Welp, First Post Here (officialy) Yay :D

-; I'LL TAKE CARE OF YOU. / IT'S ROTTEN WORK.

(NOT TO ME, NOT IF IT'S YOU) ; in which wriothesley lets you tend to his wounds after the dramatic affair with the beret society.

CW: not beta-read. cerberus chapter spoilers! gn!reader, slight hurt/comfort, fluff, mentions of blood, injury, and violence. mention of scars (+ my headcanons of how wrio got some of them), & finally, lovesick loser wrio!

"i'm telling you, sunshine, i can handle it myself."

at his words, your hands still, pristine rolls of gauze and bandages already soaking in red blood. a frown breaks across your countenance as you glare up at wriothesley, eyebrows furrowed. there will be no stopping this, you know; there will be days where your beloved duke returns to your arms with a new wound that you're sure will scar. days he brandishes blooming bruises on his knuckles, and you'll eventually press butterfly kisses to them. perhaps, he will crawl into your loving embrace, his warm home, with blood dripping from his fingertips. (grimly, you wonder how much of it will be his own. you know you'll thank the archons when it's not all his.)

with a sigh and a dab of the alcohol-soaked cotton against his exposed side, you mutter: "you always say that. look where that's got you now."

"it's just a scratch."

"wri, it's a bullet wound. you're lucky it only just grazed you."

"so... what i'm hearing is that it really is just a scratch."

now that earns him another glare (which he sheepishly smiles at).

"look, as stupid as it may sound," he sighs, clear blue eyes finding your own, "i didn't think dougier would have a gun with him." the duke's expression contorts ever so slightly, a weak hiss slipping from his gritted teeth, as you rub a cooling ointment against his angry, red wound. "didn't think he'd have that many gardemeks either."

(another comment, much quieter: "and i thought it'd be cool, really.")

and with that, you both fall into relative silence. the classical music playing from the office gramaphone, your steady breathing, and the occasional pained hiss from wriothesley (followed by your whispered string of apologies) permeate the space between. in the quiet, your mind eventually runs rampant with thoughts of your love getting injured. wriothesley may have proven to you time and time again that he would always return to your side, but he wasn't invincible. your gaze wanders, frowning further when you soak in the sight of the scars that mar his chest. they do nothing to comfort you.

"hey," wriothesley starts, when he notices your stare on the claw marks etched into the skin of his neck. they stretch downwards, the cruel tally marks stopping right above where his heart would be. you try not to think about how they could've easily torn out his throat. "i know you'll still worry about me, but i've been through much worse." he raises his own hand to trace the scars, playing with the black wraps around his neck; "and, as you can see... i fought and won."

( you know he has. he's told you all about them, once. on a sleepless night, where you two lay in bed and traced designs on each other's skin. his calloused fingers against your softer flesh, your touch along the lines of his many scars. some were from fierce sea creatures, he tells you, with a teasing lilt in his voice that makes you giggle. others from his time serving his sentence, fighting for his life in the ring. when you trace one along the back of his arm, smaller than the rest, his voice gets a little softer — he got it on the day he spilt his first blood. you had kissed along all his scars that night, and he had returned the favour with a shower of kisses along your cheeks.)

"promise me you'll be more careful." you say, as you unroll a new roll of gauze and begin wrapping it around his torso. it's a beat, and then two, and when he doesn't respond you turn your gaze back to him.

wriothesley frowns, now. he could do cheeky proclamations of victory, tell you he'll always crawl back to your side alive... but he can't promise you that. not with your current lives in meropide. "you know i can't—"

"wriothesley." the syllables roll off your tongue and he quickly seals his mouth shut—it's been a good, long while since his full name has graced your lips. (he much preferred wrio, or sweetie, or darling; something from you that made him kinder. softer.) "please?"

the silence comes back for a heartbeat. you think you feel tears pooling at the corner of your eyes—

"alright, alright. i'll try." he says, quickly relenting to your teary-eyed gaze. and when that's not good enough for you, highlighted by the pout of your lips and the slightly-aggressive tightening of his bandage wrappings, he says: "fine. i promise to be more careful. as best as i can."

a smile graces your lips. (wriothesley thinks he's seen the sun. you, his darling star, whose mere presence lights up his gloomy underworld.)

"sigewinne and i will keep you to it then."

he can't help the way he leans into your warmth as you press a quick, gentle peck to his temple nor can he help how he almost whines when you step away from him. his gaze is on you even as you pack up the first aid kit and make your way to the stairs (how cruel you are, leaving your lover while he toils in pain!) wriothesley stands from where he leans against his table, just as you reach the bottom of the stairs. he stands up a little straighter, smiles as you shout out:

"oh, and i heard from the traveller! your stunt did sound pretty cool."

a/n: happy birthday wriothesley! here's a very short, indulgent, not beta-read thing to celebrate his birthday and his c1 coming home during his banner! sorry if he's a little ooc or this is just. a really oddly worded / structured fic — this was very much so written in a haze after seeing his story quest cutscene... he's so dreamy. . ..

This is Money Snake. She only appears every 312 years. 

If you reblog her picture within the next twenty-five seconds you will have good luck and fortune for the rest of your life. 

HAPPY (late, sorry 😭) BDAY MY BOY

i just noticed I forgot his earring 🥲

beautiful man✨

📸! selfie

hehe, Im already interested to read this ^^

Prologue

pairing: Wriothesley x f! reader

trigger warnings: violence, blood, murder, imprisonment, suggestive, ptsd, mentions of child abuse

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The streets of Fontaine were bathed in the golden hues of the setting sun, casting long shadows and giving the city an almost ethereal glow. The meeting with the Iudex of Fontaine in Palais Mermonia had been as expected—tense and bureaucratic. Discussions about the affairs related to Meropide were never easy, but the Duke was thankful for the cooperation and support he often received from Monsieur Neuvillette.

Wriothesley’s heavy footsteps echoed against the cobblestones.  He rarely ventured to the surface, but duty had called. Now, as the golden hues of the setting sun bathed the city in a warm glow, he made his way through the bustling streets of Fontaine. The surface world, with its vibrant life and spectacle, always felt a world apart from the fortress he governed.

He exhaled slowly, a sigh mingling with the evening breeze, as his thoughts drifted to the faces of the prisoners. Each one had a story, a past, and sometimes, Wriothesley wondered if he would ever truly understand morality as a whole. Lost in contemplation, he barely noticed the few passersby giving him a wide berth, recognizing the emblem of his station and the aura of authority he carried. He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he navigated through the throng of people.

He barely registered the world around him until a sudden impact jolted him from his thoughts. He had collided with someone, and the force of it sent them both stumbling.

“Oh, for the love of–!” The exasperated voice brought him back to the present. He looked down to see a young woman picking herself off the ground, brushing the dust from her garments. Her eyes, alight with irritation, met his, and she frowned deeply.

“Watch where you’re going, will you?” she snapped, not caring that he towered over her. Wriothesley found himself momentarily speechless. The setting sun framed her face, casting a radiant glow that highlighted her delicate features. Her beauty struck him, the kind that seemed to draw the light towards her, making her skin glow and her eyes sparkle with an inner fire.

“I’m terribly sorry,” he managed to say, his voice softer than usual. He noticed then the bouquet of flowers scattered on the ground, petals crushed and stems broken. Flowers? A curious pang of disappointment twisted in his chest. Did she have a suitor already?

"You should be more careful! It is a busy street!" she retorted, dusting off the last of the debris. Her eyes darted to the ground where a bouquet of flowers. "Great, just great. Now I have to remake this bouquet and I'll be late for the delivery."

Wriothesley watched as she hurriedly gathered the damaged flowers, her frustration evident. She handled the blooms with a surprising tenderness, and he felt an inexplicable urge to assist her.

"Let me help you," he offered, kneeling to pick up a few of the scattered flowers.

“These were for a customer,” she explained, kneeling down to gather the remnants of the bouquet. “A difficult one at that.” She sighed, still irritated. Her hands moved with a practiced grace, but there was a hint of urgency in her actions.

“I’m really sorry about that,” Wriothesley repeated, a hint of guilt creeping into his tone. He handed the flowers he’d picked to her and she was already on her feet, clutching the ruined bouquet.

“Don’t worry about it,” she said, her irritation giving way to resignation. “I’ll just have to work faster.” She offered him a brief, distracted smile, more out of politeness than anything else, before dashing off down the street, leaving him standing there.

Wriothesley watched her go, her figure soon swallowed by the crowd. He stood there for a moment longer, the noise of Fontaine’s streets fading into the background. The warmth of the setting sun lingered on his skin, but the encounter had left a different kind of warmth in his heart. He absentmindedly reached up to adjust his collar and felt something unusual. Pulling it free, he found a petal of a red poppy flower nestled in the fabric. He held it between his fingers, its vivid color a stark contrast to the muted tones of his attire. The petal, delicate and vibrant, seemed to carry a weight of its own, leaving him with a sense of unease. With a final glance at the direction she had gone, Wriothesley turned and continued his walk, his thoughts no longer solely occupied by the fortress of Meropide. The image of her fiery eyes and the way the sunlight had kissed her features stayed with him. He resumed his journey back to Meropide, the image of the spirited florist and the red poppy petal lingering on his mind.

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As You Are, I Am Too

Summary: If we compare people to magnets, opposites attract and sames repel, so why are two stoic faces paired as soulmates?

Word Count: 15.4k (why are you surprised at this point, get some snacks)

Tags: Alhaitham x Fem! Reader, Smut(r18+), NFSW, MDNI, Modern AU, Soulmate AU, Mutual Pinning, Fluff, Slow Burn, Slow fic, Perfectionist! Reader, angst, arranged pairing, TW: Toxic family, unhappy childhood trauma, child of strained marriage trauma, TW: Themes of self-loathing, themes of infidelity(misunderstanding), toxic work environment, slight workplace harassment, pushy boss, slightly yandere! Alhaitham?, Soft! Alhaitham, second chance romance?, slightly bratty! reader, Dom! Alhaitham, Degradation, Heavy adult themes, attempts at comedy

Author Note: This is experimental, I want to explore if two same sides of a magnet can still attract. I want to explore the fumbles and mistakes of love.

Side Note: Here is a continuation

Do you believe in soulmates?

It’s nothing to be ashamed of if you do. Because who doesn’t want to believe in it? The concept of an ‘other half’, a missing piece that completes you. Someone who loves you and only you unconditionally.

Who doesn’t want to experience that? 

To be loved, to be accepted, and to feel whole are all natural human desires. So it’s no surprise society, regardless of the century, culture, or demographic all obsessed over finding that other half.

To find a hand that fits perfectly within the gaps of one’s own. 

The greatest minds in all of Tevyat came together, analyzing each pattern, quantifying each data point, and testing each hypothesis until their magnum opus was created: The Akasha System.

Taking the work out of fate’s hands and into a large database. 

What criteria did this wonderful system use to piece together two halves of a whole? Who knows, it’s a black box. However, the machine was quite smart, quite quick, and quite accurate.

So much so, there was no reason not to use it. 

Humans, no matter how much some might deny it, despise being lonely. They fear it so much they’d rather hold a hand which strangles theirs with an equally crushing grip.

That’s why people rush toward their soulmates the moment the Akasha finds them, they fear being alone. 

But do you believe in soulmates?

“No.” Alhaitham puts down his drink.

“But you still used the Akasha??” Kaveh juts a finger in the direction of an ashen-haired man.

“And?” Disinterested eyes glance at the time displayed on a clock in the rowdy bar.

“And?! What do you mean and? You just said you don’t believe in soulmates!” The slam of Kaveh’s palms on the table made a bit of beer lap over the edge of his cup.

“I don’t believe in soulmates, but I’m not ignorant to the benefits of marriage.” 

“Huh?” 

“It’s convenient.” The blunt statement rolling off Alhaitham’s tongue as he motions for the tab.

“Ugh, you know what, forget it.” Kaveh chases his heavy sigh with a hearty swig of his cup.

“Well then, I’ll call it a night.” He’s stayed out long enough.

Placing a handful of mora on the table to cover his tab, Alhaitham bids goodnight to his two workplace acquaintances and former college roommate.

He swiftly strides towards the creaky tavern door, swinging it open as he steps into the warm Summer evening. Tomorrow is another workday, better to get an adequate amount of rest.

“Still the same even after a full year with her, huh,” Kaveh sighs dryly.

“Did you really think he’d change after marriage, Kaveh?” Cyno finally chipped in from the sidelines. 

“I should’ve known, someone as egotistical as Alhaitham practically married himself.” 

“Now, now, his wife is nowhere as egotistical as him,” Tighnari says over the rim of his glass. 

Cyno and Kaveh paused for a moment, sharing a glance as they considered Tighnari’s observation. With a shrug, they concluded: you weren’t nearly as egotistical as Alhaitham.

Still, the great mystery remains. 

“How is he the first to marry?” The blond bachelor slumps further on the tavern stool. 

“Life is full of wonders.” The ebony-haired bachelor gave a few comforting pats.

———————————————————————————

Unlocking the solid oak front door, Alhaitham steps into the serenity of a quiet house. Good, his ears were slightly buzzing from the boisterous conversation in a crowded bar.

Taking a few more steps into the entranceway, the man shuts the door behind his body.

The dull gossip over a few rounds of drinks made their influence known to him, he just wants to go to bed. Thus he takes a few more steps toward his bedroom.

“Place your shoes into the closet, I just mopped the floors.” A level voice called out from the living room. 

Alhaitham’s movement halts, quickly glancing down at the Oxford shoes still on his feet, taking note of the spotless floorboards.

Wordlessly, Alhaitham unties the laces allowing him to kick them off with ease, placing them onto the shoe rack just behind a closet door. 

It’s a habit that slips his mind every now and then despite a year of marriage; Surprisingly unsurprising when you take into consideration his busy mind.

However, times were different now, he’s no longer a kid, free to be lost in thought. He’s now a homeowner of a spacious house, a space he shares with you, and you liked things clean. 

Not a speck of dust lingered on surfaces, no plates left in the sink, and books pristinely placed on organized shelves. Qualifications that he deemed exceptional for a life partner.

Now with slipper-clad steps, Alhaitham makes his way through the house, peering into the living room to spot your curled figure reading on a sofa. The warm glow of a floor lamp illuminated the soft curves of your cheek. 

“Is something the matter?” You didn’t look up from the page as you addressed him. 

“No, just heading to bed.” 

