Archive of Our Own ^beta

If someone had told Wise months ago that a flamboyant, poetry-spouting thief would become his boyfriend, he would’ve laughed...
Or more likely, frowned in quiet disapproval.

But here he was, taking a morning stroll through Sixth Street with the Phantom Thief Mockingbird, as if the blond-haired man wasn’t wanted by the entirety of Public Security.

Yet, it wasn’t just the legal complications that made the whole situation absurd.
They were also, by all accounts, complete opposites.

Hugo: charming, overdramatic, with a taste for theatrics and a voice always poised for a monologue.
He was a thief, yes, and one who claimed to steal from the corrupt to redistribute wealth like some Hollow-era Robin Hood.

But the irony?
He was part of that elite circle.
Owner of an art gallery, frequent guest at high-profile events, always brushing shoulders with the same social class he claimed to scorn.

Wise, on the other hand, was… no one special.
On paper, at least.

Just a quiet video store manager, running 'Random Play' with his sister and tinkering with outdated tech or malfunctioning Bangboos on the street.
Of course, under the surface, he was also Phaethon, the legendary Proxy guiding agents through Hollows with surgical precision.

But unlike Hugo, Wise didn’t wear his other life like a costume.
He kept it hidden. Controlled. Logical.

No wonder their characters clashed like incompatible code.
While they were both strategic, calculating, and deliberate—
They expressed those traits in radically different ways:

Wise made his moves to minimise risk, to protect what could be lost.
He would always map every step before taking it—
Would account for every outcome before taking action.
Would always have a plan B, C, and even D on hand...
Each designed to catch the fall if the one before it failed.

Hugo, by contrast, reveled in risk.
He would plot five steps ahead like a stage director—
But would never flinch from improvising.
He’d gamble his name, his life, just everything...
If it meant the ending played out just the way he envisioned it.

So when Hugo began pursuing him—relentlessly  and theatrically, like they were already in the second act of a romance drama...
It was only natural that Wise second-guessed every word, every flourish.

Everything the phantom thief did or said felt too deliberate—too constructed.
Like a role in a script Wise had never agreed to read, let alone play.

Wise could still remember how it all began—
Could still remember the first time Hugo had visited their store.

On that day, Hugo had mostly talked to Belle, while Wise had stayed in the back of the staff room, letting his sister deal with their sudden nightly visitor.
In the end, Hugo had rented every single videotape they had in stock—
like it had been some kind of joke only he was in on.

After his bold purchase, Wise had heard the soft shuffle of footsteps nearing the exit—
interrupted by a sudden thud, as if someone had walked straight into a shelf, followed by the dull clatter of a videotape hitting the floor.
Seconds later, he'd heard Hugo’s voice through the thin wall:
"You should have your brother put that back—since he's probably just hiding in the back doing nothing, right?"

And minutes later, after the bell above the door had given its cheerful chime—signaling Hugo had finally left—
Belle had returned to the staff room.

She’d held out a tape, eyes narrowed with faint amusement.
“You know, he’s right. Instead of hiding back here like a ghost, maybe you should do something.”

Wise had said nothing.
Had simply taken the tape instead of arguing.

But later, when he’d checked it for damage—more out of habit than suspicion—he’d noticed something unusual.
Tucked just inside the plastic case, nearly invisible unless you opened it fully, was a card.
Black cardstock. Gold ink. Calligraphic handwriting.

Two sentences:

"Every great heist begins with a well-timed entrance.
Consider this mine."
—Mockingbird

And it didn’t stop there.

Every visit, even after the events with the exalitist, would bring another card.
Sometimes they were cheeky compliments about Wise’s deadpan expression or the way he arched a brow when Hugo got too close.
Sometimes they were teasing observations, like how Wise’s ears turned just slightly pink when called 'darling,' even if he tried to hide it behind a sigh.
And sometimes… they were honest. Too honest.

Confessions of admiration, not just for Wise’s intellect or composure, but for his kindness.
For the way he still clung to his principles in a city that had long since stopped rewarding belief.
For how he could operate in moral grey, and yet still believe in good—
Still try to be good and be true to himself.

In Hugo’s words, Wise didn’t just naively believe in good—
He believed in it stubbornly, fully aware of how the world really worked.
He was brave enough to trust, even knowing he could always fall.
To Hugo, he was a rare gem in human form.

In the beginning, Wise had ignored the first few cards before starting to keep them in a drawer.
By the tenth card, he’d stopped pretending he wasn’t reading them twice.
And by the fifteenth, he’d started looking forward to them.

What had started as notes from a secret admirer—well, not really—slowly spiraled into weekly movie nights.
Hugo had kept coming back, renting more films, asking questions he already knew the answers to as he was a collector himself, after all.
And eventually, he'd started lingering just long enough to talk Wise into watching his newly rented videotapes with him in the back room.

At first, Wise had told himself it was harmless.
The films were rare, he could check them for damage, and the company was tolerable.
But that excuse had fallen apart fast.
Because no one—absolutely no one—sat through his favorite four-hour black-and-white arthouse film without complaining...
And would listen eagerly to his rants about it.

Not unless they had either the patience of a saint…
or a concerning level of interest in him.

And Hugo?
Hugo hadn’t complain once.

He'd asked questions, paid attention, even brought homemade snacks—
Small gestures that made it impossible not to feel something for the phantom thief.

And that had made everything just ultimately harder.

Because Wise was many things: controlled, cautious, and always calculating...
But even he wasn't immune to everything—
Especially not when Hugo leaned in too close during the quiet scenes, or casually remarked,
“No one’s ever made moral ambiguity look so heartbreakingly sincere.”

Belle, naturally, had noticed something was going on—
had noticed the small, telling changes in her brother himself.

After months of unresolved tension and 'just movie nights,' she had finally snapped.
“For the love of all things functional, Wise... Go fuck with him already! I’m tired of this sick little slow-burning theater. Either date him or exorcise that bat. I can’t take the emotional foreplay anymore.”

He'd wanted to argue. But she had already been out the door for a girls' night with Nicole and Anby—
Leaving him and Hugo alone with another quiet, slow-paced art film playing in the background.

Only that night, the scenes on screen hadn't been slow at all.

The scene burned low and slow—
full of lingering stares, breathless pauses, and the kind of touches that made the air feel heavier.
The kind of scene that filled a room with heat, whether you wanted it to or not.

And when Wise had glanced at Hugo, he'd found the thief already looking at him.

Not grinning. Not teasing.
Just looking, with something raw in his expression.

Then, one thing had led to another.

A kiss that had started too soft, turned too desperate.
Hands in hair. Backs arched against couch cushions. Breaths caught somewhere between film dialogue and the rustle of thrown-off clothes.

And suddenly, the kiss hadn't been enough.
Instead of extinguishing the fire, it had left the two of them with nothing between them but heat and want—
months of aching tension finally collapsing like a house of cards.

Wise remembered little after that—
only the heat, the weight, and the sound of his own moans breaking apart between the thief’s whispered confessions.

Fingers digging into bedsheets.
Breathless pleas muffled by kisses.
His name spilling from Hugo’s mouth like prayer and poetry in equal measure, as he poured out the feelings he held for the Proxy:

“You’re too good for this city.”
“You make me want to stop pretending.”
“I love your silence. It says more than my loudest speech.”
“I love you, Wise.”

Each word poured into him with every movement—
Until Wise could only cry out in pleasure, undone beneath Hugo’s touch, tears streaking his flushed cheeks as his voice cracked between confessions of need.
Every sound he had made had been raw and honest, answering Hugo without logic, without thought—just need.

The next morning, of course, reality had resumed.
And it had come crashing down fast.

Wise, still flushed and clearly overwhelmed, absolutely refusing to meet Hugo’s eyes.
He had offered no reaction whatsoever to the thief’s soft-spoken, post-night-of-passion sweet nothings.
Not a word. Not a hum. Nothing.
Just that frozen, deer-in-headlights silence that screamed: “I am processing and mildly panicking.”

Hugo, naturally, had responded with mischief.
He had sat up with theatrical ease, then let out a gasp so dramatic it echoed before grabbing the bedsheet like a scandalised noblewoman in a soap opera—
clutching it to his chest like some maiden caught in sin.

With a teasing lilt in his voice and wide, faux-innocent eyes, he had declared:
“I didn’t take you for a player, Wise.”

That had been it.
That single ridiculous and unfair line had been enough to obliterate any lingering hesitation.

And in true Hugo fashion, before Wise had even started forming a sentence that resembled a defense, he had been hit with:
“I like you and you like me, and if you're not a player... Then let me have your heart and body.”

Just like that, Wise suddenly had a boyfriend.
A thief. A wanted criminal. A walking disaster disguised behind the charming smile of a harmless gentleman.

And Hugo, of course, had smiled like he’d just pulled off the greatest heist of his career...
Because in a way, he had—
He had stolen the legendary Proxy Phaethon’s heart.

Back in the present, morning sun casting long shadows on the pavement, they walked side by side through Sixth Street like any other pair of early risers.
Hugo was currently talking about his next 'project', a word he used to soften the truth of a heist—
To him, these weren’t just simple robberies; they were missions with purpose.

