His friends are SICK of him! YOU! are sick of him! But it's hard to stay mad when he lights up at the sight of you and starts rambling abouthowhemissedyousomuchdontleavehimforsolongeventhoughtechnicallyitwasonlyafewminutesiloveyoumuahmuah and suddenly you're confused enough to forget about why you were mad in the first place.
He texts you all the time – always telling you about what he did, what he didnt, what he wants to do with you, what he doesn't want you to do and leave it to him, kicking his feet and giggling like a schoolgirl when you finally text him back, constantly sending you selfies with whatever excuse like he's putting out cheese in a rattrap trying to lure you in...
[Phainon]: i had some apple juice and chips
[You]: aw
[Phainon]: i stolf them
[You]: ok
[Phainon sent an attachment image!] ×2
It makes you a little sick sometimes, its worse when you're actually sick. You're in the grossest state alive and all your boyfriend wants to do is kiss you all over your face to make you feel better!
"Phainon, get off! Youre going to get sick!"
"Nuh-uh"
Gosh, he really can't help it. It's like he's got a crush on you 10× over ever since you two started dating. All he wants is to be around you, even if its a little creepy. He likes your smell, loves your hands, your expressions, the way you look at him. It could be pouring, he could be having the worst day ever, his clothes could constantly get stuck on door handles but one blow of a kiss from you across the room and he's suddenly all charged up!
He annoys you in the most affectionate way possible. Whenever he's over he does the dumbest shit – he walks in, throws a few cringe pickup lines at you, and depending on your reaction he walks away, changes into a different shirt and asks you if "that guy was bothering you" before he walks back out to fix up a plate of snacks just so he can bedrot with you, and then trap you in his arms for an extended cuddle session. He loves doing the most mundane stuff with you – he'll gladly help you fold your laundry, get the groceries, he'll even help you brush your teeth if your arms feel too lazy! You feel bad when you smack him away because he gives you those god damn puppy eyes, but it gets to a point when he's bemoaning at the door of your bathroom when you're trying to take a shit!
Everytime you respond a little later to his texts he gets weird. At first he just sends you the shitty obviously fake guilt trip messages like ":( im sooooo lonely..... if only someone was here to pull my ear and tell me im an idiot" with a selfie of his pecs, and then it gets weirder, he starts writing to you like a victorian man that's bitterly ignored by his lover. His friends sometimes send you a behind-the-scenes videos and photos of him with his tongue sticking out as he deeply concentrates and thinks up an immaculate message to 'seduce back the love of his life'.
His friends are happy for him, really they are! But it's so annoying when he starts going on about how much he misses his partner, his lover, the music of his life, the lighthouse of his universe, and you get the idea. They practically have a protocol to never mention how quiet he is when he actually does go quiet – it's like lighting a matchstick in a room full of gasoline; he'll light up, and immediately start pouring about you to everyone who's unfortunate enough to listen. Thus, whenever someone hangs out with Phainon, they quickly learn to always distract him with something or the other when he goes quiet, never mentioning 'the q-word'.
Of course, that's just your boyfriend's silly way of showing his love. At the end of the day he'll respect you if you ask him to tone it down or back off for a bit. Always gentlemanly when you really need him to be, serious when it counts. You know who Phainon really is – and he knows who you are to him. Whenever you need a wall to lean on, he's there. And whenever he feels like the burden's a little too heavy, you're there to share it with him.
Dr. Ratio has a cupboard dedicated to all kinds of plushies, ranging from rubber ducks to merchandise of even Owlbert. Obviously, his most favourite and cherishable one is a handcrafted plush made from the softest is of...yours.
General Jing Yuan has a coat made from a lions mane. White hue akin the moonlight. He whispered to you "It is my most prized possession and...a very memorable one. Keep it for me in my stead"
Robin is actually a metal fan in case you didn't know. She has a series of dvds of Metallica, Black Sabbath, Linkin Park and many more. Oh and don't forget those gothic clothes that she is only willing to show to you.
