Archive of Our Own

"What do you wish for? A rose can bloom only when you clearly wish for something.”

Heathcliff rolled his eyes as he planted his bat on the ground so he could lean on it, grumbling to himself while scratching his ear in annoyance, “Shite, when's the bloody thing gonna stop gabbing about?”

They were currently engaging in their daily Mirror Dungeon runs. A team consisting of himself, Ishmael, Outis, Yi Sang, Faust, Sinclair, and Meursault had been deployed this time, while the rest of the Sinners were with Dante, protecting them from any dangers in the battlefield as Dante commanded those who were deployed against the Abnormality. Heathcliff had forgotten what floor they were on, but it should be pretty early, as he hasn't felt himself being powered up by tens of EGO Gifts yet.

To make it more challenging, this week, Dante decided to do a no Identities run. They always come up with new and fun ways to make their work less boring and repetitive, but this early in their progress, the fun hasn't yet started.

So he yawned quietly, and let his eyes wander over to the roses in front of him. There were a few of them still left, some blue, red, and purple ones.

The roses were swaying passively, leisurely. They and the Sign of Roses were waiting for Dante's decision to choose which Sin of theirs gets to be planted as a new rose this time. The gimmick entails that each rose that Dante chose would make the deployed Sinners deal more damage with the selected Sin, but also receive more damage from it. It makes sense that Dante would have to choose carefully.

Right at that moment, Dante had just lifted their head from their PDA to look at them, spewing a bunch of ticks and tocks that likely wouldn't have made sense to anyone else but them, <Guys, can you tell me what Sins you guys have again? I kinda forgot.>

“Dante”—Ishmael's exasperated sigh was heard from beside Heathcliff—“you're the one who's holding the PDA. You should know better than us.”

A high-pitched, almost whining sound of ticks and tocks—if that even makes sense—responded to her, <But it'd be faster if you guys just tell me…>

Yi Sang tilted his head in confusion, “Do you want each of us to tell you all of the Sins in our respective skills? Would that not be very inefficient in our pressing state?” he glanced towards the Sign of Roses standing in front of them, twitching ever so slightly as it was still waiting, but it doesn't seem like its patience would last forever.

<That's true… Oh, I know! I'll just say the Sins, and those who have them can just raise their hands if they have it.>

“A very ingenious idea! As expected of the Executive Manager,” Heathcliff had to stop himself from groaning out loud at Outis's remark. Ugh, he can imagine her nodding her head proudly from behind him.

Dante began murmuring to themselves as they looked at their PDA, <Alright, let's see… I think Lust and Gloom are out of the question… Envy, too… definitely not Gluttony... Alright>—they lifted their head to look at the deployed Sinners—<who has Wrath?>

Heathcliff has it, so he raised his hand. Ishmael beside him also raised her hand. After a few seconds of watching, Dante waved their hand, signaling those who had raised them to lower their hands.

<Okay then, how about Sloth?>

Heathcliff didn't have that, so he rested his hand back on top of his bat. He could see and hear the sounds of Sinners raising their hands around him without needing to turn his head.

<Oh, quite a few. What about Pride?>

He didn't have that, either. Heathcliff closed his eyes, intending to rest them for a bit while the battle was put on hold.

He continued to hear Dante murmur, <Hmm… Sloth and Pride seems to tie… Well, there's still a few blue roses on the field, so I'll go with Pride this time.>

Blue roses, huh? Heathcliff opened his eyes again to look at the roses, who were still swaying gently.

Speaking of which, it should be Valentine's Day soon, innit? Heathcliff'd learned about it from Ishmael as they were standby in the bus’s seats, waiting to be deployed for today’s Mirror Dungeon run. Apparently, it was a common tradition among the young folks to celebrate love and romance, or something like that. She learned about it from a random district’s pamphlet, and decided to boredly talk about it with Heathcliff, since the date was coming near.

It was a day symbolized by chocolates, roses, hearts, and dates. Well, it seems quite silly if Heathcliff thought about it.

Though, then again…

He turned to look behind him, where Meursault was standing vigilantly. He was always in a battle-ready state, never one to let his guard down while being deployed—even when the fight had gone to a standstill like at this moment—unlike him, who'd taken to lazily lean on his bat.

Meursault noticed his movement, so he immediately caught his gaze, then asked, “Is something the matter, Heathcliff?”

He smirked, “Nah, I just wanna look at your handsome face for a minute, mate.”

Meursault showed no visible reaction, only nodding his head monotonously, “I appreciate that, Heathcliff, though I'd suggest you return your gaze towards the enemy ahead.”

“Hmph. You're no fun~”

He looked back at the Abnormality as he continued to let his mind wander boredly. Honestly, he still can't believe he's now officially dating that stony-faced, boring bastard.

It started off pretty simple. They quite liked being in each other's company. Heathcliff chatted along anything that's on his mind, and though Meursault’d rarely answered him back, he always listened and remembered whatever he said, down to the most insignificant detail. ‘Makes a man feel appreciated, y'know?

They started being closer and closer afterwards until one day, Heathcliff asked him if he wanted to be his lover. Meursault answered him with a simple, “Yes.”

Nothing much changed afterwards, they were still close as ever. They shared a few kisses here and there, took to embracing each other in their beds or being as close to each other as possible while at the bus, touching whenever possible.

They haven't reached that stage yet, but Heathcliff didn't mind. Blimey, he doesn't think his poor, beating heart could take that at the moment.

Outside of that, they acted no different than usual. The other mates at the bus were good with it, Dante said they were okay as long as it didn't affect their work, and it really didn't. Of course, they still know who holds their leashes.

But it is the day of love, after all, which brings Heathcliff back to his present thoughts.

He glanced at the roses again.

A bold idea popped up in his noggin. Well, Ishamel did say it was a special day where it’d be appropriate to give gifts to your loved one.

However, a shrieking voice coming from in front of him quickly made him snap out of his thoughts, "This garden will become terribly beautiful with more sinful flowers we bloom!”

Heathcliff quickly grabbed his bat as Dante rallied the Sinners once more, <Alright, guys, let's finish this!>

With the last hit coming from Yi Sang's dagger, the Sign of Roses finally reverted back to an egg.

At the same time, a door-like opening appeared behind it. It was their usual exit that would lead them out of this node and into the next fight.

As the Sinners gathered around to take a short break, Heathcliff instead walked towards the edge of the battlefield.

Meursault was the first to notice, as he turned his head to ask, “Heathcliff? Where are you going?”

“Just takin’ a look, mate,” Heathcliff casually said without turning his head, then stopped at the edge of the battlefield.

Among the pale, dusty ruins were thorns and vines wrapping around any visible construct, but they were now motionless, as the main Abnormality had reverted. Most of the roses out here are colored red, but Heathcliff'd managed to catch sight of some more colorful roses growing further back.

Thus, he went around the fallen rubble and eventually saw a bunch of fresh, vibrant, colorful roses wrapped around one of the taller constructs. They bloomed among the green thorns and vines, with seven bright colors of Sins, harmless now that the main Abnormality was catatonic.

The batch of roses reminded him of the heaths back at the mansion where he grew up. He used to run around with a certain someone among those fields and fields of purple flowers, where they thought their simple lives full of innocent, childish joy would never end.

Those flowers, those heaths remains the most— No, the only vibrant, colorful thing in that place.

