#this one got a kick to it wtf

[harryforvogue]

Part One | Chapter Nine: Another Man

Bellefonte, Pennsylvania

June 1919

Later that night, we depart in the hallway after dinner. Another tense dinner, with no conversation of eye contact between us. It's a good thing the food was good and I was hungry or I would have kicked his shin under the table until it bruised.

I send him off by shooting him a look and he answers by ignoring the look, focusing on entering and locking the door of his room. I stand by as a guard by his door for a moment to be there if he decides to have a change of heart and decide to sleep in my room, but after a minute of silence, I enter my own room and close the door behind me.

I stare at the empty space beside me on the bed, hand outstretched against it. I imagine his body, his warmth, his breath on my neck as I fall asleep.

***

The silence lasts only a few minutes as the door beside mine suddenly creaks open and I hear pacing outside my door. Raising my head, I catch the knock just in time. The knocks are more like thuds, like rocks falling onto the ground. They're fast and loud, no doubt disturbing the rest of the house. Every knock makes me jolt and I feel the pound against my heart like loud music does.

It could be Grace. The knocks sound very frantic so whoever is on the other side must be frightened. Maybe it's Grace who's had a nightmare, looking for comfort.

Padding over to the door, I slowly open it to reveal Harry. The sight is startling. His shirt is drenched with sweat, curls sticking to his forehead, chest heaving as his wild eyes take in my room, stepping into it without asking me. I stand to the side, stunned, letting him pace around like a predator searching for his prey.

"I heard something," he mutters, pale-faced, shakily running a hand through his hair. He finally turns to look at me. "Was there someone here?"

"No," I say, alarmed, heartbeat in my ears. I step forward, holding a hand out. "Harry. It's just me."

"Christ," he whispers, staggering to a stop. He slowly lowers himself to the edge of my mattress, running a hand tiredly over his face. "Annaliese. Who was here? Are you hurt? What are you doing awake?" He suddenly stands up again, reaching for my wrist. A moment passes and then he releases me, sitting back down.

Terrified by his appearance and aware of the weight of his hand lingering on my wrist, I wrap my arms around myself. "It's just me. I was about to fall asleep."

"You were about to fall asleep," he murmurs to himself, rubbing his eyes. "Fuck's sake. I thought you got hurt. I heard some shouting so I thought... fuck's sake."

Unsure why his anger is directed at me, I sit besides him and tentatively place a hand on his shoulder, feeling the sweat under my fingertip. He violently becomes aware of my hand on him because he shifts backwards and shoves my wrist away. The untamed eyes look at me darkly.

Hesitantly, I move back from him. "Sorry."

"Didn't I tell you not to touch me?" he snaps, standing up. "Fuck's sake, Annaliese. How many times have I told you? Do you deliberately choose not to listen to me? Do you want me to be angry at you constantly? I don't fucking understand you."

He's never spoken to me like that. I open my mouth to yell at him back and demand what his problem is, but when I take a step forward, he moves back, eyes filled with something different. It's not anger anymore. Fear.

I pull my hand into my lap. "Sorry. Do you...want some water?"

"No, I don't want any water."

He stands up and begins to pace.

Unsure what to say, I nod and glance away from his unfocused eyes, jaw tight. I move back onto the bed and fold my legs. His eyes follow me. Squirming under his gaze, I try my hardest to find another topic to talk about. The clock is ticking loudly.

A while later, I hear him audibly swallow before he sits back down on my bed besides my legs. He looks at the floor. "I had a nightmare," he tells me quietly. He tucks his curls behind his ears. "Thought it was real and coming from your room. The noise, I mean."

I simply nod, not wanting to inspire another outburst.

Harry sighs, dropping his shoulders. "I just wanted to make sure you were alright." He slides his hand cautiously closer to me, his pale hand against the dark sheets, the moonlight streaming directly onto the mattress as if it's a spotlight and this scene is a vital part from a play that must be scrutinized.