Kafka composes pieces for you during the days she is feeling down or angry. This is just the way she pours her heart out. Perhaps you'd be willing to listen to her masterpieces.
Dan Heng has an album made up of all the moments spent in different regions, silly pictured of the whole Astral Express family, landscape photography, and yours in a certain corner solely for him and only him.
Blade being the girl dad he is, he always sends a portion of his allowances to Silver Wolf, Firefly and you. You all know it but you guys would rather keep it down. "We got more money for our next party night !!"
Sunday enjoys homecooked foods more than those of the fancy restaurants. The way you cook the steak has easily made its way to one of his all-time favourites. He enjoys cooking with you and for you.
Boothill has a tattered wallet about a few years old with torn leather and patches that he clumsily patched himself. Inside are two pictures. One of you and one of his late daughter. It had always been his dream to give his daughter another parent whom she'll have the most fun with. But sometimes dreams can stay as dreams.
Mydei loves kissing your cheek. It’s one of those little things he does without thinking, like breathing. His lips always seem to find that soft spot, especially when the day’s been long or his mind’s all tangled up. He could be in the worst mood, growly and quiet, arms crossed and brow furrowed—but if you’re near, if you’re close enough, that cheek kiss still happens. Gentle and slow, just a little press of warmth that says more than he ever could with words.
It’s not always easy to tell what he’s feeling. Mydei can be hard to read when he’s upset—gruff with his words, sharp with his tone, sometimes acting like he doesn’t want anyone near. But deep down, he’s just tired, frustrated, maybe a little overwhelmed by things he doesn’t know how to fix. And when that happens, he leans into you more. He might not ask for comfort out loud, but the way he kisses your cheek—again and again, like he’s making sure you’re still there—it’s his quiet way of saying, “Please don’t go. I need you right now.”
And you never pull away. Even when he’s at his worst, you know he doesn’t mean to be cold. You can see right through the grumpy act—the way his hands tremble a little when they reach for you, the way he sighs so deeply once he’s tucked against your side. That kiss on your cheek always changes something in him. His shoulders relax, his jaw unclenches, and suddenly the world isn’t as heavy anymore. Just having you close, warm and patient, helps him find his way back to calm.
Sometimes, when you kiss him back—softly on his jaw or just brushing your nose against his—it completely melts him. His whole body softens, like he’s been holding everything in and finally lets it go. He gets so quiet, eyes a little glassy, like he’s trying not to fall apart from how safe you make him feel. He might whisper something like, “You’re too good to me,” but his arms stay around you like he never wants to let go. Because no matter how grumpy, tired, or lost he gets, that little kiss on your cheek always brings him home.
╰┈➤ PHAINON is a gentle soul who only wants to do what's best for everyone. For you, he'd carry the weight of the universe if it means spending another day with you.
╰┈➤ PHAINON would always put your needs above his own. He'd always shelter you, hold you and ensure you're beside him every second if you're travelling together. His eyes would always be side glancing at you, ensuring you're happy because if you're not, he'll go an extra mile just to see you smile.
╰┈➤ PHAINON is a blusher, he would definitely blush if you randomly kiss his cheek or grasp his hands to drag him along somewhere. Sometimes, he'd even act clumsy when you're around. He can't help himself, you make him weak in the knees and cause his heart to flutter like crazy.
╰┈➤ PHAINON is definitely a clumsy kisser at first, you're his first after all but after a few loads of kisses, he'll eventually be so good at it, it'll cause you to melt even more than you do now.
╰┈➤ PHAINON is also traditional man, so expected to be courted properly with gifts (preferably he'd try and make some himself, even if they're not as perfect as he wants him to be). He's also the type of man who'd want you to stay safe at home rather than join him. He has to make sure you're safe, he wouldn't be able to focus if you were beside him in battle. Losing you is one of his greatest nightmares.
╰┈➤ PHAINON loves being petted on the head by you, he'd even do a closed eye smile and be all goofy about it. He's a sweetheart. And your touches and kisses make him giddy and fluffy inside.