“Okay, goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

The start and finish of tonight’s conversation, after all, you valued a quiet house as much as he did. His colleague’s words weren’t without merit, even Alhaitham isn’t stubborn enough to deny the obvious.

Hobbies identical to each other, books upon books lined up along numerous shelves, preferring to stay within the walls of this house unless dragged out by friends. 

Your indecipherable gaze and stiff lips rival his own stone face. Perhaps that’s why the Akasha paired the two of you together. Two beings with stoic faces only another stoic would bear for a life partner, like two sides of the same coin. 

Alhaitham stops unbuttoning his shirt behind his shut bedroom door, reanalyzing the previous statement. Actually, that isn’t a very good analogy.

It'd be more accurate to compare you and him to a double-sided mirror that reflected only one view. 

“I don’t believe in soulmates.”

The man sitting across from the cafe table, introduced as Alhaitham, bluntly states, interrupting your sip of coffee, warm beverage just barely touching your lips. 

Placing your cup back down on the coffee shop table, your gaze observed the stranger who just met you moments ago - a  meeting in a small cafe arranged by Sumeru’s Ministry of Human Relations, the government body tasked with delivering the Akasha’s verdict. 

After a few breaths, you decided to humor his abrupt statement with a response. Staring straight into his teal-orange eyes, you say,  “What a coincidence, neither do I.”

————————

So then why did two nonbelievers follow the verdict handed to them? It’s simple really.

Two salaries combined can buy a sizable house. Two pairs of hands get chores done faster. Two signatures on a certificate save tax money. Life is simpler with a partner to bear some of the burden. 

Young professionals and fresh graduates aren’t known for their financial independence; a boy eager to move out of a cheap flat and away from an infuriating roommate, a girl trying to escape a noisy environment.

The circumstances had aligned. 

And that’s how it’s been for two years now, a nice quiet house. Although, you’d be lying if you weren’t thankful that the Akasha paired you with someone as handsome as Alhaitham. Silver hair, broad frame, and beryl eyes with a hint of ochre -  maybe he’s an apology gift from some fickle god.

He’s a well-rounded and capable man; perceptive enough to know not to cross boundaries drawn in the air, apt enough to not disrupt the serenity, and able to take care of himself.

Although, he could learn to launder better. 

Your lips tug down as your eyes scan over the deep wrinkles crimping the fabric of a freshly washed button-down. It looks too rumpled to look professional, even on him. A sigh falls from your lips.

The presence of slow steps make your head turn in their direction, connecting with Alhaitham’s neutral eyes, quirked gray eyebrow questioning your purpose. 

Two bodies, two rooms, and two beds.

The only time you or he crossed into the private haven of one another was when the floors needed to be mopped or shelves dusted. Owning a house means owning up to tedious chores and dividing up responsibilities spares one’s sanity from the tediousness. 

It’s best to point out the critiques now to spare your own clothes from the same fate. Picking it off the back of his chair, you show him the shameful state of the garment. 

“Leaving your clothes in the dryer for too long will create stubborn wrinkles.” You advise. 

Teal eyes glance at the shirt in your hands before they flick towards the closet rack, your own gaze follows, noting the numerous other shirts in a similar state. Another heavy sigh escapes you, it's obvious Alhaitham attempted to do laundry yesterday.

Wordlessly, you begin gathering each wrinkled garment. 

“I’ll rewash them and hang them outside, it’s the best way to smooth them out. Heat isn’t recommended for your fabrics.” You swiftly walk past him with your arms full. 

“Thank you, I’ll clean the floors then.” He takes hold of the mop against the wall.

This seamless switching of responsibilities is done with less than two sentences, the efficiency of which is only possible between two people such as yourselves. 

Button-downs are much more fickle than a casual t-shirt, using the wrong detergent or leaving it unattended for too long will cause unsightly wrinkles.

Alhaitham’s laundering skills have improved in the last two years… perhaps the singing of the dryer still slips past his preoccupied mind. 

The two of you are working professionals. Crucial insight you’ve learned from your parents: A nicely ironed shirt, neatly brushed hair, and elegantly tied ties are all it takes to make others believe in the white lie of a put-together life. 

Alhaitham was raised by his grandmother, a detail you recall from a passing conversation some time ago. It shows.

The amateur attempts at chores, the books strewn about a desk absent-mindedly, and the afternoon naps spent on a couch underneath a sunlit window are secrets only seen behind closed doors - all telltale signs of being well-loved.

‘How nice it must be.’ You thought, clipping his freshly washed button-downs to the clothesline, allowing the Sunday morning rays to shine down upon them.

A stone-faced man was once a beloved grandson. Maybe his juvenile attempts at chores were too endearing for an elderly lady to correct. 

Hidden from everyone but the audience of swaying fabric and a curious star, a bittersweet smile tugs at stiff lips. 

The clinking of forks against porcelain plates accompanies the evening news. Your eyes starring indifferently towards the TV just around the corner from the dinner table; looks like tonight's topic was the annual metrics of the Akasha.

With each passing year, these metrics only climb higher and higher, a machine learning to calculate better and better. 

“What’s your theory behind the Akasha?” you blurt out the question without looking away from the screen. 

A pair of utensils halted their movements as Alhaitham glances at the evening news. He takes a moment to wipe the corners of his mouth before humoring you.

Technically, the two of you have yet to fill your daily conversation quota. Might as well do it over dinner. 

“It’s all mathematics, the Akasha system. Pairing individuals based on collected data. Demographic, interests, and dispositions, are all factors in a pairing,” he explains in his baritone voice. 

“Mmm, then again it's all just a black box, we can’t be certain unless they choose to reveal it.” You ponder aloud. 

“Correct. Those factors are all key when it comes to compatibility. The Akasha simply uses probability. However, there’s the element of human variability.”

“Meaning it can’t always be right.” You know this, live it even.  “Is that why you don’t believe in the concept of soulmates?” Pivoting to an adjacent question, you return your attention back to the man across the table. 

“Yes, it’s an unrealistic belief.” Alhaitham sips on his wine.

“Such a brilliant conclusion, what an astute mind you have.” Honeyed-voice mimicking awe over a glass of water.

Narrowed teal eyes honed in as his glass returned to its place on the lacquered surface, unamused by your quip. 

“How about you? What theory brought you to hold the same brilliant conclusion?” 

“Do you know phenylethylamine? PEA?” Glancing up from your glass.

From his idle gaze and unmoving lips, you take his silence as a “no”. 

“It’s a stimulant that causes your heart to beat abnormally, released when you’re around a special someone. It causes what people describe as the ‘rush’ or ‘fever’ of love.” 

He says nothing, waiting for you to continue.

“But then your brain gets used to it, and the abnormality in your chest corrects itself.” You take a sip before continuing, “Nothing last forever, so why do people think love is an exception? That only one person ever will cause their hearts to flutter till the end of time?” 

A dry giggle follows the clink of your water cup against the wood. 

“How insightful.” Alhaitham takes another sip of wine to chase his sarcasm.

Maybe it was the amusing quip or how tonight’s butter chicken turned out to be exceptionally delicious, but a subtle smile curls at the edges of your lips. With today’s conversational quota fulfilled you focus your full attention back to the awaiting dinner. 

You remain ignorant to the gaze of teal eyes, oblivious to how it fixates on the faint smile complimenting the soft curves of your cheeks and plush lips. 

“...” 

The front door shuts and locks behind you, your shoes are halfway into the closet before a familiar scent beckons you towards the living room.

Quickly getting into your slippers, you trek through the entranceway and round the corner. The vivid hues of pale blues and gentle violets with pops of bright yellow catch your eyes, confirming your speculations: it’s a bouquet. 

The bundle of flowers were placed into a long-forgotten vase. Turning away from the blooms, you face the man currently thumbing through a book on the couch -the only other person with access to this quiet haven.

Turning back to observe the blooms, you note each species of flower. The Sumerian Rose, Kalpalata Lotus, and…Padisarah.

You observe how the pollen of the Padisarahs dusts the radius of the surface around the vase. It’s a fickle flower after all.

A fickle and potent-smelling flower. 

A scowl twists your face despite your best efforts, the sickly-sweet fragrance of the capricious blooms assaults your senses. 

“Please open a window.” your hand comes up to shield your nose. 

“Is something the matter?” 

“The smell is giving me a headache.” 

A headache forms from within the deepest depths of your mind, the same visceral reaction to the heavy perfumes that plagued your childhood walls. Your mother believed the saccharine scent could cover up her infidelity if she sprayed enough.

Compared to that artificial perfume, fresh Padisarahs were much tamer, but still enough to make a bitter taste appear at the back of your tongue. 

“I see.” Alhaitham sets his book down, getting up to allow the Autumn breeze in. 

Swiftly, you trudge away from the vase and its potent blooms and down the hall, eager to find an untainted corner of the house. It’d be best to sleep the headache off. 

In the morning when you round the corner back into the living room, you notice the vacant vase and table wiped clean of any speck of yellow pollen. Passing through into the kitchen, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafts in the air.

As you pour yourself a cup, you take note of how the trash has already been taken out, a fresh trash bag lining the bin. 

Good, flowers were a hassle to keep around the house.

———————————————————————————

“Chocolates?” You study the box of sweets left out on the kitchen table. 

“I picked them up while getting ingredients for dinner,” Alhaitham answers, busy chopping carrots. 

“You can have some.” 

You return your gaze  back to the intricately designed package in seasonal Winter colors. It’s not often that you indulge in such elegant treats, you couldn’t refuse such an offer. 

Delicately picking up a piece, the glossy dark chocolate shine looks inviting, you can see the quality in these sweets. Placing the small chunk onto your tongue, savoring the rich flavor. Not too sweet and not too bitter. 

Using your tongue to maneuver it towards your teeth you bite into its center, only for your tastebuds to be assaulted by a foul flavor. The distinct and sharp tang of alcohol and the revolting aftertaste of bourbon spoils the sweetness. 

Refusing to allow the detestable flavor to remain on your tongue, you briskly swipe up a few napkins, spitting the foul sweet out. You frown at the stubborn tang of bourbon which threatens to ruin your appetite for dinner. 

“You can have the rest.” You throw out the crumpled napkin. 

“Are they of poor quality?” The tapping of the knife paused. 

“They’re just not to my taste.” 

“In that case, I hope tonight's dinner is.” Alhaitham resumes his task. 

Taking a glass out from the cupboard, you fill the cup with fresh water before gulping it down, washing the foul tang of alcohol from your tongue, and even fouler memories of the stench of sour wine and crushed cans.

Wiping the escaped droplets off with the back of your hand, you go for a second glass. Hopefully, you can cleanse your palate. 

———————————————————————————

“Do you have plans tonight?” Alhaitham’s words make you stop in the middle of the hallway. 

You have a book ready in hand for a night of reading on the sofa under the soft glow of the floor lamp. You know his eyes can see that,  gaze questioning his intentions. 

“I was given two tickets to a movie, would you like to accompany me?” He holds out the slips of paper. 

As your eyes pass over the printed font, you recognized the title, a name picked up within the chatter of coworkers at the office. It’s An adaptation of a famous light novel from Inazuma, and the reviews seem positive. 

“Sure.”

You could get out of the house a little more. 

…

It seems like everyone wants to see a movie tonight, the theater lobby is filled with bustling crowds, families with excited kids, and couples holding hands.

And then there’s you and Alhaitham. Standing side by side, his hands carrying two carbonated drinks, your hands holding an overpriced bag of popcorn, walking toward the room printed on the tickets. 

“C5…C6, looks like we got good spots.” You settled into the plush seats, careful not to spill the bag. 

Alhaitham hums in response, placing your drink in the cupholder. More and more people filed into the screening room, waves of ‘excuse me’s and ‘sorry’s rolling through the space until all the seats were finally filled. The lights begin to dim as the opening logo booms through the sound system. 

The cinematography was beautiful, the musical scores accompanying the plot pleasing to the ears, and the popcorn perfectly seasoned.

It’s been a while since you’ve last gone to a movie theater, maybe you should go more often. As you brought a few more pieces of popcorn to your lips, your eyes travel toward Alhaitham.

His arms crossed as the light of the silver screen reflects onto his skin, noticing your stare, his teal gaze connects with yours. 

Moving the striped bag closer to his frame, you offer him some popcorn, he paid for the refreshments. It'd be a shame if he didn’t get to enjoy them too.

His large hand reachs over and takes a handful, your curiosity wanting to see his reaction to the snack. However, a piercing shrill snaps your attention away. 

Just a few rows away, a woman stood up from her seat, throwing a bag of popcorn at the man sitting beside her. Screaming words you couldn’t quite make out as they merges with the onscreen dialogue and equally furious shouts of the now popcorn-covered man.

Their thunderous voices were only amplified by the acoustics of the theater. 

They’re both standing now, still hurling insults and grievances one after another. There’s a ringing in your ears, their faceless silhouettes in the dim theater replaying a scene you’ve seen many times before. It’s as if they’ve finally developed a conscious, now aware of the stares and glares thrown their way.

Oh, look they’re leaving now, still fighting the whole way out of the screening room. 

With the disturbance now cleared, a low wave of murmuring swept through the audience before dying out. The dialogue and soundtrack were audible again, the atmosphere reverting to how it was.

You didn’t feel like snacking on the popcorn anymore. Gaze focus on the fluffy puffs for the rest of the movie. 

“Did you enjoy the film?” An indifferent voice resounds from your right side. 

Walking out as the credit rolled in the background, following the flow of traffic toward the exit. You were walking by Alhaitham’s side, but your mind was elsewhere, a subtle frown etched on your lips. 

“It was fine, just crowded and loud.” Your voice was just as flat. 

“Oh.”

Tossing the unfinished bag of popcorn way into the nearest trash can, the two of you continue on the silent journey home.

Perhaps, it’s best if you just stayed curled up with a book. 

“Eh? It’s been three years and you’ve never gotten your wife flowers? I knew you were cold-hearted, but not to this extent. Here, a quick bouquet of some fresh flowers I picked.” 

“You should gift her some sweets, maybe then you two can talk a choco-lot… Did you get the joke?”

“Are you serious?! Almost four years and you never took her on a date?? You’re hopeless! Take these tickets and take her to the movies. By the way, you’ll have to pay for them.”

Alhaitham wasn’t sure what made his colleagues so invested in his marriage, maybe a projection of their own lack of one. To his colleagues, you were just as much of an enigma as the ashen-haired man.

Any passing comment, no matter how vague or curt, would bring forth an onslaught of unsolicited advice. And it was for that very reason within the walls of your home these details shall stay. 

