Chapter Text
In an elevator up to the restaurant, your reflection in the sleek, metal walls stare back at you.
“It's just a high school reunion.” You whisper to yourself.
But why?
Why is there this part of you that still wishes?
The part of you that hopes to see a certain goofy, tall, and undeniably cute guy with messy, snow white hair. The one who’s smile is brighter than the sun with eyes as beautiful as the morning sky.
Your hands clench the traps of your bag, heels tapping the marble floors of the elevator. The elevator has not moved since you entered. Ah. Did you forget to press the button? However, just as you turn around, the doors slide open with a soft ‘ding!’
Attention set on reaching for the button, you completely ignore the stranger boarding the elevator. They do not press any buttons. Instead, they stand beside you, tall and brooding. From your peripheral, they wear a dark blue coat and grey pants.
Silently, you laugh to yourself because those clothes remind you of the man you secretly hoped to see tonight. If not for the message Stelle sent you, you would be losing your mind right now.
thetrashtomycan<3: Phainon said he couldnt make it :(
thetrashtomycan<3: so if he was the reason you said you couldnt make it
thetrashtomycan<3: PLEASE COME NOW!!
As the elevator doors close, on the sleek metal doors is the reflection of you and the stranger.
Except…
He is no stranger.
Just a few inches to the left of you, a familiar and not-so-intimidating man stands with snow-white hair, parted in a way that makes your heart skip a beat. Your gaze travels down his reflection to the phone in his hand. On the side a familiar chimera key chain hangs, dangling. It matches yours, which now hangs on the side of your bag.
It feels like high school all over again. The giddy and simultaneously terrifying feeling of standing next to your crush returns as you swallow the lump in your throat. Your hands sweat like crazy and your heart pounds in your chest. Is it just you, or did somebody turn on the heater?
“Long time no see, Part—” Abruptly, he clears his throat to mutter your name.
“Uh… yeah. Long time no see,” You trail, trying to find it in yourself to act normal.
But how? How can he act so normal? It feels like thorns are enclosing your throat. Each time you try to open your mouth to say something, all you can do is swallow the lump that reforms.
The man who shall not be named because every time you think of him, your heart cries a little. It feels that you might start crying too.
Instead of finishing your sentence, you turn away from him. Well, that is enough socialization for you today. Time to silently stuff your face with food.
The moment the doors slide open, you are the first to step forward.
“Why didn't you send them different routes to the restaurant?!” A familiar voice exclaims.
Slowly, the doors reveal a familiar head of long, pink hair that fades to blue and teal.
“What happens when they bump into—” Her voice trails as she stares with wide-eyes at you and him. “—each other…”
In a low whisper to her phone speaker, she says, “I’ll call you back. Code help.” But you can hear it, and you assume he can too.
She comes to greet you first; you are the one closest to her. “Long time no see!”
You hug her back, laughing nervously. What the heck was that?!
‘What happens when they bump into each other?!’
── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──
Dear Diary,
My Heart Still Beats For Youᝰ.ᐟ
── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──
Awkward. This is so… awkward.
Both you and him follow Cyrene to the private room she rented for the high school reunion. Voices cheer from behind the wooden partitions, and when Cyrene slides them open, a familiar blur of silver jumps you.
“It’s been so long!” Stelle exclaims, ushering you to your seat.
It just so happens that you sit across an empty seat, and he walks over and occupies it.
Oh no.
Oh no no no.
Immediately, you stare at your empty plate, listening to Stelle list off all the types of meats that you and her can order.
“Uh, beef sounds good...” “Could I order beef…?”
Your eyes meet his as the two of you order the same thing. His eyes are also on you while drinking water. Noticing this a little too late, he chokes, setting his cup down.
“Don’t start chugging the water, Phainon!” Cyrene scolds while patting his back.
He turns his head away from you — who still stares. The tips of his ears turn red as he attempts to hide his face with his bangs.
“Do you want a drink?” Stelle nudges your shoulder, pointing at the selection of alcohol on the menu.