Sunday had never done such activities before. Even as a kid, his childhood consisted of strict schedules and teachings on a path that was already made long before his existence. Not that it necessarily bothered him because you can’t miss something you never truly had can you? Besides, it was trivial stuff to him, playing with toys, coloring in coloring books or even reading for fun. These were things he mostly watched Robin do and enjoy. He was usually never allowed such simplicities growing up, this was just how it was.
Yet now that he’s seated on the edge of your bed— watching you put together beads on a small string with a smile etched across your face —there’s a sudden longing for these things he’d never experienced. Followed by a desire to do so with you.
“Aaaand there! See?” You’re grinning, holding out a bracelet you had somehow crafted together yourself, extended it in front of him eagerly. The colors of each bead seemed to follow a pattern; white, pastel blue, pastel pink and then a snowflake charm followed by beads with letters and it’s then he realizes just who this bracelet is centered around.
“It’s March,” It comes out half a question and half a conclusion, staring at the bracelet in awe and fascination.
You smile back, “Yes! Isn’t it cute?” You bring it up to your face, staring at the little considerate details of the craft you had put together before placing it off to the side on your bed. You clasp your hands together, smiling at him and for a moment it feels hard to breathe for him, like your smile stopped his heart momentarily. “Now it’s your turn, Sunny.”
His wings flutter, eyes blinking widely at you as his lips part and his brows scrunch together in slight confusion. “My turn?” He echoes to which you giggle again and he thinks the sound is quite harmonious to his ears, something he wishes he could listen to on repeat on a record player.
“Yes it’s your turn— here,” You grab the small plastic box, little containers full of different beads and various charms to use at your disposal. There’s stickers on the box itself and a scribbled name that he quickly realizes is March’s. He tilts his head, “This is March’s?” “Yeah, she let me borrow it for a little while.” “Oh… why, if I may ask?” “Hehe, so we could spend time together!” Oh. His heart feels like it’s skipping out of rhythm now in his chest, face growing warm to the touch as his eyes sparkle with wonder like a small child.
His mouth opens and closes a couple times like a fish out of water, cogs of his brain locked up as he blinks at you. So you could spend time together? He felt honored to say the least, forever grateful you always chose him to put your time and effort into. He felt undeserving but nonetheless, eternally grateful for your unconditional love. He clears his throat softly, voice coming out quieter than he had intended. “We don’t have to do such activities to spend time together,” to which you reply with a smile, “I know! But I want to today, if you don’t mind.” It’s gentle, voice warm with love that makes him feel like he could melt any second.
He shakes his head, wings flapping against his silvery-blue tuffs of hair. His brows furrowed in concern as a frown stretched across his lips, “I apologize if I made you feel like I didn’t want to participate— I do. Could you please…” The words grow quiet on his tongue, eyes searching yours for answers, maybe even reassurance and with all the grace in the universe you smile warmly back and grab at his hands, bringing him just a tad bit closer than before— no longer seated on the edge of the bed, now sat in the middle of the large mattress beside you as you tug out a piece of string and various beads.
“Look closely— Hehe, not that close, Sunny,” He thinks he could get addicted to your laugh, to the way you call him that nickname so sugary sweet his jaw aches with the want to kiss you. His feathers bristle, lifting his head up just a bit from his leaned over position. His fingers twitch, eyes watching as your fingers nimbly work the beads onto the string. It looked simple enough, grab a string of your preferred length, pick the bead colors of your choice and then anything else you may want to add onto it. A simple task. Surely one he could manage.
He actually thinks too much the first time he attempts it, brows furrowed in full concentration with a frown on his lips. His fingers are far too shaky to fit the string between the holes in the beads and he picked just enough every color he could’ve chosen— yet somehow didn’t pick enough beads for the bracelet. He tied it together and when he looks at it he’s suddenly aware of the lack of basically everything. You can see more white string than you can see beads, and none of the colors seem to fit together at all. And when he attempts to try it on my wrist, his knot he tied too loose comes undone, leaving all the beads to slip off onto the bed. You bite your bottom lip, turning your head to the side to contain your fit of giggles to the best of your abilities but it’s awfully hard when he has a pout on his face, utterly confused on how he made a mistake.
