.
You pick up a cone from the box, thanking the dry ice for keeping it cold and in-tact for you to savour.
Hiisi Island is truly a sight to behold. It already looks stunning during the day, you wonder how much prettier it could get under the soft, moonlit sky. Perhaps you and Flins can have a late night expedition to Frostmoon Enclave sometime. Lady Lauma shouldn’t mind too much (hopefully).
The last time you visited the Lady Moonchanter, she offered you some freshly picked fruit. You still remember the feeling of biting into the plump skin, the juice trickling down your chin, delight filling your senses. The people there really seemed to like their fruits, and you couldn’t even blame them — they were delicious.
It gets you thinking, “Sweet fruits can make for a refreshing treat. Besides, walking to Nasha Town each time might be a hassle…” You prod your chin, gears moving in your brain as you try coming up with a feasible idea.
“Alright, it’s decided.” You stand up, stretching your arms and dusting the stray grass and dirt from your clothes. Flins follows your movements with a curious eye. You smile at him, soft and mischievous.
♱ | during a stormy night, flins invited an unexpected guest for tea, not knowing their conversation would foreshadow his relationship with you.
𖤝 including ⠀! ⠀flins ◟ 𖤝 warnings ⠀! ⠀mentions of death, alcohol, reader is mentioned to have grown up in mondstadt and has a vision, no beta we die like guizhong
flins once encountered a strange wanderer during a stormy night. she was another traveler who had lost her way and stumbled in flins' graveyard. if not for his kind actions, the elderly woman would not have survived the night.
she told him over a cup of tea once, “people are like mosaics of those they encounter in their finite time on this land.” flins raised a brow, curiosity overtook his features as he smiled and urged the woman to elaborate. with an appreciative hum and a smile of her own, the woman continued. “even if they become strangers, a piece of them will remain — a fragment taken to the grave.”
he paused in his action of taking another sip. discreetly, flins took a peek at the woman in front of him and hummed.
“what a curious view on life, madam,” flins praised. he set his teacup down, crossed one leg over the other and dared to argue with the woman’s views. “but will that fragment be a guaranteed remembrance of something beautiful? what if, instead of a beautiful flower, you are handed a knife? ah, pardon me, i’ve made quite the grim comparison.”
the woman only chuckled. “naive gentleman, that’s precisely the point!”
“to get hurt? feel the pain?”
“no, silly boy, to remember.”
flins chuckled. it’s been quite a while since he’s been treated as a child. such a small, insignificant choice of words had left him in his thoughts. somehow, those two words alone landed strongly inside his heart. he tilted his head, reached over the table to pour himself another cup of tea as his new — and surprisingly wise — guest chuckled under her breath. then, she heaved a sigh. her half-lidded gaze found their way to a nearby window, where the rain drop pelted the foggy glass. if you squinted hard enough, a pair of misty eyes would gaze back — flins, as calm as ever, explained that his neighbours must crave the warmth of companionship and to pay them no mind.
with a shake of her head, the woman looked at flins dead in the eye. “i am going to die soon, young man. i cannot say for certain that i have no regrets — but at least i am sure that i have remembered all the faces i love and have loved.”
“even if they gave you an unwanted piece of themself?” he asked.
she smiled. “stubborn brat. they could have given me a patch of dirt and i would have found meaning in it. because that is the point. no piece or fragment of someone has meaning until you give it one.”
flins, in turn, chuckled. the exhale of his laughter disbelieving. in his mind, he truly couldn’t help but be amused by humans and their intricate minds.
the following morning, as the elderly woman predicted, she had passed away quietly in her sleep. flins had taken a short trip to nasha town to inform his subordinates of the current predicament in his hands and asked for a few days off. and in such a short amount of time, flins procured a small funeral for his unexpected guest with a small bouquet. he deeply regretted not acquiring a variety that could portray the woman’s colorful mind, but inside his heart, he knew the woman would have been happy knowing that she could peacefully rest where she had her last cup of tea.
people are a mosaic of those they encounter.
flins carried that mantra with him ever since. out of human sentiments, or in honor of her legacy — he didn’t quite know himself.
and only now, as he’s watching over you try to communicate with his… strange neighbours, does he fully understand what the elder had meant.
you were another passerby — another forgettable face amongst the bustling patrons in the flagship. but something about you felt a little strange. flins knew it, from the moment the lamp linked to his cape began to flare up, he would spend the night chatting away at your side.
