Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Temenos stood at the window of his fourth–floor apartment, a cup of tea warming his hand and Sugarcube nestled at his side. The tiny Pomeranian, her coat brushed to a fine shimmer, blinked down at the street with regal disinterest. Temenos liked to imagine she approved of the view—the bustling sidewalk below, the temptation that was the corner bakery, and above all, the green expanse of Crestlands Park just across the way.  

Oh, the Crestlands Park was his favorite. The small duck pond dotted with mallards, the rows of carefully maintained flowerbeds, the quiet bench in the far corner of the park that he called his own, and—most of all—the vendors. They lined the main pathway with carts of sweet, sticky pastries glazed in honey, sandwiches wrapped in wax paper, and lemonade ices that cooled him down in the summer sun. To stroll through the park with a warm vanilla tart in one hand and Sugarcube’s leash in the other—that was his favorite routine.  

Now the charm was gone.  

At exactly 7:00 a.m., as if summoned by the dark god himself, a man jogged past his apartment with his dog. 

That man. 

Temenos loathed waking early, but his loathing for this jogger was stronger still. Every morning, he rose just to join Sugarcube at the window and glare down at him, willing his scorn to burn a hole in that sunny grin. If the man noticed, he gave no sign. He only kept running, smiling like an imbecile. It made his irritation worse.  

With a huff, he turned from the window, retreating into the comfort of his apartment. Here, nothing intruded. No joggers, no muddy paws, no laughter too loud to ignore. Everything was as it should be.  

The shelves, though neatly arranged, were cluttered with mismatched curiosities: porcelain teacups collected from secondhand shops, gifts from his friends and family, and well-loved, colorful paperbacks that were a mix of Scripture and mystery. A crocheted blanket, too warm for the season, was draped over the back of the couch, surrounded by an excessive number of pillows. On the low table sat a prayer candle flickering softly beside a bowl of wrapped candies—“for guests,” he always claimed, though he was the one who went through them fastest. 

This was his refuge, curated and orderly, the one place where nothing was out of place—unlike the Crestlands Park, where his peace had been so rudely shattered. 

It hadn’t always been this way. It all started two weeks back, on a Saturday afternoon, when Temenos had taken his darling princess to Crestlands Park, as was their custom. Sugarcube had trotted proudly beside him, her sparkly leash glittering in the sun—until a Golden Retriever came crashing out of nowhere, sniffing and pawing at her like she was a common chew toy. 

Sugarcube shrieked, a high, indignant bark. Temenos quickly yanked her close, scooping her off the ground before the beast could make contact. 

And that was when he appeared. The beast’s master. He was everything Temenos abhorred: sweaty, panting and entirely too cheerful. Golden curls stuck damply to his forehead, his shirt clung to his chest and his cheeks flushed red with exertion. He looked young and well-built, the sort of figure that might’ve been appealing if it hadn’t come wrapped in sweat and idiocy. 

“M–Max! Max, no—leave her alone, boy!” the man gasped, pulling on the retriever’s collar before glancing up at Temenos with a sheepish smile. “Sorry about that. He loves meeting other dogs.” 

“Well, you should make sure he doesn’t run off on you again,” Temenos said coolly. “Dogs are allowed to be off-leash here—but they are not allowed to be wild.” 

Though the man seemed taken aback by Temenos’s comment, he quickly recovered. “Y–yes, I know. Again, I’m very sorry!” He hesitated for a moment. Then, as if determined to recover the situation, he thrust out a dripping, sweat-slick hand. “I’m Crick, by the way. I just moved here for college.” 

Temenos recoiled, eyes narrowing. He did not shake hands with men who smelled like gym towels left to rot. “Temenos.” 

Crick laughed awkwardly, lowering his hand. “Temenos, right. It’s nice to meet you.” 

Then his eyes lit up, catching sight of the tiny bundle of white fur in Temenos’s arms. He leaned in slightly, cooing. “And who’s this little fluffball?” 

“She,” Temenos snapped, “is Sugarcube.” He drew out the name with deliberate emphasis, as if correcting a grievous insult. 

“Sugarcube,” Crick repeated brightly. “That’s adorable.” 

Temenos’s lips thinned. Sugarcube was not “adorable.” She was exquisite, divine—royalty among dogs. 

And yet—for a brief, dangerous moment—Temenos considered forgiving him. Crick was irritating, yes, but he was also endearing in a sweet, awkward sort of way. Perhaps, if he showed the proper deference, he could be tolerated. 

