menelausblues

[menelausblues]

Hello! You don't have to answer this question, but are you by chance IO? I'm sorry if you're not. You have a similar writing style to her. She deactivated so long ago. And I've been looking for her :( I'm sorry for troubling you. <3

hi, so yes lol. i've sort of kept this in my drafts forever bc when i initially got it, i was so spooked, but as time goes on, i'm working through the experiences that led to me deactivating previously. at this point, i don't mind that anyone knows it's me, but i admittedly have been keeping my distance from my old fandom bc of trauma.

[menelausblues]

xavier loves watching his cock slide in n out of us, especially when his length is coated in our sticky arousal. his eyes are always fixated on where our bodies connect. the sight of our folds parting as he pushes his way in n the wet sounds made when he pulls out is addicting to him.

[menelausblues]

man of indulgence.

synopsis. you have an unorthodox online friendship with popular baking influencer, shen xavier.

‣ 6.8k. no evol, long distance au. hobby baker reader/mc x baking influencer xavier. online friendship. fluff. light angst : misunderstandings.

mdni.

SHEN XAVIER. XAVIBAKES 18 hours ago:

[ video ] an ez-pz pastry tutorial for the sun lovers. best enjoyed on a picnic with a loved one. if you make your own, be sure to tag me. i’d quite enjoy seeing everyone’s results with this one :-)

MISSHUNTER REPLIES: [ image ] okay, i did the best i could heh. 😅

nerves making your hands rattle, you shakily hit send on your post. immediately, your heart races at the thought of the potential hat he may actually reply. in your shallow breaths, there exists both anxiety and thrill.

you see, social media is often tangible evidence of hell’s position on this doomed earth, but shen xavier shines a bit of his wholesome light onto the timeline borderline religiously, and that’s enough to keep you around, dodging unprovoked opinions spewed from the cesspool. among a plethora of people who are willfully miserable and feel obligated to project it, there’s a single man who likes to bask in positivity. he asks others about their day, follows recipes, and shows everyone videos of his absurdly rambunctious cat – sylus – doing gymnastics around his modest flat. there’s something about men who gravitate towards domestic endeavors, men who love staying home so much they make a hobby of it by ensuring they never have to leave to enjoy themselves. a man who sees taking care of his home and related activities as desirable and goal-worthy? to you, that type of man is the pinnacle of attraction. that’s the kind of man that you, perhaps, would be willing to risk it all for. shen xavier is that man. but of course, he’s also an incredibly popular mostly-baking influencer based in an entirely different country that you’re well-aware you have no chance with whatsoever, but witnessing his existence is a constant reminder that the type of man you’re holding out for isn’t only a myth. it isn’t the fabrication of a delusion or a delightful daydream. it’s possible, albeit rare. you aren’t picky. it’s just that you’ve never been one to settle for “well enough”. a perfectionist’s spirit, your standards are high and unmoved, rightfully so. every slice of life xavier offers his audience reinforces your ideal type. every video he creates is an obvious labor of love for those who, like him, find great enthusiasm for being home and enjoy spending time in the kitchen. everything he does seems so thorough and authentic. he never places ads in his videos. he never takes on or talks about sponsored merchandise. he always responds to his followers and strives to make his content a group effort with them. everything he shows is just a glimpse into who he genuinely is at his core and outside his content: a simple man with simple hobbies who’s responsible and has a heart that’s teeming with kindness and pleasantries. so, of course, taking the leap and finally posting your attempt at one of his follow-alongs is absolutely nerve-wracking. like him, you have a great love for baking. you’re no professional and you’re no successful influencer, but it’s stress-relieving and you love fresh bread, desserts, and pastries. in fact, finding new things to try baking is how you stumbled upon his channel, fell head over heels in infatuation with him, and now follow him across all his socials, smiling like a common fool when he posts. ꒰ you’re not obsessed, just wildly enamored. ꒱ and on your attempt, you actually feel quite proud of your results. it comes out damn near identical to xavier’s. it maybe doesn’t taste nearly as good as you know his likely does, but it’s sweet and you enjoyed the time spent on it. as you close the app in post-reply sent shame, you inwardly hope the sight of your result is praise-worthy.

it takes three days before you finally dare to open the app again. you avoid the sweeping disappointment of rejection and no recognition as well as the overstimulation of acknowledgement. it may sound invariably insane, but even the thought that he may reply fills you with a sense of deep, overwhelming dread. the thought of being perceived by him gives you equal amounts of anxiety as it does excitement. both feelings differ but they feel exactly the same in your body. your nervousness seems to be warranted as you log on. your eyes go wide with perceivable shock as you take note of the 1,016 notifications. there’s an instant drop of your heart from your chest straight into your gut. you freeze for a moment, terrified for some reason to tap it. it’s clear that he’s replied or something since you’ve never had more than ten notifications on a good day. you tap the frightening little bell and swallow hard. you try your hardest not to eagerly take it all in and instead scroll all the way down where the notifications first begin. when you do, you’re left gasping at the words on the screen.

SHEN XAVIER. quoting MISSHUNTER: ‘the best you could’ was practically perfect! wow. color me impressed. good job, miss hunter :-) 

MISSHUNTER: [ image ] okay. i did the best i could heh. 😅

SHEN XAVIER. FOLLOWED YOU.

SHEN XAVIER. AND 143 OTHERS LIKED YOUR POST.homemade lemon bread. nothing crazy, but it’s delicious.

SHEN XAVIER. replying to MISSHUNTER: so it’s not just the picnic pie! this looks delicious :-D

SHEN XAVIER. quoting MISSHUNTER: oh man i think i found a rival.

MISSHUNTER: [ image ] decided to make blueberry cheesecake from scratch on a whim. 😅

꒰ MENELAUSBLUES OMI ꒱ AND 264 OTHERS FOLLOWED YOU.

scrolling through all the notifications, you can’t help the way you’re beaming. there’s a child-like and wondrous smile on your face as you see he not only replied to you, but followed you, scoped through your account, and boosted your hobby work as well. you blink in sheer shock as you see the stream of likes and retweets continuously flooding in. what makes you hold your breath is the little notification on your dm tab that reads ( 𝟑 ). ꒰ you don’t know it right then, how could you, but that notification in the bar and your choice to tap on it seals your fate. ꒱ 

xavier : 

what a pleasant surprise! someone just as enthusiastic about baking as me. i can’t believe this is your first time showing us your results! thank you for participating in the follow-along. lovely presentation. i looked through your media and salivated at your blueberry cheesecake. so i am here to ask what i have to do to get my hands on that recipe? i’d love to do a video over it and try it myself, with credit and your permission of course.

shocked doesn’t even begin to cover the way you feel. butterflies flutter ruthlessly in your stomach, making you clutch your abdomen as your lips purse together. the shen xavier just dm’d you. he sees your baked goods; he likes them. he sees your follow-along to his video; he likes it. he sees what you do in your spare time; he admits he’s impressed by you. he wants something from you to add substance to his channel. the realization of it all finally settles in and your lips part, your phone slipping from your hands and falling right onto the surface of your mattress. that’s when you just start squealing and haphazardly moving yourself. before you know it, you’re in your bed belly-first, face stuffed into your pillows while your legs kick rapidly behind you. thrilled, you roll onto your back with a content sigh and smile. you stare at the ceiling, recalling it all over again before excitedly grabbing your pillow, covering your face, and continuing as you were. “oh my god, oh my god, oh my god! is this real?!” you ask the ether in disbelief. “shen-fucking-xavier?” taking a deep breath, you steady yourself and finally reply to his dms.

you : 

i cannot believe THE  shen xavier is following me, saw my treats, and is now dm-ing me for a RECIPE. am i dead? is this heaven??? wow, thank you so much for your support. i’m so shocked that you replied, let alone followed me and sent me a dm, :3 i’m honored you like things i’ve baked and i’d be even more honored to have you recreate my personal recipe!!!

it takes xavier much less time to reply.

xavier : 

haha i’m just a guy at home with his cat. i’m really nothing special to think you’ve died over, but i’ll admit your enthusiasm does boost my ego a little :-) are you kidding? i’d be a fool not to recognize talent and support it wholeheartedly. have you considered making videos of your own? 

you : 

i have, but i tried once, realized the extent of the time content creation takes, and realized i was a salary girl with work in the morning.

xavier : 

well now i /really/ have to do this recipe in your honor.

you’re not sure what emboldens your next words, but you don’t regret them and you’re only mildly embarrassed. it isn’t you blatantly taking a pass at him, but it’s definitely laying the groundwork to do such a thing. after all, xavier might be the man of your dreams.

you : 

i don’t know. what if you take off with my recipe and i never hear from you again? 😔

xavier : 

unfortunately, you have evidence against me so my diabolical plan to heist your blueberry cheesecake recipe without consequence has failed. i’ll /need/ the exact measurements so i’ll eat this cost, i suppose. i fear i may be stuck in contact with you :-)

and it probably shouldn’t make your heart skip. it’s your first time speaking to him and he’s obviously playing along with you – definitely not reciprocating your slightly flirtatious efforts – but you can’t stop yourself. but even his humor confirms he’s exactly who you think he is. the man of your dreams.

11:04 AM.  xavier:

testing, testing. one two three.

it takes three weeks of back-and-forth communication before you toss it out to the wind that, perhaps, it’s a good time for the two of you to exchange imessage details and shift your consistent messaging to something a bit more formal and casual simultaneously. you use the excuse that keeping up with the social app just to talk to him is adding to your insane amount of time spent online lately. he teases you initially for signing on just to respond to him, about not being able to leave him waiting, but you know it’s the truth. you love talking to xavier. sure, the first few days you’re arguably starstruck, but by day five, there was a budding sense of comfort and casual dialogue exchange. you stop thinking about him as the shen xavier and start to see him as the guy who’s your blossoming friend. the friend you just so happen to have an impossible crush on. you both have a great deal in common, from your love of baking to your surprisingly shared love of classical music and bad movies. your interest in him romantically has yet to wane in the slightest, but you understand even if you both talk every day, there’s no way he sees you as more than an online companion in his same realm of interests. he’s half a world away from you and you’re both already jumping through timezone hoops just to catch each other for a mere friendship. still, you can’t help the way your heart flutters when you get a notification from him. you can’t stop the butterflies that swarm when you make a treat and post it on the timeline only to have him quote it and brag that he got to see it before anyone else.

11:07 AM.  you:

received. and excuse me, what time is it for you, sir?

11:08 AM.  xavier:

a very measly 3:08 am. hey! it’s morning for us both :-)

11:10 AM.  you:

 xavier !!! sir, go to bed.

when he finally responds, you find yourself in a similar state as when you noticed his follow and dms: your mouth slightly parts and your eyes are glued to your screen while your stomach flips where you stand, which just so happens to be right in the middle of your kitchen.

11:11 AM.  xavier:

and why would i do that when talking to you is on the table? i’m a man of indulgence after all.

꒰ 𝟒 𝐍𝐄𝐖 𝐌𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐒 ! ꒱

5:35 PM.  xavier:

i think we should watch ‘the happening’ hm. i can’t say it’s “bad” but it really might not be good. 5.0 rating. it’ll be just like flipping a coin :-) what do you think?

it seems like he’s always punctual, prompt out of habit, and respects your time. a true gentleman through and through just like you always believed him to be. your feet have just barely tiptoed over the threshold and into your home before he texts you. ꒰ it doesn’t occur to you that he’s memorized your schedule. ꒱ all the ways time weaves between the two of you hardly ever crosses your mind. interestingly, you don’t realize you swear off all your monday evenings without either of you ever actually agreeing to it. interestingly, you don’t realize that it’s already been three months in full and nearly two months worth of your monday evenings reserved for his tuesday mornings and a bad movie over facetime with tea. most interestingly, the only thing you do realize is that he’s now embossed into your habits, a consistent variable in all of your equations.

5:42 PM.  you:

i’ve seen it already. 😞 it’s terrible. got another?

5:45 PM.  xavier:

i always have a backup plan, of course. ‘twilight’ perhaps? i won’t lie it looks especially awful.

5:50 PM.  you:

saw that, too. but honestly take that back because that movie is a cult classic. 🫤

5:52 PM.  xavier:

i can almost assure you it’s not.

5:55 PM.  you:

ope! let’s watch it anyway. i just found an opportunity to prove you wrong and i’m taking it.

5:57 PM.  xavier:

if you’re wrong and i find it to be especially awful like i know i will, you do realize i’m going to make you watch ‘shooting stars’ again, right? you ought to consider stocking up on tissues.

5:59 PM.  you:

if i catch you having even a sliver of enjoyment like i know i will, you do realize i’m going to make you watch ‘new moon’ next, right?

6:01 PM.  xavier:

if i’m honest, i’ll watch anything you want. but still, you’re truly insufferable :-P are you almost ready?

6:03 PM.  you:

i’m making tea. are you rushing me, shen xavier?

6:04 PM.  xavier:

no i would /never/ but…you can’t call me for that? :-( i’m only indirectly emphasizing a need for haste due to the sheer capacity of which your absence has been felt.

6:05 PM.  you:

going full shakespeare to rush me is crazy work. truly unprecedented. perhaps, dare i say it, unnecessary even? 🤔 if you miss me then just say that.

6:06 PM.  xavier:

i’m not rushing you but i wouldn’t mind if you hurried. i miss you. 

you stare at the screen for approximately four minutes, heart oscillating wildly, breathing deeply as you feel it sinking and soaring in your chest ceaselessly. you almost can’t take it. every moment you spend seems to be a blend of familiarity and comfort, something remnant of home. there are moments when you blink and for a twinkle, you feel like you’re his. all his. his impatience is what drags you out of disbelief and reticence.

xavier. facetime video

six months pass in a dizzy blur and you’re quite certain that you are very much doomed. between the daily facetime calls, sitting on the phone with one another until the wee hours of the night for you or him, baking together over calls, and the night/day-long movie marathons, it’s official. shen xavier is the man of your dreams and despite the offensive amount of distance and time scattered between your bodies, you can no longer fight how badly you want to call him yours. you’ve realized a few things about xavier in the time you’ve known him, the first thing being that he’s as consistent as they come. he texts you every morning between 9-9:30 am your time, 1 am his time. in fact, he’s so consistent that you can’t recall the last time he’s gone to bed before the sun rises on his side of the world. not since the day you exchanged personal details. consistently, he stays up just to greet you, just to know how your day is starting and going, just to insert himself in any way he can.. the second thing you notice is the intensity of his reliability. if he says he’ll do something, he does it without fail, without falter. he doesn’t give excuses, only results, responsibility, and reasons. the third and most impactful thing to your heart is his shamelessness when he’s fond of someone. 

it started a week ago when he hit you with a goodnight text so charged, you almost couldn’t bring yourself to sleep. you mused over the words, turned them every which way in your mind to discover the hidden meaning behind them before accepting he meant exactly what he said: ‘goodnight. i’ll be here when you wake up, but i’ll most certainly miss you.’and he was there right when you woke up to greet you. you find it strange the way he barely did anything at all to weasel his way into the most important parts of your life. he slid in with ease and without warning. the most frightening part is the growing insistence to be there with you even though he can’t be there with you. this little development is exactly what lands you where you are right now: waiting in line for a very specific laptop you’ve been saving and waiting to release for months. it’s unbearably frigid outside, early december air nipping away at everyone’s comfort. you’re as bundled as you can be, but it somehow isn’t enough.

7:17 AM.  you:

xaviiiii, i made it, but the line is huge and it’s so cold. i’m going to be waiting forever, too. 😔

7:19 AM.  xavier:

poor thing. are you sure you want to do this? are you bundled? will you be warm enough?

7:20 AM.  you:

i’m bundled but bored 😔 i’m sure but shivering 😔 my legs are bouncing like i’m a bunny or smth just to produce /perceived/ warmth. that’s how cold it is.

7:22 AM.  xavier:

aw does my bunny want some company while she waits? :-) i have something to ask anyway.

there he goes again, catching you off guard with his sudden burst of cute responses that teeter on the line of flirting. you can’t seem to appropriately decipher them for all they’re worth. it’s the way he indirectly, even playfully, calls you his. it’s the string of worry you can feel in all his questioning. it’s the certainty you have in your bones that he’s the one who wants to keep you company. ꒰ for a split second, it almost dawns on you that he’s courting you. almost. ꒱ you dismiss it as the reminder of time and distance plague you.