you were great company, he concluded after the seventh round of the roulette game — he was pleasantly shocked at your tolerance for alcohol, until he realized you grew up in mondstadt. you’d sing about your childhood garden with blooming cecilias, how you entertained adventurers-to-be in their expeditions, when you’d assist the knights of favonious, and the drinks you’d share in angel’s share to end the night.
there was this glow to you that reminded flins of thunder. sudden, but oh so natural in this world.
when you decided to flip the script on him — finally ask for his story, having grown tired of doing all the talking — flins was surprisingly… flustered. your eyes reminded him of the moon, his fateful confidant during work hours, and now only had he realized how beautifully dazzling they were up close. or how you’ve propped your chin on a closed fist, your lips tugged into an expectant smile while your free hand accepted another round of drinks with a hearty laugh.
was this how falling in love felt like? flins wondered.
a chuckle escaped him. as the familiar sting of alcohol ran down his throat, he straightened his back and began to tell you a story. not about him, no, flins would find a way to deviate every little topic so it would be about you. but you remember the first story he ever told you: of a woman who got lost but eventually found her way home by the moon’s guiding light.
that meeting happened almost a year ago, and now, you have become a familiar face in flins’ home. and each time you catch a glimpse of fleeting wisps of his neighbours or when you leave out fresh bouquets at every tombstone, flins began to recall the elder’s words once again.
people are a mosaic of those they encounter.
flins, with a lovesick smile on his face, tugged you closer by the waist. his nose pressed to the juncture of your neck as he chuckled. soon, he felt your fingers intertwine with his hair. you chuckled at the ticklish feeling, urged him to stop peppering your skin with featherlight kisses, but flins didn’t relent.
“you’ve seem to have taken a liking to my peculiar neighbours. should i be afraid that i may have to split your attention?”
you laughed at his jest (but it wasn’t really. flins often feared that you’d find the ghosts littered around the lighthouse far more entertaining than him — he’d taken it upon himself to amp up his grandiose acts in storytelling to keep your eyes from straying to the window). “what a silly idea. my eyes could only ever find you, flins.”
it was flins’ turn to laugh now. he didn’t say another word and simply basked in your loving presence — fingers tangled in his hair as he listened to the quiet rhythm of your steady breath.
you’ve grown fond of the ghosts and in turn, they’ve grown fond of you, too. flins had seen it with his own eyes how they hovered over your side during your visits, curious eyes watched your every move as you placed down yet another new bouquet to replace the ones that had wilted. one time, a younger ghost had followed you down to his basement and watched you use your vision to preserve the already dying flowers and taped them to a journal’s page.
or when you started using his own jokes against his subordinates, much to their chagrin. they don’t have the heart to tell you that they don’t find them funny — the beaming smile on your face was enough to make any bystander pause and admire, after all.
and how could he forget how you’ve started sneaking up on him after flins showed you his little trick with his trusted lamp. more often than not, flins would end up catching your hurling figure behind the door when he comes home — he’s absolutely enthralled with the way your face scrunches up with a smile and the kiss you press on the side of his lips.
“welcome home, flins.” you’d greet, still snug in his arms as you nuzzled your nose to his cheek.
he’d chuckle and adjust you in his arms with a quick throw. you’d laugh right in his ear, and flins would hear his own erratic heart or the way blood rushed to the tips of his ears — you’d notice it immediately and tease him for it.
flins had always found humans so fascinating. as a fae, he had once lost all meaning to his existence. if not for the lightkeepers who kindly lent him their light, flins would not be here, in his home, with you on his lap as you recalled your day. people truly were such a magnificent work of art.
flins was assured knowing that he had already left a fragment of himself in your heart without realizing it.
Part 2 Featured song: Solas x Interstellar by Gabriel Albuquerque
Summary: Amidst the lively atmosphere of the festival, you and your companions have an important mission to carry out. The same evening, you meet two different people who felt eerily similar to each other, and you aren’t sure what to believe anymore.
A/n: This is basically my version of the scenes involving Nina, Chris and Charioce from “Rage of Bahamut: Virgin Soul”, but with Kinich. The anime’s dance scenes were too good to be captured well in words unfortunately, so apologies if the wording feels awkward <//3
Proofreading this at 1am because yes.
wc: 2.8k words
Warnings: none!
