Archive of Our Own

The first time Lohen did it, it was an accident.

Well—not the prank part. That was deliberate. Lohen had been in the Knights of Favonius for all of three weeks, still smelling of foreign roads and the sharp ozone of a cryo vision he didn't fully understand yet. His mint-colored hair stuck up in every direction no matter how much he tried to flatten it, and the silver ring on his index finger—cool to the touch, always cool, like a piece of winter he'd carried across every border—felt heavier than it should have. His eyes were dull red, the color of brick dust or dried blood, but ringed on the outside with a thin band of green that caught the light when he turned his head just so. Beneath his right eye, a small beauty mark sat like an afterthought, like someone had dipped a brush in ink and flicked it at his face and decided to leave it there.

He'd joined because he needed a place to belong, and Mondstadt, with its wine and wind and open gates, had felt like the first inhale after drowning.

Mika had been the first person to talk to him without hesitation.

Not the first to talk to him—plenty of knights offered curt nods or polite introductions. But the first to talk. Genuinely. Nervous and stuttering and fumbling over his own words, but sincere in a way that made Lohen's chest ache. Mika had shown him where the mess hall was, explained the rotation schedules three times because Lohen kept pretending not to understand just to hear him repeat it, and had even offered to share his notes on patrol routes.

"Not that you need them," Mika had said quickly, pushing his blond bangs out of his eyes. "You're obviously very capable, Vice Captain Lohen. I just thought… well…since you're new… maps help me feel less lost, and maybe they'd help you too?"

"Maps," Lohen had repeated, and the word had tasted like something precious.

Three weeks later, Lohen borrowed one of those maps without asking. Just to see what would happen.

It had been a simple thing. A folded piece of parchment tucked into Mika's coat pocket during a brief lull in the corridor. Lohen had pulled it out with a casual flick of his wrist, held it up to the candlelight, and said, "Hey, what's this squiggly line here? Looks like a worm."

Mika's reaction had been immediate. A sharp inhale. A hand flying to his empty pocket. And then—the blush.

Lohen had seen people blush before. He'd blushed himself, once or twice, usually from embarrassment or anger or the cold bite of a winter wind. But this was different. Mika's blush started at his collar, a pale pink stain that darkened as it climbed his throat, painting his cheeks like watercolors bleeding across wet paper. It reached his ears, which turned the color of fresh cherries, and then spread to the bridge of his nose.

"T-that's my terrain analysis," Mika had stammered, reaching for the map with trembling fingers. "Please, I need- can I have it back?"

Lohen had pulled the map higher, not because he needed to—they were exactly the same height, their eyes level, their shoulders aligned—but because the stretch of Mika's arm had made his sleeve ride up, revealing a pale wrist with faint ink stains on the inside. Lohen had stared at those stains for too long. Had thought, absurdly, that he wanted to press his mouth against them.

"You can have it," Lohen had said slowly, chewing on a piece of gum he'd pulled from gods knew where, "if you tell me what this squiggly line means."

Mika had made a sound like a teakettle coming to a boil. "It's a contour line. It indicates elevation. Please, Vice Captain Lohen."

And Lohen, who had already known what a contour line was, who had grown up reading maps by firelight in places far less kind than Mondstadt, had felt something crack open in his chest. A door he hadn't known existed. A key he hadn't been looking for.

He'd given the map back. Mika had clutched it to his chest and fled down the corridor with his ears still burning.

Lohen had stood there for a long moment, gum forgotten , and thought: I want to do that again.

🐇🐣

That was three months ago.

Now it's a hobby. A habit. A carefully cultivated art form that Lohen approaches with the same dedication Mika brings to his cartography. He takes notes—mentally, not on paper, because he's not a monster… yet— on what makes Mika blush the hardest, the longest, the prettiest.

Turns out, there are tiers.

Tier One: Mild Embarrassment. Achieved by simple proximity. Standing too close while Mika is eating lunch. Leaning over his shoulder to look at his paperwork. Sitting on the same bench without leaving the polite three inches of space that Mondstadt social etiquette dictates. This blush is soft, a dusting of pink across Mika's cheekbones that he tries to hide by ducking his head. Lohen catches glimpses of it over the rim of his coffee cup and files it away for later.

Tier Two: Flustered Discomfort. Achieved by light teasing. Commenting on Mika's handwriting. Asking why he uses three different colors of ink. Pointing out that he hums when he concentrates, a soft tuneless melody that Lohen has memorized note for note. This blush is warmer, reaching Mika's ears, making his words tangle into knots. He'll stammer and fumble and spill his tea. Lohen will catch the cup before it tips over, because he's not a completemenace, and their fingers will brush, and the blush will deepen.

Tier Three: Full-Faced Inferno. Achieved by targeted chaos. Stealing personal items—notebooks, compasses, one memorable occasion involving Mika's favorite quill. Hiding them in places that force Mika to interact with Lohen to retrieve them. Reading aloud from said notebooks, even if Lohen is just making things up. Referencing "moisture retention" or "geological stratification" in tones that suggest something deeply inappropriate. This blush is spectacular. It crawls up from Mika's collar, stains his entire face, bleeds into the shell of his ears, and sometimes—rarely, beautifully—spreads down his neck to the edge of his uniform. His breathing hitches. His hands shake. His eyes go wide and wet and impossibly blue.

Lohen lives for Tier Three.

But there's something else Lohen does. Something Mika doesn't know about.

Every night, after the sun sets and the streets of Mondstadt grow quiet and Mika has gone home, Lohen takes out the notebook he stole that day. He doesn't steal them for fun—well, not only for fun. He steals them because Mika's notes on monster routes are meticulous. Detailed. Every hilichurl camp, every abyss mage patrol pattern, every whopperflower nesting ground marked in precise, beautiful handwriting with little sketches in the margins.