7:23 AM. you:

what exactly are you suggesting? hmm?

a few minutes pass and no reply comes despite him reading it immediately as it delivers. you know it’s not abnormal for some time to pass between replies. you know that he’s a busy influencer. he has content to create and other people that require his attention. yet, you can’t help but want his reply as fast as all the others have come. you can’t help but want him to take care of you first before his work, to worry about you before all of the other arguably more important things.

i had his attention first anyway.

the simple thought crosses your mind and shock follows. you can’t believe you had such a blatant and disgustingly possessive thought. your feelings for him are blossoming far out of your control, you fear. the fear is solidified when your phone suddenly starts ringing and excitement pours out of you when you realize xavier is facetiming you, entirely unplanned and unprovoked. you answer timidly, earphones in as you look at the screen nervously waiting to connect. when it does, you’re met with pooling, warm eyes looking at you pleasantly and a slow smile spreading across supple lips. his ashen hair is tousled around his head and a white tee clings to his frame. every curve and shape of his shoulders, every bulge of his arms, all of it is on display. you gulp, swallowing down the thick sweetness rising like bile. your heart goes wild for him, fluttering at first before becoming a monstrosity of rapid beats and ceaseless thumping. “well hello, what a bundled bunny we have here indeed. cute,” he breathes. an arm rises to rest behind his head as he lays in bed, holding his phone slightly above him to give you a clear view of his coziness. your voice is soft and mumbled as you speak. “not cute, but this is a pleasant surprise.” “very cute,” xavier emphasizes. “i know it’s sudden, but i couldn’t give you wiggle room to reject me if i asked to call.” “as if i’d ever,” a grumble as your eyes move to the side. 

xavier, amusement tugging on his lips, chuckles. “what was that, bunny?” “i said…good evening.” you lie. you know he heard you and you know you meant it, but when he asks you to repeat yourself clearly, you think it might tell him much more than you want him to know in the moment. he hums curiously, studying you with a fixed gaze until you feel bashful. “good morning to you.” “what are you doing?” a soft inquiry laden with coyness, as if you haven’t been talking to him each day for a string of months now. he tilts the camera, revealing a bundle of white fluff curled up into a ball right next to his hip. his cat, sylus. as if well-aware he’s now being observed, piercing rubies open wide and stare into the screen intently, a perpetually grouchy look gracing his features. “i’m in bed, snuggling with my beloved cat who hates me.” xavier jokes, petting his head to which sylus hisses and bares his teeth. “aw, cute catlus. he’s so evil but so adorable.” you both laugh. “it’s getting late there, isn’t it?” “it is and i want to rest, but i have something particularly pathetic on my mind that i can’t shake. if you have time, could you help me out?” your agreement is immediate, almost a given. “of course, xavi. i’ll help you with anything.” he sighs, a wistful breath full of an emotion you can’t pin down, perhaps longing. “what’s silly is … i know that. i know that very well.” “so, what is it then?” you hum, a push for him to go on. “well, i’ve found myself in an interesting predicament. i like someone, a good friend of mine. quite a lot. and i’m at a loss as to how to make it obvious without putting myself in line for harsh rejection and ruining our friendship. it’s very dear to me, as i don’t have many.” “oh,” you murmur, disappointment filling your body with pressure and heat, suddenly embarrassed by your own adoration of him. “well,  xavi, i highly doubt anyone would reject you. you’re…y-you’re kinda the total package, you know?” it comes out as a mumble and a simple point of encouragement, but it feels like a confession the way you’re trying to bury all the loving connotations under your breath. “is that so? well, then i’m struggling to understand why she hasn’t shown the kind of interest in me i want. i’ve…tested the waters a little.” you shrug, eyes cast down as you speak to avoid him seeing the despondence in your eyes. you keep telling yourself that it’s always been silly to like him as more than a cherished friend, to fantasize about him in a romantic light even after getting close. you sigh. “maybe you’re not being clear. what have you tried?”

“admittedly, there’s only so much i can do, as it stands. i have tried to be subtle about it, but at the same time, maybe i’m far too subtle.” “hm, maybe you should confess, you know?” your voice is sad, but  xavier is your friend and he’s confiding in you. you take a deep breath and finally look at him. “some girls like grand gestures. maybe you could try that and segue into telling her how you feel.” “a grand gesture?” he questions, brows raising as his head tilts. you nod. “yeah, like whisk her away on a day together and then confess.” “i feel it might be difficult to do so, but say i do it. say i go out of my way and i whisk her off for a day with me. won’t that be very telling of my feelings?” “isn’t that what you want? more clarity? be bold, xavier. don’t play it safe or you might miss your shot.” don’t make the mistake i’m making. “like i said, you’re the total package. no one would reject you unless they’re blind, don’t like nice men with manners who mind their business, don’t like men in general, or just…isn’t the one for you.”

because maybe i am.

days pass and form into weeks before you’re worried it’s becoming painfully obvious that you’re sort of, kind of avoiding him now, but you don’t know what exactly to say. your enthusiasm since his admittance to liking someone else is drained. you want to talk to him, but talking to him seems to be coupled with deeply-rooted anxiety and soft sadness. you know it already, but now you can’t even delude yourself: there’s no chance for you with him. you have to fix the way you think of him, and fast, or you’ll watch your friendship fizzle out, buried under a heavy avalanche of your jealousy, insecurity, and unrequited affections. the friendship is still important and impactful even if it can never lead to romantic love, and you need to start acting like it. the truth is, there’s a thick fear slowly brewing under the surface of losing your consistent communication and gentle companionship. so, when he texts you for the third consecutive morning at the exact same time, you reason that he’s doing nothing but proving himself and his position in your life. you’ll still be important to him even if he starts to see someone. right?

9:30 AM.  xavier:

good morning bunny. i hope you’re okay. i haven’t heard from you lately. i miss you a lot :-(

‘bunny’ seems to be a new integration from your facetime fiasco during your laptop acquisition. you don’t mind it, but it makes the indirect friendzone hit even harder. that sickening, fuzzy feeling fills your gut; yearning floods your chest. underneath all of it is a dull ache, a painful anticipation of loss. but it’s impossible not to adore him, not to find endearment in everything he says and does. it’s impossible not to be riddled by your own feelings when he gives you cute names, texts you each morning and evening, stays up late just to speak to you, sends you pictures of the mundane but loveliest aspects of his days.

9:43 AM.  you:

i’m sorry. i haven’t felt the best lately.

9:47 AM.  xavier:

feeling sick, bunny? make sure you rest and stay hydrated for me, okay?

you groan, reading while a hand clutches at the fabric covering your stomach. saccharinity seeps from your lonely pores and drenches you in an unbreakable and loving reverence. it dawns on you right then. the longer you know him, the closer you get to him, the more you spend time talking about nothing and it feels like everything, you’re slowly submerging into the depths of a sinkhole that steadily fills up with love, genuine love decoupled from any fantasy or pretense you once had of him.

for you. god do i want to be for you.

9:50 AM.  you:

eh, it’s more of an emotional sickness. i got news i don’t think i wanted to get and it’s been rough. don’t worry about me. i’ll bounce back. i always do.

he seems to leave it at that and you assume that, for the first time,  xavier goes to bed at a slightly reasonable hour for him, which isn’t very reasonable at all, but it’s better than knowing he stays up until the crack of dawn or until whenever you bid him farewell for your own life throughout the day. yet, somehow, the shift in his behavior feels like an indication.

did he tell her? is he seeing someone now? is his attention already being divided?

you feel silly for your string of panicked thoughts and the way anxiety finds comfort settling in the chasm of your chest for over an hour when out of the blue, he responds.

11:10 AM.  xavier:

sorry, bunny. i was packing. anyway i always worry about you. always. what if i told you i had good news that might cheer you up?

you swallow the lump of your relief hard. it sinks and swirls around your lungs so swiftly that you feel a little breathless.

11:19 AM.  you:

oh yea? give it your best shot.

11:22 AM.  xavier:

i’m taking a trip near your area to film content with another baker. i would love to meet my bunny in person finally…if you’re willing to, that is.

and now here you stand, frozen in disbelief at the words you’ve just read. you read the text repeatedly, in rapid succession, confirming its content and its meaning. for a moment, you stop your breathing and stare. you thought that you’d both carry on like this, your hopeless feelings and his relentless consistency always having the distance between them in common. it was supposed to be easier in theory and practice to move past your pointless emotions because you weren’t ever going to have to look in his eyes for too long. there would always be a way to hide the severity of your fondness from him with screens forced between you. although, underneath your disbelief is sheer excitement.

11:27 AM.  you:

you’re coming here?! AND YOU WANT TO SEE ME?! UH,  XAVI!!! DUH! you were so right. that news did cheer me up a bit. when are you coming?

11:27 AM.  xavier:

my flight is booked three days from now. i’ll only be there for the weekend.

11:30 AM.  you:

only two days? 😞 will we have time to meet between your work? i don’t want to get in the way.

11:32 AM.  xavier:

you don’t know by now that i’ll always make time for you?

as you stand in your bedroom, phone clutched in tensed fingers, it becomes quite clear that you’re doomed. you’re absolutely doomed. devastation. you’re sure this can only end in your devastation.

the last couple of days have been interesting, to say the least. you danced the line of excitement and anxiety, but you also planned relentlessly with xavier. so much so that you have to keep reminding him his trip is intended to be work and not solely so the two of you can have fun together. he always only responds in a tender hum and asks you about what places you frequent and places you’ve never been. it’s facetime calls full of “what’s the weather going to be like?” and “don’t worry about your precious catlus. my neighbors luke and kieran will care for him. he likes them much more anyway.” it’s xavier changing the destination of his flight to arrive at an airport closest to you. it’s the two of you coordinating schedules and his murmurs that he can’t wait. it’s the utter lack of mention about filming with another influencer. it’s the fact that it feels like he’s coming to see you and your heart clings to the delusion with glee. so now, the sky blazes, the evening a fiery mural above your head. and it happens, the moment xavier is standing in your doorway, smiling at you like a fool. you can’t believe it. when you open the door, the last six months of your life flash before your eyes and you see a little collection of messages and moments that all lead you to right now: staring at a tall man with his broad shoulders and tousled hair, gentle eyes gazing back at you with a boyish smile, carrying a suitcase in hand and a jacket draped over his arm. he went from being your guilty pleasure to a mutual, from a mutual to a kind-hearted and loving friend, from a good friend to a heart-bursting crush, from a crush to being the man you’re undoubtedly in love with, a man that you’d give your blood, sweat, tears, and every bit of money you have for even a fraction of a chance with. “you’re…actually here…” a murmur made with a distant voice, soft and full of wonder. “you’re…” xavier nods, his voice equally tender but flooding with tepidness. “i’m here, bunny.” “i have to say. this wasn’t on my bingo card.” he chuckles. “are you going to let me in or stare me down?” you step to the side, trying your best to be discreet about the deep breath you take. xavier quietly discards his shoes at the door. “perhaps both,” you tease, closing the door behind him. “here, let me take that. i’ll show you to the guest room.” you reach for his luggage and he quickly pulls it away from your grasp. “don’t you dare. tell me where to put it. you don’t carry things while i’m here, not even your own things.” “i—” you pause, your heart beating so hard you can hear and feel it in your ears. heat fills your body; your face is full of pressure. “o-okay, i’m sorry.” xavier’s brows bunch together. “bunny, the last thing i want to hear is an apology when you’re quite literally hosting me for free. you could’ve easily left me to fend for myself.” “you know i wouldn’t.” you look down at your hands, fingers fumbling over one another. “you always have a place to stay if you’re ever in town again.” and xavier’s next confession leaves you totally stunned and flustered. “as long as you’re here, i’ll be back again and again, i’m sure…i hope.” ꒰ and you don’t know exactly what he means, but it’s another instance that passes when you catch something in his tone and you almost realize he’s courting you. ꒱ you feel like an idiot when you stand there and don’t speak. xavier purses his lips in amusement before adding to the myriad of reasons you’re unlikely to ever get over him. “i don’t mean to rush you, but i’ve only got so much self-control in me. i need to know where to put these things before i abandon them entirely just to hug you. i’d hate to leave such an awful first impression.”

is he… flirting with me?

“i…uh…follow me.” it comes out as a whisper as you hurriedly scurry from your foyer, down the hallway and to your left, right through the threshold of the simple guest room. a bed, a book, and a side table. the room is otherwise bare. “i know it’s not much, but…” xavier shakes his head, entering the room with a pleasant smile. “your home is cute and quaint. comfortable. i love it.”

well, i love you.

you stand in the bedroom’s entry and watch as he sets down his suitcase and jacket, only to turn around, stride across the room and stand before you. “c’mere,” he urges, arms opening and beckoning you forward. you open your mouth to speak, nervousness layering your every motion and thought, but he seems to be unmoved, indifferent to your hesitation as he grips your shoulders and pulls you into his torso. you hardly have time to understand what’s occurring before you’re engulfed in his arms, head pressed to his chest. the scent of teakwood, amber, and spice embraces you, too. you’re in his arms and it’s the most comfortable you’ve ever felt. of course yours slide around his waist to reciprocate. what feels like several minutes pass and xavier hasn’t moved from his position, keeping you tucked in the confines of his hold with no indication of releasing you. “you okay?” a delicate inquiry followed by his affirmative hum. “you like long hugs?” his chuckle vibrates in his chest. you feel the thrumming with your cheek pressed against his ribcage. “i do now, but only with you.” you wonder if he can feel your heart racing the way you can hear his. it takes xavier a while to be willing to let you free from his enveloping hold. you enjoy it, but you can’t deny the confusion that sends your mind spiraling, nosediving into a faraway daydream of the possible, unspoken implications of his actions since he arrived.

is this normal for him? is he usually this affectionate and chivalrous? well, yes. but. everything he’s doing feels so unlike him but also very like him. sure, but a hug that lasts for ten minutes? he hasn’t stopped calling me bunny for weeks. i swear i saw something in his eyes when i opened the door. maybe i’m insane. maybe i’m seeing what i want to see.

“bunny,” xavier calls, snapping you from your war of thoughts. you look up at him and notice he holds the bottle of tequila he suggested to you prior to his arrival. “you brought it.” there’s a thankful smile on his face and you nod, matching him. “i did. you said you wanted to play a drinking game.” “i have a confession.” he says with a sigh. “i haven’t actually drank in years.” you giggle. “same, so maybe let’s take it easy? half shots.” he only hums, but you swear you hear him mumble, “i’ll need all the courage i can get.”

at first, the silence builds into thick awkwardness. it’s only resolved by the ridiculous movie you guys decide to watch ꒰ this time with the intent of taking half-sized shots in response to every single instance someone says something ridiculously corny ꒱. this time it’s ‘hercules in new york’.

‘hey, mister! watch your talk!’ ‘i can hear my talk. i cannot watch it.’

“xav,” you laugh, preparing to take yet another swig. “what is this movie? the dialogue is horrendous. we might have to change the rules or i’ll be hospitalized.” like you have for the last few rounds, you pour just a bit of the brown liquid into each tiny glass, carefully measuring it out. when you turn to hand xavier his glass, you find half-lidded eyes staring at you, a hazy ocean swaying gently, flushed cheeks and a kiddish smile. “thanks, bunny.” he says, chuckling as he loosely raises his arms to grasp it. you narrow your eyes and pull the glass back. “hold on, sir. are you already too gone? mister ‘i need to have the exact measurements,’ do you know your own limit?” xavier’s smile widens and his reaching arm falls lazily into his lap. “i do. i’ve reached it.” “and you were really going to grab the drink anyway?” you ask incredulously, a brow raised. he shrugs. “it’s because…i think i’ll take anything you give to me. i like getting things from you.” “what are you even saying?” you grumble, placing the drinks down on the small table in front of you and your anxious hands in your own lap. the tv drones in front of you both, but the sound is drowned by the way your nervousness clouds all your senses right then. this is precisely what you feared, how you wouldn’t know how to react to his friendliness that feels so close to pursuit. silence settles for a moment; it rests between you both, teetering somewhere between comfortable and all-consuming. finally, he’s the one to speak. “you know…there’s…something specific i want you to give me.” he sighs and sits up, large body hunching over bent knees. slowly you turn your head to look at him. “m-me?” “you. i’m sorry if this isn’t as grand as you might have hoped.” confusion befalls you, and yet your clueless heart still bounces to the tune of his emphasis on you. “i’m uh…i’m not really following, xavier.” he grunts, straightens himself up, turns to look directly at you, and leans his face so close to yours, the feeling of his breath tickles your mouth. his eyes peer into yours, curiosity sparkling brilliantly like moissanite before he murmurs, “don’t you know by now that i love you?” xavier only lets two ticks pass before his desirous mouth collides with yours. he wants you to know the flavor of ardor on his lips; he wants to know if your longing tastes the same. he’s a man of indulgence, after all.

[menelausblues]

you write one of the best lore accurate xavier (in terms of actions and personality) in your fics

છ. omgomgomg! this made me so happy you have no idea, ⸝⸝o̴̶̷̥᷅﹏o̴̶̷̥᷅⸝⸝ thank you for reading my stories n for enjoying them. thank you for affirming that for me as well. ahhhh, so sweet.

[menelausblues]

‣ if rafayel had his way, you’d never leave him waiting.

mdni.

“you’re late.” the grumble of a deathly impatient man. “again,” if rafayel had his way, you’d likely never leave his side. if he could, he’d thread his infatuation between your bodies and use it to attach you both at the hip. it’s not so you can protect him; it’s not so you can be his bodyguard. he has his own specialities but you’re his personal delight. it’s all to build the guarantee he won’t lose you. if he’s left to fall in love alone and lose in love alone again, his sensitive heart can’t take it. it’ll burst into a myriad of deep, maddened vermillion, mourning shades of indigo, and sorrowful tones of gunmetal grey. his artistry will suffer. his fragility will likely consume him and make a hollow shell out of his abandoned devotements. and god would he miss you terribly. so you need to arrive when you say you will; it needs to be important to keep your word to him, to show up for him, to hold him as close to your heart as he cradles you in his.

