°˖➴ commitment issues (kazuha) | preview: baring yourself to kazuha is indeed scary with your feelings unsure, and somehow, he always knows how to deal with your delicate feelings all the time.
°˖➴ sweet nothing (traveler) | preview: when the world wants every piece of the traveler, you only wanted to give them affection.
°˖➴ ocean in your soul (ayato) | preview: ayato can’t help but sink into the vastness of your being, helplessly drowning in his feelings for you.
HONKAI STAR RAIL
°˖➴ one thing (aventurine) | preview: aventurine’s relationships always end with the same scenario, yet he only wished for one simple thing.
°˖➴ like you (aventurine) | preview: jealous aventurine is the most adorable aventurine—stubborn and all sulky. how will you be able to soothe his poor heart?
°˖➴ gamble of a lifetime (aventurine) | preview: with the tension so high, going all-out must be the only way to win the stakes of a lifetime.
°˖➴ stillness in you (dan heng) | coming soon!
DIVINATION PROFILE .𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚
ִ ࣪𖤐 hi! you can call me sia. i’m 22, pansexual. ar57/tb70 asia. you can refer to me using any pronouns!
ִ ࣪𖤐 i reblog genshin, tot, hsr, for all time, lads, and tkdb content. layout by user kinpact.
ִ ࣪𖤐 i write from time to time but i’ll try to be more active as i’m now done with uni (cheers!) and hopefully release more fics in the future! i also do not take requests at the moment but feel free to hit my inbox!
Summary: You didn’t expect much for your birthday — only a night with him. But when he calls to cancel last minute, duty-bound to IPC business, you brace yourself for disappointment.
Lucky for you, Aventurine never leaves a debt unpaid.
Hours later, a luxury gift box arrives with a handwritten note and his private credit line — unrestricted, untraceable, and entirely yours. The message is simple: "Anything you want. All day. No questions."
Echos
Summary: “I’ve forgotten most of the words,” he said, quieter now. “They're stuck in my throat when I try to say them. Some days, I can’t remember the sound of my mother’s voice. That terrifies me more than anything.”
You reached out, cupping his face. His skin was warm, steady beneath your fingers. “Don't let yourself forget, please. Teach them to me,” you whispered. “Teach me what you remember.”
Pretty boy
summary: He rises from the chair and then turns to face her. Brushes a strand of hair behind her ear with the back of his knuckles. Thinks maybe— just maybe— he’s not the only one who’s utterly enchanted. “You know,” he murmurs, soft and infatuated, “I’m starting to think I’m not the only one here who loves to spoil.”
She blushes.
But she doesn’t deny it.
Hold the line
Summary: By the time she usually stirred, Aventurine was long gone. He had perfected the art of leaving without waking her: a kiss to her temple, a whisper of breath against her ear, the faintest press of his palm against her waist before he slipped free. The IPC’s demands were merciless, and he’d long ago trained himself to rise early and move soundlessly through his morning routine. She was used to it by now— the cool sheets beside her, the lingering ghost of his presence.
But this morning was different.
Silence
Summary: The dreams came less often these days, but when they did, they were merciless.
All in
Summary: She didn’t know the rules, didn’t know how the hands worked, didn’t know what made one gamble wise and another foolish. But she knew that she wanted to understand what he was doing, how he bent the world to his rhythm so easily.
Allow me
Summary: He gave so much without hesitation. He would give her the galaxy if she pointed to it. And she… she had never given him anything that cost her more than a smile.
Because, what can you give a man who has everything?
Market Value
Summary: If Aventurine had been there, he would’ve laughed, disarmed the insult with charm like he always did, turned it into a story, a metaphor, another game he’d already won.
But she wasn’t Aventurine. She couldn’t turn hatred into humor the way he could. She didn’t need to win the game or play the part like he did. And she couldn’t stand that he'd learned to shrug everything off just to survive.
Collateral
Summary: She tried to keep it in— Aeons, she tried— but the familiar ache crept in anyway. That quiet, helpless fear she hated admitting even to herself, watching the man who could charm fate itself never once look back over his shoulder to see if she was scared.
Because she loved his recklessness. She loved his daring, his swagger, his refusal to bow to anything. But she also loved him, the man behind the grin and the glitter, and it terrified her how easily he treated his life like a game he couldn’t lose.
Chance
So why exactly is she inching closer?
Summary: No one drifts his way without wanting something: money, influence, connection, a shot at glory, a taste of the reputation he wears like a mantle. No one looks at him without an angle tucked behind their eyes.
A little death
Summary: She tilted her head, each word almost a caress along his nerves. “Come on, aren’t you supposed to be the reckless one?”
At that, something inside of him snapped.
He set his glass down slowly, with a crisp, decisive clink. “Screw it,” he murmured, voice rough, a shade darker. "I am."
The Catcake Problem
Summary: He had sourced their imported silk beds, their hand-carved puzzle feeders, their toys with the little bells that rattled when batted across marble floors at three in the morning. He had done all of this willingly, even cheerfully, and had considered it a reasonable investment in domestic harmony.
What he had not accounted for, despite his innate sense for business, was that the return on that investment would go entirely sideways.
Because the catcakes would, quite decisively, forget all about Aventurine the moment she entered the equation.
Humble cog
summary: "I'm just a humble cog turning away in the big machine. Nothing more.”
“A cog?” she'd repeated, unconvinced.
"The most humble cog you’ll ever meet.” His hand tugged her closer. "Nothing so interesting as what you do."
Tags: Fluff, mentions of past abuse, typical canon Aventurine angst
Summary: “I’ve forgotten most of the words,” he said, quieter now. “They're stuck in my throat when I try to say them. Some days, I can’t remember the sound of my mother’s voice. That terrifies me more than anything.”
You reached out, cupping his face. His skin was warm, steady beneath your fingers. “Don't let yourself forget, please. Teach them to me,” you whispered. “Teach me what you remember.”
masterlist
The hour was too late for anything but truth. The city shimmered distantly beyond the penthouse windows—its spires drowned in artificial starlight, clouds drifting low like ghosts. A gentle hum of power ran through the bones of the building, too faint to name but always there, like the breath of a great beast asleep beneath your feet. But in the bedroom, the silence reigned. Velvet-drenched. Heavy. Sacred.
You lay tangled in Aventurine’s bed, wrapped in cool sheets and slow breaths and the kind of hush that asks to be broken. He was on his back beside you, his mesmerising eyes half-lidded, reflecting the soft light above like molten glass. One arm curled under his head. The other rested loosely between you, fingers brushing your wrist in absent-minded rhythm.
You shifted closer, cheek against his shoulder, the press of his skin anchoring you in a world that too often felt like a dream. “Tell me about them,” you said quietly, almost reverently. “Your family.”
He didn’t answer at first. Only stared up at the ceiling, where shadows bled into each other and the quiet pulsed like a heartbeat. Then: “You don’t want that story,” he murmured. “Not tonight.”
“I do.” Your voice was soft, unwavering. “I want to know.”
He sighed. The kind that sounded like it came from somewhere deep in his ribs. His fingers curled briefly around yours. There was an unreadable shadow in his expression. The kind that came from memory, not pain. Or perhaps both. “Back on Sigonia we had this saying: The desert remembers everything,” he said. “Even if you don’t.”
He paused, the past pulling him under. “I was born under the rain— a blessed child my people called it.” A derisive scoff. "My mother used to believe I was a blessing, sent to free the tribe from their suffering and lead them to freedom." You listened without interrupting, your palm pressed to his chest, feeling the slow swell of breath beneath your hand.
“She had a voice like riverglass,” he continued. “Soft, but sharp enough to cut through storms. Even when her throat was dry, she sang. It was always music first. She said songs were the only thing that couldn’t be locked away or stolen.”
Your fingers stilled against his chest.
"My sister was wilder. Older than me, and always braver. She’d climb the dunes barefoot to chase the sun. Said the wind knew her name. Said it whispered it back in our tongue. She used to braid flowers into the hem of her sleeves. Believed they’d keep her gentle, even when we had nothing. She...” He hesitated. “She was the one who saved me... back then.”
As if against your will, your hand found his, seeking to comfort. To offer company when your words couldn't. “What was it like, the tribe?” you asked.
He smiled faintly. “Loud. Laughter always carried. We shared everything. Words. Water. Stories. Even grief.” The smile faded almost as soon as it appeared. “But that doesn't matter now that it's all gone.”
Your breath caught, the weight in his voice striking like a quiet drumbeat in your chest. You reached for him instinctively, drawing him in, but he remained very still, eyes distant, like he was staring across decades of sand and fire.
“You know the rest. I was taken,” he said, after a long pause, a sardonic smile on his face. “Put in chains. Sold like grain. Same old boring story.”
Your heart twisted at the mocking tone. How like him to make a joke out of it. “You were a child.”
“I was property.” His voice was flat. Unapologetic. “They beat our language out of me. Gutted it. Made me speak their common tongue. Taught me to kneel, to count credits, to serve. I learned quick. Quicker than they liked. Learned how to speak like them. Smile like them. Lie like them. I survived.”
He turned to look at you fully now. And you almost couldn’t bear the way he was looking—like someone who expected to be looked away from. But you didn’t. You never would.
“I’ve forgotten most of the words,” he said, quieter now. “They're stuck in my throat when I try to say them. Some days, I can’t remember the sound of my mother’s voice. That terrifies me more than anything.”
You reached out, cupping his face. His skin was warm, steady beneath your fingers. “Don't let yourself forget, please. Teach them to me,” you whispered. “Teach me what you remember.”
He blinked. Slowly. As if trying to decide if you meant it. As if terrified of what it meant. “I don’t need the right pronunciation,” you added, softer. “I just need you. I want to know.”
His breath caught—just barely. Then, after a moment, he spoke a word you’d never heard before. Ancient. Syllables shaped like wind across stone.He closed his eyes. “That means home. Not a place. A… resonance. The feeling of knowing you’re safe where someone speaks your name right.”
The syllables curled out of his mouth, soft and strange, yet musical. Alive.You reached up, brushing a strand of hair from his brow, your heart caught in the fragile ache of the moment. “Say it again.”
He did. You repeated it, clumsy but careful. And again. Until he hummed his approval and reached up to stroke your cheek. Then came another word. Then another. Until your head rested over his heart and the two of you whispered secrets into the dark like children with life cupped between their palms. The past was a wound, yes—but tonight, in this quiet room where nothing artificial dared intrude, it bled into something else.
Something like healing.
Something like language.
And in the quiet hum of late night, lying between a past he thought he’d lost and the future you offered him freely, Aventurine spoke his mother’s words into your skin—carving them where no one could ever take them away again.
It started the morning after. Not with ceremony, not with a lesson plan—just a word, half-whispered into the quiet while he kissed you awake. You had expected distance. That cool, practiced detachment he so often slipped into like silk gloves. But instead he asked you softly: “Do you remember what I told you last night?”
“Every word.”
“Then say it.”
And so you did. Your tongue stumbled over the syllables, your voice shy but sincere. You repeated the word he had whispered into your shoulder in the dark.
Later, as you stood in the shower, steam rising around you, you whispered the words he taught you aloud.The words fogged the mirror. Bloomed on your lips.
“Heart,” he said, nodding. “Good. Again.”
He never told you what it meant to him. Not then. But you began to notice—these fragments of a broken tongue he scattered into the world like breadcrumbs. A word in the curve of a goodnight. A phrase muttered when he thought you were asleep. The faintest hum of a lullaby when he pressed a kiss to your temple before leaving the suite for a morning meeting.
They came without context. Without warning. As if remembering them aloud made them real again.
And you?
You collected every one. Cradled them like artifacts, like promises. Repeated them under your breath until they were yours too.
Sometimes, he would pause mid-conversation, eyes flicking distant, and say—“Vasha. That was what my sister used to call me. From a holiday I barely remember.”
Other times, in the quiet between kisses, his voice would slip into that old cadence, soft and rhythm-heavy. Your hand would slide beneath the sheets, find his. Hold on. “Tell me another word,” you would whisper.
He would close his eyes. Whisper a new word. You whispered it back.
The Avgin language became your rhythm. A private script passed between mouths, hearts, breaths.In the middle of the night, if you stirred and found his hand resting over your stomach, tight around you as if you might disappear, you’d whisper dear and he’d kiss your shoulder, murmuring it again like a blessing.
At breakfast, you’d grin at him across the table and say morning, and he’d glance up from the morning report, eyes warming like embers. It would take him three tries to finish reading it after that.
You wrote the pieces of sentences on scraps of napkin, on the corner of datapads, in the margins of IPC memos you weren’t supposed to touch. One time, you guessed a word you thought meant something like “beloved” and he dropped the glass he was holding, just staring at you. “That’s…” he said, blinking hard. "That’s what my mother called me"
“I guessed,” you whispered, not quite smiling. “You looked like you needed to hear it again.”
There was no written record. No alphabet. “I never learned to write it,” he told you once, voice hollow with something unspeakable. “I was too young when I was taken.”
You didn’t ask again.
He taught you words for fire, for wind, for anger that doesn’t pass, for grief that carves a person into someone sharper.
He didn’t always give you translations. Sometimes, he just spoke, and let the sound settle into you. One night, you said his name in the language—not the name he used here. Not Aventurine, the gleaming, sculpted mask. But the name you’d coaxed out of him in the dark.
He stilled. “You said it right,” he murmured, stunned. “I didn’t think anyone would ever say it again.”
You cupped his face, heart full. “Then I’ll be the one who does.”
And in the hush of those nights, between the empire he’d built and the boy who once sang to the dunes, you knew this wasn’t just memory.It was resurrection.
And you would carry it with him—every word, every note, every name lost to fire—etched into the living language of your love.