— ♡
‘Kinich’
Featured song: Elan by Secret Garden
The sun dips low over the horizon, orange hues fading into the early traces of twilight. The streets bustle with activity. The smell of freshly baked buns and fruity candies waft through the air.
You walk slowly, savouring each moment, eyes glittering with fascination. In the back of your mind, your companions’ words echo, trying to disrupt your peace.
“Be back on time. We have an important mission to carry out.”
Why would they even want to conduct their missions on a festival? Shouldn’t this one day be free of troubles and full of fun?
…Never mind, you do understand why the infiltration mission has to be carried out tonight. After all, it’s only when people are crowded and distracted that such risky endeavors carry a higher chance of success.
You resolve to enjoy the limited time you have. When the sounds horn, indicating the start of the Ball, you’ll have to head back and change into formal wear. At least, till that happens, you could indulge yourself in the fleeting pleasures of the festivities.
“A sweet bun, please! Without the extra cream.” You say politely, preparing to hand over the change to the old lady in exchange for her baked goodies. Your eyes scan the items on display. Perhaps you should buy something for your companions too?
“You seem very familiar with this. Any recommendations?” A soft, masculine voice sounds beside you. You don’t even know if he was talking to you, but you instinctively tilt your face to meet him only to find his eyes already on your form.
“Oh, me? I do come from around these parts so yeah, I guess. As for recommendations… it depends on whether you prefer sweet or salty. Oh there’s these with spicy fillings as well.” You point out, but you feel his gaze linger on you instead of following your finger.
This is… odd. His long, loose clothing completely hides him. The black hood almost makes him seem like a thief, with only a few green strands falling through it. But just one look at the material, coupled with his funny, slightly tinted glasses, is enough to say that the fabric must cost more than the daily wages of some of the workers around these parts and the thicker, more expensive lenses are far beyond the reach of any ordinary person.
“I’ll take whatever they took, and the one they recommended, thank you.”
“Without the extra cream?” The stall lady confirms, to which he nods politely, giving her extra change and walking on before she could retort. The woman turns to you with the extra change, and you awkwardly slip backward, not wanting to take responsibility for that man’s actions.
You rush to catch up to him, comfortably sliding in beside him and matching his pace. “You’re awfully generous. People like you could easily be taken advantage of.” You try sounding casual, but the scrutiny in your tone slips past anyway.
“Is that so? Well, why don’t you accompany me and ensure that I stay safe then, hm?”
“Maybe if I get treated.”
“In exchange for being my guide this evening, all your costs will be on me.”
“You have a deal! Err…”
“Kinich. And your good name is?”
You state your name, not letting your guard down just yet. His name did sound like a commoner’s but the fabric of his clothing was still something to bear in mind. After all, if he didn’t afford it himself, he could be a thief. And being affiliated with a thief was the last thing you wanted added to your plate right now.
You walk past multiple stalls with Kinich, relishing his companionship. This was a welcome change compared to the constant nagging of your companions and their awfully risky pursuits. He seemed willing to keep up with his end of the bargain, willingly buying for you the trinkets you picked out. When he thought you weren't paying attention, he picked out oddities for himself, none of which seemed to match his personality. (Were they gifts for his own companions perhaps?)
The sound of the folk music and tapping feet attract your attention as you make your way over to the centre. Multiple people surround the flames, swaying in circles. Some have formed small groups on the side, tapping their feet to the beat of the music, while couples twirled around, the smock-frocks of young women puffing outwards.
You watch in awe, itching to join in.
“Are you familiar with the local dance?”
“No, I’ve only watched it a few times but I’ve never tried it myself.”
“Do you want to?”
“Huh?”
Kinich smiles gently, grabbing your wrist and pulling you towards the dancing crowd. You try resisting, dragging your feet to slow him down but he’s far stronger, seamlessly holding your hands above you as he starts mimicking some of the common moves.
You let him take the lead, awkwardly trying to stay a few feet away to avoid tangling your legs in his. But he grabs your wrist and tries getting you into rhythm too, letting his enthusiasm influence you.
He’s a good dancer — fluid movements, energetic steps and an expression that tells that he’s genuinely having fun. It doesn’t take too long for you to open up, freely swaying alongside him.
The musicians seem to get more eager, the tunes feeling a little louder and a lot more energetic. The world around fades, the lamppost lights blurring with the stars overhead. The feeling of his hands guiding your movements, his laughter, the cheers of the crowd drive you until you’re out of breath and laughing along with him.
