RAIN'S DEAREST LOVER— 01 — Margins
[Not proofread] Word count — 1.2k ࿐
You arrive early. Not because you’re eager, but because you refuse to arrive late to something that claims prestige like a second surname.
The lecture hall is already half-awake. Sunlight slips through the tall windows in narrow, golden bands, dust motes floating lazily as if they, too, are unbothered by academic ambition. The air smells like coffee brewed too strong and paper handled too often, which seemed familiar and comforting.
You choose a seat halfway up the incline. Middle ground.
Your notebook opens easily beneath your hands, pages already marked with tabs and annotations. You skim the syllabus again, though you know it by heart: Advanced Ethics and Applied Moral Theory. Limited enrolment. Debate-heavy. No room for laziness or bluffing.
This is the kind of class where people reveal themselves—slowly, unintentionally.
You’re jotting a note in the margin when you feel it. Neither movement nor sound could be heard. It's more like a… presence.
Someone sits next to you with a chair that hardly touches the floor and a quiet certainty. The area to your right moves, fills, and asserts itself without becoming combative. You avoid looking at him immediately. Never do you. It feels like a gift to look first.
Still, you become more conscious.
White hair—bright even in dim lighting, caught in your peripheral vision. Something warmer beneath it, and the subtle smell of fresh soap. His pen is placed carefully, his phone is turned face down and silenced, and his notebook is arranged neatly.
Phainon.
Obviously, you've seen him before. It is impossible for someone like him to go unnoticed on campus. He's the type of presence that people notice without realising it; it's steady rather than loud. He moves as though he knows where he is going. When others talk, he pays attention. He frequently smiles, but never thoughtlessly.
And now he's seated beside you. He murmurs, “Good morning.”
You glance over.
His eyes are bright, too alert for this hour, and when they meet yours, there's no calculation. Just a hint of warmth, and courteous curiosity. He seems genuinely happy to be here.
You respond, “Good morning.”
It ought to be over with that. As of right now, it is.
A moment later, the professor walks in, her theatrically precise heels clicking on the floor. People stop talking. Pens waver.
“Welcome,” she says, surveying the room like a general inspecting troops. “If you’re here to prove how smart you are, you’ll be exhausted by midterms. If you’re here to question what you think you know—welcome.”
A pause. A smile.
She boldly writes the first query on the board:
Does inevitability reduce moral responsibility?
A few eager students quickly raise their hands. You hold out.
The initial responses are safe. risk-free and thoughtful-sounding. With your chin resting on your knuckles, you listen, observing which arguments avoid making a commitment and which just restate the question.
You then talk.
“I don't believe that inevitability diminishes responsibility,” you say coolly. “I think it makes it clear.”
Heads shift. The lecturer gives you a direct look.
“Explain.” The teacher asked.
You go on, “Inevitability is often used as a shield. People treat inaction as neutrality if they think an outcome cannot be altered. However, you still have the option to do nothing when you know the repercussions. Moral weight is increased by awareness, not decreased.”
Not stunned, but attentive, the room falls silent.
You sense it before you hear it: the inhalation, the slight movement next to you.
“I agree with part of that,” Phainon says in a calm, level voice. “But I believe the conclusion runs the risk of simplifying things.”
This time you turn to face him.
He doesn't give you a quick glance. His respectful eyes remain fixed on the professor.
He goes on, “Responsibility cannot be measured solely by outcome if all available options result in harm. In those situations, intent is important as context rather than an excuse. If not, we evaluate people using a perspective they never had.”
Then he gives you a quick glance. “Restraint shouldn't be punished by ethics.”
There is a cascade of interest and curiosity. There's a quiet laugh from behind you. In spite of yourself, your mouth curves.
You ask, “So intent outweighs impact?”
He answers quickly and amusedly, “Not outweighs. A balance. One is incomplete without the other.”
You recline in your chair. “If you're not careful, balance can become avoidant.”
He softly responds, “And rigidity can become cruelty.”
The professor's grin gets sharper. “Yes,” she replies. “This. More like this.”
The conversation centres on the two of you, with others joining in and offering their own viewpoints, but the beat stays the same. He hears you talk. You adjust as he reacts. It's not confrontational. Not adversarial.
It's exhilarating.
By the time the seminar ends, your margins are filled. Questions, arrows, and half-written thoughts inspired by the conversation are more than just notes. Slowly, you shut your notebook, your mind racing.
As soon as students start gathering their belongings, your friend starts to swarm you.
“What was it?” Hyacine mumbles. “You two were so scary.”
You slide your bag over your shoulder and repeat, “Scary?”
Hyacine says, “like watching a chess match. Academic rivals turn into lovers.”
You snort. “Don’t start.”
However, your gaze automatically shifts to the front of the room.
With his hands loosely folded and his posture relaxed, Phainon converses with the professor. He laughs at something she says, ‘soft, easy,’ and for a moment you see it: warmth as well as intelligence. Being approachable.
He glances up only to find you watching him, but he doesn't turn right away.
There's a change in his expression, but it's neither triumph nor challenge. Acceptance. Then he gives a courteous nod once and returns to the topic at hand.
“That one is a problem,” your friend whispers.
You're not against it.
Phainon walks beside you as you make your way to the exit as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
“Hey,” he remarks. “Regarding what you said earlier. You put it quite nicely.” You give a quick blink. It wasn't in the mental script to give compliments.
You say dryly, “High praise.”
He has a grin. Not conceited.. More like humorous.
He acknowledges, “I don't hand them out casually. You caused me to reconsider my position.”
That shouldn't have the effect it does on you. “Well, you weren't intolerable either,” you respond.
He puts his hand to his chest and says, “Ouch. I'll get better.” Before you can stop yourself, you start laughing.
It feels strangely constrained, as if the world has shrunk to just the two of you, even though the hallway is bright and humming with students and voices.
He extends his hand and says, “I'm Phainon.”
You hesitate, then decide to accept it.
“I am aware.”
His eyebrows rise in delight. “That's fair enough.”
You introduce yourself to him. He says it again, softly, as if it were important.
He says, “See you next week.”
You respond, “Looking forward to it,” and you don't lie this time. Your friend looks at you as if she has just seen something historic as he leaves.
She says lovingly, “You're doomed.”
You look down at your notes once more and shake your head, but you're grinning. You have written something new in the margin next to the first question.
A fascinating variable.
You have no idea how long-lasting that note will become.
masterlist ⊹ next
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— a/n: hii, this is my first ever fanfic so i'm so sorry for any grammar error or whatsoever... english is not my first language ofc 😭 thank you so much for reading!! i hope you liked it :,>
if you want to be added to the taglist, pls lmk 🫶 i'm lowkey slow here
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SYPNOSIS — Where you and Phainon are in academic competition. He enjoys competing as much as you do. Will it stay that way, develop into something more where you two become closer every day, or cause heartache?
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