But then he committed the final, unforgivable sin. With casual familiarity as if routine, he unscrewed his water bottle—the very one he had been guzzling from moments earlier—and tilted it toward his dog’s slobbering mouth. 

The retriever’s tongue lapped greedily at the plastic, water spilling down his muzzle messily. Drops pattered onto the grass, some landing perilously close to Temenos’s shoes. Sugarcube gave a sharp, outraged yap, as though voicing the disgust Temenos himself felt.  

This was vulgar. Barbaric, even. 

Temenos’s jaw clenched so tightly it ached. Whatever flicker of mercy Crick’s clumsy charm had kindled was extinguished in an instant. 

In that moment, Temenos knew: he despised him. 

…Which led him to his present routine.  

If Crick thought he could parade his sunny happiness and lumbering dog past Temenos’s window like some kind of victory march, he was gravely mistaken. Temenos was not a man easily bested. Certainly not by a clumsy, insolent little college boy. So, he went out of his way to remark on every one of Crick’s failings. 

A faintly arched brow whenever Max’s paws were muddy.
A pointed glance at the sweat soaking through Crick’s shirt.
The occasional sharp tsk when Max tried to play with Sugarcube.

Anything to provoke Crick into showing his true colors. But Crick, infuriatingly, did not seem to rise to the bait. Instead, he carried on carefree with his routine, committing new offenses each time they crossed paths. 

Once, Temenos watched in horror as Crick bought a neatly wrapped sandwich from a vendor, fumbled it with his clumsy hands, and—without hesitation—let Max gobble the fallen half straight off the ground. Any civilized man would have thrown it away or at least retrieved it with some shame. But no. Not Crick. (Temenos also noted with distaste that the vendor seemed to like Crick, going as far as giving him another sandwich despite the waste.) 

Another day, Crick tossed a ball far too close to the duck pond. Max bounded after it, sending the mallards into a chaos of flapping wings and indignant quacks. Crick, silly thing that he was, actually shouted an apology to the ducks. The ducks. As if they could understand him. Max came splashing out of the pond soaked and filthy, spraying dirt in every direction as he shook out his coat. The water spattered Crick, who was directly in the line of fire, ruining his already sweat-soaked shirt. The man didn’t even seem to care, kneeling down in the mud to hug his filthy dog. Temenos would have laughed if he weren’t so utterly disgusted. 

And worst of all was Crick’s laughter. It seemed to echo across the park. Children swarmed to Max as if they had never seen a dog before, like Golden Retrievers weren’t one of the most common breeds alive. Crick encouraged it—cheerfully allowing every one of them to pet and play with him. Even when Temenos sought refuge on his bench with Sugarcube, Crick would just happen to pass by, laughing a little too loudly at something someone said over the phone.  

Temenos tried to ignore him, but it was like Crick’s presence invaded every corner of his life. Even outside the park, the man appeared in conversations. Girls giggling on the sidewalk about the handsome new neighbor. Students at the nearby college whispering excitedly about “the friendly boy with the retriever.” Even cashiers at the bakery he frequented casually mentioned that Crick had stopped by for a pastry, as if it were charming. The betrayal was almost too much to bear. 

Worse still were the false alarms. Every bright-eyed jogger and dog with a wagging tail caused Temenos to stiffen, pulse spiking, only to realize it wasn’t Crick at all. The disappointment was as maddening as the encounters themselves.  

Even the summer festival, once nothing more than a harmless bit of noise, now grated sharper than ever knowing Crick would certainly be there to annoy him with his presence if he attended for once (as if Temenos would actually go; he had more important things to worry about than those silly festivities). 

The park, once Temenos’s sanctuary, now felt like enemy territory. His bench was no longer a retreat, but a lookout post from which he could anticipate Crick’s next disruption. The vanilla tarts had soured too, their sweetness tainted by the memory of Crick’s talk of his vanilla shampoo. 

At least Sugarcube understood. The moment Crick or Max came into view, her ears pricked and nose twitched before she buried herself further into his lap, refusing to acknowledge them. Temenos took these gestures as proof, undeniable evidence that his darling princess shared his righteous distaste.  

He wished he could force Crick to leave. To make him pack up his happy little grin and drag himself back to whatever abhorrent place he had come from, tail between his legs. But since that wasn’t an option, all he could do was complain—and complain he would. 