And then Lohen goes hunting.

He doesn't tell anyone. He slips out of the city gates under cover of darkness, his Vision glowing faintly at his hip, his silver ring cool against his finger. He follows Mika's notes like a treasure map, checking off each marked location one by one. The hilichurl camp near the Whispering Woods? Cleared. The abyss mage that's been harassing travelers on the path to Springvale? Defeated. The ruin guard that's been dormant but showed signs of reactivation in Mika's latest survey? Scrapped for parts.

Lohen fights them for fun, yes. There's something satisfying about the crack of his fist against a hilichurl's shield, the surge of power through his Vision, the way his dull red eyes—ringed with that strange outer green—catch the light of his own elemental burst. He likes the adrenaline. The risk. The way his heart pounds and his blood sings.

But that's not the only reason.

The real reason—the one he doesn't examine too closely, the one he keeps tucked behind his ribs like a stolen treasure—is simpler. Mika is afraid of monsters. Lohen has seen it: the way Mika's hands shake when he writes about a particularly aggressive abyss mage, the way his voice wavers when he describes a patrol route that skirts too close to a known hilichurl stronghold, the way his blue eyes go distant and dark when he talks about the things that lurk in the wilds of Mondstadt.

Mika maps the danger. Lohen destroys it.

So when Mika wakes up in the morning and walks to headquarters, when he opens his notebook to review his notes before submitting them, when he notices that the monster populations in his carefully documented routes seem to be decreasing—well. Lohen watches him puzzle over it, watches the little furrow appear between his brows, and says nothing.

Sometimes Mika mutters to himself. "Strange. The hilichurls near the lake should still be there. They've been there for weeks. Did they migrate?"

Lohen, chewing gum in the corner, shrugs. "Maybe someone cleared them out."

"Who would do that? It's not on any patrol schedule." Mika frowns at his notebook, tapping his pen against his lower lip. "And the abyss mage near the old temple… I was going to request backup for that one. But it's just... gone."

"Lucky you."

"It's not luck, it's-" Mika sighs, pushing his blond bangs out of his eyes. "I don't understand."

Lohen blows a bubble and lets it pop. The silver ring on his index finger catches the morning light. The small beauty mark beneath his right eye crinkles as he smiles.

"Maybe you've got a secret admirer," he suggests.

Mika's head snaps up. His cheeks flush pink—Tier One, soft and sweet. "T-that's not! Who would even… ugh… why would a secret admirer be fighting hilichurls?"

"Romantic gestures take many forms."

"I don't think violence is a romantic gesture."

Lohen tilts his head, considering. His dull eyes fix on Mika's face with an intensity that makes Mika's blush deepen. "Depends on who you ask."

Mika looks away first. He always looks away first. His fingers curl around the edge of his notebook, knuckles white, and he mumbles something about needing to reorganize his field notes before hurrying out of the room.

Lohen watches him go. Then he pulls out his own small notebook—not stolen, not this time, but his own—and makes a note: Temple abyss mage respawns in three days. Check again Tuesday.

He has a route to plan.

🐇🐣

Today is a Tier Three day.

The Knights' library is empty except for the two of them. Most of the other knights are at lunch or on patrol, and the librarian has mysteriously vanished—Lohen may or may not have bribed her with a kettle of afternoon tea to take a long break. The afternoon sun slants through the stained-glass windows, throwing patches of gold and blue across the wooden floors. Dust motes drift in the light like tiny stars.

Mika is seated at a long table near the window, surrounded by a fortress of papers, maps, and reference books. His blond hair is slightly disheveled, one lock falling across his forehead in a way that makes Lohen want to push it back. His blue eyes are focused, narrowed in concentration, as he traces a line on a map with the tip of his finger. His lips move silently, counting distances, calculating elevations.

He hasn't noticed Lohen yet.

Lohen takes a moment to appreciate the scene. Mika in his element is a different creature than the stuttering mess who can't string two sentences together when flustered. Here, with maps spread before him like offerings, he's confident. Precise. His spine is straight, his shoulders relaxed. He makes small notes in the margins with a steady hand, each character perfectly formed.

Lohen's chest does that warm thing again. The thing he's been ignoring for three months.

He pushes off from the doorframe and walks over, footsteps deliberately silent on the wooden floor. He stops just behind Mika's left shoulder—close enough to feel the heat radiating off him, far enough not to startle him immediately.

Then he leans down and blows a soft puff of air against Mika's ear.

Mika yelps.

The sound is undignified and high-pitched and absolutely delightful. He jerks sideways, sending a stack of papers cascading to the floor, and spins around with wide, panicked eyes. His hand flies to his ear, cupping it protectively, and the blush—there it is—blooms across his face like a sunrise.

"V-Vice Captain Lohen!" Mika's voice cracks on the second syllable. "Y-you can't just! that's…that's my ear"

"Hello to you too birdie~" Lohen says easily, already reaching into his coat pocket. He pulls out a small, leather-bound notebook—not the one Mika is currently using, but one he lifted from Mika's desk three days ago and has been saving for exactly this moment. The notebook is worn at the edges, stuffed with loose pages and folded maps. Lohen knows what's inside it. He's read it cover to cover, not just for pranking purposes, but because Mika's notes on the monster routes near Dragonspine had been particularly detailed, and Lohen had wanted to make sure he didn't miss any.

He holds it up between two fingers. The silver ring on his index finger glints. The small beauty mark beneath his right eye seems to dance as he smiles.

"I believe this is yours."