He failed at something— again. This wasn’t a new occurrence, rather something he faced everyday, trial and error co-existed with one another and one could not exist without the other. He thinks for a moment, perhaps this is a process of elimination. He blinks down at the box of beads, wondering what his next attempt could be or rather what he would try to make that wouldn’t fall apart this time.
He reaches for the box of beads when you softly speak, “Make something special, Sunny,” You grin widely at him, tugging beads onto a piece of string again. Ah, you’re making another one? So quickly? He considers asking you to teach him further but that would come later. Your words sparked inspiration within him, heart fluttering and hands moving on their own to reach for pieces he needs, and you catch right away that he’s figured it out to some degree.
He looks at you, freezing for a moment before turning until his back is to you and he works in secret on the bracelet. You try to peek around him or over his shoulder but his wings flap and flare out with a huff through his nose followed by a quiet, “Don’t peek,” No bark or bite to his tone, gaze and voice far too soft to be taken any other way when addressing you. Curiosity grows in your mind, wondering what on earth he might’ve been doing with the entire box on his lap, shuffling and plastic beads rolling around as he shifts and moves in his spot. After a couple moments he pauses, straightening up before glancing over his shoulder at you hesitantly.
You raise a brow, “Well? Show me what you made!” You’re so enthusiastic it makes his heart ache and hesitantly he turns around on the bed, fingers curled around whatever he had made to hide it from your view. You tilt your head, eyes big and wide before giggling at him and shaking your head with a grin, “C’mon, Sunny, I wanna see!”
He bites his bottom lip, hyping himself up in his head as he extends his curled up fist to you before relaxing and lifting his fingers from his palm to show the small bracelet in his hand. It consisted of various colors, specifically a pattern of colors you favored over others but it wasn’t until you saw his initial and your own with a small heart that you realized it was meant for you.
Your grin falls, eyes that were crinkled at the corners in glee now relaxed and widening as you gently grasp it from his hand with gentleness. Your eyes soften, sparkly as you examine each colored beat with care. He felt his heart skip a beat or two, faster paced than a moment ago as he anxiously watched you. The feathers of his wings bristle, flaring out just a bit as they flap, ruffling his hair framing his face in the process.
“This is… for me?” Your voice is so quiet, almost shaky and his breath stills in his throat when you look up at him with so much love he could melt away to nothing then and there. He blinks at you, lips parted before nodding nervously and you don’t give him time to react when you lift yourself up and move to hug him in an instant. The action nearly winds him, eyes wide and wings spread out nearly to their full wingspan as he blinks at the wall on the other side of the room. The warmth you provided was comforting, reassuring and it felt completely and utterly like home.
“I take it that you like it?” He chuckles nervously, the hints of anxiousness evident in his tone as he spoke slow, almost hesitantly. Your arms wrapped around his neck squeeze a tad bit tighter, nodding against his shoulder as a wide smile spreads across your lips as your heart flutters like the beats of a butterfly’s wings. He nearly pouts when you pull away, but you’re far closer now than you were before so he doesn’t openly complain about the lack of physical touch.
“I love it, Sunny.” You smile, voice sugary sweet as you stare at him with so much warmth swirling in your eyes. You tug the smal elastic band until it fits around your hand, resting comfortably on your wrist. You examine it once more, this time your arm is the canvas it adorns and you wouldn’t have it any other way. You look up at Sunday, “You have to match with me, y’know.” it’s teasing and followed by a flurry of giggles as your hands reach for the box behind him with excitement.