Surely his friends would also understand. Surely, they too would see Crick for the menace he was. Temenos suddenly looked forward to laying out his evidence before them—the water-bottle incident, the sandwich fiasco, the muddy pond—and at last hearing a chorus of agreement. Yes, that was what he needed. Vindication. It would be a jury with a unanimous verdict. 

Guilty.  

Temenos could hardly wait. 

---

Crick sighed as he pushed open the apartment door, letting Max barrel inside ahead of him. He tugged his sweat–soaked shirt over his head and tossed it into the laundry basket by the door—its permanent home, for lack of a better place. Then he collapsed face–first onto the couch, the springs groaning under him.  

It was a crummy apartment to say the least. Half the time the temperature didn’t match the thermostat on the wall, and all the appliances were so old it was a miracle they still worked. Still, it was his. And for that, he was proud. 

What nagged at him most wasn’t the second-rate thermostat or appliances; it was the lack of space. Max deserved room to run, not four cramped rooms and a hallway barely wide enough for his tail to wag in. But he couldn’t possibly afford anything else, buried in student debt and other daunting bills. That was why Crestlands Park was a godsend—a wide expanse of grass and ponds where Max could stretch out for once, leaving the small apartment behind. 

So, every day he was available he made the trip to the park. Max ran, Crick jogged, and for a little while it felt like there was nothing wrong in the world. He never guessed, on one of those carefree days, that he was about to make an enemy for life. 

Crick felt the familiar weight of paws against the couch as Max leapt up beside him, tail sweeping happily. Crick lifted his head and managed a grin, ruffling the retriever’s fur. 

“I’m alright, boy. Just a little tired.” 

Max pressed a warm, wet nose into his hand, loosening the tightness in Crick’s chest. He would do anything for Max. He had come into his life at his lowest—when home had stopped feeling like home, when every phone call with his parents turned into a fight, and when he’d needed someone—anyone—to remind him he wasn’t alone. 

Though he did wish Max would exercise some discretion around Temenos and his haughty little dog. He could forgive Max for the mistake, but his most recent encounter with Temenos the other day had been a rough one. Max had taken to chasing Sugarcube, only for their leashes to end up tangled around his and Temenos’s legs until the two fell into a heap on the ground. When they finally untangled themselves, Temenos was livid and refused to look at him as he stalked away. Temenos was lucky he had ended up on top of Crick and not the other way around—Crick was the one who had to deal with the bruises. 

In the midst of his thoughts, a door creaked open down the hall. His roommate, Ort, shuffled out, hair mussed and expression bleary like he’d just woken up. Knowing him, he probably did. His own dog, a German Shepherd named Maverick, came following faithfully behind him. “Hey, dude. How was your morning jog?” 

Crick sighed. “Same as always.” 

Ort raised a brow and dropped onto the couch beside him. Maverick immediately claimed the remaining cushion space, circling once before flopping down with his head on Ort’s knee.  

Max thumped his tail against the fabric, nose already nudging Maverick’s shoulder in greeting. When Crick and Ort had agreed to move in together, they were afraid their dogs wouldn’t get along. Though it took some time for them to get used to each other, they grew to love playfighting and running side by side whenever Crick and Ort had time to jog together. The two became best friends—just like them. Thinking about it made him a bit happier. 

“That guy’s still getting on your case, huh?”  

Crick’s mood soured again.  He hesitated, burying his fingers in Max’s fur. He wasn’t desperate for everyone to like him, but something about Temenos’s disdain bothered him. Maybe it was because he hadn’t even been in town for more than a month before somehow gaining the ire of one of its long-time residents. Maybe it was because he knew he wasn’t doing anything wrong, and he was tired of being judged for no reason. 

Or maybe—his heart picked up at the thought—it was because Crick actually did like him, in a strange way. Temenos was unlike anyone he had ever met. He was terrifyingly pretty, for one, and he carried himself like he belonged everywhere he went. Next to him, Crick felt like a klutz: all sweat and laughter and awkward timing. No wonder Temenos couldn’t stand him. 

Still, he wasn’t going to stop going to the park. Max needed it. The park was their place, too. 

Crick sat up, stretching until his back cracked. He gave Max a quick scratch behind his ears with an affectionate smile. “We’ll just have to win him over, huh, boy? One day he’ll see you’re the sweetest dog in the world. And maybe he’ll see I’m not so bad either.” 