And, as always, he never missed the opportunity to drop a hint mid-story.
A theatrical sigh, a lingering glance, a murmured:
“Of course, it would all go smoother if my darling would finally agree to join me on one of these little adventures…”

Wise, in response, made a noncommittal noise. He didn’t even have the energy to fully argue anymore.
Besides, they both knew the truth: he was clearly not cut out for this level of activity.

Still, their shoulders brushed now and then as they walked. Casual. Familiar. Nice.

But Wise wasn’t really listening to the heist details anymore, as he was too busy staring at Hugo’s lips...
Or more accurately, at what was currently in his mouth:

A bonbon.
The glossy wrapper now tucked into his pocket.
The candy slowly rolling between his teeth and tongue.

And as he watched, Wise couldn’t help but think:
“That’s… new.”

Well, not entirely new. For weeks now, he had noticed things—
Subtle things.

Hugo with a candy on his tongue during their dates, or popping something into his mouth right after a long mission—
something other than his usual chocolate coins, those coins that always made Wise constantly guess whether they were meant to be snacks or ammunition.

No, instead, he always had something else now.

And Wise couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off—
Like watching a magician pull out a prop he hadn’t practiced with.

He still remembered their first movie night...
And how Hugo had let slip that he didn’t like sweets.

Wise had been caught off guard at that revelation, because up until then, he’d been so sure Hugo had a raging sweet tooth.

That night, they’d been watching Children of the Devils, a show about a man taking revenge on his father, who had turned him into a vampire. It was a show Hugo had wanted to watch with Wise, even having prepared a tin of self-baked cookies that were clearly on the far more sweeter side—
And his overly sweet tea, which Wise had nearly choked on when he got offered a sip.

The film had begun in a storm of noise—screams, shouts, and the pounding score of vengeance—and had ended in silence, the only sound in the room the soft whir of the video recorder.

And that was when Hugo had spoken up about his medical condition.
“Due to my hypoglycemia,” he'd said, his eyes still fixed on the fading credits. “I always carry some kind of sweet with me. Though... I don't like eating sweet things at all.”

Wise hadn’t responded. He hadn’t known how to.

So Hugo kept talking.
A little too light. A little too rehearsed.
“I once ate the favorite dessert of a certain ‘brother’ of mine…” He then gave a small, almost imperceptible shrug. “Once he found out, he made me eat an entire tableful of cakes. Kept going until I got nauseous.”

Wise had flinched. Hugo hadn’t, continuing his little monologue.
“Whenever I put something sweet in my mouth, I'll relive the fear, humiliation, and anger of that day.”

He paused for a beat. Then smiled—
Not out of joy, but because it was easier than silence.

“I used to love chocolate too. But since that day…”

A breath.
A shift in tone.
A voice full of sorrow as he said his last sentence:

“Even chocolate has become like an instrument of torture in my mind.”

And with these words, he had ended his monologue—
Words Wise hadn't forgotten. Not for a second

Even after Hugo had reassured him with: "It’s fine now. I’ve moved past it.”—
Wise had never quite believed it. Not fully.

Because he could see it.

He could see the way Hugo used to chew his chocolate coins with just a touch too much detachment—
Could see the flicker of discomfort in his eyes, subtle but unmistakable.
Could see the way he drank his black tea, scalding hot and sickeningly sweet with honey.
As if forcing the sugar down quickly might keep it from touching anything that mattered.

And yet, here they were.
Shoulder to shoulder on a sleepy morning street, Hugo calmly rolling a bonbon on his tongue,
and happily humming as if there wasn’t something in his mouth he’d usually call akin to a torture device.

So Wise couldn't help but stare at his boyfriend—
his charming, infuriating, impossible boyfriend.

It didn’t look like endurance. It looked… comfortable—
Like it was actually something enjoyable to eat for him.

And that’s what threw him off.

Wise hadn't even realised Hugo had long stopped talking until the silence pulled tight between them—
a sudden shift in the air, like a thread being gently reeled in.

Hugo was looking at him.
Still walking in stride beside him, hands casually in his pockets, but his gaze had clearly settled on Wise.
“I’m a little sad you’re not paying attention to the conversation, my dear,” he said, his voice syrupy smooth.

Then, with a grin that curved just a little too knowingly, he added,
“Or... is my appearance capturing your attention more than what I said?”

Wise immediately snapped back to the present, heat flooding his cheeks, his voice stumbling with embarrassment..
“No—I wasn’t—I mean, I was—just—thinking.”

Which wasn’t a lie.
But it wasn’t exactly the truth either.

Hugo chuckled lowly, the sound vibrating through the quiet like a plucked string.
“No need to be shy,” he murmured, his voice dipping into something softer, yet also possessive. “This mockingbird is truly yours… as much as you are mine, I hope.”

The tone made Wise shudder—just a little.
Not from fear. But from feeling.

And still, his eyes drifted back to Hugo’s lips.
His brain was still trying to make sense of the confusion, because this was new.

The relaxed set of his shoulders, even while eating something sweet.
The way his mouth moved slowly and unhurried, like he was savoring it.
This slight, almost invisible flicker of enjoyment—
Something more than tolerance. Something that felt almost indulgent.

It didn’t make sense at all.

Then again, Hugo’s actions rarely did—
At least not on first glance.

Everything about him was layered, a careful balance between play and sincerity. He spoke in riddles and smiled in half-truths, dancing between personas like he was born for the stage.
It had taken Wise months—maybe longer—to learn how to read him.

To tell the difference between a provoking smirk and one that hid something deeper.
To differentiate between a flirtation and a confession.
To see the man underneath those countless masks.

Yet even now—even after all that time—Hugo still found new ways to surprise him.

Because this little change didn’t match any pattern Wise knew. And that nagged at him.
Not because he didn’t want Hugo to enjoy sweets—
Of course he did. Wise wanted that more than anything.
Wanted him to reclaim that piece of his life. Wanted him to be okay.

But Hugo was a master of hiding, and if there was one thing he knew how to fake... It was comfort.
And if Wise couldn’t tell this time, then what else had he missed?

He glanced at him again—
trying to read the angle of his jaw, the lazy rhythm of his walk, the relaxed way he rolled the candy around in his mouth.
Not performative. Not forced. But also unfamiliar.

And just as his thoughts began to spiral, Hugo casually turned his head, perfectly timed to catch Wise mid-gaze—
The younger lover clearly very much lost in thought.

Then, Hugo smiled.
Wide. Teasing. A flash of sugar between his teeth.

“You’re definitely staring now,” he said, eyes glittering.
“Tell me, darling—are you simply mesmerised by the movement of my jaw, or silently begging for a kiss?”

Wise flushed again, but didn’t look away this time.
Instead, he cleared his throat, searching for an anchor in the storm of his thoughts.
“Th… the candy…” he started, voice wobbling just slightly. “Is it good?”

Hugo tilted his head at him, his grin slowly stretching into a knowing smirk—
One that made Wise immediately regret every decision leading up to this moment.

“Curious, are we?” Hugo asked, drawing the words out like a slow pour of honey.

And then, with that practiced flourish of mischief, he slid a hand into his coat and pulled out a darkly colored wrapper.
He held it up between two fingers, the metallic edge of the wrapper catching the morning light.

“You want one?”

Wise stared at the small thing as if it were some kind of enchanted relic—
stared, because it was one of the few sweets Hugo genuinely seemed to enjoy.
Not just tolerate. Not just take for blood sugar. But genuinely liked.

And that alone made Wise hesitate.

Would it be wrong to accept something like that?
Something Hugo had so few of?
Something that felt sacred, in a strange and subtle way?

He barely had time to decide.

Because Hugo relaxedly tucked the candy back into his pocket, before stepping forward and catching Wise by the wrist in one fluid motion.
Wise didn’t even have time to blink before he was gently pulled into Hugo’s chest.

And then—
Hugo kissed him.

It was the kind of kiss that stole breath before thought.
Confident. Playful. Entirely him.

But this time, there was something else.

A second later, Wise felt the soft pressure of Hugo’s tongue at his lips—
a silent request that sent a shiver down his spine.
He then gasped, instinctively parting his mouth and allowing Hugo in.

As the thief pulled him into an open-mouthed kiss, the bonbon slipped between them—
carried on a wave of warmth and slow sweetness, melting like silk between their tongues.

And while the kiss may have caught him off guard, the taste hit just as fast:

It was bold and bitter at first, like espresso pulled long and dark.
Then it softened, turned rich and roasted, with a whisper of burnt sugar and cream.
Hints of cocoa and spice lingered as the kiss deepened, the flavor reminding Wise of coffee sipped just before sunrise.

Wise’s head spun.

By the time Hugo pulled back, the candy had found a new home—
now settled on Wise’s tongue, still warm from the thief’s mouth.

Hugo’s eyes sparkled with satisfaction. His voice dipped low, teasing.
“You tell me,” he murmured, brushing his thumb against Wise’s chin. “Is the taste good?”

Wise could barely form words, was too stunned by the sheer intimacy of it.

And then, as if nothing had happened, Hugo reached back into his pocket, unwrapped the same candy he’d teased earlier, and popped it into his mouth with a pleased hum.

Wise stared, still tasting the roasted coffee and the dizzying warmth of the moment.
He blinked, trying to clear the fog from his mind.
“You… you could’ve just given me the candy,” he finally managed to mutter, the words clumsy and scattered.