I move away from him before his fingers touch my ankle, causing his hand to stop moving promptly. "I'm alright."

"Okay," he says quietly. He makes no motion to move or depart from my room. I listen to the clock anxiously, hoping he leaves the room soon.

"Please don't cry," he says, glancing at me carefully.

I wipe my face with my sleeve. "I'm not crying. Please go to sleep."

"You want me to leave?" he asks.

"You're scaring me."

I can hear how my words affect him. "I'm scaring you," he repeats, frowning down at his lap. "Annaliese. I just wanted to check if you were alright. I was worried about you. Don't be upset with me."

"I'm not. Please go to sleep."

The bed's balance evens out when he stands up. I wait to hear his footsteps as he leaves the room, but to my horror, I only hear them advance closer to me. He stops in front of me and waits a moment, before muttering, "I'm sorry for scaring you. Could you stop crying?"

I sharply glance up at him. "Harry, it's okay."

His green eyes are clouded, his blinks slow as my words marinate in his head. "I'm apologizing, Annaliese."

"And I'm telling you it's alright." Please leave. Please please leave. "Go to sleep, Harry. I don't want this anymore."

His head snaps up. "Want what? Tell me, I'll fix it."

My eyes begin to sting treacherously. "Harry, please just go."

"I don't want to."

"I don't want you in my room. You won't let me touch you. You'll yell at me if I try to comfort you. I don't know what you want from me, so please, make it easier on both of us. Just go back and try to sleep. Or...or have a warm cup of milk. Or have a snack. Please just..." Leave.

A few seconds later, Harry looks away at the wall behind me and lets the words settle into his head. He nods faintly and then begins to walk to the door.

Before he leaves, he pauses and turns around. "Warm milk will help me?"

"Yes."

"Okay," he says, hand on the door. "I'll do that."

Without another word, he lowers his gaze to the floor and then turns, promptly leaving my room. When he shuts the door, left is just me and that loud clock.

***

The morning is awkward. Harry's avoiding me more than usual, sitting on the other side of the table rather than his usual place across from me. Even Grace feels the tension as she doesn't ask Harry too many questions about why he's so quiet.

I've spent too long thinking about that night. Should I have let him stay? He was hurting, but I turned him away. I shouldn't have done that.

Harry goes back to his room to take a nap. I don't end up saying anything.

***

Stepping outside immediately after breakfast is like a breath of fresh air. In New York, I'd leave the house for mornings only to head to work, but here I am going at my own volition into town. My hat is on my head, my outfit clean, and my head ready to be cleared. I say goodbye to Geraldine and Jared who have just roused, stumbling out of his bedroom, and then head back outside, vowing to return to pick up Grace for lunch.

Instead of wandering straight to town, I take a detour through the hills we all sat at yesterday, and I continue further until I'm by the line of trees that stand guard between this town and the next, more busy rural area. Twigs and sticks snap under my shoes as I duck under the branches of trees and conceal myself from both towns in this no man's land. The ground is soggy and mud sticks to my boots, but the sweet scent of sap and bark allure me and beckon me forward almost as if I'm in a trace. New York doesn't have these types of spots, or if they do, I have yet to discover them. It's a congested place with towering buildings and fast cars, the furthest thing it could be to my homeland. It's times like these where I catch a glimpse of the real countryside that I recall where I'm from and how dearly I miss it sometimes.

Moving to New York was a deal I made with Harry as he decided it was best to run away from his family, specifically his father, thinking an ocean between us would be the most effective way to cut off ties. It hasn't worked that well for us, in terms of staying put. I wonder if we'll have to move again.

I use the line of trees as my defense, letting them protect me as I continue to travel. The ends of my pants are getting wet, causing a cold shiver to run up my spine, but when I catch a glimpse of a small creek, I forget my discomfort and waddle eagerly over to it.

