Archive of Our Own

💜

The halls of Royal Sword Academy were bright. Sunlight streamed through towering stained-glass windows, catching on polished marble floors and white banners embroidered with golden swords. Students crossed the courtyard below in neatly pressed uniforms, laughing among themselves as classes let out for lunch.

At one of the academy's outdoor terraces sat a group of third-years. Most were attempting to study, and one was failing spectacularly.

"Artemiy." A hand shot out and caught a purple-haired student by the back of his collar before he could disappear over the railing.

"Aww," Che'nya twisted upside down with all the grace of a cat being denied mischief. "You're no fun," he pouted.

"I know," The boy holding him released his grip. Unlike Che'nya, he sat perfectly still, a book rested in his lap, and a teacup steamed beside him. His expression remained utterly unimpressed. "You were about to jump off the second floor," he said blandly, as if this occurrence were normal.

"I would've landed."

"You say that every time."

"Because I do."

The surrounding students exchanged glances. One sighed, another groaned, and a third buried his face in his hands.

"See?" Che'nya pointed at the others. "They get me!"

"No," his boyfriend corrected. "They've simply accepted that stopping you is impossible."

"Same thing."

"It is not," Y/n flipped a page, deadpan.

Che'nya dropped his head onto his shoulder, and Y/n didn't even react. This, somehow, made the entire scene stranger, because if anyone at RSA had been asked to predict who Che'nya would date, nobody—absolutely nobody—would have guessed Y/n.

Y/n, Auraream's resident daydreamer. Y/n, the student who frequently fell asleep in the library; Y/n, the student who spoke so softly, teachers occasionally asked him to repeat himself; Y/n, the student who somehow considered spending three hours silently reading 'quality entertainment.'

The complete opposite of Che'nya. And yet, three years. Three entire years, the relationship had survived, and nobody understood how.

A fourth student finally slammed his notebook shut. "Okay," he said, and the table fell silent. "I can't do this anymore."

The sleepy boy blinked. "Do what?"

"This." The student pointed dramatically between them. "This."

Che'nya grinned, "My purrfect personality?" he surmised.

"No."

"Our catastrophic devotion?"

"No."

"The undeniable power of true—"

"No."

The student pointed harder. "How are you two together?"

The terrace erupted immediately.

"THANK YOU!"

"SOMEONE FINALLY SAID IT."

"I've been wondering that since our first year."

"I thought they'd break up after a month."

"I thought they would after a week!"

Che'nya gasped dramatically. "Rude."

"You climbed into a tree during orientation and refused to come down," A student said accusingly.

Che'nya merely shrugged, "Cats like high places, no?" he explained.

The same student deadpanned. "You introduced yourself by stealing my lunch."

Che'nya snickered, "It was tasty."

"And you," the student turned toward the other half of the couple. Y/n looked up from his book, "Hm?"

"You're practically a monk!"

Y/n tilted his head, "I don't think that's true."

"You once spent your entire birthday sitting by the lake."

"It was peaceful," Y/n fiddled with the edge of his page.

"You took a nap during a sports festival!"

"I was tired," To make a point, Y/n yawned.

The entire table collectively leaned forward. ". . . Okay," one student said slowly, "Now I need answers."

"Same."

"Absolutely."

"Start from the beginning."

Che'nya's tail twitched, and Y/n closed his book as the two exchanged a glance.

Che'nya laughed first. "Oh, this is purrfect."

"I don't understand how it is," Y/n shook his head.

"It just is."

"It really isn't."

"It definitely was."

The table groaned.

"START THE STORY!"

"PLEASE."

"For the sake of our sanity."

Che'nya immediately pointed at his boyfriend. "You tell it," he said.

"You were there, too," Y/n groaned, feeling tired already.

Che'nya only grinned, "So were you."

A pause, then Y/n sighed. Everyone recognized that sigh: it was the sigh of someone who had been dealing with Artemiy Artemiyevich Pinker for three years.

He folded his hands. "Fine, it started six years ago."

Che'nya perked up, "Oh, that's a good story."

"No, it isn't."

"It absolutely is."

And just like that, the story began.

💜

The first time he met Artemiy Artemiyevich Pinker, he thought he'd imagined him.

To be fair, it was an unusually warm afternoon.

The market district in the Queendom of Roses buzzed with activity as merchants called out prices and customers crowded narrow stone streets. The air smelled of fresh bread, flowers, and tea leaves.

Y/n, a twelve-year-old boy, balanced a basket against his hip as he navigated the crowd. His mother had sent him to pick up tea, and his father had asked for honey.

. . . And because neither trusted him not to get distracted, they'd given him a very specific list.

Buy tea. Buy honey. Come home. It should've been simple.

He had almost completed the errand when a voice drifted down from above.

"Do you think clouds ever get tired?"

Y/n stopped. ". . . What?"

"Clouds." The voice sounded thoughtful. "Always floating around. Never sitting down. Sounds exhausting."

Slowly, Y/n looked up to find a child sitting in a tree. Not near the tree or leaning against it, but actually sitting on one of the highest branches.

Y/n stared, and the boy in the tree stared back.

He had purple hair with lavender-colored streaks scattered about it. Fluffy-looking cat ears sat atop his head, and an equally soft-looking tail swished lazily behind him.

A far-too pleased grin flashed across his features. "Oh," he brightened, "you can see me."