Hugo just shrugged, all smug serenity.
“Where’s the fun in that?” he asked, tone light, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Besides, I wanted to see your cute blushing face.”

Wise flushed again, lips pressing together in a weak attempt to hide his reaction.

Hugo’s gaze drifted to the pavement behind Wise, one brow arching.
“Should I buy you another coffee?”

When those words left his lover’s mouth, Wise followed his line of sight…
Only then did he notice the paper cup that had once been in his hand—
now lying on its side, lid popped off, slowly leaking the last of its contents onto the sidewalk as it rocked lazily back and forth.

It must’ve slipped when Hugo pulled him in.

He sighed.
“No need,” he said, shooting Hugo a dry look. “Thanks to you, I’ve got coffee in my mouth.”

Wise gave the candy a small roll on his tongue, mumbling around the lingering sweetness,
“It actually tastes a bit like the coffee I just drank…”

Hugo grinned around his own candy, his voice velvet-smooth as he leaned just slightly closer.
“Oh really?” he murmured. “Hopefully, you’ll always think of me when a cup of coffee touches your lips.”

Wise choked on his breath and very nearly on the candy too.
“Y-You’re impossible,” he spluttered, turning his face away, ears burning.

Hugo let out a low chuckle, utterly pleased with himself and his younger lover's reaction.
“Impossible? I’d say I’m just deeply enchanted.”

He then stepped closer, lowering his voice just enough to make Wise's heart pound at a dangerous fast pace.
“In fact, I'm so enchanted that I’d steal any chance I get for a taste of you. And if that means planting myself in every corner of your mind, so be it.”

Wise muttered something under his breath, barely louder than the rustle of the city wind, but Hugo caught it anyway.
“You’ve already taken every space in my mind, you thieving thief…”

Hugo’s smile softened, eyes gleaming as he leaned in to press a much gentler kiss to Wise’s lips—
The fleeting kiss was short, tender, and entirely different from the searing, coffee-flavored one from moments ago.

Then he pulled back, sighing with theatrical flair before rolling his eyes as if the next words physically pained him.
“Alas, as much as I’d love to stand here and bask in the glow of your adorable humiliation, duty calls. I have an appointment with a client at the gallery. Some egotistical nouveau-riche who thinks owning a piece of art is the same as understanding it.” 

Wise, still doing his best not to combust on the spot, managed a vague, noncommittal hum.

In response to his less-than-engaging reply, Hugo merely tilted his head, studying him like a particularly expressive painting.
“No need to be embarrassed, my dear. I love you even if you look like a tomato.” He paused thoughtfully, then grinned.
“No—more like a traffic light, actually. Bright red and glowing. Though I must admit, I don’t like the idea of traffic stopping just to stare at your beauty…”

His voice then dipped lower, soft and almost purring.
“That privilege should belong to me alone. Be it from my heartfelt compliments…” his thumb brushed lightly against Wise’s cheek,
“...Or when we’re in bed—when you’re glowing and breathless and screaming my name.”

Wise nearly exploded on the spot.

“H-HUGO—!”

“See?” Hugo winked. “Exactly like that.”

And with those parting words, he turned on his heel—
coat flaring dramatically behind him like the curtain falling on the final act of a very smug performance.

Just like that, he was gone.

Wise stood there a moment longer, red to the tips of his ears, heart pounding wildly in his chest.

It was ridiculous—absolutely ridiculous—how easily Hugo could fluster him, even now.
Even after all the hours spent together, all the movie nights, all the stolen kisses and slow mornings.
Even months into their relationship, his body still reacted like some lovesick teenager whenever Hugo leaned in too close or whispered something he had no business saying with that much confidence.

That part, Wise suspected, wasn’t changing anytime soon.

He sighed and adjusted his jacket just as a breeze picked up, tugging lightly at the hem.
The wind cooled his cheeks, a sharp contrast to the warmth still lingering on his lips.
It was dark, rich, and slightly bitter...
Yet sweet, toasted, and strangely comforting all the same.

Coffee.

It was a taste Wise had long associated with mornings after only three hours of sleep—
A taste that came with clarity, the kind that settled in slowly as his mind shook off the haze.
A taste meant to be savored, not gulped.

And somehow, it was a taste Hugo had actually enjoyed, despite the sweetness.

Not merely tolerated.
Not forced down with that faint, familiar tightening of his jaw.
But truly liked. Maybe even... indulged in.

So, naturally, Wise couldn't help himself and asked.
"Are there sweets he actually likes?"

It was a question that had actually haunted him ever since their first movie night.

Wise had really tried his best not to fixate on it—
Had tried to trust Hugo’s casual, “I’m fine now.”
Tried to believe he’d overcome it, managed it, moved on.

But Wise had always seen through the cracks.
The wince. The hesitation. The subtle flinch when anything too sugary passed his lips.

Except this time.
Except this morning.
Except for that bonbon.

Wise then thought back—
back to the past few weeks, to moments when Hugo had pulled out a variety of sweets:
soft chews, hard candies, some wrapped in delicate floral paper, others in glossy, single-colored foil.

He’d eaten them, yes.
No grimace. No outright rejection.
But no real enjoyment either.

He hadn’t smiled when the sweetness had hit his tongue—
Hadn’t savored them the way he had this one.

So what made this one different?
What made this so special?

And Wise...
Wise didn’t know the answer to that.

But he wanted to.

Not just because of curiosity.
Not just because he was the kind of person who needed to make sense of the things that didn’t add up.
No.

It was because Hugo had to live with this.
Because every time his blood sugar dipped, he had to choose between feeling physically okay and emotionally miserable.
Because something that should be a comfort had been turned into a weapon.
And Wise hated that. Absolutely hated it.

So if there was even a chance he could help change that—
That he could help Hugo reclaim a little pleasure in something so small and necessary...
Then he would do everything he could to find out what made the difference.

The following week became a quiet study in subtlety.

Every morning walk, every evening stroll—
Wise paid closer attention than ever.
He watched what Hugo brought, what he slipped into his mouth, and more importantly, how his expression changed in response:

Sometimes it was just the twitch of a muscle.
Sometimes, the faintest crease near the corner of his mouth.
And sometimes, no reaction at all.

Even so, Wise noticed a pattern—
Noticed that Hugo’s sweet choices weren't random.

The coffee candies were handled with calm, almost indulgent ease.
The ever-present thermos of overly sweet tea wasn’t exactly loved, but it didn’t draw any visible discomfort either.
And then, on rare occasions, Hugo would still pull out one of his old chocolate coins—
But every time, Wise noticed the same thing: a flash of distaste, brief and barely there, gone in a blink beneath his usual poker face.

Piecing it together, Wise thought,
"Maybe he likes aromatic sweets."

The teas had always been very aromatic.
The coffee candies carried a deep, rich fragrance.
Even the chocolate coins had a lingering aroma—
Though clearly, they were no longer pleasing to his tongue.

And so, Wise began to suspect:
"He might like complexity. Something with depth. Something fragrant yet with a little bite."

Which was how he found himself standing in front of the candy aisle at 141 Convenience Store on a quiet afternoon, eyes scanning the colorful packaging...
Until something soft green caught his attention.

Matcha candies.

Not the creamy kind, but firm, traditional drops—
fragrant with powdered tea, faintly bitter beneath the sweetness.

Wise hesitated only for a moment, recalling the patterns he’d been tracking—
Over the past week, he’d found himself reaching for Hugo’s tea instead of turning it down.
Now, each offered cup was something he would accept with quiet curiosity...
Even if it meant risking a sugar shock.

And through that, he’d noticed:
The flowery blends tended to land on the more bearable side of Hugo’s scale, but the fruity teas often made his brow twitch, just slightly.
Yet nothing seemed to calm Hugo more than a warm cup of strong black tea. The quiet edge of bitterness grounded him.
And matcha… matcha had that. Fragrance, bitterness, but also the sweetness his body needed.

With a quiet nod to himself, Wise plucked the small green packet off the shelf.

By the time he reached the counter, the rabbit-shaped roboter had stirred from its nap, floppy ears twitching as it woke up.
The bangboo then blinked up at him, before chirping a cheerful,
“Enh-nha?” (Is that all?)

Wise gave a small smile, trying his best to hide the weight in his chest.
"I hope this won’t be all Hugo can enjoy," he thought.

The next evening, the two of them walked side by side through Lumina Square.
The night lights glittered in brilliant, shifting colors—
reflections dancing off polished pavement like fallen stars.

At this hour, the busy streets felt more like a dream than a city.
It was the kind of shimmer that made you believe anything was possible under artificial starlight.

Maybe that’s why Hugo was, once again, talking about his next heist.

“It’s not too elaborate,” he claimed, hands moving dramatically in the air. “Just a teensy bit of surveillance sabotage, one hover-rooftop jump, and possibly bribing a PubSec Officer. And of course, it would all be far more charming if my darling were by my side.”

Wise sighed, arms crossed, though the corner of his mouth twitched.
“I’m already on PubSec’s wanted list just for being a Proxy. I don’t need to climb higher by joining a notorious phantom thief syndicate.”

Hugo chuckled before taking a leisurely sip from the tea he’d been holding.
The steam curled softly around his face, catching the greenish-gold glow of a passing holo-sign.