Creeks like these don't exist in New York. I put my purse down, crouch over, and scoop up some water, letting it run out between my fingers. I do it again, tightly closing my fists, watching the water escape through the cracks once more. The water is delightfully cold. I stick my hand in there for a moment to see how long I can last without caving. Only about forty seconds. It's that frigid. The temperature of the water grounds me, and I look back up, appreciating the scenery a bit more, sighing.

My reflection in the water swims in front of me. For the first time since arriving here, I am alone with the company of my own thoughts. As I glance around, I become terribly aware that I'm in a foreign state, in a foreign country away from my own, speaking a language that I've forced myself to learn to become a student in a separate country, and now I'm living with people I've only just met.

I frown deeply at my reflection. Then, I stand back up and continue walking to town, cleaning off my hand.

***

I return to the house to change my clothes and retrieve Grace. Geraldine informs me that the men have gone out for a walk themselves and it's funny that I didn't bump into them. I refrained from telling her that I went through the woods again to avoid people.

As I'm getting ready, I hear my door open, and see Harry enter. Through the mirror, I acknowledge him with a look, and resume brushing my hair gently.

"You didn't tell me where you were going this morning," he says awkwardly, shifting his weight to his other foot as he leans against my bedpost. "You have to tell me."

"And why's that?" I ask.

He frowns, gesturing vaguely with open arms as if it's an obvious answer. "Because I want to know where you are."

"We're in a random state, Harry. Do you think I would run away or something?"

"No," he says. "But just a heads up would be nice."

I put the brush down. "You were asleep."

"Could have woken me up."

"Harry, I'm fine. I'm taking Grace to town and then coming back so you'll know when to expect me."

He steps forward and sits on my bed, leaning in. "This isn't about me controlling you, Annaliese. I just would like to know where you are, for my own sanity."

"Your own sanity," I mutter, standing up, walking to the closest to pick out another shirt and skirt.

"Yes, my own sanity."

I briefly remember how Geraldine had told me that Harry's eyes found safety when I'd come into the room. The look on his face is stern and unmoving, though I can see the cracks in this facade. He's scared.

As the realization dawns on me, I nod. "I will tell you next time."

Harry wipes his hands anxiously on his pants. "Good. Good." He hesitates, opening his mouth to say something, but stopping immediately. He does this a few more times. "We need to talk about last night."

"I don't want to talk about that right now."

"I don't know what you meant," he continues persistently, standing up. He sticks his hands in his pockets, green eyes watching me. "When you said you didn't want this anymore. What did you mean? I don't know what that means, so you're going to have to spell it out for me."

For a second, he looks like the Harry that I married. He looks at me nervously like how he did when he saw me walk down the aisle at our wedding. A man of steel nerves, it's impossible to make Harry nervous, though it seems like he's always on edge these days. He looks younger and less tired, more like a child awaiting praise from his mother or school teacher.

"It means," I find myself saying, aching to reach for him, "that I don't know how to talk to you and it worries me. When you get like that, I want to help you, but it's like you're not even Harry."

"I am Harry. That person is me, Annaliese. I was just scared." He hesitantly puts a hand over mine. It's cold, despite the summer heat.

"I know, but I wanted to help," I admit. "I don't know how to. I know it probably happens more than I realize. Just tell me so this marriage is a little more tolerable. For both of us."

A flicker of hope passes over his face. "This marriage," he repeats. "It still...exists, doesn't it?"

My eyebrows crease with worry. "Of course. What are you saying?"

"You have a choice," he says with a shake of his curly head. "I've been thinking about it, Annaliese. Don't look at me like that. I'm not going to keep you here against your will, though I feel like I'll want to if you ever decide to..." he trails off. "But I won't. If you want it, I'll allow it." His eyes are dark and his upper lip trembles. "I won't like it, but if you want it..."

My fists clench, nails digging into my palms. "God, I want to hit you so bad right now."

He takes a step back, eyes wide. "What?"

"It's nice to see that hasn't changed."

The thought of leaving Harry hits the bottom of my stomach like a stone. Despite my having no option in leaving, it's my love for him that keeps me in his binds as well.