You’re only pulled out of your trance when a distant horn sounds, followed by the heavy canter of horses. Everyone turns around, gathering on each side of the road to admire the heavily decorated chariots heading towards the castle.
It’s time for you to leave.
You turn around to make an excuse to leave but Kinich has already disappeared, the lingering warmth on your skin being the only evidence that he wasn’t a hallucination.
‘Malipo’
Featured song: Solas x Interstellar by Gabriel Albuquerque
The outfit feels stiff and stuffy. The buttons reach so high up they feel like they’re going to strangle your throat. The cuffs of your sleeves feel tight and heavy, like it's made of metal instead of fabric.
You open your mouth to complain about it, but refrain from it when you feel even the horse of the carriage stare daggers into the back of your head. You’ve already made multiple adjustments to your clothes and delaying any longer could bar you from entry to the Ball.
Gosh, is this what aristocrats have to wear on a regular basis?
You take in a long, deep breath and suck it up, replaying the plan in your mind to distract yourself from the uncomfortable outfit.
Thanks to one of your acquaintances being a royal guard, you’ll be able to slip onto the castle grounds through the front door. Act all ‘high and mighty’ (but don’t overdo it) to avoid suspicion. Then, if possible, ask his Highness, Malipo, for a dance to distract him, while the others sneak deeper in to retrieve the holy relic. Hidden among the fireworks show will be your signal to leave unnoticed, before the castle assistants greet, or rather, verify each guest personally.
You seem to have been one of the last to arrive, as the gates close shortly after you enter. You expected the place to be buzzing with activity due to the festive atmosphere, but scrutiny clouds the air.
“Have you heard? The new ‘prince’ was apparently a poor civilian before the guards noticed his similarities to the late prince.”
“Does that mean the rumours of a new prince are true? That the original one fell to his illness?”
“Is this Ball meant to celebrate the prince’s recovery over his illness, or is it a facade to introduce the new royal?”
All of this is new to you. There was no news of this whatsoever among the common folk. Were the ordinary people considered so insignificant that they weren’t even told about the prince’s illness? Or were these aristocrats just throwing baseless rumours into the air to throw shade at the next heir?
You need to keep your ear to the ground and formulate an opinion based on what everyone else is saying to not stick out.
The atmosphere is stifling. Criticism and scrutiny float around in every corner of the huge hall. The aristocrats are far more divided than you expected them to be. You feel the pressure, the responsibility, resting on your shoulders.
Carefully, you move across the hall, greeting a few people when you make eye-contact, a demure facade.
The sound of clinking glass pulls everyone’s attention towards the stairs. A butler stands at the end, a wineglass and a small spoon raised in his hand. Soon after, a figure in a white suit emerges from the upper corridor. His long, red cape flows behind him.
Some women quickly gather near the throne, bowing down on either side of it, as Prince Malipo takes his place on the seat. He doesn’t even grace the noble girls with a second glance. Bored, he opts to look straight out through the castle’s large windows, eyes set skyward.
“What are they…” You mumble.
A young lady beside you seems to catch your words and she clicks her tongue. “Right? What are they doing? I would never prostrate myself for a man with a questionable background. Even my mother is taller than him, tch.”
Oh, you realise, they are waiting for him to pick one of them as a dance partner.
You suck in a deep breath, bracing yourself for what you have decided to do next.
It’s too bold.
You know it, your logical side keeps screaming it too. But, at the same time, you can’t see yourself bowing and waiting like the others either.
You move forward in a few, long strides, standing right in the middle of the bowing ladies, and right in front of the throne. A confident smile graces your lips, as you extend your right hand, waiting for Malipo to take it.
A few audible gasps sound behind you. People shuffle, murmuring, whispering. Bewildered and disgusted. Some of the women tilt their head upward to look at you, shocked and raged. Malipo turns his head, eyes wide in shock.
The audacity.
He thinks. You are thinking the same thing. Everyone in the room is.
And yet, he pushes himself up and takes your hand, guiding you to the centre. His hands easily find your hips, guiding your own over his shoulder. His gaze is intense, like he’s planning on ripping your soul apart if you try anything else that brazen. And yet, it’s like he’s daring you to show him what else you can do so fearlessly.
The music starts suddenly, a little delayed than it should be. A few members of the band mess up the beginning notes, the sounds clashing uglily before coming together.