“What flavour is it this time?” Wise asked, half-expecting the usual offer of a sip.

But instead of offering the thermos, Hugo turned towards him with a mischievous glint in his eye and leaned in for a kiss—
A soft and deep kiss that left Wise no time to react and gave him a taste of what Hugo had been consuming this whole evening:

The same overwhelming sweetness as always, but underneath that… something else.
Light. Grassy. Slightly bitter.

When Hugo pulled back, lips still hovering close, he murmured with a teasing lilt,
“You tell me, my darling. What did you taste on my lips?”

Wise stared at him, dazed, lips tingling.
“Something… herbal. A little bitter...,” he murmured. “Like Green tea.”

His thoughts then jumped immediately to the small green packet in his jacket—
The traditional matcha drops he’d picked up the day before. His fingers twitched slightly, brushing the crinkled wrapper like they already knew what to do.
“It kind of tastes like those sweets Belle bought the other day,” Wise eventually said, voice casual, “the ones she didn’t like.”

Hugo tilted his head, curious. “Do you like them?”

Wise shrugged, already reaching into his pocket.
“I think they’re kinda nice,” he said. “But to be honest, when it comes to candy, I just eat whatever Belle doesn’t like.”

The sound of the wrapper crinkling was quiet under the soft noise of Lumina Square around them.
And as he was just about to unwrap the candy to try it himself, Hugo leaned in again—
eyes half-lidded, lips parted, focus clearly on the little green candy in his younger lover's hands.

“Well then,” Hugo said, voice low and amused, “how about you put it in my mouth instead?”

Wise blinked, momentarily startled—hesitated.

He hadn’t expected Hugo to be so receptive—
Hadn’t expected curiosity instead of reluctance.
Hadn’t expected quiet willingness in place of a forced smile.

There was no sarcasm on the thief’s face, not even a playful smirk.
And suddenly, something warm bloomed in Wise’s chest.

“Alright,” he murmured, and gently placed the candy on Hugo’s tongue, eyes watching him closely.

Hugo slowly closed his eyes as he began to roll the matcha drop across his tongue.
His jaw shifted slightly in thought, a soft and uncertain hum slipping past his lips.
“It kind of tastes like the tea,” he eventually mumbled, voice low.

Wise studied him carefully.
The subtle crease in his brow. The way his shoulders didn't fully relax.
He wasn’t grimacing, no....
But there was no spark either. No pleasure in his expression.

It was… tolerable. Bearable at best—
Just like the rest.

Wise sighed softly, something sinking low in his chest.
Without thinking, he then reached out—hand open, palm up.

“You can spit it out,” he said gently. “You don’t have to force yourself.”

Hugo’s eyes opened slowly, lashes casting long shadows across his cheekbones as he looked at him.
There was no mockery in his face—
only that quiet, thoughtful intensity that always made Wise feel like the world had narrowed to just the two of them.

“You truly are the only one who can read me like an open book,” Hugo murmured, voice softening. “No matter how hard I try to hide it…”

He then reached for Wise’s outstretched hand as he continued, his tone dipping into something almost wistful.
“Or maybe I don’t want to hide it. Maybe some part of me hopes you’ll see it all. Every part of me.”

And instead of spitting out the candy, Hugo decided to lift Wise’s hand to his lips, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to his knuckles—
gaze never leaving Wise’s face, thumb brushing lightly across his palm.

“And yet,” Hugo continued, his thumb still tracing slow and thoughtful circles against Wise’s palm, “I’m going to decline your offer.”

Wise blinked, confused, but said nothing.

Hugo’s voice remained soft, intimate.
“I want to know you, too. All of you. Even the parts I haven’t tasted yet. The flavours that have passed your lips. I want to understand them. To understand you.”

His gaze didn’t waver, still steady and warm.
But now, there was something much deeper behind it—
something quieter than his usual charm, and louder than his rare glimpses of vulnerability.

“I’ll endure this bittersweet taste,” Hugo said with a faint, earnest smile, “if it means tasting something you enjoy… even if it’s only the ghost of what lingered on your lips the day before.”

Wise’s mouth opened, but nothing came out right away.
His heart was pounding loudly in his chest.

There were still so many things he didn’t understand about Hugo.
So many shadows. So many masks.
So wasn’t it almost laughable that the Phantom Thief Mockingbird, a man built on illusion and secrecy, spoke of Wise as if he were a riddle—
something complicated, intricate, and hard to decipher?

“You talk like I’m some great mystery,” he eventually muttered, brow furrowing slightly as he glanced up.
“Are you mocking me again?”

Hugo’s expression shifted at once—
his lips parted, and something almost like hurt flickered across his face.

“I would never,” he said sincerely.
“Mocking you? You? My darling? Absolutely not! Every word I spoke was the truth. You must know that.”

Wise sighed, already regretting the question.
“I do. I know. I didn’t mean it like that.”

He then looked away, watching the soft glow of Lumina Square’s neon reflections shimmer against the slick pavement.
“I just meant… as much as you say I see through you… I think you do the same to me. Sometimes even better.”

A pause.
And then—

“Even if you do use that knowledge to turn me into a stammering, red-faced wreck at every opportunity.”

Hugo let out a delighted little laugh and, without missing a beat, leaned in to press a quick kiss against Wise’s cheek.
Wise tensed instinctively, caught off guard by the sudden affection.

“That,” Hugo murmured near his ear, voice rich with fond amusement, “is my favorite pastime.”

Then continued, quieter and far more wicked—
“Well, next to making you cry in bed.”

Wise froze, color rushing to his face so fast it felt like steam might’ve come out of his ears.
“H-Hugo! Would you stop saying things like that out in public?! What if someone heard that?!?”

But Hugo only looked pleased with himself, mismatched eyes gleaming with mischief.
“Oh, I hope they did,” he said, utterly unrepentant. “Let the world know how adored you are.”

Wise groaned, burying his face in his hands.
“You’re the worst.”

Hugo just chuckled low in his throat, then leaned in again, his breath warm against Wise’s ear.
“Still so adorably innocent, even now. You’d represent the Mockingbird perfectly… Are you sure you won’t reconsider joining me?”

Wise let out a muffled, strangled noise behind his hands.
“You say that every time we meet. At this point, I’m convinced it’s just a running joke.”

“I’m always serious,” Hugo replied smoothly, the grin unmistakable on both his face and in his voice.
“It’s just that I always want to be near you. As much as possible.”

Those last words made Wise feel charmed all over again—
Sometimes, he really hated how easily his boyfriend could win him over.

“You know,” Hugo mused, lightly swirling the candy in his mouth, “I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m more of a bat than a bird.”

Wise blinked.
“A bat?”

“Mhm,” Hugo hummed, nodding with exaggerated solemnity.
“Living in the dark. Misunderstood. Surrounded by bizarre myths—like blood-sucking, attacking people…”

Wise rolled his eyes and groaned.
“You are not helping your case. You sound exactly like the vampire allegations people keep throwing at you.”

“And I’m not denying them either,” Hugo said, now fully grinning, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

“If I were a vampire, though…” He murmured, his voice dipping into that slow and sinfully smooth tone he always used when he wanted to make Wise flustered, a sound that never failed to crawl straight down his spine. “…you’d be the first one I’d bite. Actually, you’d be the only one I’d bite.”

Wise choked on his breath.

Hugo then tilted his head ever so slightly, eyes still fixed on his younger lover.
“And hopefully, you’d turn into one too. So we could live together forever.”

Wise buried his face in his hands with a groan.
“You’re insufferable.”

“Am I?” Hugo’s tone turned sly.
“Then perhaps we should test my theory. Maybe I should have a bite of you. I’m certain you’d taste far better than what I have in my mouth right now.”

But before Wise could respond, Hugo's face was already drifting closer.

And Wise couldn’t help it—
His eyes immediately dropped to Hugo’s mouth.
The slow, closing distance.
The faint shift of the candy glinting on his tongue.
The parting of lips as he tucked it to the side.

And just like that, it hit him again—
That flicker of disappointment.
That quiet, persistent ache blooming in the corner of his chest.
Once again, that same stubborn thought:

"Are those really the only ones he can enjoy…?"

He didn’t want to believe that.
Didn’t want Hugo’s options to be limited to a few overly sweet teas and bearable candies.
He deserved more than that.
He deserved joy.
He deserved choice and freedom—
Even in something as small as candy.

That thought clung to Wise like a weight in his chest.

So when he blinked and realised Hugo was almost close enough to kiss him, the emotion hadn't faded—
It had only settled deeper.

And before he could stop himself, Wise leaned in—
pressing their mouths together in a warm and open kiss, tongue slipping in just enough to steal the matcha drop from Hugo’s mouth.

When they parted, Hugo inhaled sharply, eyes wide with faux scandal.
“Since when did my darling become so bold? Stealing from the infamous Mockingbird himself?”

Wise only rolled his eyes, letting the bittersweet taste linger.
His breath was still a little uneven, his gaze half-lidded as he tried to steady himself—
still feeling a little dazed, even though he’d been the one to start it.

Hugo, on the other hand, was already slipping back into his usual rhythm as if nothing had happened—
His voice rich with amusement, praise, and that ever-persistent charm.