Y/n paused. ". . . Shouldn't I be able to?"

"Usually." The stranger lifted his head, "Some people don't look up."

"I am looking up."

"Exactly."

Y/n considered this, "I don't understand."

"Neither do I," the cat stranger sounded delighted, but Y/n wasn't entirely sure as to why.

He moved so now his legs swung loosely below him. "Where're you going?" he asked.

"Home," Y/n answered.

"Where's home?"

Y/n tensed, "A few streets away," he said, tense.

"Which few?" He tilted his head.

Y/n pointed, and the stranger nodded seriously. "As expected."

Y/n's brows furrowed. "You expected that?"

"No." His grin widened, "but now that it's happened, I can pretend I did."

. . . That didn't make any sense, and the stranger seemed perfectly content with that fact.

Y/n adjusted the basket in his arms. ". . . Shouldn't you come down?" he asked lightly.

"Why?"

Y/n shrugged, "You're very high up."

"That's the point."

"But what if you fall?"

The stranger's ear twitched. "What if I don't?"

Y/n opened his mouth, then closed it. Technically, the stranger was right.

The cat boy laughed, and it sounded almost musical. "You make funny faces."

Y/n was defensive when he said, "You say strange things."

"Thank you," his grin widened.

"I wasn't complimenting you," Y/n deadpanned.

"I know." The stranger somehow looked even happier.

Y/n wondered if he was dealing with a very unusual person. . .the evidence suggested yes.

A comfortable silence settled, and the stranger remained perched in the tree while Y/n remained standing below. Neither seemed particularly eager to leave, and eventually, the stranger spoke again.

"What's in the basket?"

"Tea and honey," Y/n answered.

The boy hummed, then his eyes widened dramatically. "A bear."

Y/n tilted his head. ". . . A what?'

"You have honey," the stranger pointed.

"So?"

"Bears like honey."

Y/n stared, and the stranger stared back. When Y/n sighed, the stranger burst into laughter, the sound echoing through the street.

For some reason, hearing it made Y/n smile a little. Not enough for anyone else to notice, but the cat stranger did.

"What're you smiling at?"

"I'm not smiling."

"You are."

Y/n shook his head, "No."

"You definitely are."

Y/n looked away, and the stranger laughed again.

Then, without warning, he dropped from the tree.

Y/n nearly screamed. Instead, he made a very embarrassing choking noise.

The stranger landed effortlessly. "See?"

"You could've gotten hurt!" Y/n exclaimed.

"But I didn't," He said proudly.

"That's not the point."

"It feels like the point."

"It isn't," Y/n pressed.

The stranger blinked, then smiled. The look wasn't as teasing as before, more genuine this time.

"You're funny," he declared.

"No, I'm not," Y/n denied.

"Sure you are." The stranger took a step closer. Then another—curious, like a cat investigating something shiny.

Y/n noticed how the stranger was slightly taller, and the cat boy noticed too. "Huh," he voiced.

"What?"

"You're sleepy."

Y/n blinked. ". . . What?"

"You look sleepy," the boy clarified.

"I always look like this," Y/n replied.

"Exactly," The stranger nodded sagely, "Sleepy."

Y/n decided not to argue. A wise decision, apparently, because the stranger immediately changed topics.

"I'm Artemiy Artemiyevich Pinker!" The introduction arrived so suddenly that it caught Y/n off guard.

The stranger—Artemiy—held out a hand. Most people would probably introduce themselves differently, but Y/n accepted that Artemiy was not most people.

Carefully balancing the basket with one arm, Y/n shook the offered hand. "I'm Y/n L/n."

Artemiy repeated the name once, then twice, as if tasting it.

He smiled. "I like that one."

Y/n tilted his head, "It's my name."

"Exactly," the smile widened, "I like it."

Y/n wasn't entirely sure how to respond to that. Fortunately, Artemiy didn't seem to require responses. "You should visit this tree again," he suggested.

"Why?"

"Maybe I'll be here."

"Maybe?" Y/n raised a brow.

"Maybe." Artemiy leaned closer, lowering his voice as though sharing an important secret. "Maybe I won't."

That seemed significantly less helpful.

Y/n opened his mouth, closed it, then tried again. "How would I know?"

Artemiy's eyes sparkled. "That's the fun part."

Y/n should've been annoyed. But instead, for reasons he couldn't explain, he found himself smiling again. Small—barely noticeable—but a smile that the cat beastman noticed immediately.

"I told you," he said cheekily.

Y/n rolled his eyes, "I should go home."

"Probably."

"My parents are waiting."

"They usually do."

Y/n adjusted the basked, then hesitated. ". . . Will you actually be here again?"

Artemiy tilted his head, and the grin returned, mischievous and cryptic. "Somewhere," he said, entirely impossible to read.

"That's not an answer."

"It is."

"No, it isn't."

"It is if you know the question."

Y/n sighed, and Artemiy laughed. Somehow, despite understanding almost none of what this strange boy said, the thought of seeing him again didn't sound unpleasant. . .not even a little.

Years later, neither of them would remember what tea had been purchased that day; neither would remember the honey; neither would remember the errand.

But both would remember the tree, and the strange boy sitting in it. Because some stories begin with fireworks, some with fate, some with love at first sight.

Their story began because one boy looked up, and the other happened to be sitting in a tree.