…Fortunately, he had now left that hell behind, and had discovered a world that was much brighter, much richer than he could ever have thought of before.

After looking at them for a moment in silence, Heathcliff stuck out his hand to the rose flowers to feel them, careful not to accidentally prick his hand on the thorns instead.

Almost all of the roses had an organ-like texture on them, which felt disgusting, but his instincts told him that not all of them were like that. Some normal roses should actually exist among them.

After feeling around, he finally found a rose that didn't feel strange, and immediately pulled it out.

He looked at the rose in his hand. This one felt no different than a normal rose, so he should've gotten the right one. And aye, what a lucky coincidence, it was a blue rose. With twinkling eyes, he chuckled, “This'll match ‘im perfectly, I'd say.”

Suddenly, a familiar voice behind him asked, “What would perfectly match me?”

“Gah!” Heathcliff immediately spun around to face Meursault, though also not forgetting to hide the rose behind him. He sighed loudly, expressing his annoyance, “When the hell did you get here, mate?”

“Around five seconds ago. I was about to inform you that we were going to leave soon. What were you doing here?”

Heathcliff shrugged his shoulders, “Just lookin’ at some flowers, mate. Nothin’ special.”

“I see. If there’s nothing else to do, then we must regroup with the others. Come,” Meursault offered his hand, which Heathcliff took readily. Thus, they walked towards the exit, Meursault in front and Heathcliff behind him, as the Sinners were leaving one by one.

Didn't seem like the Tin Man realized he'd taken one of the roses, Heathcliff laughed triumphantly in his heart. With a smile on his face, his eyes wandered down towards their intertwined hands.

Aye, he might be one stony-faced prick, but his hands—or rather, his gloves—were warm, so his heart must be, too.

Meursault looked at the Basilisoup Abnormality standing before them.

A voice echoed from within its cauldron-like head, beneath its molten jaw, “There isn't anyone left here to enjoy the stew. Would ya mind removing the cauldron?”

The smell of a warm, fragrant soup emanated from the cauldron, filling up the whole tavern they were resting in. It reminded him of something important.

Tomorrow is Valentine's Day.

He had never heard of such a tradition before, but he had overheard it as Ishmael and Heathcliff were chatting beside him.

A day dedicated to promoting romance between lovers. He assumed it was a sound marketing strategy meant to indirectly boost the population in the City, as well as maximizing profits for businesses by running events with related themes.

However, is he not currently in such a relationship, as well?

He turned his head towards the tables in the tavern, where some of the Sinners were resting as Dante was still deciding what to choose for the current Abnormality's event. His eyes immediately gazed upon only one of them, the one currently laying half his upper body on the table and lightly snoring with his eyes closed: Heathcliff.

Heathcliff is now his lover, something he had agreed to by himself. It is still quite a surprising thing to believe.

Meursault didn't think much of it at first. Among the Sinners present, he had always found Heathcliff to be one of the most lively. Reckless as he is, he was always well-intentioned. He'd taken to treating his coworkers as family, no matter how unprofessional and immature that seems to be.

He was loud, brash, but also warm. He liked to say whatever was on his mind truthfully, bravely, without any reservation, which Meursault finds interesting. Occasionally, he would disagree with Heathcliff, therefore compelling him to add his own commentary or rebut him if he deems it necessary, though usually he would just keep silent.

But perhaps the most important is that he liked his voice. He liked hearing Heathcliff talk, whatever the subject might be. Thus, whenever he speaks, he would always divert a portion of his attention to listen.

Thus, perhaps it came to a bit of a surprise when one day, Heathcliff suddenly barged into his room, stood in front of him, and asked him if he wanted to be his lover. Meursault found no reason not to, so he said, “Yes.”

Afterwards, they officially began their relationship as lovers. Now, they were permitted to affectionately touch and kiss each other.

Meursault then discovered he also liked his kisses, his embrace, his touch. He had never felt so comfortable with someone’s warmth in the past, so much so that he constantly desires for it in every idle moment he gains.

He longs to be with that warmth again, for as long as it is available for him.

The crackling of flames made his mind return to the present. He looked at Dante, who was standing in front of him, still looking at their PDA thoughtfully.

He took the initiative to approach them to ask, “Is there a problem, Manager?”

Dante turned to him and tick-tocked, <Oh, nothing. I was just a bit confused. We're not running a Burn team this time, so I don't think either choices matter. I was just about to pick one of them randomly.>

“If you don't mind, may I suggest you take the Decamillenial Stewpot?”

Dante shook their head, <I don't mind. Though, can I ask why?>

“I would like to peruse the cookbook produced from the fusion that requires this EGO Gift.”

<Ooh, Papa Bongy’s Secret Cookbook? Okey dokey, then— Hey, wait a minute, are you planning to cook for someone?> Dante turned to look at him in surprise.

Meursault nodded his head honestly, “Yes, though it is meant to be a secret for now, so I implore you to keep quiet about it for the time being.”

<Okay, okay, I get it. Wow, I'd never thought there'd be a day where you'd actually ask me to do something.>

Usually, he wouldn't. There is no need for him to dictate Dante's choice, as he already believes in their decision.

But this particular request also came from a certain obligation, as well as desire. He did not know if Heathcliff himself remembers about Valentine's Day, but if he did, he would likely be angry if Meursault didn't give him something.

However, Meursault thought that it would be too short and boring to simply exchange gifts, so he decided to prepare a whole and complete dinner date for the both of them. He had also asked Ishmael beforehand, and it seems like it was also a normal thing to do on the occasion.

Now, it was only a matter of what to prepare. He had once seen a particular recipe in the Secret Cookbook that stood out from the rest, and he wanted to confirm if it would be suitable for the dinner date.

<Alright, we'll go with that one. Hmm… Lust and Wrath advantage huh? Oh, I guess I haven't chosen Don Quixote in awhile. Can you call her over?>

“Understood, Manager,” thus, Meursault went away for a bit to fetch Don Quixote, then returned with the very enthusiastic Sinner by his side.

Her eyes shone with excitement as she loudly asked, “Manager Esquire! Were you looking for me?!”

<Yeah, can you get the cauldron from the Basilisoup? Careful not to burn your hands, though.>

“Fear thou not. This is easily within my capabilities!”

Thus, Don Quixote marched bravely towards the Basilisoup’s jaw, placed her hands on the burning cauldron, then lifted it up and successfully brought it back.

Dante looked at her hands worriedly as she placed the cauldron in front of them, <Are your hands okay, Don Quixote?>

Her hands were lightly burned, but it wasn't anything serious, so she nodded her head, “Aye, Manager Esquire, there is naught for thee to worry.”

<Alright, then. You did a great job.>

She smiled broadly, “Hehe, I shan’t bask in this glory! ‘Tis what a great hero must have done, after all!”

“Thanks. Feel free to keep the cauldron,” the voice of the hearthflame also echoed from the Basilisoup's mouth.

At the same time, the exit door appeared in front of them, signaling the possibility of them being able to move on to the next dungeon.

On the next floor’s shop, Dante fused the Melted Paraffin and the Decamillenial Stewpot together to produce the Secret Cookbook, and then gave it to Meursault, as they had promised.

Meursault opened the thick book and flipped through its pages, eventually stopping at one particular page as his eyes locked on to the familiar title he had once seen before.

