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generalsdiary · 6 months ago

Text

the spice will warm me from the inside

Jiaoqiu x Moze

warnings: description of injuries, mentions of the 2.5 events, Jiaoqiu’s history, Moze’s history, nightmares, anxiety, breakdowns, knives/weapons mentioned, one swear word, assassination attempt (dw)

word count: 5.5k

description: a hurt/comfort fic, angst & fluff, life after the events of 2.5, kinda found family trope as well. Jiaoqiu's life with his newfound trauma and disability, Jiaoqiu and Moze living life and communicating in healthy ways. As much as it goes over their "angsty" pasts and traumas it is very healing and focused on moving forward and learning to find a way to go on even when all has gone dark (pun not intended). Feixiao shows up a few times, Sushang comes to visit. As much as it is hurt/comfort, dw as soon as it hurts you, you will be comforted. One has to process through their past traumas and everything they have been through in order to start moving on. A realistic approach.

Jiaoqiu's fingers pressed against the smooth surface of the window. Cold, smooth, glossy. Traveling between the ships of the Luofu wasn't something new to him, but the experience felt different. The darkness, the shadow didn't move no matter how wide he opened his eyes, hoping for light to seep in, for a picture to form. It was hopeless, the poison took its toll.

“Moze.” his voice was gentle as ever, trying his best to hide the tremble in it. The fear as every space feels unfamiliar. The small tremor in his hands that hasn't left since he was... rescued.

“Yes?” a deep-toned voice beside him makes his ears perk up, trying to pinpoint the location, to naturally turn to the man as he usually would. With the way he could before. He turns, hopefully towards Moze. A small crinkle in his eyes as he recalls how March corrected him twice because he wasn't facing her nor the others. Jiaoqiu expected his hearing to be better, to be a better aid, especially as a foxian.

“Describe the room for me. Please.” there's a small pause. A silence. The shadow guard was incredibly quiet, not even a rustle of his clothes.

“It is the same as the last time. Small room, red velvet seats, three across three, sliding glass door, warm light from the headlight, grey floors. The regular transportation.”

Jiaoqiu nods, bringing his fan out, hiding half his face and gently moving it creating a small whiff of air. He remembers some of it... such a mundane thing, he never paid it too much attention. It hurts. Leaning his head back against the soft seat he closes his eyes. They are straining him. an unfamiliar feeling this early in the day.

“Mhm, thank you, Moze... and. General Feixiao, where is she?”

“Arranging a private port for us three to exit at. to avoid crowds.” Moze keeps his answer concise.

The trio is still greeted by guards and some of the general’s usual caretakers. They have received the news, and a man eagerly approaches the trio. His hand is quickly gripping Jiaoqiu’s forearm, making him lose his balance, making him stumble. He desperately uses his tail to balance and tug his arm back. The irritation barely hidden in his voice, “You do not take my arm- one does not simply drag a blind man with them.”

Commotion. Calming words of the general. And a voice that cuts through the multiple voices talking. A low tone, beside him. “I’m on your right, half a step in front of you.” being taller than Jiaoqiu, Moze’s soothing voice is heard easily, mouth so near the foxian’s fluffy ears.

Jiaoqiu takes a calming breath. Another one. This is fine. No. It is not fine. He just has to get home. Home. Yes. Everything will be fine when he gets home.

His hand reaches out into the unknown, the rough fabric meets his fingertips, he gently rests his arm tucked into Moze’s and then grips his forearm. “Thank you. Please. ..Slowly. I can’t.-“ Jiaoqiu’s voice breaks, why did it- no he is fine. He is not breaking down in public. It has been years since has was able to cry. Not after he served in the military. Those tears have long dried up.

You don’t need to cry to break down. To feel the pain engulfing you. The war took most of his ability to taste away. The once lover of subtle, bland flavors, now chased the spiciest, hottest meals- no matter how much it burned his tongue or hurt his throat. It made him feel alive. The spice burned inside him, warming him up when all he could feel was an icy cold throughout his bones.

The familiar crack of the wooden floor beneath his feet lets him know he is finally home. Jiaoqiu immediately took his shoes off and let go of Moze. Stretching out his arms, feeling the smooth texture of the walls in his home. Navigating to his bedroom. Through many dark nights, he could move around his house effortlessly- but this wasn’t a dark night. No moonlight. No lamp. No candle. No soft lights coming off the electronics. He bumps into the couch, and a cabinet, until he finally sits down on the soft bed. Opening his eyes. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing nothing nothing. Nothing? Jiaoqiu wants to rage, to throw furniture around. Hasn’t he done enough? Given enough? Deep breaths. He will not succumb to the anger that wants to drown him. Mindlessly caressing the cotton sheets beneath him.

“G-give me a scarf.”

Silence. Jiaoqiu cannot hear him. Moze was always someone he could see, even in his shadow form, he could always SEE him. he could not even smell him. the clean man. Not a single scent.

A fabric touches his hands, soft, strange patterns swirling on it. He drags his fingers across it. Deep breaths. Calm down. He folds it neatly and brings it over his eyes. Tying it up around his head.

“Why?” Moze asked quietly. The sound seems to be coming from below. He is… kneeling beside the bed?

“Every time I open my eyes I hope they will heal. That… that something maybe changed. And every single fucking time that hope is crushed. And I-“ his voice wavers, “I cannot deal with that. I cannot bear another time of my heart getting broken by my inability to see. … with this, I won’t be able to open them. Just. Just… until I get used to… things.”

“I can order a cane for you.”

“No,” Jiaoqiu says a bit too harshly. “I will not. I can’t. I… just. Please, I.” he stumbles over his words like he is falling down the stairs. Shaking his head. Hands trembling. Moze’s habit of not speaking is upsetting at this moment. The bed squeaks under the weight of the other man, strong arms encircle him. Firm chest pressed against the foxian’s back. Calm breathing on his shoulder and a strong steady heart beating against his own works wonders. Making him ground his own breathing in the pace he feels the other’s ribs expand and contract. Heartbeat soon enough coming into sync with Moze’s. A comfortable silence. Although to Jiaoqiu it isn’t a silence. The inhale, exhale, a reassuring sound in this abyss.

Jiaoqiu’s fingers gripped the peeled onion a bit too roughly. He worried it might roll away. Just have to tuck in his fingers, and it is okay. Chop, chop, chop.

Cooking is a big part of him. and his situation will not take it away from him. The last thing that makes him feel like himself. His hand hovers above the deep pan, warmth seeping in. It is hot enough. He chops more veggies and meat and puts it all on a low simmer. Doors open and close, and as per usual he turns towards the sound. It has to be Moze or Feixiao. A burglar wouldn’t enter that casually, right? These thoughts don’t ease his life. The constant worrying and anxiety-

“It’s me.” he doubts he is able to recognize everyone’s voice. Humanoid hearing is simply not suited for it. Expect that it is Moze. Jiaoqiu can recognize his voice. “I have brought you something” With a quick step he is beside him, warm hands holding his and handing him something… smooth. “You said no cane. This is a walking stick. Older people use it- I know, you maybe don’t want it, and it may cause more trouble. Simply put, at least it’s here to help you not fall. okay?”

That’s a lot of words for the shadow guard who prefers to stay silent. Jiaoqiu feels out the walking stick, tapping the ground with it a bit. “I appreciate the thought, I will. I will keep it near.” With that, he sets it against the kitchen counter and stirs the food. Sour and spicy notes hit his nose. Home. Breathing it in like smoke. Wishing it could take him back.

“Why are there green peppers in the trash? They appear fine.” Moze questions. Jiaoqiu exhales, his throat tightens. Opening his mouth to explain but the strain stops him from voicing anything. Why are they in the trash can? A perfectly good ingredient, still fresh, he is never wasteful. The everpresent tremble is his new companion, his imagination makes him feel the finger that pressed against his back causing immense pain so he may give away secrets about Feixiao. The claws that ripped his clothes apart and left rough textured scars- still wounds, they have yet to heal to become scars. The makeup that ran down his face. The tugged hair. Flashes of scent induced fear. The last thing he ever saw was that monster. Hoolay. Green peppers. No. It isn’t something he can see- … it isn’t something he can smell, eat, or feel again.

Moze quietly observes the way Jiaoqiu grips the counter, the way his breathing becomes shallow, the silence piercing his ears, worry coloring Moze’s face now that he doesn’t have to conceal his expressions anymore. “I will take the trash out.”

“Please, thank you.” Jiaoqiu answers in a shaky, broken voice. The voice one sounds like right before they will break down. With swift movements, Moze ties the bag and takes the trash out.

With a slow step and one hand on the walking stick, he carries the food to the table. Plate by plate. Chopsticks, spoons. Beverages. If it were any other normal day he’d carry the pan to the table. But it isn’t any other normal day. This is the new normal. And carrying a heavy, soup-filled pan is risky. Finally satisfied, he sits down and smiles gently. Like he used to. Small wins, little joys.

Moze returns and wishes to say how he could’ve helped. Those words die down in his throat. Would it be more condescending than helpful? Would he even care for his words? Moze lost his voice, his will to speak, from his “second family”. Where no one cared for what he said. He convinces himself that this time he isn’t speaking because it might be rude.

“Would you text the trailblazer for me?” Jiaoqiu inquires during the meal, once Moze returns from washing his hands.

“Now?”

“No, no. after we eat. And could you switch the settings to voice commands and audio-specific notifications?”

“Consider it done.”

Technology is another thing Moze has a great understanding of. Updating the phone and other digital items in their home poses no issue. “When I call you in the future, or anyone whose number you have saved this is how it will sound” Moze calls Jiaoqiu’s phone, and instead of making a pleasant melody, a robotic voice starts talking ‘Moze Moze Moze Moze…’ Jiaoqiu nods with a small smile. “That is helpful, I appreciate it.” “And you can text the trailblazer by giving voice commands to the phone. You don’t need my assistance.” Moze sounds proud, showing Jiaoqiu that he is perfectly capable of doing it alone, just a bit differently than what he is used to.

“I’m going to meet Suyi. You can take the time to clean, Moze” Jiaoqiu takes his cane and exits their home. Hopefully, by giving him obligations and keeping clear of the area, it will make Moze not follow him.

It has been a few weeks. He took an orientation and mobility class. Learning how to use an actual cane. It felt easier to exist. Jiaoqiu was once again mobile, he could go to the market, buy fresh produce, and go out to meet old friends. Tap tap taping his way to the café. Jiaoqiu had a preference for a nonfoldable cane. The subtle vibrations carried through much better. And concrete felt like hell so he tried to stick to the pavement the best he could. The Yaoqing, sadly, had no pathways adjusted to those with impaired vision. Tap tap tap. Jiaoqiu made do with what he had. Walking in public with his cane made him feel free again, akin to feeling in control again. There is a lingering hope in it. Reminiscent of a small candle’s light, not too strong, yet it may illuminate a whole room.

Another assassination attempt failed. Moze groans. The general suggested asking for advice from others, and the trailblazer, the first person he asked, had nothing useful to say in that regard. The silver shine of the knife glistened in the artificial sun. Like sharpening it will make the attempts successful. Feixiao killed his entire family. His family. His close ones, they healed him, gave him a roof over his head, they fed him… poisons under the claim he will live forever with it, his words ever only falling on deaf ears, mantras shoved down his throat like rose spikes. Intoxicating his insides even after he knew of the evil those same words caused. Not to mention the first family that abandoned him, the village that left him to die.

Is this what you call a family? Moze asks himself as the sharp blade lingers above Feixiao’s throat. There he stands. About to succeed. To win his freedom. Is he not already free tho? No, no, she killed his family. This was the agreement and the rightful vengeance. Moze outdid her. Snuck into her home, he won. Yet his hand is frozen. It stands still in the dead of the night. Unmoving. Static. Immobile. Eyes observing the resting face of the woman who saved him. Educated him, showed him kindness, and actual warmth. And in his adult years, she is the one who introduced him to his current partner. Be that as it may, what becomes of him if he let go of it all now? What is his worth? This was his goal, all this time. The driving force of his medically adjusted body. Is this what you call a family? Is this who has been his family all along? The general and the healer? The borisin and the foxian. The air is deathly still. His hand is calm, free from tremors. His brow furrows deeper, thinking through all of it. Until he comes to a decision.

“Feixiao.” Moze says in a normal tone. The knife was still against her neck. The general stirs awake, eyes widening at the surprise, however she makes no move to shove him away. Feixiao knows if he wanted to do something, it would have been done.

“I have won. … I shall remain your guard, General. Death will have to walk through me to get you.” in the blink of an eye he is gone. Feixiao exhales and returns to her sleep with a smile on his face. Moze finally, slowly, started to move on. Decades later, he managed to take small steps toward acceptance.

A few minutes later he is holding his partner in his arms. “Jiaoqiu” Moze whispers into the soft ear. The foxian stirs, “hm?” “I have succeeded in my revenge.” Small shuffle and a sharp inhale, Jiaoqiu turns towards him, “Hm?” sleep-driven hum. “I couldn’t bring myself to kill her. She is my family. I cannot. I would never bring harm upon the ones I care about. Never.” Moze speaks his vow aloud and nuzzles his head into Jiaoqiu’s neck. Nothing more had to be said, in his opinion, time to sleep. A gentle hand caresses his hair, “Good.” Jiaoqiu leaves a feathery kiss on the grey hair after which he continues sleeping.

Misty rain soaked his clothes and the small boat rocked along the smooth surface of the Rainsoar lake. Jiaoqiu used to come here often. Alone he’d collect herbs and fruit in the herbal basket on his back.

“You didn’t have to come with me, one of the locals could’ve taken me.”

“It is not a problem for me, Jiaoqiu. I’m glad to be in your company, we see each other less… and it brings me joy to be beside you.” Feixiao answers, slowly rowing the boat through the lake covered with heart-shaped foliage, blossoms, water chestnuts, and the occasional fish jumping out. A beautiful sight, a tranquil atmosphere surrounding the two.

Jiaoqiu reaches out beyond the small boat, dipping his fingers into the icy cold water to collect the lotus flowers and floating heart plants. An old tradition for him, one he did even before he joined the army as a doctor. The cold fingers pluck a wild rice stem and open it up. Bringing the fresh rice to his mouth.

Years before it had a wonderful sweet and refreshing taste. His taste changed after he came back from war. Jiaoqiu’s taste buds were the price he paid in the war. A renowned chef, and healer, lost his delicate sense of taste. The gaze of an Aeon who looked down upon the thousand-year war, and their choice to end it, burned everyone involved. Jiaoqiu’s tongue was the price he paid for running into the white light to save the young kid. Feixiao. The cold region was something he got accustomed to. Nonetheless, when the almighty power sliced down the battlefield, Jiaoqiu felt a cold unlike any other. Freezing him from the inside. With the leftover survivors, he decided to cook a stew. A warm flame. Some spice. More spice. Chili peppers. Not enough. All the spice he had in his pouch. Until he finally felt a taste on his tongue. A burning sensation. The last flavor he can actually taste. For it made him feel alive despite everything that happened, everything around him, the cold air, the cold insides, the tasteless tongue. And the heat… it sent a jitter down his body. So alive. … the sensation bordered on pain. As spice tolerance grows, surely his grew as well. And he might today very well be dancing with pain every bite. After he returned from the war the rice stems tasted too bland. No flavor to them. He reaped the consequences of his actions. Of choosing to save the girl. His scars from the war.

Years later, at the same lake, with the woman he saved during the war, the boat rocks with her movements. The second time he saved her he paid with his sight. Jiaoqiu never blamed her, why would he? It was his choice the whole way and his goal. The jump to save her from the Aeon. To drink… Tumbledust. To give everyone a fighting chance and to heal Feixiao’s moon rage. Jiaoqiu is an adult and he made his decisions to the best of his judgment in the circumstances that were given to him.