Alhaitham isn’t sure which was more irksome, the uninformed guidance of bachelors, or the fact he was the one who actually tested each suggestion. Regardless, at least these trials were fruitful in the sense he can gauge your dislikes now. 

You despise flowers for their fickle messes and scent. You’re revolted by overpriced chocolates. You detested rowdy theaters and subpar films. 

Four now going on to five years, and these were his results. Frankly, he didn’t have to subject you to such experiments for these results, because they aligned with his own preferences.

A waste of time, disturbing your peace for the sake of his own curiosity. 

A heavy sigh falls from his lips as he sets the bucket of water down, one hand holding a mop as the other turns the knob of your bedroom.

It’s a Sunday, meaning the floors needed to be mopped. Your door's hinges sing as they swing open only to be abruptly silenced as Alhaitham stood motionless under the door frame. 

Oh. He should’ve knocked.

You were in the midst of getting dressed in front of your floor-length mirror, glimpses of smooth skin peeking out from under baggy fabric. Before he could stop, teal eyes followed the dark fabric reaching just down to the middle of your thighs and draping low on one shoulder. Your fingers were in the middle of buttoning the clearly oversized shirt as you turned back to focus on him. 

Blank gaze traveling up your soft lips set in a neutral position and meeting your deadpan stare, Alhaitham’s conscience restarts.

Today was Sunday, which meant it was laundry day yesterday, and it was the ashen-haired man’s turn to wash and dry the clothes. Somehow, his button-down got mixed in with your blouses, leading to your unamused reaction. 

“I’ll be more mindful next time, did my shirt dull any of your whites?” Forcing his eyes to avert, a late attempt at respecting your privacy. 

“It’s fine, fortunately, the dye didn’t bleed out during the wash.” You turned away as your hand pulls the draping fabric up your shoulder. 

“Just place the shirt over the chair in my room, I’ll take care of it later.”

“Okay.” 

Once more your door sings as he shuts it on the way back into the hall, deciding to clean the floors of his room first and allowing you to change into your rightful clothes. It was early noon and a weekend, meaning there was no reason for Alhaitham to brush out his sleep-tousled hair. Hopefully, messy gray locks were enough to conceal burning ears. 

———————————————————————————

“The Evolution of Everything.” His eyes scan over the title held out in front of him. 

A newly published scientific journal filled with freshly collected data, the book's spine still in mint condition. Alhaitham takes note of the identical copy held in your hand. 

“You seemed interested in this genre, so I picked up a copy for you.” You motion for him to take it. 

There wasn’t a rule etched in stone that forbade the sharing of books within these quiet walls. The books on your shelves have been more interesting than his as of late. A pattern of folded corners inflecting more and more pages of the books lining your bookshelves, evidence of a certain man’s meddling.

 The warning glare every time you smoothed out a creased page directed his way didn’t seem to be enough to stop the unconscious habit of his hands.

It looks like you’re trying out a new solution, getting him his own copy to prevent the infection from engulfing each and every corner of your bookshelves. 

“Thank you, I’ll read it soon.” He accepts the peace offering. 

With that, you made your way back to the sofa. Flipping open your own copy, fingers gently making sure to not crumple the delicate pages or crease the pristine spine. Alhaitham compares it to the book currently held in his own hands.

An older book, while not falling apart or tattered, it’s obvious the man has thumbed through its pages. A well-loved book as his grandmother would’ve described it. 

Alhaitham needs to stop this practice he never corrected in childhood. 

———————————————————————————

“Alhaitham.” You greet him at the entranceway. 

Said man is currently placing his outside shoes away into the closet, returning from an uneventful day at his office. You usually got home before him, but this was the first time you’ve waited for him at the front door. He notes that you seem to be holding something behind your back. 

“Here.” Bring your arms out from your back, the distinct crinkling of plastic was heard.

Teal eyes study the gift basket filled with bath products, body wash, shampoo, conditioner, and lotion all nicely packaged with a satin ribbon. 

“It’s to thank you for helping me with errands lately,” you explain. 

Recently, you’ve been asking him to accompany you to the cluttered streets lined with stalls and haggling merchants. With his towering frame and larger hands, he could carry heavier bags and part a path through the pushy crowds easier. You were using your resources to maximize efficiency. 

“There’s no need to trouble yourself with this, I’m just doing my part. But thank you.” He takes the basket from your hands, eyes remaining collected. 

Just as the basket leaves your hands, the distinct chime of your phone goes off as ‘Bahram’ flashes across the screen. The name of your boss. 

“Excuse me, I have to take this call. Dinner will be ready in half an hour.” Turning away, you walk toward the kitchen. 

The he hums in response, slipping into his inside shoes. With brisk steps, he covers the distance from the front door to his room, closing then leaning against the solid oak.

Sharply inhaling as one hand balancing the basket of toiletries and the other holding his head. 

You’ve always prefer to maintain the serenity of the house. Resolving strife with proactive actions or brief comments. Not once in these past five years did you ever nag him, you’re too pragmatic for that. At times it’s a curse more than a blessing, evidenced by the gift basket staring back at him mockingly. 

Although Alhaitham was messy at times, he knows the importance of hygiene. Teeth brushed twice a day, a shower taken every day before dinner, and deodorant applied daily.

However, the temperatures this Summer were at record highs, even for Sumeru. The packed market streets pushing the two of you closer than usual, perhaps he’s no match for the heat this time. 

Washing his hair twice and his body thrice, Alhaitham finishes his prolonged shower by gurgling some mouthwash for good measure. Walking into the kitchen in a fresh set of clothes and his hair still damp. The table set with potato boat and some steak. Impassive eyes met inscrutable eyes as you motion for him to take a seat.

Your nose remained relaxed, meaning you were probably satisfied with his efforts. 

Alhaitham makes a silent reminder to research some cologne after he finishes washing the dishes. One that isn’t overbearing nor too weak to linger. 

How embarrassing it is, five years in and the stoic prodigy known as Alhaitham is still testing the bounds of his wife’s patience. Selfish experiments and habits he can’t seem to correct conflicting with your wishes for a clean, serene, and quiet home. 

The entire reason why you bothered signing your name next to a stone-faced man who said ‘I don’t believe in soulmates’ before asking ‘How are you?’.

Flowers, chocolates, and movie tickets.

You weren’t oblivious to the sentiment behind these arbitrary actions. In a way, it was expected. A husband wants to get closer to his wife, it’s simple chemistry.

The human mind craves connection, oxytocin, dopamine, and serotonin released at the sight of gifted blooms, crafted sweets, and from simply sitting within each other's presence.

A chemical cocktail the mind gets drunk on. 

Alhaitham isn’t immune to it and neither are you. Even if you were able to stiffen your lips, steady your gaze, and hide those flushed cheeks. Nothing you did could quell the abnormality in your chest, was Alhaitham having the same issue?

There comes the first hurdle, the unknown which hung in the air formed over years of peaceful silence. The thought of two stoic faces peering into each other’s eyes as two monotonous voices stated the obvious would make any romantic keel over and die.

It’d be too embarrassing, especially when it’s already been awkward. 

Headache caused by sickly sweet blossoms, spitting out pricey sweets, and dulled reaction to a critically acclaimed film. None of this was Alhaitham’s fault, how can you blame someone for something they don’t know?

He never asked, you never told.

No one knew what happened within that noisy house with empty bottle-covered floors of two ‘soulmates’ who refused to release their crushing grips. All except the three unfortunate souls trapped within its Padisarah-scented walls. 

Still, his keen eyes didn’t miss those details, reassessing his actions before ultimately channeling more of his energy into chores around the house instead of frivolous gifts. What a proactive husband. 

A sting of guilt felt as you recall his sincere attempts at trying to cross an icy bridge. What should you say? ‘Thank you, you tried.’ Sounded far too condescending, it could even lead to a huffy fight. Something you’ve been good at avoiding these past five years. 

Marriage is filled with compromises, meeting each other halfway along the road of life, side by side. So you tried this time.

Curiosity guiding you as it did a naive hero towards the brilliance of a red star. 

———————————————————————————

Your first attempt was inspired by an article that popped up on your phone’s feed, something about wearing your partner’s shirt to make them flush, nonsense known as the ‘boyfriend shirt’.

You still gave it a try. Swiping up one of your husband’s black button-downs one Saturday night, only building up the confidence to put it on the next morning. 

Your original plan was to just casually wear it around the house as you got the Sunday morning chores done, but that got thrown out when Alhaitham suddenly opened your door when one-third of the buttons were still undone.

A moment of tense silence followed, impressively you managed to maintain a cool facade. Grasping the opportunity to leave this stale silence with an expertly crafted response. 

———————————————————————————

In the end, he just wanted his shirt back. So for your next attempt, you toned it down, no longer taking advice from nonsensical articles. 

Recently, Alhaitham has taken more of an interest in your bookshelf. More of the once pristine edges of your books folder here and there. If it was anyone else, you’d make them buy you a new copy immediately, but for now, you simply smoothed out the paper.

If he wants to read the theories and studies that muse you, why don’t you read them together?

However, two bodies pressed together on a sofa trying to read the small print along pages at the same time is simply uncomfortable. Plus, Alhaitham reads much faster than you. 

To ensure a pleasant reading experience for both of you, two copies were the best solution. 

He read it after you. 

———————————————————————————

Your next attempts used thinly veiled excuses to get Alhaitham to accompany you to the bustling markets of Sumeru City. In a way, trying to make up for that lackluster movie experience.

Only for it to soon turn into using Alhaitham to carry arm fulls of bags as he shielded you from the push and pull of the busy crowd. 

Perhaps you should stick to gift-giving, to spare your husband from working like a Sumpter Beast in this weather.

But besides books, what should you give him? He’s just like you, if he sees something he wants, he’d just buy it with his own money. 

On the way home from work, you caught sight of a shop, one which displayed handmade soaps and fancy lotions. Huh, Alhaitham often takes your lotions, maybe you should get him his own. A bell ringing overhead announces your entrance into the cozy store. 

“Welcome!” A bright voice chirped as a shop assistant with vibrant red hair and an equally vibrant smile bounded toward you. 

“I’m Nilou, how may I help you today?”

“I’m just looking for some lotion.” You politely responded, trying to ignore the faint fragrance of Pardisarahs. 

“We’ve got plenty of hand-made ones, for you or for someone else?”

“For my husband.”

“Oh? What does he like?”

You paused for a moment, lips pressed together in contemplation before deciding. 

“Something fresh and not overbearing, nothing made from Pardisarahs.” If he liked using your lotions, then he must have the same scent preferences. 

“We just got this new lotion that fits the criteria! Oh! But it pairs very well with this body wash… actually this shampoo and conditioner set is also a good fit. Oh! What if we bundle them?”

What was supposed to be a simple lotion turned into you leaving the small shop with an entire gift basket. A sigh leaves your lips, looks like you’re not as immune to sales tactics as you originally thought. 

That night you handed the ribbon-wrapped basket to Alhaitham. Even if he isn’t interested in expensive handcrafted soaps, he’ll still use them out of necessity, they were a gift after all.

However, it doesn’t seem you had to worry about that. He used up the fancy soaps and lotions. 

The opulent scent lingering on his skin and towel-dried hair, looks like your gift made you discover a new side of your husband.

He enjoys really long showers, evidenced by your rising water bills. 

Still, the vast expanse of uncertainty didn’t shrink, not even one bit. Just like the distance between an outstretched hand toward the sun. 

Books, lotions, and walks through a market, looks like it was all for naught. 

The mutual agreement to not lock eyes, these cold halls, these awkward dinners filled with nothing but the clattering of silverware and plates. Where have you seen these patterns before?

Oh, you’ve seen these in your childhood home. 

Ah, was this a curse passed on to you? What an awful wedding gift from uninvited parents to a courthouse office. 

Clutching the straps of your bag tighter, your legs quicken their pace, wanting to get out of the crowded streets filled with the mumbles and pushes of people freshly off the clock.

With each stranger knocking into your shoulder another drop is added to a bottle. White knuckles gripping on your straps as a pressure rises within the bottle’s glass body, threatening to shatter it.

You can’t let this continue, the mounting pressure will sooner or later detonate into a hideous mess. Best to avoid that scenarios. Eyes catching sight of a small reprieve from the crowd, you direct yourself there.

 The small store front provides you with some shelter for your lungs to breathe. Inhale. Hold. Exhale. The pressure subsides just a bit. There’s still room in there, you can suppress a little more, you can endure a little longer. 

Eyelids fluttering open, you recognized the name of the shop. It’s the fancy soap shop, one with the vivacious sales assistant.

Peering through the glass you searched for that brilliant shade of crimson. And you found it, right next to glimmering silver hair. It’s like your body forgot how to breathe. 

From the rumbling of the late evening rush, all you could do was read their lips from behind a thick glass door.

Petite pink lips giggling behind clasped hands as Nilou looks up at Alhaitham, tilting her head to the side as if she asked him a question. His lips remained stiff, but teal gaze reflected crimson as they softened. Something you never witnessed within the quiet walls of your home. 

Looks like you found the cause of the rising water bills, perhaps Alhaitham likes the smell of Padisarahs. 

Your bottle couldn’t contain the ocean anymore. 

It wasn’t an Earth-shattering catastrophic event, no tidal waves crashing down, no flood flood devastating everything in its path. Only a defeated ‘pop’ and its pathetic echo as your bottle finally overflowed.

Bitter sea-foam fizzled out as it made an unseen mess. 

Listlessly, you rejoined the rolling crowd, letting the eb and flow of its movement carry you all the way to the front door of a false haven. Systematically inserting the key, placing your shoes into the closet, and shutting your room door behind your back. Staring at the clean floor with its intricate wood grain. 

However, your mind weren’t processing any of it, busy with its calculations.

When did his fever start? That one Autumn night with a chaste bouquet. What day is it now? The cusp of Summer. How long has it been? In a few months, it’ll be three years.

A lecture from an inescapable past resurfaces.

————————

“Hey, kiddo.” 

Slurred words made you stop in your tracks, small hands tightening their grip on your backpack straps.

You weren’t quiet enough, the careful steps of your feet were rendered useless when it came to the creaky wooden floors of this house. Your lungs burned for air, but you didn’t want to breathe in the stench which permeated this air. 

The aroma of cheap perfume, sour wine, and cheap beer. The source of this foul smell? The freshly awakened man laying on the couch just a few inches away: a man known as your father.