The room was drenched in gold and pretense. Crystal chandeliers clung to the vaulted ceiling like teeth, and champagne glimmered like liquid light in every flute. The IPC’s latest negotiation gala was an extravagant theatre of false civility, full of laughter that didn’t reach the eyes and deals sealed with poison-slick smiles. You lingered near the terrace doors, half-shadowed by gauze curtains, your gown trailing like spilled ink across the marble. From here, you watched the way Aventurine’s jaw twitched behind the rim of his glass.
Immaculate in charcoal silk and violet-glass cufflinks, flanked by the predators of the corporate world. Executives, venture parasites, silver-spoon tech heirs who mistook arrogance for invention. He wore his charm like he wore his wealth: to precision. But beneath the surface—beneath the glinting glass of that too-bright smile—you saw it.
The flick of his jaw.
The minute tension in his shoulders.
The clench in his left hand, subtle, but not to you.
He was… barely tolerating the company.
“He’s back again,” you murmured, voice low.
Topaz, lingering nearby with a glass of glistening crystal, didn’t look up, just arched her brow. “Which one?”
“The bald one with the bad breath and the patent scam.”
She gave a low, amused sound that might have been a sigh. “He’s in hell, then.”
You sipped your drink, watching as the man launched into his third attempt at explaining an “emotionally intuitive wine-sorting AI.” “We’re all in hell,” you replied dryly. “But at least I have a view.”
Your gaze flicked back to Aventurine just in time to see the precise moment his composure cracked. He was nodding along absently while the executive in question—a jowly man with too many rings and not enough self-awareness—rambled on, oblivious to the barely restrained boredom in front of him. It was the faintest shift—a blink too slow, a drag of his gaze across the crowd like he was searching for the nearest exit—or a reason to endure it all.
Your heart twisted, unexpectedly. And then—He found you. A flicker. A heartbeat. His gaze found yours through the crowd like it always did, as if tethered. And there it was—that unspoken reach. The look of a man sinking in velvet quicksand, reaching toward the only thing that felt like breath.
You didn’t hesitate.
You crossed the floor like the room didn’t matter, like the music and politics and smoke-laced perfume were miles away. You slid in beside him, feigning polite interest in the executive’s pitch. The executive barely registered you, still droning on about “sentient grape varietals.”
You leaned in, smile soft. Innocuous. And, beneath the sound of a thousand forged conversations, you whispered into Aventurine’s ear in the language only you and he remembered:
"The boy is a big idiot."
The words were simple, bits of phrases you heard him say strung together into a sentence. Petty. Childish. But then again, he was but a child when he started to forget.
There was a beat of stunned stillness—and then a sound burst out of him. Real and sudden and uncontainable.
Aventurine laughed.
Not the polished chuckle he used at board meetings. Not the silken amusement of the poker table. This laugh came from somewhere deeper—punched from his ribs, cracked loose from memory. His head dropped forward slightly, hand rising to cover his mouth as if to trap it. But it was too late.
The executive fell silent, blinking at him in confusion. Aventurine straightened slowly, eyes bright, smile dangerous now—too smooth to argue with. “I’m terribly sorry,” he said to the man, voice glittering like broken glass. “We’ll have to revisit this conversation. Later.”
His hand slid to your back, warm through silk, and with a practiced elegance, he led you out of earshot. "Sweetheart—” he murmured, voice thick with something that wasn’t quite amusement or gratitude. “Where did you learn to say it like that?”
You shrugged, nonchalant. “Had a very persistent teacher.”
He turned to face you fully now, eyes brighter, sharper, alive in a way they hadn’t been all night. There was something reverent in the way he looked at you—like you’d cracked the sky open and handed him back a sun he thought lost. “That’s exactly how I used to say it when I was little,” he said, laughing again—softer, nostalgic. “When my sister stole my things, I’d scream it through the tents like a curse.”
“I take it she didn’t give them back?”
“Of course not. She’d just laugh and call me something worse.”
“Unlucky?”
“Annoying.”
The laughter softened into something gentler, a hush that lived only between the two of you. He looked at you, and it wasn’t with amusement or flirtation. It was reverence. “You remembered,” he said after a pause. “Not just the words. The rhythm. The tone. The breath.”
You lowered your voice, suddenly shy. “I didn’t want you to forget.”
He gazed at you as if you were the only real thing in the room. Not as a partner. Not even as a lover. But as a witness—the only one who’d ever seen him unmasked, unnamed, and still wanted him more for it. He looked at you not as Aventurine the IPC executive, the man with a million faces and a diamond tongue—but as the boy beneath them. The boy who once sang under desert stars and called the rain his sister. “Thank you,” he said. "For giving me this."
You felt the breath catch in your throat. He hadn’t said it lightly. None of his mother tongue came easily. Every word he gave you was carved from bone, pulled from a grave he’d long thought sealed. “Then I’ll speak even more,” you said, your voice trembling. “So it never disappears again.”
He reached for your hand then. Not subtly. Not with his usual sleight-of-charm. Just… earnestly. A warm, grounding press of palm to palm.
Around you, the party roared on. Deals were struck. Contracts whispered over cocktails. But none of it mattered. Not in this sliver of space where the two of you existed outside time. He tugged you closer, just enough to tilt his lips toward your ear. “Let's go” he murmured.
You blinked. “Aventurine—”
He didn’t give you time to argue. “They’ve already bored me to death. I’d rather listen to you say the word idiot again. Maybe ten more times.”
You laughed, soft and incredulous, as he pulled you gently toward the terrace doors, away from the gold-drenched lies and into the evening air that still held the scent of memory.
tags: fluff, lq a crackfic but not rly, congrats on p46 king, i had a funny idea about his paranoid ass not wanting to reveal what he is in a relationship because his ass is #paranoid and it spiralled into this, im alive btw, aven got a vacation and yours truly is now a proud e6 aven haver so everybody gets a treat enjoy
summary: "I'm just a humble cog turning away in the big machine. Nothing more.”
“A cog?” she'd repeated, unconvinced.
"The most humble cog you’ll ever meet.” His hand tugged her closer. "Nothing so interesting as what you do."
masterlist
She had asked him, once, sometime at the beginning, what exactly he did at the IPC.
They'd been lying tangled together on his absurdly soft couch, his fingers idly tracing shapes against her shoulder, and the question had come out sleepy and unguarded, and she had felt him stop for a moment and think.
"Mm," he'd hummed, and she'd felt the rumble of it more than heard it. "I'm just a humble cog turning away in the big machine. Nothing more.”
“A cog?” she'd repeated, unconvinced.
“The most humble cog you’ll ever meet.” His hand tugged her closer. "Nothing so interesting as what you do."
She remembered laughing at that— humble being possibly the single least accurate word anyone had ever used to describe Aventurine— and letting it go, because his tone had that particular careful lightness it got whenever he was steering a conversation somewhere else.
It meant not here, not tonight, ask me something else.
And she had, as she always did.
She knew he had some kind of standing— after all, he was rich. Obscenely, comfortably rich, the kind of rich where he'd bought her a bracelet once when she looked at it as an afterthought, where he tipped like it offended him not to, where he bet absurd amounts on a whim because he was bored, and where there was a watch on his wrist that probably cost more than she knew and he wore it the way other people wore a cheap digital trinket from a drugstore.
She knew that his job title involved the words Strategic Investment Department and manager, which she'd taken, reasonably, to mean: manager.
Somebody important-adjacent.
Somebody's boss.
Someone who people occasionally recognized on the street and who attended business events.
She also knew he'd gotten a promotion at work a little while back— P46 now, or whatever that meant.
"Should I be impressed?" she'd asked, sitting up in bed when he came through the door announcing it.
"You should be in awe," he'd replied, and then ruined the effect entirely by faceplanting into the pillow next to her, fully dressed, shoes and all. "Your humble cog finally got a vacation."
She'd laughed and listened to him rave about the trip they were going to take to Astropolis and then she smacked his arm and told him to change.
She didn't know the details of the IPC hierarchy, so she'd filed it all away under: important businessman, good at cards, the IPC must pay well, and moved on with her life, because frankly, the logistics bored her, and his arms around her waist did not.
That was how it worked between them.
He respected her choice to keep her distance, and whatever abstract things he did, he left all of that at the door when he came home to her. And at home, he laughed too loudly at his own jokes and took her out on crazy nights, and stole the blankets, and burned the eggs on purpose just to watch her pretend to be annoyed.
That was the Aventurine she knew.
And it wasn't that she didn't care. She just felt that he had wanted that particular door closed, and she was content to let him.
Though he had given her an access card, some time into their relationship, silver and cool and etched with the gleaming IPC logo that sparkled almost as much as the barely concealed eagerness in his gaze. "In case you ever want to see where I disappear off to," he'd said, pressing it into her palm with a smile. "Pier Point isn't so bad in the daylight."
It had sounded like a challenge.
She'd tucked it into her wallet and never used it.
She told herself it was because she didn't want to impose on his day. But if she were honest with herself, really and uncomfortably honest, the biggest part of it was that the idea of the IPC HQ (the actual, physical seat of the actual, physical Interastral Peace Corporation) made something in her chest go tight and hesitant, no matter his open invitation. It felt like a world built for people much larger than her, full of numbers with too many zeroes and rooms where decisions got made about planets she'd never see.
So she drew a line, and Aventurine never questioned it.
Lately, though, the line had started to blur.
It started with him coming home later and later, steadily, an hour or two, then and there. That wasn't unusual, Aventurine always kept odd hours, gambling till dawn some nights, disappearing on “business trips” that he was cagey about, but the exhaustion in him had a weight to it now that worried her.
The shadows under his eyes deepened. He'd started answering calls even during dinner, murmuring apologies before disappearing into the study for ten, fifteen, twenty minutes at a stretch.
Then dinner had become something she ate alone once a week, then twice, then three or four times.
She didn't mind; she knew whatever the big machine was, it demanded things of him, and she'd made peace with sharing him with an institution she'd never seen.
But late stretched into later.
Later stretched into don't wait up.
And one night he came in past midnight, trying not to wake her up, but she wasn't asleep, she was sitting up in the dark with her knees to her chest, and when he saw her awake something complicated flashed across his face— guilt, maybe, dressed up fast in a smile.
"You should be sleeping," he murmured, shrugging his jacket off.
"You should be home before midnight."
"I know." He said it simply, without excuse, and sat on the edge of the bed, and the line of his back looked tired in a way his voice hadn't let on. "Soon it'll ease up, I promise."
She believed him, that was possibly her one true flaw where he was concerned. But watching him work the knots out of his own shoulders with one hand, wincing slightly, she thought: I don't actually know what "it" is. I don't know what's easing up, or when, or how bad it gets before it does.
That was the thought that got her out of bed a little too early this particular day, silver card in hand, brandished like a dare.
She did not, it should be said, have a plan beyond see him, make sure he's eating, maybe make him laugh, drag him bodily away from whatever was eating him alive and remind him he had a life outside those glass doors. Though, if she were being truly honest with herself, some smaller, more anxious part of her just wanted to see. Wanted to put her eyes on whatever was taking him from her an hour at a time at this new position, and decide for herself whether it was something she needed to worry about.
But Pier Point at midday was louder and taller than she'd braced for. The tower didn't so much rise as loom, glass catching the light in long cold sheets, and the plaza in front of it almost hummed with the energy of a great deal of money flowing very quickly through every crevice.
To her relief, the card Aventurine gave her worked on the outer scanner without so much as a pause, and she was greeted with a soft chime, a green light, and a door that opened like it had been expecting her as she stepped inside.
That alone should have told her something.
The entrance lobby was full of people in sharp suits, with even sharper frowns. She stood in the centre of it all for a full minute, feeling profoundly out of place and profoundly way in over her head. Everyone moved with the brisk purpose that could only come from being paid a great deal to be somewhere on time, and everywhere she looked, something gleamed, and something important radiated. The lobby suddenly felt so suffocating, and the magnitude of it all made her almost want to turn around.
Why did she think this was a good idea?
Maybe it's better just to call?
She actually got as far as turning her shoulder back toward the door, the card going clammy in her palm, when the receptionist at the front desk looked up, professional smile already halfway assembled. And then the woman's eyes caught on the card still in her hand and the smile faltered into something closer to surprise.
Now or never.
"I'm — sorry, I'm here to see Aventurine?" she said, approaching her desk and feeling faintly ridiculous for even asking, like she were a child wandering into the wrong building. "He gave me this. I don't actually know where his office is, I just wanted to—"
"Of course," the woman said, too quickly. She was already up, already gesturing, already speaking rapidly into a comm bead clipped to her collar in a language of code words she didn’t quite catch. "Right this way. I'll take you up myself."
She blinked. "You don't need to call someone or... check with anyone?"
"No," the woman said, and there was something almost startled in her laugh. "No, with that card that won't be necessary."
Then she was being led through the lobby— past a vast marble atrium and a fountain at its center that seemed to be pouring liquid gold, though she told herself it was probably just very good trick of the light— toward a bank of elevators that required, apparently, a second badge tap and a retinal scan she wasn't warned about and definitely wasn't prepared for, blinking rapidly while a light swept over her face and a small chime approved her for entry.
That should've been another clue.
The elevator ride should have been the final one.
It just kept going.
Floor after floor slid past on the little display, numbers climbing well past what she'd have guessed a "high-ish manager" (her best working theory) might need, and the woman beside her kept sneaking glances at her in the reflective doors, the way you'd look at someone you were trying to place and were not able to.
"So," she said to the woman, if only to break the tense silence, "how many floors does this building have?"
"Two hundred and six," the woman replied. "You're headed to two hundred and one."
"Oh." She cleared her throat. "I'm sorry for the trouble. I don't need an escort or anything, you can just tell me where to go—"
"Ma'am," the woman said, not unkindly, "you'll need an escort regardless. This is standard procedure for all visitors to the executive floors."
Executive floors?
Oh, she thought. Oh, I think I have made a terrible miscalculation about Aventurine.
The elevator doors opened onto the two hundred and first floor, and any hope she'd been quietly, desperately, nursing that this was all some kind of scale error or a fever dream, evaporated. The ceilings soared. The carpet swallowed footsteps whole. There were fewer people up here, but the ones she passed all did a small, unmistakable double-take at the sight of her, an unfamiliar figure walking these halls like she had every right to.