"I don't want to leave you," I tell him, growing angrier. "I just want you to come back to me."

His eyes clear up, though the turmoil on his face stays. "I'm right here, Annaliese," he says tiredly. "I'm standing right in front of you. I'm speaking to you. What more do you want from me? How many times are we going to have this argument? We talked about this in Atlantic City. There are some things I just can't give you, and you have to respect that. I'm giving you what you want. Spending time with you, traveling with you, being your husband."

"You want me," I say slowly, "to be your wife and support you as I watch you hurt yourself."

"I'm not hurting, Annaliese," he sighs, sitting down on my bed again. "Please understand that. I'm not asking you to tend to me like you're my mother or asking for favors. I just want to exist in peace."

"Your mother? Harry, in what way am I asking to be your mother? You know me. You know the kind of wife I am!"

"I do know," Harry says tightly. "I know you always do things your way and I'm telling you I don't want that to change. Please, if you want to, leave me. I won't stop you." He looks to the floor. "If there's someone else you want, or if you want to go back to France. I will let you go. I will pay for it."

When he stops talking, the clock in the room is louder than ever. I am stunned at him voicing his thoughts.

"What? What did you just say?" I whisper in disbelief. "God, Harry, what the hell did you just say? Do you have any idea-!"

"I know what I said. I mean it. I've been thinking about it for some time. I want you to be happy so please consider it." Harry refuses to look at me. "Don't be mad, please."

Leave him? I've never even given thought to having a life without Harry in it. The longer I wait for him to say something, the more I realize I don't want him to say anything else.

"I am going to walk away," I say quietly, "before I say something I regret."

"Annaliese, think about what I'm saying." He grabs my wrist as I'm walking away from him, tugging me back firmly. "Listen to me. I'm serious. I will do it for you."

I want nothing more than to elbow him in the ribs and make him apologize, but I feel my throat closing up.

I force my arm out of his grasp and step away before he can catch me. "Do not," I hiss, "mention this to me ever again or I will make you wish you never said it."

Coming home after work to a man that's not Harry. Holding someone who is not Harry.

"Annaliese... Annaliese! Get back here!" Harry calls after me, but tears have formed in my eyes, not out of sadness, but anger. I'm angry at him for suggesting such a thing.

But as I continue to walk away from him, sadness fills my chest.

I'm a bad wife for walking away from him again, aren't I?

Loving someone who is not Harry.

Fighting with someone who is not Harry.

***

Harry doesn't leave me alone for too long. When I'm in the garden an hour later, Harry's there. He sits next to me and begins talking immediately, without waiting for a response or taking a breath.

"I'm an awful husband, I know. What I said was wrong, and my apology didn't come out right. Last night was completely my fault," he takes a deep breath. "I was scared. And that's not an excuse, but it's all I have for you right now. I didn't mean that I want you to leave. I'm saying that if you're unhappy, I don't want that. I care about you too much to see you have to suffer with me. I just want what's best for you."

The sun is beating down on me. I remove my hat and begin to fan my face."What about us?"

"For us? Annaliese, I don't think you're happy with me."

I don't reply. I don't know what to say to that. How do I tell him that my happiness should not be at the front of his thoughts right now? How do I tell him that I don't know how to help him without seeming like a bad wife myself.

Harry waits a few moments before sighing. "I'm sorry. Please don't be angry."

Before he leaves, I grab his hand and push him back into the grass, glaring at him. I can't help but feel anger more than anything at him. I want to say something to him that will tear him like he tore me.

"I told you not to take your anger out on me again."

He blinks down at our hands. "I won't do it again. But...Annaliese, I can't even begin to explain how much anger I have inside me."

"Then tell me what to change to stop bringing that anger out. What am I doing wrong? Tell me!"

"It's not you! Christ. I've told you that before, haven't I? I wish I could tell you. It's like..." he looks over the hill, searching for words as if he'll find them there. "It's like there's static in my head and it's all I hear all day and it irritates me so I lash out." He squeezes my hand and leans in. "You know I'm not like this. I used to be so good. And this anger I feel isn't at you. It's anger at myself. What I've done."