Still trying to reserve your stored supply of oxygen, all you offered the drunkard was a firm hum. Not that he’d care, judging from the crushed cans and empty bottles littering the path, he’s probably too far gone. 

“Did you know love is a chemical? Something called ‘phenylethylamine’?” A hiccup interrupts his sentence, but he continues, much to your dismay. 

“Haha, it makes your heart beat faster and your cheeks flush because it’s considered an amphetamine, one of the most powerful drugs.” His stumbling hand blindly reached for another can, knocking over empty shells until it found one with just a bit of liquor. 

“Too bad the high can only last three years.”

Your disinterested gaze trailed off down the empty hall, legs itching to break away from the lecture you’ve heard numerous times before. Lungs begging to inhale the untainted air of your room, the only sanctuary this hollow home held.

Just a few minutes was all you needed, then you’ll start mopping these foul floors. 

A clink of aluminum hitting the wooden boards draws your attention back to your father who had finished moisturizing his throat with another swig of beer. 

“Stay away from that drug, kiddo” A sloppy grin stretched across his face as he stared up at a blank ceiling. 

The sight made your arms bristle, seeing a smile on your father’s face was uncanny. Something you’ve never seen at the dinner table, just silent scowls and disgruntled glares constantly exchanged over a subpar meal. 

Wanting him to finish this one-sided conversation, you gave another firm hum, every now and then glazing back toward the hall. 

“Or you’ll end up like this old man.” He wraps the conversation up with a bitter laugh, one which resonated off the blank walls. 

————————

Maybe you should’ve heeded your father’s words. A brilliant scholar to the public but a pathetic drunk when within the confines of a cluttered, noisy house is still a brilliant scholar. 

This was your punishment for straying away from your beliefs. You reached your hand out towards the fire despite knowing it’d  hurt, and you fell in love. Now look at where you are. 

How utterly laughable, you, the ever-bright Ms. Perfect, who’s broken love down to its base form of chemical compounds, fell victim to the addiction that was love.

So blindsided by it.

The fog of love is slowly running its course through him. Once the trees abandon their vibrant greens for shriveled browns in the Autumn, his fever will be over. There’s no such thing as an endless Summer.

How did you not see this coming? Covering your eyes with ignorant hands, blatantly ignoring the signs right in front of your nose.

No more flowers, no more chocolates, and no more movies. 

Turning back around, you took note of a figure in a floor length mirror. Indifferent gaze identical to how your husband looks at you.

Two sides of the same mirror, what’s what you and him are. What’s the use of that? Shiny surfaces point off in opposite directions, yet only ever reflecting one view. What’s the point of having two sides then?

You don’t intrigue him, you can’t show him his blind spots, and you can’t reflect to him a view he’s never seen. Same perceptions, same hobbies, same expressionless faces, how stale it must be. 

It’s much more interesting to have a wife who’ll smile at receiving flowers, a wife whose eyes light up at chocolate, and a wife who’d blabber on about a movie as Alhaitham listens intently. The beating of his heart is starting with someone new.

Emerging out of your thoughts, you stare directly at the person in your mirror.

Dull eyes stared right back, light dimmed from years of staring at a bright star grasping at its warm rays in substitution of a cold house, only for your fingers to slip pass right through.

Idiotic girl, you can’t touch the sun, not even Icarus did. 

An unlovable child grew into an unlovable adult. Add that to your footnote, so you’ll never forget this lesson again. The fool in the mirror finally looks away. 

It didn’t matter if Icarus smiled or laughed as he tumbled from the sky. Silly girl, did you forget what happens in the end of that tale? He drowned alone. 

Drowning isn’t like what the movies show. The thrashing of limbs against cold waves, the garbled screams under the water, all accompanied by the ominous soundtrack crafted by a sound master. It’s all dramatized for the silver screen. 

Muscles pushing through the cold exhaustion, mouth agape but prioritizing large and fast gulps of oxygen over cries for help, followed by the melodic lull of water lapping over eardrums until the head disappears under its surface. Never to breach it again. 

It’s possible for a person to drown in a pool full of people. Just like how it was possible for you to feel alone despite having your husband just across the lacquered expanse of the dinner table. Forks and knives clacking porcelain plates.

It’s a silent death. 

For once you’re grateful to attend a nugatory dinner hosted by your company. Venue filled with superficial smiles and handshakes all over food served on sliver platters. Even if the heels are killing you, you’d rather not wallow in a quiet house.

A heavy sigh leaves your lips, catching someone’s attention. 

“What a heavy sigh, here have some wine to ease the burden.” A glass filled with fragrant wine was held out in front of you. 

Your eyes travel up the hand which offers the vile beverage to you, sights landing on the face of your boss, Bahram. Pushy as always, always testing the limits of your loyalty to a nice pension and dental insurance.

As always you politely push the glass away, uttering a firm “no thank you.”

“Oh c’mom Ms. Perfect, you look like you could use a drink.” He pushes the glass closer. 

 Stares from all around the formal dinner table hone in, the weight heavy on your shoulders. Stakeholders and coworkers turn away from their shallow conversations to watch the brewing spectacle just across the table.

That’s right, you have to be professional, where was your crafted mask? Make use of all those years observing the masters of deception you knew as your parents. 

So you accept the vile glass.

Before the aroma could register on your palate, you emptied the whole glass. Not a single drip escaped past your lips. It took all your strength to no scowl at the sweetly bitter and alcoholic flavor. 

“Oh? Ms. Perfect is drinking tonight?” Some nameless coworker mused. 

Ah, the name lightly tossed around at the office with oblivious chuckles and ignorant smiles. You despise being called that, but not as much as you despise being told ‘you’re just like your father’ and ‘you’re acting like your mother’.

Better to be Ms. Perfect, so disgruntled ‘soulmates’ can’t compare you to their flawed counterpart.

“Do you like this wine? Have some more.” Eagerly, your boss fills the glass once more. 

Staring at the beckoning liquid swirling in the glimmering cup, as the weight of those stares force your hands to accept it once more. 

Maybe you should’ve just stayed home. 

“I should really be trying to sell you our products but… I think you’ll find a better gift at another store. Here, I’ll write the address down for you! They have the best jewels, I’m sure you’ll find something for your wife there!” Hastily the shop assistant scribbles on a notepad before pushing the slip into his palm. 

“Just don’t tell my manager.” Clasping her hands in front of her mouth, signaling to him to keep a secret. 

Alhaitham simply nods, examining the address in his hands. He hasn’t tried jewelry yet, but a ring would look nice on your hand. Maybe you’d think so too.

“You really love her, don’t you mister?” Nilou notes how attentively his hands smooth over the address. 

Pausing for a moment, Alhaitham envisions the softness of your cheeks shifting as that tender smile spreads across your lips. Yours eyes reflecting the light off the polished and cut gem as he slips it onto your bare finger. 

“I do.” Unable to stop the softening of his gaze. 

———————————————————————————

A ring still left in its miserable black box, stowed away in the depths of a drawer. A sigh slips out of him just like how he let another opportunity to place the jewel on your finger pass. You’re attending a company dinner tonight, a rare occasion requiring you to dress up.

The dress draped over your figure and curves just right and highlighted the contours of your body. He wanted to tell you this earlier as you were leaving, too bad he was occupied with swallowing ‘stay home’. 

There’s an annoying itch in the deepest depths of his mind. Covetous hands crawled up his spine, they tried to convince his own fingers to grasp around your wrist and pull you back into the house.

Alhaitham shakes that itch away, refocusing his attention onto your bookshelf in front of him.

You have a life and responsibilities outside these walls, he can’t overstep the boundary to block you from your individuality. Running a finger along the tops of the neatly lined books, searching for something to redirect his impulses.

Momentum halting when his finger sunk into pages when he expected the firm edge of a spine. The force crumpling the paper, immediately he pulls it into his hands, smoothing out the folded edges. Title catching his attention. 

The Lifespan of Love, the only book where the spine wasn’t facing out. Flipping it to the back, Alhaitham scans the blurb, noting the portrait of the scholar who authored it.

A familiar face, a professor who’s lectures he barely attended. A distinguished researcher and mentor in the eyes of his old university.

The sight of his face made Alhaitham recall a scene he once witnessed. 

————————

The halls of the Psychology department were desolate, as they always were. A much-appreciated reprieve from crowded foyers as a quiet student walks to his next exam in the department next door. 

Just as his hand reached up to activate his headphones, two voices caught his attention, the high shrills of a woman and the raspy shouts of a man leaking out from an office door left ajar.

It has nothing to do with him, Alhaitham know this, but he still had 30 minutes to kill before the exam.

Teal eyes peer through the gap between the oak doorframe.

A man the student recongizes, but the scowl and flush of rage twisted his face into an unrecongizable mess. The professor juts his finger towards the woman as foul names left his mouth, the same mouth which lectured the brightest minds of Sumeru. 

The woman screams back equally loathsome words, tears leaving mascara trails down her red cheeks. Suddenly, she grabs a lamp off his desk and hurls it to the floor. 

For a brief moment, the scholar pauses as his eyes scanned over the broken debris scattered along the floor. Then his fist slammed into the solid oak of his desk, thud so forceful the office ratted with the poor furniture.

His shouts resume, volume escalating by the minute. 

Alhaitham backs away from the door, turning on his noise-canceling headphones. He’s satisfied his curiosity enough, walking off to his exam. 

————————

A peculiar sight behind the superficial mask of a respected professor with his jolly grin and light hearted jokes with students. Inspecting the name printed just underneath the portrait, a furrow forms between his brow as he scrutinizes the spelling closer.

The professor’s last name was spelled the same way as yours. 

Oh. So this is the source you were citing back then. Numbers and figures published by a notable name backing your rebuttal to the societal notion of a soulmate. Inquisiveness rearing its impatient nose, inciting his hands to choose this book as his subject tonight.

You never told him, so he never asked. This was a chance to peer into a view sealed behind your closed lips.  

To study, dissect, and analyze the resources which congergated together to form the you of today. Alhaitham isn’t going to deny such an opportunity.

Teal eyes glance at the ticking hands of a clock, he’s got a good few hours of reading before you return.

The distinct rumble of an engine leaking in through the living room window interrupts his peace, the slam of car doors causing Alhaitham to promptly fold over the corner of the page he has yet to finish.

The dinner must have ended.

Getting up from a cushy couch, Alhaitham makes his way toward the entranceway.

His keen ears picking up the unmistakable hearty chuckle of a man, Alhaitham stills for a brief second before continuing to the door. 

Before the chime of the doorbell had the chance to sound throughout the home, Alhaitham already pried open the front door.

Teal gaze darkening as they examine the display on the front steps. 

Your arm around the shoulder of another man while his arm was snaked around your waist, pressing your body against his as he supports you up the steps.

The sound of the hinges directs the man’s attention to the homeowner currently staring at him, oblivious to the way Alhaitham’s grip threatens to crush a metal handle behind solid oak. 

“Oh! You must be Ms. Perfect’s husband. I’m Bahram.” The man greeted.

Alhaitham already knows him. He’s seen that name flash up enough times across your phone. He’s seen you pick up no matter the hour and step out into an empty room.

A new habit of yours which started some months earlier.

“Haha! She drank a bit too much tonight.” The jovial man continues, his hand still resting on your hip.

Drank? You drank? You don’t so much as glance at Alhaitham’s wine cabinet at home, yet you drank with this man? The begins of scowl start to set into Alhaitham’s face. 

“I’ll bring her inside for ya.” Bahram takes a step forward only to be blocked by a towering frame topped with ashen hair. 

“I’ll take it from here.” Alhaitham barely bit back a pointed tone, forcibly smoothing it over to make his voice pass as neutral. 

Prying that hand off your hip and your arm from Bahram’s neck, Alhaitham’s strong hold supports your slumping figure against his own body.

Pulling you across the threshold of the front door, finally putting some distance between you and that damn boss of yours. 

“Have a goodnight.” Venomous lie rolling off Alhaitham’s tongue as he firmly shuts the oak door, not bothering with any more pleasantries. 

It didn’t take much effort to carry you into the living room. Setting you down on the sofa then kneeling down with dexterous fingers, Alhaitham freed your feet from the chokehold of those heels.

You make a mental note to throw them out tomorrow morning. 

“Thank you,” you breathed out, relieved to finally be home. 

Your husband doesn’t respond as he walk away to place your shoes into the closet. The lingering taste of wine churns your stomach, you needed some water to wash it out.

Carefully, you amble into the kitchen, grabbing a glass and filling it with fresh water. Praying it can finally rid you of that foul flavor. 

After three glasses of wine, your stakeholders and coworkers finally turned their attention elsewhere. You’ve entertained them enough.

Granting you the freedom to push away anymore glasses your boss offered, only getting him to stop after you agreed to his offer of driving you home.

What a troublesome night, your mood sourer than it has been for the past few months. 

As you fill up your glass again your ears catch the pattering of Alhaitham’s steps as he trails into the kitchen, stopping only a few paces away watching you glup down your second glass. 

“Did you enjoy yourself tonight?” His husky voice resounds from behind you as his finger taps against the marble countertop. 

“No.” You fill rinse out the cup, the stubborn grip of wine not releasing your tastebuds just yet. 

“Oh? It sure looks like you did.” 

Your body stiffens as your turn the faucet off, glancing over your shoulder with eyes narrowing. 

“What do you mean by that?” Your tone a bit more sharp than you’d like it to be. 

“I’m certain you know exactly what I mean.” Alhaitham stops his tapping as he lays his palm flat on the table, teal eyes boring straight into you. 

“Well, well looks like your assumption is wrong.” 

“I doubt it, stop mincing your words and just say you enjoyed a few drinks with your boss.” 

Your body turns around fully, glaring stare connecting with his teal one. Ticking of a clock sounding throughout the quiet kitchen.

So that’s why he’s behaving like this, partners with wandering eyes tend to project their hypocritical insecurities onto the other after all. 

“Then why don’t you say you’ve been enjoying your visits to Nilou?” Something more venomous than sour wine drips off your words. 

“How is she related to this conversation?” His eyes narrowing at you, unlike the same teal irises that reflected the scarlet of her hair. 

“You know exactly what I mean.” You spat his own words back at him, maneuvering around him as you make your way back to your room. 

At this point you weren’t sure what was the cause of the headache threatening to form.

The wine? This deafening silence? Or the thought of Padisarahs?

You don’t care, you want to go to bed. The thuds of his steps weren’t far behind yours as you trek through the halls.