“You’d fit perfectly into Mockingbird, you know,” he murmured, a wide grin playing on his lips.
“Quick hands, quicker thinking. You’d be wasted outside a life of glorious crime. Just imagine the two of us—”

And just like that, he was off again—
Lost in one of his signature monologues, drifting between outrageous flattery and half-serious invitations to join him.

Wise let him talk, Hugo's voice slowly fading into a pleasant hum at the edge of his awareness.
The candy rolled lazily on his tongue, its slightly bitter matcha grounding him—
cutting through the warmth of the kiss still clinging to his lips.

And with it the thought slipped back in, quiet but persistent:
"Are there other candies he could enjoy?"

The days bled together, each one slipping into the next like watercolours run through rain.

Wise kept watching.

Quietly, patiently, sometimes clumsily—
But always with intention, would offer a candy here and there, and each time with the same practiced line:
“Belle wanted to try this one but didn’t like it.”

Matcha. Earl Grey. Black sesame.
Complex flavors with subtle bitterness and earthy notes—
Some of those candies felt more like tea than dessert...

And none of them cut it.

Every reaction from Hugo was either stoic, mildly perplexed, or completely unenthused.
Not a spark of joy. Not even a raised brow of curiosity.
Just indifference.

And every time, Wise’s chest sank a little more.

He kept thinking about the way Hugo lit up when talking about his art.
The heat in his kisses.
The smug tilt of his grin when a coffee candy sat between his teeth.

And then he’d compare it to the quiet slump of Hugo’s shoulders whenever he tried a new candy—
One Wise had picked, hoping it might be the one he’d actually enjoy. It just felt… sad.
Like something that could’ve brought joy had been reduced to a dull, flavorless routine.

Wise wanted to give him more.
Not just something to tolerate, but something to enjoy.

He even tried a caramel-coffee fusion candy, hoping the mix might somehow spark that rare flicker of delight he’d seen once.

But Hugo had only blinked and said,
“It was confusing. Like someone who orders coffee, then drowns it in caramel because they can’t stand the taste or aroma.”

He hadn’t spat it out, of course—
Just let it sit on his tongue with that faint, tight look he always got when something didn’t quite agree with him.
And then he’d sighed, letting it dissolve without another word.

That night, Wise had stared at the crumpled wrapper long after Hugo had left.
He almost wanted to give up.

And then, one evening, something changed.

Wise was restocking the cult classics shelf when he heard the familiar chime of the store’s front door.
It was late, already past closing time, but he didn’t need to look up to know who it was.

Still, when he turned around, he froze.
Hugo stood just inside the entrance, a lollipop stick tucked between his lips. The glossy candy caught the warm overhead light, casting a faint, sticky sheen across his smirk.

Wise stared.

His feet stopped mid-step. His eyes locked onto the candy.
“…Is that… new?” he asked before he could stop himself, already hearing how absurd it sounded.

Hugo, of course, looked delighted.

“Don’t tell me you’re jealous of a lollipop, darling,” he purred, drawing it out slowly between two fingers, his tongue brushing over the candy in a deliberately slow swirl.
“Should I be worried my dear thinks he’s been replaced by a piece of sugar?”

Wise flushed to the tips of his ears.
“I am not jealous. That’s—! That’s not the case.”

Hugo stepped closer, his shoes tapping softly against the wooden floor.
There was something feline in the way he moved, like a cat stalking a target it already knew it would catch.
“That’s a pity. If I were you, I’d be furious. I’d reclaim my place immediately if anything else dared to touch these lips.”

He then pulled the lollipop from his mouth with exaggerated slowness, the candy leaving his lips with a quiet pop.
His eyes never left Wise’s—
Not for a second.

And just like that—
Step by step. Breath by breath.
The phantom thief closed the distance until he was close enough to lean in.

Lips brushing Wise’s.
Soft. Gentle. Brief.

But enough for Wise to taste it: sticky, candy-sweet, clinging to his mouth like a secret.

And Wise could only blink, heat blooming somewhere behind his ribs.
Yet, even through the haze of teasing and quiet panic, another part of him stayed laser-focused and realised—

That lollipop…
It wasn’t bittersweet.

It was sweet. Really sweet—
Maybe even fruity.
Maybe it was cherry.
Maybe... something close to blackberry?

And Hugo wasn’t grimacing.
Wasn’t spitting it out. Wasn’t even complaining.
He was eating it. Actually enjoying it.

Wise’s heart skipped at the realisation—
A flicker of hope sparking behind the heat in his chest, while a dozen questions lined up in his mind like firecrackers on a fuse.

“…So… what kind of candy is that?” he asked, voice low as he pulled back from the kiss.

In response, Hugo gasped, one hand flying to his chest in theatrical offence as if the very question had pierced him through the heart.
“You wound me, my darling. I come all this way to see you, and you’re more captivated by the candy in my mouth than me? Truly, what is our relationship coming to?”

Wise rolled his eyes, though a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips.
He leaned in again, closing the short distance between them, arms slipping lazily around Hugo’s neck until their foreheads nearly touched.
“Can you, for one minute, not be unnecessarily jealous of something or anything stealing your spotlight?”

“Never,” Hugo said without even blinking, his grin quick and unapologetic.
“Especially not when it comes to your attention. I want every drop of it. Even if I have to fight a lollipop for it.”

Wise arched a brow.
“If that’s true, then why do you keep insisting on at least one movie night a month? That’s two full hours where I’m looking at a screen instead of your ridiculous face.”

Hugo chuckled low and warm, before plucking the lollipop from his mouth and—without warning—pressing it to Wise’s lips.

Wise blinked as the sweet, fruity taste hit his tongue—
Definitely not cherry, more like...

“Because I know how much you love them, my dear,” Hugo said, his voice softening in that rare way that always caught Wise off guard—effectively interrupting his thoughts.

Then, as if nothing had happened, he turned and headed up the stairs toward Wise’s room.

Halfway up the stairs, Belle appeared, shuffling down as she rubbed sleep from her eyes—
clearly on the hunt for more coffee.

Hugo offered a soft greeting as they crossed paths,
“Evening, Belle,”

In return, she gave him a faint nod, barely glancing his way before continuing her descent.
By the time she reached the bottom, Hugo had already vanished upstairs.

She then caught the frozen expression on her brother's face—
the faint line between his brows, and also the way he seemed to be drilling a hole into the staircase with his eyes.
“You’re staring at the stairs like they personally insulted you,” Belle muttered, her voice raspy with sleep. “Aren’t you going to follow Hugo?”

Wise blinked, pulled out of his thoughts just as she stopped beside him.
But before he could answer, Belle’s gaze dropped to the lollipop in his mouth. She squinted.
“What flavor is that?”

Wise paused, tasting again before murmuring,
“... Grape.”

Belle immediately made a face when she heard his answer.
“Ugh. Grape is the worst. They always taste like medicine. Strawberry and cherry are the only good ones.”

And with that, she padded past him, radiating the single-minded determination of someone about to get a coffee strong enough to resurrect the dead.

Wise, on the other hand, lingered there a moment longer.
"... Grape."

He let the taste settle, really focused on it—
focused on the deep, artificial sweetness with a faint tart edge, seemingly clinging stubbornly to the roof of his mouth.

It wasn't earthy or complex like black tea.
It wasn't even anything like the bitterness of coffee.
And it didn’t fit—
Not the pattern he thought he’d been piecing together.

Hugo’s preferred teas were bitter or at least rich in aroma; the coffee candy had been bold, almost defiant in its flavor...
All of them carried some kind of presence, a strong profile that lingered.

But this lollipop?

It was sweet.
Overwhelmingly so. And little else.

No sharp scent.
No layers.
No complexity.

And just like that, the logic he’d been using unraveled beneath him like a faulty string.

Wise frowned, the stick shifting gently between his lips as he climbed the stairs, the taste lingering far longer than it deserved—
Just like the question forming in his mind:

"If it isn’t the flavor profile… then what is it that makes Hugo enjoy certain sweets?"

The following weeks unraveled in much the same way.

Each time Wise thought he was onto something—
Each time he believed he had finally found a thread, a flavor, a pattern to what Hugo actually enjoyed...
Hugo would undo it effortlessly, maddeningly, and with a single display of indifference.

Sometimes, he would even appear with a completely new candy, one that seemed designed to contradict every theory Wise had painstakingly built like zesty lemon drops.

No warning. No explanation.
Just a piece of sugar between his lips that didn’t fit any of the patterns.

The latest addition had been a milk candy.

It wasn’t particularly fragrant.
It wasn’t even bitter like coffee, fruity like grape, or zesty like lemon and lime.

It simply…
tasted like the milk tea sold in Lumina Square—
A drink Hugo always had opinions about.

Wise could still hear his voice, still see the arch of his brow as he declared the milk tea was “neither sweet enough nor aromatic,” and that the dull quality of the milk ruined it, stripping the blend of its integrity—
And yet, Hugo had spent an entire evening with a milk candy on his tongue that tasted exactly like it.

It didn’t make sense.

The contradiction gnawed at Wise more than he wanted to admit.
This wasn’t just about candy anymore—
This was about Hugo:

The man most of the world saw as unreadable, unpredictable, impossible.
The man Wise loved, and had believed—no, known—he could read.
See through. Understand in ways no one else could.

That was their quiet pact.