Malipo effortlessly guides you through the dance, like he has done this a million times before. You feel like you have stepped on his foot at least a few times now, but he doesn’t even wince to show it, maintaining his blank expression. He is more in control of your body than you are.
His hands feel too familiar when he holds yours, intertwining with your fingers as he sways, not paying attention to the tunes in the background. The familiarity catches you off-guard, electricity shooting up your veins, threatening to make you move more energetically.
Threatening to make you dance like you did with Kinich.
You follow his movements in a trance, letting him guide you, trying to maintain your ‘dignified’ expression.
The shattering of glass brings you back to reality, and you quickly turn your head in the direction of the sound.
It came from the direction of the chamber where the holy relic is stored.
Oh no… the mission!...
Your legs move on their own, trying to run straight to the source, but Malipo drags you back and you clash against his chest, the impact knocking the breath out of your lungs. A few steps in front of you, the chandelier comes crashing down. The exquisite glass breaks into a million pieces, a few flying shards pricking your skin.
You start panicking, breathing heavy and eyes blown wide. This isn’t part of the plan…
“An infiltration!” A guard runs into the hall, panting, their armour already in tatters. “It’s the abyss.”
Screams erupt in the hall, echoing off the walls. Some people try running up the stairs, as far away from any entrances as possible. From the corner of your eye, you notice smoke rising outside the castle walls. A distant wail sounds and you turn your head to see the town blazing in orange flames.
This is not a drill. The abyss has attacked.
You free your wrist from the prince’s grasp, rushing to the chamber where the holy relic is stored. You need to retrieve it before it falls into the wrong hands. Neither the abyss nor someone trying to gain from the chaos can be allowed to even glance upon the relic.
You push through the panicked crowd, rushing out the giant doors of the hall and into the veranda. The agitated, cold breeze of the night sends shivers down your spine. You feel the prince follow closely behind you and don't know how to shake him off. The royal guards will come looking for him soon, and that could hinder your work here, or worse, you could end up on death row.
“Why are you following me? Shouldn’t you get somewhere safe?”
Malipo raises an eyebrow. “I need to make sure you don’t do something reckless.” It’s the first time you are hearing his voice and yet… it seems so… familiar.
You huff and turn around. There’s no time to lose. You can’t dwell on it. You need to ensure the relic is safe. You scan the area carefully, ensuring there aren’t any abyss mages or lectors lingering around, before moving swiftly and quietly. Malipo follows you closely, walking as casually as though he were out on a leisurely stroll in the garden.
The closer you get to the holy relic, the more uneasy you feel. There are signs of a battle around the area — a crossbow and leftovers of smoke bombs left amidst the rubble and scratched pillars. The familiarity of the weapon and the markings on the wall make you wince.
Your companions have already been here. And from the sight, you can’t determine if they made it out safely.
The holy relic sits on a silk cushion, emitting a soft glow under the moonlight. It’s even more magnificent from up close. Thank god it’s still safe.
“So, you were after the relic.”
You stiffen up, nearly forgetting that you were with the prince.
He only hums in amusement, waiting for you to take your next move. You can’t even tell what he’s thinking.
An explosion sounds somewhere above you and the ceiling starts collapsing. You feel yourself be pushed into the chamber, and take your chance to snag the relic off its cushioned vessel. You pick up a piece of the now-broken pillar and aim for the glass window, preparing to make your exit.
From the direction of the collapsed ceiling, you hear Kinich call your name, followed by pained coughs. “Run.”
What’s he doing here?!
Just as you’re about to rush in the direction of his voice, a hand grabs your forearm, pulling you back. You turn your head to come face-to-face with one of your companions. Blood runs down the side of their head and fresh scars bloom all over their bare arms.
“What are you doing? We need to get out now.”
“But — Kinich —”
“The guy from earlier this evening? There’s no way he would be here. Use your brain and get moving.” They growl, tugging at your arm and pulling you out.
You glance at the rubble one last time.
They’re right. There’s no way Kinich would be here. But you heard his voice — you’re sure it was his voice.
There’s also the rumours about the prince’s true origins to keep in mind. That familiar feeling from when you danced with the prince was unmistakable.
Are they the same person? But there is no way… not when Kinich looked like a thriving young boy with a gentle heart and energetic spirit while Prince Malipo seemed cold and indifferent.
APOLOGIES FOR BEING LATE!!! both mods kinda just forgot because we're not used to being... mods yet <//3 EITHER WAY...