With an eye-catching, exaggerated font, it said, ‘Juicy Roast Chicken for Two! Plan the Perfect Romantic Date! Guaranteed to Win Your Partner's Heart! 100% Chance to Get Your Date to Tumble in Bed With You!’

…Meursault's brows briefly twitched as he read over the irritating title. For his own peace of mind, he chose to completely ignore it and move on to the actual recipe itself, which was what he was actually looking for.

As he had remembered, the content itself was quite detailed and thorough. He had never tried the recipe itself, but from his past experience of cooking, he can imagine that this would indeed produce a satisfactory meal that Heathcliff would also enjoy.

Meursault closed the Secret Cookbook and returned it to Dante with gratitude, “Thank you, Manager.”

He already knew what to prepare for the coming date.

A few floors later, they entered a toy shop-like space. A tall, wooden Abnormality that resembles a yellow, giraffe-like drinking bird toy stood ominously before them. It was the Sleepyhead Abnormality. Its tail was made of a giant, glass flask, with suspicious, blood-colored liquid pooling within it.

Its head was hanging in the air, dangerously balanced from the weight of the liquid on its tail.

But it was certainly not enough, as soon after, its head swiftly slammed on the ground like a hammer. The fluid on its tail splashed wildly within the glass flask.

To lift its head back up, they needed to fill the flask with enough blood to balance the weight of its head.

Dante turned towards the Sinners then, <Before I choose, does anyone wanna be a volunteer?>

Heathcliff raised his hand, “I'll do it, Clockhead.”

<Think you can handle it, Heathcliff?>

“Heh. Just watch me.”

Thus, Heathcliff stepped forwards towards the Abnormality under the watchful eyes of the other Sinners.

He stood behind the Abnormality, where the glass flask was, and then, after thinking about it for a quick few seconds, turned towards the group, waving his hand, “Oi, Little Birdie, c'mere.”

From where he was looking, it was obvious he meant Sinclair. Sinclair looked at the other Sinners, thinking he meant someone else, but upon realizing that fact as well, he pointed at himself in surprise, “Huh? You mean me?”

Heathcliff sighed and shook his head, “Who else am I speaking to, you silly little nitwit? Come on, come over here and cut my arm.”

As he stepped forward to stand beside him, Sinclair asked again, still unsure, “You mean… all of it?”

Heathcliff looked at him in disbelief, “What— No, of course not! Bloody hell, just make a gash big enough to let some blood flow, I didn't mean you'd have to cut it all off!”

“Oh, okay, okay! I get it now.”

Thus, Heathcliff extended his hand over the glass flask, and Sinclair raised his halberd over it.

Heathcliff warned him one last time, “Remember not to cut it all off, or I'll beat you to death after this.”

“Y-you don't have to tell me twice!”

In one, swift motion, he swung his halberd downwards, putting all of his weight into it. The sharp edge of his halberd slashed through Heathcliff’s arm. Fortunately, as he had said, he didn't cut it all the way through.

“Grh…!” Heathcliff gritted his teeth to stop himself from cursing. Blood began to flow from his arm, filling up the flask.

He had to endure the pain until Dante told him to stop. As the blood pooled within the glass flask, the head of the Abnormality began to lift up, up, and up, slowly rising up towards the ceiling.

Just as its head was almost fully raised up, Dante suddenly shouted, <Okay, stop! That should be enough.>

Heathcliff immediately withdrew his hand, and the toy Abnormality began to swing back and forth, now almost equally balanced. Seemingly sated from the weight of blood, the eyes on its head turned to look at the Sinners, perhaps in gratitude or malice, they weren't able to tell. At the same time, a hidden compartment on its belly popped open, revealing a bloody hammer. After Dante took it, the next exit appeared before them, allowing them to leave the dungeon.

But Dante didn't tell them to immediately move on, instead, he went over to Heathcliff to check on him, <Are you okay, Heathcliff?>

Heathcliff took a deep breath to calm himself, then nodded as he held his still bleeding hand, “I'm good, Clockhead. ‘Just need a second to get myself back in shape.”

<Okay, I'll give you some time to recover.> Dante then turned towards the other Sinners, saying, <Guys, let's take a break for now. The next node should be an Ambling Pearl, so this would be a good moment to prepare yourselves before we leave this place.>

Thus, the Sinners all relaxed to do their own things. That also reminds Heathcliff, he wants to do something else while he's here.

So, he turned towards Dante, saying, “Oi, Clockhead, I want to look around for a bit. Might also find something to patch this nasty gash up.”

<Huh? Would anything like that even exist here?>

Heathcliff snorted, “Aye, you won't know until you try, innit?”

<Yeah, you're right. I guess any regular shop would have at least a first aid kit somewhere. Alrighty then, you can go.>

Just as Heathcliff was about to turn to leave, Dante suddenly called out again, as if just remembering something, <Oh, Heathcliff, wait a second!>

Heathcliff turned towards them then, as Dante explained their intention, <Do you need someone to accompany you? I know there shouldn't be any threats left with the Abnormality resolved, but it won't hurt to be cautious. Should I call Meursault to go with you?>

At that, a hint of a blush started to spread on his cheeks. He shook his head repeatedly in embarrassment, looking elsewhere to avoid their eyeless gaze, “N-no, that won't be necessary, mate.”

<...Huh. Okay then, suit yourself. Just be careful out there, okay?>

“Got it. I'll be back soon.”

And thus, Heathcliff separated from the group once again, completely oblivious to the gaze of a pair of green eyes, who had continued to watch his every move from the very start.

Heathcliff’d found a first aid kit soon enough. It was where he expected it to be, by the cashier's counter at the far back of the shop. After wrapping up his wound, he didn't immediately return to the group, but instead continued to wander around.

After looking around a few of the aisles, he eventually came to a stop when he found what he was looking for.

In front of him now stood a pink shelf, almost completely filled with a stack of unopened… chocolates.

Ishmael did say Valentine's should be celebrated by giving chocolates besides roses, right? Well, lucky him, he had plenty of them right now to choose from.

…Perhaps too many, even. Heathcliff scanned over the various packaging, and saw many unfamiliar brands and flavors.

Milk chocolate, dark chocolate, white chocolate… then, there are other variations like adding caramel, hazelnut, or sea salt…

…Shite. He didn't know which one Meursault would like.

“Ah, sod it. If I dunno what to choose, I'll let him choose for himself,” Heathcliff concluded while nodding his head in satisfaction, as he then proceeded to swipe as many chocolates as he could, making sure to get a lot of different combinations of brands and flavors as he did so.

After grabbing enough chocolates, he finally decided to return. He had already gotten a Valentine's Day card from a different aisle—an obnoxiously bright pink one with red hearts plastered all over. It made him cringe when he first saw it, but when he thought about Meursault receiving such a letter, it delighted him, so he decided to grab it with him as well—and so he should have everything planned for Valentine's Day.

But then, as he was approaching the group, something shiny caught his eye.

He turned his head and saw a lone, tin robot toy, on a shelf equally leveled to his gaze.

It was shiny and polished, looking as if it came straight out of a factory. It was also colored silver-blue, with metal hands and feet extending from its rectangular body, ending up with bright red claws and shoes. Its eyes were a pair of bright, round, and yellow lights. Electrical lines and patterns engraved every inch of it, and a bunch of random panels and sensors were displayed on its chest.

But what's most intriguing to Heathcliff, of all, was its long, rectangular, straight, and expressionless white mouth.

