EXTRA, EXTRA READ ALL ABOUT IT (PHAINON IS IN HIS FEELINGS AND HE CAN’T GET OUT OF IT) — PILOT
a phainon x female reader modern au series.
overview: the crowds cheer when you finally announce that you have a boyfriend! and there’s a lot to be expected, considering it is your first relationship. you’ll be experiencing many ‘firsts’—first kiss, first dates, first everything.
though it doesn’t make sense.
phainon had been in a relationship before, and yet he shares the same sentiment.
(or: phainon finally learns what it’s like to be loved in return.)
tags: modern au, emphasis on the firsts, many firsts, miscommunications, established relationship, first love, fluff and humor, hurt/comfort, toxic relationship + manipulation (not for phaicham and the reader at least), past exes, reassurances, female-reader, awakenings, rated mature, additional tags to be added
“Will you stay?”
There it is—you knew this was coming. You pause from using your phone and look by your shoulder from the bed, and just behind you, lies Phainon, your big, wonderful, boyfriend, with hair white as snow, and eyes as blue as the ocean.
( Yeah, you can’t do this. You can’t speak poetry like him when it comes to describing things. How can Phainon do it? How can he spill such words with ease? )
You sigh, “Phainon.”
He doesn’t budge from his hold on you. His arms—that were solid, and biceps ( that you were pretty sure was tailormade for you because of how squishy they were )—engulf your very being in the bed. It’s not like you’re complaining, you are exactly where you want to be.
But sometimes Phainon just underestimates his weight.
“Please? Can you stay?”
You feel your cheeks heat up—you absolutely cannot believe this man. This beefy, huge man who seriously towers over you every time you’re together, pulling off the wounded puppy look.
Seriously, how did you bag him? Even your cousins and aunts are baffled. A guy like him, who’s just the biggest definition of every parents’ dream son, besotted over you. Even your best friends asked what your manifestation rituals were.
But the unforgettable thing about all of this was that your mom made sure that you wouldn’t go back on your word. You promised her that under no circumstances will you be letting this man go.
And it’s as if you have a plan to do so! Like Phainon, you want him badly as well.
Unfortunately, he grows upset at your lack of response—since you were too busy reminiscing about the course of events after you disclosed that you were dating Aedes Elysiae’s pride and joy. The man squeezes your waist a little, and calls for your name. “Stay.” He blinks wistfully. “Please?”
You almost choke. You’re starting to believe Cipher’s words: you really do have Phainon wrapped around your finger no matter what you say. You just think that Phainon is like this because it’s what boyfriends do, but, but—
“Hate to break it to you, but there’s a reason why women prefer the chalant types instead of the nonchalants.”
Gods. Phainon. He’s ridiculous. He’s ridiculous! And you’re ridiculous! Why are you not answering him yet?!
“A-alright,” you stammer, and you watch how he beams. You hold your breath when your massive imagination procures an image: your wonderful boyfriend Phainon, with perky ears and a wagging tail.
What the fuck.
This is Mydei’s fault. He shouldn’t have said that Phainon acts like a dog sometimes. But in Mydei’s words, he called Phainon a rabid hound. Or whatever that means. You still don’t understand why Mydei’s tone resembled a warning. How can Phainon be a rabid hound? He’s often putty when you’re around. Like a golden retriever puppy with separation anxiety. So it really doesn’t make sense.
“I’ll stay, I’ll stay.” You give him a small grin. “Wouldn’t want you to spam our DMs, would I?”
He presses closer with a pout—your breaths intermingling. The proximity causes a stir in your stomach, and you swallow when his bigger hand touches your stomach.
Phainon’s hand. It’s big. And it’s hot. Does he know he exists?
“Well, you like me spamming our DMs, right?” His nose nuzzles yours, and you automatically close your eyes.
Being under Phainon’s gaze—you really have to get used to it, truly. You feel like your heart’s about to explode from his undivided attention. Seriously, how?
How did you get him? What have you done?
He calls your name again. “. . . It’s okay, right? You—you don’t mind it.”
You don’t answer.
Not yet at least, when you’re way too embarrassed on the inside.
Phainon’s smell. Phainon’s voice. Phainon’s arms. Phainon’s hand. Phainon’s face. You probably died and you’ve gone to heaven. After doomscrolling and immersing yourself with various AstralToks and PenaconyTube reels, you’ve somehow passed on and made it to the end of the light, white tunnel.
You can’t believe being surrounded by everything Phainon is the mystery that humans are trying to solve.
What does heaven really look like?
Well, the answer’s spectacular.
Phainon.
Phainon.
It’s all Phainon.
Phainon buries his face on your neck, and you feel the goosebumps. Your face steams hotter from the touch, and you are trying not to combust on the spot as you envision the bridge of his nose grazing and his lips lightly pecking your skin.
Oh, gods.
“I will stop if you want to.”
Don’t stop.
“. . . If you need me to.”
Just like that, you’re pulled out of your reverie.
Everything comes into a halt. The comedians in your head, the gossipers, the podcasters, or whatever you’d like to call it, have gone quiet.
And it’s all because Phainon’s voice wavered.
“Phainon?”
Does he feel like he’s a bother? No, no! That’s not quite it. He’s got it all wrong! You were just so—so, ugh, you’re so stupid. If you just focused on the present, this wouldn’t happen! You can already imagine Professor Anaxagoras’ narrowed eyes.
You shake your head. No time for that!
So you focus on the matter at hand. You’ve got this. Though you may be silly at times, you know Phainon. You know him very well, in fact, that you are proud that you’re probably the only person in the world who knows how to take care of him.
Like clockwork, your body moves on its own. Your heart takes the reign, and the bed shifts from your movements. The downcasted gaze coming from him is lifted up when you gently cup his cheeks. His furrowed brows make your chest ache.
There may be days where you tease Phainon and you get a spectacular view of him scrunching his eyebrows, but your soul genuinely wishes that he smiles everyday.
“I don’t mind it,” you admit, and the side of your lip twitches in fondness and amusement. “I just—well, um—“
You gonna be honest now? So be it.
“—I find it fascinating that you have so much to tell me, and uh—“ you suck at this. Yes, you know how to take care of Phainon but you’re still not used to looking him straight in the eye. It’s unfair how he’s so dreamy, even up close. The Titans, heck, or even Aeons, gave him so many buffs. “—have so many reels to send me.”
( Sculpted like a mighty hero is one thing they made sure everyone will see. But this mighty hero is only for your eyes to see. )
“I love you,” he says in earnest, and your heart pounds. He says it so easily, and you gulp again. He leans to your right palm, and his other hand cradles it. “That’s why I have so much to tell you. And so many reels to send to you.”
And those reels involve adorable dogs merely spinning around. Engagement farm clips with ‘send this to your favorite person ever’ captions. Heck, even shitposts or the dumbest jokes from this generation are added into the mix.
( But it’s not just reels, you hear? You recall the time Phainon sent you links from the World Wound Web whenever you’re out for an errand. Lovely articles that benefit you so, or that he finds intriguing. Like Love Letters for the People Who Are Too Hard on Themselves, and even something philosophical—Reflections in the Golden Wheat Fields.
It always sparks meaningful conversations with him, and you wouldn’t want any other way. )
“Aaand I, you,” you laugh, and Phainon pouts. If you’re crazy, you probably have an estimated number of Phainon’s pouts until today. Then, combined with your feelings from earlier, and regarding Phainon’s excessive loads of messages, you say, “I’m sorry I can’t keep up with you sometimes, love.”
“Honey,” he grumbles, and your heart performs somersaults. You like it when he calls you that. Honey. Like you’re something sweet, when he’s obviously sweeter. “Say it back.”
You gape at him. He’s more upset at the fact that you didn’t return his I love you. Perhaps he has already forgiven you with your lack of reels. “What?”
He huffs, in mock offense, and you wish you can take a picture of this endearing expression forever. You cherish Phainon being all huffy. You cherish everything about him. “Say that you love me back. In full.”
And, well. Who are you to deny his desire? Or what he wants? Or what he needs?
Before you can control it, a warm, tender smile makes its way on your features. ( You fail to notice the effect this has on Phainon, because his eyes go wide. )
Leaning closer, you whisper, “I love you, Phainon.” Like it’s something sacred.
There it is.
Pure delight. Admiration. Love.
You assume that Phainon got what he wanted, but then he closes his eyes. Leans his face, too.
And anticipates.
You snicker. You really don’t know how you got Phainon to love you back, but you’re glad that he did.
You offering your heart to him back then, it’s enough for him to be the happiest man in the world. ( His words, not yours. )
Careful, you shorten the distance, and quietly brush your lips against his, still a bit timid. Shy. Testing the waters. But Phainon tonight is everything but.
He kisses you back with an enthusiasm that there’s a smack of lips.
For a few seconds, your lips remain interlocked. You listen to Phainon’s breathing, to Phainon’s small content moans. You feel like you’re melting, but as always, Phainon’s got you. When did he even steady you? When were your chest pressed against one another, and when did you wrap your arms around his neck?
You instantly pull away after this realization. Phainon, who was into the moment, whines, very much unsatisfied that the session was interrupted. “Honey. . .”
Be still, your heart. Flustered, you ask, “D–do you like k–kissing me so much?”
“Yes,” Though dazed, he answers, with no hesitation.
Ah, there goes your heart, really. You are weak. You’ve already done something similar before! You’ve seen him without clothes. And you’ve been underneath him during a long night. Kissing is normal for couples, so why are you still glowing in embarrassment?
Again, how did you bag Phainon?
Like a volcano, steam releases from your ears. You have to calm down. Not right now.
Not—
Apprehensiveness appears before you when it takes you another moment to reply, and out of instinct, you snap back to reality. One of your hands caresses his smooth, supple cheek to soothe his nerves.
Despite thoroughly mortified, you reach out, “Phai—“
“Is it okay? If—if we kiss again?”
An arrow strikes onto your back.
( You’ll never forgive the person who had him first. )
“Of course,” You nod, and you smile wider when there’s profound relief blooming on his face. Though you’re caught up in your own overwhelming feelings, Phainon is important, first and foremost. “Of course we can.”
Time has already passed. It’s been a year since you both have gotten together. There are still many things to be experienced. To be discovered. To be explored.
And yet despite it all, you’re committed to fulfill one goal.
To make Phainon feel so loved.
You hope you’re doing a great job so far. You hope you do.
Pasts are yet to be uncovered. Secrets. Unspoken feelings. True, they may be painful. But it’s a journey you’re willing to take regardless.
You’ll reassure Phainon no matter how many times it takes. You’ll kiss him lots. Hug him lots. Hold his hand lots. Send him more reels. Articles. Do the cheesy stuff he has wanted ever since.
And you’re going to have fun. He’s going to have fun. Cyrene did say that this would be a romance story like none that has come before.
There will be trials and tribulations.
But you’ll remain headstrong.
Because you love Phainon, foolishly so. You really do.
So you want him to feel what he’s been missing out on.
But first—
“Can I have one more kiss, honey? Please?”
You have to survive this.
“W-w-wait, let me breathe first—“
“Haha, you are so red, honey. You can’t keep up, huh?”
notes: my first phaicham debut !!! i’m a thrillseeker here. havent even finished amphoreus yet here i am. cannot shut up about phaicham in corporate hours so here. for phainon nation i hope he’s in character and if he's not once i finish amphoreus.... yeah. ok HFJKDFHD
anw i’d like to dedicate this to my amazing besties. rhen, who witnessed my first phainon unbecoming. of course to jules for her patience w/ beta-ing, and to pine, for receiving all my phaicham hcs in RANDOM hours of the day ( LOL )
well since this is a pilot i will be continuing if theres a popular demand. like how tv shows and studios/channels/franchises work, and if my schedule will allow it JKHFJFD i lobe phainom #imbusyasf it's no joke i swear after my meeting finished i immediately went running to my google docs PLSSS so no guarantee when im also taking a break from writing !!!
if i do continue this it's gonna be so messy jfhgfhjf poor phaicham :((
a hybrid samoyed phainon x female reader modern au
overview: he may be a new dog, but he’s more than ready to show off his wild side. make sure not to be fooled by his eyes, because this pup knows how to get what he wants.
or maybe you’re into that? come, book him now. let that fantasy turn into reality!
wc: 4.4k
notes: guys. guys. please. i’m a decent person i promise but it is what it is ok phainon makes me feel things and and pl—
kidding aside, if this concept isn’t your fancy, feel to free to look at the other side. stayed up until 4 am to finish this. idk what went inside my brain tbh. also cw suggestive!
This is a sign to walk dogs every Sunday in Okhema City!
Volunteer and make their day even better. ❤️❤️
If you’re interested, feel free to contact us through our page and on our site: @WalkYourDog on Astralgram | www.walkyourdog.com on the World Wound Web.
Click. Click. Click.
Inside your bedroom, specifically situated in your own sheets, you release a breath that you’ve been holding. You stare in intrigue at the publication material currently displayed on your PC screen: on a bright, bold shade of yellow, it says, Volunteer Dog Walkers needed! accompanied with a vector of an adorable golden retriever biting a leash. Or, well, supposedly holding the leash.
You tap thrice on your mousepad.
Warmth spreads in your chest as you browse through endearing photos of happy dogs. Happy dogs of different kinds who were, presumably, walked by previous volunteers. Numerous supporters flooded the post—their traction wasn’t bad. They had lots of heart reactions. Comments. Some were calling how lovely the dogs were, and how great their company was, to the point that they’d ‘volunteer’ again.
This, of course, is excellent for someone like you.
It’s considered a green light in your eyes if the internet has given Walk Your Dog, a rating of 4 to 5 stars for their service, because this means this is the real deal, and that there’s nothing to worry about.
So, how did you get into this position again?
Well, simply put! There were things still yet to be explored. You don’t know a lot about said world yet ( the world seems so big now and full of possibilities ), and since you’re stepping into adulthood, it wouldn’t hurt to get to know more about it.
And besides, this is most definitely not motivated by your friends who have their own side quests. This is definitely not because you feel like you have to prove to anyone that there’s something going on with your life, and that you’re not just stuck on doing your academic duties and responsibilities.
Castorice joined a book club. Mydei and his bros enrolled in a cake baking class. Cipher gets often invited to trivia nights.
And you? What’s going on with your life?
You tap on your mousepad again.
I’m going to volunteer. And I’m gonna walk a dog, you’ll say. And it’s going to be great!
You are most definitely not peer pressured. You repeat again. You are definitely not proving something. This is what people at your age do. Do activities. Discover more hobbies. Learn about what the world has to offer.
The site loads, and you read what the webpage reveals to you.
Walk Your Dog
We are Okhema’s #1 Dog Walking Service.
We are open 24/7.
Drama and Scam Free environment!
Browse and enjoy our dog walking experiences!
In Okhema Activity Park, you find yourself sitting on a bench under a tree.
It’s hot as hell, but you’re grateful for the wind every now and then. And besides, the weather is not going to ruin your mood today—because you’re hella excited to walk a damn cute dog, and not just because you’ll also get to post it on social media, for your friends to see that you are not just occupied by a thesis, or your internship, because that’s just boring.
You are practicing balancing your life well before graduation, and that’s good.
Because it means you’re not behind. And because there’s more to life than cramming academic work.
As you wait, you momentarily recall the past few nights’ events:
In walkyourdog.com, you surely took your time in choosing your options after signing up. There were plenty of super cute dogs to walk, and in all honesty, you really wanted to walk all of them.
But you didn’t have that much money ( student budget is waving ), and it really wasn’t recommended by the agency. They have strict rules, which is understandable, and according to them, only special volunteers can get to have that choice. You’re not entirely sure of what they mean by that, but you figured that it was probably reserved for regular volunteers, or volunteers who have done them a great favor. So first timers were not part of the equation.
What you see is what you get. Always!
Feel free to contact our email, [email protected] or our number, 000-0355-0336 for additional inquiries and bookings.
OUR DOGS
100% REAL and RECENT PICTURE GUARANTEED!
Seriously, there were a lot of super cute dogs, but most of them were already booked. It amazed you that their service was so top tier that the dogs were not available. This could only mean that despite how cruel the world can be, there was still hope for humanity—because they were willing to make an effort. They wanted the dogs to be happy through volunteerism.
And this really inspires you.
The community is awesome.
So even though most of the dogs were already booked, you got lucky—because you landed on one.
Phainon was the dog’s name when your mouse hovered on his panel. You swooned when you saw the pup’s pictures—Phainon was an adorable fluffy samoyed, and you could already envision walking the cloud. You’d seriously take lots of photos when you get your hands on him, and you’d definitely bury your face on the dog’s snowy fur.
You also plan to record the dog’s woofs, because aeons, samoyeds were seriously just so CUTE. Well. At least that’s what Astraltok shows you. Some of them may be a bit too exaggerated or perfect looking, but nothing could go wrong when it comes to dogs.
So, yeah. Phainon. The fluffy samoyed. Walk Your Dog claimed that Phainon was a great companion, and that he’d make sure to make your time with him worthwhile. They also emphasized that being with him would surely be unforgettable, and this excited you even more.
You felt so proud of yourself that time. You were going to have so much fun with the dog, and you were definitely not going to brag about it on social media.
Phainon may be a new dog, but he’s more than ready to show off his wild side. Make sure not to be fooled by his eyes, because this pup knows how to get what he wants.
Or maybe you’re into that? Come, book him now. Let that fantasy turn into reality!
Phainon the Samoyed had a weird description, sure, but you still progressed in volunteering. You also made note of the additional information that was also in the dog’s profile, like his age being 21, and his measurements, but you ascertained it to the service being creative. Perhaps he was 21 in dog years, and he was 5’11. . . well, if the pup probably stood in two feet. Kind of terrifying to think about, but samoyeds were big dogs, weren’t they?
Anywho, you weren’t too particular with the details. All that matters is that you’re going to walk and bond with a super cute fluffy dog today, and you’ll be broadcasting in Astralgram, because you have a life. All that matters is you’re doing something good for the pet community, and that you’re doing pretty well as a member of the society.
Ping! Your phone flashes you a notification, and you suppress your squeals. Phainon is about to arrive soon! 💕
Actually, no, you can’t hide your squealing. You’re very much thrilled by what you’re about to do in the next few minutes, because you’re finally going to meet the fluffiest ball ever. You’re gonna kneel to its level, squish its super duper cute face, bask in its presence, before skipping away to walk it for two damn hours.
It’s gonna be one hell of a time for you, and you’ve mentally patted your back for such a good job.
“Hi, good morning! Are you—” A breathy, yet deep voice calls for your name, and you pause. “The one who booked for Walk Your Dog?”
You turn around, already beaming and expecting the white samoyed. “Yes—!“ Only to not see said white samoyed anywhere, but a gorgeous, gorgeous tall man with white, fluffy hair and the bluest eyes you’ve ever seen. A gorgeous, gorgeous man who apparently hides a lot of beef under that tight, compression shirt, and you gulp. Then, you shake your head, focusing in on the present. What the? Who is this? Is this a staff from the service? “Um. Sorry. Where’s the dog?”
The man blinks, puzzled. You don’t know why he’s also confused, and for some reason, alerts inside your head start to go off.
Wait a second.
He rubs the back of his head. “Oh! Well. You see, I’m the dog.” White, no—snowy, pointed ears perk up from his tuffs, and your lips part at the sight. Wait. You catch an even fluffier tail behind him wag, and this time, your jaw drops. To the floor. “I’m Phainon. I’ll be the samoyed you’ll be walking today!”
Your knees give in.
And just as planned, you did kneel in front of the samoyed.
Again, you don’t know a lot about the world. No one does. No one is that perfect.
So can anyone really blame you for being stupid?
Well, Cipher would surely laugh. Aunt Tribios and Aglaea did give you both a life lesson once, that not everything you see is what they seem, and they’ve never been more right. How did you miss it? How can you be so dense?
Now everything’s making sense.
“You see, there’s this thing called hiding in plain sight,” Aglaea said before, when she was stitching a torn up shirt of Cipher’s. “There may be one person, or a group of people who would utilize this strategy. You both ought to be careful. Make sure to stay vigilant at all times. If your gut tells you that there’s something off, then there’s something off.”
Well, how were you supposed to know that Walk Your Dog was a secret escort service in Okhema!?
“No, you’re not just using your brain,” is what Mydei will say if he learns about this. Then Castorice will admonish him and console you. But you have no plans of telling them that your plan of proving to the universe that you have something going on backfired, because you scored a date. Or a hookup. Holy shit.
“W-Wait, Miss, what happened?! Why are you on the ground?” You’re spiraling so much that you haven’t registered it yet that the samoyed hybrid also knelt down with you. That the samoyed is trying his best how to handle you. Everything’s making sense. Oh my god. The fucking site. The fucking site!
The fucking site that had so much weird ass descriptions.
100% REAL and RECENT PICTURE GUARANTEED.
A great companion, and that he’d make sure to make your time with him worthwhile.
Phainon may be a new rescue dog, but he’s more than ready to show off his wild side. Make sure not to be fooled by his eyes, because this pup knows how to get what he wants.