APPLICATIONS FOR STELLARCHIVES ARE NOW OPEN ! please carefully read our RULES to check your eligibility to join. once you're done with that, make sure you reblog our DEBUT POST and follow this blog, then head on over to the FORMS to fill out the application!
acceptances of new members are announced on OCTOBER 10TH. do note that applications close on the same day!
regarding our ongoing SWEET TASTE OF REVERIE! event...
applicants are given a start on it if they wish to participate! your work is still very much appreciated if you don't pass this round's applications ^0^ please read the participation rules beforehand!
in which our beloved train passengers get j*bs as... ice cream shop workers? (well, we have to get money to spend somehow... right?)
welcome to SWEET TASTE OF REVERIE! not only @stellarchives' first event, but one that is exclusive for writers, artists, and editors alike! here, both mods (or in this case, "managers") will act as your guide, and show you how to properly ask your customers what they'd like to order~
first off, ask if they want a cone (writing), a cup (art), or a bowl (edits)!
here is our selection of flavors and toppings! ☆
now let's assemble the final order with manager stelle! for manager stelle, the order she came up with was a cone of strawberry ice cream with brownie bites and cherries for customer mydeimos!
EVENT PARTICIPATION . . . ☆
01. only members are able to participate in the event! future applicants whom also wish to join, you are given a head start even before our applications open. have fun ^^
02. for written works, the minimum word count is 200. for video edits, the minimum time limit is 10 seconds. (none for art and picture edits, of course). there's no maximum for either of them, go wild!!!
03. again, all works must align to the network's rules and guidelines.
and lastly . . . remember to put a small note along with the ice cream, saying #storeverie! (within the first three tags of the work is preferable.)
☆ OUR EVENT MASTERLIST ! ☆
this "temporary j*b" is rather short, only lasting for a month. from SEPTEMBER 15TH TO OCTOBER 15TH! so yayy, our participants won't be empl*yed for too long 😛🍨
we encourage participants to use this opportunity not only to support the network, but also to connect with other creators in the same space! as it's our first month with all these talented people as "og members", we hope this bond between us is constantly cared for 🌷 of course, you're not obliged to join if you wish not to <3
have a great time in empl*yment and getting paid! you'll have fun, promise ^^
´ˎ˗ ` 𓆩⟡𓆪 summary, apricity (n.) — the warmth of the sun on a cold winter day.
[ 0.5k words ]
notes, first fic in quite some time. i'm trying to gather my bearings, sorry for this simple no-effort fic.
“Flins..! Hey, wait up!”
Flins, upon realizing that you were nowhere close to where he was, slowed his pace to fall back in step with you; not that you’d noticed. And then you sneezed lightly as a snowflake fell on your nose and melted away, shivering from the biting cold.
He hummed. “You’re cold. Why would you want to join me tonight if you were only going to freeze?” You shivered once again, the cold burning your cheeks and fingers. He noticed that, too. So, he sets his lantern down. Takes off his outer jacket and wraps it around you. Now you look like a penguin, and your cheeks are rosy, puffed up — it’s cute. He quietly thinks so. But you are grateful nonetheless. It’s not nearly as cold now.
Oh right, he’d asked you a question.
“Huh? Oh. Why did I want to join you… Cause I haven’t seen you in a while… you’re busy all day with whatever you guys with the Traveler are up to…and then you have duty at night… so! I decided to come with you. …I’d… like to spend time with you, anyway,” You watched as he picked up his lantern again and continued walking next to you, and you swear his gaze flicked back to your form a couple of times. “You never make time for me anymore.”
He wished he hadn’t made you feel like that, but oh well. “My apologies. I would have made sure to have spent a little more time with you, but I've been more busy lately.” Silence. “Though I have some time in an hour or two.”
You looked up at him, but his gaze was trained on the path in front of him. So you looked back down, too. …And there was something to be said.
“It’s too cold, Flins.”
His lips upturned almost imperceptibly at your words. “Do you want my scarf then, too?” The way he asked seemed like he was amused by you, but he was genuinely asking. Cause, you know. He didn’t want you to catch a cold. “I wouldn’t wish for you to catch a cold, so you can have it—”
And within the next moment, you were bundled up in his scarf too. Even cuter.
Adjusting his scarf on you, you looked back at him.“Stop that…!” You complained; you felt his gaze burn into you from behind. He muttered an apology. Did you look that silly? …Probably did!