…Because it reminded him of Meursault.

Heathcliff burst out laughing at his own thoughts. He had to clasp his hand over his mouth as he tried to stop himself from wheezing out of breath.

After wiping his tears away, he eventually looked towards the tin robot toy again, mirth and mischief completely filling his eyes, “Y'know what? You're coming with me, Little Tin Man.”

Thus, Heathcliff also reached out and took the tin robot toy.

“I think I'll call you ‘Meursault Two’. You look just like him, don'cha know? I bet he'll like you just as much as I do, because as far as I can tell, there's no difference between you two at all!”

The tin robot toy in his hands did not answer, as it was just a toy, but Heathcliff did not expect it to. He proceeded to walk back towards the group, whistling a joyful tune.

Now, they’ve entered a bright green cavern. A transparent, green liquid flooded the floor of the cavern up to their ankles, and standing in the center of it all, was a fat and stout fairy Abnormality wearing a bowler hat and a black tie, holding a glass of Green Spirit on its right hand.

Upon noticing the Sinners’ arrival, it sloshed towards them, “Been a while since I had visitors! I oughta give you a right treat,” it cheerfully said, tipping its hat with its free hand and bowing respectfully towards them.

“Plum outta luck for eatery, I’ve already had all the food.”

“Straight as you can see, this glass o’ fairy wine is all I have. Would ya care for a drink?”

Meursault’s eyes moved towards the glass of spirit on the Abnormality’s hand.

Hmm… it is true that he didn't have a choice of drink, yet, although he already knew what he was going to make for the meal of the dinner date.

The Fairy Gentleman seemed to notice his gaze, and offered the drink towards him, “Wanna have a sip, dear guest?”

Meursault shook his head, “I'll let the Manager decide for us. If they want us—or just me—to drink it, then I will.”

“Hoo! Well, then, matey, whaddya say?” Fairy Gentleman turned towards Dante, who was still contemplating their choice.

Meursault looked at the liquid flooding the floor. If he wasn't mistaken, the spirit on that glass was also the same liquid he was standing on right now.

He had once drunk it before, when Dante chose to share it with everyone in one of their past encounters. It had a strange, unpleasant texture, and the bits of fairy flesh floating around the top also tasted bitter, but other than that, the fluid itself actually tasted quite good. Meursault thought it would be a nice companion for their planned meal.

Thus, Meursault wondered if it was possible to distill the liquid to dissolve the strange texture, and perhaps even improve its taste.

He then turned towards Faust, who was standing beside him, “Faust, may I ask you a question?”

“You may.”

“Is it possible to distill the Green Spirit to improve its quality?”

Faust briefly blinked her eyes in thought, then answered without turning her head, “Theoretically, it is possible. However, Faust holds no such information or records of attempts made in relation to this subject, therefore I have no concrete evidence to support this claim.”

“That's alright.”

After a brief pause, Faust looked at him, “Will you be attempting this yourself?”

“I will.”

“Do you know how to distill alcohol?”

“I do not, though I am sure I would be able to learn how to, as well as gain the necessary equipment somewhere in the district.”

“...I suggest you leave this matter to me, then, in that case.”

Now, it was Meursault’s time to look at her, with a bit of surprise himself, “Are you willing to do this? Why?”

“Faust will not miss the chance to record any kind of new knowledge, no matter how strange or insignificant. This is an unexplored territory, therefore I have much freedom to discover and experiment on my own.”

“Do you know the necessary procedures?”

“Faust will find a way. After all, Faust is a genius.”

“Then I am in your debt.”

The two looked forwards again, where Dante had finally chosen to slap the Fairy Gentleman's hand away, letting the glass and its contents spill on the floor, completely provoking it, and eventually causing it to spew sour liquid at them from its belly.

Faust drew her sword to the side, “For now, let us focus on the battle at hand.”

Meursault raised his fists in accordance, “Mm.”

After the final blow, the Fairy Gentleman wailed in defeat as it returned back to the form of an egg. At the same time, an exit appeared behind it.

<Finally, that's the last floor! Come on, guys, let's all head back.>

With the cheer of the more lively Sinners, they entered the exit one by one.

Meursault remained behind, standing right where he was when he was still deployed in battle. Turning his head, he saw Faust kneeling down to gather the liquid on the floor in a wine bottle.

He curiously asked, “Where did you get that bottle?”

“I saw it on the edge of the arena, hidden behind one of the transparent crystals. It seems to be the Abnormality's hidden stash, though it's all emptied out when I came to check on it.”

“I see. And were there any unopened bottles left?”

“No.”

“That's a shame.”

As she rose back up with a full bottle, he asked again, “Is it alright to use the fluid from the floor? Has it not been contaminated by our spilled blood and flesh?”

“The process of distillation will purify it from any kind of contamination that you speak of.”

“Oh. That makes sense.”

Now that the liquid had been retrieved, Meursault was about to leave with the rest, when suddenly Faust called out to him again, with a bit of hesitation in her voice, “Meursault?”

He stopped in his tracks and turned to face her, “Yes?”

Faust stepped towards him, “Were you planning to celebrate Valentine's Day on a dinner date with Heathcliff?”

Meursault nodded, “I was.”

“Alright. Then please make sure not to disturb the resting time of the other Sinners as you do so.”

“I will.”

But then, out of curiosity, he also asked her, “Is Heathcliff also aware of this?”

“I don't think so, though he seems to have a plan of his own. All of us had observed that both of you had acted very differently than usual today, and I presumed it would be related to the coming date.”

Meursault nodded his head, “That is as I expected. Yes, all of it is true.”

Faust briefly hesitated in thought again before asking, “Would you like to know what Heathcliff had done for you?”

“No, that is not necessary,” Meursault shook his head. “It would clearly upset him if I were to know his gift before he reveals it. In addition, I would like to keep the suspense of the surprise for myself, as well.”

“Okay. I will deliver the bottle later this evening, if that's alright?”

“That would be appreciated, Faust. I am grateful for your assistance.”

She turned her head away, her eyes looking elsewhere as she continued, “And… if you need anything else, please do not hesitate to ask me.”

“...I will take note of that.”

Thus, the two eventually walked back towards the exit together.

Later that day, Meursault approached two particular Sinners, who were also conveniently chatting together at this moment. That's good, he won't need to search them separately and explain everything twice.

“Good afternoon, Hong Lu and Rodya.”

The two Sinners turned towards him and greeted him.

Hong Lu tilted his head, “Hi, Meursault~ what are you up to?”

“I would like to ask for your assistance. It should be a very familiar matter for you both.”

Rodion’s eyes twinkled in interest, “Ooh, now you got us hooked! Whaddya have in mind?”

Meursault looked around, making sure that one particular Sinner wasn't around, then stepped closer to them and lowered his voice to ask, “I would like to ask you to procure suits for me and Heathcliff for Valentine's Day. Would that be possible?”

Rodion gasped in delight, “Are we gonna get a chance to style him again?! Well, you can count on us for that, Meur~”

“Ah. I am not sure if he would let you do so.”

Hong Lu asked him in surprise, “Huh? Haven't you told him about this?”

Meursault shook his head, “No, I haven't.”

Before he could explain further, Rodion had already cut him off, as if already understanding everything without needing further context, “Ooh, we get it, you want to keep it a surprise, don'cha? You don't have to worry about that, we'll take care of it!” Rodion proudly patted her chest in assurance.