The wild rice lands on his tongue. For a sacred moment, he feels a tinge of sweetness, however, it is only for one moment. And gone with the wind. Even so, for one moment it was there. Is it because he lost his vision that his other senses have enhanced the tiniest bit giving him a single second, less than a second of something that used to bring him joy? The foxian could cry at that moment if his eyes had not dried from any tears while he was still in the army. A moment is still a moment. It is enough. Enough to give him more hope. To keep him moving forward. To have faith in the future. To even dare to look into the future.

For a man to willingly drink poison, deadly poison, he had to give up all hope. Any faith toward the future, any life he thought he had left. Jiaoqiu had to make peace with the fact that no one was coming to recuse him- that he would not be saved. So what was the last thing he could do? After Hoolay drained him of any secrets about the general, humiliated him, treated him less than the ground they walk on, and broke his ego and pride by allowing him to walk around knowing he will “always return to his master”. The only thing he could do was give the others a fighting chance, somehow use the knowledge he acquired; to save Feixiao and sacrifice himself.

The sweet flavor of rice on his tongue. A small flame of a candle, a hope. Hope for the future, he gets to live in. as he slowly finds his self-worth again, his self-respect, and his hopefulness for the oncoming days.

“We may return. I got what I came for.”

“Hm- I’m still-“ Feixiao speaks with her mouth full and Jiaoqiu angles his head a bit analyzing the sound, and a chuckle is ready to part his lips. “You are eating?”

“-mh, hey the water chestnuts are really good!” Feixiao probably has her mouth full of food. The general likely got bored and hungry. Jiaoqiu’s warm laugh cuts the silence of the lake. He hasn’t laughed in a long time. It makes his tummy hurt and he has to stop to not make the boat flip over. Feixiao laughs with him… after she chews down the food in her mouth.

How does one make noise when one walks? A question Moze never thought he’d ask himself. Hence, doing his best, it sounds like a child purposefully stomping the heel of their feet onto the floor. Heavy steps. It is ridiculous. Moze finds himself hilarious, ironic even. His stoic front breaks down when he hears his partner laughing from the couch. The sole reason why he is doing this. To fill the void Jiaoqiu sees. Moze will not move like a shadow in their home. He shall make noise. Even if it sounds like an overgrown toddler throwing a tantrum.

“I’m trying!” Moze voices between bursts of laughter.

“Ooh, I can hear that indeed~” Jiaoqiu nods and giggles.

A knock on the door interrupts their conversation. Jiaoqiu stands up, slowly making his way to the door, while Moze opens it.

A girl with a cloud knight uniform on and long dark brown hair with a big bright smile stands in the doorway. “Hello!” she says cheerfully, “It has been so long, I thought I’d come to visit, how are you, Uncle J?”

Jiaoqiu angles his head a bit, the voice not ringing any bells. “I’m sorry, you-“ Moze quickly buts in, “It is Sushang.” “Yeah, and I brought a gift!” Sushang happily stretches out her hands, handing Jiaoqiu a small box. There’s a few seconds of silence. Moze once again says, “She is handing you a small box, approximately the size of a human head, and by the looks of it not too heavy.”

“Ah, thank you, Sushang. Your presence is unexpected but I’m glad you came over, are you hungry?” Jiaoqiu carefully takes the gift in his hands and smiles. “I mean, I could never say no to your cooking Uncle J! Also... I’m sorry, you are..?” Moze sighs. This is the third time he has seen her and she fails to remember him. The shadow guard, proficient in remaining hidden, wonders why she never remembers him. Jiaoqiu speaks in his stead as he slowly walks to the kitchen, “This is Moze, my partner.” “oh! Hi there, Uncle Moze!” Sushang flashes him a bright smile and moves past him to sit at the kitchen island, ready to yap a whole storm about her life and catch her uncle up with it all. Starting with her best friend, Guinaifen. Once she finishes her stories, Sushang is more than happy to sit in a slump position, stuff her face full of dumplings while Jiaoqiu shares some new stories of his life (the happy ones). In her eyes, he tells them better than the storyteller at Sleepless Earl.

“You know I care about your thoughts, opinions, even random comments with not a single thought behind them, right?” Jiaoqiu’s hand effortlessly treaded through Moze’s silver hair, facing him on the couch. “I will try. I have learned differently and… despite it being a bad habit, those are even harder to let go of.” Moze’s eyes are closed, melting under his lover’s touch. Jiaoqiu’s voice is smooth like butter, continuing, “I know, Moze. When it gets hard, just remember that I care about you and what you have to say. I always have. I love you.” Moze leans forward, pressing his forehead against Jiaoqiu’s, “I love you too. I will do my best.” Moze softly kisses the bridge of his nose, where the cotton scarf lays across his eyes.

Jiaoqiu reached behind his head, untangling the scarf. Weeks, months have passed since he started wearing it. Taking it off only when he bathes or sleeps. He opens his eyes. “I missed seeing them. Such beautiful golden glow, Jiaoqiu.” Moze muses, enjoying the view of bright orange eyes. “Thank you. I feel finally… strong enough mentally to exist and move without it. I have gathered… hope and mental strength.” Jiaoqiu nods, the darkness beyond his eyes unchanged. “They still look beautiful to you, Tumbledust didn’t affect them?” “Even if it did, the fact would not change. To answer your question your eyes are unchanged. They cannot meet mine, but I was never big on eye contact.” The simplicity and honesty in his answer made Jiaoqiu feel secure and loved. The foxian smiles, and their home feels warm. So warm with them together, kind, loving, patient. Healing through their traumas and pain. One thoughtful word at a time.

In the peaceful moment, Jiaoqiu caresses Moze’s cheek and leans in to kiss him. One of the moments where darkness is welcomed… because of the way Moze makes him feel during the kiss, it makes Jiaoqiu feel like he can taste colors.

“The divine traces of Abundance shall heal your body... quick. Drink this...” Moze’s body was covered with sweat, his breathing was shallow. Hooded figures surrounded him.

“I don’t… don’t make drink… no…no” he mumbles helplessly, the thick liquid forced down his throat again. Goosebumps rose on his skin, “Drink child. You will… immortal… save… others…” Moze’s throat closed up, drowning on dry land and his mind disconnected from his body in an all too familiar way. Dying and fighting in the same breath. Half a second away from a silent scream or spitting the medicine back out. “Please… please… I…” his voice trembled, powerless against any of them. Once more his voice is ignored. His yelps and pleading for help, his begging for mercy shushed, ignored… put aside. Nothing more than a good test subject, convinced this is what family does. This is how it must be. Others live like this too, right? This is completely normal, right? He is cared for and nourished here, right? He will survive this, right? I will survive this…right?

A hushed voice hummed in the distance. The worn down building, cold and exposed cement his everyday environment, and the sound he didn’t recognize. “shh, shh, shh.” Rhythmical, paced… soothing? No one ever soothed him. Then he feels it. A delicate tender touch. Fingers brushing his hair. Moze’s breathing sped up as his surroundings changed, he inhaled sharply, his vision going black, all sound stopping into a painful echo of silence, a deafening sound, his lungs moving up and down with irregular breathing until there was none of him left. Abyss. Darkness. Black dots of midnight oil. A window. A window? Moonlight vaguely illuminated the space. A bed. And… “shh, shh, shh. There you go… back with me.”

Moze’s face felt wet, his vision blurry and his eyelashes stuck together, a salty taste on his lips. The sight of his partner holding him so carefully, gingerly, and taking care of him… Moze had no words. The nightmare swallowed him up again. He hated the feeling. Immediately he turns to press himself fully into his partner, to hide his face away from the shadows in the room, “Jiaoqiu” he whispers. “Yes, my precious. I’m here. You’re here. In our home. In our bed. Safe. With me.” For the next few minutes, Jiaoqiu keeps murmuring comforting words and hushed hums until Moze grounds himself in the present moment.

“I hate them. I hate my nightmares.”

“May I offer my healing abilities? A nine-squared grid hotpot will surely have a pleasurable effect on this, and help out.”

“I… that sounds good. If you say it will help, then I’ll take it.”

Jiaoqiu starts sitting up, “Very well.”

“Wait,” Moze utters, squinting his eyes to look at the clock, “it is 3 am, you don’t have to cook now.”

“Then when am I supposed to cook, Moze?” Jiaoqiu replies with a smile, “It isn’t hard. It doesn’t bother me.” He stands up and faces somewhat in the direction of the bed. “I’m happy to take care of you, Moze.” Jiaoqiu sits back on the bed and finds his partner’s face, cupping it in his hands. The texture of Moze’s unshaven face against his fingers feels rough but familiar, and in that familiarity, he feels safe. His home. He presses his lips against the younger man’s forehead and stands back up, already on his way to the kitchen.

Approximately half an hour later, a freshly bathed Moze sits across Jiaoqiu for a late night or an early morning meal. The warm liquid filled with various vegetables and spices feels good as it goes down his throat. It isn’t poison. It doesn’t hurt. It isn’t a threat.

“Thank you, Jiaoqiu. It tastes amazing.”

“Always a pleasure.” He answers with an all-knowing smile. “I could add a little more chili oil next time…”

“eh- I… it is spicy enough, darling.” Moze voices his thoughts hesitantly, which makes Jiaoqiu softly laugh and add a few drops of chili pepper flakes to his own bowl.

On the other hand, Jiaoqiu’s nightmares didn’t stop. Many nights he wakes up in fear of where he is. Is he still captive? Still kidnapped? Still surrounded by borisin and under the effect of lupitoxin? Jiaoqiu wakes up with heavy breathing every time, sitting up quickly, feeling the space around him- more often than not, waking Moze in his desperate attempt to gather where he is whether he is home or there. There’s a phantom pain where Hoolay pressed his finger onto his back to drain information from him. An itch on his chest where the wounds will form into dark pink scar tissue. In the beginning, it was every night. Every night for weeks, months. Jiaoqiu started relying on afternoon naps. Time has passed but his nightmares are still often. On the rare nights when Moze isn’t in bed, he has a good sleep schedule- most likely went to drink some water, Jiaoqiu is quick to spiral and clumsily get out of bed. Moze usually finds him kneeling on the floor, hanging onto the wall, mumbling, “No, no, no, no, no, no. I am not. This is home. This is home. It is. My walls. M-moze…Moze”

The curse of a doctor, a healer, they cannot heal themselves. The trauma he has been through, the scars from it that he carries still with him, most of them not even visible, it isn’t something that passes overnight. Healing is a long and slow process. It will take time. Sometimes he has no nightmares for weeks, only for them to torment his peaceful night’s rest for days on end. Some days, Jiaoqiu will have a bit more anxiety while walking around. What if everyone and anyone he talks to once again is under a guarantee of a death filled with fangs and claws?

Hence, he takes it slowly. When the world feels like it is crushing him, he takes a deep breath and eats spicy food. He grounds himself in his environment. Reminds himself that he is safe, Hoolay is dead, the borisin are under control, he isn’t being targeted, and everything is fine. Everything is fine. He will be fine. With time. One deep breath at a time.

The tremor in his hands never left him.

A breeze rustled various branches and leaves, providing a lovely melody of an artificial autumn on the Yaoqing. The scent of cooked apples dipped in caramel and baked cinnamon rolls filled the air.

“I see no threat in my retainers. The man you cannot see is my guard, and the foxian is my personal doctor. Surely, we don’t pose a problem?” Feixiao questioned the men in front of her, attempting to enter a highly secure space, on a very important and very secret mission.

Moze appears by her side, “I shall leave all my weapons with you.” he takes his time to slowly strip himself of his hidden knives and make a full scene out of it.

Jiaoqiu stands still with a small smile and his cane in his hands. “I do not carry weapons. I am a healer, I wouldn’t hurt a fly.” If at all possible, his smile widens subtly with the honey-dripped words that coat the actual truth. “Moreover, I am retired. I’m here on the general’s command to accompany her to this… wonderful occasion.”

Rustling, murmuring, quiet chats, “…what could a blind man do…” “…the guard left all of his weapons…” “….yeah, we can let them through..” “You may come.”

Feixiao slowly walks towards the entrance with a confident stride, Jiaoqiu steadily taps his cane following her with the same smirk on his face, Moze soundlessly steps last, with at least, still 32 weapons on him.

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generalsdiary · 2 months ago

Text

the amethyst siren

Dr. Ratio x Aventurine

warnings: vague injury description, blood

word count: 2.6k

description: in this chapter, Aventurine makes it back to land and Veritas struggles to find his footing (Chapter 1)

a/n: life got in the way and this chapter took months for me to get to it unlike the planned few days... sorry- hope the ones who stuck around for it like it! also shoutout and thank you to my beta reader ^^ (@tayzzyronth-ao3)

Chapter 2: The Village

Another prison for his body. Another captive of the humans. He swam himself into this one.

After dropping Kakavasha off, Veritas couldn’t help but linger. Couldn’t help but make sure the human made it safely to the shore.

Underestimating his own injuries Veritas swam to the edge of the village and laid on the ocean floor under a cliff, succumbing to the pain. Color drained from his face, energy leaving him due to no food consumption. His vision filled with shadows, looming to take his consciousness away and put him to sleep.

No one saves the savior.

Aventurine was exhausted and hungry, with dried salt itching his skin and providing some healthy – and unwelcome –exfoliation. Despite this, he pressed on, drenched, walking through the gravel street towards a large house on top of a cliff. ‘Property of the IPC’, according to the kind people that were willing enough to indulge the questions of his whereabouts. How lucky.

It was a large luxurious white mansion with wall-length windows and a tall fence. Reminding Aventurine of a prison, if said prison had a pool beside it. Ironic.

Aventurine typed a code on the large metal door which slowly opened. A warm shower and a cup of ramen later, he was as good as new. His phone was soaked, to say nothing of his nearly-ruined clothes. At least the rumble of the washing machine proved to be a soothing white noise he needed; a reminder of his regular life, taking his mind away from the accident and near-death experience.

The various gold necklaces and bracelets were actually the first thing he took off. The smell of fish scales, seaweed stuck between the loops of the chains, and salt which accumulated under the simple ring bands; it all added to the feeling of overheating. Not to mention that usually, he couldn’t stand the reminder of such bounds on his body. An all too familiar feeling urged him to take everything off, as the feeling does every day he gets home. The overstimulation choked him.

The golden watch was undoubtedly broken beyond repair – it would be easier to just buy a new one.

He found some clean clothes to wear. They were hardly to his preference, but beggars can’t be choosers.

A plain white button-up, a few sizes too big, made him look like a lover that stayed the night over after a passionate evening. Soft pants, blue boxers, white slippers, and the ‘outfit-of-the-day’ was complete.

There was some comfort in not needing to shine and reflect light like a diamond. Aventurine believed this must be how healthcare workers felt after taking off their white coats and dark blue scrubs; suddenly no one stopped them to answer questions and people weren't looking at them expectantly. A form of freedom.

Taking off the clothes of a flashy rich man for the simple ones, ones not meant for performing… Although he still unbuttoned too many buttons. He told himself it was for comfort, but perhaps it was more for the situation if someone came to the door and he had to perform, to use his ‘assets’…

Although, true comfort would mean not buttoning up the shirt at all.

At sunset he made his way carefully down the cliff and back to the sea. The combination of the slippers and the gravelly road down proved to be tricky in descending by foot. Upon reaching the area where the waves kissed the large rocks he sat down.

Mentally, he was preparing to keep the existence of the siren a secret until his death. He still couldn’t help but take a few moments to cherish the memory of him in his mind before he locked it away. Some people exist with the power to read his thoughts, to steal his secrets away from him, but he swore to himself he would never endanger Veritas like that, which meant he could never let his mind wander through those memories again.