“Our conversation hasn’t concluded.” His deep voice ringing in your ears. 

“Yes it has.” Your room was just in sight.

“No it hasn’t.” His hand encloses around your wrist.

There you were, halfway through the doorframe of your room with the pull of his hand preventing you from getting the rest you want.

There’s no longer any space left in a shattered bottle, just a rippling ocean getting rougher and rougher with each deep breath. 

“Can’t you be honest?” His ironic, paradoxical words causes the tide to crush against each other. 

“Can’t you be honest? Do you think I wouldn’t notice your showers right as you come back from ‘work’? You’ve been driving the water bill up with your cover-up efforts.” Glaring right into those damn beryl eyes, frown breaking your stiff lips. 

“Cover-up? What a bold accusation coming from the same person who awaits a call everynight.” He mirrors your scowl. 

“Maybe its because work offers better company than this stifling house.” 

Alhaitham grip tightens on your wrist as his lips press into a firm line, indecipherable stare weighing down upon your frame. His broad shoulders rise as he takes a deep breath. 

“Strip,” he commands.

“Have you gone mad?” You snap back, unable to budge in his hold. 

“Yes, furious even.” 

It didn’t take much effort for him to make his way into your room, pulling you in as well. You could barely keep up with it all, glaring at him but it didn’t affect him one bit.

The movement causes your dress to shift. Glancing down you realize a strap of your dress slipped off, leaving one side of your breast dangerously exposed. 

With swift strides, he arrives at the edge of your bed. It’s rare for you to dawn such attire, applying a lovely shade of crimson to those plush lips, and tying your hair up so nicely. Did you get all dressed up for Bahram? Why couldn’t it be for his viewing only? 

Tsk, noisy nonsense is cluttering his mind, those the claws of a green-eyes monster digging into his last shred of restraint. Seizing his rationality in its ugly, greedy hands tighter and tighter the longer your soft thighs pressed against his tense body.

Crashing into those crimson lips of yours, one hand positioning your face to allow his tongue to catch yours by surprise. Letting the two muscles dance together as his other hand explored the expanse of your body, pulling up the silky fabric to grant his palm the pleasure of gracing your soft thighs. 

‘Oh, so this is what he wants,’ you thought as your lips moved against his.

‘Fine, might as well experience what he’s been doing behind your back.’ The fingers of your free hand tangling themselves into his hair, tugging at ashen locks with disregard. 

Unfortunately, the pesky need for oxygen made Alhaitham release your lips. Chest panting as his darkened gaze observed the state of your lips. Crimson smeared over the corner of your glossy lips. You put so much effort into painting them, making sure they were nicely defined. 

However, it felt so cathartic to know that he’s the one who messed them up, no one at the party saw them like this. Only him. 

“I’ll ask you one last time, strip now.” Not letting go of your face. 

“Go to hell,” you spat out. 

And the last chain broke, dignity and self-control reduced to nothing more than ash as his hunger commanded him. Go to hell you say?

“Then I’ll take you with me,” he sneers through clenched teeth, pushing you into the mattress face down. One hand restraining those disobedient hands of yours behind your back.

Before protest could leave your lips a rip resounds through the hot air.  Alhaitham knows he should be delicate with it. That he should carefully pull the zipper down your back, letting the fabric naturally drape off your frame.

 However, a man who starved for six years now knows nothing about patience. 

You feel the silky fabric slip off, leaving you in nothing but your panties. Teal eyes honing in on the darkened patch on the thin fabric, a dry chuckle leaving his lips.

“Wet just from this? Or were you wet during dinner too?” He pulls the fickle fabric off. 

You wiggle in his hold, face flushed with frustrated embarrassment at your current predicament. However, in terms of strength you’ll always lose to Alhaitham. A violent flinch jolts your body as he runs a finger runs along your glistening slit. 

“What a lewd thing, has he seen this slutty hole of yours?” Alhaitham watches the way your cunt quivers with each stroke of his digit. 

“Do really you think I’d sleep with my boss?” Your voice slightly muffled by the sheets as you turn your face to the side. 

“I need to confirm it.”

With two fingers, he spreads your soft pussy lips apart, keen eyes observing the trail of slick starting to drip down from between them. He sees the muscles of your entrance clenching around nothing, he glides a digit in, feeling your slick walls clamp around it. Clear essence drooling out. He hums in satisfaction before sliding his finger out, you bite into the sheet to silence any sounds. 

“Enjoying this?” He muses, fingers spreading your cunt again. 

You don’t respond, but the glare you’re sending his way makes his lip curl into a smirk. For once he could read the emotions behind your stoic eyes, he wants to see more.

Trailing his fingers up your slit until they bump into a hard nub making your body twitch. Softly pinching your clit between two fingers, he slowly rolls the senesitve bundle of nerves as you bite harder to stop your moans. 

Cunt slick but unstretched, clit throbbing but not swollen, only your essence coating his fingers. Looks Bahram hasn’t gotten the chance to taste you yet.

Calming the thrashing of a green-eyed beast just slightly. However, this wasn’t enough. Alhaitham feels the parchedness of his throat as his eyes scan over your glistening slit.  

Alhaitham once believed that the touches exchanged when his fingers brush against yours while passing plates, when you pull a blanket up his napping frame, or when your bodies briefly pressed against each other as he helps you hang the laundry out was enough to satisfy him. That he could sustain off just borrowing your lotions. 

Such a false assumption, a foolish one even. As the heat radiating off your body melts away another restraint he imposed on himself. Alhaitham realizes just how much he’s been starving himself. 

Thumb rubbing firm circles into your clit, the pleasure making your legs close together, trying to shut him out but the grip of his hand stops your attempt. 

“Tsk, stay still.” His strength pinning your legs apart, showing you just how ‘feeble’ he was. 

In retaliation, he pushes your legs further apart. Exposing more of yourself to him, it was embarrassing enough to almost make your lust-hazed mind care.

Thick fingers gathered up drops of slick leaking out from your dripping cunt as your lewd hole unable to contain its greed. Allowing him more access, feeding into his greed further.

Two fingers tracing the rim of your entrance before it slowly pushes through. Instantly, your gummy walls clamped down on his fingers, making him hiss through clenched teeth.

“If you’re grasping my fingers this much, how will you take something larger?” His breath ghosting over your cunt. 

Your toes curled in the air as a kiss was pressed against your throbbing clit, almost enough to let a gasp escape you. Biting back a drawn out moan as his tongue traced your leaking slit, starting with your sensitive numb then traveling up to lap at the essence escaping your stretched hole with the smooth muscle then back to flick at your clit.

You never realized just how pent up your body was until whines and moans just fell from your lips like water. Turning your head away, pressing your face into the mattress in hopes it’d catch those sinful sounds. 

“Tsk.” Alhaitham escalated the pace of his fingers. 

A sharp slap against your puffy clit, shooting white-hot pleasure up your core. With a gasp you pulled away from the sheets, unable to stop the moan which tumbled out. Hastily, you tried to muffle your voice again, only for a warning squeeze on your still pinned wrist stopping you.

You’ve enjoyed your silence, he’s been deprived of those sultry moans, so for tonight let him enjoy them to the fullest extent. 

Your back arched, hips bucking in the air. Your little pussy finally rewarded his hard work with a rush of slick soaked the sheets and his face further. Swiftly removing his fingers again with a disgraceful squelch, only for his tongue to dip into the cavern they left. He slurped and lapped up every drop of your nectar, quenching a thirst he never knew he had. 

Overstimulated clit trying to flinch away from each nerve-frying lick while your weeping walls beckoned his tongue to go deeper. The tightness in his pants was painful now, engorged tip rubbing against the fabric and soaking it in precum.

With his unyielding hold, his half-lidded eyes, and his unrelenting tongue lapping up all of your essence while bullying your poor nub, you were powerless. Unable to hide from his hungry gaze, nails digging into his unflinching hand, and chest heaving with the mounting pleasure in your core.

Scowl long replaced by a loose expression, the pleasure ripping through every fiber of your being. Shooting up from your curled toes to the eyes seeing only the back of your head, the edge growing closer and closer-

Alhaitham pulls away, your slick dripping down his chin glistening in the moonlight illuminating the room. Cruelly pulling back from the edge before you could taste true euphoria. No, he doesn’t think you deserve it yet. Flipping your body effortless on your back, wrists now pinned above your head.

His teal eyes drank the sight of your breast bouncing with each pant, puffy cunt clenching desperately, and the glimmering tearful eyes rivaling the stars themselves. A sight so sinful the devil is writhing in envy. 

“What the fuck?!” You thrashed in his hold again, mourning the lost of the orgasm your body was denied. 

“With this attitude, you should be grateful for what you got. I’m tired of waiting.” Alhaitham sneers next to your ear, chest pressed against yours before his warmth pulls away. 

Tugging his pants and boxers down his thighs with a hand still coated in your nectar, trailing kisses and red splotches in the valley of your breast as his precum and your slick mixed with each stroke of his shaft. The wet sounds even reached your ears.

Making the mistake of looking down, your eyes widened as they comprehended his length and girth. Your restless pussy twitching but your legs closing as to preserve the last of your ego. Something thick pressed against your dripping pussy making your hole quiver and legs freeze as his tip threatens breach your entrance.

“Trying to be coy now? When you were moaning like a whore mere minutes ago.” Smug teal eyes peering down at you. 

Another frown breaks onto your face at his pointed words. Your tongue is just as sharp, best to remind him of that fact.

“What a practiced line, you say the same things to her as well?” A mocking smile curling your lip as a scowl tugs down at his.

Too self-satisfied with your small victory to notice his large hand gripping onto your hips, aligning himself with you. With a sinful squelch, Alhaitham snaps his cock fully in. Your lips thrown open with a gasp as your back arches off the mattress.

“I. Never. Had. An. Affair. So, instead of spewing out anymore nonsense, why don’t you just moan instead?” Puncuating each word with thrust of his hips, feeling the vibration of each syllable in his chest pinned against yours. 

Jagged words ready at the tip of your tongue, yet you couldn’t form a single sentence. With a broken moan your back slowly descended back onto the sheets.

Tearing a hiss from his clenched teeth and a breathless moan from you, gummy walls contracting down tighter and tighter with each girthy inch pushed as his balls slap against the slick down your ass. Nothing could’ve prepared him for this. Alhaitham stays there, tip pressed against the deepest part of you, a furrow between his brows.

Alhaitham knows he should be gentle. He knows he should allow your walls to grow accustomed to his girth by slowly rolling his hips against yours. 

However, you just won’t stay still. Mewling and whining against his frame, nails clawing at his hand as your legs fluttered in the air. Each movement makes your pussy slurp around his stiff cock, lapping at the girth as if trying to pull him deeper than he already was. 

Tempting his hunger like a lunatic testing a starved beast, it’ll only be so long before the hunger bends the iron bars containing it and devours you. 

“AH!” A sharp slap of his hips rips a moan from your lips. 

Alhaitham pulls you off his cock until the tip threatens to slip out, then thrusts it all back in one fluid motion. Instinctively your teeth clamps down on your disobedient lips, desperately trying to bite back those lewd noises. The slurping of your greed welcoming him over and over was embarrassing enough. 

What a selfish move, trying to deprive him once more of your pretty moans. Provoking that ugly appetite within the pits of his stomach again. If you won’t behave, Alhaitham decides to fuck the stubborness out of you. 

Each thrust of his hips into yours rocking the sturdy bed, bullying your poor sensitive pussy still recovering from a ruined orgasm. Hands and hips held within bruising grips. The pitched gasps every time he railed into a certain spot didn’t escape his keen ears, his hips now angled to bully that spot with each thrust.

How helpless you were to the devastating rush of dopamine, endorphins, and oxytocin. Unable to ground yourself on anything, your last wisps of sanity swept away by the waves of pleasure. 

A groan reverberates deep in Alhaitham’s chest, the sudden convulsions of your slick walls trying to milk him. It was almost impossible to move with the way your pussy just kept clamping down.

Unfortunately, his hips couldn’t seem to care, operating solely on selfish desire.

Fortunately, a fresh wave of arousal aided in his rhythm, relentless slams bouncing your body and bed. 

Strength long leaving your arms Alhaitham releases his hold on them in favor of supporting your limp hips, a breathy chuckle leaving his lips as lust-hazed eyes honed in on the frothy white ring forming on his shaft.

All your lips could do was babble out nothings as the headboard continued to beat the poor wall. Cunt thanking his cock with a contraction every time his tip knocks against your weakness. 

The sweet moans caressing his ears, the filthy slaps echoing through the room, and your walls pulling him deeper and deeper, Alhaitham was at his limit.

There was nothing separating you two, he had enough sense left to know that. Reeling in the reins of his greed, he pulls back, fingers digging deeper into your plush skin. Well, he tried to pull back, but your locked ankles behind his back foiled this plan. 

He felt so hefty in you, heavy balls slapping against your ass as his girth and length tore apart your sensibility. Something deep inside your cunt pleaded to be fed, to be filled, pushing your limp legs to lock ankles.

He feels a bit too far for your liking, blindly your hands groped at his body. Finally, reaching his face, cupping it roughly, you crash his lips down onto yours. Tasting yourself on his tongue still, but you couldn’t care less.

As your tongues tangled together, Alhaitham reached his limit. Pressing his thick tip as deep as it’d go, thick ropes of cum start to coat your walls with each twitch of his cock. His shaky moans swallowed up by your kiss.

The slurping of your pussy milking his still throbbing cock only prolonged his hunger. 

Dropping his head into the space between your neck and shoulder, he relishes in what he’s been depriving himself of. Feeling the faint shiver of your neck against his face.

Something was fogging up his mind, Autumn breeze doing nothing to quell the heat burning him.

–

“Ah! Mmmh! A-ah Ah!” 

The first rays of dawn breaking through the navy sky, the light so flushed by the scene it witnessed, it’s pink hue illuminated skin into the room heavy with lust and the slap of wet skin. 

“N-no more… too m-Ah!-much-ch.” Intoxicated brain sputtering out broken sentences. 

 It really was too much, you’ve cum too much to bother remembering, from the creamy drops dripping onto the soaked sheets, he’s also cummed too much.

Pussy overflowing and spasming with each thrust pushing more milky seed out.

Cock rubbing its red tip rawer with each quiver of your gooey walls. 

Six years of starvation will make any man forget gluttony is a sin.

“Too much? No More?” A husky pant between each word as Alhaitham continues with his punishing rhythm. 