Meursault only nodded his head at her enthusiasm, “That would be appreciated. I thank you both.”

Rodion turned towards her partner with sparkling eyes, “Hong Lu, you go deal with Heathcliff, I'll go with Meursault. Make sure not to let them see each other, got it?”

“Okay~”

Rodion turned to Meursault again, now grabbing his hand and almost dragging him off the bus, “Come on, Meur! We should still have time to get both of you suits! Do you have any style in mind?”

Meursault shook his head, “I don't. I'll leave the decision to you.”

Rodion looked at him with a bit of humorous disbelief, “Haha… you're really gonna let me have all this power? Alright, then! No takesies-backsies!” she said in delight, gripping the arm of her victim—No, she meant her friend—tighter, as if making sure he wouldn't be able to go back on his decision, “I know just the place in mind!”

Not long after that, Hong Lu approached Heathcliff, who had just reappeared from his room.

He greeted him, “Hi, Heathcliff~ can I bother you for a second?”

Heathcliff, who was sitting on his seat, looking out of the window while daydreaming about something, immediately snapped back to reality and turned to acknowledge him, “Oh, sure, lad. What's up?”

Hong Lu bent down and whispered in a sneaky way, “One of the Sinners planned something really special for you tomorrow, and they asked me to help you get dressed for it!”

Heathcliff looked at him in surprise. It seems he already vaguely knew who he meant, as red began to spread on his cheeks, “H-huh? Are you serious?”

“I am~ I wouldn't lie to you about this, would I? Come on! We'll have to go now before the tailors close!”

As Hong Lu dragged Heathcliff out of the bus, he tried to resist, though it'll inevitably be in vain, due to how strong and persistent Hong Lu's grip was, “Wait— Hong Lu, I haven't said anything about this, yet!”

“Oh, don't worry, I'll be paying for all of it! You just have to make sure you look nice for tomorrow, okay~?”

“Hong Lu!”

Somehow, someway, Hong Lu had managed to drag Heathcliff to a tailor shop not far from the bus. It was quite small, but the suits they had ready were displayed on rows and rows of hanger racks, almost filling up the whole shop. Heathcliff didn't know a lick about high fashion, but he can vaguely tell that these were all expensive, high-quality suits.

Hong Lu went ahead to talk to the staff for a moment, then went back to him with a big smile on his face.

“Okay, Heathcliff, you can go to the changing room first. I'll bring you the suits soon.”

Heathcliff looked at him doubtfully, “Don't they need to take my measurements’ or something like that?”

“Oh, those are for custom-made suits. Since we don't really have time for that, we'll just have to make do with the ready-made ones available.”

“And how do we know which one'll fit me?”

“Well, we'll just have to try them all~”

Just as Heathcliff was about to touch the sleeves of one of the suits on the racks out of curiosity, he froze in shock at his casual comment. He looked at him in surprise, “What— Are you serious, lad?”

“I am.”

“How long is that gonna take?”

“A whole day, if we need to. Choosing suits is a serious matter, Heathcliff! You can't just pick a random suit off the rack and pay for it like a regular shirt,” Hong Lu shook his head disapprovingly.

“...”

Thus, Heathcliff was sent to the changing room in defeat like a soldier sent to the battlefield.

Time seemed to quickly pass by.

So far, Hong Lu had asked Heathcliff to try on five different suits, four white shirts, and seven ties.

“Uwaah~ Heathcliff, you look so handsome! Do you like this one?”

At this point, Heathcliff had pretty much given up on resisting, and was just following whatever Hong Lu told him to. Thus, as he had done so many times before, he checked his reflection in the mirror, but then he frowned.

He grabbed the lapel of his suit, saying, “It feels a little bit too tight around the chest, mate. Don't you think so, too?”

Hong Lu, who was sitting on a chair not far from the changing room, looked at his newest outfit for a few seconds, then nodded his head, “Hmm… I think you're right, it does look a bit too fitting. Alright, go try out this one, then,” Hong Lu grabbed a different suit from the pile stacked on the chair next to him, then passed it over to Heathcliff.

Heathcliff couldn't help but groan as he took the suit. Though he was very appreciative of his efforts, changing outfits so many times was undeniably tiring.

Shaking his head, he tried to distract himself. Heathcliff looked at the pile of suits and different clothing next to Hong Lu, then asked curiously, “How many more of them do we gotta go through?”

Hong Lu looked at the pile next to him and shrugged, “I don't really know, I think I picked up two or three more while you were changing. We'll go through the whole shop if we need to, and if we still can't find a decent one, we'll go to the next tailor, and the next, and the next—”

Heathcliff waved his hand, “Stop, you're just gonna give me an early headache, mate,” he then placed his palm on his face and sighed in exhaustion.

Hong Lu only laughed cheerfully, as if completely unbothered by his friend's misery, “Cheer up, Heathcliff~! You want to look your best for your date, don't you?”

Heathcliff smiled softly at that, remembering why—or who—he's going through all this for in the first place, “That's true, aye.”

Hong Lu also nodded in satisfaction, “Then you can go back to the changing room. I'll be waiting right~ over here.”

“...Sometimes, I wish I could knock that annoying smile out of your face.”

Hong Lu tilted his head, “But then, who'll pay for the suit?”

“Hong Lu, just shut up.”

“Okay, I will~”

Thus, Heathcliff went inside the changing room again.

Not long after, he came out of the door. This time, he wore a light blue suit with black lapels.

Hong Lu clapped his hands in amazement, “Oh! I think this is the best-looking one for you yet!”

“Really?” Heathcliff looked at his reflection in the mirror. He didn't feel uncomfortable wearing this pair, and Hong Lu was right, the suit does look good on him, better than the ones he'd tried on before.

“I think you're right, mate.”

“Alright~ then we'll go get this one. Shall we buy another one?”

Heathcliff snorted, “And make me try on tens of different suits again when we've already got one good one? No thanks, mate.”

“Aww, how about the ones you've tried on before? I like that dark grey one.”

“I've told you already, that one was a bit too short for me.”

“Fine, whatever you say~ Go get changed, I'll ask the staff to pack it up.”

Just as Heathcliff was about to go to the changing room again, Hong Lu suddenly turned around, as if just remembering something.

“Heathcliff, wait! Don't change yet, we haven't found a matching tie!”

Heathcliff couldn’t help himself from groaning loudly.

Meanwhile, in a different tailor, Rodion and Meursault were doing a similar action, that is, choosing a suit for the latter.

“Wow~ I think this one looks good on you, too!” Rodion nodded her head. “I can't believe how many suits fit you so well, I don't even know how to choose. Do you really not know which one you like the most?”

Meursault shook his head, “I don't.”

“Ugh… This is going to be hard. Would you mind if I just flip a coin over it?”

“I don't mind.”

“H-hey, I was just joking,” Rodion laughed nervously, waving her arms dismissively. “We can't just leave these kinds of things to fate, what would Heathcliff think if you just choose a random suit based on a coin flip?”

Meursault looked thoughtful, “I suppose he'd be unhappy.”

“That's right, he'd be really angry at you, and you wouldn't want that to happen,” Rodion giggled, but then, she suddenly snapped her fingers, “Wait, that just gave me an idea! Why don't you just choose a suit based on what you think Heathcliff would like?”