Unforgettable.
Or maybe you’re into that? Come, book him now. Let that fantasy turn into reality!
21.
Oh my god, his age. It’s not in dog years. It’s actually his fucking age, and—you gape at him. Horrified, by this epiphany.
5’11. He’s fucking 5’11.
Yeah, humanity was a mistake.
Humanity had a bunch of weirdos.
“Miss?”
You feel your heart cry out. No fucking way he looks this adorable too because fuck, dog hybrids are seriously one of a kind because you’re endeared even though you’re severely weirded out by this whole situation. He has his ears flopped, and tail drooped down.
What a wonderful hybrid. He seems earnest in his worrying for you, with his hands fumbling around your form, not knowing where to touch.
You swallow, before gripping his wrists. Wow, he’s warm, and he’s solid. He’s real. And he’s gorgeous. Fuck, you think you’re about to fall into some sort of rabbit hole.
He freezes, before blinking again. His eyes are on you, and you swallow again, panicking.
“I’m sorry, there must’ve been a HUGE misunderstanding. Huge,” you tell him, with lips quivering. You don’t know why you said huge again, but you blame it on him for having larger hands. ( If he held yours, you’re sure it’ll be concealed by how large they are. ) People who are passing by in Okhema Activity Park witness your pathetic attempts of repenting, and you wish for the soil to devour you whole. But you must face the consequences of your actions, ‘cause that’s just how life works. “Please, forget that this happened. And I know what it’s like for you guys, and—well, I haven’t experienced it, but I’ve heard stories, so just. Take my money. Phainon.”
You even said his name, and you watch how his eyes go a little wide at that, as if stunned. As if he’s fascinated by what had just transpired. You don’t know why he’s making that face, but you assume that this case you have with him is a first for him.
His ears perk up, and his tail wags briefly, before he returns to the expression he had before.
What the hell.
His ears lower back down, and he purses his lips.
“. . .So, we’re not going for a walk?”
You feel as if a heavy boulder was thrown against your back. He’s CONCERNED about the fucking WALK!?
You’ve really never felt more stupid in your life.
As of the moment, to at least prove to the world that you’re doing well as a member of society, you’re not crossing the pedestrian lane even though there were no cars passing around.
The stoplight is red.
And on your side, is a panting, giddy pure bred samoyed beside you, while holding his leash.
Walk Your Dog said, the pup knows how to get what he wants.
You’ve explained to him briefly that you genuinely thought that this was a literal dog walking service, hence the immediate cancellation of this session. You thought that Phainon the Samoyed would laugh at you, judge you for being such a goddamn idiot, before taking his money away.
But no such thing happened. Instead, he merely laughed. It was so dreamy you weren’t going to lie, you had to stop yourself from clutching your chest. Then, the understanding hybrid remarked, “If that’s the case, allow yourself to walk me still. I just couldn’t take your money without doing anything.”
To which you retorted, “I’m giving you an opportunity, pup. To earn free money.”
He just grinned with his eyes closed. “And I’m also giving you an opportunity to get to know each other. Or to get to know about the service. Wouldn’t that be fun? Well, that is, if you’re interested. So, what do you say?”
A normal person would’ve just rejected the offer. And insist for the hybrid to take the money because you unintentionally wasted his time. And yet you relented, because again, Walk Your Dog explicitly said that Phainon knows how to get what he wants.
You couldn’t believe you were so weak.
Plus, you did say that it wouldn’t hurt to learn more about the world.
“Please? I promise, I’m gonna make it worth your while.”
How familiar, you almost lurched.
It didn’t help that he used the scrunched eyebrows and almost shimmering blue eyes combo, too.
Fucking dogs, you swear.
So when you said fine, you ignored the fact how your heart performed somersaults when he beamed. His perky white ears made an appearance, and his fluffy white tail wagged again behind him.
You raised your hand before he can even speak, “But I have one request!! Um, can you turn into a samoyed? Please?”
It was already so weird, but thank the aeons Phainon did.
He laughed again. Why was his laugh hot? Damn it. “Sure! If that’s what the client wants.”
More like what he wants, ‘no? You suppose Phainon is in his most comfortable form because he’s clearly enjoying the walk with his tongue out. It’s a cute sight, really—and you are resisting the urge to take a damn photo for your dignity, but you fear you'll collapse soon.
Also, you’ve walked Phainon. Dogs like walks. And dogs like exploring and meeting new people.
But for some reason, even though people coo at Phainon to get his attention, and he gives them in return, Phainon more so keeps on looking at you, or fully fixates on you.
Must be part of the dog package or something, you ponder quietly when you dip your head down, and meet his adorable fluffy face while you saunter the streets together. His tail wags cheerfully, and your hand twitches. Oh god, control yourself, girl. That’s a hybrid. What you’re going to do is weird. Odd. Strange. And whatever synonym you can think of.
After 30 mins of walking, you’ve decided to take a breather in another bench in Okhema Activity Park. You recall how embarrassed you got when you were strapping the leash on Phainon’s collar in his dog form, because again, that’s a hybrid—he turns into a human, don’t ever forget, and it’s already so weird that you’re putting a collar on a species that also turns into human, but this is how this service worked, apparently.
( Also, it’s amazing how the sun mark on his neck can also be seen in his full dog form, but through his fur. )
Speaking of the samoyed, he was just gazing at you again, and you don’t know what he’s thinking about. Not until he bonks your knee with his head, and you lift a brow questioningly.
You nervously ask, “W–What?”
Another bonk.
“What, Phainon? Do you want to—to pee, or something?”
If he did, he already did. And you have an inkling that Phainon is not that gross. He has decorum still. Most likely he’ll be hiding somewhere else just to flush it all out.
Then, Phainon whines. Be still, your heart. Oh my god. Why is he so cute? And why are you so mean? There’s a real, pure samoyed looking at you with the saddest eyes ever. You’re evil for not doing anything.
“I—I don’t know what you want,” you admit to him. “If you want something, say it. You can’t talk in that form?”
He huffs. Must’ve been a yes. And since he can’t talk, Phainon’s fluffy head searches for your hand. His heated breath brushes over your skin, and before you know it, he gives you a lick.
“Woah, hey! Why are you—“
Phainon whines again, and it hits you. You gawk at him for a moment, still contemplating if you’re going to proceed with what you have to do. Then Phainon rests his chin on your knee, begging, and there’s an arrow that strikes you from behind.
Aeons.
“A-ah,” you stammer, before a shaky hand elevates, shadowing a bit of the dog’s face. “My bad. I just thought it’ll be odd for me to pet you, considering the situation—“
Another whine. How many more whines will it get? You don’t know if you’re seriously going to crash out because you’re anxious by the fast course of events, but also charmed at the same time because Phainon’s so cute and you don’t want to mess things up. This is the full truth.
“Okay, okay. Fine. Sure. I’m—I’m gonna pet you. Just hold still, okay?”
And it’s not a groundbreaking climax. He complies, and you slowly rest your palm on top of his head, testing the water. Seconds pass, and wow—wow. It’s fluffier than you can ever imagine. It is like a cloud. He is like a fluffball.
Phainon leans onto your touch, and you watch how his tail wags side by side again. In those Walk Your Dog marketing materials, you’ve gotten a rough idea of what dogs look like when they’re happy.
And Phainon seems thoroughly overjoyed by the petting.
You shatter. You just can’t handle it anymore. Another hand raises, and you, in full force, start to squish the samoyed’s face, irrevocably captivated. You have been won over by the samoyed.
Luckily for you, Phainon didn’t mind.
30 minutes of walking flew by—and again, you’re sitting on a bench, but this time, you have the samoyed beside you. Residents of Okhema have stolen pictures, and even asked for your permission prior to this. You let them because you don’t own Phainon.
A few minutes ago, the samoyed quietly. . . yet freely cuddled itself close to you. He pressed his snout on your arm, and then on your neck. It was a weird sensation but you yelped when his wet nose touched your cheek.
Two eyes blinked when you took a look at him. As if he was examining your reactions. As if he was finding out what you were about to do next.
Again, it was weird ( you have no idea how much you’ve used the word weird ), but you sighed, and carefully leaned back against him anyway. Soon enough, your head was resting on the pup’s side, and your eyes were slightly blocked by snow fur.
Then, Phainon gives a deep woof, and you close your eyes.
You hear the thumpthumpthump, but pay it no mind.
It will be over soon. You did not waste those two hours. The dog insisted the walks. You have photos and videos to share now, too.
“Did you have fun today?”
You instantly detach yourself away from him after that. He’s back to his hybrid human self. Feeling your cheeks heating up, you nod bashfully. “Um—y-yeah!” Then, you narrow your eyes at him. “Can you also give me a head’s up at least when you’re transforming back?”
Phainon snickers, “I’m sorry. You seemed so content that I didn’t want to disturb you.” Then, he smiles lightly. “Which means you did, since you did not even notice me transforming back?”
Now your face gets even hotter. “What. No!” Phainon’s ears are up again, and his tail is wagging, again. Fuck. “I’m not a weirdo.”
Phainon just laughs again, “Sure.”
“I am not!”
“Mm,” He hums, and your heart skips when that smile remains on his lips.
You avert your gaze away, not knowing how to feel about that.
There’s a few minutes of silence. To avoid feeling awkward, you listen to the sounds inside Okhema Activity Park. The leaves rustling from above. The kids’ voices as they run around the grass. The bells ringing from passing bikes.
And Phainon’s gentle breathing beside you.
“You smell really good, you know,” he says, and of course, you’re taken aback.
“B-bwuh? What?”
You stare at him as if he grew two heads. You’re waiting for the I’m just kidding, but his expression hasn’t changed a bit. In fact, he’s genuine.
“I said you smell good. You smell nice.”
Now who’s calling me weird? Or maybe because this is just how hybrids are. You don’t know their biology. “I don’t know what to feel about that.”
The amused Phainon smiles wider. “Trust me, it’s a compliment.”
“To be honest I’m a bit freaked out.”
“Understandable.”
You look away again. You want to tell him to turn into a samoyed so this won’t be awkward, because you’re intimidated by his size, because does he know that his pecs are about to pop out from his compression shirt, or or that he’s shining so brightly you can’t look away, or or —
“It’s still so comical how you thought that this was a literal dog walking service,” Phainon suddenly brings up, and you glance at him. “Walk Your Dog is clever with their strategy to attract their potential clients or target audience. At first glance, it may seem innocent at the surface, not until you dig deeper. Did you really not realize that we’re not all what we seem?”
“I get it. There’s no need to rub it in, Phainon,” you pout at him, and you miss his ears twitch. “There’s still a lot of things that I don’t know about the world, okay?”
Phainon releases another chuckle. “Okay. I won’t hold it against you.”
…
There are numerous thumps as the samoyed’s tail continuously wags behind him. “But seriously, how come you’ve never realized?”
You groan, “Phainon!”
@ intergalacticbaseballer
Walkyourdog services is actually 10/10 btw
@ evernight
What?? You actually tried it?
@ intergalacticbaseballer
Yeah
It was fun
@ permansorterrae
I actually don’t want to ask the details.
Feel free not to share with us.
@ intergalacticbaseballer
Did you know that booking a 2 hour session is a quickie?
@ permansorterrae
No. And I really don’t want to know.
@ evernight
But I want to!
Tell us more LOL
@ intergalacticbaseballer
WELL THEN
@ permansorterrae
Come on.
@ intergalacticbaseballer
If a hybrid dog thinks that you smell good, it’s an indication that you’re a potential mate
So if you keep on booking them for example, there’s a very high chance that the hybrid may terminate their employment to pursue said potential mate
Which is, to be perfectly honest, absolute cinema
I’d love to watch that drama
@ evernight
That’s actually really professional of them
At least there are no work violations
@ intergalacticbaseballer
Right right!
Though imagine the mess if the hybrid continued to work under work your dog??? Super messy
Anyway
I have another info to share abt them
@ permansorterrae
Why do you know so much about the hybrids and their service?
@ intergalacticbaseballer
Got to know during a 12 hour session, baby!
🤪
@ permansorterrae
We really didn’t need to know about that.
@ intergalacticbaseballer
But now you do.
My friend, if you ever try out Walk Your Dog,
@ permansorterrae
I promise you, I won’t.
@ intergalacticbaseballer
If the hybrid keeps on biting and biting you, that also means they want you as their mate
They’re claiming you, marking you as theirs
Hybrids don’t normally do that with their clients
But they will if they see a potential mate, or if the client is into that
@ permansorterrae
Again, why do we need to know this?
@ evernight
Because I’m curious!
“So.” Tonight, you are facing Cipher’s shit-eating grin in the coffee shop where you guys regularly meet after each semester. Sipping her iced drink, she says, “Someone’s been active. You having fun walking a dog these days, huh?”
Your heart pounds. It’s no secret that you’ve been posting about the samoyed recently. You’ve shared in Astralgram how you’ve been spending time with the pup every two weeks, or sometimes even every week, when you’re missing him. You go on walks, or even eat out together—unfortunately your pup is a big eater, it’s concerning sometimes.
You won’t forget that one day when he asked if he could take a bite of your burger, and he literally devoured the whole thing. His tail was wagging so happily despite you admonishing him for the biggest crime he ever committed.
But still, your friends do not know.
They do not know the truth.
“Yeah. Walking the dog is actually helping me get into shape. I walk him every two hours whenever I have him.” You tell them, and you swirl your preferred order with your teaspoon.
Castorice sends you a wonderful smile. “That sounds wonderful. If you wouldn’t mind, maybe we could join you one day when you walk the samoyed?”
Oh, no. That’s not possible. Over your dead body. They cannot know. Even though you and Phainon plan to act all normal, these three friends of yours will eventually realize what’s all underneath it.
But still, remain calm. Remain composed. Like Mydei, who has just his eyes shut tight, and arms crossed, though he’s evidently listening.
“S–sure, one day, one day,” You laugh a little. “But I’ll have to warn you—he’s a bit of a biter. Nowadays, he can’t stop biting me for some reason. It doesn’t hurt. And it doesn’t bleed. I feel like it’s more of a playful bite, if anything.”
“He could probably still be thinking that he’s a puppy,” Cipher explains with a shrug. “All dogs have that phase. They still think that they’re like young babies.”
An image of Phainon, in his full samoyed form, or even in his hybrid human form, making himself comfortable in your lap, or laying on top of you, appears in your mind. That couldn’t be further than the truth.
“Phainon, you’re so heavy! Stop it!”
He just laughs, and ignores you anyway. It’s already too late for you to push him away because he found the perfect spot to melt against you. He sighs in delight.
“Good night.”
“What?! No, Phainon—get off!”
“Haha, call my name again?”
You were suffocating so overwhelmed that day because of a gorgeous slash beefy hybrid samoyed man on top of you, and yet you wouldn’t have it any other way.
And when the topic shifts to a new one, you give the floor to Cipher and Castorice as they share updates from their new adventures. It is not long before Mydei elbows you lightly on the arm, and you look up at him, curious.
“What?”
“You’re glowing.”
Your face steams. “Wha-?”
“Glowing.” He narrows his eyes at you. “Is walking the dog the only thing happening in your life right now?”
Your task of letting the world know that you have something going on is successful, but you also have to bear the outcomes that will be gradually thrown your way.
After all. . . walking the dog, in this new context you’ve found yourself in, meant two different things.
overview: kyryll has a lot to say (not surprising). and it seems you have a lot to say, too.
wc: 3k
notes: spoilers for luna iii, act vi: melting moonlight in the morning mist. please do not read under the cut if you do not want to be spoiled. you have been warned. flins is a freak, so there may be suggestive parts. haha nothing new here c:
“What a beautiful sight to behold.”
You stop in your tracks after hearing a very familiar voice. Looking around, you’re sure that you’re not losing it—especially at a time like this.
It’s Moon Prayer Night, and obviously, there will be chatter all around. Tonight’s festival is one of a kind: most of the ladies and young girls dressed up as Moon Goddesses, and special and influential individuals from all around have sponsored the entertaining attractions.
This resulted in you having a lot of fun in a while with your friends to the point you can record almost 4 pages worth of memories. This is a letter you’ll definitely send to your closest ones, for sure.
You tasted different flavors of Moon Prayer candies with them ( it was a fun game of chance if anyone would get the uglier tasting candy, and you were grateful you got coffee ), rode the Dodoco Whirly Gig ( even if it was mostly for children, your inner child was glad nonetheless ), hung out wishing slips ( you wished for more better days like these, and Miss Lauma had smiled—feeling the same ), got your fortunes told ( “Oh, haha, Miss Fortune Teller, she’s got an interesting lovelife that’s for sure!” one of your friends had said ), and lastly, played that one game called ‘Kuuhenki Concentration’ ( “Someone’s gotta be cheating in this one!” one had exclaimed, with so many stickers on their face that you guys had no choice but to paste it into her hair instead ).
You guys were certainly busy with the festivities. After a few hours, your friends decided to take a little break. One of them was still recovering from motion sickness because of the Dodoco Whirly Gig, so they settled on a nearby table to recuperate. Of course, you excused yourself, taking this opportunity to wander around for a bit, even if you have stickers attached on your face.
And perhaps, seek a little someone who may or may not be related to your ‘interesting lovelife.’
So, where did that voice come from? Last time you checked, you’re alone on this short trip. Lifting your head from the picture you’ve taken earlier with a Rimehorn Deer on the faceless cutout standees, your eyes curiously roam around the surrounding area.
Or maybe that voice was not directed to you?
Then, you hear it. Gentle laughter.
Gentle laughter that you can only assume is mere amusement to your ears. “To your left, moonlight. Mhm. Yes. Down here. Oh, how very fortunate that the Moon Goddess had decided to bless me by their presence. Welcome, welcome.”
You blink—you’re currently facing a stall that sells sugar sculptures, with no ‘seller’ in sight. Ah, scratch that. No human seller in sight, because like any of the unique attractions, the sugar sculpture staller has a talking lantern.
So this is what the children have been talking about. A talking lantern that tells you what your spirit animal would be, according to your personality. Your friends are curious to know what the deal is with said talking lantern, so they’re planning to visit after the break. Then, they also want to find out how your ‘special someone’ is faring out in a time like this, so they're gonna be hitting two birds with one stone in this one once they arrive at this stall.
“Greetings, dear Moon Goddess. You are stunning as ever—to be graced by your gentle light, I consider it the best gift you’ve ever offered me.” The lantern says, and you feel your cheeks heating up a little.
Yes, you’re one of the ladies who decided to dress up as one of the Moon Goddesses, too. It didn’t help that Nefer knew how to convince you to wear such clothing. How can you say no, when she had your own gown tailored and slightly adjusted to suit your tastes, but still remained to stick with the original concept. Plus, your friends even matched it with a floral antler headpiece from the Frostmoon Scions.
“Cut the sweet talk, Kyryll,” you tell him, while walking closer to his stall. You fidget with the hems of sleeves. “This is—making me more embarrassed than it already is.”
“Ah, is that so? How odd. Perhaps my memory has been failing me—I do recall you telling me that you like me whispering the highest of praises to you during certain nights.”
Now you’re even hotter. You quickly avert your gaze, and again, this tease of a lantern chuckles. It doesn’t help that Kyryll's laughter is dreamy too, much like his voice.
“Perhaps the Moon Goddess has changed her mind?”
“Kyryll. . . !”
“Haha, I jest, I jest. I have decided to spare you. For now.” You pout at him, and even though he’s in his lantern form, you just know he’s smiling at you right now. “How has your day been so far, my love? I am a little blue that I may not get to spend it with you as much, but I do hope you are enjoying the festival.”
It’s a genuine question from him. You’ve decided to drop your fluster for now and answer sincerely. “I am. It’s been really fun. My friends are taking a short break, so we’ll be continuing the exploring together later. For now, let me give you a heads up, we’ll be visiting every stall, not excluding this one.”
“I’m glad that my sugar sculptures are part of the itinerary, then. I shall do my best to assess your friends so I can accurately tell them their own spirit animal.” Then, the lantern adds, “Oh. That also means you’ll be visiting me again.”
Happiness emanates from said lantern, and your heart softens. This is making you giddy, too, but then, not wanting to fall for Kyryll’s whims, and wanting to get him back a bit, you pretend to huff.
This abrupt change doesn’t go unnoticed.
“Hm? What troubles you so, my dear Moon Goddess? I am able to listen. You shan’t hesitate even if I am a mere lantern—even though my role for tonight is to seek your spirit animal and offer you a sugar sculpture, I assure you, I can lend you an ear.”
Hearing him being a bit worried, you consider if you should continue. Kyryll is gentle and tender; he knows when to get serious if the situation calls for it. But this is to get back at him. And you can have a little fun, too. “Well, Mr. Lantern, it’s just that. . . a certain someone has other priorities lately.”
“Ah. I presume this is a matter of sorting out important and not–so important priorities?”