“If that’s the case… then why is your pussy refusing to let me go?” His chest pressed against your back, caging you further as his breath tickles your ear. 

Unable to form a sentence anymore, your head pathetically shook side to side, stubbornly denying the obvious. Looks like he hasn’t fucked out of you yet, better change that. Large fingers digging further down on bruised hips, as the pistoning of his thrusts escalated.

Bed frame pushed to its limits.

Each smack of his hips against your limp body further drowning your pride out in a flood of dopamine. It’s mounting again, that familiar pressure building up in your core, making your toes curl in painful arches.

There’s a sudden flick at your swollen clit, walls flinching as his fingers encircles around the abused nub. 

“Who’s making you feel this way?” His husky voice too close to your ear.

Groundless pride preventing you from unsealing you lips, refusing to feed into his ego anymore than your wanton moans already did. 

“Who are you showing this shameful face to?” There’s an edge to his voice again, why must you be so stubborn?

Once more you refused to answer. Making Alhaitham’s jaw clench and his fingers roll your clit harsher, making your bruised hips thrash.  

“Who’s shape is engrained into this lewd body?” Voice dangerously low as he pushes his thick tip deeper against your beaten and painted walls, fingers never stopping their torment on your little nub. 

The edge was getting closer, you knew you’ll fall off it soon, you’ll dive head first into the euphoric sea of dopamine, endorphins, and oxytocin and drown.

“Ah-ah Al-mmh!” You try to collect your breath.

Alhaitham quickens his fingers on your clit, feeling your greedy cunt clamp down on him again, walls suckling his twitching tip as his balls tighten. He’s close, but he needs you to say what he’s been waiting to hear all night. 

“Alh-ah a-a…” Your hips shaking violently in his hold now. 

Lust-glazed eyes staring straight into equally hazed teal eyes. Shaky hands slowly weaving themselves into his damp ash locks, gently pulling his ear closer to your lips, your hoarse voice just barely audible.

“A bastard.” 

Self-satisfied smirk plastered over your loose face as your tear blurred vision catches the stunned expression on his handsome face. 

The heat of his touch, the chemical stirring in your brain, and the pleasure frying your nerves made a delirious smile grace smudged lips. Your sight so hazed by lust you couldn’t see where your smile was even directed to.

Alhaitham wanted to etch the sight of your debauch face, smeared makeup and glazed eyes rolled back, into his memories forever.

Too caught off guard by your response to remind his hand to stop its movement before it was already too late. Eyes seeing the back of your head, back arching under his frame, you fell back into the all consuming waves of pleasure. 

A hard earned victory in this veiled battle of two egos. Exhaustion seeping into every fiber of your being. The pale pink of twilight dimming in your vision as the dark hands of sleep covers your eyes.

Somewhere in the middle of drifting off into a blank nothingness, you feel a hand tenderly guiding your head to rest on a soft pillow. 

Your eyelids twitch and brows furrow as the brightness of the room crept its way behind your shut eyes. Unable to retreat back into the dark embrace of sleep, you begrudgingly open your heavy lids.

Greeted by blurred shapes and fuzzy colors, you slowly blink your unfocused eyes. Gradually, the shapes and colors merge into distinguishable objects: a mug left on your bedside table with vapors rising from its rim. 

“It’s morning-after tea.” A husky voice followed by the distinct flip of paper tenses every muscle in your body. 

Alhaitham’s still here. You wish he wasn’t, you wish he’d realize last night was a mistake created from the clashing of egos, you wish the other side of your bed was empty.

So why did the tightness in your chest melt away with the mere sound of his voice?

You drag your sore body up from the sheets, shaky hands supporting the weight of numb legs and throbbing hips. Your sealed lips refusing to give him the satisfaction of any audible ques of your current state.

Sitting at the edge of your bed, back bare of anything but your hair draping over the marked skin facing him, you took the warm cup into your hands. 

A harmony of methodical sips and soft turns of pages fill the room, an open window washing away the haze of lust with an Autumn breeze. Just as the last bit of tea slides down your throat a gentle slap of a book snapping close brings an end to the heavy silence. 

“It’s unreliable,” Alhaitham announces. 

Peering over your shoulder with a quirked brow, freezing as you recognize the book clutched in his hands. Not waiting for a response, he continues. 

“Anyone with eyes can see how his biases exude through each sentence. He only studied 15 couples, not an appropriate sample size for a world filled with millions of pairs. His experiments have yet to be replicated, it seems his status is what got this nonsense published.” He sets the book down. 

“What are you trying to say?” Your eyes narrow in suspicion. 

“Your theory of phenylethylamine having a shelf life is based on nonsense.” His eyes connect with yours with that familiar indifference. 

A frown twists your face, so he still wants to argue huh. Of course, what else did you expect? You and him have long gone down the bitter circular path you’ve seen travled before.

Irritation rising in your chest, like Alhaitham had jabbed his finger into a wound you’ve yet to heal. 

“Oh, then your theory must be the intrinsic truth, huh?” Words leaving an acidic aftertaste on your tongue. 

“I never-”

“Look at you, so correct with no data to support your vague mathematical thesis.” You cut him off, anger replacing the soreness of your legs. 

Cup knocking against a bedside table as your hand casts it to the side, getting off the bed you march into your closet, pulling a random shirt on without regard of your movements wrinkling the fabric.

You just needed to leave this room, just being by his side is making your blood pressure rise. Your bed creaks as Alhaitham gets up as well, but your back was already through the door. 

Two sets of steps trekking through the halls, paces mismatched as one tries to take quicker steps to counter the broader strides of the other. Alhaitham keeps pace with your escalating march. 

“It’s a critique of his research, not you,” he voices. 

You didn’t want to hear it, sharply pivoting into your home office, but you weren’t fast enough to stop Alhaitham from following you in.

Now a husband wants to spend time with his wife, where was this before? 

“It’s an experiment conducted at the Akademiya, how is that not reliable enough? You think you can do better?” Your body whipping around with a glare directed at him, your hideous ego showing its face again. 

“Are you listening to yourself right now? Do you even believe in such a shallow analysis?” He mirrors your glare. 

“I’d rather believe in something with actual quantifiable numbers.” 

“Fine, you want quantifiable numbers? Care to calculate along with me? Or is your mind still recovering from last night?” Alhaitham folds his arms in front of his chest. 

“Go for it,” you say through gritted teeth, accepting his challenge, wanting to shush that snooty tone of his. 

“The Akasha bases its pairs off demographic, interest, and dispositions, all variables we can calculate,” he states. 

You straighten up your back, staring him in those teal eyes with your head held up high.

“Sumeru city is home to roughly 1 million people. Only 1/3 are around my age.” Alhaitham begins his trail.

“That brings that number down to about 333,333.” No delay in your response.

“Only 1 in 10 people have a personality I can tolerate, then suppose only 1 in 20 of those people can withstand mine.”

“ Rounding up that leaves about 1,667 candidates.” You tsk at his estimations, that number should be far greater than 20. 

 “Next comes shared interest, only 1 in 4 people have touched a physical book in the past year.” 

“417 left.”

Perhaps the gods didn’t think cheating you out of a childhood was enough, out of 417 people you had the misfortune of staring at his stony face. 

“Having to arrange 417 separate meetings at a small cafe would be much too burdensome for the Department of Human Relations. The scope needs to be narrowed further.” Alhaitham takes a step forward.

“Only 1 in 16 will have the patience to teach a grown man how to avoid wrinkles in his button downs.” Baritone voice losing its pointed edge. 

“26 left.”  You take a step back to preserve the space, hating how your skin craves the heat of his. 

“Only 1 in 8 of those people will allow me to borrow their books even when they know the edges of the paper will be creased when its returned.” He takes another step.

As you take another step backwards, the edge of your office desk prevents you from retreating further. The sensation of the cold wood distracting you momentarily from your calculations. 

“Then only 1 in 6 people will drape a blanket over a body that hogs an entire couch for a nap, placing a pillow under my head to ensure I don’t wake up with a sore neck.” Alhaitham doesn’t stop. 

Reaching an arm out, he firmly sets his palm on the expanse of your desk, caging you between the wood and the risk of your skin feeling the heat radiating off his body. 

“How many people are left now?” His breath ghosts the shell of your ear.

“ 0.543,” You blurted out.

A deep furrow appears between your brows, something must’ve gone wrong in your calculation, it’s impossible to have half a person. In the context of the Akasha, one person, a whole person, is matched to another.

Once more your mind ran the numbers over again, then again, and then thrice trying to recompute the figures. 

Each time the same number came back: half a person. 

“Are you mocking me with those groundless fractions? Where did you even get those statistics from?” Your pointed gaze still directed at him, did he intentionally lead you down this illogical trail? 

“Logic is neither an art nor a science but a dodge.” He peers down at you, teal gaze back to its neutral state. 

“Ha! Says the man who places logic and rationality on a pedestal, what caused such a change, Alhaitham?” You laugh dryly, not bothering to decipher the most brainless qoute you ever heard him use. 

No change in his expression as his shoulders rise with a deep inhale, exhaling slowly as he leans his face in, his finger digging his palm against lacquered wood. 

“Instead of wasting time citing subpar research, you should’ve just been honest. Then maybe I’ll give you what you want and sign those damn papers you hid away in this desk.” Voice low but steady as his gaze never leaves your frame. 

It was a strange phenomenon, the chirping of the crickets had halted as two bodies remained unmoving, not even a single grain of dust dare move. If it weren’t for the faint ticking of a hallway clock, it would’ve seemed like time had stopped.

How long has he known about the divorce papers neatly stacked away a desk drawer?

Alhaitham slowly backs his body away from yours, hand returning to his side, freeing you from the cage it created. Teal eyes carefully observes your downcast stare and stiff shoulders as guilt suffocated him.

All the emotions he bottled up, all the fervor he held back, all the desires he swallowed down. It all came tumbling out, spilling out into a murky, repulsive mess. 

“Wife.” If he had spoken any louder than a breathy whisper, that word would’ve crumbled on his tongue. 

“I love you.” Alhaitham finally allows the words which have been clinging on his tongue for years now to fall out of his mouth. 

Every inch of you froze at those three words, the weight of his stare heavy on your shoulders.

“Do you really feel nothing from those words?” Baritone voice beckoning an answer from you. 

You don’t dare lift your head, gaze downcasted and frozen. Because you know you’ll have to stare at your reflection in his eyes. 

Phenylethylamine, oxytocin, dopamine.

All these hormones and chemicals should’ve ran their course through your body. The haze should’ve faded and the abnormality of your chest should’ve corrected itself. It’s been three years at this point.

So, why is your chest aching?

The wood grain of the floor began to blur together as bitter tears compensated for the painful stinging of your irises. There it is, your brain finally short-circuits as the logic which once held up your sanity has crumbled away. 

Finally, you met his gaze, staring right at your reflection in teal irises. 

“It’s suffocating to be with you… it’s so lonely in this quiet house… it burns me like fire to touch you… yet… and y-yet see-”

“Seeing you leave will kill me, ” Alhaitham spoke the words just about to fall from the tip of your tongue.

The last piece of evidence that shattered the hypothesis he cultivated for all his life. If soulmates don’t exist, if the concept of an ‘other half’ doesn’t exist, then why is he feeling the same agony as you?

Looks like both theories were wrong in the end. Mathematics and chemistry unable to solve the enigma known as love. 

“I… I want to love… but I’m drowning… Alhaitham.” You were finally honest, you’ve been drowning all your life, thrashing hands searching for something to hold onto.

Would you be oh so kind enough to grab that pen just behind you and stab its steel nib into his chest? Alhaitham’s certain that it would hurt less than the words that left your trembling lips. 

A gentle hand cradled the back of your head as he pulls you closer. Letting those bitter tears strain his shirt and burn his skin.

No one, but the audience of a curious star and capricious gods peering down behind their blanket of clouds into this quiet house. 

Alhaitham once thought of himself as a good husband. Doing his fair share of chores and paying his half of the bills.

However, seeing your broken figure barely clinging onto his stiff frame, it’s clear that his overconfident assessment was a grave error. 

A  good husband would’ve been more attentive. A good husband would’ve noticed the tide slowly sweeping you away into the rough sea. A good, loving husband would’ve never let you sink alone in salty tears.

“Then I’ll drown with you.” His other hand grasping onto one of yours, slowly easing it away from his wrinkled shirt with soft caresses. 

Only monsters live in the deep cold sea, the only creatures able to survive the saltine waters and the pitch black nothingness. But as long as your fingers wove themselves into the gaps between his, he’ll be warm even as he sits on the sandy bottom of the murky ocean. 

Maybe that’s where the two of you belonged, two unromantic and prideful fools sitting at the bottom of the ocean.

Hand in hand so that the stupidity contained between the two of you won’t pollute anyone else. 

Gradually, those aching hiccups of yours faded into nothing more than muffled whimpers. Allowing silence to creep its way back into the gaps. The cause of this mess in the first place.

He has to remedy this, but what should he say? All those encyclopedias and journals he had thumbed through were all for naught. For Alhaitham’s mind couldn’t recall one fact from those pages.

One hand patting a slow rhythm into your back, trying to buy the man some time.

When logic and reasoning fail to explain the unexplained, folklore takes its place.

“According to legends, people used to have two pairs of hands, two pairs of feet, and two faces pointed in opposite directions.” He began.

“Back then, humans were powerful, powerful enough to threaten the gods who created them. So the gods split them in two. Cursing humans to a cruel search, desperate to be whole again.” His other hand still toying with your fingers.

You peer up at him, head still resting against his chest, feeling the soft beating of his heart. Blinking away the tears, listening to his telling of a myth. 

“That’s the origin of a soulmate.” He finishes.

A soft giggle leaves your lips, a mixture of confusion and disbelief from Alhaitham quoting a fairytale. 

“And you believe in that?” Amused gaze connecting with brilliant beryl eyes. 

“Yes…because I found you.” Alhaitham tenderly brings your hand up to his lips, pressing a kiss against your fingers as a glint catches the sunlight. 

With a foreign sensation hugging a finger, your brows furrow. Holding your hand out toward the light again. Blinking eyes finally identify the gem which coyly appeared on your ring finger.

So that’s what he was doing, your tear stained cheeks shifting up as a smile stretches your once stiff lips.

Burying your head in the chest of the most unromantically romantic idiot you’ve ever known, a radiant laugh bubbling in your chest as it resonates off quiet walls. 

But as he is, so are you: An unromantically romantic soulmate in love. 