Meursault turned towards the pile of suits in deep thought, “What Heathcliff would like…”

He sorted through the suits he and Rodion chose, examining them one by one, then eventually picked up a black suit.

“Perhaps this one.”

Rodion tilted her head curiously, “Hm~? Oh yeah, that one also looks pretty good. What makes you choose that one?”

“I remember Heathcliff has an Identity that wore a suit. This one… is the most similar to the one he wore, out of the ones we've chosen.”

“...That doesn't really— You know what, nevermind~! Let's go pay for it!”

Just as Rodion had grabbed the suit and was about to run off to the cashier with it, Meursault said, “Rodya, we haven't chosen a tie, yet.”

That stopped her dead in her tracks. She turned towards him in delight, “Ooh, you're right! We haven't really tried any ties, have we? Do you want me to bring you some?”

“Yes, that would be appreciated. Oh, and if possible—”

“Hmm?”

“...Please bring me blue ties.”

“Wow~ that was so fun! Don't you think so, too, Meursault~?”

“It was a bit tiring, but it was indeed enjoyable.”

The two had left the tailor, and were now making their way back to the bus. In Meursault’s arm was the bag with the purchased suit and tie wrapped neatly within it.

Rodion sighed out loud, “It's such a shame that you only bought one. There were so many good-looking suits, too. You should've just bought them all!”

“That would be an unnecessary expense of our budget. In addition, I only needed to wear one suit that Heathcliff would approve of.”

“Alright, alright~ ‘Guess you really care about his opinion, huh?”

“I do.”

After a few moments of silence, as Rodion seemingly can't help her curiosity, she turned towards him with a grin and asked, “Hey, is it true that you're gonna have a dinner date with him? That's why you're going through all this effort?”

Meursault nodded his head, “Yes, it is.”

“That sounds so romantic~! Where are you gonna take him to? Ooh, I know these really good restaurants, they're kinda expensive, but they'll definitely be worth it for a date—”

Meursault shook his head, interrupting her speech, “No need. I've already planned to cook for him, and have made the necessary preparations for tomorrow.”

“Oh. You mean, like, you're gonna have the date in your room?”

“Yes. Is there something wrong with that?”

Rodion looked at him with a bit of disbelief, “You… were you planning on decorating the room, at least?”

Meursault looked back at her, “No. Would that be necessary?”

Rodion almost shouted at him, “Of course it is! Your room has those scary eyes and fingers drawn on the walls, right? It'd be so creepy to have a dinner date in a room like that!” Rodion shuddered.

“Ah. I've never thought of that before.”

“Well~ good thing I asked, hehe. Just leave it up to the master!” Rodion proudly said, putting her hand on her chest.

Meursault was slightly amused by her boasting, “Mm. Then I'll be in your care.”

Today's finally the day. It's Valentine's Day.

The air felt quite different today. The atmosphere in the bus seemed to be charged up with a different kind of joy and innocent whimsy, similar to the energy felt during Christmas.

The higher-ups had graciously allowed the Sinners a single day of recess to celebrate the tradition after doing back-breaking work for the whole week. Even if not all of them celebrated the theme of the occassion, it was indeed nice to take the day off.

Some Sinners had decided to use their time off to go out of the bus together and into the districts. Some others decided to lock themselves in their rooms, using the time to completely rest and relax.

Heathcliff also didn't know what to do with his free time, but he knew he was waiting for something—or rather, someone—at least.

He was wearing the outfit that Hong Lu had bought him, as well as a matching purple tie fastened neatly around his neck. At first, he felt self-conscious going out to the hallways in a different outfit, but the Sinners who'd seen him gave him compliments about how good he looked, so that made his tense nerves relax slightly.

But still, strangely enough, the man he was waiting for wasn't anywhere to be seen.

He'd asked the other Sinners who were still on the bus, but they all shook their heads. He also waited for a long time, then asked the Sinners who went out if he came with them, or if they'd seen him in the districts, but they said nothing, either.

His bubbling excitement slowly turned into annoyance, then rumbling anger.

Well, it is true that neither of them had said anything to each other—as Heathcliff was also vaguely aware that Meursault had prepared a surprise of his own—but come on, Heathcliff didn't expect the man to go missing for the whole day.

Surely he'd know what special occasion today's date is, right? For the Wing’s sake, he was sitting right there when he and Ishmael were talking about it, he definitely was listening in.

Or maybe, he… forgot about it? Dammit, if he really did, Heathcliff'd knock the shite out of that bugger!

As his irritability grew worse and worse, it was at that moment that Faust approached him—perhaps sensing his quickly declining mood—and mercifully told him that Meursault had never left his room since the morning.

“What? All day long?” At Faust's continued nodding, Heathcliff felt angry, and yet also worried.

Is something wrong with him? Was he sick? Did he catch something from the last Mirror Dungeon's run, so that's why he hadn't come out yet? He'd already knocked on his door before, but there was no answer, so that's why he thought he was out. But if it was true that he never left his room, then why didn't he answer him when he knocked on his door?

Split between sickening worriness and burning anger, he rushed into the back of the bus, stood in front of Meursault’s room, and knocked on his door again.

…There was still no answer. He persisted knocking, now actively yelling out loud, “Oi, ‘sault! I know you're in there, what's the matter with ya? Are you sick? Why won't you answer me?”

Still, only that deafening silence responded to him. A pit of anxiety pooled in his stomach, eventually winning out the tug of war between worry and anger.

His rage at being ignored had completely shrunk out, overwhelmed by the fear that something wrong had truly happened to his lover.

He had already lifted his foot and was just about to kick the door down, when he heard frantic steps coming from inside the room, and eventually that bloody door finally opened before him.

Meursault stood there in full view, one hand on the door frame and the other still on the edge of the opposite handle, showing how he had rushed to open it. He was wearing a black suit and white shirt, and a neat, small blue tie wrapped around his neck, as if he had also dressed up formally to also match Heathcliff's outfit for the date. He looked a little out of breath, like he’d been doing some kind of exercise before.

Oh, so Meursault was perfectly okay. Whew. Heathcliff was glad.

…But that also means he really had been ignoring him, and not because he was sick or anything like that.

His relief quickly became fuel to the fire, and he continued to throw his raised foot, now aiming towards his broad chest as he yelled out, “Dammit, why didn't you answer me?! Don't you know how worried I was? I thought you were sick because you ignored me for the whole day!”

In a surprising turn of events, Meursault caught his foot, moved it to the side, and instead used his other hand to reach towards him and pull him towards his embrace.

Meursault lowered his head to kiss the top of his head in longing and apology, stroking his hair repeatedly to soothe him as he explained, “Forgive me, mon amour (my love), I did not mean to ignore you. It had only taken me much longer than I expected to prepare for what I was planning to do for us both.”

And just like that, most of Heathcliff's anger completely melted away. With an almost defeated and subdued sigh, he lifted his head to directly look at him with what's left of his previous annoyance, and hurled him with various questions that were on his mind, “What do you mean? What were you planning? And why'd it take you so long?”

Meursault pinched his chin and lifted it up so he could kiss him once again—this time to silence his worries—before he finally let him go. He then took his arms and pulled him into his room, inviting him in, “Come inside, Heathcliff. You can see for yourself, I've just finished.”

When Heathcliff entered the room, he was surprised to see that it wasn't pale and cold like the usual Sinners’ rooms, but it felt bright and warm.