So to fail now, over something as seemingly trivial yet strangely intimate as a favourite flavor—
It scraped at Wise’s pride and left him feeling distant and disconnected.
And, in a way, it hurt.

His mood began to shift. The sighs came more often, heavier than usual.
At some point, even Belle noticed.

“You’re sighing like the world’s about to end,” she remarked one morning, eyeing him over her steaming mug of coffee. “And you sigh a lot, Wise. So for me to notice? That’s saying something. You lovesick or what?”

Wise only grumbled at that, burying his face deeper into his shirt and pretending to be far too absorbed in the glow of his handheld screen to answer.

But if Belle had noticed, then Hugo certainly had.

The thief’s usual teasing had softened. Fewer sly remarks. Fewer games.
Instead, Hugo would glance over at him with that quiet, too-genuine concern in his eyes and ask,
“Are you feeling alright?” 

And Wise?
He always brushed it off with a simple,
“Just tired.” Or, “It’s nothing.”

This explanation clearly wasn’t enough for Hugo.
So one evening, without preface and with no room for negotiation, Hugo simply declared,
“Tomorrow, we’re going on a date.”

And now Wise stood alone outside Gravity Cinema.

It was currently midday, and the streets were as lively as ever—
Pedestrians were weaving through each other like a restless tide, their laughter and chatter echoing in every direction, while sunlight bounced off glass storefronts. 

Wise shifted his weight at the sight, frowning faintly as he scanned the posters along the wall.
"What did he even plan for us to watch?"

He hadn’t asked. Hugo had simply announced the date and sent him the time and place, like always.
And now Wise was here, vaguely nervous.

"Please, not a thriller," he thought grimly. "If he actually picked a thriller, I’m going to die. Not emotionally—just literally faint from stress."

Wise hated thrillers. Couldn’t stand them.
And ever since they’d gotten together, Hugo had taken a suspicious amount of delight in that fact. There had been more than one movie night where Wise had ended up curled into Hugo’s side, half hiding behind his hand while the thief chuckled smugly beside him.

He could already hear the teasing if today’s film turned out to be another nerve-wracking ride.

Just as Wise was about to seriously consider leaving and pretending he had work—
A sudden tap on his shoulder.

He turned around, already sighing, and found himself staring at a familiar, infuriatingly charming grin.

“Good afternoon, darling,” Hugo purred.

The blonde-haired phantom thief looked as if he’d stepped straight out of a gothic romance novel—
sharp smile etched into porcelain-pale skin, mismatched eyes glinting in the sunlight with dangerous amusement.
That strange mixture of vampire-like elegance and the cheeky mischief in his eyes somehow never seemed to fade.

And for a fleeting second, Wise almost believed he was a vampire.

Then again, that ghostly complexion was probably less supernatural and more the result of his chronic hyperglycemia.
Besides, what kind of vampire would be foolish enough to stroll under the blazing midday sun?

Wise had just parted his lips, ready to make some dry remark.
But before Wise could say a word, Hugo closed the space between them, catching his hand in a smooth, practiced gesture and lifting it to his lips.
“Ready for our date?” he asked, brushing a kiss over Wise’s knuckles as if they were in some candlelit ballroom instead of a noisy and crowded street.

Wise blinked, his heart giving the tiniest stutter, as he groaned.
“You’re so dramatic.”

“Only for you,” Hugo said with a wink, still refusing to let go of his hand.

Wise sighed, shaking his head fondly.
“You’re impossible.”

Hugo gasped, his hand flying to his chest in theatrical offense.
“Darling, please! I suggested this date to make your sorrowful sighs disappear, not increase them! You wound me!”

Wise laughed, warm and genuine, the tension in his shoulders finally loosening.
"If only he knew he was the reason behind all those sighs," Wise thought, eyes drifting to their joined hands. "Though he probably wouldn’t mind… If anything, he’d be flattered. The man lives to be on my mind."

Just then, out of the corner of his eye, Wise spotted a woman passing by.
She was currently carrying a small, elegantly wrapped box—
pastel ribbon tied in a perfect bow, the shop’s logo glinting in gold foil against the sunlight.

Wise squinted.
“Since when does Lumina Square have a bakery?”

Hugo followed his gaze with a curious hum.
“Ah. That must be the new one I’ve heard about. Just opened a couple of weeks ago, I think.” He tilted his head slightly, watching the woman vanish into the crowd. “Rumor has it their chocolate cakes are out of this world... If one is inclined to believe rumors.”

Wise blinked. That sounded familiar.

A few days ago, Belle had practically floated into the apartment, cheeks flushed with excitement as she gushed about 'the cutest little cake shop' near the fountain plaza.
"The line is always ridiculous," she’d said, "but honestly, I’d wait hours just to try their dreamy chocolate cake. I heard it tastes like velvet. Actual velvet!"

His gaze slowly drifted back to the street, then to Hugo, who was now idly tapping his chin, eyes narrowed in thought.

“Out of this world, huh?” Wise murmured, the words trailing off as his mind began to turn.

Hugo gave him a sidelong glance.
“You’ve got that look on your face.”

“What look?”

“That one,” Hugo said, eyes glinting with amusement. “The one that says something’s taken your curiosity hostage.”

Wise huffed softly, glancing again towards where the woman with the bakery box had vanished.
“I was just wondering if it’s really that good for Belle to gush about it so much… even though she hasn’t tried it yet.”

Hugo chuckled. “So you are curious.”

Wise shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips.
“Maybe a little. But not enough to stand in a ridiculous line for hours just to quench a sliver of curiosity. I’d rather do whatever you had planned.”

“Oh?” Hugo’s grin widened as he leaned in. “Even if what I had planned was a thrilling, heart-pounding cinematic experience?”

Wise visibly flinched. “Please no.”

Hugo laughed, warm and delighted.
“Relax, love. I didn’t plan anything specific. No horror, no thrillers... unless the thrill is from holding your hand in a dark theatre.”

He then pulled Wise a little closer, their arms brushing as they walked.
“I just wanted to spend time with you. Like any other couple. In daylight. No rushing before dawn or sneaking out after midnight.”

His gaze softened, his usual sharp-edged smirk melting into something quieter, almost reverent.
“Every once in a while, I want the world to see,” he murmured, pressing a quick kiss to Wise’s lips, “that I have the cutest and most wonderful boyfriend anyone could ask for.”

Wise flushed, heart skipping a beat, ears instantly warming.
“I’d love to do the same, you know,” he muttered, eyes flicking over Hugo’s attire—elegant as ever in a deep violet suit that made his golden hair gleam even brighter in the sun. “But if I did, people would probably just assume I’m dating you for money.”

Hugo instantly threw his head back and laughed with that melodic lilt Wise had grown far too fond of.
“Oh, darling,” he said, shaking his head with mock sympathy, “if anyone thinks that, it only means they’re blinded by envy.”

He then leaned in again, voice dropping to a low purr.
“Besides… I’d much rather believe you’re with me for all the other irresistible reasons.”

Wise rolled his eyes, though a grin pulled at his lips despite himself.

Hugo’s tone shifted to playful curiosity, catching Wise’s amused reaction.
“Though, speaking of money, Belle sometimes complains about the electric bills skyrocketing thanks to your overpowered AI.”

“What?” Wise gasped, almost stumbling. “I knew the bill seemed ridiculously high last month. I need to have a talk with her when I get home—”

“No, no.” Hugo gently tugged him back. “Don’t ruin her joy. Let her keep using it for her little shenanigans—hell, even if she decides to unleash thousands of bots on the InterKnot.”

Wise gave him a sceptic look.
“…That’s somehow worse.”

“Maybe,” Hugo said with an innocent shrug. “But why struggle when you can just ask your wonderful, generous boyfriend for help?”

Wise raised an eyebrow, voice dry.
“I’m not using you.”

“Maybe,” Hugo purred, eyes glinting with mischief, “you just need to get used to being treated—”

He suddenly trailed off, his attention shifting past Wise’s shoulder.
Wise blinked, then turned to follow his gaze.

There, nestled across from Lumina Station and right beside the HIA Club, stood a pastel-pink storefront—
elegant, overly charming, unmistakably new.
A long queue of people, mostly women, stood patiently from the entrance and curled halfway down the block. The windows were frosted with illustrations of delicate cakes and stylised hearts, their logo looping in soft gold script above the entrance.

Wise continued to stare, watching as a server in a frilly apron exited, handing off a box to a squealing customer.
The Proxy didn’t even have to look to know that Hugo was smirking beside him.

“Want to try it?” Hugo asked, voice light and coaxing.

Wise's eyes narrowed immediately.
“No. Not if it means standing in that monstrous line for hours. I like cake, not heatstroke.”

Hugo leaned in close, his breath brushing against Wise’s ear as he whispered,
“Who said anything about waiting?”

Wise’s stomach dropped.
He already didn’t like where this was going.

“With enough Dennies,” Hugo murmured, “you can buy almost anything. Even time itself—like not wasting it in a queue full of influencers and dessert-bloggers.”

Wise shot him a warning glare, suspicion blooming in his chest.
“Hugo—”

But Hugo didn’t pause. His voice softened, almost disarmingly sincere.
“Though, I suppose there are some things money can’t buy.” He glanced sideways at Wise, his mismatched eyes sincere for a fleeting moment.
“Like your affection. Your time. The touch of your lips.”