~Fin

©️vivalabunbun DON’T PLAGIARIZE, REPOST, OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS. 

THE CUT THAT ALWAYS BLEEDS

Keigo Takami is in love with you, and you don't love him back

Hanahaki disease, angst, fluff, workplace romance

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Keigo starts his morning the same way he has for the past two months, by coughing up a handful of bloody petals.

It splatters against the pure white of his toilet bowl, and he watches, knees digging into the floor and hands grasping the lid as they wash away, the water turning pink as the red petals disappear. It’s disgusting, really, the way he’s sprawled on the toilet floor, and on any other day he wouldn’t even consider touching the lid of any toilet, even his. But he doesn’t care, because the pain in his chest is aching, and his lungs burn as tries to breathe in, and Keigo cannot stop thinking about you.

The first time he’d coughed up a petal, it was after a week of pain. He thought it might just be the flu, or some other illness he’d caught from flying around in the cold winter winds. But then one night it had reached its peak, and Keigo was in slight disbelief at the red rose remains in his hand after he’d coughed his lungs out. It was small and bloody. He didn’t know what to think of it, so he didn’t. Maybe he swallowed something when he was flying, who knows. It wasn’t anything to worry about, he decided.

And then it happened again. And again. And it’s been happening ever since, now two months later, only getting worse and worse as the days go by. It was only after a week that he looked up his symptoms, the flowers and the blood and the constant pain in his chest, and the internet said there was only one thing it could be. 

Hanahaki disease. It originated in Japan, apparently, and was rare, but real. Keigo skipped past all the useless information to find what he really needed. He found it’s a disease where someone coughs up flowers due to unrequited feelings for somebody. And he knew, the minute he read those words, that his unrequited feelings were for you.

Keigo had never loved anyone in his life. Not his parents, for obvious reasons, and his training at the Hero commission had meant that he had no time for it anywhere else. Not that there was anybody in there to love, anyway. And now, as a Pro hero with his own agency, he didn’t want love. It complicated things, and he was in no position for a relationship anyway. He barely had time for himself, so how could he deal with a relationship? So Keigo filled the empty parts of himself with meaningless sex with whoever he found. At parties, at award evenings. It was just the physicality of it, skin on his own. He craved it and got it where he could. It pissed his publicist to no end, but they usually kept quiet, and scandals always did good for the agency. 

And then he met you.

His assistant had quit. Something about better opportunities, work closer to home. He had flashed her his best smile, sent flowers to her home, and waited dutifully in his office for you to walk in the next day. And you did, perfectly pressed shirt and black skirt, smiling so sweetly at him and introducing yourself, and he knew it was over. 

It’s not his fault. What couldn’t he love about you? You were funny, you were kind. You brought him breakfast every morning and started leaving a pillow and a blanket in his office when you knew he’d come off a night shift. You actually spoke to him like he was a person, not Hawks, not the Number two hero. It didn’t take long for the feelings to start but he thought he was pushing them down well enough.

These flowers tell him he’s not. 

He flirts with you, and the two of you joke around, but nothing ever comes of it because he knows you don’t like him back. And even if you did, Keigo would never do you the horrible favour of burdening you with loving somebody like him.

Keigo sighs, pushing himself gingerly to his feet. He clears his throat and it stings from the acidity of throwing up. He moves on autopilot, shrugging on his coat and typing the laces on his boots. His mind races with thoughts of you, of how long he has left. The final stages are apparently whole flowers and he ignores the voice in the back of his mind that says judging by what he just coughed up, he’s getting dangerously close to the end.

The weather outside is cold and bitter. Keigo hates winter, hates how he has to bundle to avoid the sharp, piercing wind whenever he flies. It’s harder to patrol in the dark and you’re less likely to leave the agency for your lunch break, so it also means he can’t use it as an excuse to take you out. He steps out on his balcony, sliding the door behind him, and he shuts his eyes.

Sometimes he thinks in another life, he’d tell you. In another life maybe he was just an assistant like you, someone normal, someone you deserved. That after his shift he’d get to come home and you’d have cooked dinner or he’d bring home takeout. He craves normalcy, to have a home with someone, and he can’t help but dream it’s with you.

He slips his goggles on and pulls up the gaiter around his neck. He steps forward and with one strong flap of his wings he’s in the air. 

The flight to the agency doesn’t take long. Nothing really does, to be honest. He’s not patrolling today but he still keeps an eye on the ground, the sky still dark as the world wakes up around him. He lands deftly in his own office, and the wide windows being pushed open already lets him know you’re in the building too. He runs a hand through his hair, quickly checking his reflection to make sure he looks good. He does, obviously, but he can’t help but worry. There’s a familiar knock on his door, and you don’t wait for him to let you in before you enter.

Today, you’re wearing a long pair of trousers that hug your legs, the white blouse you have on buttoned up apart from the top two, a small sliver of skin exposed to show a small gold necklace he got for you at a Christmas party, holding two coffees.

His heart pounds and he coughs into his sleeve. Your eyebrows furrow and you step forward, empty hand reaching out.

“Are you okay, Hawks?” You ask, and he nods.

He clears his throat, swallowing away the feeling prickling it. He nods, flashing you a toothy grin. “Yeah, now that you’re here.”

You roll your eyes but he doesn’t miss the small smile on your face as you set his drink down on the table. He takes a long drink of it and you wince.

“God, I don’t know how you drink that. It’s more sugar than coffee.” You scrunch your nose and he shrugs.

“I need the energy, babe, you know that. All that flying around burns calories quickly.”

One of his feathers shuts the window, another two hanging up his coat. Your eyes follow quickly. He might be trying to impress you a little, but it’s been a long enough time of you watching this show that he’s sure it doesn’t do much. The skin tight thermal might, though. He may or may not be flexing a little when he stretches, but he doesn’t see any harm in that. 

You nod, pulling out your phone, eyes quickly averting away from him. “Okay, so. Luckily for you, today is just paperwork. No energy necessary.” You sigh, sitting down heavily. “I hate paperwork days.”

He knows exactly why. The long, tired hours of writing and reading. Anyone would hate it, but Keigo? Keigo loves paperwork days. A whole day with the two of you in a room? What couldn’t he love about that?

He sits down across from you. It feels a little weird, too formal, with you across his desk. He doesn’t use it much. His office is pretty empty. There's no decorations, no plants, nothing. It's empty because Keigo doesn’t care. He doesn’t like this office. The only thing he likes about it is that it’s the place he spends the most time with you. He wishes you were closer.

He coughs. There's a familiar feeling itching in his lungs and he begs to a God he doesn’t know that he won’t throw up flowers in front of you.

“Aw, come on. Paper days are fine. And I’ll order food for us later.”

You perk up at that. “Really? Let’s get yakitori.”

“And this is why I love you.” He coughs again and you peer at him.

“Are you okay? You keep coughing today.”

He nods. “Don’t worry about it, babe, I’m good.”

You keep looking at him. “If you’re sick, go home.”

“No, I’m fine. The number two hero doesn’t get sick.”

You don’t look convinced but you hold up the first set of papers. His fingers brush against yours as he grabs them. The two of you sit in silence for all of five minutes before Keigo groans. You look up, amused.

“I’m bored.”

You sigh. “Me too. But as your assistant I have to tell you to keep going.”

Keigo pouts. You tap the pen in your hand against the desk.

“No way to get out of this?” He says. “Nope.”

“No work parties I can look forward to?”

You shake your head. Then you sit up suddenly. “Wait. Oh my god.”

Keigo sits up too, immediately mirroring your panic. His wings curl out behind him. You cover your face with your hands.

“What? You’re freaking me out, Y/N.”

“There is a work party! Tonight. That I’m supposed to be planning. And I completely forgot!” You groan.

Oh. That’s easier to deal with. “It’s fine, don’’t worry. We’ll sort it.” You shake your head and it ruffles your hair, and he wishes he could reach forward and brush it behind your ear. “No, I don't know what to do. It’s for Kaylee’s birthday! Everyone loves Kaylee, I love Kaylee, that’s why I offered to plan this for her.” You ramble.

Keigo catches most of your babble. He quickly moves off from behind his desk to stand in front of you, his hands coming to rest at your shoulders. “Breathe, girl.”

You do, chest moving up and down slowly. Like this, with you still seated and him standing, he towers over you. He thinks for a moment.

“Let’s just go now.”

“What?”

“We’ll just go get the stuff you need right now. Shouldn't be too much, right?”

Your eyes glance at the paperwork on the desk. “What about all that?”

He hums, and you look up at him again. This close, Keigo can see you so much clearer, so much brighter. Another cough rumbles in his chest and he ignores it. “We can do it another day. Blame it on me.”

You bite at your bottom lip, considering his offer. You stand up and nod, determined.

“Okay. Okay, let me get my coat. I’ll meet you at the front desk.”

And then you’re out before he can say another word.

—----------

Keigo thinks this is torture. Real, honest to God torture.

You’d refused his offer to fly to the marketplace, so now the two of you were just walking down the street. He’d left his feathers at work, and changed into the most civilian outfit in the agency. It always felt weird without them on his back, the heavy weight something he’d been used to since he was born. But for you, Keigo thinks he might set them all on fire. 

What makes everything worse is that you’re walking with your arm linked in his. You had been since you’d walked out the agency, animatedly talking and pointing at the things around you. It was hard to focus on much when your fingers squeezed his bicep every time you saw something you liked. 

“Okay, so. I need a cake, and decorations. And like, snack food.”

He nods. “Yes, ma’am. Can we squeeze lunch in there?”

“There’s always time for lunch, Hawks.” 

The first stop the two of you end up at is a supermarket. You pass him a coin to grab a shopping cart and he immediately starts running around with it, and you tut.

“Hawks, enough. People are looking.”

Your words should sound annoyed, but there’s a soft fondness behind them that has his head reeling. You take the cart from his hands and he lets you walk ahead, because the feeling that he’s started to dread builds in his torso, and he grabs the tissue out of his pocket and he coughs.

It’s loud and grating and it scratches the back of his throat. He’s lucky that there’s nobody around to see him gag into his hand, the petals tickling as he spits, blood splattering against it. He breathes heavily, once, twice, and tears prick at his eyes. He curses, eyes screwed shut. Not today, not like this. Not when he finally has a day alone with you. He throws the tissue in the trash outside the shop, and goes in to find you.

He finds that grocery shopping is fun. He’s never actually been before. His groceries are kindly delivered by the Commission straight to his front door, so he’s never actually done this before. It’s exciting. He likes the little line you get between your eyebrows whenever you get annoyed at him for putting random things in the basket.

“Hawks, enough! We don’t need six loaves of bread!”

“We do! We can make those little hors d’oeuvres with like, pesto on them.”

You mumble some choice words under your breath, putting them all back. “Hawks, this isn’t some Hero commission party. We’re getting a bag of Doritos and dip and calling it a day.”

Keigo pouts and you drag him over to the basket. “Here, you push this.”

You take him to the produce aisle and he boos as your throw in a few vegetables sticks. Keigo gags again, holding up the celery sticks. You snatch them out his hand and toss them back in the car.

“Stop. We need something healthy so we can eat a carrot stick and feel good about the cake I’m going to buy.” You tap your head knowingly and he grins.

“I don’t look healthy enough as is?” He stretches out his arm and the windblower you’d found for him in the agency billows around his arms.

You snort, patting him on the chest. “Oh, yeah. You look great.” 

It leaves him winded, just for a second, and then he’s back.

The cake aisle is his favourite one. You steer him clearly away from the children’s cakes, because he’s sure you saw the light in his eyes when he noticed the Marvel cake. 

“Can we get chocolate?” He asks, and you shrug.

“I don’t know. You know what Kaylee likes?” You step a bit closer to the shelves, peering at the different boxes.

Keigo hums, tapping the corner of his chin. He walks around the cart until he’s right next to you. “How about that? Red velvet. And it looks cute.” He points to the one near you, arm reaching over and brushing against yours.

“Hm. Yes. That’s- Yes. Red velvet.” You nod.

Keigo glances at you and he finds the two of you are closer than he realised. He thinks if he leans in just slightly you’ll be kissing. He smiles, soft and sweet. 

“You look pretty this close.”

“So I look ugly from afar?” You joke, but you sound nervous.

Keigo's eyes dart to your lips. It’s so quick but he sees the way your cheeks flush. “You never look ugly. Don’t I compliment you enough?”

You shove him away softly, reaching for the red velvet cake.

“Enough out of you. Go grab candles.”

And Keigo does, in the next aisle over, and hopes you can’t hear him coughing up another handful of petals. 

———

The two of you finish up quickly, despite Keigo’s efforts to long out the day as much as he can. The coughing only gets worse, and he’s surprised you haven’t noticed the amount of times he disappears to hack up his lungs around the nearest corner.

But it’s fine, he tells himself. This is about you, about helping you. He can deal with this problem later. 

You, who are sitting across from him in the tiniest table known to man at his favourite yakitori place. Part of him is a little annoyed about the whole ‘civilian disguise’, because whenever the owner sees it’s him he always gets a few extra sticks. But he can’t complain. Your legs are touching his, seeing as you’d shoved the both of you in the farthest corner of the shop possible. Which also happens to be the smallest in the shop.

“Okay, so, when we get back I’ll set up everything and we’re done!” You speak around a mouthful of food, chicken almost falling onto the table.

He nods, mouth also full. “Perfect. And you’re sure you don’t need help setting up?”

You shake your head. “I should be good, there’s not that much to do.”

You place the now empty stick on the table, dusting your hands. “Thanks for this, Hawks. Really.” 

He just smiles. “Don't mention it. Anything for my favourite assistant.”

“Aren’t I your only assistant?”

“So? You’d still be my favourite if I had more.” 

You snort, picking up another stick. “Sure, sure.”

The grocery bags crinkle beneath the table. And like this, without his wings and without any eyes on him Keigo can be selfish and pretend like this is real. 

You glance around the restaurant. “I like this place. Why haven’t we come here before?”

Keigo shrugs, polishing off another two sticks. “It’s usually busy around our lunch time. We should come more though.”

You nod. “Definitely. There’s this ramen place too, we should go there. It’s by that supermarket we went to.”

It’s so casual, so calm, and his heart is racing. 

“Oh! I found this song. I think you’ll like it.”

You dig in your purse and pull out the same ratty wired earphones he makes fun of you for everyday. He rolls his eyes and you glare at him.

“No. Shut up.”