Match with you? Well he’d never thought of that. The sudden idea of you both wearing matching bracelets, both with your own complimentary colors and initials for each other— it made his heart beat impossibly faster in his chest. He swallows, looking between you and the small containers before speaking, “Of course. If there’s any assistance I can offer I’m more than happy to be at your service.” You grin and your cheeks ache from how much you’ve smiled in the last half an hour. His instance to be useful in any way always made your heart ache in both the best and the worst ways.
You shake your head lightly, reaching for his hand with gentleness. “You’re already extreme helpfully, Sunny,” You smile and his eyes slightly widen in surprise. “please, just relax with me for a while longer.” There’s a hint of a beg in your voice, eyes soft as you take in his handsome features and how he gasps softly with those golden hue directing their attention towards you.
He fidgets, fingers rubbing against the rings on his fingers as he stares at you. His wings flutter once, twice before curling in towards his face, eyes glancing down at the bracelet on your wrist as you move to make one yourself with precise haste. It doesn’t even take you more than two minutes before you’re tying the small knot and extending it towards him with a wide smile, “Ta-da! See? Now we match!” blues, golds and white beads in a pattern followed by both your initials— similar to the one he made you and he swears his heart could explode on the spot from the warmth of your love.
You fit the bracelet over his hand and even though it’s accidental, your fingers brushing against the top of his hand makes his heart flutter for the billionth time in his chest. It fits snug, not too tight but enough to know it’s there. He examines it up close, eyes wide and sparkly, pupils dilating as he sighs out softly in awe before looking at you in tender adoration.
He smiles, a soft chuckle rumbling in his chest, his hand reaching out towards yours as your fingers interlace, “Yes, we do match now.” and you giggle again, a sound that makes his ribs rattle with the skips of his heart’s rhythm.
You usher him closer, shoulder to shoulder as you begin making another bracelet while walking him through it again, explaining how you plan to make a bracelet for the other members of the Express Crew and yet all he can focus on is the beads pressed to his wrist in a gentle squeeze, a small token of your love— and you.
You'd once joked that Dr. Ratio probably categorized his emotions in a spreadsheet somewhere—affection in column A, irritation in column B, curiosity spanning several color-coded tabs. He hadn't found it funny then. He does now.
He's sitting beside you in the Astral Express library with a dense tome open across his lap. You're pretending to read, but he can tell where your attention lies in the way your eyes drift to him every few seconds, and each time they do, he pretends not to notice.
"Something wrong?" he asks finally, not looking up.
You hum softly, looking at him with stars in your eyes, "Just wondering if you ever take a break."
Ratio exhales, marking his place with one finger before meeting your gaze. His expression is unreadable. The sharpness he uses when dissecting theories, now softened by the faintest tug at the corner of his mouth, "Ignorance doesn't take breaks. Why should I?"
You roll your eyes, smiling despite yourself, "Yeah? But you're not ignorance."
"Debatable," he says dryly, "I did choose to spend my evening with someone who believes leisure is productive."
"Maybe it is," you counter, leaning in, "maybe being around me makes you smarter."
He stares for a beat too long, as if analyzing the logic behind that statement. Then he laughs—a sound that makes you freeze because it’s unguarded, something so uncharacteristic of him. "That," he murmurs, "is a hypothesis I wouldn’t mind testing."
He reaches out, almost absently, brushing a loose strand of your hair with his fingers, but his hand lingers a little too long, coming to rest on your cheek like he's considering something he can’t quantify, "I've spent most of my life trying to explain the world. But you—" His eyes soften, and the next words come almost reluctantly, like confessions pried from a locked heart, "You make me want to experience it.. with you."
You blink, caught off guard, a warm glow swelling where your heart should be, "That's… unusually sentimental of you."
"Empirical observation," he replies, gaze steady, "you make me irrational. Statistically speaking, I should find that bothersome."
Who wakes before the sun, when the world still sleeps and the stars refuse to fade, his first thought already your name.
He ties his apron with a yawn, with gentle fingers that memorized each contour of your face more vividly than any creation he’s ever shaped.
Before the ovens hum, before the city exhales its first sigh of morning, he stands by the counter, flour already dusting his forearms, and starts his day by making a little treat for you.