Mika's eyes track the notebook like a hawk spotting prey. His blush intensifies. "I've been looking for that for days. I thought I lost it. I even reorganized my entire desk. Twice."

"You did," Lohen confirms cheerfully. "I watched you. Very thorough. You alphabetized your ink pots by colour."

"I did not-" Mika stops. His mouth presses into a thin line. "You were watching me?"

"You're fun to watch. You make these little faces when you're concentrating." Lohen tilts his head, and the light catches the green ring around his pupils, making his already strange eyes look almost otherworldly. "Your nose scrunches up. Did you know that? Like a bunny."

Mika makes a sound that might be a whimper. His hands clench at his sides. "Please. The notebook. I have field notes in there from the Stormbearer Mountains. If I lose them, I'll have to go back, and the hilichurls have been aggressive lately too"

"Relax." Lohen waves the notebook lazily through the air. "I didn't lose it. I've been keeping it safe. Very safe." He tucks it behind his back, the same old trick, and watches Mika's shoulders tense. "You want it back?"

Mika swallows. His throat bobs. "Yes."

"What's the magic word?"

A pause. Mika's blush is now the color of fresh blood, deep and rich. "...Please."

"Not that one." Lohen takes a step closer. The sun shifts through the window, and a bar of gold light falls across Mika's face, illuminating the fine hairs on his cheeks, the slight tremor in his lower lip. Lohen's dull red eyes fix on Mika's blue ones. "You know the one I want."

Mika's hands come up—not to push Lohen away, but to grip the front of his uniform, fingers curling into the fabric over his chest. The touch is light, almost hesitant, but Lohen feels it like a brand. Mika's blue eyes search his, looking for something, finding it, looking away.

"...You're my favorite vice captain," Mika whispers.

"Mm." Lohen doesn't move. "And?"

Mika's grip tightens. His knuckles are white. "You're my favorite person to ever exist…"

The words hang in the air between them, fragile and bright. Lohen feels his own face heat—a rare occurrence, one he'll deny later if asked. His heart does something complicated in his chest, a rhythm he doesn't have a name for. The silver ring on his finger feels cool against his skin, grounding him.

He pulls the notebook out from behind his back and presses it into Mika's hands, folding Mika's fingers over the cover with his own.

"Good answer birdie," Lohen says, and his voice comes out rougher than he intended.

Mika looks down at their hands, tangled together over the notebook. His blush hasn't faded. If anything, it's spread down his neck, disappearing beneath his collar. He's trembling slightly, fine shivers running through his frame.

Lohen should let go.

He doesn't.

"You know," Lohen says, popping a piece of gum into his mouth with his free hand—because he always has gum, no one knows where he gets it, it's part of the mystery—"I've been thinking."

Mika looks up warily. "That's usually dangerous."

"Accurate. But listen." Lohen chews slowly, savoring the mint. "I steal your notebooks. I hide your compass. I read your field notes out loud in embarrassing voices. I even blow on your ear now, apparently, which I didn't know was going to be that effective but I'm filing it away for later."

"You're filing it away?!"

"And every time I do any of that, you turn into a human tomato." Lohen leans closer, close enough that his breath stirs Mika's bangs. "But you haven't asked me to stop."

Mika's mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. No sound comes out.

"Not once," Lohen continues, quiet now, almost gentle. "You get all red and flustered and you stammer and you call me insufferable. But you never say 'stop.' You never tell me to leave you alone. You never…" He pauses, searching for the right words. "You never actually push me away."

The silence stretches. Somewhere in the library, a clock ticks. Dust motes spin in the golden light.

Mika's eyes are very bright. Very blue. Very wet.

"Because I don't want you to," he says, and his voice is steady for the first time all afternoon. "Stop, I mean. I don't…I don't want you to stop."

Lohen's gum falls out of his mouth.

It lands on the floor with a soft thwack, completely ignored by both of them.

"You don't…?" Lohen repeats, not quite a question.

"I hate it," Mika says quickly, fiercely, his blush now so deep it looks painful. "I hate how you make me feel. All…all tangled up and hot and like I can't think straight. I hate that you take my things and read my private notes and make jokes about moisture retention that I don't even fully understand but somehow still embarrass me." He takes a shaky breath. "But I don't want you to stop. Because when you're not doing those things, you're…you're kind. You remember how I take my tea. You walk on the outside of the path when we patrol together, so you're closer to the hilichurl camps. You fixed my compass when it broke and pretended you didn't. You stay."

Lohen has stopped breathing.

"You stay," Mika repeats, softer now, "and no one ever stays."

The words hit Lohen like a physical blow. He thinks of all the places he's been, all the people who've passed through his life like shadows, all the reasons he learned to keep moving, keep joking, keep his hands in his pockets and his heart behind his teeth. He thinks of the silver ring on his finger, cool and constant, and how it's the only thing that's ever stayed with him.

Until Mika.

"I'm not going anywhere," Lohen hears himself say. The words come from somewhere deep, somewhere he didn't know he had. "I'm going to keep stealing your notebooks. I'm going to keep hiding your compass. I'm going to keep reading your field notes in embarrassing voices and blowing on your ear and making you blush until you're the color of—" He stops, swallows. He almost said my eyes, but his eyes are dull red, the color of dried blood, and that's not a romantic comparison. "Until you're the reddest thing in Mondstadt."

Mika lets out a sound that's half a laugh, half a sob. "That's not—that's a very low bar. There's not a lot of red things in Mondstadt."

"I'll paint the city red for you," Lohen says, and he's not entirely sure he's joking.