Aventurine reached out with his hand into the water. The secret spilled from his lips in a flutter of whispers for the first and final time, “Thank you for saving me. You didn’t have to and I–” he exhaled, “…I got lucky enough you chose to do so. May you get home safely, Veritas…”

Aventurine had spoken those words to offer himself peace of mind and heart, certain that he was alone, with no one near enough to hear it, especially not Veritas, so his heart nearly burst out of his chest when he felt a hand grab his.

It was Veritas, looking beyond sick, grasping his hand and feebly raising his head out of the ocean. He had somehow heard his words, and out of pure delirium and a survival instinct that ignored his fears, swam up to the surface.

“I will die,” the siren rasped, “I cannot treat my wounds. I’m… I can’t find my way back.” His voice broke.

“How–” He cut himself off, his face changing to one of shock and worry. Veritas was in no state to answer his questions. Feeling the adrenaline rush to his head he provided a hasty solution, “there’s a salt pool on top of the cliff. I can try to carry you there- I’m sure I can provide you with some first aid and I can show you what our maps look like- surely that can be–“

Veritas interrupted him with a weak voice, barely a whisper, struggling to use his lungs with a raspy inhale, “Where on the cliff?”

Aventurine felt dumbfounded, he pointed in a general direction he recalled the big pool being on top of it. Not a moment later Veritas dove under the surface all the way to the sandy bottom. With every ounce of strength he had left in him he swam up, sending pulsations of underwater waves with his tail, and leaped out of the ocean.

Aventurine gasped, stuck between heartbeats, paused between breaths. Only after he heard a splash, what if showed the wrong way, how was he supposed to know the siren would do this, did his mind stop yelling at him. Despite his tired body, he ran up the cliff, back to where Veritas landed.

The tension left his sore muscles when he saw Veritas had made it safely. He was on the bottom of the pool, curled up. The only sign he was alive.

Aventurine ran up inside the house to get a first aid kit and with the same haste came back. The luxury of searching for a random piece of bathing shorts is not what he had. Fully clothed, he stepped into a pool, the white shirt sticking to his torso in an uncomfortable manner. He ignored it.

Aventurine placed his arms around the siren’s torso and pulled his heavy body towards the steps that led into the pool. As soon as it got to the point of pulling at least his upper body out of the water, Aventurine felt truly how heavy his species was.

A set of grunts later, along with the line of sweat developed on his forehead, the siren’s torso rested on his lap. Aventurine had no practice in medicine, so his first course of action was… well, to freeze and stare. Veritas’ chest wasn’t moving. Did he even have lungs? If so, they were not working.

In panic, he shook his shoulders, “Veritas-“ And his chest rose in a sharp inhale. So, he does have lungs.

The dazed siren opened his eyes, “A-allow me… I’ll take out the… glass shards and… wood pieces..” and passed out.

As the sun drowned in the sea, spilling an array of purple and orange shades, Aventurine now at least had a guideline on what to do.

It was messy work. Blood and stained tissues surrounded the two, along with big chunks of glass and smaller pieces of timber. He did the best he could. He hoped he got everything out before he applied, with shaky hands, messy stitches which he wrapped up with the white cloth and then his own shirt to secure it even more.

Aventurine knew Veritas would stay in the pool hence the extra pressure on the injuries wouldn’t hurt. Medicine would be in order, but he didn’t know how it would react with anatomy different from his own, nor was he familiar even with what type of drugs would be useful for a human in this case.

With most of that done he hesitantly pushed Veritas back under the water's surface. It felt… wrong. It felt like he was drowning him.

The blue gills opened and closed signifying consumption of oxygen. Good. With heavy hesitation and worry eating at his inside like a small creature that scratched the bones of his ribcage as if it was an actual cage, he left Veritas as such and went back inside.

His hands felt dry from the latex gloves and all the rubbing alcohol he used the clean up the blood off the tiles. Where does he even throw such materials? The normal trash was probably a bad option.

Aventurine settled for turning on the fireplace and burning every cotton pad and tissue. And the glass parts and the timber. No proof was needed. His clothes? Immediately went to the washing machine. And the pool? What if someone came by? The left hand behind his back clutched a coin tightly, pondering.

Aventurine won’t sleep easy this night. Tossing, turning, tugging onto the roots of his blond hair……

Veritas awoke to no waves. The earth wasn’t pulsating under him with each turn around itself, whispering of the currents’ direction. The oxygen was low, his gills struggled to filter it out. And his body ached. A tugging sensation on his injuries… messily wrapped up. His eyes opened to a semi-darkness. A… cover? Pulled over the oxygen-deficient pool of water…

His mind cleared up and he managed to recall what he exactly did. Veritas condemned himself. Trusting one of their kind? Offering himself into a trap with no way of escaping? He screamed into the pool water which created small waves and trembled in fear against the tile walls. This water has never seen the wrath and desperate scream of a siren. Glassy air filled bubbles flowed from his eyes, the tears of a siren.

Flowing up. Cursing himself. Cursing it all.

“It is just the wind, do not worry, Madam Jade” Aventurine smiled at his higher-up’s glance towards the pool cover moving.

“I’m glad you are in one piece… how unlucky the ship flipped over. And how interesting you made it back to shore.” Her words are nothing but a dance between a snake’s poison and sweet honey.

“Yes, luck is always in my favor, is it not?” Aventurine smiled brightly, gesturing with his right hand. The knuckles of his left hand turned white with how hard he clenched his fist behind his back. “Those fishermen are my life saviors. I shall have to offer some donations to this village as an extension of my gratitude.”

Jade hummed, quietly analyzing, making no comments, and making Aventurine want to squirm under her gaze. He will not crack under pressure, or even dare squirm. This one isn’t about him. This is about someone else’s life. And there was no way in hell he was letting someone become an experiment, a slave like he was. Not if he can prevent it.

“You mentioned you wish to take a leave?” Jade mused.

“Yes ma’am, the shipwreck truly stressed me out, I would require a week or so of vacation. And this village seems… perfect.”

She nods to his words. To anyone’s eyes, it looked like she believed him. The shivers that went down his spine told him otherwise.

The large door hummed as it opened, “…and I shall take the sailboat. To get over my newfound… trauma.”

She hummed, “If it helps you, Aventurine” words coated in a sheen of green glazed gold. Rotten. Demeaning.

The cover slowly pulled off of the pool with a mechanical buzz. Aventurine sat beside the pool with a phone in his hands, showing a map.

Meanwhile, Veritas fought in his head to not threaten the man, to not jump him and strike his claws in the human’s thighs. With a lot of calming inhales, and a swish of his tail he resurfaced. “You called other humans. When will they… take me away?” He spoke through gritted teeth despite the calming internal chat.

Aventurine quickly shook his head, a flash of horror in his eyes, “The woman that came is my superior, she came to check up on me.” Paranoid from her arrival he kept his voice low, hushed, “… She is bad news. We will leave tomorrow at dawn.”

“We? Leave?” Veritas raised an eyebrow in question.

“Here is the map. We are here. I can get you away from the land to somewhere further in, at least closer to your own kind. Your injuries don’t make it easy to swim, I’m sure. So, I will… I will make sure to get you as far away as I can.” Aventurine’s eyes showed vulnerability, honesty, it baffled Veritas. Depending on a man. He had no other option. This was what he had to do.

“That sounds… good. I… I have a request.” It pained him to ask. “Do you have any seaweed? Or… any form of food?”

Aventurine immediately ran off without a word. Why he was so on edge, he himself didn’t even know.

He grabbed some dried seaweed and a can of tuna fish and returned. Veritas made plenty of weird facial expressions and ate without enthusiasm with an obvious crease between his brows from the small frown. The food must have not been to his taste. It was tricky to figure out where he was. The digital map which focused on showing the land proved to be quite challenging in showing where his home might be in the ocean.

It didn’t stop Aventurine from making plans to leave.

The heat from the coffee cup burned the inside of Aventurine’s palms as he observed the dawn’s rising sun. He never was much of a coffee drinker, however when in doubt or rush, it is smart to resort to what humans have been doing for years; getting caffeinated.

Pulling Veritas onto the sailboat was something Veritas himself disregarded immediately. “Given the size of humans and your size, I genuinely doubt you’d be able to lift me or drag me to that machine.”

Veritas got back to the ocean with a risky leap.

The rope tied around his upper body scratched at his wounds, nevertheless, it proved to be a good idea by Kakavasha. Tying up the rope to the boat and around his body meant he could stay underwater and make a swim for it if necessary. Kept him hidden, safe, and somewhat free.

Despite the concerns Kakavasha posed, Veritas made sure to reassure him that he swims faster than the boat so being dragged by it wouldn’t be an issue. The speed will not hurt him. If anything it felt like a tickle he gets when he swims around with some of the slower sirens and mermaids.

The sea tasted nothing like the one of his home. The waves whispered soft lullabies to soothe the poor siren, rumbles, and utters of hushed chants of protection. Worry and pain remained his travel companions throughout the journey, much like worry and anxiety remained Aventurine’s. Did someone see something in the wreckage? Did someone see Veritas leap in and out of the sea? Were they being followed? Knowing Jade it was just a question of time. A question of how much time they have left. How much time he has left to save Veritas. To return the favor.

The water turned a turquoise color as they approached a group of small unpopulated islands. Aventurine needed land to refuel the sailboat with the barrels of fuel he brought onboard. It may also offer a breather in the hours he felt like an escapee. And get rid of his nausea.

#dr veritas ratio x aventurine #ratiorine #aventio #golden ratio #kakavasha #raturine #merman #siren!ratio x human!aventurine #hsr #honkai star rail #dr ratio #aventurine #divider cr: milklemondrop

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generalsdiary · 1 year ago

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confessions under the moon

Dan Heng (IL) x gn!reader

word count: 1k

description: sharing feelings under the moonlight on a new planet (fluff with a side of angst)

a/n: inspired by the japanese saying (explained at the end)

"the moon is beautiful, isn't it?" you say while admiring it.

"ye-" Dan Heng stops his words. turning his head in shock and surprise to you, his cyan eyes seeking your face for any trace of further explanation.

being well educated and a lover of research he knew a lot about this planet, called Earth. he recalls reading in the data bank information specific to this planet and this quite random fact. people of Earth would say those words to say they love someone - as a secret, an intimate 'I love you'.

he blushes sightly, finding himself speechless, looking to the ground. it takes over all of his thoughts, by losing his focus his vidyadhara form and its features bleed through and show themselves once more. the dark long hair, translucent tail, and tall dragon horns, along with the pointy ears. eyes shining blue as he observes you. were you aware of what those words meant? surely you were, you are a clever one, and claim to know lots of Earth's hidden facts - that he kindly asked you to, at some point, put into the data bank (yeah... he is still waiting on you to do that.)

finding words within himself, he questions.

"where did you find-... read that?" he wishes to check if you know what you said.

"read what?" you keep your eyes on the night sky, and it is slowly obvious that you're playing oblivious, or something of the similar sort.

he calls out your name, with a hint of sternness, a tad more seriousness in his voice than usual.

you smile slightly to yourself when your name is called in such a way, you turn your head to look at him, his true form bringing a smile to your face. finding it sad when he always hides, like he is ashamed of it, or not accustomed.

you meet his eyes, it isn't forced, and you're not trying to communicate, both gazing. he looks away and into the moon, and you notice the small exhale he does as the cooler air shifts and forms the smoke-like breath leaving his lips. his hand very gently meets yours, taking it in his, intervening fingers.

you know what you said, it is obvious, it is also coy and sneaky and could've fallen easily under the radar... but you still said it, still played the card of it, he smiles for a few seconds. what a way to flirt with this man, truly dancing to the way he sings. with his eyes still on the moon he answers your original question,

"it is true, isn't it?" making you smile and look to the ground, of course, he'd respond with one of the polite ones, and of course, he'd know of this phrase... you turn your head to look at him and his eyes are already on you. he gives your hand a gentle squeeze.

you wish to say something along the lines of 'don't hide your form, it is beautiful' but you just find yourself leaning your face closer to his, meeting foreheads. your free hand also meeting his cheek. the intimate gesture, making his first breath shaky but stabilized right after, his free hand moving around your waist. he knows, you don't even have to say those lines, he knows. but you will still remind him occasionally.

there's something you want to add, and you find yourself thinking over specifically which words to use, being careful... saying something 'till the last breath' might be a curse and a lie, what if you live longer than you've been meant to, turn into an enemy, so it isn't true? or 'till I die' and you don't end up dying? these thoughts run around your mind as you try to think of the right words, that would diminish your body and truly mean an end to your life.

"until my last heartbeat." a natural, true healthy living heart wouldn't continue beating, or beating in such a way it did in the beginning. it felt right.

you feel him nod. at some point he will return to that egg and simply reincarnate... or perhaps he won't? you do not know. making you the person who will end whatever you two have.

he knows the weight of your words, nodding against your forehead, then leaning back. he has plenty of thoughts and opinions, but it is all too far complicated so he says nothing. the moon is enough, keeping you two safe in this moment. beautiful in its way, shining brightly on you. another soft squeeze of his hand, you exhale and lean your head on his shoulder. maybe it won't end in a good way, a pretty way. but it doesn't matter now, and it shouldn't stop you from enjoying each other and appreciating every moment you get together.

a joyful high-pitched voice pops you two out of your bubble, "guys~ where are you? we are going soon~" the voice seems to be getting closer.

you both smile softly at the reality coming back. so strange that reality is pleasant and the future is not. getting your head off of his shoulder and releasing his hand, you see him focus on hiding his true form once more, making you frown. about to complain and scold him for doing that and he returns to his true form, moving closer and meeting your lips to distract you. the kiss isn't long, nor passionate, it says I'm here, don't worry. you open your eyes his draconic features still here and when March 7th makes the corner, the sound of her footsteps on the crunchy leaves is quite loud, his eyes focus on something in the distance and right before March sees you two, he is back in his humanlike form. you frown, you're about to scold him and March may listen as well-

"ah, there you guys are!" March smiles.

"yes, shall we?" Dan Heng answers, taking your hand in his and walking towards the astral express.

a/n: the phrase the moon is beautiful isn’t it? is a form of saying I love you, saying it is true, isn’t it? is a form of saying back that you agree, aka also love the other person, often used in manga and anime, in Japanese.

#hsr #honkai star rail #dan heng #dan heng x reader #dan heng fluff #imbibitor lunae #imbibitor lunae x reader #dan heng oneshot #drabble #march 7th #astral express #dan heng writing #fluff #dan heng x you #imbibitor lunae x you #dan heng x y/n #angst #divider cr: milklemondrop

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generalsdiary · 1 year ago

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flowers... for me?