💜

At age thirteen, the afternoon sun filtered through the sprawling branches of the old oak that overlooked the gardens separating the Rose Queendom's neighborhoods. Summer had only just begun, and the air smelled faintly of clover and freshly cut grass.

Y/n had already fallen asleep once. His book rested open across his lap, held in place by a finger tucked absentmindedly between the pages. Every so often, his head dipped forward before he jerked awake, blinking owlishly behind half-lidded eyes.

"You missed another chapter." Y/n looked up to find Che'nya hung upside down from one of the tree's thicker branches, his tail swinging lazily behind him.

"I wasn't asleep," Y/n denied.

Che'nya smiled. "You drooled."

"I did not."

He grinned wider. "You totally did."

Y/n sighed, closing the book with quiet dignity despite the pink creeping onto his ears. "You've become insufferable," he said, looking up to meet the mischievous glint of the beastman's canary eyes.

"I've become observant," he deflected.

"You've become annoying," Y/n deadpanned.

"Aww." Che'nya dropped from the branch with impossible grace, landing in front of him without making so much as a sound. "But you still keep me around," he teased.

Before Y/n could answer, another voice drifted across the field.

"There you are!" Trey approached first, balancing a picnic basket in both hands. Behind him walked Riddle—perfect posture, perfect uniform—perfectly hesitant.

Y/n noticed, as he always did, that Riddle stopped several feet away instead of joining them beneath the tree. It was as though an invisible line had been drawn in the grass.

Che'nya noticed too. "There he is!" he declared dramatically, "his Royal Seriousness!"

"I'm not serious all the time," Riddle denied unconvincingly.

"You're frowned at least six times since I last saw you," Che'nya giggled.

"I have not," Riddle crossed his arms across his chest.

"You just did it again." Riddle frowned harder at that, and Che'nya pointed triumphantly at the expression. "There! Seven!"

Y/n hid a laugh behind the back of his hand. Trey merely sighed with practiced patience. "You know," the greenette said while setting the basket down, "most people don't count other people's frowns."

"That's because most people are boring," Che'nya pouted.

Trey raised a brow, "They're normal."

"Boring," Che'nya drawled.

"They're basically the same as you."

"They are," Che'nya nodded as though Trey had supported his point, rather than proving him wrong.

Y/n found himself smiling before he realized he was doing it. Che'nya had a strange talent for making conversations feel lighter than they should—even Riddle seemed less rigid.

Trey spread a blanket over the grass. "I brought snacks," he announced, and Che'nya gasped. "My favorite words."

"They're mostly sandwiches," Trey said sheepishly.

Che'nya's pupils dilated. "My second favorite words."

The four settled together. Well. . . Chen'ya sprawled onto the blanket without ceremony, Y/n folded his legs neatly beside him, Trey sat properly, and Riddle remained standing. "I'll stain my clothes," Riddle explained upon receiving confused looks.

"You won't," Che'nya said.

"The grass is damp."

Che'nya raised a brow. "So?"

"I'll stain my clothes," Riddle repeated.

The silence stretched just long enough for Trey to pinch the bridge of his nose. Y/n looked down at the blanket beside him before quietly sliding one of the corners a little closer toward Riddle. "You could sit here," he offered, "the dampness doesn't leak through."

Riddle looked at him, fiddling with the ends of his sleeve.

"It won't wrinkle your clothes," Y/n tried again. Riddle hesitated. Then, with obvious reluctance, he finally sat. He wasn't close enough to touch anyone, but enough to insinuate he wouldn't mind.

Che'nya beamed as though someone had just announced a wedding. "You did it!" he exclaimed.

"I sat down," Riddle said, tense.

"You voluntarily joined us," Che'nya tilted his head up in triumph.

"I was invited," Riddle replied.

Che'nya shrugged. "Same difference."

"It is not."

"It is."

"It isn't."

"It is."

Y/n watched the exchange over the rim of the teacup Trey had poured for everyone.

Che'nya never pushed because he wanted to embarrass Riddle, but because he wanted him included. The difference was one Riddle didn't always seem to understand.

As Trey handed around sandwiches, conversation drifted from school lessons to magical history. Y/n answered more questions than he asked, and Riddle corrected Che'nya's inaccuracies while the beastman insisted half of them were "creative interpretations."

"They're incorrect," Riddle said while sipping from his teacup.

"They're interesting."

"They're wrong."

Trey laughed quietly, Y/n smiled, and even Riddle's lips twitched. Only for a second, but they did.

Che'nya placed a hand dramatically over his heart. "He likes us," he declared.

"I did not say that," Riddle flustered.

"He likes us," Che'nya repeated, a teasing lilt attached to his voice now.

"I did not!" Riddle's face rivaled his own hair now.

"He absolutely likes us!"

Riddle sighed, ". . . You're impossible."

Y/n watched Riddle glance around their little circle. Not at the flowers or the sky, but at them. Che'nya laughing too loudly, Trey smiling with tired familiarity, and Y/n himself sitting quietly with another book forgotten beside him.

For a moment, Riddle looked comfortable; the smallest crack had formed in the walls around him.

Y/n thought perhaps walls weren't meant to be broken all at once. Perhaps they disappeared the way sleep did after a pleasant dream; slow and gentle, without the dreamer realizing they had ever closed their eyes.