That caught Wise completely off guard, making his breath hitch.

Before he could say a word, Hugo was already striding ahead—
dragging Wise by the hand through the bustling square like a man on a mission.

“Hugo,” Wise hissed, stumbling slightly to keep up, “Don’t you dare do something ridiculous!”

“I do nothing but ridiculous things,” Hugo called over his shoulder, clearly delighted with himself. “Especially when they’re for you.”

Wise wanted to disappear—
wanted nothing more than to vanish into the cobblestones beneath their feet.

As they reached the front of the pastel-pink storefront, he mortifyingly realised that it wasn’t just a bakery—
It was a café. A very cute, very pink, outrageously Interknot-worthy café.
One where every other person in line looked like they’d stepped straight out of a fashion shoot.

And then there was Hugo—sharp suit, golden hair glowing in the sunlight—walking hand-in-hand with him...
A very average-looking man who looked like he hadn’t slept in days.

Whispers began to ripple through the crowd.
Curious stares followed their every move.
A couple of girls even giggled behind their hands. 

Wise tried again. “Hugo. Don’t. Let’s just go—"

But it was already too late.
Hugo, with the effortless grace of someone used to attention, was already pushing gently but firmly through the line—
ignoring the stunned murmurs of the crowd.

He then stopped at the entrance, now facing the wide-eyed server in a ruffled apron.
“Pardon me,” Hugo said with that dangerous, honeyed smile of his. “Could we be seated immediately?”

The server blinked, clearly about to offer a polite refusal, her eyes flickering towards the full tables.
Yet, before she could deny his request, Hugo smoothly added,
“I’m willing to pay ten times the amount. Twenty, if necessary.”

Gasps echoed through the nearest people in line.

Wise nearly choked.
“Hugo—!”

The server’s eyes widened. She stared at Hugo—his posture, his pristine clothes, his sheer audacity—and seemed to short-circuit.
“I-I need to ask the owner,” she eventually stuttered, already fumbling for the tablet in her hand.

Wise grabbed Hugo’s arm, pulling him a step back, panic sharpening his voice.
“What are you doing? Everyone’s staring.”

“Let them,” Hugo replied, not even looking away from the server.

“Hugo—”

“Shhh, my dear.” Hugo leaned in, lips brushing near Wise’s ear.
“I’m sure they’re just mesmerised by your beauty. Besides, didn’t I say I wanted to brag a little today?”

Wise groaned, burying his face in Hugo’s coat, mortified beyond belief.

And of course, right then, the server returned.
“I-It’s all arranged,” she said, breathless from the whirlwind that was Hugo. “The owner agreed. There’s a table available in the corner—would that be all right?”

Before Wise could respond, Hugo beamed.
“It’s already gracious of you to accommodate us,” he said smoothly.
“We’ll happily take the corner seat. As long as my darling gets to enjoy some nice beverages and cake, I couldn’t be more satisfied.”

Now, all eyes were on him.
A fresh wave of mortification washed over Wise, and he stuttered, face still half-buried in Hugo’s coat.
“I—I don’t care where we sit…”

Hugo chuckled, throwing the server a sympathetic smile as he gently rubbed Wise’s back.
“Apologies. My lover is a little shy about being in the spotlight,” he said, voice lowered like he was sharing a playful secret. “So yes, the corner table sounds perfect.”

The server gave a small, understanding nod—
Though it was clear she was still processing the image of this sharp, dazzling man doting on someone currently melting into his collar.

“Right this way, then,” she said, leading them through the maze of delicate chairs and murmuring guests.

The corner table sat beneath a rose-patterned window, with a vase of fresh flowers at its center and seats softened by plush cushions in pale pink and cream.
It looked far too elegant for how Wise currently felt, but he let Hugo guide him to his seat anyway.

As they settled in, the server gestured to the pastel-colored menu propped between the sugar jar and napkin holder.
“Here’s the menu. I’ll be back in just a moment,” she said with a polite bow before slipping away.

Wise exhaled hard, slumped forward, and let his forehead drop gently onto the table with a soft thud.
“I want to vanish,” he mumbled, voice muffled by the tablecloth.

Across from him, Hugo just smiled fondly.
“But then I wouldn’t get to see you blush like that. Which would be a tragedy in itself.”

Wise lifted his head just enough to shoot him a look.

Hugo, of course, ignored it entirely—
beaming with that same infuriating charm as he slid the pastel menu towards Wise.
“Go ahead. Order anything you want, darling.”

Wise narrowed his eyes.
“This is over the top—”

“Think of it as a noble mission,” Hugo interrupted him, fingers tapping the edge of the table like it was a matter already settled. “A selfless act. You’re reviewing this little shop for your sister, after all. Wouldn’t want her to waste her time on a place with lackluster desserts, right?”

Then, as if the thought had only just occurred to him, he added,
“Even better—we should get a slice of their famous chocolate cake packaged to go. For Belle.”

Wise blinked.
“You’re using my sister to manipulate me now?”

Hugo just shrugged, entirely unbothered.
“If it works, I don’t see the issue.”

Wise let out a low grumble, flipping the menu open with a sigh.
“I can’t believe you.”

“You can. You do,” Hugo replied, sounding far too pleased with himself.

Wise ignored him, eyes scanning the options.
“So, is there anything you want to try?”

“Mm… no, I think I’ll just have a tea,” Hugo said, finally picking up his own menu and skimming the ornate names.

“... Oh, there’s a blend here that sounds interesting. Jasmine with dried pear. Intriguing.” He tilted his head slightly, reading more closely. “Though I’ll probably ask them to bring another jar of sugar.”

“Of course you will,” Wise mumbled.

A few minutes later, their order was placed—
Hugo’s tea, and three slices of cake: a chai tea cake with black tea buttercream, a coffee sponge layered with milk frosting, and, naturally, one of the shop’s famed chocolate slices.
The plates arrived quickly, each one dainty and decorated with delicate florals, the presentation almost absurdly charming like something out of a high-end pastry catalogue.

Hugo leaned in slightly, eyeing the spread with clear interest.
“You really do like caffeine,” he remarked, lifting his teacup as steam curled around his fingers. “That, and anything so bitter it could double as medicine.”

Wise blinked, fork hovering mid-air above the coffee sponge.
He hesitated; a part of him wanted to laugh as he thought,
"That’s not it. Not even close."

He pressed the fork gently into the cake, watching the soft crumb give way beneath the tines.
“I’m trying to figure out what you like,” he thought, the words caught somewhere behind his teeth. “I’ve been trying. For weeks. And failing spectacularly every time.”

Honestly, if he let himself really dwell on it, he might’ve chuckled himself into a breakdown.
The sheer number of times he’d sat across from Hugo, eyes subtly trained on every little twitch of his lover’s expression, trying to catch the flicker of enjoyment or distaste—
only to be left more confused than before.

He almost wanted to call himself a fool for ordering the tea-infused and coffee-flavored cakes.
He didn’t even want them, not really. He just thought that maybe—just maybe...
One of these might land.
Might spark something. Might help him find just one thing Hugo didn’t grimace at.

Which was absurd considering Hugo's dislike for sweets was rooted in cake.

"This is ridiculous," Wise thought, popping a piece of coffee sponge into his mouth and resisting the urge to sigh. "Absolutely ridiculous."

Across from him, Hugo gently blew on his tea, looking oddly thoughtful as he stirred in his third spoonful of sugar.
“I will say,” he murmured after a sip, “this is the best tea I’ve had here so far. The pear gives it a strange brightness. I don’t hate it.”

Wise narrowed his eyes, fork pausing mid-air.
“Isn’t this your first time in this café?”

Hugo chuckled softly, entirely unbothered by the contradiction.
He leaned back, gaze settling on Wise as he pressed his fork into another slice of cake.
“Doesn’t make the tea any less enjoyable, does it?”

Wise hummed noncommittally, then glanced at the forkful he’d just carved from the chai tea cake.
His hand hovered in the space between them for a moment before he quietly offered it across the table.
“You want to try?”

He already knew the answer.
Saw it in the slight downturn of Hugo’s mouth before he even replied.

“No, thank you.”

The sigh that left Wise was so full of defeat it seemed to deflate his shoulders.
He lowered the fork back to his own plate, muttering under his breath,
“Yeah. Of course. Would’ve been a miracle if you liked it. Or even touched it, really.”

Then, in a quieter voice—but not soft enough for Hugo to miss—he added,
“Although… knowing your contradictory taste buds, it wouldn’t have surprised me either.”

Hugo’s heterochromatic eyes flicked towards him, one brow lifting.
“Contradictory?”

Wise stopped, meeting his gaze. There was a pause—
One of those strange little moments where time didn’t feel like it moved, like the world just quieted around the two of them.

And then he sighed again, softer this time.
Utterly Resigned. Completely defeated.

“Yeah. Contradictory.” He poked half-heartedly at the chocolate cake before pushing it slightly off to the side. “The past few weeks, I’ve been trying to figure out what you like. What sweets you can actually enjoy. Since, you know… it’s not like you can just skip sugar altogether.”

Hugo tilted his head slightly but didn’t interrupt.