He sighed. His life, this life, was very cold. Very lonely, one that he knew he was comfortable treading alone. And in the end, he would be alone forever. This life was cold. But even amidst the winter that was his everyday, you were the sun. And he enjoyed this apricity.
Wrapping his arms around you, he basked in his sunlight, however transient.
Who would have thought that the shades of time, Istaroth herself would grow fond of someone? A normal human being, at that.
One could only wonder, what she saw in you that earned her interest. nor did one could answer how you gained her attention. After all, how could a mortal hope to comprehend the thoughts of the divine.
Though the reason may remain unknown, the affection she shows is certainly genuine.
You may question her reasons for the affection, but her answer always remains the same. Words like: "Though fleeting, Time too longs for the warmth of love." or "Loving someone doesn't need a reason, does it?" becoming the answer to your questions.
You were living proof that Time herself could give and receive love. But through time, you would wither. Though Istaroth could bend time, she could not rewrite your fate. For even Time cannot defy the laws set by the heavenly principles.
Powerless before your weakening body, her strength feels insignificant. Though she possesses the power to return you to your youth, she is too weak to defy the heavenly principles—too weak to protect the ones she loves.
Your final resting place, now lush with trees that have grown over time. Istaroth still visits now and then, to reminisce about you.
YEAY surprise2 there's also a phainon one xoxo (and it's in the form of a letter)
tw : might contain spoilers from 3.5/3.6 version.
A verse lost to time, whispered again for @stellarchives 's sweet taste of reverie event — a cone of chocolate with biscoff.
Always missing you
To my dear Phainon,
how are you? I hope this letter finds you, wherever you are.
It's been a long time since you disappeared. I remember when I first found out you were gone. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't find you.
Until I realised there were no traces of you, as if you had never existed in the first place. I refused to accept it. I searched for you far and wide, asking the other heirs if they remembered you—remembered the deliverer, remembered... Phainon. But your name appears to be unfamiliar to them. The only deliverer they remember is the trailblazer.
I never want to accept this change. But what can I do? You're gone now, and I can't even find you. So, once again I repeat this cycle—but this time, without you.
I've learned to come to term with the fact that you're gone. But here I am, writing this letter for you. Maybe a part of me still believes that you exist somewhere.
And if you're wondering, the other heirs are doing fine.
In fact, They seem happier now. The black tides are becoming less frequent. The lives lost to them are fewer than any previous cycle.
Though, I do have one regret. A wish I desperately hoped would come true. My wish is that...
you're still here with me. please, I'm not asking for much. Please be safe and please... come back.
contains: 1.2k wc, waiter!mydei, reader is first year college and just finished midterms, reader is also a big massive loser who embarrasses themselves every 5 seconds, modern au
notes from zoey ୭˚. ᵎᵎ — i literally wrote all of this in the span of an hour after waking up at . 3:30 am 😅 pls waiter!mydei has been stuck in my head since my friend started spamming abt a cute waiter in our gc . mydei brainworms took over and now here we are
-> ⋆˚꩜｡ submission for @stellarchives 's sweet taste of reverie event — a cone of strawberry and salted caramel ice cream with mini m&ms <3
every year, since kindergarten, your parents have always treated you to this high-end, family-owned restaurant after every major exam. the owners seem nice, based on how your mom always seems to strike up a conversation with her before you leave, and their food? absolutely divine.
and you're ready for the same exact routine when you pick up the menu, skimming through to check any new additions or deals.
"are you ready to order?" an unfamiliar voice asks, catching you off-guard. generally speaking, the servers have remained relatively the same over the years, with only a few changes here and there.
you flick your eyes up from the menu and onto the waiter, only to be met by the most handsome man you've seen in your life, standing in front of your family while holding a small notepad and a pen.
while your mother dictates her usual order to him, you, completely unintentionally, start… admiring his physique, specifically his arms.
though, those thoughts quickly get interrupted by the man himself, "and for you, miss?"
beef wellington, you tell yourself. it's not something you always order, but you decided to get it this time around. you clear your throat before speaking, not wanting to sound weird or raspy in front of this guy.
until you messed it up yourself.
"i'll have, uh… biceps wellington."
you want to dig a hole into the earth and hide there for the rest of your life. you feel your parents' gaze burn into your soul, heavy with unspoken judgment. it's not like you to mess up your order that badly.
clearly, the guy is just as stunned as well, but decides to spare you the embarrassment, "beef wellington, miss?"