"You've done nothing wrong," I say firmly. "You have done nothing wrong in your life."

Harry's eyes darken as he shakes his head, looking away. "The things I saw," he says slowly, closing his eyes. "I wouldn't... God, I wouldn't be able to explain the things I've done. It was all survival. Things I've done to people who look like you and me. Who had families. I..." he trails off, taking a sharp breath. "Annaliese, I try so hard, every single day and night to avoid thinking about it. Please, don't make me talk about it. I'll remember and I'll get angry and I'll hurt you. Don't push me."

"So if you won't talk to me, who will you talk to?"

"I don't have to talk to anyone. I will one day forget all that happened. All the pain I've caused." He looks at the sunset. "And then we'll be okay."

I bite the inside of my cheek. "When do you suppose that will be?"

"I don't know, but I hope soon. I'm losing my fucking mind being in this body." His hands begin to tremble. "If you knew what I've done, Annaliese." He glances at me, eyes shimmering, voice breaking off. "You'd pack up and leave. Right now. You'd march into that house, throw my ring away and walk out of my life and you know what I'd do?" He clicks his tongue. "Nothing. I would watch you leave and be envious that you get to leave me and I don't."

"Jesus, Harry."

"Do you understand," he strains, "that you're all I have right now?" He presses a palm to his eye.

"And do you understand that you're all I have? Why are you trying to get rid of me?"

"I'm not!"

"So stop suggesting it, you idiot!"

Harry sighs and watches Grace, who's come outside, for a few seconds, jaw tight and expression unreadable. "I'm trying. I think I just need some space."

"Space," I repeat, plucking some grass. "More space than I've been giving you? How do I know you'll come back to me?"

"I'm your husband. Of course I'd come back."

"Sometimes people don't come back," I say.

Alarmed, he turns to me. "I'm not going to hurt myself. I have that much respect for you."

I glance at him. "And what about for yourself? For your body?"

He gives me a wry look. "Annaliese, I could care less about what happens to this body. The issue isn't that. It's my soul that belongs to you. I'd never do anything to my soul."

"Your soul and your body both belong to me."

Harry's eyes soften the slightest bit. "That's true. I won't hurt either, for your sake."

I rise to my knees. "If you hurt yourself, Styles, I will kill you. If you die on me, I will kill you, do you understand?" I say, holding his collar. "Don't think that I won't."

He watches me, startled, and puts his hands on mine, prying them off his collar. "I won't do anything, for your sake."

"And for yours! How do I know I won't find you...gone...after I've gone out for a drink with my friends?"

Harry smiles for half a second, causing my heart to begin hammering. "Because you'll kill me if I die on you."

"Exactly. And... and I'd bloody miss you."

He doesn't say anything for a minute. He speaks again as if he's telling me a secret, too afraid to say it with his full voice. "I'd miss you too. I miss having you in my bed, in my arms, everywhere. I miss it every second of the day. But I just...can't do that. I thought of you lying with someone like me..."

"A regular man," I argue.

"No," he insists dryly. "I am not any ordinary man. I'm riddled with guilt. I wouldn't let you touch me and be soiled by it."

Grace runs by with some grass in her hand. She waves at us and then heads back to the house. When he leaves, we begin talking again.

I say, "So all this time, it was about you not wanting to ruin me."

He gives me another half smile. "I told you the problem was me. How could I live with myself after ruining such a person? The guilt I'd feel. The anger. I'm afraid I'd hurt you."

"You could never hurt me."

"Annaliese, you don't think I see how badly you're hurting right now? I wish I could do something to help, but it all requires my touch and I can't do that. This trip is supposed to help you as well as help me. I'm trying in that regard but, please, don't push me to do something I'm not comfortable with. I've been hurting you for months. You don't think I realize it? I hear you crying, Annaliese. And while you cry, I just pray that you find comfort in something else besides me."