A warm weight suddenly settled against his shoulder. Y/n glanced sideways to find that Che'nya had somehow shifted until he was leaning against him, completely unbothered by the contact.

"You make a nice pillow," Che'nya commented.

"You've known that since last year," Y/n yawned, and Che'nya smiled without opening his eyes. "I know."

Without another word, Y/n adjusted his shoulder so Che'nya rested a little more comfortably.

Across the blanket, Trey noticed. And so did Riddle, but neither said anything.

There was nothing to say, for these interactions had become the most natural thing in the world.

💜

By age fourteen, Y/n's parents had grown accustomed to Che'nya's antics.

The first thing the cat beastman did upon entering the house was wave enthusiastically at Y/n's parents.

"Hello!"

His mother laughed from the kitchen. "He's upstairs," she said.

"I know!" Che'nya skipped away before either parent could utter a single syllable.

A familiar knock came from Y/n's bedroom door—once, then four times, and finally three.

Y/n's muffled voice came from the other side of the door. "Come in."

The door opened long enough for a purple-striped tail to slip through first. Then the rest of Che'nya followed.

"There you are!" the beastman greeted, and Y/n looked up from his book. "I've been here the whole time," he said slowly.

"I know," Che'nya said proudly, his tail swishing happily behind him as his hands rested against his sides.

"So. . .there I am," Y/n mumbled.

"There you are," Che'nya nodded as though the exchange had settled something important.

Without another word, he wandered over and promptly collapsed sideways across the bed. Half his body ended up resting against Y/n's legs, and the other half seemed unconcerned with gravity.

"You could sit normally," Y/n offered.

Che'nya hummed, "I could."

". . . But?"

Che'nya shimmied closer against Y/n, "But this is more comfortable."

Y/n tilted his head. "I fail to see how."

"You don't have a tail," Che'nya reasoned, his tail swiping under Y/n's chin to prove his point.

Y/n blinked, "I suppose I don't."

"Exactly," Che'nya grinned and made himself more comfortable.

Y/n simply adjusted his book enough that he could keep reading.

This happened often now: Che'nya would arrive, find Y/n reading, complain about the book without reading a single sentence from it, and remain nearby anyway. Sometimes they talked, and sometimes they didn't.

Che'nya never seemed bothered by silence, which surprised Y/n. For someone who filled every room with noise, he was equally content sharing the quiet.

Minutes slipped by; a page turned, and Che'nya shifted lower until his head rested comfortably across Y/n's lap. "There," he cooed.

Y/n looked down at him. "Comfortable?"

"Mhm," Che'nya murmured as he snuggled further into Y/n's lap.

"You look sleepy," Y/n observed.

"I'm not," Che'nya denied.

Y/n tilted his head, "I thought cats slept all day?"

"We nap."

Y/n hummed, "You've corrected me on this before."

Che'nya smiled, "I'll do it again."

Y/n nodded absently, his eyes returning to his book. Without thinking, one hand drifted downward until it found one soft, triangular ear peeking through violet hair. The fur was unbelievably soft—softer than it looked. His fingers lightly brushed over it once, then twice in a slow, absent-minded stroke.

Che'nya suddenly stiffened, and a tiny sound escaped him—not quite a squeak nor a gasp—more like he'd been startled awake.

"H-Hey. . ."

Y/n froze, and his eyes finally lifted from the page. ". . . What?"

"My ears," was all Che'nya replied with, and only then did Y/n realize where his hand was.

His face immediately paled. "Oh," he voiced, and pulled his hand back so quickly he nearly dropped his book. "I'm sorry," he said as a pink flush of embarrassment bloomed across his nose. "I wasn't thinking, I'm so sorry."

Che'nya blinked up at him as he continued to rant. "I didn't ask. I should've asked. I didn't mean—" The apology tumbled out faster and faster. "I just—I wasn't paying attention. I—" A laugh interrupted him, soft and warm.

Che'nya reached up and flicked the tip of one of his own ears. "They're sensitive," he said with a smile.

Y/n looked horrified. "I hurt you," he said timidly.

"No," Che'nya giggled.

"I startled you."

Che'nya shrugged, "A little."

"I'm sorry, "Y/n said frantically, folding his hands aggressively in his lap.

"It depends on who's sneaking."

Y/n frowned, "I shouldn't have."

"Maybe," Che'nya rolled onto his back so he could look at the ceiling. "If Riddle did it. . ." He shuddered dramatically, "I'd probably jump through the roof." He brought a hand to his face in thought. "If Trey did it. . . I'd ask if he needed something." He turned his head, and golden eyes met sleepy irises. "If you do it. . ." he shrugged, "I don't mind."

Y/n blinked. "You. . .don't?"

"They're sensitive."

Y/n's brows furrowed. "I gathered that."

"They twitch."

"I noticed."

"They're important."

Y/n swallowed. "I know."

Che'nya grinned. "But you're you."

Y/n was incredibly confused now. ". . . That's your explanation?"

Che'nya hummed. "It's a very good explanation," he reasoned.

"It explains nothing," Y/n reasoned.

"It explains everything," Che'nya countered.

"It really doesn't."

"It does if you're a cat." And Y/n couldn't argue with that, mainly because he wasn't sure how.

Che'nya reached up, gently catching Y/n's wrist. "If you're curious. . ." He guided the hesitant hand back toward one ear, ". . . Go slower."