She tried to keep her chin up as she followed the woman.
Their brisk pace brought them towards a long corridor, at the end of which stood a pair of doors with frosted glass panels etched with the same IPC emblem from the access card, and flanked by a receptionist's desk. A young man in an immaculate suit rose the moment he saw them approaching, his eyes going wide. "Sorry, Director Aventurine is currently on a call. If you'd like to wait, I can—"
"That's alright," the woman said smoothly, gesturing at the card still clutched in her hands. "She has clearance."
And before she could process that particular statement, the man jumped to open the doors, and she was ushered into an office that stole the breath clean out of her lungs.
It's enormous, was the first, stupid, overwhelmed thought she had.
The second was oh, shit.
Windows made up an entire wall, a view of the district spread out gold and glittering below like something out of a postcard.
A couch, a table, private meeting alcove.
Somewhere in the recessed lighting, actual gold detailing caught the light.
There was also— she noted with something close to hysteria— an entire wall that appeared to be devoted to countless memorabilia displayed like art.
And behind a desk that could’ve sat six people comfortably, currently occupied by exactly one, sat Aventurine, leaning back in his chair, one leg crossed over the other, gold rings catching the light as he gestured.
"— I'm telling you," he was saying, voice pitched into a register she had never once heard him use at home, smooth and cool and edged with dangerous amusement that made the hair on her arms stand up. On the projection in front of him, a man in an equally sharp suit was nodding along like his continued employment depended on it, which, she was beginning to suspect, it very well might. "—this is the fourth time I'm reading the same proposal, and each time it bores me to tears. If you really want to get my attention—"
At her entrance, Aventurine's eyes flicked up, and found her standing frozen in his doorway— taking in the office, the view, the wall of framed IPC memorabilia she hadn't even processed yet, fairly sure her mouth was hanging slightly open— and his entire posture locked up. He straightened up immediately in his chair, swivelling towards her, gaze going wide and unguarded for one brief unprotected second in a way that had no business being as legible for him as it was. His mouth opened like he wanted to say something, then snapped shut, expression settling back seamlessly into his usual unreadable mask as he seemed to remember where he was. "I'll call you back," he said into the holo-projection, and cut the line without waiting for a response, the other man's protests cut off entirely.
The office doors closed behind her with a heavy, expensive sort of click.
For a second neither of them said anything. She just stared at him, and Aventurine stared back, seemingly equally as speechless,
Then finally, he broke the silence with a strained chuckle that she would've found endearing under any other circumstances.
"Well," he said, standing up from his chair, a slow smile pulling at his mouth. "This is certainly a surprise."
Like that was going to cover it.
She swallowed.
"Aventurine..." her voice came out strange and thin, not at all like she'd planned. "What... is all this?"
His eyes were shining now in absolute delight, coming around the desk toward her with that easy predatory grace he had. "This," he said dryly, spreading his arms wide with theatrical modesty, "is my office. Bit gaudy, I know. Wasn't my choice, mostly."
She stared at him, something between a laugh and genuine indignation catching in her throat.
"That's not what I mean and you know it," she said, gesturing helplessly at the window, the view, the entire vertiginous height of the building she was currently standing near the top of. "I mean everything. I thought I'd surprise you because you've been coming home so late, and I was worried about you, but instead I get brought up two hundred floors by a woman who told me I needed an escort, and everyone keeps calling you Director, and your office has a view of the entire Pier Point and— You told me you were a humble cog, Aventurine!"
By the end, her voice had risen into an incredulous half-shout.
If anything, that only served to amuse him more.
"I am a cog," he said, entirely too pleased with himself as he leaned against the desk. "A very well-compensated one."
"You are not a cog." Her voice sounded hysterical even to her own ears as she pointed an accusing finger at him. "Cogs don't have offices on executive floors of the IPC!"
His mouth twitched, tugging up at one corner like he was trying very hard not to laugh at her and failing spectacularly. He pushed away from his perch, reaching her in a few short strides, and tilting her face up with a fondness that did nothing to dim the amusement in his eyes. "Why are you surprised? Have you never once looked at the money, sweetheart?"
"I looked at the money! I just thought —"
She backed away and dragged both hands down her face. "I don't know, I thought you were just really lucky in casinos, or that the IPC just pays well. That you were, you know... one of those nice-watch, expensive-dinners, tips-too-much-at restaurants rich people. Not—" She gestured vaguely "— top-of-the-universe, or whatever P46 apparently means, rich people."
He laughed then, low and delighted, the familiar sound of it easing something tight in her chest even as her mind was still catching up to this newfound and foreign reality. "It means," he said gently, and there was something underneath the teasing now, something more wicked, "that there is a very small percentage of people in the entire IPC above me. Out of a great many billions."
She went quiet. He watched her kind of stumble back and lower herself into the first chair she found behind her, and put her face in her hands. It was so unfairly patient and faintly smug, letting her connect the pieces at her own pace like he had all the time in the world, which apparently, he actually did because he, apparently, owned time itself along with everything else.
Excuse her for needing a moment.
"Why didn't you tell me?" she finally mumbled, and it came out smaller than she meant it to, muffled against her skin. Not angry, exactly, just unmoored. Like the ground of a relationship she'd thought she understood had just shifted beneath her.
"To be fair, you never really asked," he said, crouching in front of her, close enough that she had to lower her hands to look at him. "You drew your own conclusions and seemed happy enough with them, so who am I to correct an assumption that let you sleep easy at night."
"You still could have told me." She glared at him. "Why didn't you?"
"Many reasons." The corner of his mouth curved and the familiar warmth crept back into his voice, and just like that he was her Aventurine again, though his words kept a new, teasing edge she'd never had cause to hear before. "Want me to list them all?"
"Enlighten me."
He raised one finger.
"Well, to start, I did it because I wanted to test you," he said, counting it off like it was nothing, like they were discussing the weather and not reevaluating their entire relationship. "People usually show the worst version of themselves the moment money comes in the picture, and I wanted to know what kind of person you were first."
Her mouth fell open. "You tested me?"
"You passed, for the record." He held up another finger before she could get properly outraged. "I also wanted to study you— a professional deformation, what can I say. You'd be amazed how much you can learn about a person from how they behave when they believe the stakes are low."
Third finger went up. "And lastly, I wanted to gauge your real agenda, what you were actually after. I trade in promises and transactions, sweetheart— that’s the business, more or less— and everyone has an angle somewhere, even the ones who swear up and down that they don’t. I wanted to see yours before I told you anything worth exploiting.”
He shrugged, easy, like it cost him nothing to say all that, though she was starting to suspect, watching the careful, controlled way he held himself even now, that it had cost him quite a lot.
She shook her head. “That’s a very fancy way of saying you didn't trust me,” she said flatly, unable to find the outrage she’d been reaching for a moment ago.
"Of course I didn't. Not at first." He said it so cheerfully it almost took the sting out of it, but not quite. “Old habits die hard, and trust is very expensive where I come from. I paid for it in worse currency than credits many times before."
She hated that she understood. "And what is the final verdict?"
He stared at her, and the look in his eyes made him seem much older than he was. "That I was wrong." A sly grin. "Fortunately."
She laughed, torn cleanly in half between fury and something horribly close to admiration. "I don't know whether to be flattered or offended by that."
He straightened up, entirely unrepentant, and offered her his hand with a flourish. "My questionable flattery aside—" His grin was shameless. "If I'm being truly honest, the most important factor was that I just wanted to see how long it would take you to figure it out by yourself."
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Oh, so this was a game to you?" she argued, yet she still took his hand, letting him pull her back to her feet and into him. "A bet? Another one of your wagers that I don’t want to know about?”
“A bit of all three, if I’m honest.” He said it without a flicker of remorse. “A game, because everything’s a game to me, you know that by now. A bet, in the sense that I had a number in mind for how long I would hold out. And a wager, yes— though not with anyone else, just myself— that you would never come looking.” His mouth curved, something much more mischievous under the amusement now. “You lost me a significant amount of imaginary money, for what it’s worth. Again, I should've known better than to bet against you.”
She let out a breath that was half laugh, half disbelieving huff, resting her forehead against his shoulder, because what else was there to do with a man who just confessed to running her through some private, unspoken wager and expected to be thanked for it.
“That doesn’t make it better, Aventurine.”
Yet infuriatingly, helplessly, some small, grudging part of her wanted to applaud the audacity of it all.
It was cruel, in the detached, manipulative way only Aventurine could make cruelty sound charming. It was practical, because everything about him ran on cold calculation dressed up in gold and easy smiles. And it was, undeniably, the funniest thing that had happened to her all week, watching him lay it all out in front of her like a dare, just to see what she’d do.
Her laughter gradually thinned, and something about what he said earlier flashed across her mind. She went still, her eyes narrowing again as she looked back up at him.
"When you said you were betting on how long you could hold out before I found out..." She searched his face. "What did you mean by that?"
"Ah." He inclined his head and there was a strange, bright energy threaded through him now, something almost giddy and restless. "That's the part I was hoping you'd let slide."
As if. "Not a chance."
"Figured as much." He sighed, dramatically, bracing himself. "What I meant, is that holding back from you has been, without exaggeration, one of the hardest things I've done. And I've done some genuinely difficult things, sweetheart, usually with a gun to my head — and this ranked up there."
She decided not to focus on that particular statement currently. Her eyebrow raised, considering the more pressing issue at hand. "Oh, so not only did you hide the truth from me, now you're complaining?"
He raised his hand to cup her face, and his gaze held hers, almost painfully bright. That manic little glint she'd only ever seen shine through at card tables, in the split second before he flipped over a hand that shouldn't have been possible appeared foreign on him here, aimed at her instead of some mark across a table, and it made something in her chest tighten.
“You have no idea,” he said, and there was something almost rueful in it now, some old, tired fondness. "You have no idea how careful I've had to be. Do you understand how patient I've been?" His thumb traced along her jaw. "Restraint isn't exactly a trait I'm known for and I have bitten my tongue more times than you will ever know because holding out was more fun. I'd be halfway through a sentence and stop myself, because the payoff for waiting was always going to be better, and you know I don't know how to walk away from a good payoff, it's not in me. So every time you fell for some small, stupid lie it just made me want to keep it up longer, made the whole thing feel worth dragging out—"
He cut himself off, aware he'd said too much, and she braced her hands against his shoulders, reclaiming some much needed space between them, yet not enough to fully free herself from his hold.
"You are, currently, on top of everything else, confessing to lying to me for the express purpose of— what, amusement?"
"When you put it that way it does sound rather bad." He didn't look remotely sorry. If anything, the smile widened. "Add it to the list, then. Fraud, corporate embezzlement, emotional manipulation of one, currently, very unimpressed partner. The IPC's dossier on me could use the padding."
Her lips twitched, unexpectedly, at that, though she'd be damned before she let it show.
"Tell me one thing," she said instead, studying his gaze. "Would you have told me eventually? If I hadn’t come up here myself?”
“Eventually," he admitted. "Though probably later than you’d have liked, and likely over something dramatic, because let's be realistic now." His grin turned sharper, more familiar. "If we had this conversation in the beginning, if I'd told you exactly who I was, you’d have taken one look at all this,” he gestured, encompassing the office, the view, the two hundred floors between them and the ground, “and excused yourself very politely to the nearest exit, and I’d never have seen you again."
"I would have not—" she started to protest, but then stopped, because she definitely would have.
She still remembered how she had been those first few weeks, a moth drawn to his flame. She would've been ready to bolt back to normalcy at the first sign of the whirlpool of everything Aventurine represented.
And he clearly knew that.
No point trying to deny it.
“That's what I thought," he said, entirely too satisfied with himself. “You get quiet and wide-eyed with me already. How was I meant to tell you the rest of it? You'd have run for the stars, and I liked your company far too much to risk it. So yes, better you fell for the cog first."
She wanted, quite badly, to be angry about all of it — the testing, the studying, the calculated withholding of trust like she were an investment he was still doing due diligence on — and the maddening thing was that she couldn't quite manage it, because it was so exactly, unmistakably him.
"All those business trips..." she muttered. "I actually worried about you. I thought you were overworking yourself into an early grave for some quarterly report, but you were—" she poked him, "— what? Buying planets. Ruining economies?"
He had the audacity to actually roll his eyes. "Now you're just being dramatic."
In mock outrage, she half-heartedly tried to wriggle free, but he just tugged her closer to him.
She noted that he did not deny it.
"I'm allowed to be dramatic!" She shoved lightly at his shoulder, though there was no real force behind it. "I just found out I've been manipulated. Try to imagine how I feel currently."
She went to shove him again, but he caught her hand before it could land a second time, thumb brushing absently over her knuckles like he wasn't entirely aware he was doing it.
"I'm still not sorry." Then, easy as anything, "Though if it helps you feel better, I think this was the best performance of my career, arguably."
"It doesn't help." She pulled her hand back just to jab him again, softer this time, trying to physically dispel the absurdity of it, of weeks and months of memories aligning themselves into a puzzle she wasn't ready for. "I don't know whether to keep yelling at you or to just accept that I've been in way over my head this entire time."
"Can't it be both?" He reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear with a gentleness that didn't match the smugness still lingering at the corner of his mouth. "I rather like watching you work yourself up over it."
She swatted his arm away, though with considerably less heat than before, and finally wriggled herself out of his grasp. He let her go, albeit a bit reluctantly.
"Okay." She smoothed a hand down her front like that might help her think clearer. "So what happens now?"
"Now?" He arched a brow, delighted, like he'd been waiting for her to ask. "Nothing, really. You get the full tour and lunch since you came all this way, I suppose. Very belatedly."
"I'm serious, Aventurine." She crossed her arms, fighting her own smile now, the ridiculousness of the whole afternoon finally catching up with her. "I mean— Do I need to, I don't know, go into hiding? Should I be calling you Director Aventurine from now on? Do I need clearance to text you during business hours?"