I freeze, my body suddenly cold and aching. I side eye him, throwing him a warning look. "Don't tell me you're saying what I think you're saying. We just talked about this, you prick! I will claw your eyes out if you say so much as one more word."

He says it anyways. "Another man could make you happier."

Frustrated, I push my palms against his shoulders and shove him into the grass angrily. "You asshole! Don't you ever fucking say that to me again."

He grabs my relentless arms, alarmed. "Stop, Annaliese."

"You say that to me again and I'll remind you who you're married to!"

"Annaliese. Okay. I'm sorry." He's trying to dodge my blows. "Annaliese!"

I break myself from his grasp and stand up, pushing the hair out of my face angrily. "Thin fucking ice, Styles," I growl, taking deep breaths. "You're on thin ice. Now get up, I want to go back inside."

Are these the conversations we're going to have now? I think to myself as we walk back inside, scared. I don't want that.

[octopationaltherapy]

Bf helped me put together a little nesting corner

[bentnotbroken1fanfiction]

BTW Keen pissed me ALL the way off in this episode. You know his backstabbing ass has been waiting for his moment to shine to Khun Mae. He wants her to acknowledge him and thinks the only way he's gonna get it, is if she is angry with her golden boys.

No one likes a fucking snitch, Keen!

[sebbyisland]

akanematic.mp4 (youtube link)

[savage-rhi]

Magenta 😥

[ratguy-nico]

Dibujito rapido pa decir FELICES FIESTAS GENTE (mejor tarde que nunca)

[manawari]

Urgh, I'm too old for this drama.

[stirdrawsandreblaws]

trying to gently explain to someone that you do not make an oc for a decades-old thing that has one of the most autistic and lore-entrenched fanbases without being willing to do either 1) a cursory wiki skim beforehand about the extensively well-established canon you're supposedly building your character off of, or 2) prepare for people to Not Like Or Understand What You're Going For, Here

tl;dr if you wanna do an alternate interpretation of a d&d god (and llolth??? being a sad misunderstood and distant power who didn't want any murdering done in her name????? and Personally treats a *male* cleric well???? is Definitely an alternate interpretation) then...make your own setting and write or DM for it?? instead of being mad that other people would share lore with you bc what you've come up with directly contradicts the canon that everyone else is going by???

[lexalovesbooks]

Wait something weird appears to be happening in tags hang on. Testing.

[rindomness]

sometimes a guy has to try and fail to read the nightvale books bc hes stimming too hard

[rayvern-sheep]

Not enjoying that my life nowadays is just mental breakdown after mental breakdown

I don’t do well without a goal in life. And since I’ve got pretty much every achievable thing I wanted growing up, even things I couldn’t achieve myself, I’m just lost.

Especially now that I’m in constant physical discomfort, I can’t even enjoy the things. Like, not having a goal in life wouldn’t be as bad if I could actually just enjoy the things I have… But I fucking can’t.

Just existing is genuinely fucking overwhelming. I feel burned-out just by having to maintain my digestive system. I can’t handle anything else anymore idk why.

Knowing my friends are doing well is conflicting. I see them existing and I’m ofc happy for them. And I feel briefly inspired. Until I remember the body I was given… Aaaaand then I spiral. It’s why hanging out w/ my friends just leaves me feeling so hopeless nowadays. I’m not jealous per say, I don’t want their lives, but I want to be able to live one myself.

[joshuamj]

can college just like, pause for a moment. I wanna catch up on linktober :(

[leahcee]

we’re only 8 days into July and so far it’s been an absolute fucking nightmare

[princess-lou]

.

[astrxealis]

good eve hope u all r well 😇😙💗✨

[harmonysanreads]

PUPPY PHAINON IS SO REAL OMG

i think it be so funny (extremely sexy) if he goes absolutely feral because his love got hurt on the battlefield

i'm talking absolute carnage, not a soul alive, people being genuinely scared because wtf man (bonus if his partner only got a minor flesh wound hehe)

Your lover has been acting... strange recently.