He finally looked around the room, and saw that Meursault had decorated his own room with a few amber fairy lights hung on the ceiling to create a dreamy and romantic atmosphere. He had also hung burgundy covers over all sides of his walls, so that he wouldn’t be able to see the graphic fingers and eyes drawn on them. That was good, it always made Heathcliff feel uneasy when he was staying in his place.

But then, Heathcliff was drawn to the center of the room where all the attention deserves, where a table for two was set there, and a perfect, roasted chicken accompanied with various vegetables and sides were plated on the middle, adorned with a few small candles lit up at the outer edge of the rectangular table.

Heathcliff was completely shocked. He turned towards Meursault, eyes wide in surprise, “You… did all of this for me?”

Meursault had come to embrace him from behind, both hands wrapping around his waist possessively, as if he couldn't get enough of his taste, his touch, his warmth, reluctant to be apart from him even for a moment.

He lowered his head to kiss Heathcliff on the cheek again before nodding, releasing one of his hands to take Heathcliff's on his own and gripping it in reassurance, “Of course. It is an appropriate arrangement for today's event, which is Valentine's Day. Is something wrong?” Meursault turned to look at him, “Do you not like it?”

“I do! Don't get me wrong, it's just…” Heathcliff lowered his head to the floor. His voice was quiet, almost imperceptible if Meursault wasn't directly standing right behind him, “I don't think anyone'd ever done this much for me before.”

Meursault sighed, blowing his hot breath right next to his ear, making the man in his embrace involuntarily shiver, “Mon cher (my dear), I've only done what I think you deserve. Do not think so lowly of yourself,” he pinched his chin and turned him around to face him so Meursault could kiss him, diverting his attention.

He did this again, and again, and again, not only on his mouth, but also his cheeks, his nose, the corners of his eyes, wherever he is able to, intending to completely overwhelm Heathcliff until the point where Meursault had to stop because they were both out of breath, their faces burning red, their eyes slightly unfocused, and mists of breaths had warmed the distance between them.

Heathcliff placed his hands on Meursault's chest in an attempt to push him away, while also shaking his head repeatedly, clearly embarrassed and flustered, “S-stop it, that's enough bloody kisses from you!”

“If that is your request, mon beau (my handsome (one)),” thus, Meursault reluctantly let him go after one last kiss on his forehead. “Now, come and sit on the chair. You can let me know if my cooking is up to your tastes, or if there's anything you would like to add.”

As Meursault took Heathcliff's hand to lead him to the table, the latter scoffed, rather scornfully at himself, “Hah. Whatever you'd manage to cook up would definitely be better than what I could ever make, mate, why would I have to comment on it?”

Meursault shook his head, “You are mistaken, Heathcliff, every input gained would be necessary to achieve mastery in a certain skill, regardless where its origins’ comes from.”

“Alright, alright, I get your point, sheesh,” as Heathcliff sat on his seat, his usual smile eventually returned to him, his previous thoughts fading away, replaced with genuine appreciation of his lover's efforts and gestures. He looked at the delicious meal in front of him and licked his lips in anticipation, “So, where'd you get all this from, anyways?”

After seating himself, Meursault began cutting up the chicken and serving the slices to both of their plates, while answering, “I bought it outside, then I cooked it according to the steps of the Secret Cookbook.”

“The… secret cookbook? Do we even have something like that?” Heathcliff asked as he ate one of the slices and began chewing it. It was nice and juicy, perfectly roasted, but, “Hmm... I'd say you need to add a little more seasoning, it still tastes a bit plain.”

“Understood, I will remember that for next time, and yes, it is one of the Fusion EGO Gifts available in the Mirror Dungeon—”

Heathcliff coughed loudly, almost choking on his food. He quickly swallowed it before Meursault got worried, and then, while rubbing his aching throat, he asked in surprise, “You cooked this based on a recipe from a dungeon?!”

Meursault nodded his head, though still with a bit of confusion, “I did. Is something wrong with that? Ah, I assure you, it contains nothing dangerous nor toxic. I have tasted it myself and made sure no harmful ingredients were involved in the process of cooking.”

Heathcliff coughed to the side for a bit, and after clearing his throat, he eventually looked back at him and said, “Ahem. Yeah, I know you wouldn't. I was just a bit surprised.”

“I feel relieved, because this is not the only product I've acquired from the dungeon.”

Heathcliff tilted his head curiously, “Hm? You brought something else?”

Meursault bent down to pick up something from the floor, and revealed a green wine bottle. It has no labels and no discernible way to know what the liquid inside of it is.

Fortunately, Meursault readily explained it to him, “This is a distilled version of the Green Spirit. I was planning on having it as a companion for our dinner.”

“The Green Spirit… you mean that green wine that fat fairy likes to drink?”

Before Heathcliff could recoil in disgust, Meursault assured him again, “Yes, but this is the distilled version. It is safe to drink. I will pour you a glass so you can try it out yourself.”

Thus, Meursault poured him and himself a glass. They clinked their glasses together before sipping it.

“Huh, you're right. It got rid of that sticky, weird taste, and now it's rather lighter and sweeter. It's quite nice, actually. How'd you do this, mate? I didn't know you could do all this stuff.”

“I didn't. Faust assisted me. She gave the final product yesterday evening. She had assured me that it is now safe for consumption, as she had already tried it herself.”

“You even got Faust to help you? Blimey”—Heathcliff set his glass aside, propping his elbow on the table and resting his head on it as he looked at his partner in complete wonder—“you really pulled out all the stops for this date, huh?”

Meursault reached over to kiss him in the lips once again, and only after a few, long seconds did he return back to his seat, “Yes, because I believe it is what is appropriate for this setting, and for you.”

“I can't have imagined what I did in my life to ever deserve you,” Heathcliff sighed.

Meursault reached over to grab his hand and kissed the back of his hand in reassurance, “There is no need to dwell on the past. What matters is the here and now.”

That smile that ignited the passion in Meursault's heart soon returned to his lover's face, as Heathcliff chuckled, “Heh. I guess you're right, mate.”

They continued eating, drinking, and chatting the night away. At some point of time, they had reverted back to a companionable silence. They’d just about finished their delicious meal, and were now enjoying the tranquil peace while waiting to digest their food.

Their cheeks were warm and their focus was a bit blurred. It seems they were a bit drunk already, but not enough to completely impede themselves—they've learned that lesson in the dungeons. At this point, they'd probably drunk enough to let go of some of their usual restraints.

Meursault looked at his lover sitting opposite of him, “Did you find the meal enjoyable, Heathcliff?

Heathcliff nodded, smiling warmly, “I did. I like it a lot.”

“That is fortunate.”

But then, after a few brief moments of silence, Heathcliff jolted as if he just remembered something, “Oh! Bloody hell, I just remembered, I also have something to give you!” Heathcliff abruptly stood up from his seat, then pointed at Meursault, “Wait here. Stay right where you are, I'll be back soon.”

Without waiting for Meursault’s response, he had already turned to leave. Meursault followed his movements out of the door of his room, and after he left, he never turned his head away, awaiting the moment Heathcliff would reappear from the entrance.

Sure enough, a few minutes later, Heathcliff came back, with... a stack of chocolates on his hands?

Heathcliff proudly went back to the table, and spread out his stash of chocolates like invaluable treasures, “Go on, this’s all for you. I didn't know which one you'd want, so I made sure to grab as many as I could.”