Mika's blush somehow deepens further, which Lohen would have said was impossible. His hands are still gripping Lohen's uniform, and his notebook is still crushed between them, and he's looking at Lohen like Lohen is the answer to a question he's been asking his whole life.

"You're ridiculous," Mika whispers.

"You like it."

"I don't—" Mika stops. Bites his lip. Looks down at the silver ring on Lohen's finger, then back up at his face, at the beauty mark beneath his eye, at the strange green ring around his dull red pupils. "I like you," he corrects, so quietly it's almost inaudible. "Despite the ridiculousness. Because of it. I don't know. I can't think when you're this close."

Lohen's heart does something dramatic and painful. "Good. Don't think."

And then—because Mika is still looking at him like that, because the sun is still golden and the dust is still spinning and the world has narrowed to the space between them—Mika closes the distance and kisses him.

It's brief. Barely a press of lips, soft and hesitant and trembling. Mika pulls back almost immediately, his eyes wide, his face so red Lohen is genuinely concerned for his cardiovascular health. The beauty mark beneath Lohen's right eye seems to stand out against his pale skin as his expression shifts from surprise to something softer.

"Sorry," Mika gasps. "I'm sorry, that was presumptuous. I shouldn't have— you were just—and I thought—"

Lohen kisses him to shut him up.

It's not brief. It's not hesitant. It's thorough and deliberate and tastes like mint gum and something sweeter underneath. Lohen's free hand comes up to cup Mika's jaw, thumb brushing over his burning cheek, and he feels Mika melt against him, feels the tension drain from those narrow shoulders, feels the soft, broken sound Mika makes against his mouth.

When they finally separate, foreheads pressed together, breathing ragged, Lohen is grinning like an idiot.

"Your face," he says.

Mika blinks. "What?"

"Your face. It's—" Lohen laughs, a real laugh, surprised out of him. "It's even redder than my eyes. And my eyes are pretty red."

Mika buries his face in Lohen's chest, muffling a sound that might be a groan or might be a laugh. His ears are crimson. The back of his neck is crimson. Lohen suspects the rest of him is probably matching.

"I hate you," Mika says into his shirt.

"Liar."

"I despise you."

"Uh-huh."

"You're the worst vice captain in the history of the Knights of Favonius."

Lohen wraps his arms around Mika and holds him close. The notebook is crushed between them, probably ruined, definitely full of creases. Mika doesn't seem to care. The silver ring on Lohen's index finger presses cool against Mika's back through the fabric of his uniform.

"And yet," Lohen murmurs into Mika's blond hair, "I'm your favorite."

Mika's arms come up around Lohen's waist. His fingers curl into the fabric of his uniform, holding on like he's afraid Lohen might disappear.

"Yeah," Mika admits quietly. "You are."

.

Later, much later, when the sun has shifted and the library is dim and Lisa has returned to find them asleep on the floor with maps scattered around them like fallen leaves, Lohen will wake to find Mika's head on his shoulder and the notebook clutched to Mika's chest like a treasure.

He'll look at the sleeping face of the boy who blushes like sunrise and stays like gravity.

And he'll think: I hit the jackpot with this one.

Then he'll carefully, quietly, slide the notebook out of Mika's grasp. Just to check the monster routes. Just to see if there's anything that needs clearing tonight. He flips through the pages with practiced ease, his  eyes scanning Mika's neat handwriting.

-A whopperflower nest near the winery.
-A group of hilichurls that's been migrating closer to the main road.
-An abyss mage that's taken up residence in the ruins south of the city.

Lohen closes the notebook and tucks it into his own pocket.

He presses a kiss to the top of Mika's head, so light it doesn't disturb his sleep.

Then he slips out of the library, into the gathering dusk, and heads for the city gates.

He has monsters to fight.

🐇🐣

The next morning, Mika finds his notebook on his desk. It's open to a specific page—the one with the whopperflower nest near the winery. And written in the margin, in handwriting that is definitely not his own, are two words:

Taken care of ✌︎('ω'✌︎ ) — knight in shining armour.

Mika stares at the words for a long time. His cheeks flush pink and something warm blooms in his chest.

He doesn't ask Lohen about it.

But that afternoon, when Lohen "accidentally" steals his compass and holds it above his head even though they're the same height, Mika doesn't stammer as much as usual. And when Lohen leans close, close enough for Mika to see the green ring around his dull red pupils, close enough to count the lashes of his eyes , Mika doesn't look away.

"Vice Captain Lohen," Mika says, and his voice is steady, "please give back my compass."

Lohen's eyebrows rise. This is new. Mika isn't blushing. Well, he's blushing a little—pink across the cheekbones, a dusting of color—but he's not stammering. He's not fumbling. He's looking directly at Lohen with those clear blue eyes, and there's something in his expression that Lohen can't quite read.

"Make me," Lohen says, because that's what he always says, and he's not sure what else to do.

Mika steps closer. Closer. Close enough that their chests almost touch. Close enough that Lohen can smell parchment and linen and something clean like rain. Mika reaches up—not for the compass, but for Lohen's face. His fingers brush the small beauty mark beneath Lohen's right eye, feather-light, and Lohen forgets how to breathe.

"I noticed," Mika says quietly, "that the monster populations in my notes keep decreasing."

Lohen's gum freezes in his mouth. "Oh?"

"The whopperflower nest near the winery. The hilichurls on the main road. The abyss mage in the ruins." Mika's fingers trail down Lohen's cheek, his jaw, coming to rest on his collarbone. "All gone. All cleared by someone who isn't on any patrol schedule."

"How strange," Lohen manages.

"How strange indeed ," Mika agrees. His lips twitch. "I almost thought I had a secret admirer."