Dan Heng x gn!reader

word count: under 1k

description: you gift flowers to him, sweet tooth-rotting fluff

a/n: i read somewhere that men only receive flowers at their funeral- while this ain’t that sad nor referenced to that, it made me think of how dan heng would react to getting flowers ^^

„flowers“ you extend your hands, handing over the beautiful bouquet to him. „yes. I can see. they look fresh, healthy. T- hm... tulips, I believe? I'll have to check in the data bank.“ he graciously turns around tapping on a small screen in the archive. „yes I think those are tulips. I am not as acquainted as you are with Earth's specimen, so apologies for taking a moment.“

you smile, he must be oblivious. with hands still outstretched you softly call out his name, „Dan Heng. they're for you.“ there's a pause. he slowly turns back around to face you. „flowers? for... me?“ you nod. „there's a custom to gift one's significant other with gifts and or flowers.“ smiling brightly at the stoic man with a neutral expression which to you translates that he is flustered. „I see. well then, I grow more accustomed to such traditions of this planet you cherish each day.“ his fingers caress against yours as he takes the bouquet in his hands. „…thank you“

„you should put them in a vase and add some sugar in the water so they last long, and perhaps cut the stem diagonally, they will take water in better that way.“ adorably you give him directions on how to take care of it. „please, I know how to take care of plants and similar species.“ he sighs softly and closes his eyes for a moment. “any particular reason behind this kind of flowers? aren’t roses the most popular Earth’s flower?” “they are. I chose tulips, red tulips because of their meaning. but, also, you could try searching for the meaning or what they symbolize- I don’t have to tell you~” you smirk, taking a small step back, teasing the poor man. he sighs, reaching out with his free hand to delicately take your hand in his, “tell me. it is obvious you wish so”, his lips press soft kisses over your knuckles and fingers while you answer. “among other things, they mean eternal, forever-lasting love.” his lips freeze for a moment, hovering over your hand, the faintest blush covers his cheeks. he blinks a few times, and after gaining his composure he gazes at the flowers, “I didn’t take you for the romantic type”, moving his gaze at you. “it’s hard to not be a romantic with someone as gentle and patient as you.” you just seem to be out for his heart today, he glances away. between feeling flustered and happy he is reminded of how in love with you he is.

your hand cups his cheek, thumb caressing his cheekbone, nudging him ever so slightly with soft moves to look back at you. “you might want to press one flower between the pages of a book, to preserve it.” he nods, “yes, that is a pleasant idea. in that cause, one flower shall be preserved.” he picks out a tulip, pulling it out of the bouquet, and brings it to your lips, “may I request…?” he quietly, almost like he is shy in this bold action, asks. your lips move against the soft petals, careful to not create a crease on the fragile flower. to your surprise, Dan Heng also moves, his lips meeting the petals on the opposite side of the same flower, his cyan eyes making unmoving eye contact with you, making your heart skip a beat.

the intimate moment passes, yet it leaves a warm atmosphere behind it. Dan Heng sets the single tulip aside, eyes lingering on it and his fingers move along the stem. in his mind, he is appreciating the flower, and in your eyes, those fingers are moving a bit seductively, you almost want to call him out on flirting in such a coy nature. your mind begins to imagine how those fingers would feel on your cheek, caressing in the same gentle way, and your eyes close at the comforting image.

you feel a hand on your cheek, caressing gently, “are you alright?” Dan Heng wonders, you appeared to have wandered off in your head. you open your eyes and meet his. the sight and the feeling of his touch fill you with a sense of joy, peace, and contentment. “I love you.” the words come out easily, you say them like it is the most natural thing in the world. he smiles, looking down at the flowers in his other hand, and looks back up at you. “I love you too.”

his gaze is filled with love and loyalty to you only, so when he talks the words seem to blow past the both of you as your focus is on each other, “I’ll have to ask Pom-Pom about a vase then.” “they will be more than happy to help out, I’m certain” you know how Pom-Pom is excited to be needed and they will probably be overjoyed to have such a sweet request. you depart your lips to say how he had you jealous over a flower but the words die down in your throat as you two don’t break eye contact, you smile. it is a personal, romantic moment, belonging only to you two. he blinks, smiling as well, surprisingly he also states something similar to your thoughts- which is quite unlike him, “you had me jealous over a flower. kissing it so… gingerly.” Dan Heng chuckles dryly. “will you kiss me as tenderly as it?” he makes a simple hushed plea.

“always” you move closer, your nose brushing past his, making your lips meet. and you could swear they feel softer than the tulip’s petals and taste sweeter than the flower’s nectar.

#hsr #honkai star rail #dan heng #dan heng x reader #dan heng x you #fluff #imbibitor lunae #imbibitor lunae x reader #oneshot #writing #drabble #dan heng x y/n #divider cr: milklemondrop

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generalsdiary · 1 year ago

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sunshine in his eyes

Jing Yuan x gn!reader

word count: 400

description: fluff drabble, soft moments, and cuddles with the general

a/n: i can never get enough of this man and his antics

„I missed the feeling of you“ you inhale his scent while your face rests on his chest. you are lying in your shared bed, it is a slow, cozy afternoon with him.

„I've missed you too “ Jing Yuan replied, as he continued to rub your back.

„even when we weren't married, I always craved your touch. I craved being by your side. I craved touching the delicate texture of your skin. I craved being yours...“ his voice is deep and loving, as he caresses your hair and kisses the back of your head. he then placed a finger under your chin tilting your head upwards so he could kiss your lips softly.

it is a sweet one, sweet like flowers' scent, the flavor the bees taste when buzzing around their colorful petals. his lips just as sweet against yours, light as starlight. when your lips separate, his golden eyes flutter open, lovingly staring into yours. if the sun could be stared at, without the pain, if it could be adored, it would probably look like his eyes.

Jing Yuan easily notices your mind spiraling around him and the soft smile remains on his lips, „loving you is my favorite thing in the world“ he whispers, you feel his breath against your lips before he meets them with his own again. those two suns hiding under eyelids yet again. his fingers move lower on your back, pressing lightly to push you even further into his body like you're two candles melting together. your fingers moving to tangle in his long white locks, near his roots, slightly tugging but also massaging his scalp, making him exhale softly. his other hand goes to the back of your neck, pulling your lips even closer to his. when you pull away to breathe between kisses „-Yuan“, he simply swallows each word, kissing you once again. it is slow, like a butterfly's wings passing by, each touch feeling heavenly.

you move to lay beside him, but his arms wrap around your torso pulling you closer to his side, „nuh-huh, you're not going anywhere~“ he chuckles, nuzzling his head into your neck. „of course not, don't worry“ you kiss his hair and smile.

Jing Yuan nods, the general relishing in the feeling of your bodies next to each other, holding you close to him, a piece of peace, where he isn't required to be 'the general'. just Jing Yuan. your Jing Yuan.

#honkai star rail #hsr #jing yuan x you #jing yuan x y/n #high cloud quintet #fluff #general jing yuan #writing #oneshot #drabble #divider cr: milklemondrop

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generalsdiary · 2 months ago

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Sunday x gn!reader

word count: 1.3k

description: crackfic, written for shits and giggles, reader with a trailblazer mindset (and a crush on Sunday) - they're roommates

A Halovian man being your first sight in the morning isn’t something you signed up for. Against the opposite wall is another bed, his bed and he is sitting up, much like you are. His usually brushed wavy hair is now messy and his wings are ruffled, making his head look much like a bird’s nest. His eyes look sleepier than his usual tired ones and yet he still looks… beautiful. Perhaps it is his halo that framed the puffy eyes and untamed hair.

“Morning” Sunday voiced. It almost angered you. You finally got your own room except you had to share it. A frown colors your features. Maybe you’d frown less if you were waking up in his arms-

“Morning.” You decide to answer. Being that pretty when waking up should be a crime. And he should be punished for it. Yes. Punished. You nod to yourself. Sentenced to cuddle with you every night until the universe ends. Sounds good. Must talk with the judge.

Being distracted by your sneaky evil plans you get jumpscared by Sunday suddenly standing next to you in his long white pajamas and reaching out to your hair. “What are you...” he pulls a white feather out of your hair.

“I apologize, I had a restless night and it seems a feather fell your way.” Your eyes widen. His feather fell to you? Are you even allowed to touch it? Aren’t only significant others allowed to touch Halovian’s wings and therefore the feathers?

“Is it mine now?”

Sunday was slightly stunned. “Sorry, what?”

“It was on me. Is it not mine now?” your words a met with a head shake.

“No, it is still my feather. I do have to prune my wings soon…” Sunday sighs, visibly rethinking his plans.

“So no feather?”

“No feather.”

Aw shucks. If you had woken up earlier, maybe could’ve touched the feather, and felt how soft his wings might be to touch. This…crush on him is sometimes making you think you’re a stalker. You shake your head.

Sunday smiles softly at your simple disappointment, something was endearing about you. He left soon after. Claiming the first use of the bathroom.

Given the size of the room, it more often than not provided the usage of a living room to the other Nameless. Many nights are spent playing board games. In which you either made Sunday your archenemy for the night or did your best to have him as your partner in a 2v2. Either way, you enjoyed his attention.

“Pay up, angel” you smirked as Sunday’s figurine stopped on your hotel-built street. Sadly, he doesn’t take the loss sorely, as you had hoped he would. With a sour smile and nod he counts the owed money. “There you go, and I shall make sure to not step on your property again.” He smiles with that same head of the Oak family smile. It just makes you want to squish him, or punch him, or kiss him. You’re unsure. All of the above? All of the above.

Despite your empty complaints, born out of other reasons rather than disliking the man, Sunday is a good roommate. Clean, organized, always remembered where he placed something or where you left something. On the other hand, he will make you stand trial if you even touched anything of his. Moved by a millimeter- he knows. Moved a bit and returned to the exact spot- he knows. If you hadn’t known any better, you’d have assumed he had placed cameras in the room. Alas, you know better.

Standing said trial included him glaring at you with a piercing gaze and accusatory eyes. Terrifying to anyone from Penacony, exciting to you because you point your finger at him and take a few steps back, “Do not read my mind- hey, no, nope! I do not consent!”

Sunday sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, “I wouldn’t read your thoughts without your permission moreover I do not need to use such powers. It is obvious that you meddled with my personal items.”

“I borrowed a pen!”

“You have pens.”

“I ran out of ink.” You crossed your arms across your chest.

“Ink?”

“Yeah, ink.” Your insistence caused another heavy sigh from the not-so-tall man. Your mind couldn’t help but wander to other valleys of imagination; other versions of the same sigh. Or would he pant, gasp, mumble your name… Enough, he is staring at you- Aeons forbid he was reading your mind, your eyes widen in fear.

“Have you ever kissed anyone?” A bold question you posed to Sunday. You smirk to yourself, proud of your blunt nature.

With avoidant eyes, he answered, “No. Why?”

“Do you wanna know what it is like?” Your chance to shine has come! Aeons have shown mercy upon thee and you shall grasp this divine chance! Avoiding the ever-sleazy love confessions and complicated discussions of who likes who and how much. Yes, another victory is almost in the palm of your hand!

“I am perfectly aware of how it would feel, soft and eh- intimate. Just a moment… are you offering?” Sunday tilted his head subtly and both of his wings twitched. Given your constant observations (blatant staring) in the shadows (your room) you know that twitch means he is flustered. How cute, it makes you want to squish his little cheeks and boop his nose UGH-.

Your tummy fills with a wave of nervousness and anxiety. Aeons, they have failed you! Where did the boldness go? A warmth envelops your cheeks and you exhale, “Yes, I am offering.”

Bit of stumbling back and forth and you were kissing him, what a delight. Wait, hold on- you, YOU were kissing HIM? The Sunday? The head of the Oak family? …former head of the Oak family. Oh shit. Your buzzed out sensations all kicked back in at once; his gloved hand cupping your cheek, his nose pressed against yours, the faintest cologne that you could only smell if you stood really close to him, and of course, his lips. The soft feeling of your lips meeting in what was a prolonged peck. You can’t expect an inexperienced man to just jump in with tongue kissing now can you? Nonetheless, it felt better than anything you could have ever imagined and you did your best to suppress the small whine that threatened to escape you when he pulled away.

The softest shade of crimson colored his cheeks, “Was that okay?” Sunday shyly posed the question.

“Can we do more?” A moment of bravery! You are a lion! A mech that only Welt mister Yang himself could’ve built! Yes, Aeons have truly blessed you! Except the softness of your voice matched his and you sounded smaller than a kitchen mouse.

“You didn’t kiss me just to show me how it feels, did you?” His golden eyes scanned yours.

“No” Your heart was beating fast, preparing for the run of its life- treadmill time! Or it was your imagination which was running once more with the image of him making small noises as you two kissed…

His left wing twitched- happiness! Your earlier observations come in clutch once more! They should call you a super secret ninja spy! A ninja spy capable of finding out even the most secret of the enemy’s information!

“Then I suppose we have matters to discuss.” Sunday proposed with a small smile, his thumb slowly caressing your cheek.

Aw shucks. Just the thing you tried to avoid, albeit necessary. “Can we kiss for a bit more before that?”

Sunday warmly laughed at your question and nodded, offering a consolation prize, you have rolled an 8 for a Charisma check, he leaned in to kiss your cheek.

There will be more kisses, surely. If not you will file a complaint with the room manager (you) about your unfulfilled needs.

#felt like writing something lighthearted ngl #too often im writing in a poetic style #i need a breather with this crack fic #sunday x reader #sunday x y/n #sunday x gn reader #fluff #hsr #honkai star rail #trailblazer mindset!reader #divider cr: milklemondrop

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generalsdiary · 1 year ago

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mint tea

Zhongli x gn!reader

word count: 500~

description: domestic vibes with the geo archon

a/n: in his latest bday art the shirt he is wearing is sheer so it is canon that he has gold lines on his body and i’m just screaming over the fact

„hello, darling“ the deep warm toned voice greeted you, his hand caressing your cheek. you smiled leaning your head more into his hand.

„took your gloves off already?“ a question which was more of a statement while you looked at his forearms and the gold lines complimenting his skin.

he hums in agreement. already aware of your complaints and thoughts about how pretty they are, but he would always remind you that he preferred to keep his identity private.

his eyes close when you softly kiss his cheek, those same lines glowing softly a dim golden shade.

„who did you terrorize today, my dearest?“ you ask with a bit of amusement in your tone. he is quite a menace, especially in his old age. steering trouble and confusion amongst historians, taking money from the rich while pretending not to know much of it all the while being the inventor of mora.

„a merchant claiming they knew the original recipe of bamboo shoot soup. while the recipe did continue getting passed on for generations they altered it over time..“ he continued talking, you didn't mind. the tone of his voice is a always beautiful sound to your ears.

you reach for his hand laying small kisses on those golden lines, he smiles, humming softly stopping his story.

you look up meeting his warm gaze. „don't stop on my account, darling“

with a soft smile on his face, he quietly says, „your sweetness knows no bounds, reminding me each day why I fell in love with such a kind person as you“

he never fails to make your heart flutter, giving a bright smile to your face. like the sun shined on you and you only. it wasn't a flirty comment, more of a kind statement, he always came up with new ways, new words to which he can say he loves you.

„may I tempt you with some tea?“ you chirp.

„tea sounds wonderful“ he nods, following you to the kitchen. he stands next to you while you put the kettle on. it all feels natural, the air between you two light, welcoming, safe. his eyes are observing your movements, the sun shining through the windows throwing different shadows and light beams making it all look even more magical. he moves closer and kisses your temple, his hand caressing your jaw so you don't slip accidentally out of the kiss.

„mint?“ he asks, the refreshing scent fills the air, reminding you of your first date, the same mint. that is how you feel to him, refreshing, sweet, cooling from the loud world. he feels the same way to you; a warm embrace, a protecting feeling like mint soothes the throat when it is sore. his eyes full of love and adoration for you, and so are yours for him. the word mint doesn't mean what it meant years ago, it means you're here with me, right? and, you're not going anywhere? speaking almost like a different language, saying so much with so little.

„mint“ you answer.