Ort snorted. “Crick, you are way too nice. If I were you, I’d have told him off the first day—and maybe thrown some mud on those fancy shoes while I was at it. Guys like that don’t deserve your forgiveness.” 

Crick huffed, though the corner of his mouth twitched upward. “Well maybe you could stand to be kinder to other people.” 

Ort leaned back, folding his arms across his chest. His smile was challenging. “Or maybe you should quit wasting your energy trying to make rude people like you.” 

It was definitely the start of a mostly playful argument, but before Crick could answer, Maverick butted his snout against Ort’s chest with a low whine, tail wagging as if to say don’t start. Ort chuckled and tried to nudge him away, but Maverick persisted, leaning all his weight into him until Ort had to uncross his arms to steady the dog. 

Meanwhile, Max let out a single bark, then climbed halfway onto Crick’s lap and pressed a big paw over his mouth. Crick’s eyes went wide, then he burst into muffled laughter, swallowed by a mouthful of fur. 

“See?” Ort grinned, scratching Maverick under the chin. “Even they know when to shut us up.” 

Crick nudged Max back down to the cushions, still chuckling as he wiped fur from his face. “Traitor,” he muttered fondly, giving the retriever’s ear a tug. Then he glanced back at Ort, his amusement dimming into something more thoughtful. “Still… I don’t want things to stay like this. I mean, it’s not the end of the world if Temenos never likes me, but—I don’t know. It gets to me more than I’d like to admit.” 

Ort sighed as he shook his head and got up to get a late morning breakfast from the kitchen. “Somehow, I knew you’d say that. Alright, dude, I trust you. Just don’t let this get in the way of your life.” 

He rubbed at his eyes, groaning softly. Life. Right. He had plenty of other things to worry about. There was still schoolwork waiting on his desk, deadlines looming closer than he wanted to think about. He really needed a job, too—rent didn’t pay itself and tuition was already a nightmare. 

His mind immediately drifted to the nearby bakery on the corner. Maybe they were hiring? 

Chapter Text

“You are being extremely petty. More so than usual.” 

Temenos glared at the woman in front of him. 

Throné Anguis. A former thief turned his investigative assistant—annoyingly blunt, horribly perceptive, and, most regrettably, the woman he begrudgingly called his best friend. Their working relationship had started out of necessity, a partnership forged in shadowed alleys and the occasional bit of breaking and entering, but somewhere along the way she had wormed herself into his life like a stubborn splinter. 

Now, she was lounging with a thief’s ease, one foot braced on the coffee table, glancing at him with vague disinterest. He would have killed her if this were his apartment. Worse, she was failing in the one simple duty friendship demanded: to take his side without question. He had been expecting complete and enthusiastic agreement, perhaps even outrage on his behalf—not this treachery. 

“You don’t understand, Throné. Him and his dog are menaces to society. I bet he even lets that beast sit on the couch with him.” 

Throné arched a brow, then gestured lazily toward her own dog, a white Rat Terrier affectionately named Raspberry. She was currently sprawled asleep on the cushion beside Throné, completely unconcerned with his indignation. Every so often, she twitched in her sleep, letting out a tiny snore or huff, as if mocking Temenos silently. 

Temenos scoffed, affronted. Sugarcube lay daintily on a small floor pillow he had ordered and brought from home—velvet, embroidered and placed at the perfect angle to bask in the afternoon sun. “Unlike some, I respect boundaries. The couch is for people. Sugarcube has her own accommodations. Superior ones, I might add.” 

Throné sighed, long-suffering. 

“You think I exaggerate, Throné, but you have not seen the things I have.” 

“Do enlighten me then,” she said flatly. 

“He ordered a pastry, and then, in an act of pure barbarism, he smiled at the server as though he’d done something remarkable.” 

“That sounds… polite.” 

“It was performative politeness. Gratuitous. His grin was wide enough to split his face in two. Children at the next table were staring. It was grotesque.” 

Throné smirked. “Gods forbid someone enjoys a snack.” 

“And there’s his hair—messy, always falling into his face. You’d think he doesn’t own a single comb. Or—well, it’s not messy so much as… careless. Deliberate, even. Too deliberate. Like he’s trying to charm people.” 

Throné cut in quickly.  “You’ve studied his hair?” 

“Studied? Hardly!” Temenos spluttered, gesturing wildly, sending a napkin fluttering to the floor. 