“you’re being a brat.” you reply with a roll of your eyes, waltzing around his battlefield of discarded paints and art materials. “and you need to clean up in here. you’re going to get hurt and dramatically check yourself into the hospital again.” he scoffs. “you don’t care about me or my creative process at all. if you did, then perhaps you wouldn’t leave me waiting no matter where i go. i could have died all alone in here. how can i trust you with my life? do you want me, or do you want me dead?” “you’re the one who likes to buy materials that summon wanderers into your living room.” your own grousing travels the span of the room with you. “so? i hired you to protect me from myself.” when your giggle flutters into the air, a breathy melody that soothes his spirit and dispels his worry, a hymn or a prayer or a blessing on your breath, he can’t help the way his eyes soften at the sound. when you reach him, you stretch out the palm of your hand toward him. “pay your boyfriend tax.” of course, he knows exactly what you want from him, his flustered heart falling into an erratic symphony of beats that can hardly stay contained in his chest; it crescendos wildly in his ears. he peers at your hand with a huff of frustration while he takes a step closer, avoiding your gaze as he leans over, bending until the point of his chin rests in your hand. rafayel knows he’s doomed to die by means of your love alone when you grip his jaw, a soft thumb caressing from the corner of his lips to his cheek. his eyes twinkle and close at the feeling. if his heart is a garden, then your touch is the light of the sun that begs his devoutness to bloom in all tenderness, in all warmth. he waits for the pressure of supple lips that don’t fall, brows bunching as one eye opens and spells out his confusion. “hmph, are you going to greet me properly or just play with me?” “maybe both,” you murmur as you bend and press a soft kiss to his forehead. “i missed you.” if his heart is a shoreline, then your love must be the sea; your voice must be its depths and every wonderous marvel that exists within it, must be everything that swims and drowns and wades. a soft tint of red blossoms along his cheeks, slowly filling up to the tip of his ears. he almost can’t take it and he almost can’t move. so, he just stares for a moment, adoring eyes peering up at you with a look of surrender, white flags waving in the center of his fixated orbs. rafayel stands to his full height and shifts to turn away from you, to hide the way he can’t hide how much he loves you, to hide the way ardor paints itself across his nose. “i missed you, too.” he mumbles it and you’re amused. you hum, tilting your head with a knowing smirk. “what was that, rafayel?” “are you proud of yourself?” he gripes, giving you a sharp look with narrowed eyes. “i hired you to worry about wanderers but you come here and try to kill me instead.” a precious giggle. “god, you’re so dramatic.” if your laughter is a siren song, his heart becomes a sailor lured, and it gladly floats straight to you, straight to his death, right into the center of doom.

[menelausblues]

ode to all our living.

synopsis. you're starting to change since running away with xavier.

‣ 1.5k. no evol, ex-royalty au. princess mc/reader x knight xavier. established relationship. mentions of faking death. reader/mc runs in the rain. fluff. endless vow verse.

mdni.

a quaint, cozy cottage worn down by time, nestled in the nowhere of a field’s endless blooms is where you start your new life. long gone are the elegant gowns and elite affairs.  your title of princess is dead with your name. they won’t come looking for you both; xavier makes certain of it. as far as the kingdom of philos is concerned, you both perished in an unpreventable accident on your way to lemuria. the plan went smoothly, without a hitch. xavier’s integrity granted him friends more loyal to him than the king they allegedly worship. they helped you both get away. they made sure no one would raise questions. it was clean. precisely executed. there was no room for doubt about where you’d both gone. you both die with honor embedded into every curve of your names. you would rather them all mourn you than spend their lives seeking you out to charge you for your treason. a princess who would rather have a grave of falsities than a husband and a life she can’t choose. “sweetheart?” xavier calls, entering the tiny home. “i’m home.”

‘you’re home. i have so much to tell you about living.’

it still doesn’t feel real sometimes, leaving it all behind for a simple life of anonymity and connection, but when he comes back from a long day of working as a farmhand for the couple that owns this cottage and the land it lives on, your heart floods with elation at the reminder that there’s no more hiding. happily, you meander into the front room where the entrance is. you greet him in gratitude, launching yourself into his waiting arms. “my prince is home.” you say sweetly. “oh, you won’t believe what i did today!” xavier chuckles but pulls back as he realizes your clothes are sopping wet. “how was your day, princess? did you travel into town? why are you drenched?” his eyes widen with soft shock. he notices the way your hair sticks to your skin, the way it bunches up into dripping curls. you offer him a gummy smile, eyes alight with excitement as you reach for his hand. “have you ever been foolish in the rain?” you ask in wonder. there are many changes in your life. the biggest is independence. you had always wondered what liberation tasted like, if it was sweet on the tongue to the point of inspiring selfishness and greed or if every notion was whimsical and exciting, unknown in its flavor but always intense. but it’s hard for you to properly name what you struggle to fathom. all you’ve ever known is an intricately woven life.  from the moment you woke until rest, your every move was decided for you. your habits were taught to you. your personality was crafted, not fully discovered. it’s been hard to understand independence and autonomy, but today, you find that the rain helps. xavier looks both amused and bewildered, trapped between concern and laughter. “i…huh?” “the farme–i mean, mr. zayne’s wife, wendy! she gave me explicit instructions for if it rained today. the roof is quite old and fragile. she says eventually they’ll have it repaired since we’re staying here, but for now, we have to play prevention. i was nervous but i’m quite competent at following directions –” xavier softly interrupts to quip, “of course, the princess is good at everything, after all.” a triumphant grin. “precisely. so i went outside to raise the rain cover, but i had just woken from a short nap, so i was a bit late and it was starting to pour. i got the cover raised but by the time i was done, i was completely soaked.” though xavier appears to be quite endeared, concern does shape his features for a moment as he reaches to caress your cool cheek. “was it difficult? i apologize. i had a feeling it might rain. i should have placed it up before i left.” “no way!” exclaimed excitedly, “i did something i’ve never done before!” his lips curve. “i’m proud of you for putting up the cover. is that what’s got you so excited?” a hard shake of the head and a grin. “i played in the rain.”

you sing it as you place your hands on your waist boldly, proud of your own declaration. you’ve been conditioned for cleanliness all your life. it was reinforced in every notion that royalty ought to find dirt and mess aversive. it should be a catalyst for disgust. but today, the ends of your dress got stained with mud from your small labor and the sight of it made your heart jolt. when you realized that on the other side of this supposed offense there was no consequence, your heart flooded with a strange sense of relief. the freedom to be dirty and not be berated or treated with repulsion, it makes you wonder what else you can get away with now. and you recalled all the times you would sit in the window of your room and watch the rain fall while everyone below scattered about. you found yourself taking one step from under the protection of the cover, then two, then five, then so many you were laughing hysterically as you ran around the field behind your new home. “you?” xavier questions, brows furrowed. “but i thought my princess hated being wet and dirty.” your voice lowers into a shameful murmur, your face leans into the palm of his hand. “i think the princess just wanted to be perfect.” “ah, i see. and you realize now you don’t have to be?” you nod and that seems to make him smile. “does it feel exciting?” another gentle nod. “to the point of feeling frightening. i laid down in the grass to catch my breath from running around and i…i found myself so happy that i wanted to cry. i think…royalty is…a very lavish prison with an abundance of amenities. and even though it was comfortable, it was still control.” xavier cups your cheeks then, stepping closer as he presses tender kisses to your lips, simpering through the entire burst of affection. “i’m proud of you.” your brow bunches and you laugh softly. “proud of me? for getting filthy and wet?” “very proud of you,” his nose rubs against yours. “you wouldn’t even sit down in any of the chairs when we first got here because you said they were too dirty and old. now you’re laying in grass and running in rain.”

oh.

this much is true. you remember the day you arrived, every bit of furniture was covered in thick layers of dust and rot. it made your nose scrunch in disgust. even after xavier diligently wiped and scrubbed everything down, you still couldn’t get the feeling of lingering filth out of your mind. but this morning, you sat across from him at the small dining table and had breakfast together. you hadn’t even realized that today you were so comfortable reading in your bed that you actually took a nap. “huh,” you breathe, perplexed. “i suppose you’re right.” a tender kiss is placed on the center of your forehead. “i’m glad you had fun in the rain, but try to be careful. the last thing i would want is for you to get sick, princess.” “even if i do, it was worth it.” taking naps after reading in bed and running around the rain was only the beginning.  little by little, everything about your nature started to change. xavier was like the sun, shining down on you in support and all you could do was bloom. helplessly. just like the wildflowers of uluru. you end up with your knees sinking deep into the earth of a garden you decide to cultivate, planting forget-me-nots with your bare hands and dirt caking under your nails all because you miss their loving sways. you start to like sleeping under the afternoon sky with xavier, laying in the grass with him to listen to him read you poetry. kissed by the light. staining the fabrics of your clothes doesn’t make you flinch; it doesn’t even cross your mind. you start to look at flaws like odes to living. you welcome them with an open heart.  you like to leave the windows open while you and xavier prepare your meals. you like the way the spring seeps into your home once the hyacinths bloom.  you don’t mind the sticky summers or the scent of sweating skin. you like the way the outdoors lingers on flesh. it makes you feel alive. you love picnics in the fall, the way the breeze lightly and playfully nips at your skin. you like the way the tips of xavier’s nose and ears flush when he lingers outdoors for too long. when the winter comes, you discover that snow is more than a picturesque nuisance. there are ways to find joy in its dreariness and inconvenience. you like the way your laughter echos with his while you both make the shapes of angels in chilly fluff. you fall in love with messiness and the mundane, and xavier falls even more in love with you.  and eternity suddenly doesn’t feel like enough time to do it well. he watches the princess he’s always known become even more of herself, and sometimes, it’s someone entirely new. 

[menelausblues]

paragon of reverence.

synopsis. you want to run away with xavier. 

‣ 0.7k. non-hunter/evol, royalty au. princess mc/reader x knight xavier. secret/forbidden relationship. fluff. angst. endless vow verse.

mdni.

sometimes xavier wonders what he means to you, what impact his eternal devotion carries in your heart. he wonders how much it weighs in your sternum. as your knight, all that enters his realm of concern is both your safety and your joy. yes, he lives for the birth of your elation bred from the security he ensures — a hand in yours or a hand drawing his sword in your name. he isn’t supposed to love you, but before he’s a knight, he’s only a man. honorable in truth, but still, a man comprised of flaws. loyal but indulgent. fierce but impulsive. reliable but irrational. calm but reactive. although, for you, all xavier needs is the strength he carries inspired by his vow to you to be a knight who excels at his position and can be trusted to be at his post: by your side. and you, his forbidden awestricken lover with your honeysuckle heart bleeding the sweetest nectar over everything. what else is he supposed to do aside love you?

from your intellect to your unyielding curiosity, xavier’s grown to adore every aspect of you he observes. even when you make his blood boil, he wants to release his frustration by pressing feathery kisses to each of your knuckles. he can’t help but love you. to every question he raises, you’re the answer he finds. “princess,” xavier calls. he enters your room, voice pointed as your honorific rolls casually from his lips. you hum weakly in response. he finds you standing soundless in front of your large, bay window, looking out at the structures of the kingdom below. his obvious frustration is disregarded for the likes of pensiveness. his tone softens at the sight. “i’m…told you refuse to see your father.” “mm, that’s right,” you say distantly. “he seeks to absolve his crimes against the lemurians by marrying me off to their king. a direct line of power to lay this conflict to rest with no consequence.” xavier listens to every word you say, but you pierce a hook right through his chest when the word marrying slips out of your lips. he didn’t hear any rumors floating around and he devoutly listens for them with the same diligence that he uses to wait for your word. his frustration dies on his breath, now replaced by a swelling ache swaddling his ribs. “i refuse.” you seethe, finally turning to face xavier with teary eyes. “for obvious reasons, i can’t bring myself to marry another man that isn’t you.” despite the weight of the truth being the dagger lodged in his throat, xavier speaks to you softly. “come here, princess.” and you do, picking up the fabric of your attire to drag your bare soles over to him, your perfect lips set in a pout, his yearning to set them straight screeching inside him.

when you’re within reach, he gently cups your cheeks. an exalting and loving smile molds his lips to mask the way his heart collapses to the floor and shatters in glassy descent. “i’m your knight first. and your lover last.” xavier’s somber reminder as he presses tender kisses against your lips. “maybe we should accept this.” ignoring him, you speak as if he hasn’t. “unless we leave this kingdom, all we’ll have is this. with or without him, i want to have you, but i don’t want to put you in harm’s way. if we leave together, my father will most assuredly put a bounty on your head.” your voice shimmers with love, a solemn vow spoken with promise and fear all in one breath. he grins, bittersweet and ardent, staring into your cosmic eyes, watching stars shoot across your irises and wishing for the space to love you well. “uluru,” he murmurs, leaning his forehead against yours. your noses brush. “uluru?” “we said if we ever eloped, we’d spend the rest of our lives there.” xavier’s knuckles graze your cheek as he declares, “i’ll pay any cost there is to keep you. if you say you want to go, we’ll go. but if we go, we can’t look back. be sure this is really what you want.” because this is all he’ll ever want: to be hopelessly dedicated to you, a paragon of reverence. his heart belongs to you, for all of eternity. in this life and his next. you smile, delicate and doting, softly declaring, “i’m ready to go when you are.”

next in series : ode to all our living. ↳ you're starting to change since running away with xavier.

[menelausblues]

confirmation bias.

synopsis. you and xavier are so made for each other that you get each other the same gifts.

‣ 1k. semi-canon compliant. established relationship au. reader/mc and xavier get each other the same gifts. domestic fluff. humor.

mdni.

at first, it’s dreadful, but then it’s amusing. you seem to both follow a similar track of thought as you look down at the unwrapped, identical gifts then back to one another in silence before bubbling into laughter at the absurdity of it all, at the way fate tangles you both so closely you always become mirrors.  it makes all your loving desires seem selfish, the way it’s your own names locked in obsessive loops only separated by breaths. “it almost feels pointless.” you utter through the remains of your laughter, picking up the pacakaged headphones and shaking your head. “i can’t believe we got each other the same gift.” xavier grabs your free hand, bringing it to his lips to kiss your knuckles. “i don’t think so. we had the same need. we have the same tastes. if anything, it only solidifies we’re more compatible than ever.” “ever the optimist.” you sigh, looking at him lovingly. you two really are the same in so many ways. it doesn’t feel like dating yourself, but it feels like dating someone created with the specific purpose of loving you and being loved by you. made for one another or whatever belief those lost in love willfully embody.

xavier shakes his head, bringing your wrist to his mouth to kiss gingerly. “i’ll happily believe in anything that reinforces the idea that you and i should be together. i prefer all signs that point back to me being your one and only.” “do you need signs for that when i’m openly committed to you?” you ask, your voice breathy as your heart oscillates wildly with every tender touch of his lips. “i think it kind of speaks for itself, no?” a chuckle as he pulls you closer to him. “do we need eggs to add to ramen? no, but it makes it taste even better.” his nose rubs against yours and you know his heart must have become a melting thing teeming in his chest. he’s always like this when his ardor overflows. he gets handsy and his mouth becomes indulgent, placing kisses against any visible flesh he can find.  the offering is always a tangible vow followed and enforced by the discipline of prayer. so after a moment of closeness, he moves the gifts aside and sinks his head to your thighs in a quiet plea to receive. it’s in these moments that you feel worshipped most by him, exalted by your light-adorned disciple. you run your fingers through his hair soothingly. voice soft and moony, laced with fondness and the hint of amusement, you say, “you just like confirmation bias. you’ll ignore anything that suggests we aren’t meant to be together.” an affirmative hum. “a reasonable response considering it would be wrong. i have unintentionally matching gifts with you as proof.” you snort a laugh. “just because you don’t like it doesn’t mean it isn’t also a sign.” a pout shapes his lips and he looks up at you with narrowed eyes. “are you trying to be incompatible with me? i’ll take it as a positive sign because you know i get bored easily if there’s no challenge.”

“you don’t care about challenges. you let me cheat in kitty card and you purposely knocked over your blocks during pile it up.” xavier chuckles but only rubs his face against your legs, comfortable in his position with you, comfortable in how easily you surrender to obliging him in the form of caressing his cheek. “you’re wrong,” he mumbles, eyes falling shut. “ i wasn’t trying to win those games. i was trying to win you .” you laugh softly, always amused by his reasoning. “you already have me.” silence settles between you both, comfortable and relieving like coming home. you figure he’s fallen asleep as he does, his breathing steady and eyes closed, but he speaks in that soft, dulcet tone of his, indistinguishable from a lullaby the way it always mollifies your heart. “i love you.” he declares in all fondness. it’s not like it’s his first time. it’s just that he always says it like it is. “and i love when things reinforce the idea that we love each other. is that so bad?” and your poor heart, already so tied in knots of promises and vows inspired by his love, loops in on itself in the shape of his name once more for good measure. you sigh, consumed by the sudden swarm of ardor that sweeps across the span of your torso. “it’s not bad at all.” you murmur. “you know i love you, too.” he reaches to place his hand over your own. “since you love me so much i think you should talk about how compatible we are specifically when we’re on the elevator with our neighbor who loves looking at you.” the amusement is immediate as the image of your older neighbor, mister ivan, who loves to stare and sing praises of your beauty seeps into your mind. xavier’s always been civil with other tenants and prefers to appear unbothered, but once he witnessed ivan’s elation at the prospect of seeing you up close, he started to become progressively more resistant and snappy regarding him. “now xavier,” you bite back a laugh. “don’t be petulant. he’s an old man.”

a dramatic sigh befalls him. “and? i’m not being petulant. i simply think a reminder of our very obviously unbreakable commitment is in order.” “is that so?” you ask teasingly. “i don’t know. i kind of like being the sweet, pretty neighbor everyone fawns over but knows they can’t have.” xavier snorts, grumbling, “and i enjoy not having to fight my elders about you being the sweet, fawned over neighbor.” “i can’t help it that i’m linkon’s darling.” you chime with an obnoxious grin. “you knew what you were signing up for. i’m very popular.” cerulean eyes and snowy lashes flutter to look up at you. his mouth sets into a cute, distinct pout as grips your hand. “xavier’s darling first and linkon’s absolutely, one hundred percent dead last.” “how are you jealous of the city we protect?” “i’m not jealous.” he denies. “i have nothing to be jealous of.” your disbelieving scoff follows. “so… that’s why you turned the lights out the last time we were in the elevator with mister ivan?” closing his eyes again, xavier shrugs. “there was nothing he needed to see until he got to his door. i was only helping him stay focused.”