Meursault looked at the chocolates in surprise and mirth. He picked one up randomly, and saw it was a plain milk chocolate. There seems to be quite a lot of combinations of flavors, so he commented in amusement, “There are so many of them. Where did you get these?”

“From the dungeons. Like you did.”

Meursault nodded his head, “I see. Then we must have similar thoughts. I will make sure to taste each and every one of them, and let you know which one I like the most.”

Heathcliff scratched his head in embarrassment, “Oh, you don't have to do all that, mate.”

“I do, because you have spent great effort to get them, and I should show you how much I appreciate your efforts. Personally, I am also quite curious as to how they taste.”

For some reason, that made Heathcliff's heart warm. He chuckled, “Heh. Alright then, suit yourself. Besides, I still have one more thing, actually.”

Meursault lifted his gaze from the chocolates, “Oh? Do you have another gift for me?”

Heathcliff hesitated for a bit. One of his hands was behind his back, seemingly hiding his other gift. He looked away while smiling sheepishly, “I do, but… it might be a little embarrassing. I thought it'd be funny at the time, but now that I've seen how much you've done for me, I'm not sure if I should give it to you,” he said, his voice getting smaller and shyer at the end.

Meursault looked at him with slight amusement, “Heathcliff, mon doux (my sweet (one)), I would be happy with whatever you give me.”

“Alright... but you can't laugh!”

Thus, Heathcliff placed the gift on the table.

And so, Meursault saw what was placed in front of him, a silver-blue tin robot toy, holding a blue rose and a Valentine's Day card in its hands.

Meursault’s eyes shook in amusement.

“...I said don't laugh.”

“I didn't.”

“Well, you're about to!”

“If you said I couldn't, then I wouldn't.”

Though, still with a lot of amusement and interest in his eyes, Meursault picked up the toy with the two items in its hands. He first carefully pried open its hands, picked up the two objects and set them on the table, then inspected the toy itself first.

“Did you also get these from dungeons?”

“Uh-huh.”

Meursault pulled on its stiff arms, “Did you get this because it reminded you of me?”

Heathcliff tilted his head, “How'd you know?”

“It is easy to tell. I figured that is what you would have thought.”

“Well, yeah, d’you like it?” Seeing that Meursault didn't seem to mind, Heathcliff visibly relaxed from his previous pent up tension from nervousness, now smiling in amusement again, “I called it ‘Meursault Two’, y'know? ‘Cause it looked just like you!”

Meursault nodded his head in complete agreement to everything Heathcliff had said to him, “I see. I also like ‘Meursault Two’. I will put it here for now, and will place it somewhere safer later on,” Meursault placed ‘Meursault Two’ on the edge of the table, facing them both, then turned towards the other two gifts.

His eyes first turned towards the vibrant blue rose, “This rose… you said you got all of your gifts from the dungeons, does it include this one?”

“Yup”—Heathcliff rested his head on his propped up elbow again—“you even almost caught me picking it. Do ya remember which one it was?”

“Was it the Sign of Roses?”

“Bingo! For that, you get a kiss~” Heathcliff reached over the table to kiss him just like Meursault did, then eventually sat back down after lingering for a few seconds.

Meursault looked back at the rose and caressed its petals, “It does not have the strange texture of the usual roses of the Abnormality. It must be a rare one. This is a valuable gift, I'll make sure to cherish it.”

Heathcliff chuckled, “Shut up, you're just making me blush, mate.”

After kissing Heathcliff one more time, Meursault turned towards the last item.

“Is this a Valentine's Day card?”

“Mhm~ I thought it'd be funny for you to have it.”

“I like anything you gave me, Heathcliff.”

As Meursault turned the card over, he noticed something, “It seems like you can open this card.”

Heathcliff looked at him in confusion, “Oh, really? I didn't realize that, I just grabbed it randomly.”

“Yes, there is a gap here. I can open this side of the card, and—”

The two looked towards the opened pink, heart-filled card, and finally saw what was on it.

…It was a picture of the very familiar Papa Bongy, making a heart gesture with his hands,

With a bright and bold, red-colored text saying, ‘WILL YOU BE MY FOWL-INTINE?’ displayed in a circle around him.

The two men were speechless.

“...Next time I meet that wanker, I'm gonna pluck all his feathers off.”

This time, Meursault really couldn't stop himself from smiling lightly in amusement.

“Oi, I said don't laugh!” Heathcliff actually stood up and grabbed the front of his suit, though he was obviously doing so without any actual real threat, as he was also still smiling in laughter.

Even as his front was grabbed and he was forced to look up, Meursault did not resist, only continuing to say, as if he was still peacefully talking to his lover who was sitting opposite of him a few minutes ago, “Forgive me, Heathcliff. The contents of the card caught me off-guard.”

“Hmph. Well… you haven't answered the question.”

“Hm?”

“Y'know, the card.”

Meursault had returned to his usual expression. He did not smile, but his eyes were still filled with mirth, “I don't understand what you mean.”

“Oh, you little—” Heathcliff took a deep breath, knowing that this was just his attempt to piss him off.

And really, what can he say about that?

So, he just sighed in defeat, “...Will you be my ‘fowl-intine’?”

Meursault nodded his head, just like he did when Heathcliff first confessed, “Yes.”

“Good,” Heathcliff lowered his head to kiss him once again, and Meursault returned the favor.

They stayed like that for a while, until they were forced to let go to breathe. They looked at each other's eyes, filled with genuine adoration and affection towards each other.

“Happy Valentine's Day, Heathcliff.”

“Happy Valentine's Day to you, too, lover.”

“...Oi, don't you think it's a little bit stuffy in here?”

“What do you mean?”

Heathcliff's cheeks were now completely warm and blushing red, and his gaze had grown hazy. He and Meursault had drunk the distilled Green Spirit down to the very last drop, and were now completely intoxicated.

Heathcliff did not answer his question further, but instead pulled off his purple tie, before throwing it on the floor. He then slowly opened the buttons of his shirt, from his collar to the ones on his broad chest, his hands briefly lingering with each opened gap, knowing and savoring his lover's burning gaze that locked on to his every move. Meursault's eyes never left the alluring sight before him, wishing not to miss a single second.

He eventually stopped at the fourth button. His cleavage was now visibly shown, his scarred, yet healthy brown skin creating an attractive and mesmerizing contrast against the white shirt he was wearing.

Heathcliff took Meursault’s hand and placed it on the gap between his shirt. Meursault’s hand was burning. The soft flesh under his palm was irresistible. It was fascinating, how he could feel it rising and falling with each deep breath Heathcliff took. Thus, he couldn't help but give it an experimental squeeze.

Instead of deterring him, that seemed to only spur Heathcliff on. Licking his lips seductively, he leaned over right beside Meursault's ear, whispering in a low, breathy tone, “C'mon, you know exactly what I mean… don't ya?”

As Meursault was pulled into his own bed, for no particular reason, he began to think about what the title of the roast chicken recipe he had used before had said.

He did not know if it was the effects of the spirit or the roast chicken that would make him and Heathcliff ‘tumble in bed’ together, but the roast chicken should have some effect.

His last lucid thoughts before he completely embraced Heathcliff in an overwhelming, drunken passion, was how he should write a review on the cookbook about the effectiveness and truthfulness of the recipe when he sobered up later on, and perhaps share a little of his own experience and how it went for him alongside it.