He blinked, and then he laughed properly, head tipping back.
"Didn't peg you for the type, sweetheart, I'll admit," he said, once he'd recovered enough to look at her again."I thought you liked me better burning eggs. Didn't think you'd have a thing for titles."
"You know what? Nevermind, I will leave," she threatened, turning towards the door, but he caught her hand with another laugh, turning her back towards him.
"No running away," he said, entirely too amused, "It's been a long week, I'm hungry, we can finally eat a meal together in who knows how long, and I intend to enjoy every second of it."
"Who says I want to eat with you now." She let him reel her back in anyway, if only to prove she wasn't actually leaving. "I hear there's a very nice receptionist downstairs who'd probably take me to lunch instead."
"She has a very strict lunch schedule, much less flexible than mine, and no access to the executive cafeteria. You'd be disappointed." He inclined his head towards the hallway. "Now, let's go."
She pretended to ponder that for a moment, while he steered her toward the doors with a hand at the small of her back and opened them with exaggerated flourish.
"Give me the tour and I'll consider it," she said, walking by him into the hallway. "I want to see exactly how humble a cog you actually are, and then I'll decide if I want lunch with you."
His answering grin was blinding. "Good thing the rest of my day is suddenly free."
You stand in front of rows and rows of premium clothing. When you said you seriously needed to change out your old wardrobe, you didn’t exactly have this in mind. But what did you expect when you decided to tell Aventurine of all people about it? The obvious answer is that he’s going to treat you! And spoil you. And make sure you wont be lacking in outfits any time soon.
“So.. should I go with a more grayish color or the more beige-like color for this kind of clothes?” You ask, feeling the fabric of the sleeves.
You didnt shop for clothes much, let alone at a place so extravagant. As a result you’re a bit inexperienced. Luckily this kind lady working here decided to tag along with you and Aventurine and help out!
“Both of them are sure to look wonderful on you, dear customer! Why dont you try them on in the changing room?” The lady smiles at you politely, offering a hand towards the dressing rooms.
You sigh. She was really nice, but her remarks weren’t really helpful when faced with difficult choices. Aventurine’s voice cuts through your thoughts-
“Ah. Whats wrong, friend? Having trouble deciding?”
“I guess? I mean, I can think of a set of pants that goes good with both of these..”
Aventurine laughs, “Then why pick and choose? Its on my card anyway. We’ll take both!” He gestures to the lady employee beside you.
The lady’s smile falters. “A-Are you sure? The customer-”
“I said, we’ll take both.” Aventurine repeats steadily before you could speak up.
You swallow.
Before you left with a ridiculous amount of bags (only because a certain someone insisted on practically buying half of the store for you), the lady employee shyly taps on your shoulder.
“Ahem. Um.” She fiddles around with a slip of paper in her hand. “Please wait…!”
Aventurine places a hand behind your back as you turn, subtly narrowing his eyes. She ignores the unsaid warning.
“M-my number.” She extends the slip paper to you, and you gave her a look of surprise. “Please come back soon..! We’ll be having a sale next weekend…”
“I see. In that case, friend-” Aventurine tilts his head into your field of vision, ignoring the girl before him. “Why dont we come back then and I’ll get you something extra special?”
“Seriously? I have enough clothes to last me a decade here!” You point at the bags he’s holding for you.
“Its my treat. Besides, I’ll be taking you somewhere special that day, and special occasions call for special clothing- wouldn’t you say?” Aventurine hums as he drags you away, giving you no room to argue. “Now, you must be terribly hungry? I know a place where we can get some really good lobster..”
“Ack- wait- Aventurine!” You protest, you didnt even agree to hang out with him that day!
“Oh, and this?” He gently pries the slip of paper given to you by the girl away from your hand. “You wont be needing this.”
In one swift motion, the thing is crumpled with more force than necessary, and thrown in a nearby trashcan distastefully.
“..Wha- hey! You cant just do that!!”
♟️ Jing Yuan
“Still nothing?” You ask sternly, and the private detective before you shook their head solemnly.
“Im afraid not. But rest assured we’re sure to get a lead. Its only been a day.” They scratch the back of their neck. “Im sure they’re fine, you say this is a common occurrence?”
“So? Its been a day. Already.”
You normally would be far more lenient and patient, but this current missing persons case was.. personal. It involved your trouble-making nephew, whom you have a love hate relationship with. The boy always liked getting himself into trouble and leaving without a trace, but this is the first time he’s straight up disappeared for a whole day.
You were stressed enough as it is working directly under the Divine Foresight, and now your nephew decided to go missing on you. Just your luck…
“Are you sure you dont want to properly file this case to the cloud knights?” The private detective asks.
You nod firmly. “Yes. I dont want to end up troubling the General.”
Its not that you didnt trust Jing Yuan. You’ve been working under him faithfully since a long, long time in addition to having been his childhood friend. Its also for that reason you didnt want to trouble him with something like this- he already has enough burdens as is.
“..Oh? Dont want to trouble me with what?” A lazy voice piques up from behind you almost making you jump. “Now Im curious.”
“General-!” Both you and the detective take a step back, to which Jing Yuan offers a small smile.
“Has something happened, [Name]?” He tilts his head at you in inquiry.
“No, nothing to worry about.” You shake your head quickly. “Its a personal matter-”
“Mm? Is that so?” Jing Yuan puts on a thoughtful expression. Then he shrugs. “In that case, I’ll be on my way..”
“Sir-!” The detective began, earning a glare from you when Jing Yuan’s gaze falls to them. “U-uh.. well, its just..”
You sigh. Its only expected, the private detective comes from a small agency that has way too many cases on their hands due to their generous prices. They were swamped. No wonder the detective was so adamant you report this case to the cloud knights instead.
“My nephew has gone missing. Again.” You state. “Thats why I hired a private detective to help me find him.”
“I see. You’ve mentioned the boy before.” Jing Yuan remains unbothered, and you’re starting to think nothing can faze him at this point. “Given the circumstance. Would you mind if the cloud knights take over this investigation instead? This gentleman over here-” He gestures towards the detective, “Is not well equipped enough to deal with this situation effectively.”
“Please, you dont have to.” You began.
The general raises a brow. “Ah, do you doubt the ability of our investigators? Then allow me to personally-”
“Jing Yuan!” You warn quietly, he was definitely messing with you. He grins when you say his name. “..Lets talk in private, please.” You turn to the detective. “I’ll keep you updated. Please put this case on standby.” You drag Jing Yuan away quickly without another word.
“Whats with you?” You hiss once you two were out of an earshot.
“Mm? I was just surprised you didnt come to me first on this matter.” Jing Yuan replied earnestly. He really was bothered (even though his face showed no trace of such emotion)- he was hurt even, that you didn’t trust him with your burdens- childish, yes, but the feeling is real. “You dont seem surprised your nephew got himself in trouble.”
“You know how he is. Even so. He’s a clever kid, getting himself in and out of trouble without a scratch..” Your pinch the bridge of your nose. “..Im still worried though. Its because of that he never learns to behave.”
“I know.” Jing Yuan’s voice grows softer. “We’ll find him. Next time though, tell me when something happens.”
“So insistent..”
“Dont blame me, I like to be the one spending time with you.”
“..And shameless, apparently.”
Jing Yuan hums. He’ll convince you to depend on him one way or another. After all, you dont need anyone else now that he’s here, right? He kept you close for the rest of the day.
☀️ Phainon
He has been standing here for twenty minutes now. Phainon is very glad you’re getting along with the stall owner, but today was supposed to be his day with you, not theirs!
You have an unfortunate habit of not being able to stop talking once you start, and its something Phainon loves about you- it’s absolutely adorable, really! He loves everything about his partner. Its just.. it doesnt nearly feel as good as it does when you talk the day away with someone other than him.
Was Phainon being unreasonable? Sure, maybe a little, though both you and him know he hardly ever gets to spend time with you these days! Your schedule rarely overlaps with his and today it finally does.. and what do you choose? To waste the day away with this random person!!! Phainon could feel his hand twitch as if it wanted to snatch you away, but he doesnt. Not yet.
For now he keeps a sweet and superficial smile plastered on his face, the last thing he wants is you worrying about him and ruining your joyous mood.
He’s willing to wait for you, however long it takes. ..Until the stall owner decides to carelessly sling an arm over your shoulder, laughing after you cracked a particularly good joke.
Phainon’s hand flies to your wrist in record time, tugging you away from the man. His grip is near punishing, but he’s sure to apologize to you later.
“Ha ha! Partner, that was a good one.” He forces another smile. Kinder this time, just for you. “But dont you think we should get going? After all, I promised to treat you to some of my home made dinner and we’ve yet to even buy the ingredients!”
“Oh, right-” And you were none the wiser to the inner turmoil churning deep within Phainon’s stomach. “Yeah, he’s right. We gotta go. See you next time!” You wave goodbye to the stall owner as Phainon practically drags you away.
(..Next time?)
After a while, you turn to Phainon. “He seemed like a nice guy, what do you think? Who knew I had so much in common with him.”
“Oh? Really? Thats what you think, partner?” Phainon doesnt look at you, his grip on you only growing tighter.
You frown slightly, and that made him feel bad. “Phainon?”
“Hey, dont worry about it. I guess all those sleepless nights finally caught up to me huh?” He laughs, pulling you a little closer. “Right. Want to stay the night?”
“Oh. Sure.” You nod, and only then does he loosen his death grip on you.
Just what has gotten into him today?
A/N: I was so busy writing for specific characters, i forgot how much i missed this format. I still write for hsr dw!!!
I cant picture jing yuan being super jealous, but i wanted to write for him anyway bc i havent in a while. When will he get more screen time i miss my bby :(
spiderman!phainon who shares an apartment with you because the rent is cheaper and also not because he has a crush on you. it’s not like he always appears at random times of the day as spiderman just to see you and make sure you’re okay. it wasn’t because of that, seriously! it’s really bad for his reputation to show favouritism!
but he does show up at your bedroom window, talking until late night before he realizes that you’re probably worried about phainon who isn’t home yet instead of the spider currently outside your window.
it’s totally not suspicious that when spiderman leaves, phainon is walking through the door and breathing heavily like he ran a marathon (when in reality, he was ripping the latex off him like a madman). he greets you with that classic grin and turns you back around to your bedroom so you wouldn’t see the costume peeking out his bag on the kitchen counter.
honestly, it’s rather surprising phainon kept this lie up. you mean, it’s been a year since he became spiderman, and it’s been a year since he developed feelings for you. was he using spiderman as an excuse to flirt with you? …maybe, but it’s funny seeing him stumble when you respond with something witty back.
although the stress of keeping it from you was a lot, it meant keeping you safe. despite the amount of tears you wasted on phainon, worrying about him whenever he came home late during an attack. it was worth it because it meant you were able to walk the streets without worrying, it meant that he wouldn’t see your body under debris.
however, it doesn’t mean you’re entirely safe, though. after a fight wrecks your shared apartment, and he sees you trembling on the ground. phainon realizes that you’re not safe just because you’re oblivious to his identity. it leads to him distancing himself, which is hard since you two live with eachother. it’s when he starts staying at mydei’s house did it get serious.
with phainon leaving as well as spiderman suddenly not becoming a part of your schedule, your life became completely dull. you mean, you did have a crush on phainon… and maybe a small one on spiderman, but who doesn’t? they’re both pretty much the same, which… should already tell you everything—
you had your suspicions but without phainon to actually solidify that theory, it was basically a dead end.
phainon slips into his part of the room once he sees you leave through the front of the apartment and takes off his mask, it’s his space so no one’s going to see him. he really only came back to pick up some extra clothes, and maybe clean up his space because the last time he came to get his stuff, he left it in a mess because you came home early.
the door to his room creaks open, and phainon freezes. he could become a mannequin from how still he is.
⎯⎯𝓢𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 : flins, wriothesley, lohen, dottore.
⎯⎯𝓒𝐖: female reader, fatui spy reader (all), kuuvahki experimental design bureau affiliated reader, reader lies to him but flins is smart, sandrone mentioned (flins), reader sneaks into meropide, talks of death, reader is sort of like childe (wriothesley), lohen threatens you with a knife, threats/intimidation, interrogation/coercion, LOHEN is a fucking warning (lohen), grief over canon character death, fatui violence, non-consensual experimentation heavily implied, dottore is a warning omg, dottore wants to use you in experiments heavily implied, signora-affiliated! reader, signora angsty yuri w reader LMAO I miss her (dottore). also not beta read and I'm lazy as shit.
notes at bottom. total wc: 2.5k
FLINS. wc: 596
"Far from Nasha Town, aren't you, Miss?"
So this was the phantom that lurked at the edge of Paha Isle. You grit your teeth. Marionette had mentioned him a few times -- a lone Lightkeeper, dwelling in a graveyard beyond his time.
Who would willingly live in a graveyard, let alone one filled with your former colleagues?
The Fatui Harbingers had an... interesting, relationship, to say the least. But they certainly wouldn't do that. And neither would the rest of the Fatui -- maybe. It was a vast organization, could you really speak for all of them?
Finally, you turned to face the man. Tall, was the first thing you noticed. Pale skin (ghostly so), deep indigo locks that fell down his frame. And a lantern. It gleamed a bright azure. Lightkeeper, yes. This was the Lightkeeper.
"Certainly so," you hummed -- crashing waves in the foreground, providing an accompaniment to your conversation.
It was a good thing you weren't in uniform -- just regular attire, one suitable for intel gathering in larger places. You were supposed to go to Nasha Town, then Piramida. But, curiosity killed the cat. And now you were here, answerable to the man in front of you.
He stepped closer, features relaxed -- raising the light a bit higher. Then, he smiled -- faint. "It begs the question, what are you doing here? I wouldn't assume at first glance that a Maiden as fair as you would choose to spend your free time in a place... such as this, to put it kindly."