Based on the way he asked you, you figure he’s not in the know, yet. “Yes. This certain someone hasn’t been spending a lot of time with me lately. I think he prefers the company of others now, like Sir Varka. I’ve heard from the Grandmaster that they’ll be having a toast later after sending Miss Columbina off. Hmph. How lucky of Sir Varka, then, to be able to get to spend time with him during the festival, instead of me, his actual lover.”
You fail to sense how he has faltered. “. . .Oh.”
You sigh dramatically, keeping up with the theatrics. “I mean, who am I to keep him away from the revelries, right? It’s what he deserves, after all, after working so hard with the others.” You close your eyes. “But really. Woe is me. . . woe is me.”
The lantern is quiet for a moment, and you wonder if you’ve taken it a bit too far. You panic a little when the silence seems to prolong, so you immediately open your eyelids. Oh. Oh. You are not gonna dampen Kyryll’s happy mood!
“Ky—“
“Is this what you truly feel, my jewel?” Kyryll asks, in a low tone, and very much concerned. You panic more inwardly: he processed your joke, and took it to heart. He really does take whatever you tell of him really seriously, and you feel your heart fluttering.
Maybe there has been some truth to it—the inevitable loneliness. But it’s not Kyryll’s fault. You’ve heard of the dangers they are currently facing, and even though you’ve only gotten a gist from Nefer herself, you understand why he’s busy. Kyryll has been good to you, he makes sure that you’re still feeling loved despite being away for days, but recently, it’s been a little difficult. Days have gotten into weeks to the point that his visits or appearances in the loving home you two share have dwindled.
But still, you understand.
“I—I was kidding, Kyryll,” you tell him, and scratch at your cheek a little. Wait, there’s a piece of star sticker there, so you pull it away from your cheek, trying to focus on anything else. “Really. It’s just what you said earlier—I jest, I jest!”
But Kyryll is not convinced. Even if he is in his lantern form, you can imagine his expression: his lips are pursed, and he is not satisfied with your answer.
“My love, I will not permit you to go if you will not tell me the truth.”
You almost choke. Oh. It’s going that way, now. “Kyryll—“ You inch closer to him. “It’s the truth! And seriously? You’re a lantern right now. How can you even stop me from leaving?”
“You underestimate my abilities. I would be more than glad to demonstrate it for you.”
The scene of a lantern chasing a Moon Goddess around the festival is funny, but Kyryll is committed. He really won’t let you go if you’re gonna spill half-truths.
It is not in his nature to shrug off concerns like these.
“My love. . .”
“Fine, fine,” Here it goes. Taking a deep breath, you say, “I guess. . . what I am trying to say is. . . I am lonely. There.”
It’s pretty contradictory since you do socialize with others whenever Kyryll is not around, but he’s your lover. You want his attention, too. You want his time, too.
It’s only right, after all.
“And—and I know you guys, like Sir Varka, Nefer, Lauma, and the others have been fighting, and working hard for the sake of Nod Krai and Miss Columbina, and I totally understand that, really! But I miss you, okay? I miss you,” You confess to the lantern. “And I’ve been waiting patiently. Do I not deserve your time, too? I mean, you guys are technically finished now, right? So isn’t it my time to love you now?”
Isn’t it your time to spoil him and care for him now?
And when silence fills the air between you two, your cheeks grow hotter than ever. That bold declaration may have reached any onlookers or people nearby, but you do not care. At least you’ve finally told him what you’ve been bottling up during his absence.
Then, he laughs.
This stupid lantern fae, who’s undeniably yours, laughs.
You glow and shriek, “Kyryll! This is not a laughing matter! I’m being honest!”
He continues to do so, however. “No—please, you are mistaken. I am joyous. I am grateful for your honesty, my love. Thank you, truly, for voicing out what you’ve been hiding in your heart. It means a lot to me.” Kyryll laughs again when you aggravatedly poke him twice—poke twice at his lantern form, at least. “Haha, really now, I appreciate your honesty. I can confidently vaunt to the people that I can read you like an open book—I do like observing you, as shameless as it may seem—but I would not be able to know this if you had not reached out to me and informed me of your troubles. After Moon Prayer Night, I suppose we’ll have a lot to talk more about, then?”
“Yes,” You nod. “I think so. We need it.”
Kyryll doesn’t speak again. You raise a quizzical brow at this.
“Kyryll? What’s wrong?” You tilt your head. “. . .Kyryll?”
“I’m merely thinking, there is nothing to fret, my jewel,” Kyryll reassures you. “Specifically, I’m thinking about you. If you have been missing me, then you must know that it is reciprocated. Perhaps even more so.”
There were brief and subtle kisses that he gave you whenever he saw you in Nasha Town, or whenever he caught you strolling around in his lighthouse. He would caress your face, savor you all in, and intertwine his fingers with yours, memorizing whatever feature he could find before reluctantly leaving.
These were gestures that can only mean that he really does feel the same way. That he really does miss you. That he will always miss you.
But duty calls, even though you know Kyryll would much prefer to be in your company.
“Please do not ever forget that you’re my number one priority,” He says, deep from the heart. “It saddens me that there was a time you ever wondered if you weren’t. Cease those thoughts immediately because you are, my love. You are.”
You smile at him, “After the festival, okay? Let’s talk. A lot.”
“We shall.” He shares the same sentiment. You can feel his happiness again.
For a few seconds, you two exchange a tender moment together. This is how it always has been—though your relationship has grown at a gradual pace, you two know well enough that communication is important. Though there have been rocky roads—memories where one fears to tell what they have been thinking, causing small misunderstandings or squabbles—since everything is not always perfect.
It’s still an on–going process where you and Kyryll still have a lot to learn, but at least, you are doing it together. Kyryll is patient, and you are considerate. There will be lessons. Common grounds. Somebody may get hurt. But that’s just how it is.
Understanding each other is what’s important first and foremost, as it is the key to build happier and healthier relationships.
“. . .Ahem. My love, will you allow me to be direct? Just this once.”
You humor him, even if he popped the sweet bubble you two were in seconds ago with his spontaneity. “When are you not, Kyryll? I’m your lover. Of course, I’m allowing it.”
“Then,” He begins, “I wish to transform into my human form so I can touch you. Hmm, perhaps you’ve seen any secluded alleys during your walk—have you seen any empty alleys nearby? I’d like to peel off the stickers from your skin and kiss you all over. Just five minutes will suffice.”
Your eyes go wide at that. Your cheeks heat up again, and even more so when your mind conjures a very suggestive image. You know it’s not gonna be just five minutes.
“K-Kyryll! You’re joking, right? Right?”
“Haha, I’m not. It certainly doesn’t help that you are dressed up as a goddess. You are divine, my jewel. I have been staring at you a lot. Have you not noticed?”
You squeak at the lantern, “—How should I know?!”
“Mhm. You are exquisite. Absolutely and most definitely ravishing. You evoke desires in me that I am trying hard to repress for I need to remain a gentleman.” Kyryll resumes, wanting to torment you further by his words. “If I may, I wouldn’t mind you wearing this inside our bedchambers.”
The implication is not lost on you. You think you’re going to burst at this rate.
“Shameless! And this is blasphemous, Mr. Lantern! I am dressed up as the Moon Goddess!”
“And it’s all the more reason to worship you. My jewel, we’ve talked about this. Surely, you are aware of my thoughts regarding religious beliefs. I am indifferent to those matters. Blasphemy will not hinder me from getting a taste of you.”
Your jaw drops. You are this close in shaking the lantern. “K-Kyryll!! Stop, not in public, especially when there are kids around!”
More laughter. “My apologies.” You know he doesn’t mean it. He sighs, “It’s difficult not to when you look so breathtaking like this. But I will hold onto that. I shall continue my praises once we’re alone.”
Him and his desires, really. You are sure you’ll explode soon.
If there’s one thing you’ve learned from Kyryll—you should be careful of your words. You’ll have to prepare yourself for later—since you technically did allow him to continue his sweet talk once you two are alone—and goodness, your heart is equal parts excited but also terrified.
Oh, archons.
“I’m just gonna go now, okay? I’ll—I’ll see you later!”
“Of course. I shan’t keep you any longer.” The lantern says, and you can assess from that that he really had fun talking to you this fine evening. And in a dulcet tone — Kyryll murmurs, “Have a happy happy festival, my sweet and delightful Moon Goddess. I’ll see you later.”
When you turn around, you try not to trip the way back to your friends’ table. You don’t want to admit it, but your knees went weak after that.
( And when you and your friends finally arrive at the talking lantern’s stall, they’re fascinated. They assumed that ‘your lover’ voicing out the lantern even if he’s not around must’ve been part of the ‘unique selling point’ or ‘uniqueness’ of this year’s festival, so they did not entirely focus on its mechanics, as it would break the ‘magic.’
Your friends can’t help but giggle to themselves, though, when they’ve noticed that the lantern keeps on addressing you, or directing its whole attention on you. Unlike any of them, you received a lantern sugar sculpture, instead of the normal animal ones. )
// Bonus:
“Keep it in your pants, Mr. Lantern.”
“Haha. I will most certainly try.”
“We can’t believe we’re seeing [her] flirt with a lantern full time.”
“Ah. It’s been a while since I’ve painted. Because of Lady Paimon’s persistence, I had no choice but to use the skill again. My jewel, I would like to paint a portrait of you. Will you allow me?”
“What is this request all of a sudden? You know you can just take pictures, you know.”
“A marvelous idea. Then, that only means you are willing to pose for me? You will pose in whatever position I’ll say?”
“I— that wasn't my point! I suggested taking a picture so I won't have to stay still for hours while you paint—”
“My, I truly cannot wait for later.”
“Kyryll—! Hey!”
(a/n: anyway, we know what happened after this. for angst lovers, that talk won’t happen anytime soon, i’m afraid. </3)
also i wanted to insert this as a last minute idea or conversation but i figured i'll just say it here, the fic is fine as it is: i think flins would definitely notice his "shortcomings" or the "lack" of time he's spending with his beloved. knowing him, of course, he's going to make up for it. in hindsight, it's evident that his jewel would get lonely because of this - considering flins' job and role in the current archon quest. he totally knows that. however the idea of his beloved admitting and confirming to him it in real time instead makes the idea more realistic, making him truly realize that uh-huh, yes. it really is happening that his beloved is lonely, and this is serious, and yes, that breaks his heart a little. also also it's totally not a wake up call for him, i do not think he is that dense :)
character study?? mayhaps,, i am just a writer,, there are better flins writers and fans out there who can capture his character really well, this is just a personal opinion of mine for him ehehe
a kyryll chudomirovich flins x gender neutral reader modern au.
overview: you think you've landed yourself a stellar deal when you find a decent apartment for college at the last minute, not until you get informed that you'll be having a stranger as a roommate.
wc: 13.7k
notes: hello! this is my last fic for 2025, and i wish all flins lovers a happy new year! yeah i definitely didn't sleep for this one, but it was lowk worth it. hope you enjoy this word jumble i made. i dunno. writing slump was temporarily healed i don't think i produced my 100% brain power over this one despite the word count. does this feel like flins? not too sure. i hope this fic also makes sense y'all. also based on this ask. saw their ask and here i am, adding the tags: roommates au, college setting, non-linear timeline, possible unreliable narrator, ambiguous relationships, slice of life, reverse comfort-ish
“So. What’s it like having a roommate?”
In the first place—you did not even plan to have a roommate, to begin with.
The story begins like no other: of course, considering how responsible you are, you’ve managed to find one decent apartment at the very last minute. It’s a couple of minutes away from your university, and honestly, you can’t believe you’ve landed a stellar deal. It’s neither too big, nor too small. It’s near a grocery store, too, so what more can you ask?
That is, until you’ve realised that having a roommate is part of the lease during the contract signing. It would’ve been fine if this was someone you knew in uni, but it was a total stranger. ( Now this explains why there were more rooms and bathrooms. )
Yes, yes. You certainly jinxed yourself by celebrating way too early. You guess it must have been The Doctor’s doing. Dude probably gave you an evil eye for beating him at League.
But since you’re desperate, and wouldn’t want to suffer by paying almost 5000 worth of mora for transportation every week, you give back the contract to your landlord with shaky hands.
Hello, Kyryll Chudomirovich Flins.
Welcome to my life.
Moving in has been a blur. Standing outside of your unit, you wonder when you’ll ever get to meet your roommate. You haven’t seen him during the contract signing, and it’s baffling how willing he was to even sign the lease immediately without even doing a background check. ( It’s not like you’ve done it, but for your own safety, you’ve come to learn that it was strange how you couldn’t find him on your social media. You even tried kyryll_1 or kyryll_123, or even flins_xcx and kyryllflins or whatever, but nothing came up. )
So yes—this roommate of yours? Definitely a mystery.
That is, not until you finally enter your unit with boxes filled with your belongings in your arms do you finally get to meet him.
It’s dark, but the light pouring from the doorway is enough to see through. You assume it’s around 6:30 pm already, and you’re a little glad to know that your roomie isn’t here yet. So you exhale a sigh, before bending down to place the boxes on the ground, and standing up again with hands on your hips.
“It’s going to be a new chapter in life,” you say, to no one in particular.
Yet a voice replies from the side, “It sure is.”
And there, in the corner of the room, sitting in a rocking chair, is a tall, ominous figure. The manifestation of your childhood nightmares.
The whole apartment quakes when you scream bloody murder.
_
It’s a great first impression.
The next thing you know is that the tall, ominous figure had marched over to you and pressed his bigger hand ( wait, is he wearing gloves? ) to your mouth to prevent you from screaming more. You thought that stress from deadlines would be your murderer, but it turns out it was going to be some man who you’re sure is definitely someone evil. ( You swear you saw his yellow eyes gleam, as if he was some predator. Or maybe it was because of the city lights coming from the window? Actually, you’re not even sure. )
The way he shushes you brings you uncertainty. He’s not even panicking from the noise you’re making. More like he’s being patient, and gentle, and—what the hell? Are you being treated like a child, or like a disturbed animal being placated before its death? Archons, is he going to eat you? Is this some kind of animal documentary film you’ve watched before where predators gaslight their prey thinking they’re going to be fine?
Gods, he’s really going to eat you, isn’t he? He’s going to maul you like a wolf. Suffocate you like a cobra—
“Shh, there, there. It wouldn’t be appropriate to bother the upstairs neighbors, I’ve heard they’re quite the pair.” Your muffled screams come into a halt—what does he even mean by that!? Isn’t what he’s doing INAPPROPRIATE? “Haha, forgive me for giving you such a fright; I simply thought it would be funny. But alas, you look as if your soul is being taken away from you.”
You ransack your mind—in what world is that funny?! Who’s some psycho who sits in the dark like that?! And apology your ass, he looks as if he isn’t repenting at it for all!
“My name is Kyryll Chudomirovich Flins. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, my dear roommate,” he says and you freeze in both recognition and horror.
This wacko guy is your roommate?!
Oh, archons.
It’s going to be a whole new chapter indeed.
_
You’re not used to having a roommate. Not at all. You greatly value your privacy, but really—desperate times call for desperate measures. They did say that it’s time to get out of your comfort zone, because you’ll get to know yourself better.
And honestly, your plan for getting out of your comfort zone was to live in an apartment all by yourself. You’ll have to rely on yourself further, and learn what it’s like being seriously independent. It just so happens that the universe has other plans, because the universe said, “Nah. That’s way too easy. Have a roommate instead.”
So after sharing an apartment with Kyryll Chudomirovich Flins for almost a year now, here are your thoughts with him.
#1. You seriously don’t know what’s wrong with him.
Exhibit A: The reason why he had been sitting in a rocking chair ( who even sits in a rocking chair these days? ) the first time he met you, was because he didn’t know how to put the lights on. He mentioned being reliant on some friends of his, the Miss Ineffa and Miss Aino were mentioned, but even then, you didn’t know who they were. Yet.
So before your arrival, he was just staring cluelessly at the ceiling—in the dark, like some lunatic—wondering how he would connect the bulb to the socket.
Flabbergasted as you were, you took the initiative. By stacking boxes, then hoisting yourself on top of said boxes to reach said socket, the roomie offered emotional support from below. It was interesting how fascinated he was when the light finally yet barely illuminated the surrounding area.
He went on a long ramble about how grateful he was that he had such a talented roommate, and though you’re overwhelmed by his praises, you just shrugged it off. It was nothing.
You had a feeling that he did not mind conversations, and you wanted to ask how come he was not knowledgeable with this stuff. But decided to drop it entirely when he was gazing at the other corner of the room for some reason.
Exhibit B: He sees things.
You have a theory that he has a unique sense of humor—perhaps wicked, even. ( See, Exhibit C, where this is elaborated further ). But he seemed to be not joking when he sensed that there were “spirits” living in the apartment you are sharing, not until he kindly told them to stay somewhere else. ( This explains the time he was gazing at the other corner of the room before. )
Flins is a yapper. You’ve grown accustomed to it now, and maybe you need a degree to comprehend the true meaning behind his words ( or maybe even read more because you had to do a quick akasha search about the meaning of vellichor ), but you’re not wrong in the aspect that he doesn’t lie.
He says the full truth—for he is sincere and honest. But there are times that his truths are hidden behind a veil, or if he’s particularly feeling playful ( you’re aghast that he knows how to twist or find loopholes in his words ), he’ll probably give you a riddle, to which he enjoys. Thank the archons he doesn’t do this often, though. You don’t have enough brain cells to partake in his whims.
Back to the point: when he said he can see spirits or ghosts or the paranormal, he really can. The fact is a little chilling, and even more so when he can even talk to them, because seriously, what the hell?
And he even thinks it's a normal thing for him, too. One day, while you were stirring your instant coffee inside the kitchen, Flins, who just came home from his class, told you that there was a ghost sitting beside a classmate of his, who seemed genuinely interested in her. Flins told them to politely back off because it was rude and disrespectful.
You had to process the whole thing after that, when he went to his bedroom to get a change of clothes. You’ve started to accept at that point that it’s going to be like that for the rest of your four to five years in college, unless you move out and find somewhere else, or even tell him that this wasn’t your ordinary ‘how’s your day’ conversation starter.
But since this apartment was ‘stellar’, you’ll just have to get used to your roomie’s yapping.
Exhibit C: His humor. Who thinks it’s funny to scare someone, you wonder, and answers may vaty if you ever ask your friends. One of them will probably mention those idiotic pranksters who risk their lives for the clicks, or while some may vote for Xiangling’s lady friend, who apparently is some heir to a funeral parlor.
Your candidate for this is your wonderful roommate.
He thinks it’s funny when you nearly had a heart attack when you noticed that this man was just walking beside you all the way home to your apartment. “How the hell are you so light?! Why did you not make any sounds!?”
He thinks it’s funny when he suddenly speaks up out of nowhere—especially when you’re just lounging and relaxing in your living room, watching some shitty pirated movie, not until his towering figure, for some reason, appears in his doorway, making you almost drop the bowl of chips on the carpeted floor. Then, he arbitrarily calls your name, before asking the most mundane thing of all. “Do you mind if I borrow your frying pan for a bit? I might cook some scrambled eggs tomorrow morning.” “Archons, Flins—you didn’t need to ask! Just clean it after, what the hell!” You know he’s aware of what he’s doing, yet it doesn’t show on his face anyway. The glint on his eye is a dead giveaway. “I’m most grateful for your generosity. Please, enjoy the rest of the film.”
And lastly, he thinks it’s funny when he sees an insect or tiny reptile or arachnid or whatever crawler that you hate, and jokingly throws it at you. “CHUDOMIRO- BITCH!” He’s not that low to commit to it, since he still has said creepy crawler on his hand, but he does have the audacity to look surprised. “My deepest apologies. It appears my hand has slipped.”
For that, you get back at him by grabbing one of his boxes that contains his precious rocks, threatening to flush it down the toilet. That was the very first time you’ve seen real terror in his eyes, and you don’t feel any semblance of guilt for enjoying that moment.
“Do you see this, Flins? Your rocks—”
“Gemstones,” he still manages to correct you, and you glare at him.
“Your kids are crying out, and they’re saying, papa, papa, help me, there’s a whirlpool, we’re going to be granules along with a bunch of feces. Papa, papa, help us.”
Flins has his hands in front of his chest, thoroughly disturbed. He’s probably disturbed by how his gemstones are nearly touching the toilet, or probably because of your voice acting. “S–surely, you’re not going to resort to this—“
“Oh, but it’s definitely going to be a resort for your rocks—“
“Gemstones—”
And your other hand quickly reaches for the lever of the toilet and pushes it down, the loud flush intensifying his fear more. If you squint a little harder, you’d notice how Flins was trembling a little.
“What’d you say?” your hold over the box inches a little closer to the toilet seat. You internally delight when he seems more alarmed than ever.
“I jest, I jest—please, do not throw them— anything but the box—“
“Okay. Then maybe I’ll flush the GEMSTONES, then. You did anything say but the box—“
It was quite hilarious how you kind of picked up a few Flins mannerisms, and used this against him.
But at least, amidst his. . . weirder traits, you’re glad that in #2, he has his own sets of boundaries. There were ground rules that you’ve both established—no one enters the other’s bedroom ( an obvious one ), everyone does their groceries and chores equally ( another obvious one ), and personal matters remain personal ( another, another obvious one ).