Y/n was still reluctant. ". . . Are you sure?"

"Mhm."

Y/n's fingertips barely grazed the soft fur this time. He made small circles, gentle enough that the ear flicker instinctively instead of jerking away.

Che'nya gave a quiet hum. "There."

Y/n froze. ". . . Better?"

"Much." His ear leaned ever so slightly into Y/n's touch before twitching again.

Y/n smiled despite himself. "I didn't know they moved like that," he commented, getting comfortable with his gentle caresses.

"They have minds of their own," Che'nya explained.

"I can see that."

"They're traitors."

Y/n smiled, "They're expressive."

"They're dramatic," Che'nya countered.

"So are you," Y/n reasoned.

". . . Rude." Che'nya pretended to sulk for exactly three seconds before his striped tail lazily swished across the blanket. Y/n's gaze followed the appendage.

". . . Can I ask you something?" Y/n asked.

Che'nya smiled cheekily. "You already did."

Y/n pursed his lips. "Another thing."

"Certainly."

"Is your tail sensitive?" Y/n asked.

Che'nya looked over one shoulder. "My tail?"

Y/n nodded.

"It is," Che'nya answered, and Y/n folded his hands into his lap. "I won't touch it," he declared.

Che'nya tilted his head. "Why not?"

"You just said it's sensitive," Y/n reasoned.

"It is."

"Then I shouldn't," Y/n's hands tightened in his lap.

Che'nya laughed, "What a funny little mouse."

"I'm not—" Che'nya cut him off by picking up his own tail and offering it over like someone presenting a ribbon. "It doesn't mind," he said.

Y/n still looked hesitant. ". . . You sure?"

Che'nya nodded, "My tail and I discussed it."

Y/n's brows furrowed. ". . . You discussed it."

"We reached an agreement."

Y/n tilted his head, "I'm not sure that's possible. . ."

"You don't speak Tail."

Y/n sighed. "I suppose I don't." He reached out far more carefully this time.

The fur was thicker than on Che'nya's ears, soft and warm. The tail gave an involuntary flick beneath his fingers, and Y/n instantly stopped. ". . . Too much?" he asked, worried.

"No," Che'nya said, and another lazy swish curled around Y/n's wrist. "It just moves."

"Oh," Y/n voiced.

"It likes deciding things by itself."

"I think that's just you again," Y/n said as the beastman's tail curled tighter around his wrist.

Che'nya gasped dramatically. "My own tail has betrayed me," he waited.

A genuine laugh escaped Y/n, and Che'nya's smile softened. "There's that sound."

Y/n tilted his head. "What sound?"

"The one you only make when you forget to hide."

The room grew quiet, and Y/n looked down at the book still resting open beside him. Che'nya settled back against his lap as though nothing unusual had happened. "Read," he said sleepily.

Y/n looked at him. "You're done talking?"

Che'nya smirked. "For now."

". . . You're impossible," Y/n sighed.

Che'nya closed his eyes, his tail lazily curling around Y/n's leg. "I've been told.

This time, when Y/n resumed reading, one hand held the book. The other rested absentmindedly behind one soft purple ear.

Che'nya never said another word about it.

💜

At age fifteen, the Rose Queendom transformed every year for the Festival of the Red Queen.

Scarlet banners hung from every lamp post, and playing cards marched in neat parades through the streets. The smell of sweet pastries, roasted nuts, and fresh roses drifted through the warm afternoon air while musicians filled every square with cheerful songs.

Y/n adjusted the strap of the satchel hanging across his shoulder. Inside it rested his newest book: an intriguing tale of a lost author and a lonely fae prince.

". . . You brought a book."

Y/n looked beside him. "There might be waiting."

Che'nya stared. "Waiting?"

"In lines," Y/n clarified.

Che'nya looked side to side. "We're at a festival."

Y/n tilted his head. "There are always lines."

The beastman copied the head tilt. "So?"

"I like reading."

Che'nya groaned dramatically. "You've brought literature to entertainment."

"I've brought entertainment to entertainment," Y/n responded.

"You're impossible," Che'nya said exasperatedly.

"I learned from you."

Che'nya blinked. ". . . I have mixed feelings."

Before either of them could continue, Trey appeared carrying four cups of chilled berry juice. "I figured we'd all get thirsty," the greenette shrugged.

"You're wonderful," Che'nya declared, already taking one.

Trey smiled, "I know."

Riddle arrived a moment later, dressed as impeccably as ever despite the crowds pressing through the streets. "This place is entirely too crowded," he shuddered.

Che'nya grinned. "And yet you came."

Riddle tensed, "It's impolite to decline an invitation."

"Exactly." And the beastman began to skip off down the street.

The four wandered together through rows of festival stalls. One offered handmade playing cards, another sold embroidered ribbons, and another displayed elaborate glass roses that shimmered in the sunlight.

Y/n stopped briefly at a bookseller, and Che'nya stopped because he stopped.

"You already own books," the beastman pointed out.

Y/n hummed, perusing. "I know."

"You've read almost all of them."

Y/n picked up a book, reading the back before deciding he wasn't interested, placing it back where it belonged. "For the most part, yeah," he replied.

Che'nya pouted. "So why more?"

Y/n smiled faintly. "They're different."

Che'nya looked at the endless shelves. "They all have words."