Lohen's heart is doing something frantic and painful behind his ribs. "And what did you decide?"

Mika's blush deepens but he doesn't look away. His blue eyes hold Lohen's red-and-green ones, and there's something fierce in them, something that makes Lohen's knees feel weak.

"I decided," Mika says, "that my secret admirer has terrible taste in gum. Mint is fine, but have you ever tried apple?"

Lohen bursts out laughing. It's loud and surprised and maybe a little hysterical, because he's been sneaking out every night for three months to fight monsters for this boy, and this boy is standing here talking about gum flavours like it's the most important thing in the world.

"No," Lohen says when he can breathe again. "I haven't tried apple."

Mika takes the compass from Lohen's unresisting hand. He tucks it into his own pocket. Then he reaches up and plucks the piece of gum from Lohen's mouth—quick, bold, absolutely scandalous—and pops it into his own.

"Try apple next time," Mika says around the gum. His cheeks are burning. His ears are red. But he's smiling. A real smile, not the nervous, fumbling one Lohen is used to. This smile is warm and certain and directed entirely at Lohen.

And then Mika walks away, leaving Lohen standing in the middle of the corridor with his mouth empty and his heart full.

Lohen stares after him. The silver ring on his index finger feels cool against his skin, grounding him in reality. The small beauty mark beneath his eye seems to tingle where Mika touched it.

He pulls out his own notebook—the one he uses to track monster respawns, the one Mika has definitely never seen—and makes a note:

Buy apple flavour gum. Immediately.

He grins and walks after his birdie.

[BONUS]

The first time Lohen brought Mika flowers, it was entirely by accident.

Well—not an accident. He'd seen the bluebells growing by the city gates, pale blue and soft as morning, and he'd thought of Mika's eyes. That was all. He'd picked a handful without really meaning to, wrapped the stems in a scrap of cloth he found in his pocket, and showed up at Mika's door with no explanation and no backup plan.

Mika had opened the door in that old sweater he always wore at home, flour on his cheek—he'd been baking again—and when he saw the flowers, his mouth had fallen open.

"Are those… for me?"

Lohen had shrugged, suddenly feeling stupid. "They looked like your eyes."

Mika had taken the flowers with trembling hands. His cheeks had gone pink—not the deep, burning red Lohen usually chased, but something softer. Something new. He'd pressed his face into the petals and inhaled, and when he looked up, his blue eyes were bright.

"Thank you," he'd whispered.

Lohen had kissed him right there in the doorway, flowers crushed between them, and decided that this was better than stealing notebooks. Not by much. But close.

.

After that, flowers became Lohen's thing.

Not every time. He still stole Mika's things. He still blew on his ear in public just to hear him squeal. He still dragged him to hunt monsters, just to watch him squirm. But when he wanted something softer—when he wanted to see Mika's eyes go wide and his hands flutter up to cover his mouth—he brought flowers.

Windwheel asters from the fields outside the city. Small white cecilias from the cliffs at Starsnatch, which were a pain to climb but worth it for the way Mika's breath caught when he saw them. Once, a single red rose he'd haggled for from a merchant at the market, because he'd noticed Mika staring at it.

Mika kept them all. Dried them. Pressed them between the pages of books that weren't his notebooks. Lohen found one once—a windwheel aster, flattened and fragile—tucked into a cookbook open to a recipe for apple pie.

He hadn't said anything. But he'd smiled about it for three days.
.

Tonight, Lohen is nervous.

They've been dating for a while now—long enough that the novelty should have worn off, long enough that Lohen should be used to the way Mika looks at him. But tonight is different. Tonight, Mika's parents are out. Huffman is on a late patrol. The house is empty except for the two of them, and Lohen has been thinking about this all day.

He stops at the flower stall in the city square. The vendor knows him by now—a round-faced woman named Elara who always teases him about his "sweetheart."

"Back again?" Elara asks, wiping her hands on her apron. "You'll put my children through school at this rate."

Lohen chews his gum and surveys her stock. "Something blue."

"Something blue," she repeats, raising an eyebrow. "You know, most young men bring red. Roses. Passion."

"My birdie’s eyes are blue."

Elara sighs like he's a lost cause, but she pulls out a bundle of small blue flowers—forget-me-nots, delicate and bright. "These'll do. They mean true love, you know."

Lohen takes them. Pays. Walks away before Elara can ask any more questions.

The walk to Mika's house is short. The streets of Mondstadt are quiet at this hour, the sky fading from gold to deep purple, the first stars blinking overhead. Lohen's stomach is doing something complicated. He's not used to being nervous. He's the one who makes Mika nervous. That's the whole point.

But tonight feels different.

He knocks on the door.

Mika opens it almost immediately, like he's been waiting by the window. His blond hair is loose, falling past his ears, and he's wearing a soft gray shirt that's too big for him—Lohen suspects it used to be Huffman's but Mika was also a fan of baggy clothes. There's a smudge of flour on his cheek again, because of course there is, and his blue eyes go wide when he sees the flowers.

"Lohen," he says, soft and wondering.

Lohen holds out the forget-me-nots. "These are for you."

Mika takes them carefully, like they might break. He brings them to his face and inhales, and when he looks up, his cheeks are pink. Not the deep, burning red of Lohen's best pranks. Something quieter. Something that makes Lohen's chest ache.

"Come in," Mika says.
.

Mika's room is the same as always—neat, organized, shelves lined with books and maps. The bed is made with military precision. The rug his grandmother wove lies soft on the floor. But there are new things too. A small vase on the windowsill, filled with dried windwheel asters. A pressed cecilia tucked into the frame of his mirror. A single red rose petal, fallen onto his desk, that he hasn't cleaned up yet.