Thankfully, like any other human being with a brain, Flins doesn’t have to voice out what constitutes ‘personal matters.’
You don’t ask about the paintings he hides in his closet, and he doesn’t point out the pictures you’ve attached on your corkboard. You don’t question him about the bones he collects—and it’s kind of frightening how he doesn’t explicitly tell you or show you why he does it, but it’s probably related to his course—and he doesn’t provide any comment whenever he sees you coming home at later hours.
You respect him, and he respects you. It’s your life and it’s his life.
With this mutual understanding—you’re able to work it out, in spite of the stranger shenanigans you’ve found yourself in with him. To be honest, Flins was actually a decent roommate, even though he’s enigmatic and all.
Perhaps for you, the cherry on top was when Flins kept his mouth shut when he accidentally caught you exiting the bathroom with tear stains on your cheek. When you smiled at him, though wobbly, and greeted him a timid good evening. When Flins heedfully understood the assignment, as always, and smiled back at you softly.
And finally—
—you can’t deny the fact that your roommate is just attractive as fuck.
_
Time passes by—and before you know it, you’re in your third year. It’s an understatement when you say that a lot of things happened, because it truly did.
From chill parties that contain soft liquor and karaoke sessions to unplanned road trips for coffee and underrated sights, you’re now juggling between thesis revisions and other collaborative projects. You curse your freshman and sophomore self for complaining how you had it worse back then—those were nothing compared to what you have at the moment.
You bury your head on the pile of paperwork you have to accomplish. The blue light from your laptop screen that’s placed on the side of your desk strains your eyes, so you momentarily close them, before heaving a heavy sigh. These are never–ending, and sure, this isn’t avoidable since it’s midterms season, after all, but damn this is too much.
Last time you checked, it was 7:30 am when you rose from the sheets to continue writing the draft of your action plan with your groupmates on the goddamn akasha doc. Now instead of being bathed by sunlight, the moon peeking from the clouds gently kisses your skin—reminding you that it’s nighttime, and that you still aren’t finished with your academics.
You sigh again.
And then, a gentle knock.
It couldn’t be anyone else but Flins.
There’s another knock, before he calls your name. Though muffled, you hear him clearly. “Are you awake? It’s time for dinner. I’ve made you your favorite.”
Truly, many things have changed.
When you sit back and recollect all the memories you’ve had with the people in your life, especially with Flins, you’ll realize that your relationship with your roommate, in the span of almost three years, has changed.
It is evident in the way that Flins brings food back for you now whenever he’s invited to a soiree. Or to a grand opening of an art museum or a gallery, because apparently he’s classy. He’s connected with influential people, and he has a keen eye for art. Also, when he accompanies his good pal Varka to a bar, he makes sure to order some food-to-go if it’s available. You’re grateful that Varka, now aware of your existence because of Flins, is willing to buy more that can last you a week—even if you said to Flins that he, including himself, didn’t need to do all this.
The same goes for you. Though you've tolerated Flins’ unique personality, you’ve got to see what it’s really like to be with him. What it’s really like without the playful side that dares to make an appearance during worse moments, and for that, instead of keeping your distance away since you’re actually kind of freaked out by him, you actually enjoy his company now.
He’s nocturnal—it is obvious from the shadows of his eyes, but this confirms how many times you’ve seen him awake around 2 am ( this mostly happens when you get home late ). He did say that he prefers the night rather than the day, after making him participate in one shallow 20 questions game with you while browsing through random quizzes from TeyvatPop.
On one particular night, with finished takeouts scattered on the coffee table, you sat with Flins on the carpeted floor. Not the couch. Not the rocking chair. The carpeted floor.
You two got the chance to just. . . talk. Your conversations with him got more philosophical, and shockingly, more realistic.
You listened when Flins finally unraveled some stories from his past. You never thought you’d get to see the day. Or night, at this instance. But he had been homesick ever since moving into this apartment, but this change of scenery, this change of course, of direction. . . it was all necessary for his growth.
“One can’t simply let himself suffer by continuously dwelling in the past. One must learn to let go, how difficult it may be, for the only way is always forward.”
Bittersweet, but nonetheless true. You clinked your cup against his, and he did the same.
A quiet toast, yet it was the start of something new. This was where it would all take root and bloom.
It would be the shift—the change. It was inevitable as years passed.
So it’s not surprising at all that your relationship with him in the current present is widely different compared to your freshmen year.
He pulled harmless yet rage-inducing pranks. You threatened to donate his precious bottles of alcohol to your uncles so they can use it in family reunions.
Then you gifted him pretty rocks from your trip when you remembered that he liked said pretty rocks. Even if they were just two rocks you sought, he seemed genuinely happy. Though his only request was that you call them gemstones.
And now—he was cooking you your favorite food.
He cooks you your favorite food.
A development you’ve surely never thought to see.
Then, another knock. “Are you awake?”
“Yes, I am,” you answer, without taking your head off from the paperwork. You’re still a little burnt out. “Thanks, Flins. I’ll eat it later.”
And you think that’s the end of it when Flins doesn’t respond anymore, not until he speaks again. “Have you not eaten a proper meal today?”
Well. At the very least, you did eat something. Like biscuits and instant coffee. You can’t afford to lose time over eating when you still have deadlines to catch. “I did,” you tell him. “I did eat.”
“. . . And was it proper?”
“. . .”
He calls your name in disapproval.
“. . . No, Flins. It wasn’t proper.”
“Then I’m going in,” he says, after a beat of silence. The alarm in your head suddenly goes off, and you open your eyes immediately.
Fuck. It’s not locked.
And the doorknob is beginning to twist.
You rush to push your papers aside to make some space, throw some of your dirty laundry to the basket, hide the other mess of documents beneath your plush quilt, before managing to return to your chair and spray the area with your perfume.
The door finally opens wide, revealing your ridiculously attractive roommate, who looked as if he just got back home from class. Hair tousled perfectly even though the longer strands are draped like a jellyfish behind his back. The sleeves of his purple shirt are folded until his elbows, indicating that he did cook you something, because this was what he usually did whenever he was going to prepare a meal. His black vest and black slacks hug his figure in a way that makes you stare hard and swallow hard.
And his yellow eyes—big, yellow eyes, have previously made your knees go weak out of fear, but now?
It’s something else entirely.
He’s really handsome, yes. And it’s insane how this is part of the change: you being more attracted to him as the days go by.
You mentally shove those thoughts in the deepest parts of your mind. Not important. Focus on the present: Flins, your roommate, is frowning. Not usually a good sign.
“It’s a good thing that I did not find you on your deathbed,” Flins remarks, “It’ll be quite difficult to pull back your soul to your body.”
You flinch. This part of him? It did not change. Instead, it grew with him. You’re still evaluating if it was for the better or worse. It’s probably the latter.
You retort, “Hey now. Those are some pretty big words coming from someone who sleeps like a corpse.” One time, you wanted to invite Flins for some breakfast to this one diner that just recently opened. You almost called 911 after seeing him on his bed, eyes tightly shut, with his arms crossed over his chest, and his body frozen still. It was a haunting experience.
“You should try it one time. The sleeping position, I mean,” Flins smiles, before walking towards you with a tray that has your favorite food. You’re only noticing it now. Archons, you were way too invested with Flins himself you didn’t even see your favorite food first. Which is supposed to be the most important. Flins is important, but your favorite food is more important. “It’s quite comfortable.”
You shudder at the thought of Flins standing menacingly from the top, with a shovel on one of his hands. “You mean me laying in a coffin and beneath you? Uh, no thanks.”
He makes himself comfortable on the edge of your bed. Content, he faces you. “Hm? To which part?”
Your eyebrows scrunch. “What do you mean?”
“You laying in a coffin, or you underneath me.”
“What are you—all of them, Flins!”
He finally chuckles. “What a shame, then. I’d be more than glad to lay you in a coffin. They’re nice and soft, you know. I have no doubt you’ll be out like a light.”
“What the hell.”
_
This happens again—you skipping meals, and Flins entering your room ( you swear you’ve locked it ) just to bring you food.
During the first, second, and third time, you had no choice but to devour what he had brought; you were really starved and it was your favorites, after all, so you couldn’t look away.
Though you also think Flins is doing it on purpose, the part when he enters your room with your food. It’s an effective strategy—he makes conversation, and subtly entices you with the visually appealing meal he cooked at the same time. How can you not salivate?
And plus, it doesn’t help that it smells really good, too.
But at the fourth and the fifth? Though tempted, you had to convince Flins that you still had paperwork to catch up on.
“Please do not overwork yourself,” is what he tells you on the sixth day, after placing the tray on the side of your desk. He sounds stern, too, so you nod timidly at him, and he heads over to his own bedroom to study for his own exams.
Preparation for midterms is no joke. But you also don’t want Flins to get a little angry at you—even though it’s kind of hot. So you eat his meals anyway.
Still, the days pass. Because of your different courses, you two had different experiences. Flins’ exams started way early, and yours started way later. What’s new about this is that when you come home to the apartment, you often see Flins lounging in the living room now, and he never forgets to greet you so warmly while polishing his gemstone collection.
You wonder how many collections he’s got, and considering how this hobby has been going for a while, you assume that there may be more. There’s also the fact that he has a jewelry collection as well, and it always excites him whenever you ask him about it.
Sometimes you wonder again if he’s doing this on purpose, considering how much you've been in a bad mood recently because of the season. He doesn’t usually polish or just show his collections in the living room; he did prefer to display or admire them in his own quarters, but then again—this is probably part of the change or the shift.
And you do not mind it. Not at all. If Flins decides one day to tell you more all about his rocks or jewelry, you’ll take it and listen, even if you want to crash out. You’ll take it and listen, because there’s something so comforting about his voice after hard days in uni.
( Jokingly, you think that he’s like your very own Bob Ross—a chill artist with a beautiful mindset and tender voice that you can listen for hours on end just to relax. )
You continually get to see him throughout the period.
You’ve decided to pay him back by cooking him his own meals, yet he offers assistance anyway. Cutting or dicing, washing or draining—leave it to him, he’s got you.
_
When midterms season ends, you can finally allow yourself to breathe. You’re sprawled on the carpeted floor of your living room. Flins is nowhere to be found ( something about a coin auction or something ), so of course, you take this opportunity to indulge and be you.
Be you—a you without any responsibilities or whatsoever, so you imagine that you’re a mere couch carpet potato.
Fresh from the shower, fresh from pajamas, and fresh from—
“What?”
You stare, wide–eyed, at the younger man in front of you who’s currently examining Flins’ bedroom, after filling up the kitchen drawers, shelves, and fridge, with even more groceries. You’re not sure if this is even allowed, this spontaneous ocular visit from a guy named Illuga. Flins has probably mentioned him before.
But after one phone call from Flins himself, he confirms that yes, he is very much part of his life and is a close friend of his, and yes, it’s perfectly okay for him to wander around ( well, except your own bedroom and bathroom, that is ).
Though do please offer him a bit of your hospitality. Illuga might seem a bit too much, but he really means well, Flins had said, and you already had a pitcher of fresh, cold water and a glass for him. You’re not the type to judge people, but you just know that this guy is hella hardworking and determined.
“Wait, I’m sorry—what did you say again?” you question him. Illuga stills, before looking at you albeit a little flustered, then bows down.
“I apologize for my forwardness,” he says, and you can feel how genuine it is, even if you just met him for the first time. “I know I’m asking for too much, but—please take care of him.”
You tilt your head. Take care of Flins? You’ve already been doing that, though in this case, it’s more like him taking care of you recently, with your favorite meals and all. You snicker, “Mr. Illuga, he’s a grown ass man.”
A kind smile makes its way to his lips. “I am well-aware of that.” His gloved fingers drums over Flins’ desk. “The thing is, Sir Flins doesn’t want to admit it—but he’s actually really lonely.”
You blink at that. “He is?” Huh. How come? Flins? Being lonely? That doesn’t sound right. You dip your head down in thought. But doesn’t he prefer his solitude or alone time?
“Yes.” Illuga nods. “That’s why I was in shock when I heard he’s on a lease with you. Normally he’d go find an apartment somewhere else when he learns of that he’ll be sharing it with someone, so. . .”
You understand what Illuga means. Though you also understand why Flins had to do it—he did tell you that this was part of his growth, after all.
And for that, you can’t help but be a little giddy that you’re probably the only one on this planet right now who knows this.
“I suppose Sir Flins has yet to explain his reasoning,” Illuga accepts the glass of water you give him. “Based on what I’m seeing, I have an inkling that Sir Flins had already told you.”
You grin at him. “Not confirming or denying.”
“Mhm,” Illuga takes a sip. “Nor will I share his thoughts about you.”
Now that makes you pause. What. “He talks about me?”
Illuga laughs—a gentle, yet breathless sound. “Not confirming or denying.”
You stare at him. Illuga continues to laugh. Just like you, he also adopted some of Flins’ mannerisms—being mischievous and all.
Though you gotta admit, Illuga is nice to talk to.
_
You don’t remember how you and Flins started sharing your class schedules to one another, but it did happen on a random day.
There was a time when the stars aligned and allowed your lives to intersect, just for a bit, during sophomore year—it was when you were restocking the shelves and cabinets, until your eyes landed on a receipt.
“Do my eyes deceive me?” you ask yourself internally, before grabbing said receipt.
Fresh from a shower, Flins, clad in his darker attire, and still with damp hair, finds you, evidently troubled and horrified. He drops his gloved hands to his sides, the ends of his towel hanging around his neck. “Is something the matter, my dear roommate?”
You reveal to him what he already knows. His own grocery receipt. “What is the meaning of this?”
Flins humors you by putting his hand under his chin. “Ah. My grocery list. Fruits, fish, bread—“
“Yes, they’re obviously your groceries, genius, but why is it so expensive!? Look at this. A loaf of bread for 200 mora. An egg carton that only contains 6 eggs for 500 mora. Are you kidding me?!”
“Oh, yes. Though, you’ve lost me. What seems to be the problem?”
Appalled, you want to slam your forehead onto the kitchen counter, but you refrain from doing so. Flins is supposed to be the weird one in this dynamic you two have.
There’s no way he’s okay with this. How come he doesn’t even see how this is a problem?
Or maybe you need to be more understanding—he’s probably like this because he’s just hella rich ( see: rocks gemstones, antique, and jewelry collection ) that’s why he doesn’t even give a fuck. Where does he even get his money from, seriously? Actually, you don’t even know anymore.
“No, Flins—god. Do not shop at this grocery store anymore! It’s way too expensive there!”
“My goodness. You do not want to starve me, do you?”
You scrutinize him up and down in disbelief. “Starve!? Look at you—you’re the one starving yourself! You look way too thin in those clothes—!” Flins is not a big eater like Varka, or Varesa, or even Kaeya’s brother, Diluc. He eats in minimal portions, and you sometimes wonder if it’s one of the biggest reasons why he’s so pale.
“Forgive me. It possibly is because of my being having the tendency to wear more layered clothes.” His slender fingers press on the buttons of his collar. “Shall I undress to prove to you that I’m built? I fear you’ve forgotten already that I frequent the gym.”
What in the. “You go to the gym?! Since when—“
“Since a few years ago,” is his response. He looks down at you, the high standing collar of his jacket hiding his lips. “Now, that really is no good. It’s unfortunate you can’t remember that I told you I workout in my spare time. I’m more than ever determined to prove it to you right here, right now, that I am not thin.”
Though you are curious to see what his body looks like—you manage to listen to your brain. You manage to perceive what’s truly going on.
“Stop!” You put a hand up. “I know what you’re doing, Flins! You’re messing with me again, aren’t you?!”
And of course, with the way his eyes lower, it just confirms it. You don’t even have to pull his collar down to expose his tiny smirk. “I merely jest.”
“Sure you do,” You groan. Archons, why is he like this, you wonder. Stupid flexer. He probably wants to flex his build or something. “Flins, listen, okay? I don’t know what your lifestyle consists of—“
“I’m more than willing to share.”
“Okay, thank you, but still—the groceries you’ve bought are really expensive. It’s not even like college student budget friendly! You know how much groceries I can buy with these prices? Surely not around 10 or less. Maybe even 30 or more.”
“Is that so?” Flins hums. “I guess it is on me that I have not yet explored my options yet.”
“Surprisingly, yes? The local grocery we have nearby should be one of your options, and yet it is not,” you sigh disappointingly. “I don’t know what world you live in—“
“I’m more than willing to share.”
“Y-yes, I get it, but still. Allow me to introduce you to a new world this time.” You toss the receipt aside, before yanking a nearby paper bag with the Nasha Mart brand. “Student friendly public markets. Discounts. Coupons. With your talent in words, I’m sure you’ll beat the system in no time.”
“Oh?” Flins leans closer to you. “With my talent in words? I’m honored.”
Then, he rests his chin on his palm, keeping his eyes on you. “Do tell me more. I would love nothing more but to explore what I have yet to know.”
You thought Flins would get bored eventually, or even find the whole thing tedious—however, he really is willing to learn. So much so it kind of feels like you’re dreaming, because there’s no way a man is that interested in shopping for produce. He absorbed every information you’ve shared inside the bus, the street, and inside the market like a student with a thirst for knowledge.
“Sure, some grocery stores may have expensive prices, but are they of quality? Are they worth the cost?” you ask him, while carrying one of the eco bags you’ve recently purchased with him.
“I suppose not,” he says, again, with that tender voice of his.
He processed, he listened, and he applied; he got a discount, because he sweet-talked this one lady and you thought how sweet-talking was his second nature. He managed to at least get 5 packs of tomato sauce.
“Guess you’re going to eat a lot of spaghetti the next following days,” you tell him, on the commute home, and Flins’ laughter feels like music to your ears.
“Surely, you’ll not leave me feasting on my own?”
“Fine, Flins. I just have one request: the spaghetti better have mini chunks of hotdog on it.”
“With pleasure.”
That night—you learned something, too.
It’s already a given that he’s patient. Understanding. Chivalrous. You’ve come to learn this when you were in your freshman year, but what you did not expect is this:
Back at the market, while Flins is talking to the fish seller, you hear the other old ladies talk to themselves.
“What a fine young man he is.”
“His future spouse is lucky.”
“And he’s soft-spoken and very charming. He’s perfect.”
And man, when Flins double checks the eco bags that’s filled with more groceries and swiftly carries them by his shoulders ( you told him you can carry the load too, but he insisted that there’s no need to ), you can’t help but agree with them.
He then meets your eyes, and he sends you a smile—the one that absolutely makes your knees weak, and makes the older ladies swoon.
Damn it, Flins is not just attractive.
He is also fucking dreamy.
_
“No, no, no—listen, I think it’ll be my greatest invention yet!” The pink–haired girl says, looking at you, asking for approval. “A rubber ducky who knows how to clean, fight enemies off, and perform like a superstar! It’s just perfect. Let me show you the blueprint—no, the prototype!”
You smile at Aino, “I’m sure it absolutely will be your greatest invention yet.”
Aino just beams, before skipping happily to Flins’ bedroom, where she keeps her other luggage. Once she’s out of sight, you exhale heavily, and internally worry about the impending backlogs that you still have to catch up on. Then, you suddenly find Flins lingering by. He’s leaning over the doorway that leads to the kitchen, his lips curved upwards, and his arms crossed. Used to his uncanny appearances, you don’t even jump anymore.
“Who knew that you would grow quite close with Miss Aino?” He points out, and you feel sheepish. “A wonderful feat, indeed, being able to be great and responsible around children, since they’re quite the handful. It requires numerous amounts of patience with them, and here you are now, clearly favored by the little genius.”
Favored? You scoff, before hugging your legs closer to your chest. As usual, you’re sitting on the carpeted floor of the living room in your comfy pajamas. In the coffee table lies your academic papers and laptop, waiting for its own scholar. On the ground are pieces of graphing paper that contain pre–calculus equations and creative and unique designs hand drawn by Aino. Litwick and Lampent plushies are also set aside on the ground, abandoned for a while by its owner.
“You’re joking,” you tell Flins. “Between the two of us—you’re clearly Aino’s favorite. You spoil her way more than I do. You keep a stack of sweets just for her.”
And it’s confusing why Flins spoils her so. No, you do not mean about him being a softie to a little girl, you mean about the part where he allows her to consume godly amounts of sugar, yet he draws the line when you indulge yourself with instant coffee. There will be mornings or even evenings where Flins will raise the sachets of your favorite instant coffee higher up, aware that you won’t be able to reach it. It was ridiculous; you didn’t even goad him for his alcoholism ( though can you even call it that, when he seems to take his liquor well? when he knows how to drink responsibly? ), yet he limited your caffeine intake.
“Ah, but that’s just how it is with children,” Flins chuckles. “You need to make them happy, since they are just precious little beings. And sweets make Miss Aino happy, does it not?”
It’s a pure reason, and you can’t deny how your heart swelled with warmth at that. You lift your chin up at him. “Now look at you, huh. You’re proud that you’re her favorite.”