#morax fluff #genshin impact #genshin impact zhongli #genshin zhongli #genshin fluff #zhongli drabble #zhongli x reader #zhongli x you #zhongli x y/n #geo archon #zhongli writing #zhongli oneshot #divider cr: milklemondrop #rex lapis

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generalsdiary · 7 months ago

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Moze x Jiaoqiu

word count: 900~

description: just mozqiu being domestic (pre-2.5 events)

moze is the type of husband who always cleans, keeps everything neat, he will run (quite literally) anywhere and do any errand without complaint, nothing is too hard or difficult for him. he is v protective, „I promise I will bring him back“, nothing is stopping him from getting his husband back, he is confident in his abilities, to the point he isn't even worrying. he always attentively listens to jiaoqiu’s ramblings, his full attention on the foxian. he will eat anything jiaoqiu puts before him, no matter his preferences. uttering simple praises after the meal and never letting his husband clean up.

at night he cuddles with him, being the big spoon, holding his husband close, face buried in the orangey pink hair. like a touch starved kitten, he gravitates to him during the day, always hugging him- backhugs are his favorite. jiaoqiu always smiles, a sparkle in his eyes with each embrace. moze is often quiet, very thoughtful- usually ending up blunt in his words but not cold, never cold. the care and love for each other shown in the soft words, gentle embraces and lingering gazes. moze doesn’t do causal touches, his hands don’t wander to jiaoqiu’s soft tail, or even softer ears, or to caress him. he doesn’t want to overwhelm his husband or make him uncomfortable. yet when they stand close he bumps his nose against his. and when he is so so tired he rests his forehead on the shorter man’s. recharging, seeking comfort, love. luckily for him, his husband knows his main love language is physical touch. jiaoqiu bringing his hands to cup his cheeks, thumbs caressing the rough skin. he misses the smile that brightens the foxian’s face, his eyes shut relishing in the sensations. such a sensitive and responsive man. jiaoqiu is the only person moze allows to touch him, to drag those soft fingers across his scars, through the silver hair, to see him shirtless. he is the only one with whom he makes and keeps eye contact. moze is the type of husband that even without being close jiaoqiu can feel his touch on him. sitting across him, over a hotpot. lilac eyes on him. full of love. as if he is caressing his husband’s cheek at that moment. making jiaoqiu’s chest feel warm from the feeling of such a silent expression of admiration.

on the days jiaoqiu voices that he feels tired a quick response is given in turn “I can carry you.” a blunt, straightforward, and the same offer every time. he is more than happy to carry him + he enjoys showing off for his hubby. not caring for the public opinion or any observers; it doesn’t even cross his mind, jiaoqiu’s happiness the only thing on his mind. sadly, he is always rejected (occasionally making him pout). moze doesn’t even know why (painfully obvious why, the rare blushed jiaoqiu further confirming it). shadows are his safe haven, but jiaoqiu is his peace. they fill each other's needs, like puzzles fitting together, completely domestic in their behaviors; perfect for general feixiao’s safety and well-being. despite working together they don’t get tired of each other. work is work and their house is home.

coriander is not allowed under this roof and no big lights are ever on. when they have guests, jiaoqiu compensates with many small lamps, fairy lights, and a bunch of candles. unscented ones. otherwise, they would clash with the meal. sometimes, jiaoqiu will light a scented candle, but it won’t be lit for longer than an hour, otherwise, he would get overwhelmed due to how sensitive his nose is to smells. moze being the clean freak, and insistent on maintaining really good hygiene and not strong perfumes so he can do his job perfectly would just make jiaoqiu purr if he could. type of husband truly only for him. jiaoqiu is quite a social butterfly and he drags his husband with him, who will grumble a bit and then go along, and behave politely to the best of his capabilities. moze cannot read a room to save his life, short in his sentences and straight to the point despite pondering his words prior, they end up always coming off blunt. he means no harm and what he says is usually of little matter, and none of it holds any weight to him when all he needs is to hear his darling chuckle or gaze at him and all is well in his world. the only result he could possibly ever wish for.

and when they kiss? the lighting and shadow with fire and spice? the I talk a lot, flirtatious, rarely flustered with I listen to you with heart eyes, mainly unaffected but you make me smile. well… they keep it private. such actions feel too personal and intimate for them to be shown in public and given for anyone to see on display. they hold it too close to their hearts, it matters in a different way to them. something near and dear. they won’t be caught showing pda, not even holding hands- well they rarely hold hands either way. it is behind closed doors and in the privacy of their home that their lips meet, and hands wander, leaving soft touches in intimate places that they’d never do in public (unlike many others). it means too much to them.

#UGH THEM #BITES THEM #idk what this is i just had to write it down after watching the 2.5 livestream #moze is so autistic coded i cannot explain it but he is #the gays!!#moze x jiaoqiu #BEN BALMACEDA TRY TO VOICE A HOYO CHARACTER NOT IN A GAY RELATIONSHIP CHALLENGE FAILED #gg honestly that man has range i was so surprised and he did an insanely good job with moze #also finally felt comfy enough to write about moze now with the va change #ben is truly amazing #kaveh is always my pookie #IM SO LUCKY MOZE IS A 4 STAR PSPSP I GOT UR HUSBAND COME HOME MOZE #btw i do speak chinese amongst a shit ton of lang i speak and their pronounciation of moze is kinda strange. it should be a “ts”/ “c” sound #not a “z” sound #also for some reason i thought i was gonna write like 2 sentences so i started writing on tumblr and had to save it as a draft when I poste #it got fkn deleted cos tumblr fkn bugged out and i spent 2h breaking #down cos it was so fkn beautiful. and i couldnt possibly get the flow of it back or the exact version #hopefully i managed to rewrite it again in a way that it is readable #moqiu #mozilla firefox #hsr #honkai star rail #fluff #jiaoze #mozeqiu #divider cr: milklemondrop

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generalsdiary · 1 year ago

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Jing Yuan x gn!reader

description: cuddles with the general

the sun barely shined through the thick curtains, it was early morning and you were sound asleep until Jing Yuan shifted in his sleep. you were spooned, cuddling as you two slept, his arms around your waist pulled you closer even, getting tighter. half awake he nuzzled his head into the crook of your neck, his long white locks falling over your shoulder like a curtain. he sighed, signaling he was awake as he inhaled the soft scent of your neck and lay a gentle kiss near your ear. „morning“ he mumbled, his morning voice deep and groggy. you groaned softly, not a morning person, and sighed as well, you gave him a small nod instead of talking. „sleep well?“ he continued, voice low. you turned to face him, your arms wrapping around his torso and laying your head onto his chest causing him to chuckle making his chest rumble under your head. Jing Yuan's hand moved up your back caressing it and the other moved to your hair massaging your scalp. „I don't wanna get up yet“ you whispered. he smiled softly to himself, „we can stay here as long as we want.“ silence fell over you two, it seemed like you both would continue sleeping. he hugged you tighter and exhaled softly. this was your peace, your oasis. nothing could touch you or harm you here. both each other's safe space.

#hsr #honkai star rail #jing yuan #fluff #writing #jing yuan x reader #jing yuan x you #oneshot #jing yuan x y/n #drabble #gn!reader #high cloud quintet #divider cr: milklemondrop

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generalsdiary · 1 month ago

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he's a keeper, he's a believer (he's on the ground on his knees in a theater)

Sunday x Aeon!gn!reader

word count: 8.5k

description: Aeon reader inserted in Sunday's life story, soulmate au, fluff/angst, hurt/comfort, with a suggestive ending

a/n: this has been a long time coming and I finally wrote it out, big thank you to my beta readers: mochi, ricecake, and citrus!

The day he became aware of an Aeon of humanity, Sunday prayed to them every evening.

Those prayers became more frequent the older he got; more frequent with the rise of his awareness of all the pain in the world.

And at a certain, older age, those prayers subsided. He'd only pray when he was pleading for those around him.

Becoming enveloped in the Order and the... wrongdoings of the one who was supposed to be his caretaker, made those prayers stop fully.

However, on some odd days—an extra day of the month which comes by every few years. Or the one of a blue moon. Sunday would gaze up at the artificial stars of the Dreamscape with a longing look in his eyes, not daring to even think a prayer. It proved meaningless. Yet it still, be it habit or the need for comfort, brought him solace, to whisper in his head, your name. Your name itself, as a prayer.

You showed up in his dreams. Of course you did. Which other way could you do it without scaring... scarring... or even killing the poor Halovian. This was the one thing Sunday was sure he was delusional about. You must have been a fragment of his imagination. As for a reason why he remembered every dream so clearly, he did not have one.

Lush green gardens, pearly white beaches, blood red wines. You only took him to the prettiest of landscapes. Or perhaps he had control over that. The nature of the dream’s background never matched what you two talked about. Or rather, never matched what Sunday spoke of. Complaining about the universe, laws, the authorities, the will to change things, and the hopelessness in his wish to help everyone.

That hopelessness reminded you of another human. The yearning to reach everyone and heal a sickness called idiocy.Except, Sunday is much more sensitive, and felt true physical pain over this conundrum.

Why did you decide to come into his dreams? Into his mind? What could persuade an Aeon? What could ever draw an Aeon close? Questions to which you did not have answers to.

It is of no matter. You are here now. You are deciding to let those questions go.

“I am me.”

“It would be foolish of me to trust someone in my dreams.”

“The level of thinking you're capable of right now matches the one of the waking world. No ordinary dream would be able to do that.”

You mean to guide him with your words, purposefully sounding soft within the boundaries of his subconsciously created dream.

“I'm certain you can understand my doubts, no?” The gentle smile, one would assume he’d have on at this moment, is not present. Within the compounds of his dream, he doesn’t force that mask on. Letting the pure judgment, the slight narrowing of his eyes, and the tilt of his head be clear indicators of his inner thoughts.

“If you can reassure me that you'll be safe and collected, I can visit you.”

Sunday pauses, the sharpness of his eyes falling for a moment, “...visit?”

You nod, a graceful smile dancing on your lips. “Visit.”

The dream dissipates.

Meeting him in reality resulted in everything you expected it to. His golden eyes flashed shock, delight, surprise, sadness, and finally, anger. Words of blame and accusatory statements were thrown at you; how can you sit idly as people suffer, do you not have any sympathy for your own people, why would you not do anything as the Aeon of humanity? And so on.

Finding the eternal patience within you, you explained that it isn't that easy, nor was it your place to meddle. From that point forward, any physical meetings turned to Sunday complaining and mourning all the injustice.

The man who listened to everyone's confessions and complaints turned to you to confess. To seek solace.

Green leaves begin inside a vernation; they grow big and sway in the wind on the tree branches throughout summer, and in the fall they turn brown, dry, and crisp, falling down to kiss the dark soil from which they came. Your mutual interest and adoration grew, while the internal harboring hatred towards you festered. Sunday understood your reasons, alas, he was unable to choke out any blame for your lack of action. Luckily, you had noticed how your feelings and care for the Halovian grew and blossomed, and therefore you came to visit him much less. Drifting apart, for different reasons.

Perhaps the slight clench of a jaw escaped your eyes, and the smile that grew rotten out of the blame that he refused to speak up on again. A shiny red apple of love, that seemed to be growing, poisoned with your fear of the attention you were giving him, and his internal battle.

Push and pull. A game of tug-of-war and unspoken words. A flower that grew in your chest told you enough: you had fallen in love. Slowly, over time. Sunday drew you in like a bee to the blossom that he is.

There are rules against this; defenses, this isn’t a possibility. Therefore, you distanced yourself from the beautiful feelings he filled you with, the kind eyes that felt like a hug, the melodic voice that caressed your ears. A feather that caressed your forearm, leaving in its wake goosebumps along your skin. Imagining how it would feel to touch his hand, brush your fingertips against his wings—you had to stop.

Space was overdue to be created between you two. He didn’t speak your name and you didn’t show up in reality nor in his dreams. Days turned into months, and eventually into years.

The communication was lacking. Your words were colder. His prayers turned to something he’d dare utter in absolute privacy, in moments of weakness. At times, he hoped no one was looking at him or listening, no Aeon’s gaze on him or any bird that might’ve been eavesdropping.

A dark figure appears before him, a voice that he can hear only in his mind. Your voice. “You keep speaking my name in the late night.”

He didn't feel frightened by the sudden appearance, maybe just irritated at you for interrupting his time alone. “Ah… hello, Aeon.” Sunday’s eyes didn’t raise from the notebook in his lap, refusing to provide you the grace of acknowledging your presence in front of him.

“Is there something that urges you to preach my name like a lustful lover in the deaf hours of the night, Sunday?” Your voice revealed a certain sharpness to it. A silver knife that shines with the reflection of light falling upon it, with which you do not need to test to check if it will cut.

Sunday ignored you, dismissively gesturing with his hand. Pretending to be uncaring and unbothered by your presence. Acted like he didn’t call upon you while he was alone… away from the eyes of the Order. “I have work to do.” He entertains you with an uninterested tone, sending the message that you’re boring him.

“Then stop pleading my name.”

“I was doing something.” Sunday exhaled, placing his pen on the notebook and letting his hands rest. His expression turned to a tired annoyance when his eyes finally raised to look at your figure.

“Yes, indeed you were. Praying, complaining, begging, moaning,” you accuse him. You were blessed and cursed to hear him uttering words of prayer, his cusses of complaint, his pleading for help, and his moaning of pleasure.

“That’s not the whole story.” Sunday slowly stood up, getting himself ready to depart, giving the illusion that he wasn’t in the mood to argue or fight. A desperate man who rarely ever dares to call your name because of the mess that he is in right now. You know damn well that the powers of Order surround him. … It is not your place, nor your right to meddle with it. The fear in his eyes tells you stories that would break a human’s heart if they ever heard it. The smallest tremble of his hand, only visible for a mere second, is another confirmation. Not that you needed any, given how he still steals moments away from the eye of the Order to speak to you.

You smiled at his words and took a step forward, “You forget who I am, Sunday. I know the whole story. Your prayer wouldn’t let me sleep. Pleading, praying, bargaining, and offering… the climax of your… alone time as a gift. An offering—”

“Stop.”

There it was. The acting. You remembered his panting and whimpers of your name very clearly. What an interesting way to pray, or rather, what an interesting way to make an offering. To offer one’s pleasure.

It brought a small smirk to your face, to think that his façade was slowly crumbling. The Order could go kindly fuck themselves and leave this precious Halovian alone. You felt your protectiveness flare up, but it shouldn’t. You treat everyone equally. Just what is this feeling?

“You didn’t hear right,” Sunday protested calmly.

“Shall I replay my memories for you then?”

“…No” With flushed cheeks, he shook his head, and his wings fluttered. He knew he had no chance to win, not from an Aeon, so he didn’t continue arguing. And he definitely didn’t need to see his… alone time from your memories.

“Exactly.”

“Just leave me alone, please.” Sunday fidgeted with the pen in his hand, subtly glancing around. There’s a bigger, bad wolf in the forest of his mind, and it isn’t you.

“Nonetheless, you pleaded for me,” you try once more. Helping mortals isn’t something you can do. You’re not an actual god. A concept of one, sure, but you are an Aeon. Meddling isn’t within the rules or your nature. You wanted to help him, yet it isn’t within your power. This one’s fate had been sealed a long time ago. It was written as so. Anyone else, and perhaps it could have been within your hands to try and aid. Not him though. Not Sunday. He was out of your hands and out of your reach.

Moreover, he would need to say it out loud. That he wanted saving, needed your help.

“Shut up,” Sunday whispered.

“So, you do not need me? Very well then, stop praying when I’m trying to rest.” Shadows in the garden started pooling around your legs as you began to depart.

It was rather peculiar. Anyone else’s prayers—although people do not pray much or if at all to Aeons—you were always able to tune out, or silence them for peace of mind. His, on the other hand, never. It felt like he was whispering directly into your ear, sending shivers down your spine, a feeling you have never felt before. Unescapable.

The fact that his voice was always soft, smooth, and gentle made it seem like a lullaby, you found yourself wishing to hear more of it, wishing for this little bird to sing for you.

“That’s not the case.” Sunday said quietly, before his thoughts caught up with him—before he could deny it. He does need you… in more ways than one.

“Cease your prayer if you talk to me with such disrespect.” The shadows around your form got thicker. Sunday paused, slightly surprised by how quick you were to change your temper. Rainbows and cotton candy aside, you were still an Aeon. He shall respect you as such… despite the extremely special treatment he gets from you.

A light broke apart the shadows and you were gone.

Sunday decided to pray to you less. Invoking your wrath wasn’t something he wished upon himself.

Sunday’s prayers became fewer in number over the years. The grand plan for Penacony was bubbling under wraps and keeping him busy. But his fascination with you didn’t end. As the one and only hobby he had, he spent hours upon hours researching about you, about your Path, about how in some other universe, you were viewed as a God. A God who is prayed to properly, worshipped, with temples in your favor, written work and art made in your image. Perhaps in those universes, you had more power to help your people, he hoped.