The indigo-haired man gestured around -- his gaze seemed to gesture to the Design Bureau in the foreground. It spiked your heartbeat.
Lay low, was what Sandrone emphasized, in your countless debriefings with her. What you were about to do now was about to complicate all of it.
You schooled your expression to one of hesitance -- one that exuded worry.
As an... underground agent, you were accustomed to lying.
The only problem with lying, was the countless strings you had to hold up. It was the only way to keep a spider web of such intact.
"My father.. was a lightkeeper. We never really kept in touch, as I didn't grow up in Nod Krai. He recently passed, so I thought..." The lie left your mouth as easy as boots crunching against powdery snow. It was hard to question someone who was 'grieving,' no?
The Lightkeeper rose his eyebrows. "Ah. My condolences, Miss. It is an honorable job, the one of a Lightkeeper. Your father must've been a brave man."
He stepped closer, pulling the lantern away -- in light of reduced suspicion, you hoped. You nodded.
"Apologies for my initial distrust. My name is Kyryll Chudomirovich Flins."
You told him your name -- the one you had chosen for this specific operation. You made sure to tattoo it in your mind, because you weren't sure how fast news got around.
Flins did not believe you one bit. Not that your lie was bad, you certainly had experience in it -- lying and omitting information. But, Flins had something on you that you didn't know. When you live for a several hundred years, you get accustomed to truth and hoax. He could easily call you out. What reason did he have to believe you, anyways?
But, Flins has always enjoyed taking things apart.
Maybe that's why he offered you his hand.
"A pleasure to meet you. Why don't you enlighten me on what you do know about your father? Perhaps I could assist you in your search to find his resting place."
Sandrone was going to kill you.
WRIOTHESLEY. wc: 612
Meropide was a miserable place.
It technically was supposed to be a prison, yes, but Fontaine had a different take on it. The infamous Duke ran it as an autonomous, self-sustaining society.
It was miserable to you, because there was nothing to do. Spywork, was your least favorite thing ever. You did it occasionally, despite despising it. And the Harbinger needed it now, and so you did it. Just another cog in the machine. You'd die a pathetic, meaningless death, you could tell.
There wasn't much to gather down here -- everybody (and every pact) pretty much kept to themselves. It worked a lot better than Snezhnayan prisons, you thought. You were far too familiar with those.
Was that why your Harbinger had sent you down here? Because you were familiar with prisons? You grumbled, disapproval festering in the back of your throat, as you wrapped the bandage tighter around your knuckle.
You took solace in the Pankration Ring. And you knew damn well you were good at it.
You went up the charts with ease -- defeating your opponents with vigor and pride. It certainly brought attention to you. You reveled in it.
It didn't seem like the opponents were getting any harder to fight, either. You had another match in a few minutes. This would be predictable, wouldn't it?
You knew you'd eventually get bored of the Pankration Ring. What then? The question plagued your mind. You had to gather intel. And you were, a voice spoke in your mind -- arguing the thought. It wasn't your fault that this place was so dry--
Someone collapsed into the seat across from you, all but yanking you straight out of your thoughts.
Black hair, blue eyes -- the Duke? You raised an eyebrow.
He raised one back in response.
You tilted your head.
He tilted his in response.
"Diiiiid you need something?" You smiled, resting your chin on your hand.
"Just wanted to congratulate our newest rising star," Wriothesley said, leaning back and resting an arm over the back of the chair. His blue eyes glinted with easy amusement. "You’ve been tearing through the ranks pretty fast. People are starting to place some serious bets on you." The raven-haired man had a pen in his hand, twirling it between his fingers. "Flattering, isn't it?"
"Well, can't really help it when the competition here is a bit..." You hummed, gesturing lazily with your bandaged hand, ".. Uninspiring."
"Uninspiring," he repeated, letting out a breathy chuckle. "Fair, that's very fair, [Name]. Although, you're interesting. It's rare to see someone with your specific style of movement down here, y'know? Clean. Precise. Trained, almost.."
Wriothesley paused. "Almost like you were trained to clear a room without leaving a single paper trail behind." He clicked his pen.
Your heart dropped. No. That was a general statement, yes? Yes?
Regardless, you kept your smile fixed on your face -- despite every muscle in your body going rigid, locking into place. Did he know?
If the Duke of Meropide already had you mapped out, you weren't just compromised -- you were finished.
Just as you went to spin a cover story, a voice -- loud and raspy -- echoed over the Pankration Ring's speakers, cutting through the noise of the crowd.
"Next up! Pair four! Get your gear on and step into the ring!"
Wriothesley's smile widened. Cruelly? Knowingly?
Unbothered. Unbothered by the tension that seemed to send tremors down your frame.
He pushed himself up from the chair with a heavy sigh and stretched his shoulders.
"Ah," he murmured, glancing down at you with a sharp, mischievous spark in his eyes. "Looks like we're up. Shall we?"
LOHEN. wc: 615
Dornman port felt... mystical, to you, almost.
You lived here and there, but never in the famed Dornman port. It was all very new to you -- you couldn't help but look around like a kid in a candy store.
Maybe it was the Etherwing moths, or the old tales surrounding the Sanitorium. However, this mystique didn't seem untouchable or intimidating. The city had something Mondstadt was known for; friendliness, openness, warmth.
You knew of said friendliness a lot better since you were undercover. A certain sense of guilt blossomed in you at the thought -- everybody was friendly here, so kind to you.
Your colleagues who openly were apart of the Fatui got different treatment. You were just one outfit change away from that.
You ran your fingers against the weathered down rock of the lighthouse. Something had happened here, a few days prior. Something with the keeper, Winslow, and the alarms malfunctioning? The Traveler had cleared it all out, and Winslow seemed to be doing much better.
A shame that you didn't get to investigate earlier. Everyone was rather tight-lipped about the situation.
You peered down the spiral staircase. Spacious, yes, but it would be quite the fall. Regardless, you continued your descent.
The wooden gate was closed -- and you could see lush green beyond it. You tapped your foot. And then immediately halted the movement.
Your training had you attuned to even the slightest shifts in the air -- which is why when you heard the smallest shuffle in the air, and immediately turned to face the unwelcome presence.
But, your attacker was faster -- a flash of mint green. You scuffled for a second, arms moving to block and strike, and then maneuvering around to push--
Again, he was faster. And that's why he had you pressed up against the cool stone of the wall behind you, with a knife to your neck.
You eyed his outfit. Armor. Knightly.
"These the kind of manners the Knights preach on and on about?" You quipped, with a light scoff. You did not like the look in his eye.
Lohen didn't flinch. In fact, the corner of his mouth twitched into a faint, dangerous smirk. He adjusted his grip on the hilt -- not pressing enough to cut, but keeping just enough pressure to ensure you knew he held all the leverage.
He didn't scare you. The Fatui was filled with men like this -- men who thought they had all the right. You tried not to narrow your gaze, as his voice pierced through the air.
"Manners are for visitors, 'civilian,'" your assailant's voice was a bit crazed, with a sense of cool. Strangled cool. "Not for someone whose first instinct upon being ambushed is a clean, textbook counter-strike."
Your breath hitched.
"Although, it does make things... how do I put this? More interesting.." He let out a soft giggle. Of course.
"I have good reflexes," you offered smoothly, keeping your tone as light as air despite the cold steel against your throat. "A girl's gotta protect herself." You'd humor him. You already spotted a weakness in his stance, anyways.
"Sure," Lohen huffed out. "Reflexes would've had you screaming or backing away," he countered, easily. The dull red of his eyes scanned your face. He leaned a hair closer -- his armor clinking, shining in the light of the flames lighting the cylindrical building up. "You didn't just flinch. You lowered your center of gravity and aimed for a disarm. That isn't self-defense. That's military training. I'm not stupid."
"Now," Lohen murmured, his eyes locking onto yours with sharp intensity. "Why don't we try this again? Who are you, and what is a trained operative doing sneaking around the Lighthouse?"
DOTTORE. wc: 767
The Fair Lady was dead.
In a foreign land -- beyond lands you've traversed, by yourself and by her side. It was hard to get into Inazuma, and maybe some part of her didn't want to bring you there. You would've laughed at that, lightly tease her, maybe. If she was here, that is.
What were you to do, now? The Eleventh's soldiers had barked some substanceless words about going back to Snezhnograd for further instruction, but it didn't really click with you. Your Rosalyne was dead.
You saw no more purpose in staying with the Fatui. The Funeral was Harbinger-exclusive, you believed. Unfair. It was unfair that she didn't want to make anything official -- too driven by her own goals.
Would that have changed anything?
She just died. And then, she just died. Left you in Liyue. Before you could talk to her. Unfair. It was unfair that Rosalyne had to die. It was unfair that she left you behind like this.
You were in Sumeru, you think. The mountainous terrain of Liyue shifted in your peripheral vision over time, over your journey, into the deep lush of Sumerian canopy and wildlife.
Would it have changed anything, if you were to have become a harbinger? You were rising up the ranks at an exceptional rate, anyways. You chose to be under her thumb. If you usurped one of them, would things have been different?
You squinted. The sunlight of the land of Wisdom was unbearable -- and you hadn't even seen the desert yet.
"I wonder how much stimulus your nervous system can take before total failure."
... A voice behind you questioned out loud. Of course he was here. This was his turf, wasn't it?
Il Dottore was behind you. You were too tired by your grief (physical exhaustion, too. that was harder to accept for you) to play mind games with him.
Rosalyne complained about his segments. "A man who splits his own soul into a gallery of arrogant dolls because he cannot stand his own singular inadequacy," she had sneered over her wine.
Is this the Prime one? The younger, more volatile one she hated dealing with? The older, clinical one? You turned to look. It was uncanny, something about him was wrong. Different from the one you usually saw in Snezhnaya. You had no way of knowing which one he was.
"Though, I suppose the grief of losing a master is quite the stimulus on its own," Dottore continued. He stepped closer, the blue feathers on his coat rustling lightly. He didn't look mournful, far from it; he looked like a researcher watching a chemical reaction, expecting an explosion. "Such a pity about the Eighth. To burn so brightly, only to be extinguished in a dirt-stained arena by a higher power. Rosalyne always did let her passions get the better of her intellect. A beautifully tragic waste of a perfectly good catalyst."
You grit your teeth at that. If he was anyone else, you would've flayed them with your tongue... or sword. But this was the second. You were strong, but he was him. You also didn't know which segment he was; what he was capable of. So, you stayed quiet. Signora hated when you were quiet.
"You know, the Jester is quite frantic looking for you," Dottore murmured, tilting his masked head.
"Pierro has been scouring the ranks to fill the sudden vacuum left in our hierarchy. An agent of your caliber, rising with such exceptional momentum... he views you as the ideal candidate to inherit the mantle of the Eighth. He wants to bring you back to the palace. Hand you a Delusion. Give you a throne."
The bloodstained throne of your Lady, of course. The Fatui didn't care for sentiments as such. The Doctor chuckled, soft, imperceptibly. A soft, unsettling sound that echoed off the damp bark of the lush trees around you. He leaned in, just an inch too close, his hidden eyes boring into yours.
"Which is exactly why I am so utterly delighted that I stumbled across you first. Pierro wants a politician -- he wants to smooth out all your cracks and ridges to be a politician, a blunt instrument to command the frontlines. What a dreadfully boring waste of your unique constitution. He hasn't observed you and taken you apart to the extent that I have. And could."
Dottore raised a gloved hand, flexing his fingers as if he's already mapped out your anatomy and blood flow.
"The Jester can wait. I have far more... intimate questions about how a spy of your caliber ticks. Shall we begin?"
notes: hi hi hellooo. this was supposed to be longer -- with wanderer, pantalone, and varka included as well. but, I wanted to see how people liked this. ^_^ thanks for reading! also. my lore is rusty (just returned to genshin), and I'm new to writing a few of these characters, so constructive criticism is welcomed and encouraged. but please, be kind.
a dare with the vice captain — adventurer!gn!reader. thanks to @awhkaiy for helping me with his characterisation and consider this my official post to be one of the lohenlings ♡
the afternoon had settled over the training yard like a heavy wool blanket, thick and still, pressing the scent of dust and nervous sweat into the packed earth. the recruits stood in rigid formation, their silence absolute, their terror a palpable thing that hummed between them like the string of a bow drawn too tight. and there, in the center of it all, stood vice captain lohen, framed by the slanting gold of the dying sun, looking for all the world like a man at leisure, a bright red apple perched atop his head with obscene serenity.
you had asked yourself, not for the first time, how an adventurer of your standing had arrived at this particular moment. the bow in your hands felt foreign, or perhaps it was simply that the circumstances had transformed the familiar into something surreal. thirty paces away, lohen waited, patient as stone, while the recruit beside you trembled audibly.
"vice captain," the boy whimpered, his voice cracking on the vowels. "please. what if—what if someone misses?"
"then they miss," lohen replied, and his tone carried the lightness of a summer breeze, the kind that drifted over tea cups in gardens where no blood was ever spilled. his eyes, however, glinted with that distinct brand of amusement. "and then i reevaluate whether they deserve a spot in this company. or a bow."
he looked past the trembling boy then, his gaze settling upon you with the weight of recognition. a smile tugged at his mouth, slow and infuriating, the curve of it holding secrets you had learned to distrust.
"whenever you're ready," he said. "show the new blood how an adventurer handles pressure."
you drew the string back to your cheek, the wood of the bow familiar and grounding against your palm. "you realize," you called out, your voice carrying across the stillness, "that if my hand slips, mondstadt is going to need a new vice captain."