“You have no evidence.”
“Oh, but I do? Remember: freshman year. When you, I don’t know, came to our apartment with 5 year old little Aino in tow!?”
2 years ago, while you were reviewing your notes for a quiz inside your bedroom, there was a knock on your door. Opening it revealed Flins, who had his hand over a pink–haired girl’s head, who was hiding behind his legs.
Flins called your name. “—I apologize for the intrusion. I am well-aware that you have matters at hand, but is it alright if I ask you a favor?”
A favor from your freaky and wacko roommate? was your first thought before. It sounded absolutely terrifying for the freshman you, and you almost didn’t want to do it. And he has a kid with him. A freaking kid. Did he kidnap her or something?
Gods, you just hoped that he wouldn’t say that he needed you to hide her because her parents were searching for her.
“. . .W—what is it?”
“Well.”
Flins asked you to watch over Miss Aino for a while, since he had an urgent errand to run—he reassured you that he would be back as soon as possible, and Miss Aino wouldn’t be a bother.
There was truth in his words. Miss Aino did not bother you, and instead, she kept to herself—you expected that she’d be playing around clay, or dolls, but it shocked you when you saw her hold what you could presume was a triangle, and sorts of extremely complicated books.
But Flins didn’t return immediately.
Because of this, you got to spend more time with Little Aino. She was shy, a little quiet at first, not until you expressed interest in her own creations. Her eyes lit up at that, genuinely exhilarated that you wanted to see what she was making. You tried your best to understand what was going on as you assessed her doodles and scribbles, while she was munching on krumkakes and even sharing it with you.
And since you accepted that studying would have to wait, you opted for something fun. Something that would entertain both you and Little Aino.
A few meters away from her, you set down a couple of plushies—three starter Pokémon, which are Bulbasaur, Charmander, and Squirtle. Then, at the innocent little Aino who stared at the plushies with perplexed, round eyes, you questioned, “Which will it be, Aino? Which do you choose?”
And she was frowning. Deep in thought. She didn’t know what they were, of course, and you were anticipating her choice. “Hmm,” she hummed, a hand under her chin. It was adorable how she was assessing each plushie with her eyes—she was calculating it over, mulling it over.
You thought how Squirtle seemed a good fit for some reason, or maybe even Bulbasaur. Then you get your real result when you hear keys clinking. The doorknob of your apartment twisting.
And when the door opened, two pairs of eyes turned to the entrance.
Little Aino rejoiced at the sight of a familiar man, who almost looked as if he rushed to get here. She gasped, “I choose Flins!” And she ran toward him.
Flins blinked at the call, before smiling sweetly and softly at the little girl. He squatted down to receive her bear hug, and he chuckled along with her. “Hello there, Miss Aino. Did you have fun?”
“Yes! They were really nice to me!”
“Ah, so that’s how it went,” Flins closes his eyes, his smile still remaining on his face. “How endearing. So I am Miss Aino’s—what you call, it a ‘starter Pokémon’, then?”
You glance at the Pokémon plushies you’ve gifted to Aino as a present—the ones that remind you of a certain blue–haired man with eyes of molten gold. “Maybe. But don’t you think that story is enough to prove that she favors you?”
Flins opens his eyes again. “Perhaps.”
“Who knew that you’d actually be great with kids. Aino told me before that you wore pink wings for her seventh birthday despite having the penchant for black.”
“Haha, yes. She seemed persistent in getting me to wear such, and I had no choice. Though, I’m grateful for the compliment. Please do not forget that you are great, too, since you take care of Miss Aino so well. She’s always excited to see you whenever she comes visit.”
“Well, she’s lucky she’s got two academically stressed and extremely sleep-deprived college students caring for her well-being.”
“I couldn’t agree more.”
You notice Aino re-emerging from Flins’ bedroom, and divert your attention to her. She calls your name many times, jumping and shaking you about a Knuckle Duckle, Knuckle Duckle—and you look at Flins again.
His lips deepen into a knowing smile.
You return it.
_
You do not give a damn in the slightest about Flins’ hobbies. Again, it’s part of the ‘ground rules’ that you and Flins abide by. He collects rocks gemstones, yes, he collects antiques, yes, and he collects bones, yes. You look to the other side if it’s not causing you any harm.
Though, it was petrifying when you were finally informed about it by Flins himself after accidentally seeing one of his ‘bone puzzle pictures’ displayed on the coffee table. This happened after finals in your freshman year.
A peek at the time, 5:40 pm. You usually did not go home at this hour; you tend to stay at a friend’s just to hang out, or at a coffee shop engrossed with rumors being shared to you by your coursemates about a problematic professor. Tonight was one of those days where you’d probably crash out in your bed or something, since class ended early, not until you opened the door to see your absurdly attractive roommate sitting on the carpeted floors, occupied with his bone puzzles.
The urge to run was right there when you locked eyes with his freakishly empty yellow ones. At that moment—you had wondered, why did he not have pupils? How did you miss it? Why were there sharp tools scattered on said carpeted floor? Why were there numerous bones—big ones and smaller ones on your coffee table?
Flins was seriously not beating the I’m A Killer allegations.
“Ah, good evening, my dear roommate,” He greeted you with a small smile, not even bothering to hide his bones. Instead, he gently situated his bone on said coffee table and motioned you to sit with him. As if this was a normal day for him. “I have gathered lots of bones today. It’s certainly a most joyous night. Would you care to join me?”
Since you did not want to die yet, you obliged with his request, even though you were internally freaking out. You should've gone somewhere else, like Nasha Mart or something, since you did notice that you were low on instant coffee. But you went through with it anyway, and sat beside him, not knowing where to put your hands.
And you were sure Flins knew this, knowing how seriously twisted his humor was. He probably enjoyed it even, since he was all haha and hehe the whole time.
It was a relief to hear that these weren’t human bones—though your hands still quivered when you picked up a piece of bone. “Ah, the Metatarsal.” Flins said, intrigued. “I’ll be bestowing you the reign to attach it wherever you want.”
It was disturbing how Flins seemed dedicated to this craft. He benevolently explained to you his fascination over bone collecting and puzzling, and the fact how he knew each and every part of bone that you lifted up. Again, you were not one to judge—if this was Flins’ hobby, it was his damn hobby. It was not harming anybody. At least, you hoped it didn’t.
And somehow, throughout that period, even you got a little. . . captivated over how he explained the process and the satisfaction it brought. You guessed that it must be because of his voice, or perhaps even because of his bizarre appeal that insufferably drew you in.
Though for your sanity, you surmised that it was the bones. Yes. The bones, weirdly so. Forming some sort of weirded evolution through fossils was cool. Yeah. That was why you got into it with Flins the first time he made you try doing his bone puzzles.
Yeah. You were now a wacko like him, too.
However, you had one question—where did he get these from? Surely, a college student like him who was also way too busy with his own academic life could get that many bones.
And then you got your answer in the form of a four legged mammal, when you were walking down the street, heading towards your apartment.
There were a series of barks—until you saw it for yourself.
A white dog. With a bunch of bones in its mouth. And Flins himself, who was carrying a plastic bag with meat.
Oh well you look at that, turns out one animal’s not afraid of him, you thought. Or maybe it’s because of the meat. . . huh. That explains the surplus of meat in the freezer. Thank the archons it’s not the inciting incident of some cannibal plot.
So, yeah. Amidst all that—you do not give a damn in the slightest about Flins’ hobbies. Not when it’s causing anybody harm.
_
Every other year—your parents get to visit your apartment. You can compare it to Illuga’s every other three months ocular, where he restocks Flins’ groceries and does a physical-emotional-mental-spiritual consultation with him, but at least your parents don’t do the latter part.
Instead. . .
“When are you getting into a relationship? You know your aunts have been talking, you know,” your mother says from the counter, storing pre–cooked meals in your refrigerator and putting your favorite childhood snacks on the drawers. You sigh from your rightful place on the carpeted floor, with your father comfortably sitting on the couch and sipping the instant coffee you’ve heated up.
If it’s not about careers, it’s about love. Your family members are always so nosy.
“They heard that Ororon’s got a girl. Or maybe a man, not too sure, but your Aunt Citlali seemed way proud that the kid got himself a lover that will ensure a roof on top of his head. Something about the veter’ians, like you know, curing pets.”
“They’re called veterinarians,” you correct her. “And Ifa? Wait. Aren’t they just close best friends? Don’t they call each other bros??”
“Really now? With the way they’re that close? Please.” Your mother stares at you, hard. “It makes me wonder when you’ll also get to date. Your friends are on their second anniversaries, ‘no? Like the Navia girl, and who was it—the one with the blue hair and eyes?”
“Furina?”
“Yes, her. If your friends could find love, of course, there’s no doubt you’ll find yours, too. You’re sure not planning to be cooped up all day with your college. There’s a whole world out there. You need to have fun at times. And we want grandkids.”
You almost choke on your saliva. You turn to your father, who was just guffawed. Insane turn of conversation, that’s for certain. You had to explain to your wonderful parents that you can’t afford to have kids because #1 you were still studying, and #2 you haven’t even graduated yet. Your mother can’t seem to care less—it has always been like that, after all, since mothers have the tendency to yap about their offsprings’ achievements. Apparently, Dean’s Listers or certificates from other achievements are getting way too overrated, and your mother and aunts are in a race whose child will get married and have a family first.
Then, your father asks, “Oh, and your mother was asking earlier in the car. It’s been almost three years now, hasn’t it? We haven’t met your roommate. Where is he, even?”
Right. Flins.
This has all been part of the plan—you do not really want your parents to meet him. They’ll probably freak out more when they do, knowing they’re more attuned to their strong emotions.
You’ve always managed to find a day where Flins is busy, and you’re more than grateful that he doesn’t mind you asking him about a specific day: “Hey Flins, are you out on September 25, at 7pm sharp?” and you send the date and time immediately to your parents once he says yes.
You suggest and find another day if he’s not.
But since this is part of the change—you hear an oh.
Speaking of the devil.
Your eyes go wide in shock when you find Flins standing on the doorway. Your parents follow your gaze.
It’s as if a tumbleweed has just passed, before Flins takes the initiative and speaks. He sends a polite smile. “I apologize for what I might have interrupted. I came back to retrieve my wallet.” He bows briefly. “I assume you must be my dearest roommate’s parents. It’s an honor to finally get to meet you.”
And it was already too late before you even got to cover your mother’s mouth.
“Young man, are you single?”
_
“Mom. No. No. He’s not a contender—he’s definitely not a candidate, no! Stop it!”
“What are you talking about!?” Your mother stares at you as if you grew two heads. She turns to the living room, where your father and Flins are certainly having the most interesting conversation of all. Fire-Water. “He’s perfect! He looks very respectful. And looks like a sweetheart. How come you’ve never introduced him to us?”
A sweetheart at first glance!? This guy gave me numerous heart attacks! “He’s busy. And—and what do you even see in him?” You pause in chopping carrots for a second. “He’s very pale. Cold to the touch. Probably not human. And he listens to classical music, specifically Tchaikovsky: 1812 Overture in E-Flat Major, No. 49—like who even does that nowadays? We have pop! Also, he writes letters. Poems. With a quill and ink. With a quill and ink where ballpens exist. Plus, he speaks as if he’s in the age where Shakespeare still lives. He only needed to say thanks when I helped him with a favor once, but no—he opted for I’m most grateful for your aid. You truly are very thoughtful, my roommate. And because of him, I use flummoxed in sentences, now, mom. Flummoxed.”
And your mother stares at you. Long.
Long enough for you to scowl at her.
“What?”
“For someone who’s against the idea of dating him, you sure do know a lot about Flins.”
You stutter. She’s right. You do know a lot about him. And you don’t know why you got so passionate when you were describing him to her. “Well—um. I-I was listing down his qualities? And—and we’re roommates. Of course I’d know a lot about him? Isn’t that normal?”
“Yeah, sure. And like your father, I also memorized what song he usually likes to play. It’s When I Met You, by the way,” Your mother sighs, relieved. “Oh, I guess there’s nothing I need to worry about, then. Who knew that being protective over their potential spouse runs over the family. Don’t worry dear, now we understand why you have been hiding Flins from us for almost three years.”
You can’t believe what you’ve just heard. You don’t like what your mother is implying.
And when Flins sends you a soft and knowing smile, after your father excuses himself to the bathroom, you don’t want to accept that your heart skipped a damn beat at the damn sight.
_
Bark. Bark. Bark.
“Flins, what the hell.”
Pets are not allowed inside the apartment. You don’t know how Flins managed to even bypass the guard—but you’re guessing that said guard is now also a victim of his sweet-talking, too.
The white dog, who apparently isn’t owned by even Flins himself, is ‘owned by itself.’ It is an assistant of his, the one who fetches other bones for Flins’ bone puzzle picture. You’re not sure where the dog even retrieves it from, and even if you did ask, it’ll only tilt its head or even lick your face.
Moreover, you’re glad that the dog wouldn’t have to file a complaint against his exploitative boss, because said boss is actually generous. The boss compensates his assistant with large amounts of meat, and you only wish that the dog isn’t overfed. Though adorable, you would rather not see a suffering animal.
In the present—the dog is sitting beside Flins, who’s patting its head from the rocking chair. Assistant he says, when he always looks at the dog so fondly. “It’s freezing outside. I couldn’t help but bring it in, as it seemed to be very cold, since it kept barking at me.” He turns to you. “It needs warmth. Once the blizzard passes, the dog may leave.”
Yeah, Nod Krai winds are incredibly not so merciful, especially when it’s winter. It’s unlike Mondstadt.
You learned it the hard way since your first year; stepping outside just to get to university was hell because you kept on shivering like a high-strung chihuahua. You got late for your class that day because you had to cover up yourself with more layers of clothing.
“I see, but aren’t you worried it’ll like, poop or pee?”
“It’s normal for dogs to urinate and defecate.”
You want to throw the pillow from your bed on his face. You grit your teeth and smile threateningly. “And if that dog urinates or defecates on my favorite carpet, you’re going to clean it up.”
Flins is not affected, however. Instead, he seems to be entertained. “Do not fret; the dog knows how to behave, especially since we offered him a place for the night.” Then, the dog barks again. “See? It even agrees with me.”
You grumble. “Okay. But if the guard and our landlady finds out that you brought a dog inside our apartment, let me stay out of it. I’m trying to sleep here.”
Flins nods. “Understood. I apologize for the inconvenience, my dearest roommate.” The dog then glances at you, and crawls to you excitedly. “Ah. It wants your attention.”
Bark bark. You sigh and kneel down in front of it, and put your hand on its head. Cute dog, you can’t deny, when it nuzzles on your palm. But you really don’t want to be troubled by the consequences of keeping a dog inside an apartment that were vehement in prohibiting pets.
“Flins, please name your dog. We just can’t call it it.”
Flins hums. “A request that I will consider. Perhaps you can name it.”
“Really? But it’s your dog.”
“It’s merely an assistant of mine.”
You purse your lips at him. “Okay. Fine. Uh. . .” You meet its cerulean gaze. Pretty unique eyes for a white dog. Oh. White dog. “White. Short for Walter White.”
Like always, Flins doesn’t understand the reference. “Excellent. I truly applaud you for your creative process in choosing a name.”
Yet somehow, his compliment feels like sarcasm. “Geez, thanks, Flins. Clap for me, then.”
He complies, and this infuriates you even further.
You seriously don’t know if he’s being serious or not. Not when he still has that outrageously attractive smile plastered on his face.
That night, you and Flins settled for a simple name. A name that just seemed right, to the point that even the dog concurred by barking.
Snow, short for Snowball—the white dog threw itself on Flins’ bone puzzle picture once, after all.
And it was hilarious because every time a friend of yours or his asks for the dog’s name, you’re always in the vicinity to introduce him to them before Flins does.
“Snow, short for Snowflake.”
“Snow, short for Snow White.”
“Snow, short for Jon Snow.”
Of course, Flins doesn’t stop you. Instead, he lets you be. He lets you have your fun.
He is, after all, not a party pooper—he’s a mischievous man who is supportive of your antics.
_
It is unlike you to display vulnerability with someone you’re not close with. But can you call Flins such a description after everything?
You did say that things have changed. You’ve grown close with Flins. You’ve started hanging out with him more, and you’ve started talking to him more.
But the part where you open up to him, express your own opinions to him—this is definitely something you did not see coming. When you first met him, you were sure, you’d avoid him at all costs, and yet at the second you want to fall apart, he’s the first thing that appears in your mind.
What have you done to me, your soul asks, when it sees Flins writing on his desk, with that stupid quill of his.
Flins meets your gaze. As always, it’s as if he’s always glad to see you, even if you guys see each other almost every day, considering how many vacant hours you guys have now. “Ah, good evening, dearest roommate. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Your mind supplies many things—hey, so, apparently your voice comforts me now. And I just had the worst day in uni. My professor humiliated me in front of the class and she threw my paper on the floor and called it trash. Is it ok if I stay with you and listen to you ramble about your stupid bones for a while?
But instead, the words that escape from your mouth are: “Why do you hide those paintings in the closet?”
Flins stills from his position.
You’re heartless, for even doing this. You don’t know why it led you to this position.
You did tell yourself that you respect Flins’ privacy, and he respects yours. Not once did he ever cross the line that separates your life with his. He’s that thoughtful and considerate after all.
But you’re not Flins.
Flins isn’t someone who caves into his emotions. Flins isn’t irrational. Flins isn’t reckless. Flins won’t risk an almost three year friendship just because they had the most stressful day ever at class.
So why?
This isn’t fair.
Flins has been very good to you, hasn’t he? So why can’t you?
When he doesn’t answer, you continue on. “You always look at it. You don’t think I’ve noticed, but I do. You’re always looking at it as if you want to pull it out.” Your throat feels rough, and for some reason, your eyes sting. Fuck. “Illuga visited me once. He didn’t say anything that would particularly expose you. All he ever wanted was for you to be okay. He’s a good friend. But something just bugs me. Something has been bugging me ever since. I don’t understand what goes on with his brain, but he asked me to take care of you. You, out of all the people in the world.”
Stop.
“Though, he did say something that did expose you. He told me you were lonely.”
Flins doesn’t react. He doesn’t even say anything. At least, not yet. So you, being you, take this chance to finally let go of what you’ve been keeping inside, even though this isn’t supposed to happen. There were ground rules. You do not care. You turn the other way. You’re not supposed to mingle with his own decisions in life. So just stop—
“You have Varka and his drinking pals. You have Illuga and Sir Nikita. You have friends to share drinks with. You have people around you who like being with you. So why did he say you were lonely?” You clench your fists. “It all didn’t make sense. How can even Illuga say such a thing when you’re clearly having the best time of your life? You have your poems. Your letters. Your stupid gemstone collection and bone puzzle pictures. So why?”
Why, you ask yourself.
When you’ve always known the answer all along.
You shut your eyes tightly. “Your birthday is on October 31st. Yet you’ve spent it all alone here for two consecutive school years. You never bothered to tell me for some reason, even though you know mine. Then you didn’t even reach out to me when you were incredibly sick. So incredibly sick that our landlady found you all passed out on the floor, when she was going to give you our bills.” You were so ashamed when you heard this from her the first time. You were not staying at the apartment that day—you were at home with your parents, and you were trying not to imagine that you left your roommate suffering all by himself. “And I—I know about the tickets, Flins. The tickets you kept from me. The tickets for that new art museum you wanted to go to. I was ready to say yes if you asked me to go with you, did you know that?”
And you wait for Flins to politely push you away. You wait for Flins to stand up from his chair and excuse himself. You wait for the silence that will soon follow in the next few days or months or years just because you cannot keep your mouth shut.
But it never comes.
Instead, you open your eyes, and there’s a handkerchief slowly wiping your tears. You haven’t even noticed that he was this close—but it was already a given, wasn’t it? He was lighter on his feet, after all.
And you haven’t even noticed that you began crying, too.
“F-Flins, I—”
“How lucky I am, to even have a roommate as attentive as you,” He says, genuinely full of gratitude, shocking you. No. This isn’t. . . you’re not supposed to be forgiving. Not now. “But if you must know—if you wish to know about the paintings, I am more than willing to share.”
“Wait, Flins, I didn’t mean to—”
Yet he turns around anyway. You watch as he saunters to his closet, and pulls out the box. The box that you’ve always wanted to check out for yourself, but did not since you did say that you respect Flins’ privacy.
And here he is—bare. Not pressured, nor threatened, but willing.
Flins shows you the inside of the box. There were lots of canvases that contained different paintings of snowy landscapes. Unfamiliar people. Moments. He picks up one and offers it to you—to you, who’s still conflicted.
“Flins, I’m sorry, you don’t have to—I was being stupid—”
“Shh,” he murmurs, and your heart squeezes in your chest. You search his face—if there is any lingering bitterness, or the need to validate, but you find none. Flins is really doing this out of his own will. “It is quite alright. I do not mind. Not at all.”
“But—”
He calls your name. Gently. Delicately. “Have I ever lied to you before?”
Your answer is immediate. “No. You haven’t.”