The locals call him a master of his craft.
They don’t see the way his hands tremble when the door chime rings after your step, how he looks up from the counter and forgets the time. How every delicious scent in the air pales in comparison to your perfume.
He greets you with a smile that belongs to no one else, the kind that melts faster than chocolate on a warm plate.
He keeps a corner of the bakery just for you:
a small table by the window,
a vase that always holds a single flower,
and a cup he fills with a freshly brewed drink before anyone else is served.
It’s where he sits across from you, elbows on the table, eyes soft, watching you take that first sip like it’s the sunrise he wakes for.
“Too sweet?” he’ll ask.
You shake your head, and he exhales, quietly relieved, as though your approval redeems the whole morning.
He smells like vanilla and burnt sugar, like the warmth of something made with patience.
You tease him for never wearing cologne, but later that night, when he wraps his arms around you, you already know he doesn’t need to.
He already carries the scent of comfort, of home.
He hides love notes where you’ll least expect them,
beneath napkins, written on parchment paper, tucked in the box of croissants you take to work.
Ink smudged from flour-dusted fingers, words simple but sure: Come home soon dear, I miss your laugh in the kitchen.
When you do, he’s always waiting. Sometimes with dinner, sometimes with pie.
Always with that same look in his eyes.
Like you are his masterpiece, and he’s still trying to understand how something so perfect came to him.
At closing, when the bell jingles its last farewell and the ovens dim, he cleans the counters in silence, humming softly.
You stay, sweeping the last crumbs into your hand, and he glances over, smile crooked.
“Careful,” he murmurs, “you’ll sweep away the sweetness.”
But he’s not talking about the crumbs.
At home, he’d rub your back absentmindedly, hands remembering a kneading motion even in conversation.
You smile at the fact and rest your head against his shoulder, and he laughs when you mention that you’re not, in fact, a pastry.
He’d also bake for you when you’re upset.
Not to distract you, but to speak.
He doesn’t think just words are sufficient of your burden.
So he goes to what he does best, and folds his apologies into danish layers, his devotion into crusts that flake at the gentlest touch.
He’d slide a tray across the counter with a quiet, “Try this one.”
You taste it and light up, and he finally breathes again.
Sometimes, before bed, he reaches for your hand, rough palms brushing soft skin.
He whispers, “I made too much bread again. Guess we’ll have to share it in the morning.”
You both know he made extra for you, and the lucky birds outside you like to share with.
His love language is warmth, and it’s always rising.
He keeps a small jar in the pantry labeled Her Favorites.
Inside are scraps of recipes written in your handwriting, faded with time, smudged with cinnamon and honey.
And when you once asked, half-asleep, “Would you still bake if you didn’t have the shop?”
He’d exhale slowly against your hair.
“I’d still bake,” he’d muse, “because I’d still have you to feed.”
Later that night, the moonlight catches a colder glow to his skin. He brushes a strand of hair from your face, eyes gentle, voice like the quiet after a storm.
“You were the reason I made something out of this silly hobby.” he murmurs.
You realize with adoration, that his inspiration reflects in the quality of his work.
It’s been in every delicate detail, every tender touch, every dawn he’s risen for you.
Devotion shown in every loaf, slow, patient, and warm enough to last a lifetime.
Kazuha, Aether, Ayato, Kaveh, Kinich, Thoma, Zhongli, Lyney, Your Faves!!
@𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘥𝘳𝘰𝘱 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘳 | please credit if reposted! ♡
premise — you're the best seatmate they could ever ask for; alternative, you pass notes with them during one boring period (hsr version).
characters — moze and sunday
content tags — modern!au, established relationship, fluff, nothing written just photos of notes, please pardon my handwriting, reader attempts to make sunday laugh, moze sucks at drawing hearts ; headcanons
notes from a jellyfish — i'm running out of titles !?@?
... !! GO TO ✩°｡⋆⸜ passing notes with wanderer/scara and kinich