[menelausblues]

just read caught on ur ao3 and im reminded as to how much i love that man so much. banging my head against the walllllll 😭😭🤍🤍🤍

​ ̥  𓂃  omg thank you for reading that one, c: n i feel you. i have a massive soft spot for him. i hope you're having a good one bb!

[menelausblues]

recurring visions.

synopsis. rafayel is plagued by memories you’ve long forgotten.

‣ 0.9k. semi-canon compliant, star-crossed lovers au. forgotten past. prose heavy. light smut. angst. light fluff.

mdni.

sometimes rafayel is plagued with memories of the past as blinding as the light of the sun – brilliant, imposing, and sweet. warmth crawls under his skin, nearly as sneakily as you but just as jarring, and he’s taken back to a time when your hands laced together in a shared yearning under the luminescent tangerine and scarlet of a shyly smiling sunset. he recalls the details effortlessly, remembrance inevitable and unrelenting. his recurring visions of the past are of pleasure and salted air, now covered in dust and the quiet aching of the present. he sees it all clearly, without even meaning to: the way you straddled his lap, the way his greedy hands kept you steady, the way your moans were masked under the noise of crashing waves beating against the same shoreline where you both became so careless it all but affirmed your impending doom, the way he chose to abandon his disciplines to commit to his damning all for the sake of your affection.

you both know you shouldn’t be so shameless, shouldn’t let your tenderness be so brazen and without boundary like this. it’s all sand-laden flesh and teeth and gold-plated lust glimmering on the surface of bare bodies. it’s the maw of the sea kissing your feet, the watchful eye of the sun that’s fading in fondness, too. it’s murmurs and moaning and the two mouths messily pressed together where it all lives. but what is love if not willful madness? what is desire, if not the peak of a mountain made of lunacy? “y-your highness,” rafayel’s fragile whimper spills out of him, and his plea follows with delight. “please, my love. please.” his hands run down your sides, pausing on your hips and squeezing the meat of them as his lips capture your own again in a sloppy, salty kiss. grains of sand cling to everything: his wet tufts of lavender, the tips of his needy fingers, the sides of your face ꒰ only evidence of his cradling hands, only a testament to his adoration ꒱, the thews of any part of you he’s touched. “call me by my name. i have no desire to keep you as a pet, rafayel.” his eyes squeeze shut, pleasure swimming around his gut as his name falls from your lips, breathy and delicate. your hips move against him, unremitting and arhythmic. your forehead presses against his; you murmur a quiet demand, “open your eyes and look at me.” and he does, obedient as he’s always been, a pet you masquerade as your companion. the bruising kiss you claim his lips with is precisely why. he could never disappoint you, not when your reward is so fulfilling. “oh god,” he rasps between kisses. everything inside him breathes to life when your tongue slips into his mouth. you’ve made so many things out of him, all of it art and all of it yours. you cup his cheeks to keep him still, swallowing his desperate whines, a maritime delicacy only you know the taste of. when you pull apart, chests heaving and panting, his head teems with dizziness at the sound of your mewling. all of it art and all of it HIS. one hand leaves your hips to cover your own against his cheek. “mine,” he keens, supple lips pouty and parted and swollen, grasping your hand and forcing your palm to make room for the tender pecks he paints there. “all mine,” you nod, eyes alight with yearning and focused on him, lips trembling to hold in the sound threatening to burst from them. “a-all yours,” you breathe. “i love you. iloveyouiloveyou.” his fingers thread into your own, peppered kiss all along your fingertips clutching to his, but it’s the eye contact coupled with the mercilessness of your rocking hips and the dangerous confession slipping from your mouth into his that sends him spiralling. that’s what makes him abandon your palm to grip the fat of your ass and hold you still to keep himself buried deep as he twitches, warm cum filling you in spurts. “mmph!” a whiney huff. he can’t help the way his face hides into the crook of your neck, quietly blubbering out his reciprocated notions into hot flesh and hoping a vow is something that can be embedded into bones. “i love you. love you. just you.”

“aren’t you that famous painter? raf—” rafayel is removed from the comfort of his memories and the joy of observing you from a distance by an approaching student too excitable for his tastes. he shushes them instantly. “don’t blow my cover.” he teases, opting to shove down his agitation for being interrupted. “do you know where the students of this major usually have their classes?” and he knows he shouldn’t get too close, knows that you don’t remember him although it’s all he’s able to do — paint his myriad of conflicting emotions and remember you — but he can’t stop himself. the closer he gets, the more vivid the thoughts of you become. and if he can’t have you, then he’ll cling to his evocations that contain so much detail, it almost feels relived rather than recalled. so he’ll commit to the rumination of antiquated joy, although crestfallen and forlorn when he’s thrust back to the reality in which his hands no longer know the softness of your skin nor the timidity between your laced fingers. yours, that’s what he always swore. he loves you. just you.

[menelausblues]

‣ you try to break things off with xavier.

mdni.

you suggest to xavier that perhaps you should both take a step back from the relationship so he can focus more on his work and you’re met with the most pained expression you’ve ever seen on his face.  he cups your cheeks, trying his best not to let the words you’ve uttered ruin him, but it’s hard when the one he loves tries to break his heart so casually. “there’s no taking steps back.” he murmurs, and it’s said as a claim but the fragility in his voice folds into a plea. “we can't take any steps back, okay? please.” it’s the love in his eyes, glistening with unshed tears. it’s the hurt in his voice, the way his heart is stuffed into his cheeks and weighing his lips down into a pout. you can’t stand to see him so close to breaking, your golden boy who gives the sun a reason to shine. “i just…you’re so busy, xavi…i don’t want to get in the way of things for you.” even more than discarding him and all the fondness he can’t help but hold for you, it hurts him most to hear you speak of yourself as a burden in his life, as if he didn’t choose you. choose this. as if he doesn’t revolve around you and your smile. as if he doesn’t wake just to see your eyes. as if he doesn’t love you more than life itself. it’s insulting. it’s ache-inducing. “things for me?” he repeats, dizzy with disbelief as he blinks repeatedly, trying to understand. “you can’t be in the way of things that are just as much for you as they are for the rest of us. we’re a family. you do know that, yeah? you’re not in the way. we’re in this together. i need you by my side with me. that’s the only way.” that’s the only way. you feel a little silly, of course you do.

you see a man with the world on his shoulders telling you he wants to love you and it feels like all it would do is make his atlas fate emboldened. like it would all become heavier for him to hold out of spite. and you don’t want to be a kiss that curses him. you don’t want to be the one that erodes his strength. you see a man that shines like the northern star and you don’t want to be the one to make his light burn out. but it wouldn’t, would it? it could never. “no steps back, okay? whatever you need for reassurance just tell me. it’s not a problem.” you sigh, looking up into his eyes as your hands reach to curl around his. “i don’t want to be another problem you always have to solve.” “well, it’s a good thing you’re the love of my life and not a problem then.” even despite his aching, he offers you a playful smile. “now say it with me: xavier is my favorite boy and i won’t break his heart and spirit by worrying about useless things like leaving him.” a groan. “c'mon, xavi. not this.” “xavier is my favorite boy and i won’t break his heart and spirit by worrying about useless things like leaving him.” he repeats, eyes expectant as he squishes your cheeks together. “come on, baby. don’t be bratty after you almost killed me.” you roll your eyes, but your heart soars. “fine, xavier is my favorite boy and i won’t break his heart and spirit by worrying about useless things like leaving him.” and of course, he beams. his boyish smile that always says leave it to me. “see? was that so hard? now let me kiss you.” without waiting for a response, he leans down and kisses your lips, puckered from squeezing your cheeks. he makes a show of it. sloppy wetness and an exaggerated mwah. you scrunch your nose in disgust at the sound. “gross,” you grouse. “i don’t care at all. you’re stuck with me.”

[menelausblues]

hii!! just wanted to say that i love love looovee ur blog sm!! especially the way you write xavi and raf, theyre so cute!(*T^T) they feel so real and tender!! tuesday is def my fav, i get giddy everytime i think about it (you rewired my brain i think about it way too often). xavi already lives rent free in my head and you just.....locked him in( ﾟ□ﾟ). love you!!! mwuah

̥ 𓂃 hai hai! omgggg this is very kind of you, c: thank you for reading my silly lil stories. i feel so giddy inside when people say they like my portrayals of them, ⸝⸝o̴̶̷̥᷅﹏o̴̶̷̥᷅⸝⸝ though, i wrote tuesdays like two years ago n it just so happened to fit xavier better than previous iterations. sending you lots of love n thank you for stopping by!!! ‹3

[menelausblues]

sinner for two.

synopsis. xavier takes his job as your secretary very seriously.

‣ 1.3k. no evol au. vampire+ceo reader/mc x secretary xavier. secret relationship. xavier is a massive simp kinda. smut : oral/swallowing. light blood-drinking. xavmc week.

mdni.

“y-you have a meeting with the association in ten minutes.” xavier doesn’t always like being a secretary; it’s far too busy, but he likes being yours, and that's enough to stay. a mountain made of diligence, that’s what he’s always been. though he’s not as patient as he once was, he still regards himself as more tolerant than others. he’s learned to be very good at obedience, despite how much he prefers control. he reasons it’s an inevitable outcome when the object of his affection is you, his immortal boss that enjoys feeding on him from time to time in the safety of your office. you look up at him, grinning, and your eyes gleam a dazzling crimson, what he’s come to know as the shade of your gratitude and greed. the blood from his thigh starts to drip from the corner of your mouth and he watches your tongue lazily dart along your lower lip. he doesn’t even realize he’s gone from panting to tracing his own lip with his tongue, mimicking you in the throes of his own ecstasy. “i'm unlikely to be late, but if i am, can you let them know?”

somehow, your voice teases him, licks at his flesh even when you pull away, the area of his wound thrumming with a sweet kind of pain. he feels soft desperation spill out of him, pre-cum seeping from the swollen head of his cock. between a moan and an affirmation, he breathes shakily, “y-yeah, i will. i’ll tell them.” your tongue licks along the shape of his wound, making his cock twitch in his already stuttering hands. when he feels your teeth sink back in, he can’t help the way his head lulls back, an elongated groan surrendered to the air. “you’re a really good secretary. very efficient. very good at logistics. always on top of things. i like that about you.” you say, leaving gentle kisses along his inner thigh. xavier whines pathetically. he looks down, fascinated by the way you kneel before him but he’s the one who’s worshipping you. “it’s because i care about you more than anything.” “aht-aht, we’ve talked about idolization.” your tone is a warning. “i’m a monster. you shouldn’t forget that.” his voice is shaky and wispy, creaking under the weight of his lingering arousal. “it’s not because you feed on me. i just like you. i want you to use me.” you chuckle. “the xavier i met on his first day here wouldn’t say such a thing.” “well, he’s an idiot.” xavier knows that you think he was much smarter before he discovered your secret, much smarter before he became infatuated by you and offered himself on a platter, but xavier thinks you don't understand how much he likes being next to you, how much he wants to be at your mercy for the simple sake of it. you snort, licking around his wound as you prepare for your last taste. his eyes squeeze shut in anticipation. “you think you know this is what you want, but your fragile judgment is impaired by pleasure.” his head sinks back; his sighs sink into a groan. “ahhh, oh my god,”

he never realizes when he cums, always so overwhelmed by the fullness of bliss that imprisons him. he only knows because when he finally opens his eyes and looks down, your mouth has moved from his thigh to his sputtering length. he holds his breath and feels lightheaded as you swallow him down, but he can’t manage more than a pathetic pant that sounds closer to a squeak. you’ve removed his hands, taking the mess of his release as your own responsibility. as always. he’s so grateful to be taken care of by you, so honored to be the one who sustains your living so frequently. when you’re done and the daze of his explosive ecstasy finally starts to fade, you rise to your feet and start to adjust your clothing. he finally feels like he regains control of his breathing but all he wants to do is watch you.

beautiful and devastating, addicting and disorienting.

he manages to fix himself but his hair is a tousled mess and he’s sure the buttons on his shirt are lopsided. your eyes are full of concern as you look over him. you approach, your sweet-scented palms cupping his cheeks. you always carry an aroma of amber and spice. “maybe you shouldn’t offer your blood like this. i fear it’ll interfere with your job and i like you as my secretary more than i like you as a meal.”

even if you don’t want me, i’m yours anyway.

“i like both.” a soft laugh. “well, you’ll be free of me for a week next week. maybe it’ll clear your mind.” “w-wait, where are you going?” it comes out as confusion and surprise, but what it really feels like is panic and fear. he knows every detail of your schedule, but he can’t recall anything you have going on without him. your sweet smile is almost painful with the way ardor floods his chest and makes it tighten. he watches the blood red of your eyes fade back into a color well-known to the human eye. “you don’t know? didn’t you make my schedule, sweetie?” “oh,” xavier’s lips fall into a pout. “i thought…i…”

i thought i was going with you.

you peck his lips, ginger yet reverent. it reels him in and keeps him still. “i don’t need you to accompany me, and as i’ve stated before, our relationship at work should contain some boundaries. if i need you to take note of anything, you can attend virtually.” a frustrated grumble, “ah, i see.” you try to follow his eyes as they become downcast, but petulantly, he doesn’t want to meet you, doesn’t want to remember why it’s inappropriate for him to admit that he wants to always be by your side. that’s not what you both agreed to, and he knows it. “are you disappointed?” you ask, and he can hear the underlying worry in your voice. it makes him feel weak, but he can’t lie to you the way he lies to himself. “a little,” a soft sigh. “is indulging in you this way complicating your role as my secretary?” “no,” instantly, he rejects the notion. with wide cerulean eyes, terrified, his lips part in alarm. you cover your mouth to hide your laugh. “that was fast.” xavier clears his throat, realizing that in order to show that he still values reason and has genuine dedication to both you and his position as your secretary, he’s going to have to try his hardest to maintain decorum. he can’t succumb to fits of dissatisfaction over non-issues, and he can’t always be so drenched in his own desperation to love and be loved by you. “i’m the only one who can do this job well because i know about you. i know about your sensitivity to light and i know your weaknesses to warmth. i plan everything around it. and also, when you’re hungry, i’m always available. and you say you like my blood best, that it’s special to you.” special, specifically designed for your tastes, made for you. “my, my, you’ve really bolstered your defense.” your grin is taunting him but he doesn’t care as long as you know. without hesitation, “i want to be the one you take everywhere you go.” your hands fall and his body aches to reach back for you. “how sweet, but not next week. i expect you’ll take care of everything here so i can continue bragging about finding such a competent secretary i fear i can never let go of.” his knees nearly buckle where he stands. the assurance that you want to keep him is enough to weaken him. “y-yes, of course,” “good job. now, come on. straighten yourself up. you’re coming with me to my meeting.” when you turn your back on him and leave him there, he can’t fight his own smile. his job is quite demanding, and loving you the way he does makes it complicated, but he’ll do anything to be the one trailing behind you and taking note of your every detail and whim.

[menelausblues]

indoor intimacy inquisition.

synopsis. rafayel tries his hardest to plan a good date but everything goes wrong except loving you.