“So would you believe me if I said that I do not mind sharing this with you? Sharing my paintings with you?”
“But— I—” your voice cracks. “I didn’t mean to— it was—“
He calls your name again. “Shh. It’s alright. You are fine. We are fine.”
And it’s enough for you to go quiet.
You slowly give him a nod, and Flins smiles. He gestures to you to look at his artworks again, and you do. You two take your time, careful.
While listening to his words, you examine his unique brushstrokes and his brilliant use of colors. You feel the emotions every piece evokes. He tells you that he paints about his homeland, the nation draped in Snow and Ice. That he paints his neighbors, his closest friends, his favorite places, and his favorite spots.
And then he tells you that he paints these memories because he doesn’t wanna forget.
Homesick, he had said once, when you two shared a moment that one particular night. With your takeouts on your coffee table, and drinks between your hands.
_
When Aino visits the apartment again, Flins is nowhere to be found. You don’t really mind doing the babysitting, what you do mind, however, is Aino’s observations.
“February is coming, which means Valentine’s is coming.” Aino calls your name from the carpeted floor. “Are you going to give Flins chocolates?”
You pause in front of your laptop, before turning to her, dumbfounded. You, giving Flins chocolates? “Why should I?”
It’s Aino’s turn to be confused. “Aren’t you two a couple?”
“What? We’re not a couple,” you tell her, even if your cheeks are heating up.
“I thought you guys were.” Aino shrugs. “Oh well! But are you still going to give him chocolates?”
“No? Why do you think I should?”
“You like Flins, don’t you?”
You squawk. “What gave you that impression?!”
“I dunno. You look at him the way those women look at the guys they like in the movies Jahoda used to watch.” Then, Aino turns to her screen, showing Ineffa who’s currently video chatting with her. “Ineffa, do you think I should ask Durin for help? Do you think his brother and I should collaborate for a love potion?”
You can’t believe what you’ve just heard. A love potion? “For whom, Aino?!”
“For Flins. You want him to like you back, don’t you?”
“Wait, Aino—this—you’ve got it all wrong!”
“That’s impossible. I’m not named Aino for nothing. Aino, I Know. I know you like Flins! Don’t deny it!”
Then, Ineffa speaks. “Aino, that’s not very respectful. Do not make them uncomfortable any longer.”
“But it’s the truth, isn’t it, Ineffa? They clearly like Flins!”
“Based on my previous observation with them, I can say that there’s a 90% chance that they are, in fact, infatuated with Flins.”
What the hell. “No. You guys. I don’t like Flins that way, you got it all wrong—what—“
Yet the two seem to ignore you.
“So, Ineffa. The love potion? What do you think?”
“I understand the curiosity regarding love potions, Aino, but no such things exist.”
“What! Then that’s just boring!”
“And even if you did create one, it won’t work on Flins.”
Oh. Hearing that, you turn away sheepishly. That kind of hurts, not gonna lie. You get it, Flins won’t like you, even if you give him a love potion.
Wait. Why are you even thinking about this?
Sure, Flins is stupidly attractive and you seem to be observing him a lot lately, but that’s just how it is when you start to like your roommate—platonically, of course—who isn’t all freaky.
You return to your report and groan. Ugh. Kids these days. Making you ponder over things you shouldn’t be pondering about. You tune out Aino’s follow-up question, wait, really? Why won’t it work on Flins?
You put on headphones and did not bother to hear anymore of Ineffa’s voice.
Because a love potion will only work if the person being given one isn’t in love—
_
“Wait. I’m sorry. What did you say?”
“Apologies. Let me repeat again. We have discount coupons for groceries.”
“Yes, I get that part—but the former part, Flins.” You hear shuffling on the other line. “Flins?”
“Oh. How I attained the coupons?”
You confirm with a hum.
“I told them that it was for the one who holds my heart,” He says, and there’s a familiar sound—the sound of groceries being checked out, one by one. “Since it’s Valentine’s Day—Nasha Mart is handing out discount coupons for couples.”
“And how did you even convince them that you are in a relationship?”
“Simple. I showed them our picture together.”
You go very still. Our picture together? “. . .You’re kidding, right?” We have a picture together? Why can’t you remember?
Then, it hits you—during Moon Prayer Night. He did ask you if you wanted to try the photobooth with him near the sugar-sculpture stall.
“I assure you, I am not.”
“Flins. We’re—we’re not a couple.”
“I am well-aware. But can you really say no to discount coupons, my beloved roommate? Though I suppose it’s a miracle they even believed me. Perhaps that’s just how they view us now, since we have been grocery shopping together more often. The odds are in our favor.”
“Huh?! And you’re okay with that?”
“Yes.”
“Wait, really?”
“Yes.”
“Oh.”
“How about you?”
“Me?”
“Yes. Is it okay for you that the people around us think we’re together?”
“Uhh. . .”
“Hm?”
“I dunno.”
He chuckles, “You don’t know?”
“Flins, this is the first time I’m hearing this.” It’s actually not. “Let me process it.”
“Understood. If you ever do process it all—let me know. I would love to hear your thoughts.”
Why does he even need to know what you think about? “Okay.”
“Is there anything else?”
“Uh. Um. Have a safe trip?”
It’s quiet for a bit, until he speaks again. “Why thank you, my beloved roommate. I will.”
_
As you sit on Flins’ chair, you dip your head down to see him still holding your hand. His gloveless, exposed hand, clasped around yours.
Flins is breathing more slowly now—he’s finally at peace, and more content. Your heart stutters inside your chest when he unconsciously nuzzles his head closer to your palm.
This all began when you knocked on his door to remind him about breakfast. But he didn’t respond. Concerned, you knocked again—twice, thrice, until you forced it open, and saw him draped all over his sheets, sweating, flushed, and evidently in pain.
You didn’t waste time. With your hand feeling his temperature through his forehead, you confirmed that he was burning up.
And since you did not want a repeat of the past, or even remember your landlady’s story about him passing out, enduring all by himself, you shook him awake. His eyes were glossy and unfocused, hair sticky and disheveled, cheeks flushed and stained red. His chest was heaving up and down—his body desperate for more oxygen, and you felt your heart shatter at the sight.
One time, Flins had been like this. And you weren’t there.
You snapped out of it when he spoke, breathless and unhurried. “Forgive me. I—hah—this predicament of mine, I did not foresee. I-I do not wish for you to see me in such a state. P-please, continue on with your day, I refuse to be an even bigger cause for your academic delay any longer.” Ever so thoughtful he was when it came to you stressing over your deadlines, but you could never get yourself to leave. Academics be damned if he was going to suffer all alone again.
You fetched him medicine and water. It was difficult to get him to rise in a sitting position, but he managed when you assisted him. Flins, the stubborn man he was, insisted that he was fine, and he could drink his medicine and water all by himself. You had grumbled, but you let him do whatever he wished.
But after cooking him a hearty soup—a hearty mushroom soup, Flins’ fever had gotten worse. He needed nutrients, something in his stomach, so you begged him to wake up and made him eat, even if you had to spoonfeed him.
Stubborn, stubborn man; he said he could do it again, that he wouldn’t want to bother you, but the man was clearly exhausted.
The tables had turned, and he just had to get used to it. Thankfully, he relented.
And maybe it was still because of the anxiety, but you never left Flins’ side. Even as he nodded off, you never kept your eyes off of him.
Then, at one particular hour, he woke up. Seeing Flins being all sick was a new experience—he was obviously distressed; it was a sight that he really didn’t want others to see, and you thought, maybe you were one of the exceptions, when he reached for your hand and called for your name.
“I—I am,” He breathed, “Most certainly grateful.”
You feel your eyes sting again. He was still burning up. Yet you gripped his hand back anyway.
“I’ve got you.”
Flins nodded. Then, he leaned. He shut his eyes, and pressed his forehead on your fingers. “It’s—it’s strange how you quickly put me at ease. May I stay like this? Just for a little longer?”
And you couldn’t bring yourself to say no.
_
Christmas break finally comes.
Like any other student, everyone’s been waiting to go home for the holidays.
Finally finished in packing some of your belongings, you turn to Flins who’s waiting patiently by the couch, still immersed with his bone puzzle pictures, while Snow is just snoozing beside him. You giggle when you see Snow’s reindeer ears and red round nose again, and this catches your roommate’s attention.
“Are you ready to leave?”
You nod. “Yep. Better get going before traffic. You know how it gets during winter!”
“Indeed. I wish you a safe trip.” He smiles at you, warm and still so, so gentle. “Happy Holidays and Happy New Years to you, my beloved roommate. See you next semester.”
You smile back. “Thanks, Flins.” Then, as you wrap your scarf around your neck, Flins stands up.
“I almost forgot one thing.”
“Hm?”
“Please wait here.”
When he enters his room and comes back out again, he hands you a rectangular piece of material covered in paper. You tilt your head in confusion. “What’s this?”
“One of my paintings,” He replies, and your jaw drops.
“No way.”
His smile widens. “Yes. I’d like you to keep one.”
Touched, you hug it closer to your chest. “Thank you, Flins.”
“You’re very much welcome.” Then, he finishes wrapping up your scarf for you. “Now. Off you go. You don’t want to get stuck in traffic, do you?”
“Right. Right!”
And this was the very first time it was hard to say goodbye, when you turned around, you took one last look at it again. He was there, patiently waiting, observing, with adorable Snow. So much has happened, you know that, and with all that change, with all that shift, who knew that you’d be missing your roommate in your third year, even if you haven’t left your apartment yet?
“Having second thoughts?” Flins asks in mirth.
You sigh, “And if I did—what are you gonna do then?”
“Nothing, I suppose.” He answers. “It has always been your decision. Not mine. My opinion doesn’t matter.”
But it does. To me. “And may I know your opinion?”
“Hm. Do you really wish to know my opinion?”
Do you?
You swallow. Should you? You shake your head. Maybe Flins is just messing with you again. You stick a tongue out at him. “You want me to get stuck in traffic, don’t you?”
He puts a hand on his chest. “Guilty as charged.”
You snicker, “Stupid.” Then, you sigh again, your chest feeling lighter. “I should really go now. I’ll see you in 3 weeks, Flins?”
Flins nods. “In 3 weeks.”
And you leave.
_
When you’re finally home, you indulge yourself by crashing on your childhood bed. The smell of gingerbread wafts through the air, and you can’t help but think how nostalgic this feeling is, as you make yourself comfortable.
You hear voices of your relatives, though muffled. Some of them make you giggle a little, because they’re arguing about whose son or daughter is the best again, and you just hope your mom won’t get as competitive as before.
Then, you turn to the side.
Flins. 3 weeks.
Before, you thought how short it was—freshman and sophomore you wanted a four week holiday break, but thank god that wasn’t granted. For you, in the present, a junior, even 3 weeks seemed a bit too much.
You pull out Flins’ gift from your bag, and you decide at that very moment to open it. You wonder which painting he has given you. All of them were very beautiful, and you consider receiving his artworks one of your greatest achievements this year—this just means he really does trust you more, amidst everything.
However, you don’t see snowy mountains and northern lights. You don’t see unfamiliar faces dancing and drinking, nor the hustle and bustle of his homeland.
Instead, you’re seeing yourself—a painted version of yourself, smiling so beautifully at the bones and gemstones you’re holding.
“Oh, look at me. I’m Kyryll Chudomirovich Flins. I like bones and rocks.”
“Gemstones.”
“Whatever.”
You stare at the painting. You inspect every brush stroke, every color, every shade, and every tone, and you realize how Flins had painted you. How Flins treated this canvas—and your heart, your mind, your soul, can’t stop envisioning how his hand that was holding the brush, had been so tender and delicate in forming you.
He must’ve been very gentle when he applied your colors.
This is an artist’s portrayal of a person—this painting in front of you, is how he depicts you. How he sees you.
And you’ve never been more beautiful.
You turn at the door.
Flins.
3 weeks.
Scratch that. It’s not a bit too much.
You can’t do it.
_
“So. What’s it like having a roommate?” one of your aunts asked from the dining table, seeing you grab your coat in a hurry.
This is how the story ends: you, rushing over to the bus station and squeezing yourself in, just so you can get a seat. You run despite the rush hour, you run despite the cold weather, you run despite it all.
“I don’t recommend it. Especially if you don’t even know the person.”
It’s hella cold—your lungs are cold, your fingertips are cold, your cheeks are cold. But that doesn’t matter. Not when you’re desperate. Not when you want to see him.
“You’ll feel all emotions at once—you’ll get scared. You’ll get annoyed. You’ll get angry. You’ll get happy and guilty. It’s hard having a roommate who’s a stranger.”
The guard is surprised to see you back at the apartment. You immediately head over to the elevator, and waste no time in leaving said elevator once you arrive at your floor.
“So I don’t recommend it. I recommend you find other apartments instead, and find a lease that won’t require sharing an apartment with a roommate.”
“And what if you were given the chance? What if you were given the chance to find an apartment with no roommate?
And when you get to your door, you jam in your keys with your heart pounding, and your soul screaming.
Then, you smile at your aunts. “Honestly? I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
It’s dark.
But you knew better.
“Flins!” You gasp for air, and there—you see him coming out of his room with wide, round eyes. There, the one that your soul calls for, is starstruck at your appearance.
Incredulous, he whispers, “. . .You’re here.” Then, Snow appears from the couch, and barks out loud, before pawing over to you.
You laugh, and pat Snow’s head. “Hello again, Snow. I’m happy to see you, too.” You look at Flins once more. “Hey, the light’s broken.”
It takes him exactly ten seconds to register it all in. Then, he returns your smile, albeit a little one. Though you know he’s most delighted at your sudden arrival.
He picks up one of the nearby scarves draped on his rocking chair and wraps it slowly, and tenderly around your neck.
Under the hallway’s orange glow, Flins’ forehead lightly comes into contact with yours.
“It sure is.”
additional notes: ty dear for making it here in the end c: i think i have much more to say but im typing this at 6:35 am. so i dont remember. but ororon and ifa were mentioned and if u were wondering if i ship them or not, i honestly dk i just searched genshin character generator and i needed a character in genshin who would be my sacrificial lamb that would be in a relationship for plot purposes. ifa appeared first & idk which chara to pair him with so i went with his bro. lol //shrug
anw finally i made a flins modern au good grief. love u flins im so sleep-deprived. also now i remember. time check: 6:40 am. this is my least freaky flins yet and im so proud of it. hes just a silly little lonely guy in this one.
also the "rocks-" "gemstones" scenes are references from this lovely fic written by nariveri !! they were so funny c:
also pls tell me if i missed anything like if i somehow added a "miss" in there even tho its a gender neutral reader fic tyyy zzzzz HAPPY NEW YEAR FRFUCJK 💤
overview: so apparently, your way of getting a good night's sleep isn't by drinking a warm beverage or meditating — it's by a certain ratnik. interesting.
wc: 2.7k
notes: a prequel of sorts because i have a dynamic in mind between flins and the reader c: reader is implied to be mute. plus flins and the reader are being cute. enjoy!! ( also there's a tiny flins anecdote spoiler in the end!! )
These past few nights, you’ve been miserable.
Perhaps it was because of stress – you may be worried over the outcomes that unfortunately involve your career, or other personal things, like the complexities of your relationships with your closest people. Of course, applying the principle of cause and effect, with you stressing and multitasking multiple issues, it’s not surprising you’re not having enough rest. You’re not having enough sleep, and that sucks, because not only does it affect your mood, but also your performance.
You’re used to this. It’s life, after all, and not everything’s perfect. You’ve tried countless methods in all your years of living, temporary solutions so you can NOT overthink the results at night, just so you can crash out. And one of these methods include tiring yourself out by occupying the physical tasks in your job.
But alas – this is a different matter. What was previously mentioned isn’t considered a solution anymore, and this frustrates you, when it was always so effective.
So one day, by the moon goddess’ blessing, the opportunity arose. It was not incidental. You truly cannot hide anything to those who deeply care about you.
You’ve made a routine for yourself. On an off day, you’d go fishing in Final Night Cemetery – a great spot for fishing, actually, despite the nature of the location, and the one who resides here can attest to that. After filling enough fish in your bucket, you were supposed to wrap it up by giving some of your catch to Flins out of gratitude, and finally go your way, but alas, the man did not allow you.
Gently.
And politely.
With vague gestures and nods, you confirm to Flins that yes, and unfortunately so, you’re not sleeping well lately. And yes, you’re well aware that it is obvious in your person — you know that you don’t have enough time to use concealer when you’re always in a rush, so your eyebags are prominent.
And the yawns. You really can’t stop the yawns sometimes.
You really tried to, but the man raised a knowing brow.
There’s an ending to this story. Give the fish to Flins, then leave. It’s as simple as that. And when you come home, you’ll prepare and preserve the meals that will fill your belly for the next two nights. And also, you’ve thought of a new solution this time for your slumber disaster, and you can’t wait to try it: maybe it’s time to turn to alcohol.
But Flins seems to notice what you’re planning, and he expresses his disapproval gently. And politely.
You question the world – how on earth can he do that when you can’t even say anything? How can he read you so when you are not even uttering a single word?
Then it hits you as you realize: you’ve been staring at the random tavern bulletin board in the graveyard, specifically at the poster that mentions a new stock of Dandelion Wine. Perhaps you could’ve reacted differently, perhaps your eyes lit up at the idea, and the vigilant Flins saw that.
So in front of the dancing ghost that seemed to linger, Flins offered to help you sleep. You don’t know why you immediately accepted, out of all the people in Nod Krai, when Ineffa was there, who was familiar with these types of things. Especially when Jahoda yapped about meditating, and holding Ineffa’s hand—
Oh.
Are you going to hold Flins’ hand?
Oh.
Unfortunately, you did not hold Flins’ hand. It wasn’t even part of the equation, much to your dismay.
Flins tells you what his fellow Lightkeepers have done before: why not run around the Final Night Cemetery? It does help regulate the body’s circadian rhythm. It also reduces stress, so this may get rid of the thoughts plaguing your mind. You jogged a bit, and nodded to acknowledge the ghosts who saw you.
However, even with that small exercise, it still doesn’t work.
Flins takes you to a room. He has countless tomes with ancient script and he figures that maybe the drowsiness will come to you if you ever tried to immerse in one. The tension on your shoulders will immediately leave once you are transported to the world of literature ( or perhaps even research. ) It still doesn’t work.
He serves you some smoked fish slices that you could eat, because he did hear that stuffing yourself with too much food can make one heavy-eyed, but as much as you loved Flins’ homemade food, even seafood can’t save you on this one. You seem to become more active than ever to consume more of Flins’ fish.
So now you find yourself sitting beside him in his working space, about to give up. Maybe you’re going to be stuck sleepless for a while until your body gives out. Flins is still in thought, pondering over what he can do. You listen and listen—as if you can answer him anyway, or even make your own comments—but this. . . stillness, this peaceful moment that you both share in his home, in the darkness and silence of the cemetery, seems to do the trick.
No huge efforts or whatsoever.
When he tells you about his ancient tales, or about his fellow lightkeepers, miracles finally shine upon you, and soon enough, you drift off to the sleep that you’ve so desired.
It was nice.
Really nice.
Because after being an insomniac for so long, to relieve it felt like removing yourself from the shackles of stress. It felt as if you could finally breathe again.
And this would’ve been much, much nicer if you were lying in your bed in your own quarters. But you weren’t.
As you stir, you begin to gain a bit of consciousness. It’s a little chilly, but there’s a heavy piece of material placed on top of your body to keep you sufficiently warm. Then your back is pressed on a metallic surface, which kind of hurts a little, but it’s fine. Though your head is perched on something soft.
And then you feel it— cool fingers, running through your hair comfortingly.
Time has passed, and it takes you a few seconds to be surprised by these motions. This is not a common occurrence. You definitely do not sleep in metallic places. And no one ever pets your hair while dozing off.
You quickly open your eyelids. It’s blurry, at first, but once your sight adjusts, you are baffled by what you are witnessing.
There’s a handsome man with blueish purple hair and yellow eyes above you. The same HANDSOME man you’ve been crushing on for almost months now is the one you’re currently. . .
. . . laying on.
Oh.
Oh. Gods.
You feel your cheeks steam at the epiphany.
You’ve been laying. On Flins’ Lap!
He’s a little taken aback to see you fully awake. But then, he smiles lightly. “Hello there. It seems that I was successful in my aid? Who knew that the mere act of retelling ancient tales has finally led you to succumb to dreamland?” He continues running his fingers through your hair, and your heart skips a beat. Oh. Did he stop earlier, when he sensed that you were about to rouse? “Have you slept well? Surely you did, since you looked so peaceful.”
If you had the voice, you could’ve yelped—but you did not. Instead, you blink multiple times, with your mouth gaping and closing like a fish, until you instantly rise to a sitting position. Turning to him, you open your mouth to ask, but then again, you can’t— and oh. He’s. He’s still smiling.
As if he finds the whole ordeal amusing.
You shake your head. Possibly not. You don’t know what he’s even thinking. Maybe he’s making fun of you. Flins can make fun of you, since he can be quite a tease sometimes.