You shake your head. You cannot have a reason to stay any longer than you need. “It’s alright. I’ll be leaving soon after anyways.”
Stelle frowns. “Can you still stay even if we don’t drink?”
You bite the bottom of your lip. “Fine.”
All you have to do is avoid him. Simple. Right?
Except…
“S-Sorry.”
Why does—
“I deeply apologize…” he bites his bottom lip, frantically swiping your top with a napkin.
Every turn you take,
One hand awkwardly dabs your chest clean, and the other hovers around, unsure of how to react.
Lead you to him?
Each time he leans down to check if he has soaked up his spilled drink — which is now all over your chest — he somehow forgets how tall he is and bumps his head against your chin.
“Ah—sorry,” he repeatedly apologizes. Now his unsure hand has something to do; he gently rubs your chin with his thumb.
A familiar heat rises to your ears. You hope nobody is witnessing this. The other customers in the lobby seem pretty occupied with their drinks.
“I-It’s fine,” you stammer, stepping back. Unfortunately, he is so focused on cleaning your top that his hands chase after you. He steps forward, closing the distance you created.
“My top will live, so you don’t have to keep—”
Then a bright light flash bangs the two of you. Just a few feet away from you, Stelle holds a blue polaroid in her hand. Absolutely hammered, she stumbles around while aggressively shaking the camera.
“Where’s the photo?”
“Hey! Don’t shake my camera!” March exclaims, snatching her camera from Stelle’s hands.
Stelle triumphantly laughs, holding the square-shaped photo in the air. With her tongue sticking out, she waits for the image to show up.
“You need to shake the photo,” March sighs.
After vigorously shaking the photo, she giggles to herself. She grabs your arm, opening your hand before slapping the photo face down onto your palm.
“Shh, don’t tell him,” She whispers with a finger over her lips. As if he is not watching the entire scene unfold before his very eyes, she squints at him before closing your hand.
Stelle drags March elsewhere. Right before the two are out of your sight, she yells at the top of her lungs, “you’re welcome!!”
“Don’t worry,” he says, straightening himself while stepping back. Though it is not enough to be far from you; he still stands fairly close. A short, light-heated laugh escapes his lips. “I didn’t see anything.”
You awkwardly laugh alongside him. Should you just leave now? Cry in the bathroom?
“Uh, I’ll go refill my drink,” he nonchalantly mentions.
Confused, you nod before gesturing to the bar. “Sorry for bumping into you.”
He shakes his head, saying, “No, no. It was my fault. I didn’t think you would turn around—” before abruptly cutting himself off with a cough.
The moment he turns, you take the opportunity to leave. While you walk down the hallway, you take a peek at the photo Stelle had taken.
It is much clearer than you expected. In the photo, your mouth is open, words frozen in time. One hand dabs your chest, and the other hovers by your face. You know he was rubbing your chin, but the camera makes it look as if he is cupping your cheek. The entire time, you had been staring down at his shirt, too embarrassed to look him in the eye. From the angle, it looks as if you are leaning into his hand.
The warmth that you have tried so hard to suppress bursts out of your chest, and you find yourself gently caressing the edge of the photo with your thumb.
It does not help that you can see his expression you missed out on. His head is tilted, eyes locked onto what seems like your face. On his lips, the softest smile tugs at the edges. It might have been the lighting, but there is a glint — a small sparkle twinkling in his eyes.
Your laugh comes out as a small huff. “So cute…”
“What’cha looking at?” Cyrene sits beside you, sipping on her pink lemonade.
You quickly shove the photo into your bag. “Just looking at my… my receipt!”
She hums, setting her drink aside. You really hope she did not see what you were truly looking at. In your peripheral, the rest of your friends are occupied by a drinking game Stelle made on the spot.
“…The first to name the latest edition to Lordy Trashcan has to take a shot!”
“What?!”
“At this point, you’re just drinking to drink…”
But their words go in one ear and out the other.
“Wanna join them?” Cyrene asks, extending a hand.
