Work Text:
The lion doesn’t concern himself with 51.4 cm.
Not with the way the hips sway.
Not with the way pale skin contrasts with a pair of black gloves, painted with strange tattooed runes.
Not with the way—
"What are you doing?" Anaxagoras, the half-stranger and artisan next door, with long mint-green hair tied in a messy, hasty bun, peeks over his shoulder. He is in the middle of unpacking the china cups Mydeimos ordered weeks ago. His visible eye—the other hidden beneath a medical patch—a soft blend of rosy amber and sea-glass blue, impassively observes the scene. Mydeimos follows its trajectory.
—and finds a pair of hands snaking around a slim waist.
Those are his hands.
"..."
"You're so thin. Have you eaten?"
As if they're two actors standing in a well-timed skit, Anaxa's stomach growls right on cue.
"We baked dromas-shaped cookies today. How about you have your lunch at our diner?"
"...Sure."
A beat of silence.
"Excuse me, but can you please unhand my waist?"
The lion doesn’t concern himself with the awkwardness of two bipedal, hairless monkeys sitting stiffly across from one another on wooden chairs.
"How is it?"
Anaxa mutilates a small shrimp into three tragic pieces, swirls a modest amount of spaghetti around his fork, then puts it delicately into his small mouth.
The lion doesn’t concern himself with how the man eats—tiny portions, birdlike. Maybe that’s why everything about the man is tiny—
"It’s superb. Like usual, Mydeimos. Just as expected of our star chef."
(If you think you saw the corner of his lips quiver into a smile—no, you’re mistaken.)
"I'm honored you find it appetizing." Mydei nods, calmly sipping his coffee. Perfectly composed. He sets the cup gently onto the saucer. "Your work too—just as exquisite. I'm pleased with the cup's design."
It’s a bit too flowery for his taste. But his subordinates have been vomiting praise the moment they saw the cups. They’re perfect to balance the sharp edge of the minimalist interior, he quotes.
"Thank you." Anaxa smiles. A soft one—barely there. Yet still, mesmerizing.
And as if Mydei is the protagonist in a freshly unveiled romance tale, his heart skips a beat.
"By the way," Anaxa's gaze lingers on the deserted room, "it's unusual to see this place desolate. Isn’t this lunch rush hour?"
The answer lies in Mydei secretly flipping the open sign right before they entered the door.
"This happens sometimes."
"I see. For a moment I thought I brought bad luck. The diner’s always quiet every time I come here."
Mydei gives an alarmed look. Eyes trembling like earthquake. Stealthily, he signals a part-timer. She sees it and swiftly flips the signage. Immediately, a flood of starving office workers in suits spills through the door.
"Hm? What is it?"
"Oh." Anaxa blinks at the sudden rush. "Please pretend you didn't hear me."
"Sure." Mydei nods, quietly pleased with himself. But it doesn’t last long.
"CHEF, PLEASE HELP US! COME BACK TO THE KITCHEN NOW!"
The lion doesn’t concern himself with the absence of a certain 51.4 cm waist owner.
It’s been days, and the artisan workshop next door remains closed.
"Chef, I think we have enough coffee beans. You can stop ordering them."
Mydei blinks, returning to his senses. He refocuses on the screen in front of him. Too late. The beans are already purchased.
"This is for personal use."
"Twenty kilograms? All of it?"
"Yes."
Mydei quickly pivots to another topic. "By the way, have you heard anything about the artisan next door?" After all, Mydei knows that damned waist measurement thanks to this gossipy part-timer.
"Oh, that crush of yours?" Mydei glares. The part-timer doesn’t even flinch. "I heard he just underwent surgery."
Mydei freezes.
Her usual cheerfulness melts into a heavy stillness.
"I heard it's stage-four lymphatic cancer."
"It's a lipoma," Anaxa explains dryly. To Mydeimos. Who’s now standing inside his home on the second floor of the workshop. He lifts the sleeve of his oversized, semi-sleeveless shirt—to flaunt his smooth armpit, err—to show the minor stitches under his forearm. They still look fresh.
"There was talk it might be lymphatic cancer. But apparently, it’s just a non-cancerous lipoma. I don’t know how the rumor got that exaggerated, but I assure you—it’s nothing serious. By the way, can you hand me the gauze tape? I was in the middle of replacing it."
Mydei puts down a basket of fruit on the side table and hands over a fresh sheet of gauze.
"Thank you."
Mydei drops himself onto the edge of the bed. Relief seeps from his bones.
"Then... what about check-ups?"
"I’ll have one in a few days. Just to remove the stitches."
"Can I come too?"
Anaxa tilts his head. A teasing smile curls on his lips.
"Why?"
Why? Why indeed. At this point, denying it would be like hiding a black jaguar in the middle of a sunlit savannah.
"I want to build good rapport with you."
Anaxa’s smile deepens slightly.
"Why?"
"I want to be closer to you."
"As a friend?"
"More than a friend."
Anaxa chuckles, softly.
"I was going to accept your feelings if you were confessing. But sure—let’s build rapport first. Not a bad idea at all. That’s a gentleman for you."
Mydei stumbles. "Actually—"
Omake:
"Is it painful? Have you taken the painkiller?" Mydei nags. Opening the car door for his boyfriend. Anaxa steps out with a smile.
"Save the fuss. I’ve taken everything you gave me this morning. And oh, that dromas cupcake—can I have it again?"
Mydei places himself beside Anaxa, on the stitched side, shielding him from any wandering elbows or sprinting children. One such child runs too close, and Mydei instinctively places a hand on Anaxa’s waist.
"I’ll make as many as you want."
Anaxa slides his gaze to the towering man beside him. His tone stiff, eyes flicking across the hospital lobby. Hovering. Protective. Like a knight in pressed cotton.
A minuscule smile plays at Anaxa’s lips.
The lion is so bothered. A little bit too much. Just like usual.