You bow your head, not even sure where to look, or even what to even say, and—
“Do not fret, Miss.” He calls your name so softly, and you can feel your cheeks heat up more. “I did not mind it.”
You look up at him, still flustered. Then, you gesture to the coat that’s wrapped around you like a blanket. It’s the very same coat that Flins usually wears when he’s out there, patrolling and fighting the Wild Hunt.
“Oh, that? My, you were simply cold. You are a guest. I have to ensure that you are comfortable, hence the coat being draped all over you. I did promise to help you sleep, after all.”
You cannot fathom what you have deemed was impossible. You and Flins have respected each other’s boundaries. You two have never trespassed to the point of intimacy. Never in your wildest dreams you’ll find yourself laying in Flins’ lap, when you could’ve just probably laid your head on his shoulders ( which makes you tremble a little because even that seems improper ), or Flins handing you his coat, which is the same coat you wished you could wear one day.
This is the first time. First time you’ve slept in his lap, first time to have Flins’ coat embrace your form, and first time to see Flins. . . coatless.
The things he’ll do just to help you. You do not think you deserve this at all. Doesn’t he usually do his nightly patrols at this time? Wait, what time is it, even? He should’ve just left you here or even wake you up so he can go do his duties. He’s a responsible Ratnik, after all!
And, and more importantly, his coat! Again, his coat that he always wears, that is probably his most treasured clothing, and—
You hear Flins chuckle softly. Your heart performs somersaults at the sound. “Your reactions are always so endearing. You do not have to worry so much.”
But—
He sighs, though it’s clear that it’s not out of annoyance. “Come here. For that amount of overthinking, you may find yourself in a pickle and have a difficult time sleeping again.” Your eyes go wide like the ancient coins he collects at this. Flins is. . . offering? Again? “We wouldn’t want that, would we?”
Now you’re just incredibly flabbergasted. You don’t know what to say.
You look at his lap. It’s welcoming. Inviting, even. Though the circumstances are rather. . . unorthodox, because Ineffa would most likely tell you to sleep somewhere more comfortable, like a couch or a bed filled with the softest of pillows, it seems that a part of you thinks that a cemetery filled with active ghosts and Flins’ lap can suffice.
You did manage to sleep, after all.
Though, this is. . . quite inappropriate, ‘no? You shouldn’t just lay on his lap again like an– an improper person! What will the others say? You already fish in Flins’ home, taking advantage of how it’s a great fishing spot, and then also sleep in his home? And in his lap, no less?
You do not want to impose!
“Oh, enough of that,” Flins smiles at you reassuringly. He knows you so well he’s answering what’s inside your head. “You are sleepy, are you? Do rest again. I insist.”
You look at him again. Questioning. As if it’s really okay.
“I’m certain,” Flins smiles wider, and pats his thigh. Oh. “Come.”
Again, you cannot fathom this. At all. This wasn’t definitely in your bingo card, that’s for sure. Is this what the Hotdog from Speranza has been telling you? That this is your fortune—your lucky fortune?
Flins offering himself—ah. Goodness. You should not just finish it at that, not without context. Or else you’re gonna combust.
Flins offering himself so you can get a good night’s sleep again. How very thoughtful of him. And very, very kind of him.
So you comply, just shyly. It must’ve amused him more when you seemed nervous. And a huge part of you just wanted to bury yourself and accompany the tombstones.
You look away, aware that he’s still staring at you once you’ve placed your head on his lap. Flins chuckles again.
“There’s no need to be so embarrassed—in fact, shouldn’t this call for a celebration? You’ve finally acquired what you have been wanting. A good nap.”
He’s right. But then again, you think – should you really sleep on his lap? ( The ghosts would probably be so irritated by the amount of overthinking you’re doing – it’s obvious that this just makes it worse. ) Like the shoulder—isn’t the shoulder more appropriate than the lap?
Then, Flins gently takes your chin, causing you to gaze up at him. “Ah, but isn’t it part of the requirement? You seemed to relax more when you clung to my thigh.”
You proceed to stare at him. He did not have to say it like that!
He just chuckles once more.
“Really, I do not mind. It actually pleases me to know that you’re snug enough to let your guard down in my presence. If anything, I’m honored.” Flins remarks.
He’s honored because there are already impressions about him. And they’re mostly not friendly. According to Lauma, animals are scared of him. Even people you know are wary of him.
He lives all alone, in a cemetery no less, and mingles himself in the dark. Before you can even see the rest of his body, you’ll spot his yellow eyes first. His yellow eyes that you’re sure are glowing from time to time.
But that’s not only the Flins you know. He’s kind, very chivalrous, and refined. . . He’s always so happy when you give him more fish, or shiny stones that you find in your journey. And it’s cute how he’s always so confused when you fix some mech that he thinks is so complicated.
And he’s so much more. There are still details and stories that you can’t wait to learn from him.
Maybe this—you in his lap, and him tending you—is one of the things that will mark as one of the milestones in your friendship with him. The trust you both have in each other is admirable. It’s something to be ridiculously prideful over.
Plus, you like him. Romantically. Enough said.
He interrupts your train of thought. “Now, shall we begin once more? Do you have any requests for me?”
Requests?
Well. . .
You did like the thing. So, bashfully, you put your hand on your hair. He seems to have gotten the memo.
“Of course.” And his cool fingers return to your locks, delicate and careful, evidently not aiming to hurt, but to soothe.
“Anything else?”
You stare at him, wondering if he’ll understand.
“My ancient tales?” You nod. He smiles softly at that. “Duly noted.”
And as Flins retells you a story, you can’t help but take deep, relaxing breaths. You are not sure yet of the effect he has on you, but one thing’s for certain: he can make you feel things.
His calming, gentle voice. The warmth of his coat that smells so much of him. And the way he caresses your hair—it certainly lulls you. It slowly pulls you back to dreamland.
Soon enough, you find your eyelids getting droopy. Your breathing slows.
Then, you close your eyes.
And before you can retire for the night once more, you hear him ask, his voice mellow.
“…May I propose a suggestion?”
You respond by peeking beneath your eyelids.
“In one of the books I’ve read before - I can recall one of the main heroes finding solace when they had their own restlessness. Sleeping became unchallenging when they became more intimate with their chosen person.” You wait for him to elaborate, feeling yourself drowsy by the minute as he continues to stroke your head. “The main hero laid their head on a character’s chest - and it simply did the job. According to the hero, they slept better than ever. Would you like to try it next time?”
There is a next time?
In a sober state, you would’ve hesitated and felt embarrassed. But now? You feel as if you’re floating in the air.
Lying in Flins’ chest?
It doesn’t sound so bad.
You nod.
It doesn’t sound so bad at all.
“Well then, consider it a promise,” Flins says, enraptured, and you finally close your eyes once more. He stops caressing your hair, and you, already asleep, fail to see the genuine fondness in his eyes. “I will be looking forward to it. For now, I wish you a good night’s rest. See you tomorrow, my dearest companion.”
( You dream of him smiling so tenderly, and raising a finger on his lips. A couple of meters away from the two of you, there is a curious white dog walking towards Flins’ workspace, with bones between its teeth. )
and it's hard to be at a party when i feel like an open wound
a ( separate ) diluc ragnvindr + kyryll chudomirovich flins x gender neutral reader
overview: it's taxing to be anywhere these days, but at least you have someone there for you.
wc: 1.4k
notes: this is a love letter for those who are hard on themselves.
You are in denial to admit that you are burnt out. You keep on working and working, just so you can prove that you have a place or role in the world. Fortunately for you, you have a worrywart named Diluc Ragnvindr, who takes it upon himself to take care of you since you clearly cannot.
Diluc considers you as his most cherished person, so he'll get upset if he sees you neglecting your health. Expect him to be grumpy. Expect him to scold you a little if he finds out that you haven't had enough rest or even skipped meals for that day. And even though you will try to hide it, he will still find out.
So whenever he's planning on seeing you, Diluc buys extra and stays by your side ( even if he's late for his next meeting ) just to make sure you finish it all.
"This is too much," you say, feeling a little flustered at the sight of so many food. "This is a feast - a feast reserved for you, Diluc."
Diluc's glad that you still have the energy to joke about his big appetite, but that's not his objective right now. "Less talking, more eating," He says with pursed lips. Then, he lifts one brow. "Or do you want me to feed you?"
"Wait-"
Just let him. He's in love with you.
"Come on, eat. Or do I really have to feed you?"
You panic, before raising two hands. "I- I can't! Not now."
Diluc huffs. Excuses. "Why not?" He wonders if you're being stubborn again. Well, if you're stubborn, he's even more stubborn. You are not going to win this. You are not leaving your seat without finishing your food since you clearly need the energy.
Then, you look away. It takes you a few seconds to respond, "I. . . don't deserve it. I haven't finished any of my tasks, so. . ."
Diluc, upon hearing this, feels his heart squeeze tightly in his chest. It's not a mindset he wishes you to have, but unfortunately, it works for you. Though he desires to give you an opinion - an opinion that he condemns the way you think, Diluc figures that he will do it next time.
Not now. Not tonight.
You need something else.
Then, Diluc calls your name.
You meet his gaze hesitantly.
He pushes the box closer to you. "Eat," Diluc tells you, and you stare at him. His voice is softer this time. Tender. Mellow.
Careful.
And given the gravity of the situation - with you realizing that he is quite serious, you finally oblige.
He doesn't speak when he sees you blinking quickly. He doesn't give you any comments when you slowly turn around, pick up the bowl, before opening it. He doesn't move when you let out a quiet gasp at the sight of your favorite meal.
He doesn't point out the fact you've started trembling.
Weakly, you scoop some of your favorite food from the bowl. Diluc is aware that you're still unsure if you will even take a bite, but then you open your mouth.
And finally eat.
Diluc doesn't leave when he sees tears start dripping down your cheeks as you chew. You scoop some more, and eat some more, and the man observing you can feel his heart shattering one by one.
You needed this. How long have you been starving yourself?
"It's- it's delicious," you manage to tell him, even if you're still in the middle of your chewing. Even if your eyes are filled with more tears. You sniff, "It's delicious, Diluc."
He made sure it was. After all, it was your favorite. As he retrieves his handkerchief from his breast pocket, Diluc shifts, inching closer to you. "Yeah?"
You nod twice.
Diluc sends you a soft smile, even if you don't see it. "There's more if you want seconds. Just eat. I'm here if you need anything."
You don't have to try hard every time. Not with him.
Diluc keeps his mouth shut when you put your bowl aside for a moment, before burying your face to your palms to silently weep. He's reluctant to put an arm around you, but he does, anyway, and pulls you closer to him.
Flins is delighted that you've finally visited him in the lighthouse after so many months of not seeing you. You've brought him gifts again, and as much as he wants to repay you, you reassure him that he did not need to. Again. ( Though he'll find a way to pay you back anyway — all he needs is to distract you and sneakily throw out a pouch of mora inside your satchel when you're not looking ).
The usual routine is like this: you give him gifts, then tell him stories of your travels. He always enjoys the adventures you've been in, especially whenever you narrate it in a way that makes him feel as if he's also in that memory. Flins thinks that you may be even a greater storyteller than he is.
But he's quick to notice things.
This time, you're not going to stay for dinner. Flins thinks that this is strange—when you always do, whenever you come visit.
But then you explain that you'll have to go home, since you still have duties to tend to. You won't elaborate, and Flins respects that.
But it is even more strange when you refuse to meet his gaze. You're quick to look away when he stares at you, and he has no choice but to be more aware that you've decided to put on a hood today.
He respects your privacy, he really does. But this concerns him greatly. You are not your usual self today. "Is there something wrong?" He asks, and you curl up more—confirming that you are avoiding his eyes. "Pardon me, but you are behaving differently. Have I done something to upset you?"
If Flins has done something unimaginable to the point that you don't even want to look at him, he has to rectify this immediately. You're a person he trusts, a person that he considers now someone special, and it will bother him greatly if he has troubled you.
"I'm fine," is your meek reply. He tilts his head when you conceal the half of your face using your hood. "I'm fine."
If this is an attempt to reassure him, he's afraid that you're not doing a great job in doing so.
"I'm fine. . ."
You lower your head. Now Flins can't really see you.
He doesn't like this at all.
Flins witnesses how you've begun to shake. How you've began to whimper. His eyes soften as he realizes— "The world has been unkind to you, hasn't it?"
You do not answer for a moment. Then your head bobs up and down, confirming his theory.
"Oh. I see." Flins feels the urge to touch you, but refrains himself. Instead, he steps closer. "I know that I ought to mind my own business, but when it comes to situations like this, I fear that I cannot turn a blind eye. Not when a dearest friend of mine has their heart split into two."
He listens to you try to suppress your sobs. It is a sound that he does not want to hear, especially when he knows how your sadness can also deeply affect him. Flins does not like it if you are in pain. No one would ever want to see their special person in pain.
And although he thinks that he's the last person you can run into when it comes to comfort, a part of him prefers that you rely on him if you are distressed. You can confide in him, shall you need a person to talk to about your feelings.
"I know how difficult it can be. The world can be quite cruel, and sometimes we may even wonder, why does it have to even be cruel?" Flins says, and briefly remembers a distant memory that he does not wish to speak of. "Alas, things happen for a reason. Things must happen for a reason, or even a multitude of reasons. But I want you to remember this: cry, if you must. Collapse, if you must. But do not let the darkness dim your light."
Then, you slowly peek out from your hood. Questioning. Wondering. Hoping. Yet still hurting, with the way your eyes are still glazed with tears.
Flins takes his cue. With you finally looking at him again, he does what he can do best: he offers you a gentle hand, and smiles softly at you.
"And if you want — I can hold your hand. Until you feel a little braver."
diluc + EXES EXES EXES PLEASE (HIIII butter on a bun ^_^ i will Enable you because i have a playlist for him dedicated to this shit) + canon/modern au, etc — pick whatever YOU were thinking writing the request post + spin the wheel and pick a genre~ again, this request is an excuse to hear YOUR thoughts (i have some of my own)
extra: pick whether you want it to be she/her or g/n~ i’m fine with both 🫶
sincerely, 🥩 (who missed you and hasn’t caught up with recent posts bc i was busy </3)
wish that i had more of this borrowed time
a diluc ragnvindr x female reader exes au.
overview: diluc’s heart is his greatest foe.
wc: 3.2k
notes: originally this was 5k words but that was so much & i didn’t want to complicate this more so TAKE IT 😙 this is also a bit open-ended so feel free to interpret this however you like!! also, additional notes will be in the end, so better check that out too :)
“You’re going to break that glass, Master Diluc,” remarks Kaeya Alberich himself, who is this close to purchasing popcorn to watch the ‘drama’ that he has been observing for a while now. Weinlesefest truly has its wonders – fresh wine, good company, and a brother who definitely still isn’t over his ex, even if said brother continues to deny it. “You look under the weather. Why not take a breather and enjoy the sights? You have a loyal staff that’s willing to oversee the Angel’s Share stand for a while.”
Diluc’s cold, unwavering glare remains on that face of his. Kaeya’s almost certain that comparing his ice from his cryo vision with Diluc’s expression will have no difference at all. “I am doing fine, Master Kaeya.” He looks down at the glass he has wiped for—Kaeya guesses—the fifth time now, and picks up another one.
“Really? But it’s becoming a little hot, Master Diluc. I’ve noticed that as the minutes pass by, the temperature of the stand has been concerningly rising as of late. Are you secretly heating up some tasty bar snacks, or is it something else?”
Kaeya suppresses a smirk when the warmth around them subdues momentarily. He has one theory that he’s sure is actually true—a theory where that ‘heat’ is coming from, and it’s definitely not the wind.
It’s the ninth month of the calendar. Summer’s already over. So it’s safe to say that. . .
“Don’t you have other matters to tend to?” Diluc narrows his eyes at him. Oh, changing the subject now, aren’t we? “Surely, Cavalry Captains still have to scout the area for any potential threats during Weinlesefest, or have the knights really gone incompetent?”
“Oh, you. Everyone deserves to enjoy the festival every once in a while,” Kaeya raises his keg playfully. “And that includes even you.”
Diluc just grumbles at that. Still stubborn as always, but Kaeya remembers the day when the traveler told him a few years ago that Diluc, despite isolating himself during the previous festivals, reveled. (Reveled on his own, was what they clarified.) It’s a comforting thought that even such a busy man as himself can still enjoy these moments.
And Kaeya wishes he’d see it more.
Diluc willingly taking charge of the Angel Share’s stand instead of Charles? How endearing. Is it really because he’s here for the celebration, or something else?
“Still baffles me that my suggested proposals got rejected— ah, we’re here. Oh, hi, Kaeya!”
Kaeya sips his beer and smiles at you. “Hey.” And he watches it all unfold again. You smile back at him, before slowly turning to Diluc, who has never taken his eyes off of you ever since your arrival.
You hide a lock of your hair behind your ear timidly. “Hi, Diluc.”
It’s really fascinating to see his brother still so soft with you. People may not notice this, but Kaeya knows Diluc best. “Good evening. What would you like tonight?”
“Ah – my company here—” you turn to the man beside you, a fellow colleague perhaps, and Kaeya seriously has to control himself from smirking. The area’s heating up again. “—would like to try some of the Fruits of the Festival that we’ve been hearing of. Is it still available?”
Diluc nods. “Yours?”
“I don’t want anything, actually—”
“Please, don’t do that,” The man calls out your name, and steps forward. The warmth’s growing. “If you think that you’re treating me tonight, then I’ll be treating you as well. Bartender, I’ll be ordering Wolfhook Juice for this lovely lady.”
The man winks at you, confident with himself, until Diluc breaks the flair by simply saying, “She’s allergic to that.”
Ah, this is great. Kaeya’s considering if he should bring Rosaria or even Lisa along for the drama.
“W–wait, really? You’re allergic to Wolfhook?”
“Ah, D–Diluc—” As much as Kaeya relishes in dear Diluc’s jealousy, your expressions are also just as priceless. Speechless that his amazing brother still has one detail about you memorized? Pfft. Such is a man of great talent who has a knack for processing knowledge in such a short time. He’s a businessman, after all. It’s important to know a lot of things. “You still remember that?”
Diluc doesn’t reply to that question. Instead, he goes on preparing the drink with ease and in silence. Kaeya can feel the awkwardness in the air as they watch Diluc swiftly mix the ingredients, and the man accompanying you merely coughs to dissipate the tension.
“So, um,” The man starts, “I’ve heard that Starsnatch Cliff looks beautiful at this time of night. I was wondering if you’d like to stargaze with me?”
You seem sheepish. “Oh, I—”
There’s a loud thud, surprising everyone, except for Kaeya and Diluc themselves. Diluc has placed the glass in front of the man, face emotionless. “It’s late. Dangerous, even. I recommend that you postpone such a journey.”
Kaeya hides his smile behind his keg. Oh, Diluc. Could you get even more obvious? He wishes to voice out that poor Klee and the other children might get scared because of his ‘grumpy face’ again, but it is late and they’re not here anymore, so it isn’t a valid reason to mention.
Oh, the area’s hotter now. The man is visibly sweating under the intimidating man’s stare. “A–Ah, I see- t–thank you for that then, good sir—”
“Diluc, don’t scare him,” you scold him lightly, and take the glass. “And we’ll be fine, I have a vision.”
His stupid brother’s about to protest, and Kaeya readies himself for another session of ‘Diluc Facepalming Himself Because He Made A Fool of Himself In Front of his Ex’ when you add on:
“Though, Diluc’s right. It’s dangerous to go out right now since I’ve heard from the outriders that the concentration of hilichurl camps around that area is growing in size again. So we shouldn’t go.” You give the man his drink, and gesture him to an empty table. “And didn’t you tell me you’re tired already? Why not sit down for a while?”
Once you two are seated on a table that’s too far for Diluc’s liking, Kaeya sighs and shakes his head. Diluc glowers at him. “What?”
“Attentive as ever.”
“It’s the least I could do,” Diluc says as he crosses his arms.
“The least thing you could do is be attentive to her well–being, even though you’re not her lover anymore?” The temperature intensifies. Oops. Kaeya stepped on something he shouldn’t. But it’s always so fun to get on Diluc’s nerves. “Admit it, you still haven’t moved on.”
Diluc then retorts, “Is it so bad to care for an old friend?”
“So that’s what you call her now?”
“Kaeya,” Diluc warns.
“Diluc~” Kaeya pleasantly sings. Then, his lips part into an ‘o.’ “My, I smell something burning. Are you really cooking something up?”
Kaeya doesn’t bat an eyelash on the slightly scorched bartop.
_
Diluc’s heart is his greatest foe.
He has too much love in his heart, and oftentimes, it causes him great anguish.
He wanted to rip his heart out the night his father passed on. He wanted to stomp on it after causing Kaeya harm.
And he wanted to abandon it, just like how you did.
“Let’s end this,” you told him one dinner, with your head dipped down, not wanting to meet his eyes. You trembled as you anticipated his response, but you didn’t get one. Diluc was left aghast. “This isn’t working for the both of us, Diluc.”