"They have different words," Y/n pressed.

"Seems inefficient."

"It isn't."

Che'nya leaned dramatically against Y/n. "I'll never understand you."

Y/n picked another book. "You don't have to."

"I know." Che'nya's tail curled loosely around Y/n's leg. "I still like trying." The words were casual—almost absentminded—but they lingered in the air longer than expected.

The pressure on his arm and around his leg disappeared, and Y/n looked over. Che'nya had already wandered off toward a stall with a magician.

It was as though he hadn't said anything unusual at all.

Hours passed in comfortable wandering. Trey sampled nearly every food stand, Riddle corrected the historical inaccuracies presented by performers, Che'nya intentionally applauded at the wrong moments, and Y/n laughed hard enough that his cheeks hurt.

Eventually, they reached the busiest intersection in town; crowds flowed in every direction, a parade had begun, and trumpets echoed through the streets. People surged forward, and Y/n instinctively took a step backward to avoid being bumped—

Only for someone to take his hand. Warm fingers intertwined with his; unmistakably Che'nya.

"There," the beastman tugged gently, "don't disappear."

Y/n blinked. ". . . I'm right here."

Che'nya smirked. "Exactly."

"So why—"

"Because crowds steal people," he reasoned.

Y/n tilted his head. "Crowds don't steal people."

"They do," Che'nya insisted.

"They push people," Y/n reasoned.

"They borrow them."

"That's not better," Y/n frowned.

Che'nya only laughed before weaving effortlessly through the sea of festival-goers, never letting go. Y/n followed without another thought, and his hand fit comfortably in Che'nya's—it always had.

Behind them, Trey watched for a moment, then looked toward Riddle. "Have they always done that?"

Riddle looked up. "Done what?"

"Held hands," he clarified.

Riddle observed them for several seconds: Che'nya was pointing excitedly toward a parade float, and Y/n was listening. Neither seemed remotely aware they were still holding hands.

". . . I suppose," Riddle eventually murmured.

"You suppose?" Trey tilted his head

"They've always been rather. . ." Riddle searched for the word. "Attached."

"Hm." Trey smiled to himself. "I guess they are." And neither had said anything else.

The parade ended near sunset. Lanterns slowly illuminated the streets, the sky faded from gold to deep violet, and the festival grew quieter. Families settled into blankets, children chased glowing insects through the gardens, and the four friends found themselves seated beneath a rose arbor overlooking the plaza.

Che'nya stretched his arms high above his head. "My feet hurt," he complained obnoxiously.

"You've been running since noon," Trey replied.

"I've been gracefully exploring," Che'nya corrected.

"You sprinted," Y/n pointed out.

"I frolicked."

"You climbed a fountain," Riddle said with a disappointed sigh.

"It looked lonely."

Riddle gave him a look. "It was architecture."

Che'nya returned the expression. "It needed company."

"It did not."

Y/n laughed into the sleeve of his sweater, and Che'nya immediately looked over. "You laugh differently," he said randomly.

"I do not," Y/n denied.

"You do."

Y/n looked genuinely confused. "I've never noticed."

Che'nya shrugged. "I noticed."

". . . Of course you did."

Che'nya smiled. "I notice a lot of things." Their eyes met—only briefly—long enough for Y/n to feel oddly warm before looking away. "You're staring," he muttered.

Che'nya didn't try denying it. "I am."

". . . Why?"

"I'm thinking," the beastman answered.

"About?" Y/n pressed.

Che'nya tilted his head. "If mice always look sleepy. . ."

Y/n gave him a look. "I'm not a mouse."

Che'nya promptly ignored him. "Do mice dream while they're awake?"

Y/n blinked. "What?"

"You look like you do."

". . . I don't think that's possible."

"Hmm," Che'nya continued watching him. "I think it is."

Trey coughed lightly into his drink, Nd Riddle looked between them.

Y/n tilted his head. "What?"

"Nothing," Trey answered far too quickly.

As darkness settled completely, fireworks erupted above the plaza. Crimson blossoms burst across the sky, gold followed, then silver as the crowd collectively gasped. Y/n watched the reflections dance across the lantern-lit streets.

Without thinking, he leaned slightly toward the warmth behind him. Che'nya leaned too, and their shoulders touched. Neither moved away nor acknowledged it; they simply remained there, watching the sky.

Another firework bloomed overhead in the shape of a rose, and Che'nya whispered, "pretty."

Another burst illuminated their faces, and Y/n glanced sideways. Che'nya wasn't watching the fireworks anymore, but Y/n. Only for a second, just long enough to smile, then he looked back toward the sky.

The moment passed so quickly that Y/n wondered if he'd imagined it.

Across the blanket, Trey definitely hadn't. He hid another smile behind his cup.

Riddle noticed. "What?"

Trey shook his head. "Nothing."

Years later, he would remember that evening far more clearly than anyone else. Not because of the festival, but because it was the first time he looked at the two of them and thought:

They're going to grow old together.

And neither of them knew it yet.

💜

By the second month of their first year at Royal Sword Academy, the faculty had reached one unanimous conclusion:

Che'nya was trouble. Not malicious trouble, just. . .trouble. He appeared in classrooms he wasn't assigned to, he disappeared from classrooms he was; he somehow convinced three second-years that the Radiant Seven statues had begun speaking.