Sunday found himself dragging his fingers over the digital screen portraying an art piece meant to represent you. It looked nothing like you. That did not matter to him, if he hadn’t known any better he would have assumed someone used the power of Harmony on him. Sunday felt drawn to you, enamored by any word that was written about you, overwhelmed with emotions he could not explain, silenced with secrets of the heart he would not dare utter.

Sheets rustled against his restless body. Sleep proved to be a distant friend, and insomnia a familiar foe. He glanced towards the clock beside his bed, it only showed the hours which had passed since he had laid his weary head down on the soft pillow. Sunday spent the next hour staring at the ceiling, tired golden eyes getting sore. There was an internal fight inside him between calling upon you, and not daring to do such a thing, which made him feel numb. Only by lying even to himself did he manage to get up and go to the balcony. By telling himself that he wanted fresh air. Even his thoughts were not safe from… well, anything. Hence, he didn’t have the privilege to think it through, to prepare. He could only fool himself in the hopes of dealing with one of the two things that trouble his mind.

Sunday stepped out into the cold night air of the reality part of Penacony. He looked toward the sky above him. As he closed his eyes, he felt himself shiver a little as a chilly gust of night wind went by. He looked down towards the railing, where he placed his hands. They quickly lost their warmth, only to be replaced with an aching chill as his thoughts drowned out his mind again. At that moment, he dared to whisper your name.

You, on the other hand, were asleep, and once more he awoke you. You sent thunder through the sky the moment after his pleading and nothing more.

Sunday spoke the words that simmered below the surface: below the blame of your inactions, his guilt of not doing more, his worry about the Order’s plans, his worry for his sister. They spilled out like water from a dam, finally running free, unprepared, messy, and uncontrolled. Letting them fly out as free doves. “I can’t sleep. All I think about is you. I know I said I was going to pray less…” He bit back the thought in his head which called him needy; reminding him this is an Aeon he is talking to and continues, “I’m sorry.” He muttered. Uncertain if he was saying it to himself or you. He stayed as such for a while, unsure of what to do, feeling cold and a little stupid.

As more minutes passed, he knew it was dumb to keep trying, but he couldn’t help it. He stopped holding it in. He opened the dam, and there was no closing it back. “I can’t stop thinking about you. You consume my very existence, and I don’t even understand it.” Sunday dryly chuckled, “Please, come to me again. I’m begging you. I… I need you.” Sunday felt his heart sink as no response was given. The wind that blew past him stopped. He wasn’t the first to beg an Aeon. Apathy. He stood there for another moment as a feeling of disappointment rushed over him. He felt selfish and outright crazy for being this way and acting like a desperate man. Sunday whispered your name once more along with, “Please… I’m begging…”

“Begging for what?” You spoke into his mind. Frankly, you couldn’t sleep. But if you were actually being honest with yourself… you couldn’t stay away. This Halovian felt like a magnet, something you couldn’t control or run away from.

“For you,” Sunday answered; he was being selfish. So selfish. “I just want you to be here for me. To listen to me, to… comfort me. Just please tell me that everything is going to be alright…” He lowered his head, he sounded desperate. He was desperate. His soft grey hair brushed his cheeks, hiding his face, wings fluttering as he exhaled.

“That is not how it works. I am not your lover, Sunday.” You rejected any and all thoughts of comfort he pleaded for, and shook your head. Why would you? Of course you wouldn’t, despite the feeling in your abdomen which urged you to do all of that. You were above such a feeling, and would not succumb to it.

“I know…” Sunday looked back up to the thundering sky, his eyes slightly watering, “Then what am I supposed to do? You consume me. I am stuck praising another one—following their Path—“

His voice breaks, out of fear of saying too much and the pain of his life right now. His reality. “It isn’t even about following a path, I just want you. I cannot find the words to explain when I don’t even understand it myself.”

“Obsessed with your religion,” you commented on his thoughts, despite your own not differing as much from his. How hypocritical.

“I am.” Sunday confirmed. It was the truth after all, or rather, a form of the truth. “I do not know what I can do… to please you. Or hold your attention, much less catch it in the first place.” Tears started to stream down his face. How long has it been since he’d cried? Sunday closed his eyes, unable to look at the night sky that seemed to mock him.

“Don’t cry.” You have seen humans cry before, however it never made your chest ache. It never forced your hand.

“I’ll try,” he sniffed. A weak attempt to get himself together, thinking it was pathetic to appear like this in front of you. The shadows appeared in a blink of an eye and surprisingly warm hands cup his cheeks and wipe the tears away. You couldn’t help yourself, could you?

“You kept begging and woke me up. Again,” you said harshly in a quiet voice, clashing with your feelings of worry. Feelings? … That is a new one for you. This has all been growing more and more precarious with every passing day.

Sunday looked down, embarrassed by the fact that he made an Aeon come to him, not to mention the many times he had bothered you already. At the same time, he felt happy that you were him, your presence gave him a sense of comfort. “I apologize, I was selfish. Just so, so selfish. And undeserving…”

“What do you beg for, Sunday?” Your words brushed against his lips, mingled with his breath.

“I just want you to comfort me. To say something. To help the thoughts in my head quiet down so I can get some rest.”

The fact you showed up in the physical realm, in reality, for the first time in front of him didn’t seem to faze him at all. If anything, his eyes softened like he was seeing an old friend after many years had passed. His requests were unclear even to him. He didn’t know how to express what he was feeling. “I am not your lover, mortal.” You kept your voice soft with the words that were meant to sting and remind him (and you) of his place.

“I know that. And yet… it still doesn’t stop me from craving your attention. It doesn’t stop me from needing you… yearning for you.”

With a sigh, you shook your head, “You don’t know the first thing about me, Sunday.”

“Tell me about yourself, then.” Sunday looked up towards you, a hint of bitterness in his voice. He felt like he knew plenty about you, but he wanted to know more. He wanted you to keep talking. He wanted to drown everything out, but the thoughts in his head just kept getting louder and harder to ignore. The plans of the Order continued consuming his mind.

“This isn’t a date underneath the starry sky. I am not like you.”

“We are different, I know that.” Sunday looked away for a moment, closing his eyes as he tried to compose himself once more. He felt himself shiver from the cold night wind. Sunday looked down towards the tile floor of the balcony, trying to find something else to focus on, to no avail.

“What worries you, Halovian?” Your warm hands left his cheeks. He seemed unsurprised by your physical appearance, that which he had seen in his dream before. Perhaps he already came to a conclusion that, of course, the Aeon of humanity would have the form of a human in reality. Or, that your Aeon form would be too much for any mortal’s eyes.

“The fact that, how I feel now, I can only describe with the words: I am in love with you.” Sunday puts it plainly out on the table. Granted, he is clever enough to draw that conclusion.

“Well, dear Sunday, that is not possible. A mortal cannot fall in love with an Aeon. There are protections for such things,” you say, shaking your head. Under any circumstances, it is simply impossible.

“Why do I still feel this way? Why can’t I get you out of my mind?” Sunday asked, seeking answers. He needed them, he needed something to make sense.

He looked back at you. You were frowning. None of it made sense.

“You cannot… You—It isn’t possible. So, it isn’t true.” You were quick to deny it once more.

“Then why… Why is it so hard to move on? I want to, I really do. But every time I try to, you’re there! Filling all my senses, shushing my every thought so there can only be you…” Sunday’s voice filled with frustration while his last words turned into a whisper. It was impossible, however; his eyes looked at you like you were the sun itself, and he were but a mere sunflower gazing into you with adoration.

That left only one thought in your mind. An idea. More like an idea wrapped up in indulgence, but an idea nonetheless. “I can find out.”

“You can…?” There was a hint of relief in his voice and a hope in his eyes.

“I can look into you, into your… life.” The words you meant to say died on your tongue; your timeline.

“Yes, please!” Sunday pleaded once more. “Anything. Just please, do it.”

You nodded to yourself. Here goes nothing. A hint of, what humans would call butterflies fluttered in your stomach and you stepped closer to him. In the next moment, your lips were on his. It was genuinely a way to find an answer. Sadly, you couldn’t enjoy the kiss, like the small voice inside you begged you to, and the answer to your shared questions came too quickly.

Upon seeing his future, you pulled away. Your eyes showed surprise which you couldn’t possibly hide at that moment. Feeling rushed, you spoke on instinct, “Oh. We… We shall meet again. I know why.” In the next moment, you were gone in a poof of dark shadows.

By disappearing so quickly, you missed out on the rosy cheeks your kiss caused, the small gasp that left his lips when you pulled away, and his blown-out pupils. Sunday was too confused and dazed by the kiss to even comprehend what you said. Your disappearance left an emptiness behind, a hole which he was too well aware of. Whispers of the Harmony, the powers of which he neglects, whispered to him that this one was final, in spite of what you said.

The following years made him more numb, focused only on the plan for the revival of Ena, on the eternal dream – where he will live outside of it as the ultimate sacrifice. Sunday would never make his sister take that spot, no matter what lies he had told that he would.

Your name vanished from his mind like the memory of a deceased loved one that becomes grey over time, with the sound of their voice turning fuzzy until it is unrecognizable. The first few months, he’d mumble your name with warm water running down his body, across the tears that ran down his face, concealed by the shower stream.

A whisper, a prayer, an utter, until he would speak it no more. His hobby of researching you also ended. His entire personality became the grand act of playing the Head of the Oak family, with him as the lead actor and only performer.

The curtain shall never fall, the theater will never close.

Even when the Astral Express had come, he begged them to argue against him, to prove him wrong, to do anything to show him that there is another way. The Nameless couldn’t understand him, nor the points he was making. Unknowingly to him, he had incapacitated the only man who would be willing to argue him and approach it as a debate or a conversation, Welt Yang. Possibly the only one who would have heard him out and openly debated him with an objective approach.

The artificial wind of the dream blew against his back in his slow fall from the mech he built. Ena was almost revived. Sunday almost ascended to Aeonhood. The embrace of his sister was the only moment he had felt something other than pure focus on the goal. Something other than the shell of a Halovian he became with the goal of being more humane.

Sunday didn’t learn actual love, nor how it feels to be loved. His sister is the one and only expectation, along with the love he has for his mother when he visits her grave with fresh flowers.

Comfort isn’t Sunday’s thing. He is like a match, he needs to burn and burn out till the wooden wick turns black and ashen.

The head of the Oak family… Former head of the Oak family. “What a joke…” he chuckles dryly. His wrists and ankles are marked red from the shackles and chains they held him in. The cold metal against his soft skin is still fresh in his mind, chaining a Halovian… An angel in chains—so much like the archangel Lucifer—except Lucifer was never a bad guy, and nor is Sunday. That's what he believes at least. Or, perhaps Sunday is more like Icarus; he got too close to the sun—touched the hand of a god, of an Aeon.

This ‘freedom’, if he can even call it that, given by madam Jade—it will surely be short-lived, like a firefly in the summer, burning out his life. What deal did Robin make with that woman? The worry for his sister made him feel powerless—he should be the one saving her and making sure she is happy, not the other way around. Sunday should find her. He needs to see his sister to make sure she is okay.

Behind his heavy eyelids, Sunday recalls how she caught him, held him… Silently murmured prayers to the Harmony fall from his lips in hopes that she is alright. He would forsake anyone, anything, even himself, his pride, and his beliefs, and fall on the ground to pray to any Aeon if it meant his sister would be safe.

Sunday’s steps are heavy, silenced by the carpet in the empty hotel room. The door clicks as it closes, and he chuckles once again, a self-deprecating laugh. “I’ve failed. At… everything. I couldn’t protect her, I couldn’t give everyone a happy life in the dreamworld—I couldn’t—” Sunday’s words get stuck in his throat and he chokes on them, feeling the flower petals bloom inside his throat, constricting his breathing and making his mouth dry. His gaze raises to the ceiling. Is he seeking a remnant of Ena? No… Sunday is regretting his failure. “I was never enough. I didn’t do well... enough.”

Gold, sun-like eyes fill with hot tears that slowly tread down his cheeks and he falls to his knees. He softly shakes his head and stands back up. “No… no.”

Sunday, even in his fall from the sky, doesn’t allow himself to tread so lowly that he’d weep on the floor. Instead, he walks further into the room which, in his gaze, looks distorted, in the same way the world looks when one’s eyes are full of tears threatening to overflow.

Sunday’s eyes are now dry, his hands calm without a tremor as he slowly takes off his jacket, and another one… and his shirt. The wings usually wrapped around his waist relax and sit behind him, long, light, never seen by another. The gloves come off his hands and he continues stripping down until he stands without any restrictions. Troubled mind with troubled eyes focused on the clothes laid out on the bed. Why are his clothes the only thing he can control right now? Sunday turns his back to the bed, frustration washing over his body.

“What’s next… What is it that I can do next? Where… where would I even go?” Sunday’s voice turns to soft mumbles while his back remains straight and shoulders square. Even after everything, he holds himself up high, elegant, and firm, as if he is always being observed by a silent shadow of his past that judges his every move.

With heavy steps, he walks into the bathroom and towards the bathtub. A sour sight; the wound’s still fresh. Sunday sits in the normal bathtub—unlike the Dreamscape’s entrance. Water fills it slowly, his head hanging over the edge. Sunday sighs, the match has burnt out and the hot water brings him no comfort. Sunday’s mind takes a short pause, a mere breather full of regret and knives pressing against the hill of his throat, as he struggles to swallow the mistakes, the failures, and thoughts of what he could have done differently.

Mere moments later, his head raises again, the vulnerability in his eyes gone, the tundra cold inside once more while he organizes the information in his head and creates a new plan for moving forward.

It is all chaos, his mind an image of books that fell off the shelves, shredded paper flying around with crossed out writing on them, furniture thrown, flipped over; a complete mess. Sunday made this mess and now he must sit in it. He, a previous follower of the Order.

His overconfidence lasts only so long as he comes to the conclusion he cannot stay the same. He has to change and heal… and leave.

Once he’s dressed in new, different clothing, he realizes the hopelessness of his situation once more. In his loneliness, his wants and needs which have been ignored for years, his wishes and desires had been stomped on and left in the dust, and the pain of this realization hurt. The pain envelopes him. Sunday desperately searches his mind for the last time he was himself: not under the effects of the Order, or any man, or any plan. Just him.

Your name resurfaces in his mind, and with the flutter of butterfly wings, it blossoms like a lotus flower, its petals opening up with a soothing scent. The memory of your hands holding his face, your warmth, your lips, your words, a melody he wishes to hear more of. It all calms him down, holding him, the memories caressing him like the autumn sun against his skin.

There is nothing here. No one of ulterior motives, only him and you in his mind. So he, once more, after years of silence, utters the name of the Aeon he used to pray to, the Aeon he loves in inexplicable ways, yearning to see them. At a time when he just needs comfort while hiding in a hotel room, away from the authorities trying to punish him for his wrongdoings in Penacony, despite the years of no answer… the Aeon appears in front of him once more.

His failure to ascend to Aeonhood echoed through the universe… your universe. You couldn’t peel your eyes away, actual physical pain filled your body every time that train crashed into him. His one mumble was enough to make you appear.

Finally free of his shackles, you get to come to him. You have the opportunity and you jump on it. How could you not?

The moment his eyes fall on you he steps forward. Despite all these years, you are still you, and he is, finally, once more, him.

“Please,” he uttered in a broken voice. The droplets of tears looked like diamonds as they threatened to drop. There had never been a man who looked more beautiful crying than him. No one who has looked more ethereal. It took the air out of your lungs. Like a living painting, a moving statue. Moving towards you with big sad eyes, the stars reflecting in his tears and the last glimmer of hope—the very last. The one to be held by you. To be comforted. Hold him. Please.