Raspberry’s ears perked, and she immediately bolted upright, scanning the room with mock severity before snatching the fallen napkin in a single, practiced pounce. She carried it back to the couch as though nothing had happened, lapped at the crumbs, then sprawled asleep again. 

Temenos pretended not to notice, continuing his rant. “It was impossible not to miss. Anyone with eyes can see it!” 

Throné tilted her head, her smirk sharpening. “Funny. Every time I’ve seen him from a distance, I didn’t notice anything at all.” 

He scowled at her.  

“Ok so we’ve got his smile, and his hair. Are those seriously your only grievances with him?” 

“They are merely some examples of many,” Temenos snapped, a little too quickly. 

Throné rolled her eyes. “He’s blonde, Temenos. You like blonde. Not that I blame you,” she said dryly, her gaze flicking to a framed photo of her and Castti. “So, what in Solistia is your actual problem with him? He sounds like he’s nauseatingly nice. Honestly, it seems like you’re just having trouble sharing.” 

Temenos choked, offended that she would reduce his righteous indignation to something as simple as having trouble sharing. “So, you’re taking his side? You, of all people? I’m wounded, Throné.” (He was just being dramatic, but Temenos was still baffled at how his best friend wouldn’t agree with him.) 

Throné didn’t even look up from scratching Raspberry’s ears. “I’m not taking sides. I’m just pointing out that you sound like a child who doesn’t want to share his toys.” 

“I do not sound like a child,” Temenos seethed, clutching his teacup to his chest like a scandalized maiden. “This is not about toys, it’s about principle!” 

“Mmhm.” Throné’s tone was flat, but her mouth curved into the faintest smirk. “And the principle is…?” 

“That—” He faltered, scrambling for words, uncharacteristically indignant. (Throné always had a way of completely disarming him.)  “That insolent man and his slobbering beast have invaded my sanctuary. They’ve ruined it!” 

Throné leaned back, utterly unmoved. “Yes, the public park. Your personal kingdom. How dare the peasants tread on your royal grass.” 

Temenos regarded her for a long moment, his expression perfectly unreadable. Finally, he said, voice as dry as an overbaked biscuit: “You’re mocking me.” 

“Always,” she said smoothly. “It’s the only way to keep you humble.” 

He turned away, muttering about betrayal and the importance of choosing better friends than thieves to Sugarcube.  

“You asked for my opinion,” Throné reminded him. “Don’t pout when it’s not the happy little sermon you wanted.” 

Temenos sniffed. “I am not pouting. I am cataloguing offenses. A crucial distinction.” 

“Mmhm. Very dignified,” she said, unconvinced. 

“You’re practically obsessed with him,” Throné continued, a faint lilt of mischief in her voice, “yet I’m half tempted to see what all the fuss is about myself. Can’t help wondering if he’s really as insufferable as you claim… or if you’re just imagining it.” 

Temenos glared at her again, gripping his cup a fraction tighter. “Do not speak such nonsense.” 

Throné gave a small shrug, as if she hadn’t said anything at all. Then, rising with a stretch, she clicked her tongue. Raspberry hopped down from the couch, yawning from her nap, before darting toward the window to bark at a passing cat. “Come on, we’ve wasted all morning on this already. You can keep sulking about your mortal enemy on our walk.” 

---

The park was lively in the afternoon, the main path humming with conversation and laughter. Sugarcube trotted dutifully beside Temenos, with her sparkly leash as always. She walked with perfect posture, ears perked as if the world were hers to survey. 

“See?” Temenos said quietly, almost to himself. “This is how it ought to be. Orderly and serene.” 

“Mmhm.” Throné’s mouth curved faintly. “Nothing says ‘serenity’ like pink rhinestones on a dog leash.” 

Temenos ignored her jab with practiced grace. “A touch of refinement elevates all who behold it.” 

“Or blinds them in the sun,” Throné muttered, tugging gently at her simple yet chic purple leash as Raspberry veered toward a vendor’s cart, sniffing for scraps before pausing, ears flicking at the bustle of the crowd.  

Temenos simpered. “Raspberry’s appetite is almost as undisciplined as her mistress’s.” 

“Careful,” Throné warned, though her smirk betrayed her amusement. She reached down to ruffle Raspberry’s ears, her voice softening just a touch. “She earned the right to eat as many tarts as she wants. Took me long enough to get her out of the shelter. Long enough to get myself out of trouble, too.” 