His closest friend, meanwhile, had earned an entirely different reputation: quiet, polite, usually sleepy. Most teachers considered it a victory if he remained awake through an entire lecture, and students often whispered as the pair passed through the halls.

"How are they friends?"

"They don't even act alike."

"He barely talks."

"Che'nya talks enough for both of them."

The strangest part was that they somehow fit together perfectly, like opposite halves of the same story.

". . . You're reading."

"Mhm."

"Romance?"

". . . Mhm."

Che'nya made an exaggerated face. "Eugh."

Y/n rolled his eyes, "You say that every time."

"I know."

"And then you ask what happens."

Che'nya hummed, "I do."

"And then you become invested."

"I absolutely don't."

Y/n quietly turned another page. ". . . The prince just confessed."

Che'nya's ears twitched. "What did he say?"

Y/n gave him a knowing look. "You're invested."

"I need to know whether it's a good confession," Che'nya reasoned.

Y/n smiled. "I thought romance was 'eugh.'"

"It usually is."

Y/n raised a brow. "But?"

"But I'm judging it."

". . . Naturally."

Che'nya shifted until he was lying fully across Y/n's bed, his head comfortably settled in the bookworm's lap—exactly where it always ended up.

This had become a new norm for the odd pair: after classes or studying sessions (where only Y/n studied), Che'nya would follow Y/n back to his dorm and sprawl all over the place while the quieter of the two either got ready for bed or read. Sometimes, Che'nya would be in his room before Y/n even showed up, napping in some odd position that Y/n always racked his brain trying to figure out how it could've been comfortable.

Y/n absentmindedly rested one hand behind a familiar purple ear, and Che'nya gave a content hum.

He turned a page, and the chapter ended with the heroine brushing a loose strand away from the hero's face while he pretended to be asleep. The hero smiled without opening his eyes.

"I knew you'd do that."

Y/n paused, then looked down. Che'nya had done almost exactly that last week; he'd been pretending to sleep through afternoon lectures until Y/n nudged him awake.

He smiled faintly to himself and continued reading. A few pages later, the protagonists walked through a crowded market. Without speaking, one reached back, and the other took their hand as if it were as natural as breathing.

Y/n's thumb rested between the pages, finding familiarity in the character's interactions.

Another page, a conversation beneath a tree.

"I don't know why I always come back here."

"Maybe because I'm here."

The hero laughed. "Maybe."

Y/n stared at the page, then slowly looked down. Che'nya's tail was lazily wrapped around his ankle, like usual.

". . . Artemiy."

"Mhm?"

". . . Wake up."

The beastman pried open one of his eyes. "I'm awake."

Y/n closed the book. "Can I ask you something?"

"You already did," Che'nya smirked.

"A serious one."

Che'nya opened both his eyes now. "Those exist?"

Y/n gave him a look. "They do."

". . . Proceed."

Y/n hesitated long enough for Che'nya to stop smiling. ". . . This book says. . ." Y/n started, looking back at his novel. ". . . Doing all these things means someone likes you romantically."

". . ."

". . ."

". . . Artemiy?"

"Mhm?"

Y/n wavered. "We've done almost all of them."

". . . Mhm."

". . ."

". . ."

". . . Does that. . ." Y/n frowned, ". . .mean something?"

Che'nya stared at him, then burst into laughter. Not mocking, but genuinely delighted. "Oh," he voiced.

"What?"

"Oh!"

"What?"

"I wondered when you'd find out!"

Y/n blinked. ". . . Find out what?"

Che'nya sat upright so suddenly that his tail nearly knocked the book off the bed. "You didn't know?"

". . . Know what?"

"I've been courting you forever."

The room became impossibly quiet.

". . . You've been what?"

"Courting."

". . ."

". . ."

". . . What?"

Che'nya tilted his head. "I thought I was being obvious."

". . ."

"I hold your hand."

". . ."

"I nap on you."

". . ."

"I remember everything you like."

". . ."

"I visit your house almost every day."

". . ."

"I let you touch my ears."

". . ."

"I trust you with my tail."

". . ."

"I don't like anyone else doing that."

Y/n's mouth opened, then closed, then opened again.

Che'nya's smile slowly faltered. ". . . Wait. You really didn't know?"

Y/n didn't respond.

"I thought. . ." For perhaps the first time in years, Che'nya looked nervous. "I thought you were saying yes."

". . . When?"

"Every time."

Y/n's shoulders dropped. ". . . Every. . ."

"You pet me."

". . . You told me to."

"You kept doing it."

". . . Because you liked it."

"I do."

". . ."

"I thought that was your answer."

Y/n covered his face. "I'm an idiot."

Che'nya grinned sheepishly. "A little."

"I thought. . ." He laughed weakly, "I thought that's just what best friends did."

Che'nya stared. ". . . No."

Y/n peeked through his hands. "No?"

"No," Che'nya confirmed.

". . . Oh."

Che'nya scratched one ear awkwardly. ". . . So."

". . . So," Y/n copied.

"Would you like to?"

Y/n lowered his hands. ". . . Like to what?"

Che'nya shrugged. "Actually date me, instead of accidentally dating me."

The silence lasted exactly three seconds. "I think. . ." Y/n smiled—a quiet one—the same smile Che'nya had spent four years trying to coax out of him. ". . . I'd like that very much."