“Just let me buy you a nice pair of AirPods, babe. Seriously, these are dying.” He flicks the wire that’s covered in tape and you tut, pushing his hands away.

“Never. I'm a wired earphone supporter till I die. Come here.”

You scoot your chair closer to the table, but they don’t really reach. “Fuck. Okay, wait.”

You stand up, dragging your chair so it’s right up next to his. You sit down, and your hand comes up to brush his hair out of the way so you can press the earphone in his ear. And if you see his breath hitch you don’t say anything. Just hit play, your own earphone in.

And the pure bliss of having you this close, close enough that he can smell the sweet scent of your perfume, lasts about a minute before he starts coughing.

He reels it back as much as he can, wincing as he swallows the petals that try to crawl their way out his throat. He drinks water, washing away the taste of metal from his mouth and he barely even registers your hand on his shoulder.

“Hawks? Are you alright?” There’s panic clear as day on your face, and he nods.

“Y-Yes. Don’t worry, I think I just swallowed a piece of chicken wrong.”

You’re not convinced as easily as before. “That didn’t sound normal, Hawks. Should we take you to the doctor?”

“No, it’s fine, babe. I promise.” 

He holds up his pinkie. You just stare at him for a moment, eyes searching for a lie. But you seem to believe him, because your hand comes up and your finger curls around his.

——-

The party is going well, he thinks.

Kaylee looks happy. You did well with the decorations, as best as you could do with an office room and an hour. There’s pink balloons and streamers that Keigo wants to scream that he bought with you. But that’s stupid and desperate, so he doesn’t. 

You’d all sang and cheered as she blew out her candles. She looked nice but Keigo couldn’t keep his eyes off you, grinning so hard it was like your face was about to split in half. People were milling about now. Keigo likes to think he knows all his employees but he’d be lying if he said he recognised every face that had come to greet him.

There is one face he could recognise anywhere.

“Birdbrain! What are you doing here?”

Rumi’s voice is loud and full of energy, and he can’t help but mirror the grin on her face the second she claps him on the back.

“It’s almost like this is my agency.” He raises his eyebrows. “What are you doing here?”

“Kaylee and I know each other from ages ago. She used to intern when I was working with Best Jeanist.”

Keigo nods. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a guy approaching you. One of the office workers he can’t name. His wings are back on his body and he wishes he could send one over to listen to what you’re talking about.

“But- Are you even listening to me?” Rumi says.

“Yes. I am.”

“No. You’re not.” 

Rumi follows his eyeline, to where you’re handing out slices of cake. She nods, understandingly. “I see. Have you asked her out?”

“What? No. Why would I- She’s my assistant.” Keigo splutters.

Rumi laughs, clapping him on the shoulder once more. “Oh, Hawks. Has positions of power ever stopped you before?”

Keigo frowns. “No, it’s not like that. I’m not trying to just hook up with her.”

“Oh.” Rumi looks at you again. “You actually like her?”

“Yes. No. It’s- It’s complicated.”

Rumi hums thoughtfully. The two of them were quite blatantly staring at you now, and Keigo is sure you’d be quite weirded out if you caught them. But he doesn’t need to worry about that, because your attention is stolen away by some guy. Keigo doesn’t even know his name because he’s some irrelevant worker that doesn’t even matter.

But he seems to matter to you. Because you are smiling and laughing, and you nudge his shoulder when he says something Keigo itches to hear.

“Well. Maybe try telling her. She won’t wait around forever.” Rumi nods towards you and he shakes his head.

“That’s… I don’t- Just leave it.” Keigo’s voice sounds bitter in a way he’s not used to, and Rumi peers at him.

“Birdbrain? You doing okay there?”

He’s not. How could Keigo be doing okay, when Rumi is annoyingly right? You won’t wait forever. Keigo doesn’t even have forever. He has a few weeks left if his research is correct. And for some dumb reason Keigo didn’t seem to think about the fact that he might live to see you with someone else.

You move slightly closer to him, and Keigo’s fist clenches. 

He doesn’t even know the guy, but can he be surprised? You’re perfect, you’re you. It makes sense that he’s not the only one in love with you. Keigo sees the hand this guy places on your elbow, the way he smiles at you whenever you laugh. He knows that look because it’s how he looks at you everyday. 

And then it starts. Slow and slight. It stirs in his lungs, just a tickle, but he knows, he knows what comes next.

Rumi notices the way his face pales, and she shakes his arm. “Hawks? You’re freaking me out, what’s wrong?”

And he tries to answer, but all that comes out is a choking noise he can’t even recognise as a sound his own body made. And the feeling builds up all too quickly, and Keigo thinks he might be dying. He’s rushing out the room to try and make it to the bathroom, but he doesn’t make it further than out the door, because the pain in his chest is splitting, like somebody is trying to push their way out of his skin. He drops to the knees and he clutches at his stomach, and he coughs and coughs and there’s blood, and there’s flowers now, fully grown flowers-

And then everything goes dark.

——————

Keigo opens his eyes to the bright white ceiling of a hospital room. It’s not something he hasn’t seen before, and the slow blink back to life and the few seconds of peace before the pain kicks in are always the worst. He blinks harshly before slowly, slowly sitting up, arms almost buckling from his weight. 

He hates the weakness that comes with injury, the embarrassment. If he was still training at the commission they would’ve sent him back on the field before he’d even gotten up. But, he doubts he’d have gotten a disease quite like this over there.

It’s only after he’s pushed himself into a sitting position that he sees you. 

Arms crossed as your head leans back against the wall behind you, asleep. He has no idea how long it’s been, but judging by the fact you’re still wearing the clothes you were wearing in the office, he assumes it’s the same day. He glances out the window and its pitch black.

And you look beautiful. Even with the mascara smudged beneath your eyes, the worry on your face even visible in your sleep. Keigo looks away, but not before you wake up and catch him staring. You blink like you might be dreaming, before you bring your chair closer to him.

“Hawks. You’re- You’re awake.” You whisper the words like if you say them too loudly they might not be true.

He smiles as best as he can. “Hey, pretty. The party still going on without me?” He tries for a joke but your eyes prick with tears. 

“Don’t. Don’t joke right now. Nothing about this is funny.” You sound serious in a way he’s never heard before, and some sick, twisted part of himself is giddy that it’s all for him.

“You promised you were fine.”

Keigo wants to turn away because the hurt on your face is his fault.

“I’m sorry. I just-“ He sighs. “Did you see?”

“Yes.”

“Did anyone else see?”

“No. Rumi stopped them from coming out into the hall.”

He nods. You shake your head, hand coming up to rub at your eyes. 

“How long has it been?” He asks.

You check your watch. “It’s one in the morning so. About six hours.”

Keigo falters. “Wait- You’ve been here for six hours?”

You frown. “Well obviously. I- They said I’m your emergency contact. And someone had to be here to tell you what the doctor said.”

He knows already. From the sharp pain in his chest he knows.

“I’m assuming you know it’s Hanahaki?”

He nods. You nod.

“You-“ You curse. It takes a few moments for you to get the words out.

“He said you don’t have long. The petals, he said they’re starting to look like flowers. Fully grown ones. And that means you’re in the final stages.” Your voice cracks and Keigo thinks he might throw up again.

“Okay.”

You pause. “Okay? Is that all you have to say? Okay?”

Keigo frowns. “Y/N, I-“

“Do you not get it, Hawks? You’re going to die. He says you’re going to die if you don’t either tell the person or- get the surgery done.”

Keigo shakes his head immediately. “I’m not doing the surgery.”

Your lip quivers and you pull yourself even closer. Your hand grabs his and it’s cold where his is warm, and you squeeze. 

“You have to, Hawks. The world can’t lose you. I can’t lose you.” You whisper.

And your words sound so raw, so vulnerable, and it tears at his inside more than the roses growing inside them.

“Just try. Try, okay? Tell them how you feel and see. It- It might be reciprocated. It definitely will be. I mean, who wouldn’t be in love with you?” You laugh wetly, eyes glistening with unshed tears.

But there’s something else behind them.

Jealousy.

And there’s a small flicker of hope that grows beneath his bones. And he looks at you then, at the tears that gather on the bottom of those fluttering eyelashes. And he reaches up, brushes the curve of your cheek.

And your breath hitches. He feels the heat on your face from how close he is, and he thinks he might cry.

“It’s not fair.” His voice sounds so weak, so awfully weak and he wants to scream. 

“What is? What’s not fair?” You ask.

“I can’t tell her. I don’t deserve her.”

You look so confused. Like he’s said the dumbest thing in the world. “What?”

“I’m not- I work almost everyday, and when I am off I’m too tired to do anything. My place is more of a prison cell than an apartment. I- I’ve never even been in a relationship before. Never even thought about it. I can’t- I’m not allowed, Y/N.”

And now his voice cracks and your hand squeezes tighter. And his voice sounds unfamiliar. This desperation, the frantic panic that fights against his words is so unlike him. Keigo has never been vulnerable with anybody in his life, but that look in your eyes makes him feel like he can tell you everything. All the dirty horrible secrets he keeps locked inside himself.

“It’s not fair. I don’t know if I can even be there for someone. It’s why I never said anything, I didn’t want to mess up a relationship that’s so important for me for one I can’t even commit to. It’s not fair on you, Y/N. You deserve better.”

He feels like there’s a weight that’s left his shoulder when he finishes speaking, rambled words he can barely remember. He’s out of breath when he’s done. Waiting anxiously for you to say something. Maybe this real version of Keigo is too much for you. He has half a mind to tell you it was just a joke, he didn’t mean it if it means you’ll stop looking so shocked. Keigo just needs you to say something.

“I deserve better?”

He doesn’t expect that. “What?” He says, confused.

You swallow roughly and he watches the sharp lines of your throat as you do so. “You said ‘you deserve better’. You as in, me. As in… I’m the one you have feelings for?”

Shit.

“I- Did I say that? I think it’s the medicine, it’s making me all-“

“Are you in love with me, Hawks?”

The room isn’t silent. The machines he’s hooked up to all make a low humming noise, and he can hear people and nurses walking and talking outside. But when you say those words it feels like the world has stopped. 

He could lie. But Keigo won’t get the surgery, so he figures he might as well let you know how he feels before he dies.

“Yes.”

You freeze for a moment. Then your hands come up to cover your face and he immediately misses the contact. And then your shoulders start shaking and he thinks you're crying.

Keigo sighs. “It’s not that awful of a thing. No reason to cry.”

“I’m not crying. I’m laughing.”

When you look back up at him there are in fact tears running down your face, but you look happy. And hope claws its way out of him.

“This funny to you?”

“No. Your stupidity is, though.” 

Keigo is quiet for a moment, confused. “Do you mind elaborating on that?”

“Hawks, do you think it’s normal that I do all your paperwork with you? Or that we get lunch together almost everyday? Do you think any other assistant in all of Japan would stay as late as their boss, especially when he’s a top ten Pro hero who rarely finishes before ten in the evening?”

“I-“

“Do you think it’s normal that I wear this necklace you bought me everyday?” And you reach into your shirt and pull it out, the gold catching against the light.

“Hawks, I spend every waking second I’m in that agency with you if I can help it. I’ve had job offers a million times better than what I do for you, and I’ve rejected every single one because I wanted to be with you.”

Keigo doesn’t say anything. You grab his hand again, but it feels a little more threatening this time.

“You don’t get to decide if I deserve you or not, I do. It’s- I can’t believe you. I don’t care about all that. We’ll figure it out together.”

And Keigo just closes his eyes, because this can’t be real. He must be dreaming, because Keigo doesn’t get things like this. Love. Nothing like that look on your face that’s all for him.

“You sure you're not just saying this because I’m dying?”

And you laugh, and let your tears fall freely, and Keigo can finally breathe clearly for the first time in months.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

this is for lysa if ur anyone else stop reading...?

JKKKKK guys i love hawks so much i can't explain... he was my lover for so long i miss him

also i loved writing this i literally did it in ONE NIGHT?? plz give me more ideas pookas

LOVE U ALLL HAVE A GOOD NIGHT

Some photos I took of this pretty boy eheh in Natlan

lovely 🥹

Hi, I saw your 1k event, congrats btw ^^!

I can't decide between 05 and 06 with Wrio 😭, but I go with 06 Voicelines about you with Wriothesley

VOICELINES ABOUT YOU —

⋆·˚ many voicelines about you for wriothesley because he can't stop talking about you (and tea) and the traveller can't really seem to pull lovesick wrio out of his daydream about you ... poor paimon

note: sfw work & gender neutral reader.

— WHEN THE SUN SHINES

"After many days of rain, feeling the bright rays of the sun is truly what a person needs. Needless to say, this also calls for a picnic or perhaps a tea party ? Whichever you prefer but... tea party is suggested since it is also what me and my lover, both prefer, they makes great tea ones to die for ahem."

— WHEN IT'S WINDY

"My beloved oftentimes opens the window of our house up here in Court of Fontaine when the gentle breeze blows. It has them humming and in a lively mood but when the breeze turns into a storm, they get even more ecstatic because of the thought of the free bulle fruits that fall from the trees. sigh I have to admit that the thought of free bulle fruits do sound quite enticing so we both embark to the nearest tree to pick them up and enjoy them with tea."

— WHEN IT'S MORNING

"Good morning traveller, hm? I look lively today? haha perhaps it's because I was graced by an angel's face the first thing when I woke up in the morning? not that I would tell you but you're quite smart enough to know who it is."

— WHEN IT'S NIGHT

"Incase you are having trouble sleeping at night, feel free to give either me or my partner a call. We will give you a big supply of tea that helps you sleep at night. I would suggest tasting their brew because more often than not, when I was in the earlier years of bring a Warden in the fortress, their tea helped me get adequate amount of rest."

— WHEN IT RAINS

"Take an umbrella lest you get wet, Traveller. I hope my lover has also taken one ... hmm... perhaps can you go and check on them? take another one with you. Oh, me? don't worry, a mere rain won't get me sick in bed"

— WHEN IT SNOWS

"What are your plans now since it's snowing? There are quite a lot of things you can try now that you are here in Fontaine. Although there aren't many lakes here that freeze over, due to the sake of our friendship, I will tell you where to go looking for the frosted lake. It's a secret! Don't go telling others... especially you, Paimon. Me and my darling both visit this place and it has become a haven for us now."

— ABOUT US

"We have been together ever since they started keeping me company from when I was still a prisoner. We have spent days and memories, happiness and sorrows, and vows and promises with eachother. They have undoubtedly scored a precious place in my heart that is reserved only for them."