Lohen's flowers. All of them.

Mika sets the forget-me-nots on his nightstand, right next to the lamp, and turns to face Lohen. His hands twist in front of him, nervous in a way that makes Lohen want to hold them.

"You don't have to keep bringing me flowers," Mika says quietly. "I already know you like me."

"I don't bring them because I have to," Lohen says. "I bring them because I want to."

Mika's blush deepens. He looks down at his feet, then back up at Lohen's face—at the small beauty mark beneath his right eye, at his mint-colored hair falling across his forehead, at the way he's chewing his gum slowly, deliberately.

"You're too much," Mika whispers.

"You like it."

"I do." Mika steps closer. His hand reaches out and brushes against Lohen's, tentative. "I really do."

Lohen takes his hand. Interlaces their fingers. The silver ring on his index finger is cool against Mika's skin, but he doesn't think about it. He's thinking about Mika's face, about the soft light in the room, about the way the forget-me-nots on the nightstand mirror the color of Mika's eyes.

"I want to stay," Lohen says.

Mika's breath catches. "You always stay."

"Tonight. I want to stay tonight."

The words hang between them. Mika's face does something complicated—surprise, then understanding, then a wash of pink that spreads from his cheeks to his ears to the collar of his borrowed shirt.

"Okay," Mika says, and his voice is barely a whisper.

.

They end up on the bed.

Not the frantic, breathless fall of their first time. Slower. Lohen sits on the edge of the mattress, and Mika sits beside him, and for a long moment neither of them moves. The room is quiet except for the distant sound of the city settling into night.

Lohen reaches out and brushes the smudge of flour off Mika's cheek. His thumb lingers on the soft skin there.

"You had flour on your face," he says.

"I was baking," Mika says. "Apple turnovers…For you."

Lohen's chest does something warm and painful. "You're going to spoil me."

"That's the idea."

Mika leans in and kisses him. It's soft at first—just a press of lips, sweet and careful. But Lohen's hand comes up to cradle the back of his head, fingers threading through his blond hair, and the kiss deepens. Mika makes a small sound against his mouth, and Lohen feels it everywhere.

They shift on the bed. Lohen doesn't remember how—one moment they're sitting, the next Mika is on his back with Lohen above him, braced on his elbows, looking down at the boy who makes his heart race.

Mika's hair is spread across the pillow like gold thread. His blue eyes are dark, half-lidded, watching Lohen with an expression that makes him feel like the most important person in the world. His lips are parted, still pink from kissing, and his cheeks are flushed.

"Hi," Lohen says.

Mika laughs, soft and breathless. "Hi."

"You're beautiful."

"You always say that."

"It's always true."

Mika's hands come up to frame Lohen's face. His thumbs trace the line of his jaw, the corner of his mouth, the small beauty mark beneath his eye. His touch is gentle, wondering, like he's memorizing every detail.

"I love you," Mika says.

Lohen has heard it before. Mika says it often now, freely, like it's the easiest thing in the world. But it still hits him every time—a punch to the chest, sweet and aching.

"I love you too," Lohen says, and means it.

He lowers his head and kisses Mika again. Slower this time. Deeper. He feels Mika's arms wrap around his neck, feels his fingers curl into the hair at the nape of his neck, feels the steady thrum of his heartbeat through his chest.

They stay like that for a long time. Kissing. Breathing. Tangled together on Mika's soft bed with the forget-me-nots watching from the nightstand.

At some point, Lohen rolls onto his side and pulls Mika against his chest. Mika tucks his head under Lohen's chin, and his arm drapes across Lohen's stomach, and his breath evens out into something soft and sleepy.

"Lohen," Mika murmurs.

"Mm?"

"Thank you for the flowers."

Lohen presses a kiss to the top of his head. "Thank you for the turnovers."

Mika laughs, muffled against his chest. "They're in the kitchen. We forgot to eat them."

"Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," Mika agrees.

Across the hall, Huffman's room is still dark. Downstairs, the house is quiet. There's no one to interrupt them, no one to knock on the door with questions about dinner or early patrols.

It's just them. The bed. The flowers.

Lohen holds Mika tighter and closes his eyes.

🐇🐣

Morning comes slowly, filtered through the curtains in pale gold light.

Lohen wakes to warmth. Mika is still pressed against him, face buried in his chest, one hand curled loosely in the fabric of Lohen's shirt. His blond hair is a mess, sticking up in every direction, and there's a pillow crease on his cheek.

Lohen looks at him for a long time. At the softness of his sleeping face. At the way his lips part slightly with each breath. At the small, content sound he makes when Lohen shifts to brush his hair out of his eyes.

He could watch Mika sleep forever. He thinks he might.

Mika stirs. His lashes flutter. His blue eyes open, hazy with sleep, and find Lohen's face.

"Morning," Mika mumbles.

"Morning."

"You stayed."

"I said I would."

Mika smiles. It's small and sleepy and private, and Lohen wants to keep it forever. "Did you sleep okay?"

"Best sleep I've had in years." Lohen pauses. "Your bed is very soft."

"It's the pillows. My mom bought them."

"Tell your mom I said thank you."

Mika laughs and pushes at his chest. "You're ridiculous."

"You keep saying that."

"Because it keeps being true."

Lohen catches his hand and holds it. Their fingers tangle together on the pillow, and for a moment neither of them speaks. The morning light shifts, throwing patterns across the ceiling. Somewhere downstairs, a clock ticks.

"I should go," Lohen says eventually. "Before your parents come back."

Mika's grip tightens on his hand. "Or. You could stay. Have breakfast. I'll make apple pancakes."