Your voice sounded as cold as ever, unable to help the pretense for a few moments. “Sunday.”

Too many years have passed, are you even allowed to touch him anymore? To approach him? To talk to him as you usually did? Did you not lose that right after you left without a word?

As a clear tear overflows and falls down his cheek, you can barely hold your body back from holding him.

“Sunday.” You manage to repeat in a softer tone. Alas, he offers no response. Stuck in the paused stance, waiting for a clear yes or no.

You manage to barely nod. He steps forward and so do you—and then you’re embracing him, holding him, and the air once more flows through your lungs. It felt like you weren’t fully inhaling air for years after leaving. This is how it feels when a planet starts rotating again. A crisp, refreshing, winter air. It awakens you.

Hot tears wet your shirt and the same fabric muffles his sobs. Sunday breaks down like shattered icicles that children throw on the ground. Be careful to not get cut on the shards. Something inside you makes you doubt his sides are that sharp. In your arms, falling apart, he feels as soft as a marshmallow, but you hold him like he is a glass figurine; careful yet tight. Fearing he will fracture.

“I’m here,” you whisper into his hair, your free hand pressing the back of his head into you.

You can only imagine how he feels. How it feels to escape the control of the Order, to give up powers of the Order and the Harmony. To fail at his one goal for which he was willing to sacrifice his whole life, wishes, and wants for the good of others. To fall and live as a mortal. He was mortal beforehand and brushed the precipice of Aeonhood, yet now he claims he will walk among mortals to learn what that truly means for him. Sunday lost everything he was. Everything he is. Hence, you can only imagine how it must feel to not know who you are, what you will do, how to talk, interact, and how to walk down the street.

His arms wrap around you, hands scrunching your shirt into his fists, afraid you’ll disappear. Or perhaps hanging on to you as to not drown, to not sink beneath the waves.

“You’re here,” Sunday mumbles between sobs, hanging more onto you, clutching your body in his arms – terrified you’ll vanish into thin air.

“I won’t go this time. I promise,” you whisper into his hair; not even a war between Aeons couldn’t pull you away from him now.

What more could you say to the one who believed the ends justify the means? The one who was willing to use himself as the ultimate sacrifice so that everyone could be happy? For who would not wish to live in eternal paradise…?

Days passed with him in your embrace. You couldn’t bear to leave his side. And now, you didn’t have to force yourself to on the basis of him being a Halovian and you being an Aeon. It was time for him to learn the truth you found out the day you kissed him. No guilty whispers in your consciousness saying that you had to leave him, that this is improper and forbidden and against every law and border and anyone and anything who might say something. Nothing. In your head, there was only silence.

You listened to his sobs and soothed his regrets. During quiet moments, resting in your arms, he’d come to the conclusion of needing to change by himself. You needn’t intrude. Only after he came to, felt like the man that he never got to know, and dressed in new attire, did he question you about the day you left.

“Did you figure out why?”

“I think so. I think I figured out why I feel the way I do… towards you.” Sunday’s eyes fell onto you, portraying the softness of the most fragile flower. His heart was pounding, and a level of nervousness was still there.

“You… almost ascended to Aeonhood. In your attempts, you failed to do so and that is why you were able—you are able to feel these things towards me.” In simple words, you begin to explain. As Sunday stepped towards you, he felt somewhat regretful of his actions, with a small rock in his shoe being his failure to ascend.

“I care. You claimed it wasn’t possible…” He held back the urge to hug you, fearing your next words.

“An Aeon can only love one ever and forever. And it is always matched. When I kissed you, years ago, I confirmed why you could care for me. I saw you failing to reach Aeonhood, but almost succeeding in it. That explains why you were able to feel obsessed even beforehand. It isn't like mortal love. It isn't linear. You bent the rules of the universe and fell in love with me. Aeons’ love is predetermined.” You reached out to brush his cheek as you spoke, the velvet skin under your fingertips grounded you in this moment with him.

“Only one. But who?” Sunday got lost in your words, scared of unrequited love, terrified of your rejection, and blinded by his feelings to truly hear what you were saying.

“Which part confuses you?” You smile, willing to take all the time in the universe to explain it to him.

“Who is your… only one?” Sunday whispered. His bottom lip trembled for a moment, and his wings shook—if asked, he’d probably blame it on the wind blowing from the open balcony doors.

“The only one that it could be.” You nod with a soft smile.

Sunday gazed at you. Suspicion and worry flashed in his narrowed eyes as he took the time to scan your body language.

“Only in pairs. I’m your pair, Sunday. Yes, you may have failed to reach Aeonhood, but you almost succeeded. And the ability to love an Aeon bled through the cracks and spilled over your lifetime, making you love me earlier than it was physically possible, taking a toll on your mortal body, and ending up with you feeling obsessed.” Sunday stepped closer, and he gently took off one of his gloves and hovered his hand above your cheek.

“You’re mine? You… care for me?”

“I always have. I rejected it because I deemed it impossible. I no longer reject it. I am… I look forward to eternity with you, my beloved.”

Sunday’s wings fluttered and both of you blushed, him out of shyness, you out of happiness. Finally, you are able to be frank with him, after years.

“Well then, my love. Shall I make a joke?” You attempt to ease the air, so as to not pressure him into anything too suddenly.

Sunday smiled, his left wing twitching at the sound of you calling him such a sweet word. “Yes… please.”

Here goes your attempt to mimic actual human humor—the bad kind. “What did the sushi say to the bee?”

“Hm, what?”

“Wasabi.”

Silence. Sunday’s nose scrunched and he cringed slightly, “That was…bad. Really bad.” He softly laughed.

“Then I have achieved what I wished. I never said it would be good.” Both of you laughed warmly and let go of the weight on your shoulders.

Sunday’s mind ran away and worried in the background. What if all of this was a dream and he’d wake up having to face the harsh cold reality?

“I wouldn’t mind spending an eternity with you.”

“Good. You’re doomed to spend it with me.”

“That’s fine by me,” Sunday replied in a light tone. He felt giddy about the whole situation.

“Couples formed by Aeons are the only ones that will stay alive and never fall. Currently, there’s only us.”

Sunday let the information sink in, it felt overwhelming. “So it’s just us, until the end of time?”

With a nod you confirm, “And neither of us have a choice.”

“Even if we did, I still would have chosen you. I’ll always choose you.” The tension has fallen and he finally cups your cheek with his bare hand. It brings a smile to your face. “You’re pretty when you smile.”

“You’re flirty,” you answer with an even bigger smile. “I want to kiss you more.”

For a moment, Sunday felt unlike his usual self, perhaps leftovers of Wonweek which pushed him to tease, “I thought Aeons didn’t stoop that low.”

“You’re tied to me until the end of time. I’ll be whatever I wish.” You raise your chin and smirk.

The scenery around the two of you changed with every touch of your lips. The heat of the summer sun, the salt of the sea, the cinnamon scent of tiger lilies, violins playing a waltz. You couldn’t get enough of it, of him.

The closeness of the two of you expanded over the following years.

You were pacing around your now shared home. Sunday never had a home, not really. And you grew up mortal, so a house, a home was something you both wished for. Especially with his wishes to travel and stay within the mortal realm. Hence, you two live together.

A weak mumble of your name made you practically teleport by the side of your bed. Sunday sat there, face in his hands, flushed, crying. You sat beside him and cupped his face. “My precious, why are you crying?”

Sunday felt pathetic. He tried to speak, his voice but a whimper of sobs that he tried to settle down before saying, “I—I had a nightmare.” His chin trembled from the effort of holding back his tears. He leaned further into your touch, somewhat ashamed of his state, “I’m sorry I—“ A sob that escaped his lips cut him off.

“I curse the lord of the dreams for sending you a nightmare,” you utter, wiping his tears away. You moved to sit on the floor in front of him. “My treasure…” Sunday was in awe of your display of devotion. Despite feeling unworthy of your love, your actions spoke loudly and it was all he needed to ground himself.

“Deep breaths. It will pass. Only a nightmare.” You kept your voice mellow and soft.

Sunday focused on his breathing, feeling himself slowly start to calm down. The lump in his throat dissipated and he could breathe easily again, “It was just a nightmare…” he whispers, still somewhat anxious from the stress of his mind.

“Shall I hold you, my sun?” you offer, resting your hands on his legs.

Sunday nodded and you held him. You embraced him as you always do, pulling him up against your body on the bed. Rubbing his side, leaving fluttering kisses along his wings.

“It was only a nightmare. It will not happen again, I will make sure of it,” you whispered in a threatening voice. Sunday felt a sense of comfort and security from your words, reassurance that you will always be there for him. His eyelids felt heavy as he relaxed in your arms, slowly drifting off to sleep. “I love you…”

“I love you too.” You spent the duration of his sleep laying kisses on his temple and cheek, lacing blessed words, making sure a nightmare never occurs again. Sunday slept soundly for the following hours, dreaming of only the most pleasant memories.

Sunday still kept his goal of wanting to create a paradise for everyone. The first thing on his to-do list is to see other claims of such a paradise. Thus, the two of you traveled and spent months, years at a time, wherever you wished. There was no rush to leave a planet too soon. Sunday made notes, gave arguments, and expressed his thoughts to you, in which you indulged him and discussed anything he wished, amusing his whims and desires. Unlike him, you wished to only look at your loved one at these gorgeous locations. The ones you showed him in his dreams. Time is but a thread both of you weaved in your favor. A sword with which it can be cut has not been invented yet. Eternity, only a fidget toy at your fingertips. And your beautiful, wonderful, significant other.

It was on one of these remarkable planets that you were now staying at: Amphoreus. Problematic, yet breathtaking in its sights. An area of war and pain, however, the people in Okhema lived as if nothing was going on. It intrigued him. Your room was vast, with a private balcony, dark blue curtains, a bed softer than a cloud, and even a personal bath. It looked more like a pond to you than a bath but to each their own. You concealed your identity with the utmost care. No Aeons resided here. You ought to be careful and only play the role of visitors, tourists. While you pondered whether you had covered all your tracks, your train of thought was interrupted.

A soft hand pressed behind your thigh, pushed into the soft flesh, making you gasp in surprise. You draw your gaze away from the notebook in your hand, and before you can even fully grasp the situation, you feel lips press in the middle of your thigh and then you see Sunday kneeling in front of you.

“Sunday, love, why are you kneeling?”

“Are you not meant to be worshipped like this?” he says with a small smile, obviously flirting, looking up at you.

“Well, technically—“ Your words get interrupted by Sunday clarifying, “Am I not allowed to worship you the way you deserve?”

The sight alone, of him naked on his knees, freshly showered, is an intimate one, to say the least. You reached down to brush his damp hair, “My precious, you may, but I worry for your knees…” As you asked your question, he continued laying kisses along your thigh while maintaining eye contact.

“I assure you, I do not mind,” he muses and starts leaving kisses in which he also darts his tongue out a bit.

“Sunday!” you scold him, nudging him subtly to get up.

“My everything, allow me this much,” Sunday pleads and you cannot say no to those pretty eyes. A sigh escapes you and you nod.

He continues kissing along your leg, moving towards your hip, where he stops to nibble a bit, along to the softness of your tummy, the hills of your ribs, the crook of your collarbone, licks and small bites following the column of your neck until he passionately meets your lips. Pulling you near him, making you fall on top of him on the bed. Your hand tangles in his hair, brushing past his wings, getting high on his taste.

Your other hand follows the trail of his spine, sprawling out across the plains of his back and moving to trail the soft valley of his stomach, brushing against his nipples and making his lips stutter in the kiss. Having a lover so sensitive to your touch excites you. Of course he’d be sensitive to any touch, with how he barely ever has any skin visible when you two walk around.

You part from his lips to leave open-mouthed, hot kisses along his jaw, nibbling a bit, teasing him until you actually decide to bite down and leave plum-colored marks in your wake. His melodic moans and whimpers only urge you to move lower and tease him more. Taking a nipple into your mouth, flicking it with your tongue, he lets out a choked noise, making you smile against his skin.

“My everything, do not part from me for too long,” Sunday breathlessly uttered.

“I am enjoying…”—with small pecks, you trail your way back up—“…my lover. And there’s more to you than just your lips” You smile, hovering above his face.

“You… are making me feel needy.” Sunday exhales, meeting your eyes.

“Good. I plan to fulfill those needs.” You meet his lips once more as a distraction before moving back down his torso, where he interrupted you.

His halo shines brightly every time you make him see the stars he loves oh so much. His whimpers of your name echo in your head like a prayer he moans them as. The gold in his eyes melts, occasionally crying from sheer pleasure. It is easy to say you are good at making him see the heaven he wishes to create. Taking your sweet time with every touch, worshipping him the way he loves worshipping you.

You dare claim he moves even slower than you in his worship. Unlike him, you’re not as sensitive and therefore can enjoy his slow pace of kissing every part of you and looking at you with eyes low.

Although it isn’t always that slow. The times when he gets really into showing you his love, to the point he makes lustful noises, lost in the pleasure he is giving you, drunk on your taste on his lips, that is when you lose your patience—tugging his hair and crashing your lips against his in a needy manner. His confidence is evident in his smirk against your lips. Despite being a gentle lover, with a preference for making love, sometimes he does want the heat and the rush, your thirst and your possessiveness over your significant other.

Wherever the two of you seek the heaven of your own founding, you leave beds of flowers blossoming around the building. No matter the planet’s season or concrete, stone ground. Flowers will bloom between the cracks and piles of snow, leaving the locals in awe, unaware of your own power.

Sunday’s whispers are only the sweetest things in bed, they make you dizzy with love. “I should have worshipped you sooner.”

“Worship in the bedroom—” you utter with rose-dusted cheeks.

“Only if you command it. Even then, I’d disobey, only to worship the ground you walk on, and then you may judge me for my sins, my everything…”

The only heaven I’ll be sent to is when I’m alone with you.

a/n: the title is a song lyric from Hot Gum by Sofia Isella and the last line is from Take me to Chruch by Hozier (and the inspiration for the last 3 lines)

divider cr: @milklemondrop

#sunday x aeon!reader #sunday x gn reader #honkai star rail #fluff #angst #hurt/comfort #suggestive theme #soulmate au #welt yang #robin #gopher wood #kids' mother #hsr #divider cr: milklemondrop #oneshot #fic

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generalsdiary · 1 year ago

Text

I'm here.

Alhaitham x Kaveh

warnings: mentions of disassociation, blood, cursing, nudity (non-sexual)

word count: 3.4k

description: “who did this to you” trope (not the way one would probably assume), hurt/comfort (except they DIDN’T HURT EACH OTHER, they ended up hurt and therefore COMFORT each other), fluff at the end

a/n: written in a 3rd person pov w/ a focus on alhaitham and his thoughts – i preferred this approach much more than 1st person pov, much more can be said and added with the way i wrote it. there’s a switch in the middle for a few paragraphs to kaveh’s pov (still 3rd person tho) marked with green, the switch back to alhaitham’s pov (3rd person) marked with blue. not beta read we pray to nahida, can be read whether you choose to view them as a couple/friends/companions/whatever you want any way works, i enjoy the uncommon way their relationship works without the typical romantic stuff <2

he got into a fight. a group of eremites planned an attack catching him unprepared, surprised. they got quite a bit of the punches in, he managed to defend himself but was mainly outnumbered. his injuries weren’t that bad, and he had no reason to cover up any of it. his hand still moves to his grey hair, while he walks home switching the bangs to cover the bruised side of his face. frustration fills him as he can't justify to himself why he is then covering it up; the red-purpleish eye, the cut on his cheekbone. with a soft sigh Alhaitham walks into his home.

the melodic voice pierces his noise-canceling pieces, his roommate complaining immediately about something easily resolved.

„... which resulted in me actually doing the work and helping the student and they-“ Kaveh stopped in front of him, mid-sentence, his eyes focused on his face. Alhaitham feels a shiver down his spine, fear? no, why would he feel fear? he is fine.