"oh bun, a risk i am more than willing to take."
his voice came back even, untroubled, and you exhaled long and measured, settling into the stance that had served you through forests and storms and darker things still. you had shot targets moving through dense canopy, had split arrows in twain mid-flight. a stationary apple upon a stationary man was child's play, a mere formality. you focused, the world narrowing to the point where feathered shaft met crimson skin, and you released.
the arrow flew true. you saw it in the perfect arc, the clean line of it singing toward its mark, destined to pierce the core of the fruit with satisfying precision.
then lohen moved.
it was not fear that drove him, nor any survival instinct that you could name. merely that split-second, unhinged agility of a man who lived to cause problems on purpose, who found his entertainment in the spaces where others found terror. he tilted his head, casual as a man adjusting his collar, half an inch to the left.
the arrow whistled past his ear, missing the apple by a hair's breadth, and buried itself with a resonant sound into the wooden fence post forty yards behind him.
silence fell over the yard like a shroud. the recruits looked like men who had seen ghosts, their faces pale, their knees unsteady. lohen did not flinch. he reached up, plucked the apple from his crown, and took a bite that cracked loud and satisfying in the stillness. he chewed leisurely, his eyes never leaving yours, that infuriating smirk playing about his lips.
"form was decent," he noted, swallowing. "accuracy? questionable. i expected better from an acclaimed adventurer."
"what the fuck!?"
you lowered your bow slowly, feeling the slow, dangerous heat rising in your chest, the murderous shift in the air that had the recruits frantically backing away, sensing violence like dogs scenting thunder. you walked to him, your boots crunching in the dust, and stopped close enough to smell the apple on his breath, the faint trace of steel and cologne that always clung to him.
"lohen," you murmured, your voice carrying the sweetness of poisoned honey, pitched low so only he could hear. "the next time we go out for drinks, i am personally foraging the mushrooms for your soup. and i guarantee you, at least three of them will be fatal."
he paused, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest—genuine, delighted, the sound of a man who had found exactly what he was looking for. he looked down at you, his eyes bright with something that might have been respect, or might have been invitation, or might have been both, indistinguishable from one another.
"i'll hold you to that," he grinned, taking one last bite before tossing the core over his shoulder into the dust. "now—who's next?"
in which, it takes lohen over a year and a stupid theoretical to realise he's in love with you.
contents. lohen x gn!reader, 8.1k words, opposites attract (mma fighter x academic weapon), fluff, crack, hint of angst (academic burnout), modern highschool au, lohen in denial, knights of favonius is basically an mma gym/club, might come off as a bully in hs but he's just trying to ragebait, academic burnout, reader is a cinnamoroll lover and aiming for law school and they're kinda popular (just lots of friends), implied eula x amber, unproofread + i yoloed and got it out the way
a/n. i lowkey hate how this turned out, but it was nice finally writing again !!
tagging. @prettysweet02
Lohen didn't love you.
He does as a friend, of course, but no amount of teasing from Varka could ever make him see you in a romantic light, no matter how much the old man insisted you'd look good together—the old man's only met you once, too.
Even Jean sided with him, ignoring Lohen's protests that he did not have a crush, or anything of the sort, on you. Amber legitimately believed you two were dating, and Eula would simply let her know it was only a matter of time until it happened. Mika was nice enough not to poke fun at him, but his words always came alongside a great deal of uncertainty.
You're just a friend, a rare occurence in his life, outside of training. Nothing more and nothing less.
The first time Lohen met you, was during highschool.
Like any other committed athlete, he didn't take school very seriously. Assignments were submitted with the bare minimum and classes were dedicated to napping and doodling, on the very rare occasions Lohen actually decided to attend.
He had acquaintances but not friends; people he'd play football and basketball with, but no one Lohen would go out of his way for.
Not that it mattered to him. Regardless of association, Lohen poked fun at whoever he wanted, and it was sufficient entertainment and 'companionship' for his school life.
So when he was assigned a partner for an English project, his first thought was how he was going to mess with you a bit. No one liked group projects and quite frankly, he needed some entertainment before forcing himself to do schoolwork.
You were quiet and kept to yourself, sitting towards the front with straight posture rather than retreating to the back of the classroom. He never intended to freeload off of your intellect, but Lohen wanted to indulge in your shock for a bit.
It was nothing personal, Lohen just thought it'd be funny. After a bit of entertainment he'll apologise. University applications were soon, after all, he was still going to do his best, knowing it'd affect you. University wasn't apart of his dreams, but it was clearly one of yours.
"So yeah. 'm not gonna do anything. Got a lot of training to go to. 'm sure you'll be fine because you're a smart cookie, right?"
You stared at him blankly in the school library, as he propped his feet onto the table.
You're processing his words, Lohen thought. You're going to hesitantly nod and avoid his gaze, probably without a word, too. You're way too introverted to snap back or retaliate—
"That's fine." You said, words clear as day. "You were never that...bright, anyways. I understand if this project is too difficult for you."
Lohen's jaw dropped as your pen resumed, dancing across your notebook and building onto the mind map you had laid out.
For someone who spent most of his time teasing others, Lohen had no words. He wanted to be offended, but that wasn't exactly waranted if he was the one who tried to piss you off in the first place.
Word after word appeared in your notebook, birthing sentences and paragraphs. Lohen had no idea how you wrote that fast, nor how you'd be able to read your cursive later.
"It's not hard—it's literally just a book report."
"No I get it, seriously. Not everyone's into reading and that's fine with me. You probably train too much to understand what Jane Austin's talking about."
His cheeks flared and he suddenly forgot how to speak normally. "She's not that complicated. I was joking."
A smirk creased at your lips. "Sure."
Before Lohen could retort, you pushed your notebook towards him, the entire plan already constructed. "You can prove that to me when we get an A on this."
And with that, marked the beginning of your friendship.
Contrary to his first impression, you weren't nearly as mischievious as him. Your weekly meetings when smoothly, as if he hadn't tried to poke fun at you the first time the two of you met.
Neither did you. You kept to yourself, typing away with a calculated fevour, as if your wits were merely a fragment of his imagination.
Aside from the very first study session you had together.
"Everything alright, Imunlaukr? Do you remember what a simile is?"
Lohen scoffed. "I'm not stupid."
"That's not what a simile is." Your pen twirled in your fingers. before ignoring whatever attempts he made at a witty comeback.
You went back to satisfying his expectations of an introverted bookworm, and the group project flew by quickly without trouble.
Lohen himself had no idea how you exactly became friends. The two of you were nothing alike; you were an unexplainable existence to him.
Within the two weeks you had that project together, he noticed your life was composed of a bland monotony, every afternoon was spent at the library without fail. You studied with the same routine and at the same library everyday and revised the same content. He didn't get why you were willing to do all of this; there was no thrill of a fight in studying, nor the same fulfillment as a workout.
"Why do you do this to yourself?" It was revolting to Lohen. Even your weekly meetings managed to bore him, he mustered every shred of willpower to survive those study sessions, thanking the lord for your intellect despite being a dedicated atheist. "I've only done this a few times and I already want to kill myself."
You had shrugged, fingers still typing. "I like good grades."
"Wow." Lohen droned, slouching over the desk as he struggled to piece together a final sentence. He was so close to finishing, yet every combination of words he could conjure simply fell flat, even for his standards. "Nerd."
Yet Lohen continued to follow, accompanying the end of your study sessions at the library, with the flimsy excuse of match analysis after his trainings.
"I don't like the library." Lohen grumbled, plopping down to the empty seat next to you, with takeout in one hand.
The library and studying still sucked, of course. But he had to make sure you didn't work yourself to death, and the library wasn't that far from his gym, anyways.
"You can go then." You quipped, adjusting your reading glasses. "The group project was done last week."
Lohen scoffed, placing the food next to you. "I have to make sure you don't kill yourself studying."
"Didn't you just have training? I thought your gym was in different suburb."
"It is."
You finally peeled yourself away from your notes. "Then why come here?"
It was only a thirty minute walk, and it served as a good cooldown anyways. "Isn't that what friends do?"
His heart skipped a beat. He hadn't realised you never agreed upon that notion. Lohen's friendships mainly consisted of his fellow training partners at the gym, and his coach Varka (if he could even be called that).
But you giggled, eyeing the takeaway containers. "I suppose you're right. I'll hurry up soon and we should eat together."
A victorious smile bloomed across his lips, as his feet swung underneath the table, the smell of fresh rice and stirfry coaxing him.
You liked reading. You were aiming for a law degree at a nearby uni, the one that dominated the rankings, and you preferred English far more than math. You were the type of person who ate their least favourite things first, and saved your favourites for the very end.
(Something about it "being special" and so you could savour it properly. Lohen found it silly. He always ate his favourite bits of a meal first, just in case he ever got full.)
These, among many things, he discovered about you. At first it was simply his company at the library. He'd prop up his phone on a pile of books from a random shelf and watch his MMA matches, with the pretense of 'analysis', when he was instead watching them for pure enjoyment.
On one cold night, he noticed you from the corner of his eye, leaning slightly to where his phone sat. Lohen pulled out his airpod and cocked a brow. "You interested?"
You nodded. "Isn't this what you want to do in the future? Get locked in a cage and beat up another shirtless guy for the world to see?"
Lohen snickered. "Pretty much. I like these guys, especially this one." He pointed to the left. "He's got a real good kick."
The two men threw careful punches and kicks at one another, gauging their distance and range. "I wanna be in their place someday."
"Why not drop out and just commit to it? You would've been pro by now." You commented, wincing at a particularly hard kick. In Lohen's ears, the audience exploded into excitement, a stark contrast with your reaction.
"Are you saying 'm too dumb for school?"
"Don't twist my words."
He chuckled, turning off his phone. "It's a deal with my parents. They didn't want me fighting but I refused to listen. They said they'd support me as long as I graduated and didn't fight while injured. I'd be on TV by now if I didn't have to stay in school."
Lohen remembered that tense dinner and his parent's refusal to meet his eyes. Despite their expectations he agreed, quite easily too. He knew that professional combat athletes were at risk of ruining their career at any moment. He should at least have a highschool degree just to be safe.
"Hmm. Fair. It's a shame you have to wait though. Especially when most athletes are allowed to go straight into competing."
Lohen shrugged. "I'll catch up to them easily." It's not like he had any other choice, anyways.
"If you say so. Make sure you don't forget me when you're famous, okay?"
Your company grew beyond your time together at the library. You eventually began seeking Lohen out at school, always offering him company. If the teacher announced groupwork your gaze would snap to him, even though other, much smarter people wanted to partner with you. During break times you'd come watch him play basketball, cheering him on and filling up his bottle whenever needed.
Lohen never asked nor wished for your presense, but he found himself attached to it over time.
"I need to buy a gift for someone. Can you help me today?"
You asked him one day, as the school bell dismissed everyone, sending the school into relief. Lohen didn:t have any training on, and you seemed to not have anything to revise.
"For who?"
"My cousin. He's into MMA too. I wanna buy him something from the sports store."
Lohen shrugged. "Sure. Sounds easy enough." The mall wasn't too far, and you were fun to spend time with. Rest days were difficult for Lohen. The urge to fight kept itching throughout each one, and Varka often yelled at him for trying to work out during them. Most of them were dedicated to watching MMA matches with a painful envy.
"So, I was thinking of getting him new gloves? He needs new ones and he trains all the time. But there's so many and I have no idea."
Lohen scanned the shelves. "Is he professional?"
"Trying to be."
Huh. Lohen only knew this guy through your words, but he seemed cool. "Well. The weight depends on what he's doing. If it's for heavy training, the heavier gloves are better to avoid injuring yourself and your sparring partners. But for competitions you're supposed to use the light ones."
You stared, confused and almost annoyed.
How did you understand math and not this? "I use these ones." Lohen grabbed the exact model of his. "If that helps."
Your eyes lit up. "Perfect. I'll get these then."
You flinched at the price tag and Lohen cackled. "Pricey, I know. You can settle for handwraps for him. We're still in highschool and I know a guy that likes to design cool ones."
You shook your head, holding the gloves close. "I saved up for this, don't worry."
Impressive, Lohen thought. The bank accounts of students weren't known to be abundant. He brushed it off, you were meticulous with school, it was only natural for the rest of your life to be just as organised.
Lohen accompanied you as you paid, requesting for a bag and a receipt. Together, you walked out, and before Lohen could propose hanging out for longer, you held out the shopping bag.
"For you."
"I'm not your cousin."
"Yeah no shit. These were always going to be for you." You pushed the bag closer, shoving it into his chest. "I saw that yours were beaten up."
Lohen's chest flared up. "I have money—this shit is expensive and my parents are well off. You didn't have to." He just didn't replace them because he didn't like money. If he was going to get a replacement, then it'd be when his current gear is rendered completely unusable.
You shrugged. "But you never replaced them. If it's too early or whatever you can put them away for now. Receipt's there if you change your mind too."
He still refused to accept the gift, allowing you to keep it pressed into his chest. "You don't have to do this for me."
"But I want to. And I don't really care, either." Your hands pounced on his, and for once in his life, his reflexes permitted someone else to exert such control over him. "It's a thank you for all the food and snacks you bring to the library for me."
You ran off, your big school bag awkwardly bouncing on your back.
"I share that crap with you, idiot—" He called out. You always insisted you were full whenever you ate together, and always threatened to throw it out if he didn't believe it. "And come back—"
Lohen sprinted after you, a warmth already settled onto his pale cheeks long before he pursued you.
Lohen hated Valentines Day.
He's not sure why school decided to take it so seriously. The student committee turned it into a charity event, selling anonymous serenades and roses. Lohen found it ridiculous, the songs they selected were generic and boring, and always sung live by people who clearly didn't belong in performing arts.
He shrivelled his nose up at another stupid couple, who were making out in the corridor right as he turned the corner. For the rest of his route to class, he had to push past stupid freshmen holding hands, taking up the entire hallway and having the audacity to act surprised.
When he finally made it to class he dropped into his seat besides you, groaning.
"What happened to you?"
"I hate Valentines Day."
"Really? I think it's nice."
"It's not."
"Aw." You fake pouted at him. "I'll buy you a rose next time."
Lohen sat up. "You actually spent money on this shit?"