Wise continued, voice dipping into that tired sort of honesty he usually tried to avoid since he hated being vulnerable.
“Every time I thought I had found a pattern—fragrant things, stuff with depth, complex flavours... You would always prove me wrong. Be it with that grape flavoured lollipop or even that  milk candy, which you’ve said is too dull. And today, you’re drinking pear tea, and not hating it.”

He let out a breathless laugh, then leaned forward a little, elbows resting lightly on the table’s edge.
“And I know this probably sounds stupid, but I just… wanted to find something. Something sweet you’d actually enjoy. Not just tolerate.”

His eyes flicked up towards Hugo again, searching his mismatched gaze.
“But I can’t. I don’t get it. I don’t get you.”

The last part came out quieter than intended, and suddenly Wise found himself staring down at the table, as if the answer might be hiding somewhere in the soft swirl of frosting.

He was so caught up in the frustration of not being able to understand even this small part of his lover that he didn’t notice the way Hugo’s gaze lingered on him—
more focused now, the usual glint of mischief replaced by something far gentler.

Hugo leaned across the table, the playful edge in his expression softening into sincerity.
“You’ve really been trying to figure it out this whole time?”

Wise gave a sheepish little nod, not quite meeting Hugo’s eyes. 

Hugo chuckled in response—
It wasn't teasing this time.
Instead, it was warm and laced with a kind of deep glowing affection.
“I still hate most sweets,” he admitted. “But the ones I’ve been eating lately? They all have one thing in common.”

Wise blinked, confused.
He then slightly leaned back, brows drawing together as he mentally ran through the list:  complex and slightly bitter teas, coffee-flavoured bonbons, grape lollipops, bright lemon drops, that odd milk candy, even a few chocolate coins....

All of them were vastly different.

“I don’t…” he began, his frown only deepening.

Hugo just smiled.
Then he leaned in, close enough for Wise to feel the warmth of his breath, and tapped lightly against Wise’s lips with his index finger. His voice was barely above a murmur.
“They taste like you.”

Wise froze, eyes widening.

“The coffee-flavored bonbons...” Hugo gaze lifted to meet his, “They taste just like the coffee on your lips when we kiss in the mornings.”

The blonde phantom thief then smiled, almost fondly, as he continued.
“The milk candies? They taste like your mouth after you’ve had that warm milk tea you love so much from Lumina Square. And the lemon drops? They remind me of that hint of lemon I sometimes catch when you lean in for a kiss—must be your detergent or something.”

Wise stared, mind trying and failing to keep up. “You’re telling me…” he slowly started, “that all this time… you’ve been eating sweets that—”

“—that remind me of you,” Hugo finished, resting his cheek in one hand, looking smug but still softly at his younger lover. “Of course I have. Why else would I bother?”

Wise opened and closed his mouth, a faint red creeping up his ears and neck.
“But… what about the grape lollipops?” he finally asked, voice low, as if still not quite trusting this entire conversation.

Hugo hesitated for a second, eyes darting down as a rare flicker of embarrassment crossed his face.
“…Belle,” he admitted.

“Belle?”

Hugi shot Wise a quick look.
“She once told me that you two used to go through lollipops like mad as kids.” 

Wise blinked again, realisation slowly dawning on him.
“Wait… Did she also tell you I liked the grape ones?”

“To be honest, no.” Hugo shrugged, then arched a brow. “But you told me you still pick the flavors Belle can’t stand. So I just worked backwards from her dislikes to figure out what kid-Wise probably liked.”

Wise groaned, bringing a hand to his face.
“I said that like… once. In passing.”

“And I remembered,” Hugo said, a small smile curling on his lips. “Because it was about you.”

For a long second, neither of them said anything.

It was Hugo who decided to break the silence.
“I think my brain’s rewriting the bad memories with... better ones.”

He then glanced at the fork in Wise’s hand, his smile faint but genuine.
“So yeah… I probably even like those candies now, truly. Because they remind me of you.”

Wise stared at him, the weight of those words settling with all the softness of a feather—
While hitting him just as hard as a hammer.
His thoughts stuttered, went blank for a beat.
Because really, how was he supposed to respond to something like that?

Before he could find an answer, Hugo reached over and slipped the fork from his hand.
He then carved a small bite from the slice of chocolate cake—rich and dense, the scent almost bitter with cocoa—before lifting it towards Wise’s mouth.

Wise blinked.
“What are you—?”

“Humor me,” Hugo said. His voice was light, but his eyes never wavered.

Still confused, Wise opened his mouth. The fork slid between his lips, and the deep chocolate flavour immediately spread over his tongue—
A bittersweet richness with just enough sweetness to soften the edge.

When he swallowed it down, the taste still lingered as he was trying to decipher Hugo’s intent.

But then—
Hugo suddenly leaned in, cupping the back of Wise’s neck, and kissed him.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t teasing.
It was slow and gentle—
Like he was memorising every nuance, every trace of chocolate and every bit of warmth on his tongue.
As if the cake only tasted good this way.

When they finally broke apart, Wise was breathless, his face flushed, lips tingling.

Hugo didn’t move far, still close enough for his words to brush against the younger man’s lips.
“There are some things I’ll probably never fully enjoy. Chocolate cake is one of them.”

He then paused, reaching up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind Wise’s ear.
“But on your mouth? Like that?” His voice was low, sincere. “I think I can enjoy it.”

Wise blushed furiously, the flush in his cheeks no doubt obvious under the curious stares from nearby tables. He shot Hugo a half-hearted glare and muttered under his breath,
“Once again, you’re impossible.”

Hugo just smirked, leaning in until his lips brushed the shell of Wise’s ear. His voice was low and teasing.
“And you’re impossibly sweet… probably the sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted.”

Wise made a sound—something between a gasp and a groan—before burying his face in his hands, mumbling an incoherent string of syllables that barely qualified as words.

But Hugo wasn’t finished.

“I mean, have you heard yourself when I make love to you?” he continued, utterly shameless, though his tone was warm with genuine affection. “The little sounds you make? Like syrup and honey and—”

“Stop!” Wise hissed, eyes wide in horror as he tried to shove Hugo back across the table. “Oh my god, shut up—shut up! I just wanted to find sweets you could actually eat! Not... Not be publicly executed via embarrassment!”

Hugo just laughed in return, effortlessly catching one of Wise’s hands mid-push before drawing it to his lips.
He then kissed each knuckle, slow and deliberate, before holding Wise’s gaze.

“Then let’s do that,” he began softly. “Let’s make it a game. You taste them first...”

He leaned in again, voice dropping to a near whisper, the teasing gone—
replaced by something far more earnest.
“…and then let me taste them on your mouth.”

Wise blinked, stunned into stillness, heartbeat stuttering once again before it found a faster rhythm.

“Maybe that’s the trick,” Hugo said, lips curling into a soft smile that wasn’t smug nor mocking. “Let me collect candies I can love. One kiss at a time.”  

From then on, a new quiet routine forms between them.

Every time they met.
Be it on dusky rooftops, in sunlit corners of cafés, or during strolls through Lumina Square—Wise would bring a new candy or sweet.

Unfamiliar ones.
Strange ones.
And sometimes bold ones.

He would always taste them first—
Would let it rest on his tongue until the flavor settled, before leaning in for their lips to meet. And Hugo would always meet him halfway, kissing him soft and slow.

Sometimes the kiss was brief.
Sometimes it lingered.
But it would always end with Wise whispering against his lips,
“What flavour do you think it is?”

And Hugo would then guess.
Sometimes wrong. Sometimes right.

“Lime or Yuzu?”
“Vanilla strawberry?”
“Something with cinnamon?”

Wise would, in response, nod or shake his head, always with that faint twitch at the corner of his mouth.

Then came the second question—
the one that really mattered.

“Do you like it?”

Hugo never answered right away.
Sometimes he kissed him again.
Sometimes he just gave a small smile.

But eventually, he would always say one of three things:
“I think I do.”
Or, “It’s actually not bad.”
Or, “I think I can only eat it when it’s from you.”

And little by little, the list grew—
A collection of sweets Hugo truly enjoyed.

Flavours that lingered like cherished memories.
That reminded him of warmth, of mornings tangled in blankets, and of the way Wise’s voice softened when speaking his name.

They weren’t just sweets anymore.
They were tiny, edible love letters—
Each one passed gently from one mouth to another.

Nevertheless, Hugo never really got over cake.
He still didn’t fully like it—
His eyes still twitched at the sight of frosting. His expression still unmoved by pastries, no matter how often people gushed about their perfection.

But sometimes—on slow, quiet afternoons, when the city calmed to a hum and the sun cast long shadows across the sidewalks—they would pass a bakery. Or a shop with chocolate cake proudly displayed in the window.

And Hugo would always lean in close, lips brushing Wise’s ear, and murmur:

“Eat it for me.”

A request Wise never refused.

They’d then find a table or just a quiet corner far from the world. And Wise would eat one slow bite at a time—
Always interrupted by Hugo leaning in, kissing him, and tasting him.
Devouring the taste from his mouth like he was starving.

Once, Wise tried to tease him, eyes glinting and mouth curling into a little smile.
“You’re just using me for sugar, aren’t you?”

Hugo only smiled back, soft and sincere.
“No. I’m using sugar to taste you.”

Because yes—
Some sweets were still too much.
Some candies were still too sharp, too cloying, and too loud.

But Wise never was.
He would always be his favourite.