Lohen's resolve crumbles instantly. "Apple pancakes?"

"With cinnamon. And honey."

"You're a menace."

Mika smiles, and it's the same smile from last night—soft and certain and directed entirely at Lohen. "You like it."

"I do," Lohen says. "I really do."

They stay in bed for another hour, tangled together and talking about nothing, before the smell of coffee drifts up from the kitchen and Mika finally drags himself out of bed.

Lohen watches him go. Watches him pause in the doorway, backlit by the morning sun, and turn to look over his shoulder.

"Coming?" Mika asks.

Lohen grins. "Wouldn't miss it."

He follows Mika downstairs, into the warm kitchen with its flour-dusted counters and the forgotten apple turnovers on the counter. He sits at the table while Mika cooks, watching the way his hands move, the way he hums that soft, tuneless melody.

Mika sets a plate of pancakes in front of him—golden brown, studded with chunks of apple, drizzled with honey. Lohen takes a bite and makes a sound that's embarrassingly close to a moan.

"Good?" Mika asks, already knowing.

Lohen chews and swallows and takes another bite. "You're going to marry me."

Mika's cheeks go pink. "I … that's…we've only been dating for-"

"Too long," Lohen says. "We've been dating for too long. Marry me tomorrow."

"You're ridiculous…"

"You love it."

Mika hides his face in his hands, but he's smiling. Lohen can see it between his fingers.

He reaches across the table and pulls Mika's hands away, holding them in his own. The silver ring on his index finger is cool against Mika's palm. He doesn't think about it. He's thinking about Mika's face, pink and pretty and his.

"Eat your pancakes," Mika says, but his voice is soft.

Lohen eats his pancakes.

The pancakes are perfect. Sweet and soft, with chunks of apple folded into the batter and a dusting of cinnamon on top. Lohen makes sounds that are probably inappropriate for the breakfast table, and Mika's face gets progressively redder until he's hiding behind his own plate.

Across the hall, Huffman's door opens. Footsteps. A yawn.

Huffman appears in the kitchen doorway in his bathrobe, hair sticking up in every direction. He takes one look at Lohen—sitting at the table in yesterday's shirt, eating pancakes his little brother made, with a jar of apple butter in front of him—and sighs.

"You're still here," Huffman says.

"Good morning to you too," Lohen says cheerfully.

Huffman looks at Mika. Mika shrugs helplessly, his cheeks still pink.

"The pancakes are good," Mika offers.

Huffman pours himself a cup of coffee and sits as far away from Lohen as the table allows. Lohen grins at him. The small beauty mark beneath his right eye seems to mock Huffman's morning grumpiness.

"Nice flowers," Huffman says flatly, looking at the flowers that were on the table.

"Thanks," Lohen says. "Picked them for a certain pretty boy”

Huffman closes his eyes like he's praying for patience.

Mika hides his face in his hands.

Lohen eats another pancake and feels, for the first time in a very long time, like he's exactly where he's supposed to be.

🐇🐣

That afternoon, Lohen goes home—to his own small room above a tavern, sparse and functional and nothing like Mika's warm, cluttered space. But before he does, he stops at Elara's flower stall.

"Back again?" Elara asks, amused.

"Something blue," Lohen says.

Elara sighs. "You're going to run me out of blue flowers."

"I'll pay double."

She raises an eyebrow but pulls out a bundle of small bluebells, delicate as glass. "These mean gratitude. And constancy."

Lohen takes them. Pays triple.

He walks back to Mika's house—not to stay, just to leave the flowers on the doorstep with a note.

For the pancakes. See you tomorrow.

He doesn't wait for a response. He doesn't need to.

.

When Lohen gets home to his small room above the tavern, the evening light is fading through his single window. He shrugs off his coat, kicks off his boots, and flops onto his narrow bed. The ceiling above him is cracked in a way that looks vaguely like a map of Dragonspine. He's stared at it enough nights to know.

He's just reaching for a gum when he hears a knock.

Not on the tavern door below. On his door. The one at the top of the stairs, the one nobody ever knocks on because nobody ever visits.

Lohen sits up slowly. The silver ring on his finger catches the lamplight, but he doesn't think about it. He's thinking about who could possibly be standing on the other side of that door.

He opens it.

Mika is standing there, slightly out of breath, his cheeks pink from the walk. His blond hair is messy, wind-tossed, and he's holding a small wooden box in both hands. The box is tied with a simple piece of twine, and it smells like butter and sugar and apples.

Lohen stares.

"I know you said see you tomorrow," Mika says quickly, shifting his weight from foot to foot. "But I wanted to… I mean, I thought you might want to maybe…" He holds out the box. "I packed some of the turnovers. From last night. You forgot to take some"

Lohen takes the box. It's warm. Mika must have run the whole way to keep them warm.

"You ran," Lohen says.

"I walked briskly."

"Your face is red."

"It's cold outside."

Lohen looks at Mika's face—pink and flustered and so, so familiar—and feels something crack open in his chest. The same thing that cracked open the first time he saw Mika blush. The same thing that's been cracking open a little more every day since.

"Come in," Lohen says.

Mika hesitates. "I don't want to intrude—"

Lohen grabs his wrist and pulls him inside.

.

Mika has never been to Lohen's room before.

He looks around with wide eyes, taking in the bare walls, the single window, the narrow bed with its thin blankets. There are no flowers here. No dried petals pressed into books. No vase on the windowsill.

"Oh," Mika says softly.

Lohen suddenly feels exposed. "It's not much."

"It's yours," Mika says, and the way he says it makes Lohen's throat tight.

Mika walks over to the window and looks out at the street below. The last of the daylight catches his hair, turns it gold. He's wearing a soft baby blue oversized hoodie that made Lohen feel certain things.