Though, the abnormalities have been so conveniently spaced, so intertwined with inconveniences that they could be brushed off as mere coincidences — in hindsight, at least. You'd be found guilty of this practice, as it becomes second nature to assume the best of people that can bear one's trust. There appears the occasional incident, where you find yourself second guessing that faith instead and question the normalcy of this particular genre of human behavior.

“Will you tell me now, who did this to you, melite?”

You find that you need to use force in order to push down the flinch that almost crawled all over your skin, unaccustomed to this tone of his.

You push yourself closer, your nails dig a bit harder into the fabric covering his arm ; sensing his gaze towards your direction. Your grasp is more labored than it should've been, you can feel the tendons beneath your grip flexing in barely held restraint. Murmurs follow their way to your ear, unintelligible in fear of feeding further the hero's wrath.

“I have been telling you this since the beginning, Phai.” in spite of your effort, exasperation bleeds into your words.

You glance from behind Phainon's shadow — pointedly at that — towards the knuckle tight grip he has on the fellow's skull. ‘Unfortunate’ probably does not suffice to describe this random pedestrian's situation. You're not given more time to ponder the validity of that claim as something reminiscent of a crack drifts to your ear, alerting you to hasten.

“It wasn't this man, it wasn't any human to begin with! You have to believe me, please.” you tilt your head and make sure to secure his gaze, ripples of discontent appear on the once placid ocean.

You knew it wasn't exactly unusual for one's protective instincts to be provoked in relation to a loved one, but for it reach this magnitude was concerning in your book. Especially so considering their increasing appearances, over the most mundane matters at that.

The Chrysos Heirs aren't known as without their fair share of eccentricities, you suppose they are suited for ones destined to be heroes. But every new scene over a scratch against a surface, a person standing too close, a different gaze lingering too long has you questioning if Phainon's ‘protectiveness’ can really be excused for long.

Perhaps the helplessness in your eyes had finally pushed through the layers of rage bubbling in his head and the contact with your skin had weakened the flames, as he loosens his clasp on the man's head, before shoving him aside with enough force to make you feel the kick of your heart against your ribcage.

You don't get to check the man's condition as Phainon takes your hand in his previously occupied one, his thumb ghosts over the scratch across its back, the swift difference unnerves you for a second.

You know not to waste your breath though, catching the implications. “It... was that pillar.” you avert your eyes upon feeling his caress halt.

“...Which one?” his curt inquiry alerts you. His fingers flex and relax around yours, you can no longer hear the crowd.

You bypass a breath to grasp his collar, caution clouds your mind. The abruptness of your action startles Phainon, as he meets your frown.

“Don’t.” you warn, the realization that makes itself known on his countenance at your order proves your hypothesis to be correct.

“But that pillar deserves it, melite.” something similar to a pout softens his face and at last you find traces of the Phainon you are so familiar with. “If it's hurt you once, it will do it again. Isn't it better to just remove it to avoid that scenario?”

You let go of his collar and rest your palm on his cheek, unable to restrain the sigh that escapes your lips, “Phai, the pillar is an inanimate object.”

He leans into your touch, you're certain he would've melted from it had it not been for the embers of his previous fury keeping his senses sharp, “So?”

You steer yourself away from face-palming, “So, I'm saying that you shouldn't make more of a scene than you've already had. I just want a peaceful evening with you, okay?”

He blankly stares at you for a moment, digesting each syllable. Only when the ‘with you’ reaches his ears does he seem to have sobered up. Phainon nods, taking your hand from his face to press a kiss on the scratch marring the skin. You notice his eyes straying, you would've missed it completely had you not been paying attention — a side-eye towards the fellow now scrambling away.

You've succeeded in preventing any major incident from occuring today, but your power in maintaining the consistency of this endeavor remains uncertain.

I tweaked the scenario a bit because it was funnier in my head orz but overprotective Phainon is so delicious, ty nonnie!