"Yeah. I got a rose for my single friends." You unpacked your things, preparing your notebook and stationary. "Next time I'll get something for you. If you're still single by next Valentine's."
He scoffed, going back to slouching on his table. "Ew. No thanks."
Class went by as normal, until the Valentine's Days gifts arrived to your class. Students were dressed in pink and decorated in hearts, with obscene props.
They read out names, handing out roses, chocolates, and candies, before heading where you sat.
You stared up at them with uncertain eyes before they burst out in love song.
From where he sat, Lohen watched you turn red. First, your cheeks began to resemble tomatoes, and then your ears glowed pink, as well. By the end of the song you were clearly flustered, and embarrassed, to the point Lohen didn't even want to tease you for it.
After class, someone else spoke to you before him, yelling across the classroom.
"I wonder who bought that for you—" One of the boys snapped, cackling away with his equally obnoxious friends. "Look at red they are."
Before everyone's eyes could turn on you, you ran out the door, clearly uncomfortable and upset.
Lohen's gaze drifted to where the boys sat, before he slowly stood up and followed.
By the end of the day, Lohen had them on their knees, in a discrete area in the school, begging for forgiveness with bloody noses and bruised skin.
Every plea was ignored as he headed off in search of you. The class he just skipped should be done by now, meaning you were also done with the school day. He spat at the boys before running off. He had no clue who they were and why they ordered you a love song, nor what your relationship with them was, but he discarded his curiosity and searched for you, in hopes of being able to cheer you up.
Your familiar back came into view, near the school gates. His hands pounced on your shoulders and he cloaked himself over you.
"Wanna go to a bakery with me?"
You furrowed your brows. "Aren't you dieting now?"
"It's for you. You're also single and lonely like me."
Wrestling him off, you retorted. "I thought you hate Valentine's Day."
Lohen shrugged. "It's compensation for having to deal with all these stupid couples." A pair of first years snapped their neck towards him, cowering away before shuffling down the hallway. Lohen snickered at the sight, quickly returning to normal before you'd notice and tell him off for being mean. "I've seen all your likes on social media. You keep liking posts about the new bakery nearby."
He carefully watched your expression as it melted into a yield. It soldified into his victory. "Sure then. As long as you're fine with it."
Of course Lohen was. The desserts didn't matter as long as you were there.
"What is love?" Lohen asked out of the blue, after a full day of being driven crazy by obnoxious couples.
You took a few more photos before putting your phone away. "Why're you asking that all of a sudden?"
Lohen scoffed, watching you dig into a cheesecake. "And why aren't you answering me? Don't answer my question with another question."
With your mouth full, you hummed. "Well...I don't exactly know."
"Very useful."
"Shut up." You took a sip of water before continuing. "I've never been in love, and I doubt you have, either."
"Isn't that why 'm asking you?"
Lohen watched you fumble with a strawberry, before slumping into the booth and sighing. The bakery was no exception to the festivity of Valentines Day, swarming with couples both young and old, shamelessly cooing at one another. The sight grossed him out; some even went as far as borderline making out and groping each other.
Half the cheesecake was gone, and crumbs perched on the corner of your mouth. "Why are you asking, though?"
He shrugged. "You're the smartest person I know. And so many fucking idiots are making out everywhere we go."
You hummed, sucking on your fork. "I mean, I don't think relationships and love are the same thing."
Lohen already anticipated a headache, at the complexity of things you explained. But by no means were you the one irritating him.
"Like, plenty of people are just together because they're lonely or whatever. Especially at our age. I think it's just someone you want to be with forever?" You scraped up a bit of cream from the plate with a finger, before licking it up. "But if I had to give it a definition...it depends."
Well no shit were you getting into law, you already allergic to short, straight answers that made sense.
"Everyone likes different things. Everyone has their own goals for the future, and everyone is fundamentally really different. I think love would be when all these things align within two people, and they're attracted to each other I guess?" You listed off the criteria on your fingers. "And of course, adding in the fact that neither parties are toxic or abusive to the other."
"I guess it's about finding someone who aligns in their idea of love with you." You concluded, satisfied with the answer you conjured.
Lohen nodded along. That actually made plenty of sense, compared to the simple 'explanations' of 'you know when you know' or 'you'll feel butterflies in your stomach'.
"But then again, at our age I think it's a matter of hooking up." You deadpanned, grabbing a huge chunk of cake.
Lohen agreed. He had no idea why he was asking in the first place anyways. You were committed to your studies and all he cared was for martial arts. You both had far more important things to dedicate yourself to. "And getting in everyone's day."
You jolted straight. "I know right? Isn't making out embarrassing? Oh and also—" You stabbed a strawberry with your fork. "Open."
He's not being fed by someone else. Lohen covered his mouth. "No. 'm not a baby."
"Oh come on—you haven't eaten anything. And fruits are healthy. You should try the cheesecake too."
"I'll die." Literally. Lohen agreed to his club's harsh diet plans and schedules. "One of my coaches will kill me. Or my friends will."
"Just say I forced it against your will. Which is exactly what I'm doing right now, no?"
Your fork kept insisting. Lohen sighed and opened his mouth, while leaning in closer. The strawberry was sweet, so sweet to the point his nose scrunched and squeezed his eyelids shut. "It's good."
"Try the cheesecake too. Just a bit." You already had some on your fork, holding it up again. "We can walk around and burn it off together."
This time, Lohen relented immediately, deciding that Varka and Jean would never find out, anyways.
Your birthday was coming.
Lohen himself had no idea. He overheard a girl in braided pigtails asking if you were going to throw a party, and if your underclassmen were allowed; to which you smiled and ruffled her hair, saying you'd love to celebrate with her. She celebrated with two blue haired boys, immediately planning on a cake flavour for you. Nilou from biology class already teased your gift, to which you giggled and tried to guess, and apparently Childe, the rumoured rich kid already brought you a gift, courtesy of an overseas trip he was going on for god knows what.
Lohen however, had no idea what to get you.
He knows you read a lot, but he was too unfamiliar with any form of literature to pick out something anything good, nor did he want to blindly trust a random influencers. Anyone knows you care a lot for your studies, but buying a gift related to school is just pathetic, and besides, no top student enjoyed studying, you yourself only did it for the grades and opportunities.
Your birthday month was approaching, with far more ease than Lohen preferred.
He could've asked, but that would've ruined the surprise. It'd ruin the thrill of opening up his gift, and he didn't want to seem like he didn't understand you well enough.
Especially not after you noticed his worn out gear.
Lunchtime was coming to a halt. You were in the library helping people cram for an upcoming test. Lohen played basketball as always. He filled up his bottle at the bubblers, already dreading having to go back to class.
"I dunno what to get for Y/n's birthday."
Lohen leaned ever so slightly, summoning all his will to not whip his head instantly.
The first voice, who he'd assume was Kaveh, moaned to Nilou, who sighed and reassured him. "Anything from Sanrio works. They love Cinnamoroll."
Cinnamoroll. Lohen engraved it in his mind before hurrying away, immediately, typing it into his phone.
A white bunny with pale blue eyes appeared. He recognised her from your bag, you had a little keychain of your head. Lohen always wondered who exactly that was.
This was perfect. Today was a night session at the club, he had time to pop by the mall before training.
So he hid in the back of the classroom as always, carefully researching on his phone for where he could buy you a Cinnamoroll. He was the first to hurry out the door at the teacher's dismissal. Glued to his phone, he made his way to the Sanrio store.
The store was far out of his comfort zone, a myriad of pastel colours and cute animals. Lohen stepped in, clearly out of place.
But luckily, he didn't need help. He instantly recognised Cinnamoroll, a figure with a beach party theme. Lohen was never interested in this kind of merch, but even he found it cute.
The shelf had nothing but Cinnamoroll, too. Thank god she wasn't a fan favourite; his shopping trip concluded smoothly, and he didn't even need to ask the staff to check the back or to provide recommendations.
Lohen smiled. Today was going well, he thought, as he hurried to training.
"Since when did you like Sanrio?" Eula peered over Lohen's shoulder and stared into his bag during stretching. "You seem extra weird to me now."
Lohen pulled out his phone. "It's not for me. For my friend's birthday."
"That makes more sense." She mumbled. "Why buy one of these though?"
"Cinnamoroll. The bunny. She's on this." Lohen pointed to where the bunny stood, holding up a volleyball with her usual pink cheeks. ""My friend loves her."
Eula had never looked at anyone with such disgust. It was a low bar, considering she loved to glare at most.
"First off, Cinnamoroll is a guy—"
"—that's a male??"
Lohen stared at the box with dismay. What the fuck?
"And second, he's a dog."
"Are you fucking kidding me?"
"Shut up and listen." Eula snapped. Lohen zipped his mouth as he savoured every word from the expert in front of him. "Just because he's on the front, doesn't mean it's actually Cinnamoroll."
Lohen's brow furrowed, and Eula sighed before snatching the box. She turned it to the side.
"See here? These are all the things you can get."
The side of the box was adorned with rows of other characters. All Lohen recognised was Hello Kitty, and the rest meant nothing to him.
"Why is Cinnamoroll on the front then?"
She sighed. "It's a blind box, Lohen. It's basically gambling. Cinnamoroll just happened to be the front cover."
Lohen stared at the box, as if betrayed by it. "That's fucking stupid. How these still in business then?" Why not just...buy the character you like? All Lohen gave a shit about was getting Cinnamoroll. If he wanted a gambling addiction he'd go to the casino, or start betting on horse races.
Eula shrugged, finishing up her cooldown stretch. "I dunno either." She shuffled over to where Amber was, talking to her friend as Lohen processed her explanation.
Right. So now he had to go back and buy you an actual Cinnamoroll.
Well done Lohen, well done.
"Alright. Your friend likes Cinnamoroll, right?"
Eula made the very kind offer to accompany him, insisting that Lohen needed the help, and she wanted to browse through the store anyways.
"Plushies are nice. I think the stationary's cute but they're probably not the most practical—" Eula strolled through the aisles, scanning through every product. "Lohen. I didn't mean buying everything I look at."
Lohen stared at the mountain of merchandise he was holding. "But why not?"
Eula scrunched her nose. "That costs like 300 dollars minimum."
He hasn't bought any new training gear, thanks to your stunt from the other day, and he hadn't touched his allowance for this month. Worst comes to worst, he'll use his savings that he's kept aside for when he can finally move out. "So?"
The woman sighed, before helping him carry a plushie. "Love really makes you do funny things, huh?"
"Stop that."
Lohen deadpanned and Eula flinched, surprised at the sudden change in tone. She muttered an apology before inspecting another display to avoid looking at him.
He scratched his nape 'til the flesh was red and throbbing. "Sorry—dunno why I got so defensive." Lohen cleared his throat. "We're not dating. I just want to do something nice..."
It felt pathetic enough that he had to eavesdrop on others' conversations to even gain an idea of what to get you, and how he was relying on another friend. Lohen thought he had to compensate for his shortcomings somehow.
Eula watched the younger boy softly. "I think you're doing great so far."
"I literally had to get your help."
"Eh. You cared enough to go out of your way. I'm surprised you even know Cinnamoroll."
Lohen scratched at his nape again. "Someone else mentioned her—I mean him. So I kinda just stole the idea."
Eula shrugged. "That's fine. You could've asked your friend too."
"That's lame, no?"
"I don't think so. It still means you care and you're willing to listen. It'd rather someone take the things I say seriously." Eula paused browsing the shelves, turning to Lohen with a soft look on her face. "It'll be okay. We'll figure it out together."
Denial danced at the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed it down before nodding. He was grateful for her help before he was doubtful of his birthday gift to you.
"Now c'mon." Eula pried another plushie out of Lohen's arms. "You can't go that crazy. I promise I'll help you find something good."
Lohen gave up on protesting and followed her.
Your birthday came, fast.
Lohen avoided spending 300 dollars that night, and with the help of Eula, he managed to piece together what he thought, was a good gift.
Pick a plushie you think suits them. They like collecting them, don't they?
Don't worry about picking out a book if you don't know any, just get a giftcard. That way they can pick whatever they like.
I just spoke to one of the staff members. She said heated face masks are good for strained eyes, so you can throw those in too since they're studying to get into uni.
Write a card too—
Lohen had argued, insisting that he was terrible with words. I'm basically illiterate in front of them. I'll look stupid
Eula scoffed. I don't care.
He had opened his mouth to argue but Eula had cut him off. You said you wanted to pay me back, right? Write the damn card.
So, he did his best. He thanked you for being so understanding, and how cool it was to watch your dedicated to your goals. He thanked your kindness and consideration, and how warm your company was.
Lohen thanked you, for being you. With his messy, but honest handwriting, he put whatever came to mind on the card, throwing the pen across the room out of frustration and returned to his phone.
At 11:59pm, he glared at every passing second. The happy birthday message was typed out beforehand and his thumb hovered over the send button.
Should he send it a bit earlier? What if his wifi is slow? But it'd be embarrassing if he sent it too early by accident, and his desparation would be obvious—
The clock struck twelve, and he hit send, before tossing his phone on the bed. It vibrated in his sheets, Lohen pounced on it immediately.
Thanks Lohen !! how were you so fast? you're usually asleep at this time
Well, today wasn't exactly a 'usual' day, was it? You always went to sleep early, too.
i wanted to be the first to say it. ill see you at school tmr
Lohen stared at the roof before throwing his blanket over his impossibly hot face, as sleep brought him daylight.
At school, you were loved. As always.
Before he could say hi, Nilou had pounced on you, giggling about you were finally 18. Candace joined her, her gift joined the one you received from Nilou, hanging off your forearm.
Soon, your arms were filled with presents and you garnered birthday wishes from both students and teachers alike.
Lohen swore he'd give you his when breaktime came around, but you were swarmed by then too. A group of students surrounded you at one of the benches, singing happy birthday over a cake with candles that Lohen was sure weren't allowed on school campus.
He hesitated, deciding after school was a better time. He didn't know any of these people, and they didn't know him. It'd be awkward if he butted in now, while they were cheering in chorus.