‣ 1.2k. semi-canon compliant. established relationship. fluff.

mdni.

you don’t think you’ve ever seen rafayel in this level of distress. it’s been ongoing for the entire day, the way he mutters under his breath, quietly seething about the mishap of all his orchestration. his cheeks are flushed red with frustration and eyes are set in a hard glare. “nothing is going right.” he mumbles, placing the pieces of his failed picnic on the counter top, lower lip jutting out pathetically.  you approach him from behind, murmuring, “rafayel,” he sighs, “i don’t know what i did to upset the other gods but every single one of my plans going wrong feels like very intentional sabotage.” “baby,” you say with a soft chuckle. he turns to you but his frustration and petulance persist. “and you came here dressed for such a beautiful day out and i’m ruining it because nothing is together. don’t let this count against my boyfriend score because this is only my second time doing this. i’m still le–”

you cradle his cheeks in your palms, forcing silence on him through a series of tender kisses to his nose and lips. “i love you so much, but please hush for a second.” breathy with adoration he breathes out a confused, “huh?” “today has been a disaster in terms of logistics, yes, but all the things that went wrong weren’t your fault or in the realm of your control. you can’t help that the weatherman was wrong and it rained when we were meant to have a picnic. you can’t help that they mistakenly gave your materials for our indoor intimacy inquiry–” a tender correction. “inquisition, the indoor intimacy inquisition.” “yes, that,” you agree, nodding fondly before continuing, “you can’t help that they gave our things to someone else and we had to wait. you didn’t know the restaurant was closing early and we missed the pick up for our order. you can’t help that thomas is sick and can’t help you with his part. i know you tried to make today very special and i love you so much for how much love you put into everything you do, but you’re driving yourself into an anxiety whirlpool when just spending time with you doing nothing is good enough for me.” rafayel doesn’t respond right away, just stares at you in all devotion. he wants to spill out a string of thoughtful words of appreciation, but all his mind can focus on is the presence of two confessions he’s longed to share with you, uttered to him so casually and without notice. “twice,” he mutters, staring at you. amethyst eyes glisten and needy hands pull you closer to his own body by the waist. he’s on the edge of a whimper and plea just to hear you say it again. confused, your brows knit. “what?” a chuckle as he shakes his head, lilac tresses falling into his face.  “you…said you love me twice.”

flustered. you sputter over your words as you slowly realize that you did indeed confess to loving him multiple times. it’s not that it’s untrue, it’s just that you introduced a new level to the relationship and such a concept is frightening, especially when love can feel as fragile as it does hopeful. “oh…well, i…” rafayel sighs dramatically, the back of his hand resting against his forehead. “wow, my darling miss bodyguard never fails to one up me and steal my thunder.” “raf, what?” you ask bashfully, your smile so tender as you look down. he won’t allow it. he wants you to love him as proudly as he does you. he wants to be the only answer to all your curious notions. he wants to be cherished loudly and dutifully. titling your chin up, he forces your eyes to lock. “i was gonna say it first. and it was gonna be almost cinematic on the beach with the sunset glistening off the surface of the tides while i looked into your eyes and told you just how much life you’ve managed to breathe back into me, but here you are telling me without even realizing because you mean it so much.” he chuckles, reverence dancing on his breath. teasingly you ask, “i…did you want me to mean it less?” “no, it was perfect.” “so…are you happy or are you being dramatic? i can’t tell.” a roll of the eyes, a dramatic groan. “obviously, i’m happy and i love you with the white hot intensity of ten thousand suns, is it not obvious? a fish could be walking on land in front of your eyes and you would still ask where is it.” scoffing, your eyes narrow. “me and my love can waltz right back home.” rafayel flicks your forehead then. “as if you’re allowed to go off duty, miss bodyguard. you’re required to keep me safe all day and night. not a scratch on my body or you’ll go without pay.” you grin, your palms flat, running up the span of his torso. “oh? i’ll make sure to keep my hands all to myself tonight then. wouldn’t want to leave any marks.” as you go to pull your hands away, rafayel grabs them in his own, pressing them back against his chest. in his mind, he’s selfish and greedy for always insisting on having as much of you as you’re always willing to give, but he can’t help it. he can’t defy his nature of devoutness.  loving you is as necessary for his living as breathing. “withholding affection is against company policy and you’re aware. besides, a lack of markings can be a safety issue for me personally.”

you roll your eyes but the singing in your heart betrays you. “is that so?” “it is so. so get busy, miss bodyguard. you’ve been on the clock for a while now and i’ve gotten hardly any affection. i would hate to report you to hr.” you hum, looking up as you feign an exasperated sigh. “sometimes i wake up and think to myself…do i really need this job?” “you do. and even if you don’t, i don’t accept resignations.” rafayel pouts as he grumbles it out. he rejects any and all notions of separation or unhappiness with his love. you back away from him and gasp. “am i your elite employee or your prisoner?” when he tries to take a step towards you, you playfully take a step back and watch his lips set into bratty pout.  “come here,” rafayel whines pathetically. when you shake your head, he holds his arms open to you.  “please, my darling miss hunter bodyguard fishie baby,” you’ll never admit it aloud, lest rafayel hold it over your head like his most esteemed conquest, but you love the way that all of you reaches back for him without question. you love the way he calls your name and it’s a siren song, an arduous string knotting through the space of your ribs and tugging you fondly, compelling you closer. for as much as he jokes about you trying to kill him, you’ve never been able to evade the strength of his influence.  he could kill you easily with a weapon made entirely of your allegiance. “can’t stand you,” you grumble stubbornly as you find yourself sinking into his embrace, always called back home with ease. “can’t live without you.” rafayel seals your closeness with a gentle kiss to the temple. a halcyon sigh, “the feeling is mutual.”

[menelausblues]

tuesdays.

synopsis. your roommate xavier is odd and quite specific.

‣ 12.5k. non-hunter/evol, roommates to lovers au. video game developer xavier x student mc/reader. xavier is very quiet n shy. rafayel cameo as the cute, quirky neighbor. xavier n mc cook together. semi-slow burn? domestic fluff. misunderstandings. jealousy. light angst. humor.

mdni.

having xavier as a roommate doesn’t necessarily cause you any problems in your everyday life, but boy is he a rather peculiar man from time to time. sharing space with him is an overall easygoing and even enjoyable experience due to his reserved and borderline reclusive nature. he’s quiet, rarely has guests, and doesn’t pester you. he’s also quite domestic, which seems to indirectly benefit you. his areas are well-kept and consistently clean. he stays on top of household finances and shopkeeping. he enjoys cooking and often feeds you.  when you’re gone for the entire day from morning until night, either at work or shuffling through campus, you come home to an extra serving waiting for you. though, he’s never anywhere in sight. ꒰ admittedly, you did eat his extras without permission the first time, but now, he delegates them to you in space-themed bento box you think he��s had since he was a boy. ꒱

considering he sleeps quite early in order to wake up at the first breath of every morning, and you finally consume your second meal of the day alone in the dimly lit kitchen at 11:30 pm, there’s never  an appropriate time to thank him. so, you instead leave a sticky note that reads, ‘thank you for the food. i ate well!’ on the coffee machine, the first place he looks each morning. you know this because every day, promptly at 7:15 am, you’re roused from your slumber by the pleasant aroma of coffee brewing and clinging to the air, seeping through all the walls. it’s a habit of his that cultivates comfort, a sense of home. you don’t even like coffee, but his routine is oddly like an alarm, a signal to your body that the day is beginning and rising with him. shortly after his brew begins, your eyes flutter open, humming contentedly as you take in the scent and stretch the sleep out of your limbs. xavier is kind enough. he doesn’t make many demands of you and asks for a reasonable amount to rent his spare room. of all the people and places you could have secured last-minute housing for university, you’re quite fortunate to end up with xavier.  he’s a simple guy, not one for many words, communicating in mostly happy hums, gentle sighs, and soft nods ꒰ when you actually see him come slinking out of his bedroom or enter quietly from wherever he spends his day, that is. ꒱ but despite being mostly pleasant and tolerable, he still has these oddities that make you quirk a brow at him, utterly perplexed. firstly, he nitpicks the number of paper towels you use at once. on one of the rare occasions you mutually linger in the common space other than tuesday, you have the audacity to wash your hands in front of him — dry them, no less. naturally, like any other, you grab paper towels to dry, and you feel his eyes locked on your side profile, watching diligently from the dining table. his eyes, little seas you can drown in, shamelessly bore into you. he analyzes you carefully — judges you. you meet his eyes slowly, unusually nervous. you feel as if you’re being heavily and thoroughly scrutinized. his displeasure pierces the air with terrifying persistence. “uh…is everything okay?” “you use a lot of paper towels at once.” he notes quietly, never tearing his gaze from yours. “it’s pretty wasteful.” he admittedly didn’t state it with malice, only moderate concern at best. when he says it, you look down between your palms where a bundle of paper towels are bunched.

you can admit it’s more than you actually needed, but it’s such an odd thing to want to observe and take note of, such a specific behavior to apply feedback to. you look back up at him, blinking slowly. “sorry?” you offer half-heartedly. “is there a certain amount you’d like me to use at a time?” you try your damndest not to let the severity of your bubbling agitation show, but you hear it slip in the way you offer him a careless apology and defensive inquiry about a solution. to your dismay, xavier only hums, ignoring your attitude and seriously considering your notion. “ideally, paper towels should only be used for spills and messes, so as to not permanently stain our cloth towels. considering there are two hundred and eight sheets in total, at an average cost of five diamonds per roll, making each sheet worth just under two-point-five gold, it’d be objectively more cost-efficient and environmentally friendly if you…placed a cloth towel there specifically to dry your hands and include it in your laundry cycle regularly. that’s what i do. it’s…the most reasonable option.” “uh…huh.” you say it slowly, trying to wrap your mind around why it took a boy who hardly ever speaks so many words to arrive at a simple conclusion: put a hand towel there instead. “i’ll put a towel there. i’m sorry for being wasteful.” he nods, his hard gaze softening and moving back to previous stimuli. “thank you for acknowledging my concern.” in truth, you don’t even get a chance to add a towel. xavier does it himself. the next time you’re in the kitchen, you notice he’s left an additional towel hanging right next to his, identical. the sight of it causes you to shake your head and chuckle to yourself, lips tilting into a grin. 

peculiar boy.

coupled with his obtuse observational interests is xavier’s odd attachment to tiny, mundane instances inside his routine. specifically, everyone coming home on time. every tuesday you only have a single class in the morning, and you also have a day off from your part-time job. so, you usually stroll back into the apartment by mid-afternoon. xavier is never there when you arrive, and you don’t know much about what he does with his time during the day. at most, you know he’s already graduated university. you know he must make decent money considering his capacity for keeping the entire house’s basic needs met. you figure he has to do something during the daytime.

that, or it’s nepotism.

what it is? you’re uncertain, but he always carries a backpack stuffed full, and his laptop is always tucked securely under his arm within a protective sleeve. xavier is a habitual creature through and through, dancing in the spaces of predictability with perceivable glee. he arrives back home by 4:30 consistently. by that time, you’re usually engrossed in a book, spread out on the living room floor studying, or curled up on the couch watching dramas whenever he finally arrives. you never make eye contact or redirect your attention from what it’s already fixated on, but you do always absentmindedly greet him the same way each time: “welcome home.” he always gives you a small hello and immediately retreats to his room without another word. sometime around six, he emerges from his room and comes to the common space to ask if you want dinner. tuesday evening is the only occasion during the week you’re able to try the things he makes fresh, rather than reheating them. and you both sit in an incredibly comforting, idle silence while you eat. there’s never expectations to entertain one another or engage in meaningless small talk. you compliment his meal, thank him, and tell him you ate well. it’s never a lie. xavier is an exceptional cook. but on one particular tuesday in question, he comes stumbling into the apartment at 2:45 pm, significantly earlier than usual, and he’s in an evident frenzy. he comes in, kicks his shoes off at the door with little regard ꒰ entirely unlike him ꒱, and moans begrudgingly as he shuffles back toward his room, defeat loud and palpable. “welcom—” the greeting dies on your lips, hearing his long string of audible dread and looking after him as he scurries down the hall. “xavier?” you call after him. you watch his tall figure pause and turn back towards you when he hears you, his cerulean eyes round and wide with apprehension and fear. “yes?” “rough day?” you ask him softly, trying not to overwhelm him even more. “you’re home pretty early and you have this distinct look of terror.” you try to joke lightheartedly, but he sighs in response, looking down at his feet. “it is a rough day and it’s only going to get worse. i don’t know what to do.” “do you need help with something?” “i…i think so? i have friends coming over. i’ve never had anyone over here. i don’t…do that. i’ve never made that much food. i feel like i won’t be able to get done in time and clean myself up.” “you seem really stressed out about this. how many people are coming?” “…two,” he answers sheepishly. “but additional mouths to feed means more time and honestly, i don’t have any time. i left work early so i could try to make this happen, but now it means i’m going to be behind on the schedule i put together for my project and this is…it’s…it’s fussing up my routine. that's making me stressed. i’m sorry. i’m sorry . i know i’m just blubbering and prattling right now.” “xavier,” you say softly, giving him a sympathetic smile. “it’s okay. i get it. i hate when my day gets thrown off, too. i’m not doing anything particularly important if you want help with making dinner. are there things you need from the store or anything? i can take care of that while you wash up and relax for a bit.”

he’s quiet for a moment as if he doesn’t know what to say. he just stares at you with an unreadable expression, nods once — quite curtly — and turns back toward his room. you don’t take it any kind of way, knowing he often responds pretty similarly. you figure he just isn’t used to requesting or receiving help, but it’s fine. you can and will follow through. xavier doesn’t realize what a load he takes off your shoulder by providing you with regular meals. in your mind, the least you can do is eat well, be mindful of your paper towel use, and offer helpful hands when applicable. later when the two of you are prepping dinner and simultaneously trying to make the apartment feel ‘guest ready’, you keep noticing him glance over at you, but he doesn’t speak. actually, he hardly says anything at all the entire time you work together. it’s such a strange contradiction. he presents himself as shy and reserved because he simply dosen’t speak, but when he does speak, he seems to talk a mile a minute or be unnecessarily long-winded at an average speed. there isn’t really an in-between thus far, and you’d lived with him for nearly a year. unable to endure any more of his silent but blatant gazes, you snap your head to him, a little curious and also frustrated. “why are you staring at me? did i do something again?” “no,” his head shakes as he blinks, seeming a bit taken aback by your tone. “i was…thinking that i’m really grateful that you were willing to help me with this. i don’t have enough time to finish all my work. i don’t have enough time to see my friends or have dinner with them. i don’t have enough time to spend with myself. but i’m trying to do it anyway because…it matters, you know? but i was…in a panic earlier. i get really stuck on my routines. inconsistencies just make my brain itch. i was feeling really overwhelmed and your offer to go gather the things i needed just so i could shower and breathe for ten minutes…meant…a lot to me. so…thank you. also…i’m sorry…for staring. i have this really bad habit of not knowing what to say, so i say nothing or… everything.”

to his apparent surprise, you giggle. his eyes widen a bit at the sound. “yeah, i noticed that about you, actually.” you place a comforting hand on his shoulder. “no problem. we’ve been here together for a while now, yeah? it’s only natural that sometimes we need to rely on each other. it’s kind of like how you leave me your extras from dinner for when i get home. i…otherwise would only eat once a day most days. i move around a lot. i forget about it, and by the time i get home, i’m too exhausted to make food. i’m grateful for how you’re willing to help me, too.” you didn’t expect to see his face flush red or for him to look down as if staring at his feet will make the bright, rosy tips of his ears disappear.  “yeah…no problem. i guess you’re right.” “so…what is it that you do for work? what’s so time-consuming that you essentially have no life outside of it?” you ask. although you’re curious about his line of work, you ask him for his benefit, so he doesn’t feel embarrassed for feeling flustered after your exchange. you’re starting to figure out that although xavier appears and presents as if his lack of social involvement is a personal preference and choice, being a loner is not just a stylistic choice but an inevitable outcome.

he’s clearly socially inept. when you guys eat in thick silence, it’s not because he’s wading in an endless sea of comfortable notions and  doesn’t feel the need to speak. he doesn’t know what to say, so he opts for absolutely nothing. small talk is likely not something he’s familiar with or perhaps even cares about. he has to be coaxed out of his fretful foundation just to express that he needs help. he communicates in grunts, nods, and sighs because it’s easier than navigating a flow of back and forth in conversation. “i’m a video game designer. i…work on actions and movements mostly. the physics of it all. when characters engage in combat or how they interact with certain parts of the environment in open-world games? i’m part of the team that goes behind creating things like that. we give the characters life and motion. it’s…pretty cool considering it’s been my dream job since i was young, but it’s a lot of hard work. we’re working on a really important game right now. it could put our team on the map with. so,  i have to do my best. i can’t let my team down.” you hum, impressed. “that’s actually really cool. i kind of figured you were a nerd in some capacity. you’re a cool nerd with a cool job.” he laughs then, light and quiet but saccharine sweet. “i wouldn’t say i’m a nerd. i have a deep understanding of my personal interests. it doesn’t make me nerdy. just knowledgeable.”

you nod in agreement but hum in protest. “no, it doesn’t make you nerdy, but telling someone they use too many paper towels and proceeding to itemize the cost of a single sheet on a whim is…not, not nerdy.” you explain, clicking your tongue. he pouts. “i thought that information was relevant to helping you understand my stance.” “i would’ve understood even if you didn’t explain, xavier. it’s your apartment and you buy all the paper towels. it’s not wrong for you to, without explanation, tell me to be mindful of my excessive use.” xavier looks you over, his expression contorted by perceivable perplexity, lips pursed and eyes just staring at you while blinking blankly. “but you clearly were bothered by me bringing it up. that’s why i elaborated like that.” nonchalantly, you shrug. “i wasn’t bothered you brought it up. i just thought you were being peculiar. and you still haven’t been able to escape those allegations, by the way. it’s alright, though. even if we end up having to indict you for your oddities, i’ll still accept you.”

it’s quiet between you both then. xavier seems to have nothing else to offer to the little exchange, and that’s fine with you because when you peek at him again as he’s chopping vegetables, you notice his tiny smile. and you note that the subtle little smile doesn’t leave him for the entirety of the evening. you sit quietly on the opposite side of the room,  midding — uninvolved but happily present — observing him engage with his work friends, jeremiah and ulysses. he seems quite comfortable with them. his speech becomes fluid, easy, and even exciting at times. you see a little sparkle in his eyes when they talk about games and how jeremiah is close to finishing is personal passion project.  xavier must love gaming a lot. you wonder if video game development is really his dream activity or just the dream career, and maybe his real passion is something more novel and less technical. regardless, you can’t help the sheer feeling of pride that swirls around in your chest seeing him like this: attentive, involved, lively. it gives you a subtle little smile of your own. and you note that it doesn’t leave you for the entirety of the evening.

among all other observations, the characteristic of xavier’s that confirms the strength of his quirkiness is how he’s suddenly far too concerned with how you spend your tuesdays. it starts the week after you help him prepare his tiny dinner party for his friends, the most peculiar aspects of his behavior. it’s all because on one particular tuesday in question, you never come home after class.  your friend and co-worker, tara, has a date with a girl she’s been flirting with for a while, and you agree to switch shifts. today in exchange for a day you don’t have class and you can stay home, a fair and even trade. you’re tired, hanging on by a thread, but you really need the extra time for the week. ꒰ you work as a waitress at a small restaurant near the university. most students dine between classes or on their lunches. it’s a small but heavily populated establishment. when you volunteer to work on busy days, your boss advances you what you make for that day at the end of the night. it has its perks and its pits. ꒱ while cleaning off the table of a guest who just left, you receive repeated text messages, making your brows furrow as your phone shoots signal after signal in quick succession. who could possibly be texting you this urgently? no one ever does. you glance at the time. 4:32 pm. xavier usually wanders through the door right around now. your expression lifts in light shock as you see he happens to be the source of the incessant sounding.

