An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
"Matteo," Xantheus says, squinting at the bright burn of his fairy lights. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" "You," Matteo points, "—and I are going out on a date tonight." There are several things he can say to this. Most prevalent of which is: "Why?" It slips out before he can really do anything about it.
a little xantteo fic for valentine's day !