„you were saying, and they?“ he continues, to nudge Kaveh to continue his sentence.

„what is up with your hair, Alhaitham?“ Kaveh steps closer, his eyes staring, almost like he was digging around, scanning every detail.

„can I not change my appearance?“ maintaining the same unamused tone Alhaitham provides a counterargument.

not a beat after, “it is unlike you to change anything“ and a small frown on the blond's face.

Alhaitham sighs, and gestures with his hand, “you were saying, about the student..?“. he is doing his best to hold himself up normally, to appear like he isn’t in pain, and to give Kaveh attention so he can be unbothered in his room for at least the rest of the day. he doesn’t want him to worry.

Kaveh nods and starts talking about his interaction not even paying attention to Alhaitham, his eyes moving around the room as he talks and complains until one specific glance at Alhaitham's face makes him stop.

„Alhaitham, you're hurt. you- you're bleeding“ Kaveh moves closer, Alhaitham raises a hand over his hair in an attempt to hide any sign of injury and tries to play it off as a gesture. The blond doesn't buy it, wrapping his hand around the younger's wrist and moving it away. Kaveh's eyes calm, the red matching the anger starting to bubble inside him, and it is scary, he does usually get frustrated and loud, but angry? A terrifying sight, when a kind man is angry.

Alhaitham gulps at the sight of a calm, collected... dear Archons, quiet Kaveh.

„who. who did this to you?“ his voice slightly quieter than normal, he steps closer, his hand moving the hair out of Alhaitham's face and staring at the fresh bruise. “I'll kill them. Who touched you-“ his voice shaking with rage, worry, sadness.

„Kaveh, it is nothing of matter- a few eremites, there were more of them… they caught me off guard, I'm fine.“

„are you?“ Kaveh quickly sees through the façade he put down, Kaveh’s eyes drop down to the way his arm is embracing his own side like one would do if they were punched there, or kicked.

Alhaitham opens his mouth to reassure him that he is indeed fine but Kaveh cuts him off. “don't lie to me.“

continuing to press this lie would be pointless so he just falls silent. Alhaitham pulls Kaveh into his chest with the hand that is still in Kaveh's grip. it isn't a full hug, or maybe it is. with the sort of free hand- he was using it to soothe his own pain, he brings him closer by resting it on Kaveh's back.

„I will be fine“ he mumbles, his words met with silence. Alhaitham finds himself thinking, is Kaveh crying? why the silence? no, he isn't crying, he is completely still.

„let's get you patched up-“„I'm fine- I have taken care of it-“„-and put something cold over the bruise and you should go rest“ there is a certain silence in the air beneath his words. the way his voice flows along the air and the sound evaporates like smoke. message between the lines, he knows him, why is he having trouble decoding it? perhaps the words between the lines aren’t meant for him.

the architect's hands are gentle and steady while they press the soft cotton onto his cheek, the cold towel soothing the bruised eye. his lips pursed, focused on his movements making sure to not provide Alhaitham any more pain.

Kaveh spent the remainder of the day, afternoon and evening included, taking care of Alhaitham's injuries, which weren't major, but enough to make him worry, to make him fill with questions. he did ask those questions along the way and loudly express his worries to which Alhaitham didn't make many comments or provide too many answers than what he had already given.

hence when the night came and both of them went to their respective rooms, Kaveh laid awake in his bed. the idea that Alhaitham could be attacked again, especially due to his current high-ranking position as the acting grand sage, dug around his mind. his thoughts of hopeless worry and helplessness turning into laser focus on making sure he is safe, probably in the most destructive way possible; by going out and taking care of it himself.

hyper fixated on only that, he organized what little information he had of the whole situation in his head and headed out, purposely leaving Mehrak behind.

he informed Cyno of the attack from the day by talking to some of the younger matra who were on his way, informing them of the urgency, and letting them know where he assumed their base was. without waiting for anyone or any feedback he made his way to said location. after confirming they were the ones who attacked Alhaitham... he attacked on sight.

lifting the heavy weapon like it was light as air, not caring for his muscles burning in pain, he knew how to wield it. along with using his vision, he fought quite a few of them, getting hit occasionally but much less than one may think, creating slashes, and getting covered in blood. no one dropped dead yet when the matra showed up, taking them all in and away. they thanked Kaveh for the information and while Cyno was busy scanning around the area and conversing Kaveh left. his job, his goal, finished. the price to achieve it, in the way he wanted to achieve it, was too high.

he walked slowly back home, dragging the weapon on the ground as he did. he walked for hours, his head empty, with no thoughts. Alhaitham was now safe and that was all that mattered. not feeling the pain in his body, not actually. the dryness of his throat, the bruises he sustained, the ache in his wrists. the way he looked like he had just slaughtered a boar or a sumpter beast. the way he has yet to realize the dire consequences and the toll it takes on one's mind when you do such things. when you... turn off everything except the one goal.

any hi's, hello's falling onto deaf ears, or comments on his appearance while he walked through Sumeru city. any worried, scared expressions unnoticed by his eyes. his body but a mere shell as he approaches the door of his home. unknown to him it was already past noon the following day, and quite a bit of time had passed.

the doors open, making Alhaitham look up for a second, he knows it's his roommate- but he does a double take, his eyes widening and freezing on Kaveh. Kaveh walks further in, his hands, arms - the white puffy sleeves covered in blood. the tips of his blond golden hair dyed a dark shade of red, his face splattered with drops the same shade as his eyes. his body language suggests he is uninjured, and there is a sound. like something is dragged on the ground. the large claymore weapon, which is still in Kaveh's hand comes into his sight.

Alhaitham is horrified, worried, and aware that this is a moment where he has to try his best to communicate the best he can - because Kaveh looks like... that. what could’ve possibly happened, possible outcomes run through his mind. he continues observing him, the way his eyes are focused on the floor, the fact he didn't bring Mehrak wherever he went. speechless for a few moments as he puts down the book and slowly stands up, patiently finding the right words to say. meanwhile, Kaveh gently leans the claymore onto the wall, his movements mechanical, and automatic, after which he straightens his back and notices Alhaitham. his eyes turning brighter at the sight and approaching him, behaving as if he looks completely normal.

„Alhaitham- don't worry, you're safe now, no one will hurt you ever again- they-they wouldn't, would not dare touch you“ his voice is full of emotion, shaking, showing flashes of anger, pain, relief, stumbling over his words as he approaches the taller man. he sounds almost delirious.

„Kaveh, what happened? are you okay?“ his voice calm, stern. he holds his tongue to not ask, what did you do?

„yes-,“ he waves his hand gesturing like it is nothing “of course, I'm fine“ he chuckles between his words “and nothing happened, I took care of those people that jumped you- well I-“ he stops, sighs, “the matra came quickly, you need not worry, I have not turned into a criminal on your account.“ he laughs dryly.

beat. a feeling of relief, murder sits heavy on the mind, it is good the matra came. Alhaitham nods to himself. he reaches with his hand, hovering above Kaveh's cheek, and lets it fall back. the way Kaveh didn't even react to that tells him enough, the architect is not fully here, perhaps dissociated or he was hyper focused on what he wanted to get done. he isn't facing reality, or rather he isn’t completely in reality at this moment. and if he is hurt he probably can't even feel it, can’t acknowledge it. no words Alhaitham would say right now to scold him, lecture him, or express worry would not reach him actually. he attempts to settle on other ways.

„you do realize how you look right now?“ Alhaitham can't help himself trying his normal way of talking, which fails immediately- his earlier conclusion on Kaveh's mental state at the moment proves itself accurate as the blond nods and speaks the same thing again, “you're safe, I- I took care of it“

...other ways it is. the underlying worry about him being injured still lies but at this moment, anything his roommate would say would be unreliable. “let's...“ he reaches with his hand towards his. “let's get you cleaned up“ Kaveh just shuts down, allowing Alhaitham to lead him to the bathroom, he stays silent, fully on ‘autopilot’.

with simple instructions he leads him in. “your clothes are dirty, take them off, we will wash them later.“ in his monotone voice he instructs.

a line which would be flustering at least, no matter the situation, now it provides not even a blush from the shorter man. he takes off the white blouse, which Alhaitham immediately places in a bowl filled with cold water, and does the same with the remaining clothing pieces. Kaveh sits down in an empty tub and Alhaitham gently washes the blood out of his hair, he notices from Kaveh's body language that he is slowly coming back to reality. with a cloth he gently scrubs down the blood from his arms while silently praying to lesser lord Kusanali that he doesn't have any cuts or wounds there. as if she had answered his prayers, Kaveh’s arms are only covered with the occasional light bruise.

after the only running water turns clear, with no sign of blood, he turns the water to fill the tub. allowing himself to place a hand on his forehead, his mind fills with worry and regret closing his eyes for a moment, his gaze moves to Kaveh who is staring at a dot on the wall across from him. the warm water fills the tub and Alhaitham speaks, but only in the basic words, instructive kind, keeping his thoughts still to himself, “the warm water will soothe you, you should stay inside the tub for half an hour at least.“ a nod. a positive sign in his mind, he stays sitting on the ground, observing the older man. Kaveh's eyes fall to the water, his voice comes out shaky, quiet, “A- Alhaitham?“

„I'm here“ he responds in his normal tone, he notices Kaveh's distress, his hand moving under the water, caressing the older's back. “I'm here“ he repeats himself, his tone a tad softer this time.

Kaveh turns his head to Alhaitham, his eyes filling with tears, “I-I-“

„you're in distress right now, you don't have to force yourself to speak“ to which Kaveh nods, but he is trembling slightly as if he is about to have a panic attack, Alhaitham notices that and makes a quick decision, moving to gently kiss his golden hair. “I'm here“ he whispers, offering a moment of comfort while he quickly strips himself of his clothes and goes into the tub, sitting behind him. his arms pull Kaveh into his chest, so he leans backward on him. Alhaitham whispers once more, his lips next to the older's head “I'm here.“

time seamlessly flows by, until Kaveh's breathing calms down to match Alhaitham's. the water stays warm, and Alhaitham would sit there with him as long as his senior needed, nothing else would matter. Kaveh then softly starts telling what happened, or what he believes is important at that moment.

„I'm not- I'm not a violent person, I just...“ falling quiet for a moment. “I don't mind self-defense- I just- I couldn't bear the thought of you being in danger... It had to be by my hands, not with Mehrak- and I, I probably sprained my wrist-“ his words made Alhaitham's eyes fall to his wrist, scanning it for any injury, moving to gently grasp it, hold it, ever so softly.“-and, I know why... for some... fucking reason I blame myself for not being able to keep one fucking person safe“ there's a heaviness in the way he says ‘one fucking person’, Alhaitham can sense the incomplete version of it hovering. one fucking person I care about, the most? his voice fills with anger at himself and Alhaitham already mentally prepares his words but Kaveh says the lesson he wanted to carry over, “tho it has no relation to me and I'm not guilty for it and therefore shouldn't have punished myself for it by using the claymore by hand.“

he shakes his head. “and I probably look like a wet rat now“ typically in Kaveh fashion he also adds a complaint or something rather unimportant and, if you ask Alhaitham, completely untrue. to maybe make Kaveh laugh, or even crack a smile, he plays along his line “eh, so do I, especially with the gray hair“ he dryly laughs. Kaveh turns his head to look at Alhaitham and sighs, “well that is no consolation, you look handsome as ever.“ which makes Alhaitham chuckle, his chest lightly rumbling under Kaveh's back.

Alhaitham of course doesn't allow such slander against his roommate, even if it comes from the roommate himself, grabbing his chin to make him face him once more for a moment, “and you look as beautiful as ever, as radiant as the sun.“ Alhaitham could ramble on and on about Kaveh's beauty, and how he must be a descendant of the goddess of flowers because he is so ethereal, yet his looks are what he cares about the least. thus, he sees little point in it. he has much more appreciation for his personality, intellect, habits, behavior, kindness, loyalty, etc. those things you can't buy. the moment is short and unnecessary in his opinion, yet Kaveh's eyes turn a shade brighter, appreciating the comment, but his head turns to the front and he leans his head back onto Alhaitham's collarbone.

„please, don't ever do that again- and, no, I do not care about those people, I am talking about you, do not bring yourself in such danger again, not for my sake at least, or anyone's for that matter.“ Alhaitham scolds the man in his arms.

„that means I should never bring myself in danger then, Alhaitham.“ he points out a fault in his sentence, to which Alhaitham nods, a small smile playing on his lips, which Kaveh cannot see. “I'll try my best not to then.“ Kaveh adds, earning a nod from Alhaitham.

„you also don't understand- you wouldn't do it for me“ Kaveh turns the conversation back to the middle of the topic, an underlying tone suggests he is upset.

„of course, I wouldn't, I wouldn't be so foolish.“ Alhaitham is quick to answer, to which Kaveh scoffs, “I'd get them to proper punishment from the matra, and be more careful towards my injuries, or get them to be judged in front of our archon.“

after a moment of silence, “I wouldn't do what you did.“ he says a bit quieter the following, in that moment, the warmth of the water, Kaveh's body against his, his tired mind, he can't bite his tongue to the next words “I would do much... much worse.“ his mind forces him to imagine Kaveh getting hurt, just the thought of someone daring or even thinking about hurting his comfort person, his roommate, his senior, his... everything... anger, rage flashes, his words whispered “I'd kill them.“ and in that moment, those are true words. he'd kill them in cold blood and never blink an eye for it until the rest of his life. it would be as natural and as justified to him as killing an ant in the kitchen is.

Kaveh moves his hand to Alhaitham's, which was beside Kaveh's thigh, he takes it in his own under the water and gives it a reassuring squeeze. “no one is harming me, I'm okay.“

Alhaitham nods, “I know“ he kisses Kaveh's temple, “the biggest threat to you is you, yourself“ making Kaveh laugh self-deprecatingly.

time passes, with comforting silence, and eventually, Alhaitham massages Kaveh's scalp with a mint soap bar, proving to be a soothing, simple moment for the both of them. they both dislike any sweet scents, mint being the only scented one amongst their shared products.

after the bath, the drying up, the clean clothes, pajamas, Alhaitham is escorting, that is what he told himself - in all actuality he is following, Kaveh to his room. promptly also moving into the blond's bed, nuzzling his head into the still slightly damp golden locks.

„I..“ Alhaitham begins, “I care about you too much for this to happen to us, let's“ he exhales, “let's try communicating better“ which makes Kaveh chuckle, “you suck at communicating well enough.“

„I am excellent at it“ Kaveh raises an eyebrow to that statement. “oh, are you now? well-“ he decides to not go along his usual route of this conversation, he sighs softly, pausing for a moment as he changes the trajectory of his thoughts “we have different ways of communication, and 90% of them perfectly match which is not visible or even typical with any normal people, we... for fucks sake the fact that we write notes in an ancient language would be the prime example. but in those 10%...“ he sighs, and Alhaitham continues instead of him, “we differ to the point we hurt each other.“

a silence falls over the bedroom upon which Alhaitham would've thought Kaveh fell asleep if it were not for the pattern of his breathing which gave away his state of consciousness.

in a hushed voice he says, “I care about you.. a lot. I am... I am failing to find words for the things I wish to say, except I just care.“

Kaveh turns to face him in the dark bedroom, heads next to each other to the point they can feel each other's breath. “it is painfully obvious that I also care. I guess we should show it to each other, to remind ourselves, in more... mundane ways.“

Alhaitham closes his eyes, moving closer, his arm moving to rest on Kaveh's waist, his head resting in the crook of his neck, “agreed. you can start by doing the dishes in the morning.“ the soft quiet moment sliced by a high pitched whisper which makes him chuckle, “hey! I did them just the other day- it is your turn!“

Alhaitham smiles, Kaveh grumbles a bit more and he listens. all is well.

they will be fine.

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