4:32 pm  ⋮   xavier.

are you safe? you’re not at home. it’s tuesday. you’re usually home when i get here. my routine is thrown off.

you roll your eyes reading his messages. he’s being hyperbolic and overdramatic again, but for what? is it really so important that you’re there just to say two words he hardly acknowledges only to hole up in his room until he’s ready to make dinner? 

maybe this is his attempt at humor.

you chuckle at the thought of it. xavier is so socially awkward that his jokes don’t even land; they just float in the air, suspended by complexity until someone gets it.

4:34 pm  ⋮  you.

you’re being incredibly dramatic. i’m at work. very alive and well. making money to keep feeding us.

4:35 pm  ⋮  xavier.

objectively incorrect. i buy all of our food?

4:40 pm  ⋮   xavier. 

look. no one was here to welcome me home and now i’m back but don’t feel an ounce of welcome about it.

you laugh at his response, very heartily, right in the middle of a restaurant, inwardly beaming with pride because he made a joke. and it was actually kind of funny. only kind of. you start to wonder why it matters so much to you if he grows into himself and becomes comfortable enough to speak freely and easily. why do you feel so invested in his character development? regardless, you hope to see him come out of his shell more. it’s becoming of him.

4:42 pm  ⋮  xavier. 

will you make it in time for dinner or another long night?

4:44 pm  ⋮   you.

probably not. it’s pretty busy and we’re already short-staffed. another long night. aiming to be back by ten tonight. i have homework due at midnight.

4:45 pm  ⋮ xavier.

okay…understood. godspeed.

work goes by as it does. it’s always the same formula and equation, just different bodies and times of day. you finally come strolling home at 10:05 pm. you’re dead tired and knowing you still have to finish your homework and submit it is making the exhaustion feel heavier than it probably is. when you head inside, you expect it to be dark, only the light above the stove left on as per usual, but instead, all of the lights are on. the tv is chattering with excitement, playing some kind of variety show, and there’s a spicy, thick aroma in the air that makes you pause briefly to breathe it in. it’s so pleasant. and warm. you walk in, greeted by a scent that feels like a long embrace.

as you stroll through the door, you look to your immediate left where the open layout kitchen is placed. xavier stands next to the stove, chopping vegetables carefully on the counter. “welcome home.” he announces it casually, just as you always do for him, but doesn’t tear his attention away from his task. you don’t know what exactly this is, the shift in his behavioral pattern. you aren’t sure what to name the feelings that attach to it, either, but you appreciate it because today you have an anomaly of your own. you understand it right then: what he means when he says he came back but he didn’t feel welcomed home. you’re always only ‘coming back’ but walking in and being welcomed by him, it feels more like ‘coming home’. you note that there might just be a difference.   your voice is tepid and content when you finally speak. “hey, you’re up pretty late.” he only hums in response. you wander over to him, keeping a good grip on all your belongings. “cooking dinner at this hour? pretty unlike you. huh, your routine really did get messed up.” his lips quirk. “yeah, i worked more when i came home instead of eating. i’m still catching up from last week. but i noticed i was starving and then i realized it was almost ten. so i figured i might as well just commit to a curve in my routine. but…what about yours?” his inquiry surprises you a little because he’s initiating small talk with you. at first, your lips just part. “my…routine? uh…yeah? it got thrown off majorly today. i have an assignment due by midnight. i thought i would turn it in by this afternoon, but i got paid in advance for this shift, so that was nice.” xavier abruptly stops cutting his carrots and places the knife down calmly. and then, he just looks at you. it was a very normal look that you could give anyone: stranger, acquaintance, or friend. it was just a simple look, but for some reason, when his eyes meet yours, your heart starts to pick up its rhythm, and you swear you can hear the thump of it crescendo in your ears. he’s so…handsome. it’s not that you’ve never looked at him before. it’s not that you aren’t already aware that he’s a good-looking man. anyone with eyes and reason can see that. it’s just that right now you’re looking at him and he seems like his features have changed, like someone raised the saturation and clarity on his existence. his jawline seems sharper. his soft, blue eyes seem more potent, gleaming cooly. his lips are supple, pink, pouty, and curved quite romantically. he looks like a walking beckoning for affection. his pearly hair is tousled, all in disarray, like he’s been running his fingers through tirelessly. his clothes seem to cling to the thickness of his frame, outlining the definition of his thin but muscular build. he quite obviously works out. you didn’t notice that before, the way fabric bulges around his arms and shoulders. his feathery lashes flutter around lapis when he blinks, all that angelic beauty swirling around so casually. you haven’t looked at him this thoroughly before.

god, he’s pretty. 

“you should make sure you respect your resting day routines. you seem to work really hard with…everything you’re doing.” xavier’s voice is soft and caring, cradling his own declaration tenderly. smiling, you nod, swallowing down how flustered suddenly you feel inside, hoping the quickening of your breath doesn’t give it away. “i hear you. it was a one-time thing anyway. now…need help?” “don’t you have homework?” his voice is perplexed. “go work on it. i’ll call you when i’m done.” to this, you reject his suggestion with a shake of your head. “no can do. i think i’m too tired and will take my loss with grace for the sake of a decent meal before midnight. i’ll ask again…need help?” you don’t say what you really mean right then: i think i’d rather spend time in silence with you. it looks like he’s only barely started, likely working on a base for some sort of soup. he has so many scraps laid out everywhere. xavier clears his throat. “uh…yeah…yeah, i do.” “on it,” you say resolutely. “let me put my stuff up and change. it’ll only take me five and i’ll be back to help.”

after that, you don’t see xavier for the rest of the week. tuesday is really the only day your schedules coordinate enough to see each other even in passing. you don’t miss how disappointment settles in your chest every single time you wander inside at ten or eleven and you don’t see him standing there in the kitchen, back turned to you, nonchalantly welcoming you home. you don’t miss the way you stop yourself from texting him and telling him exactly what he told you: look. no one is here to welcome me back home and now i’m back but don’t feel an ounce of welcome about it. but on the following monday, you receive a surprising notification.

1:08 pm  ⋮  xavier.

i would like to formally request permanent assistance with dinner on tuesday evenings. unless work or other contractual obligations prevent participation. it is much more efficient with two sets of hands. and since we both eat, it’s the most ethical and fair.

his formality makes you giggle, as it’s so aligned with who you now understand him to be. once again, smiling fondly to yourself, you think of what a peculiar boy he is. his request at its core is perfectly fair. he does buy all the food and cook it but you both enjoy the fruits of his labor. so if it’s a regular thing, you realistically should help him without a single qualm. that’s the line of reasoning you offer for the sheer speed of your response, agreeing to give away all your foreseeable tuesdays to him: in all fairness.

1:09 pm ⋮ you.

sure thing xavi.

you don’t miss the way it’s the first time you’ve ever called him by or given him any kind of nickname. you don’t miss the way you feel nervous to send it, as if being denied casual exchanges with him will have a significant impact on your emotions. now you’re the one acting peculiarly. for three weeks, on three consecutive tuesdays, you and xavier rally together in the kitchen, pick a recipe to follow, assign your roles, complete your duties, and successfully make meals together around six o’clock. for three consecutive tuesdays, you sit together at the table and eat well, sometimes in silence, but sometimes in comfortable, slow-paced conversation. the most surprising evolution is the budding presence of his attempts at small talk. “i don’t know how i feel about this recipe.” xavier admits after devouring the meat he’s made. “i don’t care for this marinade at all.” you, mouth full and consumption bordering barbaric, look confused. when you swallow, you have to inquire about why he feels this way. it’s quite delicious. and you can’t fathom him not liking it considering he ate all of it. “what? you didn’t like it? how? i think it’s incredible. probably your best yet. the meat is so, so tender and it’s very flavorful but not overwhelming. it pairs really well with this little sauce we made!” “you enjoyed it?” xavier asks. you notice then that he’s biting his lip rather nervously. “or are you only saying that because we spent a considerable amount of time on this one?” you grin, rolling your eyes. “why would i lie? you’re a good cook, xavi. seriously…i’ve never not enjoyed the food you’ve cooked. you did really well on the meat. and judging by your happy plate, i think you know that.” you figure out quickly that it isn’t that he doesn’t like it, but that he wants someone else to say he did a good job but doesn’t want to ask directly until an opinion is already offered.

he even seeks praise awkwardly. how endearing.

he doesn’t speak, only lowers his head with that subtle smile you’ve come to find yourself craving the sight of. admittedly, you enjoy this blooming tradition that the two of you are building. you feel excited for him to come home, eager for him to finish resting up and come out at six, ready to get started, ready to talk to you or just stand by your side. moreover, you really enjoy not eating dinner alone. you enjoy his proximity even in your settled silence. it always feels more like home when he’s here and you are, too, both parallel or perpendicular to the other. “this is nice.” you tell him warmly. “i kinda like our new tradition.” “oh,” he breathes softly. “i…” his head rises quickly and he looks at you, those icy eyes you’ve grown particularly fond of now slightly widened. you don’t know if you’re just seeing what your own unspoken feelings want to see, but it looks like longing looking back at you. his hand rests on the table and you glance down, only for a fraction of a moment, considering reaching your own out to find the answer to a theory you’ve constructed in the last few weeks: you think his hands might be incredibly soft. “well, um. i…that’s…good to know. i think that maybe…um, i…” ꒰ your mind begs you to let it be known that he’s stammering and you’re staring, but your thoughts are ever so slightly somewhere else. ꒱ you notice when he washes his hands, he pats them dry lightly with his towel. delicate. and he always opens the drawer below immediately after to pull out a tiny bottle of hand cream. every single time. habitual. he applies a dollop and rubs it all in gingerly. he makes sure to get all the nooks and crannies of his hands, the dips and the divots. thorough. patient. soft. satin. he seems to care a great deal about his hands, takes good care of them and the things they touch. you lick your lips and look away. “i’m sorry…i…uh…don’t know what to say i think and…” you cut him off. “is it a mutual understanding?” “what?” “do you…like our little tradition as well?” a slow, timid, soundless nod. you respond with tilted lips. “then…you can just say…i like it, too.” he doesn’t take his eyes off of you, but the look he gives you is becoming clearer, and you can’t look directly for too long or you’ll melt right before him.

xavier turns out to be a lot like the sun, and if you aren’t careful, your heart might try to become like spring and bloom for him. “i…like it, too.” he says finally. humming, you turn your attention back towards your food, looking away, and for the first time, being the one with nothing left to say. all the things you want to say officially teeter off the cusp of amiability and drop straight into a giant vat of arousal. after a moment, your body becomes so hot you can’t stand just sitting there anymore, so dinner ends abruptly with xavier telling you to leave your dishes and he’ll take care of them. you only nod and offer him a quiet thank you and a friendly goodnight. then you wander off to your room in a daze wondering if he noticed you squirming in your seat. he’s so domestic, you’re about to cum off the strength of existing in the same house as him. ꒰ and that’s not good because you’re always in the same house as him. ꒱ the things you watch him do in the kitchen, it’s all just so homely. there’s a kind of strength in a man who appreciates homemaking that makes you weak. telling you to make sure to preheat the oven, putting on his mitts to check on the food, setting timers, and tying an apron around his waist. cutting vegetables. using measuring cups. 

‘slice, not dice. here, let me show you. watch.’ 

the way his triceps and biceps flex at the motion of his very intentional cuts, the way he’s always rolling up his sleeves, even when they’re short-sleeved shirts like a goddamn tease, basically begging to be turned into a husband and a father overnight.  it’s sickening. you officially want him so bad you want to throw up. the orgasm you have in your room — stifling the sound of your moans and the sound of you quietly calling out his name when you did — spells it out quite clearly for you even if you don’t want to acknowledge it outright. you like him. a lot. it’s absolutely sickening.

on thursday, another anomaly occurs in your schedule. a few actually, and all of them are pleasant. the first anomaly is relaxation. you don’t have class and since tara keeps up her end of the deal, you have an entire day at home to enjoy your alone time. but, as usual, you wake to the pleasant aroma of coffee. you smile even harder knowing there’s nowhere for you to be so you can move as quickly or as slowly as you like. it means that maybe you can go have coffee with xavier before he leaves for the day. you don’t even like coffee, but you like him. and that’s more than enough reason to get you out of bed, tidy yourself a bit, and go sauntering out of your room to ask for a cup of hot liquid you’ll never consume. ꒰ you’re more of a tea or hot chocolate kind of person, but there’s a first time for everything, and maybe having coffee will taste better if drinking it means spending even a fractal of time with him. ꒱ this initiates the occurrence of the next anomaly. “good morning,” you say pleasantly. a yelp. a jolt. a wince. a hiss. a “fuck, fuck, fuck”. a resounding crash. the sound of shattered ceramic. xavier clearly isn’t expecting you to be up or to greet him. you wince at the sound of glass and lean over to see that he’s dropped and broken the mug he was holding: your mug. your favorite one. the one your grandmother made for you with her own two hands. there’s coffee pooling everywhere, all over the floor, and xavier moans dreadfully. “shit!” he exclaims. “you scared me. i’m so sorry. i didn’t mean…i didn’t mean to break it. i’m sorry. i really am.” the mug means the world to you, as your grandmother’s much older now and unable to craft little items for you like this anymore. it’s the only one of its kind. the only one that would ever be. and now it’s in pieces on the kitchen floor, a little sea of java surrounding the sad, jagged portions of loving sentiment. “i’m sorry i scared you.” you say softly, trying hard not to cry. you don’t want to make him feel bad. you don’t want him to feel bad at all. “it’s okay, xavi. it’s okay. i’ll get towels.” once you grab towels and come back to help him clean it up, he’s deep in a spell of unnerved groaning — a long, drawn-out whine that goes on under his breath for a while. “please don’t be upset.” he pleads, frowning. “i’m so, so sorry.” you smile softly, shaking your head. “i’m not upset, xavi. are you hurt at all? from the coffee? i heard you hiss.” “i’m okay. it splashed on me, but it didn’t burn me or anything.” you place the two large towels down to soak up all the liquid on the ground. xavier focuses on picking up each piece of the broken mug. as you watch him through the top of your eyes, you wonder just why he’s using your mug to begin with. “i’m not used to you being awake so early.” he admits, slightly embarrassed of how a simple good morning resulted in this. “but…good morning to you, too.” you just can’t help it. you giggle. peculiar boy. “if you want…you…you can pick one of my mugs to take in its place.” he offers, biting his lip. you nod and say okay for a few reasons: 1. you absolutely want something of his and it’s a microscopic guilty desire you have. 2. he seems like it’ll bother him a lot if he can’t rectify the situation in some way. you saying it’s okay doesn’t appear to suffice. 3. see reasons 1 and 2. 

as he’s showing you his plethora of available mugs, you catch yourself smiling. he has all of these mugs of his own, but…he was drinking his morning coffee out of yours. you survey them all and find only one that stands out. it’s a white, ceramic mug with the word ‘create’ etched messily into it. it’s oddly shaped, looking nearly homemade. irregular. odd. it’s the most xavier mug of them all. that’s the one you want. you point to it. “i’ll take that one.” you chirp. for a brief moment, he hesitates, pouting cutely, but his lips slowly tilt upward.  “of course you will. that one’s my favorite. i made it in my high school art class, but…okay. okay. a mug for a mug. you can keep it. drink your coffee out of it well…and frequently…or it might start to feel neglected. it’s an extroverted kind of mug.” if you knew it wouldn’t result in one of the most blatant forms of rejection you’ll ever face, because xavier is nothing if not brutally honest, maybe you would have kissed him right then. it would be hard not to if you knew with unearned confidence that he wouldn’t push you away. but, instead, you quietly take the mug and you’ll use it well just as he asks. and maybe he’ll try to sneak in a hidden smile by just lifting the corner of his lips. and maybe you’ll spot his dimple because of it, the one that likes to hide the same way your feelings do. and maybe the sight of it will make your heart flutter and your breath hitch. and maybe it ꒰ in its own way ꒱ could be just as good as a kiss. a homemade mug for a homemade mug.