Che'nya's ears shot straight upward. "Really?"

Y/n nodded, "Really."

". . . You're sure?"

"I'm sure."

Che'nya laughed and leaned forward until their foreheads touched. "I win."

Y/n's brows furrowed. "Was this a competition?"

"No."

". . . Then what did you win?"

"You."

Y/n laughed. "That's an awful answer.

Che'nya grinned. "I know."

". . . You should think of a better one."

"I could."

"Will you?"

Che'nya shook his head. "No."

"Why?'

"'Cause I already got the prize." Before Y/n could answer, Che'nya gently took one of his hands, threading their fingers together exactly as he had at the festival a year ago. Only this time, neither of them pretended it was to avoid getting lost.

Outside, somewhere down the dormitory hall, a group of first-years heard Che'nya laughing loud enough to echo through the corridor.

One student sighed. "What's he done now?"

Another shrugged. "Whatever it is, I'm sure the sleepy one is involved."

💜

The room was quiet except for the soft rustle of turning pages.

Some things never changed: books lined every shelf, the window was cracked open to let in the spring breeze, and Che'nya was sprawled comfortably across his boyfriend's lap.

". . . You're reading again."

Y/n hummed. "I usually am."

"Hm." Che'nya shifted until his head rested more comfortably against him. Without thinking, Y/n's fingers slipped into soft violet hair, gently stroking behind one ear.

Y/n felt the ear twitch. ". . . Still sensitive?" he asked.

"Mhm," Che'nya responded,

"Too much?"

Che'nya smiled without opening his eyes. "Not when it's you."

Y/n laughed quietly. "I remember apologizing so much for touching them the first time."

Che'nya snickered. "You looked like you were about to cry."

"I felt terrible," Y/n lamented.

"And now you don't even think about it."

". . . I don't." His hand drifted lower, gently running through the fur of Che'nya's tail. The appendage curled loosely around his wrist.

"You've spoiled yourself," Y/n teased.

Che'nya pouted. "You spoiled me."

". . . Fair."

Silence settled between them again, comfortable and easy. Y/n looked down from his book. He hadn't read the last page; instead, he'd been watching the boy resting against him.

". . . Artemiy."

"Hm?"

"I think you're distracting me."

Che'nya cracked open one golden eye. "From the book?"

"Mhm," Y/n nodded.

The beastman grinned cheekily. "I win."

Y/n rolled his eyes, "You always make everything a competition."

"I don't."

"Then what did you win?"

Che'nya smiled. "You."

Y/n shook his head, laughing. "You've used that one before."

"It still works."

He closed the book and set it beside him. "I suppose it does."

Che'nya looked up at him curiously. ". . . What?"

Y/n reached down, gently upping his cheek. "Thank you," he said lowly.

Che'nya's ear twitched. "For what?"

"For always finding me."

Che'nya's expression softened at that. "I always will." The words came so naturally that Y/n didn't think before leaning forward to kiss him.

It was gentle—brief. When they pulled apart, Che'nya blinked several times. ". . . Mousie."

"Hm?"

"You kissed me."

Y/n nodded. "I did."

Che'nya pouted, "I was going to do that." He then laughed, the sound bright enough to fill the room. "Can I have another one?"

Y/n smiled, "You can."

Their second kiss lingered a little longer. When they parted, Che'nya settled right back across Y/n's lap with a contented sigh. Y/n picked up the forgotten book, smiling as he rested one hand behind Che'nya's ear again.

Outside, the academy carried on as usual. Inside, nothing had really changed; Che'nya still napped in Y/n's lap, and Y/n still read.

Only now, every quiet moment belonged to both of them.

💜

". . . So that's the whole story."

The table fell silent.

One third-year blinked. ". . . I think I understand now."

Another frowned. "I. . .mostly understand."

A third shook his head. "I still don't get how someone like Che'nya ended up with someone so quiet."

Che'nya gasped dramatically. "As if I had any say in it!"

"You definitely had some say," Y/n replied, smiling.

"I was simply lucky enough that my favorite dormouse kept saying yes," the beastman grinned.

A few students laughed, and a third-year looked between them. "So. . you're saying your personalities don't matter?"

Y/n gently closed the book resting in his lap. "They do." He looked at Che'nya before continuing. "He gets me out of my shell."

Che'nya smiled. "And he gives me somewhere to come home to."

"I like the quiet," Y/n said.

"I enjoy causing problems," Che'nya complimented.

". . . You do," Y/n said exasperatedly.

"I do."

The students laughed again, and Y/n reached over and laced his fingers with Che'nya's. "We're different."

Che'nya gave his hand a gentle squeeze. "But we always walked in the same direction."

A thoughtful silence settled over the room.

Finally, one student smiled. ". . . I think I get it now."

Che'nya grinned. "I knew you would."

Without another word, he flopped sideways onto Y/n's lap, exactly where everyone expected him to be. Y/n sighed with practiced amusement and absentmindedly scratched behind one soft purple ear.

Che'nya let out a content hum. "Best pillow at RSA."

Y/n rolled his eyes, "You've said that before."

"I know."

The students watched the two of them for a moment before one finally shrugged. "You know what?"

"What?"

"They're still weird."

Che'nya sat up with a triumphant grin. "We're weird together."

Y/n smiled as he reopened his book. "Exactly."

And somehow, that had always been enough.

💜