Temenos glanced at her sidelong, the comment he’d been preparing catching on his tongue. He knew better than to mock her for that. Raspberry was clever and resourceful—a survivor, just like her owner. 

“Say that again,” Throné added, the sharp edge of humor sliding back into her tone, “and I’ll let her steal your tart next time.” 

He gasped, ready to exaggerate his outrage. But before he could retort, a ripple of obnoxious laughter rolled across the path, immediately ruining his peace. 

As though summoned by sheer spite, Crick stood in the middle of the park laughing with a group of children as Max—the glutton for attention that he was—flopped onto his back for belly rubs. The retriever’s tail thumped wildly on the ground. Temenos wondered if it ever stopped. 

His lips thinned into a knife’s edge. He hoped Crick could feel his ire from across the crowd. 

“Of course,” he tutted, “Of course he’s turning the park into a circus.” 

“Looks like he’s making the kids’ day,” Throné observed mildly, Raspberry already trying to drag her towards the excitement.  

“Looks like he’s spreading bacteria,” Temenos countered. “Half those children didn’t even wash their hands first.” 

Sugarcube gave a sharp little bark, affronted at the distant retriever’s undignified display. Temenos nodded with satisfaction. “Precisely, my darling. You understand.” 

Throné snorted. “You’re unbelievable. You adore children. You let them climb all over you every Sunday after service.” 

Temenos’s grip on the leash tightened, his voice clipped. “That is different.” 

Despite his words, Temenos’s eyes never left Crick, who lifted Max’s paw theatrically to make the dog “wave” at the children. The crowd shrieked with laughter. Crick grinned, wide enough that Temenos wondered if his facial muscles ever ached. It was infuriating, how alive and cheerful he looked. 

“You’re glaring holes into the poor guy,” Throné remarked casually, as though she’d been waiting for him to notice he’d lingered too long. 

“I am not glaring,” Temenos said stiffly. “I am observing.” 

“Observing?” Throné echoed, amused. “Because from where I’m standing, you look like a spurned lover in a tragic play.” 

He cast her a flat look. His jaw was tight, his eyes dark, but there was something else beneath it, a shadow he refused to name. Crick’s laughter rang out again—open, bright, too familiar—and Temenos turned sharply away, muttering, “Don’t be absurd.” 

They fell into step again, Sugarcube and Raspberry weaving between them. Their casual banter despite Throné’s unwarranted comments, was a familiar comfort to him. 

Throné shot him a sideways glance, softer this time. “One day, you’re going to run out of excuses, you know.” 

He scoffed, too quickly. “Unlikely. I have an inexhaustible supply.” 

Her eyebrows drew together with concern and a hint of annoyance, but she let it drop there. That, too, was their routine—her pressing, him deflecting, both knowing more lingered unspoken. 

Temenos hoped his relief didn’t show on his face. 

---

Crick was eager to go outside today. 

He had one more afternoon of sunshine and fresh air before they would be filled with the smell of bread and pastries, long hours of flour-dusted counters and aching arms from kneading dough. Not that he minded—this would be his first real job, and he was looking forward to it. But just for today, he wanted to take it slow, savoring the simplicity of the park. 

Max seemed to sense his mood. He trotted ahead a few paces, nose to the ground, then circled back to bump Crick’s hand with his snout, tail wagging so hard his whole body wriggled. Crick laughed under his breath and scratched the soft fur between his ears. “Yeah, I know. Big day coming up. Don’t worry, I’m ready… sort of.” 

Keeping busy had always been Crick’s way of staying sane. Back in his old town, he’d taken whatever odd jobs people would throw his way—building fences, cleaning gutters, watching pets. Anything that kept his hands occupied and, more importantly, kept him out of the house and away from his parents and their endless criticisms for a while. He even preferred sitting through classes at that old, snobbish college back home just for a sliver of peace (though he was certainly glad he no longer needed to resort to that). 

Now, for the first time, he had a place he actually wanted to come back to, even if it wasn’t much. A real home, with a roommate who was his best friend. A life that was his own. The thought alone made his chest feel strangely full. 

The park was full of weekend chatter, kids chasing after each other in bursts of laughter, and other dog owners playing with their pets. Max barked once at a pigeon, then trotted happily back to Crick’s side, tongue lolling. A small group of children spotted him almost instantly, squealing as they hurried over. Max, ever the performer, flopped dramatically to the ground and rolled onto his back as they gathered around him. Little hands reached for his fur, which he happily accepted. 