you have a feeling you’ll keep it closer than anything else. “want to have coffee before you leave for work?” you ask, even knowing well that you’ll be wasting even more than he has, even knowing how upset he’ll be if he figures you out. but it feels worth it when he nods, offering you that coy smile you silently plead for nowadays. and you both do, in the soft lull of the morning, sit at the table over a cup of coffee. you even steal glances every now and then. when he asks why you haven’t touched your drink, you lie and say you prefer it with creamer, to which he turns his nose up in disgust. “creamer is a forbidden substance in this house.” he informs you. “but…if…if it really is a deal-breaker for your coffee enjoyment…i’ll make sure to get you some. what kind do you like?”

the next time you go grocery shopping for us, honey? why don’t you just ask me to pop the question right now?

you don’t care for coffee. you don’t care for creamer, but you care very, very dearly about the prospect of xavier getting any kind of special thing for you, with you in mind, with the purpose of making an experience better for you. it makes you feel special to him. ꒰ you know plenty of special things he can give you to make the experience better. and it didn’t even cost money. he can use his perfect hands as much as he likes. ꒱ “hazelnut,” you lie with a smile. “that’s my favorite.”

the third anomaly occurs much later in the day when you’re home alone and you’re lounging in the living room, wondering if thursday will get to be a second tuesday with xavier since you’ll both be here. unexpectedly, there’s a knock at the door. your brows furrow. you didn’t order any food. you didn’t expect a delivery. xavier always tells you if anyone’s dropping by. when you walk up to the door and peep out, you see a remarkably handsome man standing on the other side. you open the door carefully, revealing a boy, likely around your age, with soft lilac hair that seems to take on a pearlescent tint in the light. a blend of amethyst and carnelian in his eyes and standing there with a kind smile that seems like it might dissolve anything in sight that just so happens to perceive it. 

he even has little dimples on his cheeks as he beams so pleasantly. he, much like xavier, is very pretty. “hi…can i…help you?” you ask timidly, not fully coming outside the crack in the door, only your head and a portion of your torso poking out. ꒰ he might be attractive, but he’s still a stranger. ꒱ he scratches the back of his head. “oh…uh, hi!…my name is rafayel? i just moved into that unit about a week ago.” he explains, jerking a thumb back towards his front door, #1103r, right across from you and xavier’s #1104r. 

“oh! i didn’t even know the unit was empty.” you laugh. “welcome to the complex…and the hall. it’s fairly quiet, so i hope you aren’t a partier.” laughing, he shakes his head. “a baker and a painter, not a partier. i spend my spare time making sweet treats. you might smell me baking a lot, though. i…uh…i actually was coming to ask if you had butter? or margarine? i’ve started making cupcakes, but i didn’t get butter at the store, and i didn’t want to leave out…because i already started. so, i figured i could come to introduce myself…and ask a neighborly favor?”  he puts his hands together in a small plea.

wow, the boys in this building really do enjoy wholesome activities.

smiling, you nod. “sure, give me a second. i’ll be right back.” when you come back to the door with an entire package of butter, he smiles wide, making his eyes crinkle. “i hope that’ll be enough.” “more than, i’ll bring back what i don’t use.” he promises. “ah, you’re a lifesaver. thanks!” “happy to help. welcome to the building, rafayel.” now, the exchange should be complete but he’s still just standing there. “well…if that’s all…” “what was your name? did you already tell me?” he asks suddenly, confused. “sorry, i wanted to say your name, too, because it seems respectful since you said my name, but i was trying to rack my brain for what you said your name was…” “i didn’t.” you clarify, chuckling at his spaciness despite knowing you’ll lie. “it’s…hunter.” “hunter. hm, i like it. it suits you somehow. anyway, thanks, miss hunter the neighbor. rafayel the baker will see you again soon to return his butter hostage and maybe offer a treat forged from his deepest gratitudes.” a lopsided grin and a wink. when he leaves, you close the door and stand there for a moment, recalling the entire exchange. he’s handsome, a bit spacey, but so friendly…so friendly he’s flirty. you’ll never complain about having eye candy for a neighbor, but…you don’t want xavier to get the wrong idea…if rafayel starts talking to you more… you quickly shake the thought away, reminding yourself to return to reality from the depths of your delusions. xavier is not interested in you in that way by any means. he, at most, wants to become friends, which is understandable for a person he’ll be living with for an additional year. that’s fair. you want to be friends, too. ꒰ you just also want him to talk you through his day while he’s fingering you, that’s all. ꒱

the next anomaly occurs at five pm when xavier arrives home much later than he usually does. for him, thirty minutes late is a lot. it throws off his routine. “welcome home.” you say casually as he finally comes waltzing in. you try your best to appear as if you’re as unfazed about his entry. you try not to make it disgustingly obvious that you aren’t just there relaxing anymore; you’re waiting. for him to come home. to welcome him back. this time, though, he doesn’t respond curtly as he ducks back towards his room. you hear the rustling of plastic bags he sets down on the kitchen counter. he then wanders over to you and lays a heavy palm flat on the crown of your head. “hey,” he breathes. in movies or dramas, this is the moment where your world freezes, just becoming so petrified that even time doesn’t dare to move. you gulp hard, your heart racing even more so than it usually does over him.

what are you supposed to do? “did you…enjoy your day off?” he asks. “did you rest enough?” “um…” your voice trails, mind still entranced by his hand resting on top of your hand. it’s such a gentle gesture, so tender and timid, like him. such a well-suited affection for his temperament. “i had…a relaxing day. it was nice.” you manage to speak, but you stare ahead, not bold enough to look up at the face he’s making while he touches you. he finally lowers his hand to his side and inside, you scream about it, protest profusely to the removal of his closeness. “what about you? was work okay?” you ask, breathing returning to normal as he heads back to the kitchen to unpack his things. the first item he takes out is a little bottle of hazelnut creamer, and your heart is so warm you think it’s become nothing but a puddle of adoring liquid. “work was less stressful. we’re close to done with this project. so now there’s not as much silence in the office. everyone is slowly starting to act like real people again. it was driving me insane. when intense projects happen, it disrupts my routine so much. people stop saying good morning. i don’t feel comfortable saying anything more than i already don’t. and i think the secretary hates me because i kept messing up my report and printing it incorrectly. it created unnecessary work for her and it wasted a lot of paper. i made sure to pick some up while i was at the store to replace it, but…” he stops suddenly and frowns. “sorry, i just realized i was rambling again.” you can’t hide your loving smile even if you bother trying. “you’re talking about your day. there’s nothing wrong with that, especially if the person you’re talking to wants to know all the seemingly useless details.” xavier has this habit of just peering at you at times when you respond to his long-windedness with openness to experience. and boy were you dangerously open to experiencing him. “and…do you…?” he asks you slowly, his head tilting to the side. “…want to hear even the unimportant details?” you shrug casually and nod once. you decide on an endearing response with a touch of humor to soften the landing for your heart as it’s doing its somersaults. “i don’t mind hearing about your day in great detail…it’s like listening to an audiobook for free. or a podcast.” “you…” he rolls his eyes, lips quirking. a soft shake of the head. “anyway, what’d you do today? stay on the couch engrossed in your dramas?” “i cleaned up a bit, did some homework, met our new neighbor, and binged on a drama, yes.” his brows bundle together. “we didn’t already have a neighbor?” “that’s what i said! i didn’t know the unit across the hall was empty, but he came by to ask if he could have some butter and introduce himself.” xavier’s face scrunches up, slightly disgusted and confused. “butter? like…to just eat?” “xavi, what?” you ask, bubbling a laugh. “no, dummy. he’s a baker. he started making cupcakes and realized he didn’t have any. he said he’d bring back the excess.” again, a repulsed display of emotion. “i don’t want any food back after it’s left this apartment. there are all kinds of new germs and particles on it now. why would i consume that or allow you to? what kind of person do you take me for? god only knows what he does in that unit. and if he double dips? if he sticks his fingers in his mouth and touches the container without washing his hands? ew. there’s no way for us to even verify. the number of available and unfavorable possibilities is disgusting in itself. and bakers seem like the…‘lick their fingers clean’ type, so…he can keep the butter. i’ll get us more.” you purse your lips together, clasping them shut to keep your amused smile from showing how endearing you find him to be and also to keep from laughing at the severity of his seriousness, at how comical all his particularities are but adorable in the same breath. peculiar as ever. “okay, if he tries to return it, i’ll reject him.”

“that would be best.” a familiar, curt nod. “i’m making dinner in a little while…do you…want to help me? or will it throw your relaxation routine off?” you snort. “xavi, i don’t have a relaxation routine. the relaxation is disrupting the routine in a good way. but yes…what are we making?” and there it is again, that little smile that makes you want to clutch at your chest. having a second tuesday is another wonderful disruption to the routine.

the following tuesday, you’re giddy as you head home from class. you aren’t sure what moment does it for you, but you’ve settled comfortably into the fact that you like xavier, that given the opportunity, you’ll peel back every single layer of his existence to taste and lick and know every part of him. it doesn’t bother you to be just friends and roommates with him, though. you guys live together. even if something comes of it, if it goes south, it’ll really destroy the living dynamic you guys have cultivated, which is quite comfortable. gentle. tender. safe. besides, he reserves special kinds of platonic affections for you that suffice. as you approach the building, you see your neighbor, rafayel, struggling to balance a tall stack of white, flat boxes while he tries to open the door to the building. you jog up and hold it open for him. “ah, thank you, miss hunter the neighbor.” he says graciously. “saving me yet again.” rafayel is nice enough but he seems to be quirky in his own way. you’re starting to wonder if it’s a prerequisite for being accepted for housing in this place. as it stands, though, tensions are high between your household and his. when he returned the butter, rafayel was immensely offended by xavier’s suggestion that he ‘tainted the butter with his baker’s breath’ and the stern demand that he take it back, to which xavier’s lip curled in disgust as he emphasized that he especially didn’t want it then. it ended with rafayel leaving the butter by the door and sitting it on the ground, both oddballs unwilling to claim the absurdity. you ended up picking it up and throwing it away. while it was a comical event all around, seeing the two of them standing in the doorway trading glares over the sanitation of butter was amongst the strangest things you’ve witnessed. “do you need help, rafayel?” you ask with a laugh. “you look like you’re one, fragile step away from it all crumbling down.” he sighs. “if you don’t mind and it won’t taint your precious hands to touch my baker’s boxes, then yes, you may help me.” “for the record, i have absolutely no stock or stance in the butter sanitation conundrum. i am but an innocent bystander. so, no, your baker’s boxes aren’t at risk of tainting my hands.” 

you roll your eyes at him. “you’re really dramatic, you know.” “criticizing me is not helpful.” he notes. “and i’m not certain, but i thought you asked to help.” “fine,” you grumble, grabbing a stack of the boxes out of his hands. “what’s all this for anyway?” he smiles triumphantly. “i got my first big gig as a freelance baker. i’m making fifty fishie cupcakes for a five-year-old’s birthday party tomorrow.” a playful smile. “wow, that’s really cool. congrats on that one. are you excited?” “excited…is certainly a word. maybe not one i’d use to describe this, but a word nonetheless. if you can’t tell by the thick layer of perspiration and sweat gathering on my forehead, everything is great and not stressful at all.” you pout, oddly concerned for his results. “are you going to be able to pull it off?” “well, the thing is that…no?”  he laughs and so do you. “my friend thomas was supposed to be my helper so i could pull it off, but apparently chasing skirts is more important than making and icing cupcakes for a child’s birthday party. i wouldn’t know since i respect the brotherly code of conduct and would never, but it’s fine. i hope he gets laid.” you nod. “me too…but i hope he has a hard time performing. he shouldn’t have bailed on you. this seems…important to you.”

“ah, miss hunter the neighbor is quite observant, rafayel notes.” he narrates himself in the third person. “it is pretty important to me. but…just to me.” that upset you deeply. you know what it’s like to have your dream not be taken seriously. all this time, you’ve been in school to join the hunter’s association of all things. no one really sees the benefit or believes in what you want to do. you have a heart condition, after all. you’re basically out here trying to prove your entire family wrong, that you’re capable of developing a strong, steady life without needing endless aid.  you hate the idea that rafayel is clearly very passionate about baking, about doing this kind of custom work, but his friends aren’t supporting him, and now he’s scrambling. “do you have to be a talented baker to be a baker’s assistant?” you ask, biting your lip. the flame in rafayel’s eyes twinkle. “not at all! you just need two hands and a decent enough ability to follow a series of simple directions.” nodding resolutely, you smile. “then consider me self-appointed as the baker’s elf. let’s go get these cupcakes made, rafayel the baker neighbor.” to this, he beams. “miss hunter the neighbor is starting to seem a bit like a friendly neighborhood fishie herself.”

making cupcakes from scratch is no fucking joke. there’s so many steps. it really is a series of simple directions, but if those simple directions are off even by a small margin, it ruins the batch and you have to start again. you didn’t realize how time-consuming it would be. in fact, you didn’t really keep up with the time at all, but when you catch a glimpse of it on his television, it’s already eight ‘o clock, and your eyes widen. “shit! i need to go to my apartment.” you tell him urgently. “are you okay from here or should i come back?” rafayel shakes his head, grinning. “you’ve done so much. i just need to finish working on these last fifteen. i got it. thank you so much. you didn’t have to help but you did. it means a lot.” “no problem, but next time, i expect to take home one of my own.” he laughs. “next time?” “rafayel the baker neighbor seems to need help a lot.” you say with a shrug before ducking out quickly. “see you later!” even though you’re only across the hall, you feel like you’re going to walk in and be in an insane amount of trouble. you haven’t even bothered looking at your phone. 

when you walk in, xavier is sitting on the couch, but his head snaps up to you immediately. “you’re okay!” he says, relief evident in his voice as he rises to his feet. “where have you been? i hadn’t heard from you in hours and i got really worried about you.” he walks over to you but keeps a small distance between your bodies, looking you over for any sign of harm. your entire face heats up. you feel yourself shrinking before him as you take a breath. “sorry,” you say, looking down at your feet. “i was across the hall. i was helping rafayel wi—“ he cuts you off, brows knitting together, lips in a frustrated pout. “the unsanitary baker? why?” “if you would let me finish…” you snap, giving him a hard look. “his friend bailed on helping him and he got his first big order as a freelance baker. i was home so i helped. i was really busy so i wasn’t keeping track of time well. you wouldn’t believe how hard it is it make cupcakes from scratch.” an exasperated sigh leaves your lips just recounting the last few hours mentally. he’s not looking at you anymore when he speaks next. “you baked cupcakes with him?” he asked. “like…you baked them…together?” you feel confused but nod. “…yes? that’s what ‘helping’ would entail in this situation. he was stressed and i felt bad because i know what it’s like for no one to truly believe in you.” “fine,” he spits, lips set in a hard line. “i hope it got done. dinner’s on the stove.” he walks past you toward the hallway then, his back turned. “and please wash your hands before you touch anything.” then…he just walks straight to his room without another word, leaving you feeling perplexed by his response. his bedroom door closes a little harder than usual and you fear you may have made a grave mistake by hanging out with rafayel, especially when it’s abundantly clear upon their first interaction they’re unlikely to get along. maybe he feels like bailing on cooking to hang out with rafayel and not even letting him know is a jerk move and you agree.

since that event, the rest of the week is very awkward. even though you don’t see each other often on weekdays already, you have this inkling that xavier’s avoiding you at all costs. he even stops making his coffee. he just slips out into the early morning. you wake up close to ten am, very late, for every day it occurs. an obnoxious disruption in your routine, and he doesn’t make dinner at all. you go to bed pouting and hungry. but another anomaly occurs when tuesday rolls around again: you wake to find that your class has been canceled. ever the diligent student, you check your emails daily. when you finally get around to grabbing your phone in the morning, it’s the first thing you do. to your surprise, the one class you have is canceled due to the professor being ill. you take great pleasure in this because the regular routine in the home is now also back in motion.

you wake to the heavenly scent of colombian swimming in the air. you wander out into the living room. xavier leans back against the marble counter, sipping quietly from a dark-colored mug. “good morning,” you announce quietly, making sure not to frighten him. his eyes dart to your presence, and you just pause where you are, unsure if proceeding any closer is safe. “morning,” a short and dull response. “you’re up early.” you shake your head, playing with your hands nervously. “i’m always up this early. the smell of your coffee wakes me up every morning. i just usually stay in my room and get ready.” “oh,” his voice is small. after a long pause, he asks, “is it bothersome?” to answer, you smile lazily and offer another small head shake. “not at all. it’s actually my favorite alarm. very quiet and very pleasant. i’ve been waking up late the last week nearly. my routine…was thrown off.”

with all the gall in the world, he scoffs. “since when do you care about keeping a routine?” “what?” you ask softly, voice slightly wounded and face fluttering into confusion. “what do you mean?” “you skipped out on our routine last week and that didn’t seem to matter to you at all.” he states simply. your guilty eyes look at your nervously shuffling feet. “so, what is it? why did you hang out with him and bake with him?” you’re not sure if it’s the irritated tone he’s now choosing to take with you or the underlying insinuation that you, a grown adult, owe him a reasonable explanation for why you exert autonomy and choose to help others. as if you did something morally reprehensible by helping rafayel. you’re not even certain xavier is actually, fully angry that you bailed so much as he’s angry about who you were with and what you were doing instead, which is still unfathomable why it’s his business. yes, you should have let him know and you can own that because you know he probably waited a while for you to show up and you never did, but you’re not going to stand here and let him reprimand you for hanging out at your neighbor’s unit just because he’s decided he doesn’t like him for quite literally no real reason at all. “um, are you my father?” you ask, your face scrunching up in frustration. “he’s our new neighbor, xavier. he needed help. i’m just being kind, and i like hanging out with him. he’s funny an—” he cuts you off, setting down his mug. “you like hanging out with him?” “yes…?” it’s silent between the two of you then, his eyes going blank and glossy. “why? what’s so special about his place? why would you prefer spending tuesday there?” you’re genuinely appalled by his response. you expect he may not like the idea of you hanging out with someone he dislikes, but he’s not your parent or your partner, and he’s only become a friend recently. the way you feel like you’re being forced to justify your very simple, very innocent actions of helping rafayel is absolutely unacceptable because no matter how many times you say it, telling xavier you did it because he needed help and it was important for him to have it isn’t a sufficient explanation for him. but it’s the truth and it not being enough for him is not necessarily your burden to bear.