But even when the school day ended, Lohen was embarrassed, and you were unapproachable for some particular reason. You were still surrounded by people, your other friends asked you for your plans tonight and insisted on you to throw a party whenever you could. With burning ears, Lohen really began to ponder if he was going to chicken out.
It didn't matter, since you were already walking towards him with a smile.
"I haven't seen you all day. I missed you."
Lohen tensed at the diction, before concealing it with his gift. "M–me too. I had to give you this." Lohen helped carry your other gifts as you headed somewhere quiet to open his present.
Hopefully, you'll pull out the plushie, and swoon about how adorable it was, before celebrating how it's new addition to your collection. Then, you'll notice the gift card and eye masks, and read the card at home, where he wouldn't have to watch you read it in front of him.
But your fingers brought it out first, gently tearing the envelope open before reading its contents.
Of every fight and training session he'd attended, Lohen's face had never felt so hot. With every moment he spent staring at your face his anxiety was only nourished, yet he couldn't stop watching your every movement, either.
You smiled, thankfully.
"This is so sweet! Thank you, Lohen." You peered into the bag, admiring the contents before putting the card back in. "You got me so much, too."
That statement sounded silly, when someone baked an entire cake for you and another friend brought you a plushie that your arm could barely wrap around.
"And I'm really happy to be your friend too." You said, picking your things up again. "I'm glad I had that group project with you."
Relief washed over Lohen. His muscles finally relaxed, and he no longer felt sick with anticipation. "Me too."
Lohen wiped his palms on his uniform before clearing his throat and hoisting your gifts. "I'll carry these to your place."
"Aren't you training today?"
"Training's cancelled." Lohen held your gifts out of your reach before heading for the school gate. "I need to kill time."
You hurried after him, having given up on declining his help. "You should stop by at my place for some food then."
"Sounds good to me."
Lohen did in fact have training that day. But you didn't need to know that.
It was tests like these that made Lohen grateful he wasn't trying to get accepted into university.
The scarlet 40 donning his test paper was a nauseating sight, even for him. Passing came easily for him normally, but the essay questions on this exam were verbose enough to throw him off, and he managed to stuff up multiple choice. He skimmed through it after training, before stuffing it into his pocket and skipping into the night. He should check on how you were feeling, too.
Speak of the devil, you were sipping on a cup of milk tea near the convenience store, seated on a bench. Lohen hurried over to you, akin to a puppy finding its owner.
"Hey. How'd you do on the test?" Knowing you, you definitely got an A at minimum, and probably top in the class, as well. But you didn't smile, your eyes were tired and you slouched. "Not good? You seem a bit upset."
You took a final sip before removing your drink and nodding a bit. "I got a 90."
"Why would you be upset about that, dumbass?" The general consensus was a fail, or barely passing. Lohen watched a group of honour roll students bicker about mark allocations and rankings, knowing damn well you were smarter than any of them. "You did great, what are you even on?"
Lohen scoffed, and he regretted it immediately when he heard you cry. He burst into apology, before panicking. "Shit—I was just being a dumbass, I'm sorry."
You hiccuped and continued crying, without sign of stopping anytime soon.
"Here—" He held your hand, savouring its warmth before closing it into a proper fist, making sure your thumb was positioned correctly. "—you hold a fist like this, then you can punch me as hard as you want. Beat me as much as you need. You can slap me if that's easier too—the back hand hits harder. I'm sorry—please don't be mad at me."
Lohen hurried into the convenience store for tissues, he clearly wasn't helping. He made sure to grab that one brand of melon ice cream you loved, and added those chewy candies you loved after seeing them displayed at the front.
You calmed down, eventually.
"Sorry..." You blew your nose, the tip turning dry and red. "I know you're right. It's really not bad..."
"Stop apologising, I was the one being a bitch." Lohen remembered to breathe, picking up your used tissues to throw out later.
"You weren't exactly wrong, though." You stared at your hands, one of your fingers donned a large callus, and ink stained were scattered across your palm. "It's just that nothing ever feels enough for me. All I thought about was how I could've gotten much better if I didn't make such a stupid mistake."
It was odd hearing you, out of all people saying something like that, when you've always been more than enough.
"Heck, even if I got an 100—" You sniffled. "—I'd see it as a fluke and think it means nothing since it was a one time thing."
"I guess..." You mumbled, bringing up your knees to rest your forearms and head on them. "I guess I'm just stressed about getting into uni. It's hard to feel good about anything when it's so important to me."
Lohen had no idea what to say nor do. Academics meant nothing to him, and he wasn't even allowed to pursue his career until he graduated. He clearly had no right to comment on your insecurity and worries, you were far more capable.
So he tore the ice cream open and handed it to you.
"To be honest, I'm really useless with this stuff." You took the ice cream, though reluctant, Lohen celebrated internally. "But I'll try my best. Food makes things better. I'll get you more if you want."
(What was he even saying?)
"For what it's worth, you're plenty capable. I can't change how you feel, but I still want to remind you." Lohen stared at an ant on the pavement. It followed its friends in an orderly line that his teachers from primary would've envied.
Lohen was sure he'd look even more stupid if he looks you in the eye while saying all of this. "I think it's good you're always determined to improve. I just hope you won't forget how amazing you are while you do."
His gaze ventured upwards slowly, finally looking at your face. Your eyes were puffy, but you nodded along to his words, ice cream coating your lips.
"I'm sorry again for making you cry." Lohen added. He'll shut up for real now.
You shook your head, licking at the ice cream. "It wasn't you. School just makes me moody sometimes."
"You can still beat me up if needed. I can take it, and it'll be good stress relief."
"No thank you."
He shrugged. "My offer's always open. But seriously." Lohen leaned back on his palms, thankful you stopped crying. "If I can do anything, just tell me. Please."
With wet, wide eyes you looked at him, wiping your mouth before nodding. "Then...can we just talk about something else? Just not school or exams."
"I saw a cat today." Lohen blurted. "It was really fucking chunky."
Lohen cringed at himself, but you laughed, almost choking on the ice cream. "Did you take a photo? I wanna see."
"Probably, hang on, lemme check..."
Together, you sat there, watching all of people of the night pass by while talking about whatever came to mind. Lohen prayed that you'd soon find something to comfort you, since he knew very well he couldn't.
Your first entrance examination was today.
Despite his urges to ask, Lohen never brought up school with you. He itched to check up on your study sessions and desperately wanted to cheer you on, but he pledged to himself to avoid stressing you out even more, and Lohen kept his promises.
The past month or two was torturous, not knowing anything about your preparations. As extreme as it may have seemed, Lohen had occasionally wished he was smart as well, so he could've been of some use to you.
At the crack of dawn, with the excuse of a morning jog, Lohen went to your house, carrying a makeup pouch his mum never used. While shifting his weight on both his feet, Lohen texted you to come out.
Soon, the front door creaked open, with you already in uniform. You gave him a small wave before he bounced up the steps.
"I know you're super busy and shit so I'll make this quick." Lohen held out the pouch to you. "I'm sorry I couldn't do anything to make you feel better for this moment, but I still wanted to do my best to help."
You blinked, fishing through the makeup pouch.
Inside, were random essentials Lohen thought would help. He found the eyedrops you used for your dry eyes at the local pharmacy, and packed those alongside a pack of gum (the ones he liked to share with you; he found them to be good stress relief, so hopefully you would too) and a few heatpacks, after your complaints about not being able to write as fast in the cold. Lohen put a tray of throat lozenges and painkillers, just in case an emergency happened. Although he didn't know what kind of pens you liked, he bought a few new ones as spares for you as well.
It's been a while to see one this bright, but you smiled. Uncontrollably, too. "This is amazing Lohen, thank you so much—"
"—good luck with your exams." Lohen cut you off, accidentally. "You've worked so hard, it's gonna pay off. And if uni doesn't take you then it's probably not worthy going at all."
(Lohen swore at himself for mentioning the possibility of that. He wanted it to sound funny, but now all he did was potentially make you think about not getting in.)
"I won't bother you anymore—"
"—at least let me finish." You zipped the pouch. "Stop saying you're of no help. You're everything." You looked down at the pouch with a tender smile. "You, and everything you've done for me are so precious, alright?"
His heart skipped a beat, and he almost forgot to nod.
"I'll be okay, I promise. I'll stop by your gym to say hi."
Unsure of what else to say, he wished you good luck again and bid you farewell, before ushering you back inside.
Towards the end of the day, Lohen saw you through the glass window.
He cut his current set of squats short, sprinting to the front to greet you. Lohen held a thumbs up and an intrigued expression reserved only for you, before you smiled back and returned the gesture.
"Knew it." Lohen grinned. "Told you."
You beamed. "Did I come at a bad time?"
Lohen shook his head. "Today's just a gym session. And you're always welcome here anyways." He grabbed his shirt and wiped his sweat off, awkwardly waiting for you to respond. "Everything alright?"
You blinked aggressively, gaze flitting. "Yeah, everything's fine."
The door behind him opened, and Mika came out with a sigh. "Why are you running off this time, Lo—oh. Hello."
You politely greeted Mika back, who turned to Lohen and whispered. "Your...?"
"—friend." Lohen snapped. "What were you saying, again?"
Mika glanced back into the gym, where Varka was coming. "Varka told me to come get you."
Great. The old man probably had a lecture in store for him.
But the scolding never came, for Varka immediately went for you instead.
"Ah. Lohen's friend?"
You nodded. "Sorry if I'm interrupting anything, sir."
"You're fine." Varka waved it off. "How can we help ya?"
Lohen interjected. "They're telling me about their exam. Shoo." He wants to spend time with you, not listening to his coach drone on and on.
Varka ignored him and continued talking to you. "For university?" When you nodded, Varka beamed, large chest swelling up with pride despite not knowing you. "Well, good job today, kid. If you ever get stressed come over and beat up Lohen. Buuuut, I can tell you're smart enough to get by fine."
You laughed at the joke, adjusting your bag. "I'll leave the fighting to you guys."
Before Lohen could slip back inside to grab his things and leave with you, Varka boomed, and his proposal to you made Lohen's blood run cold.
"You should come in. I've got photos of this one." A beefy forearm wrapped around Lohen, tugging him closer. "—when he was little and started out."
Embarrassment shot to his face, Lohen writhed and spat. "Too far."
But you accepted, eyes lighting up. "Yes please—"
Before Lohen could protest further, Varka opened the door for you, where the rest of the gym welcomed you with open arms and curiosity.
Training was much easier, knowing that you were done with exams. With every exam, each update you gave him gradually became more confident, and naturally, Lohen was happier.
I'm so happy I'll never have to do chemistry ever again
Thank god sir kept giving us math homework throughout the year...they threw so many curveballs at us lol. dunno why they made the papers harder for us but it's fine
I bent Shakespeare over ᕦ(ò_óˇ)ᕤ
No subject left you clueless, aside from a couple of strange questions, you reported back only good results to Lohen, beaming about it was far less intimidating than expected.
Now, you were on a road trip with your family to celebrate.
The day you're back, Lohen already cleared his schedule to have your own celebration together. He'll let you pick a place to eat, wherever you want and covered by him, obviously.
Only three more days, Lohen reminded himself, as he continued his stretches to wrap up today's session.
"How do you tell if you like someone?" Amber asked out of the blue, while stretching.
Varka cocked a brow and leaned closer. "Are you interested in someone? Who's the lucky guy?"
"You didn't answer the question, Varka." Amber deadpanned as she continued stretching. "And it's not a guy."
Varka stuttered before loudly clearing his throat. "Who's the lucky girl?"
"That's still not an answer." Amber huffed.
Kaeya intervened, as he passed with a box of gear. "Imagine them dating someone else."
Lohen scoffed, looking up from his stretch. "Does that actually work?"
The older man scoffed. "Obviously. If you feel indifferent then it means you're just friends. Plus if you're questioning it, then you probably like them already anyways."
Amber pulled a face as she took a moment to ponder. "Ew. Thanks Kaeya. That worked great."
Lohen and Kaeya watched Varka guess Amber's newfound crush. Lohen quickly went back to stretching, muttering about it being stupid.
"It's true." Kaeya insisted, refusing to let go of it.
Lohen rolled his eyes. "Shut up already."
He kept teasing. 'Imagine it with me and you'll see what I mean by indifferent."
"I can't even imagine you dating someone, Kaeya."
But he could imagine you.
You're intelligent. And pretty. And nice, and comfortable; the kind of person that listened without judgement and tread carefully around the emotions of others. Not to mention you were cute, and attractive. You had a nice smile and something about your face he couldn't name made him want to treasure you. Once you're accepted into university, you'll probably start dating, most likely someone from the same faculty—
Fuck. There's a pang of nausea and envy striking his gut.
For the sake of his sanity and your friendship, Lohen was going to pretend Kaeya's methodology had no validity.
imagine lohen having the strength to carry you on his shoulders. with the recent windblume festival, you saw a lot of young couples holding hands and carrying each other up. although it was originally your idea, you would have never expected lohen to take your suggestion so seriously. when he knelt down with his back towards you, your body instinctively froze up–it took a few more encouragements from your boyfriend that you finally situated yourself comfortably on his shoulders. while you were nervous being in the air, he took one deep exhale before running deep into the city, laughing maniacally as you cried out in fear.
“put me down lohen! seriously, i’m going to fall!”
“no way babe!”
without anything else to hold onto, you drive your fingers through his hair, holding on for dear life as he rushes through a horde of people. the people of mondstadt looked down, both with a mixture of disbelief and sigh. young love, they’d whisper amongst themselves. whenever you feel him intentionally loosen his grip around you, it causes your fingers to tug even harder—not that he minded of course, the pain intensified his feelings of joy as he makes it out of the gates, taking you along with him for the ride.
“... where are we going?”
“to fight ruin guards of course!” instead of ripping out another chunk of his hair, you start hitting him with the bottom of your fists.