Such was the fate of a Ragnvindr who dedicated his time to protecting the city and thwarting the enemies that threatened his nation. Such is the fate of a Ragnvindr who occupied himself with the winery’s business ventures.
Such was the fate of a Ragnvindr, who, despite having a big heart, had failed his lover.
He wanted to say—maybe we could try again. I will be better this time. He knew he could solve this, if he could think of strategies to counterattack the abyss, or even keep his competitors on their toes with his new business plans, surely, he could remedy this.
“I have too much on my plate. You have too much on yours. Let us end this before we affect each other.”
When your tears cascaded down your cheeks, Diluc wanted to wipe them away. But he couldn’t even move. Not even an inch. How could he, when his heart was being shattered to pieces?
You had too much on your plate? Why didn’t you say anything? You know he’d always be here for you.
So why?
He wanted to say — then let’s face them together.
But you had other plans.
It was over.
And he understood.
_
“How fortunate that our dear cutie decided to visit this year’s Weinlesefest,” Lisa says as she touches the petals of the cecilias. She’s here in Diluc’s garden. Lisa, for some reason, has the tendency to make unannounced visits. She smiles up at Diluc who’s observing her from the gazebo. “Don’t you feel the same way too, Diluc? That she’s here again, after almost two and a half years.”
Diluc crosses his arms. “I fail to understand why I’d have to voice out my opinions on the matter.”
“Ah, but didn’t you say something to Kaeya? Supposedly, shouldn’t you be happy that an ‘old friend’ came back?”
Diluc averts his gaze, and Lisa smiles even wider before tending back to the flowers.
“She favors these, don't they? Cecilia flowers.” Lisa sniffs one. This one smells very fresh. It’s as if all the flowers here are greatly taken care of. “Oh, this takes me back. I still recall how you and her first met. You two were so adorable! She used to chase you around, desperate for your attention. And despite your attempts to push her away, she still managed to win you over. Her blushing face was the absolute best when you gifted her a bouquet of cecilias. Really, who knew that you could get so romantic?”
Lisa lifts her head and fixates on the clouds. “She’s your first love, right? And you treasured her so.” She checks to see if Diluc’s still there, and he is.
He’s still sulking like the baby he is.
“Diluc?”
Lisa can hear him murmur, but it’s not too audible for her ears to pick up. “I beg your pardon?”
“. . .her favorite.”
Lisa tilts her head. “Favorite?”
“Cecilia flowers.” Diluc says. “They’re not her favorite.”
“Oh, my. So what’s her favorite, then?”
Diluc is reluctant. But he answers anyway. “Small lamp grass flowers.”
Oh, Lisa knows.
She just wanted to hear him say it.
_
No one knows how much Diluc has struggled during the first months of your breakup with him.
He got moody, at times. Even slept in too much, which was surprising, because he wasn’t the type of person to sleep, not at all, when he had errands to run. He was a business owner by day, and a vigilante by night—he shouldn’t coop himself up inside his quarters all the time just to let his broken heart weep.
So even if those days, those weeks, those months, were nothing but unimaginable suffering – Diluc had to rise. Someone still had to face the darkness for the dawn.
The overseeing of the winery and the scouting of adversaries were great distractions to someone like him.
But he couldn’t deny the fact that whenever he was resting, or even had one moment of leisure, those thoughts canw creeping in. How were you? Where were you? Are you faring well? Do you still yearn for him, as much as he yearns for you?
Are you as ruined as he is?
Diluc didn’t expect that breakups could get this hard. He thought the drunkards in his taverns were over exaggerating it a bit too much because of the alcohol, but now, he could understand.
( He didn’t resort to alcoholism, though. )
He really tried to get over you. He really did. He really tried to forget.
But how could he, when he cherished you so?
How could he, when his heart continuously ached for you? How could he, when he longed for you desperately after you left Mondstadt.
_
( ”There are plenty of fish in the sea. There are lots of daughters from various nations wanting to be your wife! Why not choose any of them, to fill that hole in your chest?”
The last time a patron told Master Diluc those exact words, he nearly banished them from his tavern. )
_
Moving on was not an option here, it seemed, when everything reminded Diluc of you.
He saw you everywhere. You liked talking a lot, and he liked listening to you, even before you two were dating. Every experience, every anecdote, every musing, and every vent — he remembered it all.
Diluc knew what type of coffee you liked. At first, you weren’t such a big fan of them, but you found one that suited your taste. ( “Just one cup is enough, though. Two or more will make me palpitate!” ) Pepperoni became your favorite pizza topping when you ate with Jean when she invited you for lunch out of gratitude. ( “Cheesy spinach is a close second!” ) You liked reading books and seemed to get lost in them a lot; you even excitedly discussed your reviews to him of the novels or pieces of information you’ve read. ( “Like can you believe it?! He had a twin brother all along!” or “Now I understand why you have such a big chair in your office! It’s because it signifies your status! ” )
You were so endearing. Diluc really, really loved every bit of you and made sure to give you the love that you deserved. He tried his best as he could to provide you with the affection that you needed.
Yet it still wasn’t enough.
Because if it did, Diluc would still be here at his dining table, reading his documents and sipping coffee with you. If it did, you’d still offer Diluc one slice of pepperoni or cheesy spinach pizza after your lunch with Jean. If it did, you would still bother him underneath the sheets until late hours into the night regarding the mundane and the interesting.
Move on, they said. They were all growing concerned.
Move on, a rational part of him also said. It was for his own good.
But he had always been stubborn.
_
(
“Master Diluc’s single?! Again?”
“The most eligible bachelor’s throne is his once more.”
“Back off, even if the Master’s single, he won’t give you no heed. Just give up.”
“Come on, support me a little! I just want to give him a good time. Don’t you think I have a chance?”
“Not one bit, lass. Not one bit.” )
_
Weinlesefest is in full swing—
“Yet here you are, moping.” A green bard sits on the pier beside Diluc, who’s currently throwing rocks onto the surface of the water. “Master Diluc, shouldn’t you be out there and celebrate? Or did you choose to stay here because you haven’t scored a date?”
Diluc narrows his eyes at him curtly, before throwing another stone into the water.
“A silent treatment for me, I see,” The bard strings his lyre, “But I have no worry, for you’ll answer me eventually.”
Diluc sighs. “She’s occupied as of the moment.”
“Oh~? I see that the tables have turned, then?”
Diluc scoffs. Of course he also knows about what had happened before. “Really. What’s your purpose for being here? And stop with your rhyming. It’s annoying me.”
The bard snickers. Stroke a chord it seems. “It’s the second to the last day of this festive event, and I’ve yet to see you participate. Minus the fact of taking care of the Angel Share’s stall, but you must at least do something that’s not related to work.”
“It’s in my blood to dedicate myself when it comes to work.” Diluc throws another stone. “I have no other choice, Venti.”
“Yet here you are, skipping stones?”
“Here I am, skipping stones.”
The bard sighs sadly. As he kicks his legs back and forth, he says - “Do you remember the Thousand-Wind Wine Razor made with the Traveler?”
“Of course. The barrel they used belongs to my winery.”
There’s another silence. Then Venti speaks again. “The wind is many things, you know. It can bring back the soul, and especially, preserve memories—you know of the fact that dandelion seeds are added last as a way of capturing the wind at the very moment when the barrel is sealed. Meaning, the memory of that ‘moment’ is stored in the wine, for all eternity.”
“And your point is?”
“Let yourself be happy this once.”
_
After the citizens of Mondstadt welcomed the Anemo God, they all felt the gentle breeze kissing their skin as he graciously made himself present into the wind. The children cheered, and the adults raised their cups for a toast. Everyone was having a splendid time.
“To the Anemo Archon!”
You, however, have just finished preparing for your departure back to Sumeru. After packing your belongings and making sure you didn’t leave anything in the inn, you had to go find your companion — who’s still probably busy trying out new drinks.
You sigh at that, a little amused. You also resign to this fate. The journey to Sumeru will have to wait until later. Plus, you haven’t even properly said your goodbyes to the others, so, there’s that.
A polite cough echoes behind you. You turn around, and your heart flutters at the sight of a familiar man. Diluc.
“May I request a bit of your time?” He asks, always so gently.
You’re pleased and surprised, of course - because it’s Diluc. Diluc, who’s obviously seeking you, even if he’s made clear that he’s occupied with duties of the winery.
You want to humor him a little bit, so you snicker. “But what if I don’t want to?” You gesture to your satchel. “I’m preparing for my departure, you see.”
Diluc already knows that, doesn’t he? He doesn’t even react. “If that’s the case, then I respect your decision.”
Oh, that’s a bit disappointing. You kind of want to slap yourself for that. You should’ve just accepted Diluc’s request instead of pulling stuff like this. Why play hard to get, when Diluc’s already—
“But I beg of you,” Diluc adds, and you blink. There’s determination in his eyes, and your heart skips a beat when you notice that there’s also something else. “Before you leave. . . please, spend time with me. All it takes is just a short moment with you, and I’ll be content. I won’t ask for anything more.”
—making initiative, huh.
How can you say no to that?
You smile at him—a little bit too tenderly. “Alright then, Diluc.” You lift a hand, gesturing for him to take it. “Lead the way.”
supposedly this was seriously longer, it had more plot ( i indulged on this way too much when i was writing this but had to omit a lot of stuff because i was getting overboard + wanted to more focus on how diluc interacts with his ex / what he feels about his ex / what he felt without his ex asfghjfk
also, here's one screenshot before i deleted this part; i wasn't rlly kidding that it had more substance and it was originally angsty:
anw. shoutout to my bestie who brainstormed with me abt ex diluc hcs it was so fun. lemme share to y'all what we talked abt: 1) we thought that diluc is the type of person who’d date to marry, 2) his heart is so so freaking loyal he'd still pine for his first love, and 3) he falls hard and is stupidly sentimental
plus. if he did have an ex, the breakup will def bother / ruin / devastate him, especially when he loved that person sm :(
overview: and who could possibly be the golden boy’s type?
wc: 2k
notes: imagine diluc with his hair down in this one. and also. diluc’s father hasn’t d-worded in this au so he’s the happy diluc we all know and love before shit hit the fan ( we still love him even after shit hit the fan tho )
Diluc Ragnvindr is prim and proper. Chivalrous and well–mannered. The star athlete of the Favonious Birds. Intelligent, a leader, and a great speaker.
And of course, he’s every girl’s dream guy.
“. . . And yet, he’s still single,” Kaeya remarks with a smirk, and his friends around him laugh in unison.
Currently, he’s eating lunch with them in the campus’ outdoor park — a place of tranquility where some students prefer to hang. Instead of being involved in the hustle and bustle of what goes on in their cafeteria, be it your average food fights or impromptu musicals incited by a certain twin–braided man, said outdoor park was a better option for these lads to unwind.
“You know, I used to think that he and Jean would look good together,” a friend of Kaeya says, and they all turn to him. “She’s just like him: elegant and grades conscious. Takes part in student governments and volunteers to school events. Plus, she’s drop dead gorgeous! With her brilliant blue eyes and smooth blond hair, oh, if I was Diluc - I would not hesitate to date her!”
“Nah, I think Lumine is better,” They all glance next to their right. “She’s sporty, and she can definitely keep up with Diluc. She aces her tests without any difficulty, despite doing a part–time job every night with her brother in a nearby coffee shop, and it’s rumored that she makes the best drinks! Moreover, she’s a beauty. That’s why she keeps on receiving loads of love letters during the Windblume Festival every year, so it will not be surprising if she’ll be getting them again!”
Ah, yes. The Windblume Festival is fast approaching—now that January is about to end, in the next two weeks, Brightcrown High School’s air will surely be filled with nothing but endless romance.
Kaeya gazes up above, where a giant tree shadows their figures with its bright green leaves. The sunlight filters through the gaps and he basks into this moment of peace. He then adds playfully, “And Diluc will be busy tidying up his locker once more, because it will be filled with chocolates and letters.”
“What?! Does he even eat them? Tell him that he can donate, you know!”
Kaeya huffs, “My brother won’t even give me a piece, what makes you think he’ll hand you one?”
He remembers the time that Diluc had been so overwhelmed by the plethora of sweets, and yet seemed so appreciative about it. Father was just proud of the older son’s popularity. Kaeya offered to help him consume them all as a joke, but Diluc shook his head vigorously, saying that he shouldn’t, and that “they all worked hard for this”, and it was right that he only eat them.
How adorable of him, really.
Plus, Diluc even read the letters one by one. No matter how cringe or sickeningly sweet they were, Diluc read them all. And Kaeya wasn’t even shocked that there was no judgment in his face.
Diluc was just grateful for the gifts. Bashful, indeed, and sometimes he was not sure what to feel, but he was grateful.
“So, Diluc. Who will it be? Jean or Lumine?” Kaeya questions with a grin that afternoon, when the Windblume Festival is finally in full swing.
Diluc raises his head from the paper he’s answering — it’s a survey given to him by one of the juniors for their research subject — and frowns. “What brought this on? Why am I suddenly choosing between two friends?”
“Oh come on, you weren’t even listening!” Kaeya pouts, before sitting on a nearby desk.
After exploring the premises for some snacks and attractions, the brothers decided to stay inside an empty classroom for a while. They can hear some cheers from the outside, loud declarations of love and squeals from the majority, that surely Diluc thinks would be a delight for Kaeya, but has opted to accompany him instead.
“I was.” Diluc purses his lips, and hears laughter echoing through the halls as students run and get chased by disciplinary officers. “You and your friends were talking about the girls and I. I just don’t understand why you want me to choose. And be careful, you might fall. Don’t move so much.”
“Cooome on, Diluc,” Kaeya groans as he leans, “We’re sixteen, aren’t we? Father says we’re at that age, after all. By that, I meant, where we’re all supposed to be dating and courting?”
Diluc feels his cheeks slightly heat up from the words that escaped from Kaeya’s mouth. He returns to his duty of answering the survey. ( As if he needed to, when he was already done. ) “And I told you countless times that I’m not interested. Need I remind you that I don’t have the time for it. You know I still have to prepare for college, and that I have to keep an eye on my varsity scholarship, and—“
“Yadda, yadda, yadda——“
“Don’t yadda me, Kaeya. That’s just how it is.”
“You seriously aren’t interested?” Kaeya prods.
Diluc shoots him a firm stare. “Absolutely positive.”
And Kaeya sticks his tongue before hopping from the desk and making his way to the door. “Fine. But don’t think you’re off the hook just yet.” Diluc watches his retreating back. “I’ll make sure to find you a lady, and it’ll be your type, and you’ll fall in love.”
Kaeya pulls the door open. He confidently says, “It’ll be inevitable, Diluc. Inevitable!”
A small smile creeps its way to Diluc’s lips, finding this all amusing. “Then I wish you the best of luck.”
Kaeya huffs, not liking that Diluc seems so smug and unbothered by it, then leaves.
Diluc waits for a while. And waits.
And waits, until he blinks, checks his survey, before sighing heavily.
A brilliant shade of red coats his pale cheeks, and he buries his face in his hands.
Dating. Courting. The type of lady Diluc likes? Yeah. Diluc already has found his type.
( Kaeya doesn’t have to know yet. He hates lying, but it’s too soon. Maybe someday. If Diluc can face his feelings first. )
So, hear, hear! He’s not missing out, in spite of what his friends say.
This person is not what everyone expects; it’s not the formal and polite Jean who can deliver a speech eloquently, nor the radiant and loyal Lumine that they want to push toward his direction.
Instead. . .it’s someone else.
And that someone else dropped a bowl of soup to Principal Varka’s white slacks. That someone else triggered the anger of a certain math teacher because she climbed the roof so carelessly during class to fly a kite. That someone else got into detention and instead of writing I’ll be good from now on one hundred times, spent the day with the others in that session to tell ghost stories.
That someone else was you, who wasn’t like Jean or Lumine. That someone else was you—the you, who was his exact opposite, and yet managed to capture his heart.
You are one of Mond High’s known troublemakers, and apparently, he has fallen victim to your charms.
Maybe it began when you were just snickering with your buddies in the library despite the librarian‘s persistent shushing. He was solving his quadratic formula worksheets back then, and he was impressed that even if you were fooling around, you were in the library to actually learn more about the cardiovascular system, with the help of a fellow friend.
(“I will be proud to say that the one that carries the blood away from the heart is. . . arteries!”
“You’re right!”
“Yay!!”
“Shh!”)
Or maybe it began when you witnessed that one student who humiliated himself by accidentally slipping on the wet floor in the cafeteria, and everyone sans Diluc laughed. Then you came to his rescue, marching in the middle with all the attention on you.
You didn’t offer your hand.
But you purposefully slipped instead, and even had the most embarrassing fall. The cafeteria became noisier because of you, and Diluc, baffled at first, found himself chuckling soon after.
Actually, no.
He didn’t fall in love with you during those times. These were the times in his life that led to this one very moment—
When the Favonious Birds lost the tournament, Diluc was sulking in the playground, all by himself. He took the blame despite Kaeya and his friends denying it, but he knew better. If Diluc had just made it quickly to the ring, their team could’ve been victorious and brought the trophy home.
But alas, it was just an if. It didn’t happen.
Then, something wet drops in his hair. Then his arm. And nose. It was about to rain, and Diluc just grunted, not caring one bit. He was sure Adelinde would make a fuss about it, or his father would pester him for his carelessness, but he wasn’t in the mood to leave his spot just yet.
Diluc slowly lifted his head, wondering who spoke and what covered his pathetic and hunched form that was wallowing in despair. And his eyes grew wide when he saw you, almost bending with an umbrella in hand, sheltering you and him from the incoming downpour.
You smiled down at him, “There it is. Keep your head up, King! Your crown is falling.”
And Diluc’s heart skipped a beat the same time a thunder rumbled from the distance. “W–what. . . ?”
You continued, “I don’t know what got you all so sad, but everything will be fine soon! I’m sure of it! After all, once the rain passes, there will be a rainbow!” Then, you grabbed his cold and even bigger hand, and Diluc, at that split second, felt the static. You didn’t even react. But your hand was warm, and Diluc’s chest was, too.
Dumbfounded, he let you guide his fingers. It only came to him long after that he was gripping a metal handle. “Have my umbrella! I hope this will make your day a little better, and if it doesn’t. . . well, at least I tried. But I have to go now!”
You quickly put the hood over your head when the rain grew stronger. Diluc, concerned over your well–being, finally regained his composure to protest. “But what about you— hey. . . !”
He watched you run and wave, bidding farewell. “You don’t have to return it to me! It’s all yours! I really have to go, so see you, maybe? Bye!”
“But. . . !”
And Diluc. . . Diluc could catch you if he wanted. He could sprint and return the umbrella to its rightful owner, but he didn’t.
Instead, he remained in his position.
And his heart— oh, his heart. His heart couldn’t stop pounding that day.
You are Diluc’s first love.
That is established.
The thing is, this is a secret. No one knows yet. Just him.
He’s never felt this towards anyone before. You are his first.
( And hopefully the last. )
You’re different from everyone else. You’re different from him. You have your own unique methods of doing things. You have your own way of paving your path. You are the artist to your own canvas; the director of your own film.
You are like the sun. You brighten everyone’s day with your presence, and you also shine, because Diluc can’t keep his eyes off of you whenever you’re in the vicinity.
He knows that this is really an unexpected outcome – him, who was definitely out of your league and vice versa, catching feelings for someone like you.
( Someone like you who is free in life, and Diluc wants to feel that, even just for a bit, with you. )
But like before, all he can do is merely daydream and wonder about the what–ifs. What will it be like to be your friend? Will he experience all the shenanigans that you ensue? Will he also fly a kite with you? Will he get into detention?
Yet this is unbecoming. Improper. Inappropriate for someone like him—for the eldest son of the Ragnvindrs and for the next heir of the winery. He can’t indulge into lighthearted affairs or mischief. He’s supposed to be responsible and disciplined. A man of propriety.
So all he can ever do is have these thoughts. Just thoughts. He has more important matters to attend to, like college applications, training, lessons in handling the in winery business. . .
And . . . there’s no way that you’ll approach him again, right?
Diluc knows to himself that can do it instead, you know. He can approach you if he must, but . . . he’s just so shy.
And a lot of people are always around you. So who is he to burst your bubble, when you seem so finally content with your life?
Diluc peeks from the open windows and sees couples holding hands and sharing kisses. Briefly, he imagines what it would be like to experience romantic love during Windblume.
He feels his cheeks steam again.
Kaeya will surely have a field day once he sees his older brother being lovesick like this.
You really are one of Mond High’s troublemakers. And it’s not only because you prank your friends or piss off the teachers, but you make it hard for him to focus.
Just thinking of you never fails to make his heart perform somersaults.
He is Diluc Ragnvindr. Prim and proper. Chivalrous and well–mannered. The star athlete of the Favonious Birds. Intelligent, a leader, and a great speaker.
He is not every girl’s dream guy.
Because unfortunately, the girl he likes doesn’t even see him in a romantic light.