Because all you can think about is him. You feel so pathetic, lost, and confused. How? How is it that after all these years, the moment he shows up, everything comes crashing down. The mental front you thought you had put up shatters in his presence. The time you had spent gaslighting yourself into believing that you had finally gotten over him — only to realize you are right where you started.
Your feelings have not changed; they are still in the state that you left them in — and the state he left them in. Rejected. So, of course. Of course, you cannot act normal around him. No matter how much you try to deny it — to yourself and to others, the facts remain the same.
You like Phainon. You still like him. In fact, in this moment, it almost feels as if you like him even more, but you know better than to chase after someone who does not feel the same way. After all, he rejected you.
“Sure,” you finally respond, letting go of the breath you did not know you were holding. Maybe it will help you relax, and get some things off your mind.
. . . ☼ . . .
“Get home safe,” Cyrene hums as she walks with you to the bus stop nearby.
You nod. “You too.”
After a round or two, you decided to head home early. Silently, you sit on the bench, resting your back against the clear glass behind you. In the silence, you toy with your chimera key chain, pretending to make it eat your bag.
Then someone sits beside you. Sluggish, you take you time, slowly turning your head to face — Phainon…?
“Heading home early?” He simply says while staring into the distance.
It takes you some time to respond, mainly because you are too distracted. Your eyes travel over his face, tracing the curve of his nose, the slight smile of his lips, and the subtle crinkle in his pretty, blue eyes.
“…Yeah. I didn’t plan on staying long anyways,” You say. Slowly, your gaze travels down to his lap where his hands rest, and in them, his phone with chimera key chain attached to the side. The one you recall seeing earlier in the elevator — the one that matches yours.
It is silent afterward. Wondering what has caught his attention, you look off into the distance. Above, the full moon shines, much brighter than you remember.
“Beautiful, isn't it?” He says, humming.
With your head still, you glance at him. “Yeah,” you breathlessly reply.
A loud creak groans in the night as the bus blocks the view of the moon. It stops, followed by the familiar high-pitched hiss of bus doors opening.
“Is this your ride too?” He asks while getting up from his seat.
“No,” you sigh, “but the next one is.”
He simply hums, lifting a hand to wave. “Get home safe, then.”
You nod, giving him a weak wave. Quietly, you watch him board the bus; he skips the steps, showing off his height to nobody in particular. Then, he walks down the aisle to sit near the back. He does not look at you once, but you kind of wish he did.
After the bus leaves, your laugh comes out as a strained, pained cry while you clutch the fabric over your chest. A shiver runs through your body, but it is not because of the cold. Alone, you close your eyes. Randomly — or not so randomly, your brain conjures a daydream where you sit beside him on the bus.
Truth is, that is your bus ride home. There is no ‘next one,’ but you were scared. Afraid of unintentionally making him feel uncomfortable. Afraid of pushing him away even more. Is it appropriate to act normal too or will it put him off? He acts as if everything is normal — everyone acts as if everything is normal.
Are you the only one who is still hung over what happened in high school?
Everyone has moved on, except you.
One. Two. Three droplets soak your bag as your silently cry. You know better than to believe your heart; logically, you know what choices to make, but you cannot help the pain you feel.
Loud, heavy footsteps sound in the distance. They get louder, but you ignore them. In case they catch you, you wipe your tears away with your wrists before straightening yourself. As you turn your head towards the direction of the sound, you find yourself looking at…
“Phainon?” You raise a brow, looking around. Why is he here? How is he here — well, he ran. But is this real? It does not feel real.
He pants heavily, hands on his knees as sweat drips down his chin. With a swipe of his sleeve, he wipes his sweat off. He tries to respond, but all that comes out are incoherent syllables between breaths. “H-Hi—I r-ran… to— s-say—”
“Why are you in my dream?” You say aloud, oddly feeling sober.
Confused, he looks up at you, and a brief laugh escapes his parted lips. “I think you’ve had too much to drink.”
“No,” you retort, attempting to stand to prove a point.