Lohen sets the box of turnovers on his small table and unties the twine. The lid comes off, releasing a cloud of warm, sweet air. Inside are six perfect apple turnovers, golden brown, the sugar glaze still slightly sticky.

"You made these yesterday," Lohen says.

"I made them for a certain guy yesterday. But then we got distracted." Mika's ears go pink. "They're still good. I reheated them before I came."

Lohen picks one up. Takes a bite. The pastry is flaky, the apples are soft and spiced with cinnamon, and the honey glaze melts on his tongue.

He makes that sound again. The embarrassing one.

Mika smiles. "Good?"

Lohen swallows and takes another bite. "You're trying to kill me."

"Then stop eating them."

"No."

Mika laughs and crosses the room to sit on the edge of Lohen's bed. The mattress dips under his weight. He looks small there, in Lohen's sparse room, surrounded by empty walls and thin blankets.

Lohen sits down next to him, the box of turnovers balanced on his lap. He offers one to Mika.

"I already ate," Mika says.

"Eat another one."

"I'll get fat."

"And I’ll be happy if you do. You look like a twig”

Mika takes a turnover. Their fingers brush. Neither of them pulls away.

They eat in silence for a while, passing the box back and forth, watching the light fade outside the window. The room grows dim, shadows pooling in the corners, but neither of them moves to light a lamp.

"This is nice," Mika says eventually.

Lohen looks at him. At the curve of his jaw, the soft fall of his hair, the way he's holding his turnover with both hands like it's something precious.

"Yeah," Lohen says. "It is."

Mika turns to look at him. His blue eyes are dark in the low light, but there's something warm in them. Something that makes Lohen's chest ache.

"I brought you something else," Mika says.

Lohen raises an eyebrow. "More than turnovers?"

Mika reaches into his pocket and pulls out a folded piece of paper. He holds it out with slightly trembling fingers.

Lohen takes it. Unfolds it.

Mika's handwriting, neat and careful:

I don't know how to say this without sounding silly, so I'm writing it instead. You make me feel safe. You make me feel seen. When you bring me flowers, I keep every single one. When you stay the night, I sleep better than I have in years. When you steal my notebooks, I pretend to be annoyed, but really I'm just happy you're paying attention.

I love you. I know I say it a lot. But I mean it every time.

Thank you for the bluebells. They're beautiful.

—M♡

P.S. The turnovers are from yesterday, but I made a fresh batch this morning. They're in the box under the turnovers. I wrapped them separately.

Lohen stares at the paper. Reads it twice. Reads it a third time.

He looks down at the box of turnovers. Lifts the first layer. Beneath the six turnovers from yesterday is a second layer, separated by a piece of wax paper, containing six more turnovers. These ones are slightly warmer. Fresher. Made this morning.

Mika made him twelve apple turnovers.

Lohen sets the box aside. He turns to Mika, who is sitting very still, his hands clasped in his lap, his face turned toward the window like he's afraid to look.

"Hey," Lohen says.

Mika looks at him.

Lohen kisses him.

It's not soft this time. It's not careful. It's desperate and grateful and full of everything Lohen doesn't know how to say. He cups Mika's face in his hands, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones, and kisses him until they're both breathless.

When he pulls back, Mika's face is pink. His lips are parted. His eyes are bright.

"The turnovers," Lohen says, his voice rough, "are the best thing anyone has ever given me."

Mika's blush deepens. "What about the note?"

Lohen looks down at the paper still crumpled in his hand. He smooths it out carefully, folds it, and tucks it into his pocket—the same pocket where he keeps his gum, right next to his heart.

"The note," Lohen says, "is staying with me forever."

Mika makes a small, strangled sound and buries his face in Lohen's shoulder.

They sit like that for a long time. Lohen's arm wraps around Mika's back, pulling him close. The turnovers sit forgotten on the table. The room grows darker. Outside, the street lights flicker to life, casting orange glow through the window.

"Lohen," Mika says into his shoulder.

"Mm?"

"Your room is cold."

"I know."

"And small."

"I know."

"And you don't have any flowers."

Lohen looks around at his bare walls, his empty windowsill, his thin blankets. He thinks about Mika's room—the dried asters, the pressed cecilias, the single rose petal on the desk.

"I have you," Lohen says. "That's better than flowers."

Mika lifts his head. His eyes are wet. "You can't just say things like that."

"I can." Lohen grins, sharp and mint-green. "I'm your boyfriend. It's in the contract."

"There's no contract!?"

"There should be. I'll draft one. Article one: Mika sleeps over at least twice a week. Article two: Lohen gets unlimited apple turnovers. Article three
Lohen gets-"

Mika kisses him to shut him up.

It works.

.

Later, much later, they lie together on Lohen's narrow bed. It's too small for both of them—Mika has to curl against Lohen's side, one leg thrown over his, his head tucked under Lohen's chin. But neither of them complains.

"Your parents are going to wonder where you are," Lohen murmurs into Mika's hair.

"I told them I was going to a friend's house."

"Just a friend?" He smirks

"You’re my boyfriend. That's different."

"How is it different?"

Mika lifts his head and looks at Lohen in the dim light. His blue eyes are serious, soft, full of something that makes Lohen's heart stutter.

"Because I don't bake twelve turnovers for my friends," Mika says.

Lohen laughs, surprised and warm. "Fair point."

He pulls Mika closer and presses a kiss to his forehead.

"Stay," Lohen says.

Mika settles against him, his breath evening out, his body going soft and heavy.

"I was planning on it," Mika murmurs.

They fall asleep like that. Tangled together.