“xavier, i don’t owe you an explanation as to why i had a good time hanging out with him and helping him make cupcakes so his first, real order can lead to more. i don’t have to explain anything i choose to do with anyone. i don’t owe you or your ego elaboration.” “well…” his voice trails and he’s quiet for a minute as his skin slowly reddens and he nervously bites his lower lip. when he looks at you again and speaks, his voice is incredibly soft, unbearably wounded, and pained. “i want an explanation anyway. because i thought you liked spending your tuesday nights with me, but you went over there instead of staying to see me and make dinner together. and you didn’t even tell me. just left me waiting on you. what’s that about?” the sheer shock and confusion of his confession must be evident on your face. you feel your mouth part as if you want to speak but you don’t. your brows knit together, trying to make sense of his stance so you can properly answer his question. 

your heart is racing wildly because it seems xavier may have developed feelings of his own…toward you. “wait…wait…” your voice trails, you’re still looking up, eyes blinking rapidly and narrowing, not in a sinister way but dubious.  as it stands, your current theory that he might have feelings for you, is unfounded and is permeated by perplexity.  “is…is that why you’re upset?” you ask him. “because i ended up helping him and missing one tuesday with you?” he sighs and nods, frustration exuded in his body language as if you stated the utter obvious simply to upset him. “you told me you liked our little tradition to cook together, but then picked another guy to make food with the very next week? an unsanitary one at that? and…and…you know what? i want to do that with you. making dinner isn’t fun on my own. not on tuesdays. not if you’re not here with me, and especially not if you’re not here because you’re over there and want to be there more than you want to be here. with me.” your question comes out suddenly, your tone layered in urgency. “xavier…do you like me?” he just stares, mouth slightly agape, looking as if you’ve asked a stupid question yet again. a soundless, ‘you’re not serious, right?’

his next comment confirms your intuition and also attests to your ability to read his expressions clearly now. “are you really asking me that? are you oblivious? after all this time? as if it wasn’t completely obvious that i do.” you snort. “xavier, if you liked me all this time, it was absolutely, undeniably, irrevocably not obvious.” “i gave you a hand towel that matches mine and placed them next to each other.” he details with a flat voice and a roll of his eyes. you look at him, growing progressively more flabbergasted by his position in the ongoing argument. he lives in a delusional mental world where he thinks his feelings, in all their silent conquest, are thoroughly known and understood. even though you’ve never spoken to him about anything of the sort.

“xavier…you do realize you criticized me for the number of paper towels i used, right? i thought you were  just…solving the problem you created.” he has the audacity to groan. “i’ve made dinner for you to eat when you come home since the first time you left me a sticky note apologizing for eating my extras.” “yes, because you always make excess. that’s what you said!” you huff, arms folding over your chest. he can’t seriously believe he has a little avalanche of decent examples of his ‘liking you’ being obvious. there’s just no way. he would have to be completely disregarding every other aspect of objective reality except his own thoughts and perception in order to come to the conclusion that placing a hand towel on a bar or letting you have the extra food he makes regardless are his attempts to court you. “i got upset when you filled in for a coworker on a tuesday instead of coming home and i was only distressed because you weren’t here to tell me welcome home. i told you i didn’t feel welcomed without it!” now his voice is raising, aghast and disbelieving. you shrug, just staring at him with flat affect and dawning freshly picked neutrality. “i thought you were joking and finally developing a sense of humor. i was proud of you.” a squeak. he’s watching all his ridiculous reasonings be debunked and he just continues trailing down the list of them, much to your dismay.

if he’d shut up for a moment, you can get off the topic of what would have made it obvious and move on to something way more important, much more impactful. is he going to kiss you soon or what? so peculiar. he’d rather argue you down than take his shot with you and watch himself hit a bullseye. “i gave you my special mug to keep for your own because you said you wanted it.” another eye roll. “you broke my own special mug and told me to pick the one i wanted! i thought it was an eye for an eye. a mug for a mug!” he gestures towards the refrigerator. “i brought creamer, a banned substance, into this apartment for you.” “it’s creamer, xavier, not a confession. please be serious.” this time, his voice is small and sheepish. “i started giving you…head pats.” you can’t refute the intimacy of that one. you know it. he knows it. the smug smirk on his face not only knows it but is gloating about it. “fine, you got me there, but that still isn’t enough to infer romantic interest.” “i blatantly asked you to make it a permanent date with me to make dinner together on tuesdays. how much more obvious do i need to be?”

you furiously shake your head, protesting his claim. “no, no! you formally requested assistance with dinner on tuesdays. the word date was not aforementioned. you made it seem mandatory . in fact, you said it was only fair.” now, he’s blushing furiously, the tips of his ears going red. “it’s not mandatory, per se. it’s just the principle. and even still, you say that as a counter, yet you went over to his place instead of coming home to be with me…doing the cooking we agreed on and mutually enjoyed.” you scoff. “but it’s not mandatory to cook?” “well cooking isn’t mandatory, but it is mandatory that you genuinely like me back if we’re going to be doing domestic things like making meals to eat together. consistently. and openly. so when you do it with me for weeks and tell me entirely unprovoked that you like doing it with me, it gives the impression you want to be domestic with me. i only spend time at home, so i take that very seriously. i was starting to feel played with.” you won’t lie. all of his nonsense is just that: nonsense. but the idea that you left him feeling like you were giving mixed signals or like you were stringing him along for the fun of it deeply wounds you inside, because you also like him a hell of a lot. you would never go off and be intentionally confusing. “i wish you had said it clearly. we would have been on the same page a long time ago probably. i wouldn’t be spending a single tuesday there if i knew why you wanted me here.” xavier grumbles, “i genuinely don’t understand how you didn’t notice.”

“i genuinely don’t understand how you could possibly think i would?” you counter, the statement falling from your lips like a question that requires clarification. he steps closer to you, and for the first time, you see something new in his eyes: determination, passion, need, and desire. your breath catches in your throat when one hand goes around your waist, pulling you closer to him, the other cupping your cheek. your heart. that’s all you can hear is your heart thumping in your chest as if it might combust. “how is this for being crystal clear? i like making dinner for you and with you. i like that our hand towels are matching and next to each other. i like that the smell of my coffee wakes you up in the morning…i want to be the one that wakes you up in the mornings. so…with that being said, it’s tuesday and i want to make dinner with you tonight. if you want to make dinner with me, understand that you’re consenting to complete romantic affiliation.” “understood,” it comes out with no hesitation, your eyes glancing between baby blues and pretty, tinted lips begging and beckoning. “so, you’ll make dinner with me and consent to romantic affiliation?” he confirms, a lopsided grin forming. his choice of words begs a chuckle from you. you nod. “xavi, are you seriously asking me that? are you oblivious?” “can i kiss you now? i’ve been dying to.” you pout, feigning a great deal of disappointment and concern. “if you don’t know the answer, then maybe i really should go back across the hall…” his grip on your waist tightens, a soft thumb caressing your cheek and there’s that subtle smile you adore. “we’re definitely kissing because you have to be quiet. like right now.”

you laugh. “wow. that one was actually funny.” “what?” he asks, thrown by your response. “oh, nothing,” you sing. “c’mere,” smiling at your urge to draw him in, he leans down then, no longer willing to waste time being idle with you or staring into each other until you can’t take it. when his lips touch yours, the only thing you can think about is how soft they are, how smooth, silk against velvet. all you can think about is how gently he keeps you against his torso, how shyly his lips move with yours like he needs to test you out and know how you feel, like his lips have more to offer, but much like his conversational skill, you’ll have to coax him out of his timidity. when you both pull apart, you reach your hand up to touch his, tugging very gently on his fingers. he obliges your silent request for his hand, watching you with an enamored gaze, moving his palm from your face and allowing you to tangle your fingers together. you officially love his hands very much. you felt it on your cheek and now you feel it wrapped around every space between your fingers. the most peculiar thing of all about xavier seems to be just how correct your theory is: his hands are like satin, and they take immaculate care of anything they’re tasked with touching.

[menelausblues]

is there a place i can go?

synopsis. you're so used to hiding when it's hard, and xavier loves you too much to let you go.

‣ 1.5k. semi-canon. established relationship. depressed/anxious/avoidant reader/mc who's having a hard time with her stress and grief x understanding n tender boyfriend xavier. hurt/comfort. angst. some fluff at the end. this is for all my fellow anxious-avoidants trying their best not to let the horrors stop them from being loved.

mdni.

two days ago.

xavier ⋮ 2:01 pm. my bunny is missing. have you seen her? 

yesterday.

xavier ⋮ 3:04 pm. pretty eyes. pretty smile. pretty laugh. light of my life. if seen, please give me a call. xavier ⋮ 3:38 pm. i’ve asked all the neighbors and they say they haven’t seen my bunny at all. can you help me find her? i think i’ll be sad if she doesn’t come home to me soon.

today.

xavier ⋮ 3:51 pm. it’s been days since i last saw or talked to you. xavier ⋮ 4:09 pm. i tried coming by your apartment but it seemed like you weren’t there. praying my bunny didn’t leave home for good. xavier ⋮ 4:11 pm. are you okay? i’m worried about you.

it feels like no one loves you, but you know it’s not true.

you don’t understand why you’re like this, why at the foundation of your heart is a hurt little girl shaking in fear and always in a hurry to hide from the world or disprove its intentions. nothing feels as safe as isolation but nothing feels as awful as loneliness. you’re safe from the potentiality of harm but there’s no one to turn to for joy. so you sit and sulk in the security of your separation. your world is filled with empty rooms and stretched sighs. the worst part is that it’s entirely your own fault.  it feels like no one loves you. and it’s because you won’t let them even if they do. it’s not xavier’s fault that you’re avoiding him, but it is.  this blooming fear and odd sensation of coming loss is all because lately he’s perceiving you all too closely. it’s getting to the point where he’s learning your habits so thoroughly, he’s able to anticipate your needs.

it terrifies you because unearned kindness from a lover or a friend has only ever been followed by some kind of violence. some kind of resounding loss that fills you with emptiness. the image of your grandma and caleb surrounds your mind from all sides; your heart fills itself with grief until it overflows. and now you don’t know if you can trust him. or rather, trust him to love you back and be allowed to stay. so you run. you slink into shadows to avoid the pain of being known ( and it is painful to feel elation you can’t control because one day it’ll reshape itself into a monster of sorrow that swallows you ). but the best and worst thing about xavier is that he doesn’t give up. he’s always been relentless in even his gentle and quiet pursuits. it starts with a soft knocking at your door. you haven’t left your apartment much in days aside to clear your trash and it’s the third time he’s come by.  you know it’s him because a creature of habit in his own right, xavier knocks in the same pattern each time he comes.  the only difference is the sense of urgency has disappeared. it’s become hesitant, fearful almost. you could probably choke on your guilt if you weren’t so pre-occupied with the tears lodged in your throat. because everything hurts even when it shouldn’t. “baby?” you hear him call from behind the door. you don’t answer but your heart screams inside itself.

i’m here i’m here i’m here! nothing feels good; nothing feels right! i think i need you! please please please!

you lie in bed covering your head with your pillows like a frightened child trying to drown out the sound of a raging storm, pathetic as can be in your desperate need to escape your own desires to be with him.  your thoughts are in calamity, trapped somewhere between 'it’s not safe for me like this’ and ‘he’s the only thing that feels safe for me when i’m like this.’ truthfully, all you want is to tell him plainly that you’re struggling with your perception of yourself and him, but you can’t face him right now. not when your heart is up in the air like this, not when your eyes are puffy and red from the nonstop bouts of tears. not when you feel like you don’t deserve it. not when you feel like you haven’t felt enough shame for surviving to experience elation. silence falls but only momentarily before your phone vibrates beside you and the soft knocking continues.

xavier ⋮ 4:49 pm. i know you’re home. either something is wrong and you’re pushing me away or you’re severely injured. xavier ⋮ 4:52 pm. i think it’s the first thing because i saw you sneaking out of the building to take your trash out and you seemed physically well. please. i’m here. xavier ⋮ 5:00 pm. i’ll give you until 5:05 to open up on your own, but if you don’t, i have to come in and check on you okay? i just need to know you’re truly okay. if you need space, i need you to come tell me that please.

it’s a shame you never looked at your messages. maybe it would have been enough to get through to you.  maybe his soft reassurance that he knows what’s happening and still wants the best for you would have been enough to drag you out of bed and send your feet padding across the floor in all fairness. but true to your avoidant nature, you keep yourself tucked away. “aha,” you hear his ever-velvet voice suddenly in the center of your room despite not feeling his presence at all. “i think i found my missing bunny.” your heart jolts in your chest, scrambling to clamber up your throat in the form of a relieved sob. your shoulders shake from the strength of it forcing its way out of you. with no hesitation, the addition of xavier’s weight causes your bed to dip as he crawls to be at your side. he doesn’t pull the quilts back or try to coax you out. he just holds you, pulls your blanketed form closer to his own. his arms tighten their hold. “if i had known it was this bad i would have come sooner. i’m sorry.” but you think maybe he shouldn’t be sorry. you should.  because you’re the one who sees the world as a threat despite dedicating yourself to saving it. the contradiction of it all leaves you rivaling with a cognitive dissonance that feels impossible to resolve. “it’s not…it’s not you.” your voice cracks even as you whisper. “it’s me. it’s just me. it just…i can’t…all of it…” “shh,” he soothes. “you don’t have to explain yourself. it’s okay. right now, let’s just rest. isn’t that what you need? don’t worry about anything else.” it is. you need rest. comfort. love. the capacity to let yourself experience those things as they’re offered. and xavier.  he’ll be there but you know he won’t force you to accept his love. it’ll be up to you to take what you need from him and have the strength to admit when you need even more. sniffling, you slowly poke your head out of your blankets, letting your pillows fall to the side and looking up to finally face him. that’s your act of courage today, to be met with his gentle, welcoming smile and not punish yourself for wanting to keep something close to you, for not wanting it stolen again. he kisses your forehead tenderly. “i knew my bunny would come home. i just had to be patient.” “i’m sorry.” “i’m not in need of apologies at the moment, but i’ll graciously accept approximately three days worth of missing kisses.” in the pale blue of his eyes, there’s not even a drop of malice, resentment, or contempt to be found. if anything, there’s relief and fondness there. the tears well up in your eyes all over again. tentatively, you lean forward and offer his supple lips a ginger kiss. “i really am sorry.” “don’t be. not today. let’s just rest. all the other things can come later. there’s no hurry. i’m here, okay?” and he is. sometimes his patience and grace is a mercy you can’t even offer to yourself. it’s hard to forgive yourself for causing so many problems for others. it’s hard to forgive yourself for even things you can’t control: losing everything you know, everything that was left from losing everything once already. warm tears fall and you don’t try to stop them or shield them from sight. “you are here. aren’t you?” it’s more of a soft reminder for you, for these thoughts that crowd your mind and make you feel like a ghost in your own life: invisible and haunting everything, the source of everyone’s mourning when you go missing inside yourself. xavier nods, leaning his forehead against your own. “and i plan to keep it that way. i want to; i have to. i love you. so…you don’t need to worry about being alone anymore.” it won’t be perfect, but you’ll try your hardest to remember.

[menelausblues]

YOU'RE A WRITER AND A STARFISH GIRLIE? AHHH IT'S SO RARE TO FIND IN A SEA OF APPLECROW GIRLIES

̥ 𓂃 yes, my main li since day one was xavier n then i fell for rafayel shortly after starting bc he's just so charming n his entire existence is so poetic! ah yeah it's a lot of apple crow here i noticed. sadly, the tags for xavier are a bit dry omg i went looking for something to read n could hardly find anything. anyway, hai! thank you for stopping by, ˶ฅ́˘ฅ̀˶