Despite your confidence, you fail to stabilize yourself; you end up falling forward. Your head would have cracked open, if not for Phainon. He holds you in his arms, hands awkwardly balled into fists.
He looks down at you, eyes fluttering — never fully blinking. “This isn’t a dream,” he says while helping you stand.
“This has to be a dream,” you persist.
In his arms, you look up at him longingly. Your hands tremble as you grasp onto his coat. It has been too long. A shaky hand comes up to your face, thumb lightly stroking your cheek as his other fingers hover by your neck. Your heart races, contrasting well with his seemingly calm heartbeat — well, as calm as it can be after sprinting a couple of blocks.
You miss him. So much. More so as you rest in his arms — you have forgotten what it feels like to be close to him.
A soft, barely perceptible gasp escapes your trembling lips, “Why else would you be here? Why run back?”
Stunned, Phainon freezes as you press your face against his chest, relishing in his warmth. As you rest against his chest, listening to the soft beats of his heart, your tears cannot help but spill out. You want to scream and sob — but all that comes out is a small, pained whine.
“I’m sorry,” you manage to say through your violent, yet silent sobs.
You feel selfish for deluding yourself into believing that you can still salvage your friendship with him. He must feel so awkward around you — knowing that you like him, but he cannot reciprocate.
“In the beginning, I liked Mydei,” you confess.
You feel Phainon shift in your arms, but you wrap your arms around him. He freezes again.
“But the more I spent time with you,” you hastily continue, afraid that you will never have another chance to clear things up. With all your existent and non-existent courage, you say, “The more my heart began beating for you.”
“Phainon,” you cry out his name, feeling the waterworks starting up again. It has been so long since you have uttered his name. You breathe heavily, adrenaline coursing through your veins as you continue, “I like you so much it makes me sick to my stomach. I think of you all the time—so much that I dream of you!”
“Even now—even if this is a dream—even if you don’t feel the same way. I still want you to know that I love you.” You wipe your tears, finally letting go of him.
Finally, you look up at him, but you cannot read his expression. His brows are furrowed, eyes glued to you. A slight frown tugs at the edges of his lips. Then his lips part, likely about to speak.
You intend on saying everything before your own brain starts rejecting you because after all these years, your heart still beats for him. “And I want to thank you too. Thank you for being the sun that I looked forward to seeing.
“You—You were the light of my life, and you still are…
“You…
“I—
“I missed you so much…”
A sharp gasp wakes you. Still shocked by what you had just experienced, you clutch onto the soft fabric beneath you, processing your environment. Soft fabric. Warm. You turn your head to the side, staring at the pillow supporting it. Dried tears stain your face, streaks tightening each time you blink.
Slowly, you sit up, wiping your puffy eyes. The scenes spill into your consciousness. Your heart-wrenching sobs, the rushed confession, and the seemingly warm and tangible Phainon.
“Stupid dream…” you mutter to yourself.
You have had dreams like this before, though not as vivid. The reunion likely made things worse.
You lay back down, staring at your blank ceiling— wait. Why are there… hearts on your ceiling? Confused, you sit up, looking around what is supposed to be your room. You stand up, about to explore until a voice behind the door startles you.
As it opens, the familiar voice says, “Relax, I’ll check on them.”
“Cyrene?”
When she sees you, she jumps, discreetly hanging up on whoever she was calling with a small, “I’ll text you.”
“Good morning!” she smiles, “I made breakfast.”
Across the counter, Cyrene stacks a plate of pancakes, and on the side, some yellow, rectangular-shaped vegetables. Then she slides a glass of water.
“What is this?” You ask while taking a bite of the pancakes.
“The pancakes are made with onions, and the side of vegetables are a local to my hometown!” She happily explains.
Vegetables. Local. Hometown… everything reminds you of him.
Quickly, Cyrene rushes over to you. “Is everything okay? Do you not like the food?”
“No, no. I’m okay,” you sniff, munching on the vegetables. He loved salads… “It’s just the onions.”