"y—yes," you bring the menu up to your face, as if that'll help make the waiter forget about your identity, "beef wellington."
"and how would you like it done?"
"…medium-rare?" you answer, almost hesitating, in a way. if you're being honest, you kind of want him to leave already. you're silently praying that your parents have already placed their order.
speaking of which, you're honestly grateful that it's just the three of you. if your extended family had heard that 'biceps wellington' part, you wouldn't hear the end of it. ever.
the rest of the interaction is a bit of a blur — something about how the appetizers should be ready in 10-20 minutes, your mom asking him how he got this job since it's typically hard to please the owners if you're applying, only to find out that he's their son, and he's only working here part-time for college.
great. you embarrassed yourself in front of the son of the owners of the restaurant you've been eating at for almost all your life. if he tells miss gorgo or mr. eurypon, they'll think the daughter of their regular customers turned into a total weirdo.
all that information, and also his name — mydeimos. but you, as guests, can just call him 'mydei.'
the waiters and waitresses, who you've grown to know and love over the past, dash around the restaurant, serving dishes left and right, moving so fluidly that, if you blink, you'd miss them.
you've pretty much been hiding behind the menu for the next few minutes, only lowering it when you figured that a good amount of time has past, and mydei won't be returning to your table for a while.
so, you grab your phone from your bag, planning on updating your friends about how you looked like a total weirdo in front of the 'cute waiter with really nice arms.'
you: oh my kephale
you: guys the waiter is so cute
you: and kinda hot HAHAHA
you: ERM MAYBE I SHOULDNT SAY THAT WHEN MOTHER DEAREST IS SITTING RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME
you: i wanna ask for his number but i think he caught me staring at his biceps
you: UGHDJFDFDFKJSFSKFDFSF
"i think you two would be a cute couple."
your mother says out of the blue, causing you to nearly drop your phone. both you and your dad have a feeling that was intentional.
"but make sure to prioritize your studies," your dad adds in, betraying you in the process by joining forces with your mother.
though, before you can answer, mydei comes back, holding the tray of appetizers. you watched him place the dishes down for each of you, not even realizing that your phone is still on, easy enough for him to see the text messages.
oh, and he does see them. but it's too late for you to hide them now.
"ah, i'm sorry," you apologize, grabbing your phone and pretending that you're apologizing for keeping your phone there and accidentally blocking his way — though, that's certainly also part of it.
"it's alright," he responds, not even sparing you a glance as he places your order in front of you.
you really want to crawl into a hole and stay there for eternity.
your mood was soured for the rest of lunch. you don't blame him — of course not — but you're more so annoyed with yourself for acting like that in front of a guy you just met. you're usually so much more composed than this.
but the final nail to the coffin? spilling water all over yourself while watching him serve another table. fortunately, it wasn't a lot of water, but it wasn't exactly a tiny spill, either. moderate, perhaps?
though, in the end, none of it really matters as mydei, ever so attentive to the customers and guests — which, admittedly, actually makes him even more attractive in your eyes — comes over with some cloth, handing it to you silently as he swiftly cleans up the water you spilled onto the table, "be careful next time."
and, despite the gruff appearance and tone, you can also tell that there's no bite behind his words. scolding, yes, for sure, but you can tell there's no malicious intent behind his words.
"s—sorry."
still, that only adds more to your embarrassment. you're completely quiet for the rest of lunch, gaze focused on the view outside from the window. though, even that gets boring, especially since you've seen this very view hundreds of times before.
"bill, please," your mother calls out, and you let out a sigh of relief. finally.
you're hoping this part-time job of his ends soon. or, at the very least, isn't always on saturdays.
the conversation your mother and mydei share pretty much go in one ear and out the other, with her asking about his personal life — if he's in college already (he is, a first-year like you), what his major is, how classes are going… relatively basic things you ask the son of one of your acquaintances.
your gaze shifts to his hand on the table, a small piece of paper popping out. initially, you thought it was a crumpled order from another table until you noticed him… sliding it towards you?
he leaves it behind to get change for your mom, and you use this opportunity to open it and take a peek.
it's a number.
his number, with a small 'text me' written down beside it, clearly scribbled quickly, which you can only assume is because of his tight schedule as a waiter.
you open your phone again, taking note of the messages your friends sent while you were eating