Crick grinned, settling onto one knee as he guided the children gently, making sure Max wasn’t overwhelmed. The retriever soaked it in, tail thumping so hard it kicked up dirt. Crick couldn’t help but laugh with them—it was infectious, easy, light. He lifted Max’s paw to make him wave, happy to provide entertainment for the children.  

And then, out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Temenos. 

He was standing with a woman he didn’t recognize, her dark eyes trained on him with an unreadable intensity. But Crick didn’t look at her long enough to wonder why. His gaze snapped, unbidden, to Temenos.  

At first, Temenos held himself with that off-putting, too perfect posture, his expression carefully composed. But then, for just a second, a haunted look passed over his face before quickly smoothing back into the sharp disdain he was used to. Temenos must have been too deep in thought to realize Crick had seen. 

Max rolled back onto his paws, shaking out his fur before nudging at Crick’s hand for more attention. Crick obliged absentmindedly, scratching beneath his chin—but his mind wasn’t on him. It lingered on that look, brief and unguarded, like a wound Temenos hadn’t meant anyone to see. 

Crick frowned. He didn’t know Temenos well enough to pry, but he was very familiar with that look. He’d seen it reflected in himself during those restless nights when he lay awake staring at the ceiling, wondering how he’d hold everything together. He remembered catching it in the mirror before rushing to class, trying to paste on a smile so no one would ask questions. That hollow, weary expression—the one that slipped through no matter how carefully you tried to mask it. 

He rubbed Max’s ears, more for his own comfort than his dog’s, and tried to shake off the chill of recognition. For all his prim posturing and barbed comments, it seemed Temenos was struggling with something too—and Crick, of all people, knew how much effort it took to keep it from showing. 

The woman at Temenos’s side tugged at her dog’s leash, drawing his attention back to her. Temenos tilted his head with a surely cutting remark Crick couldn’t hear from this distance. His expression had already gone back to its usual sharp lines and cool detachment, as though that earlier flicker had been nothing more than a trick of the light. 

Max gave a short bark, as if reminding him not to drift too far into his own head. Crick took a deep breath and straightened himself, forcing a smile for the children. “Alright, alright, one at a time,” he murmured, letting Max lick a giggling boy’s hand.  

Still, his brow knit as he glanced in the direction Temenos had gone. 

What was that about? 

Once the children all had their chance to pet and play with Max, his dog knowingly led him to a bench to sit. It was incredible how he knew exactly what Crick needed. Truly man’s best friend. 

And so, he allowed himself to become lost in thought again while absentmindedly tossing a ball for Max to bring back to the bench. 

What kind of life made someone so guarded? What did Temenos’s world look like when he wasn’t slicing people apart with his words? 

Crick pictured Temenos going home to a spotless apartment, all stark white walls and shelves lined with identical leather-bound books. A single desk with neatly stacked papers. No decorative couch pillows, no knickknacks, nothing out of place. Refined, like the man himself. He pictured Temenos pacing slowly back and forth, muttering under his breath, inventing new critiques for Crick’s behavior even before he left his apartment. The thought made Crick smile faintly. 

Though he wanted to know, Temenos would absolutely never tell Crick about anything like that with their current relationship. There had to be a way he could help him—he knew all too well how living with hidden pain only allowed it to fester. 

Why do I care about this anyway? Ort was right, he’s been nothing but prissy and rude... 

But he couldn’t help it. His father had chastised him for his headstrong nature when he was younger, but in this moment, he knew he could never sit back and observe when someone was hurting. He had been miserable, something he wouldn’t even wish on his greatest enemy. 

Of course, he wouldn’t allow Temenos to walk all over him (after all, the park did belong to everyone, and there was no way he would stop going when Max desperately needed the space to roam). He already muttered under his breath at the man’s sheer audacity more than occasionally. Still, he wanted to try understanding him better, to give Temenos the time and space to smile without that hidden pain and maybe open up to someone. Hopefully that would be before he ended up spending another afternoon analyzing every flicker of the man’s expressions. 

...Maybe that was easier said than done. 

He felt a nudge at his hand, bringing him out of his thoughts. Max looked at him with that endearing face of his, panting happily as he waited for Crick to throw the ball again. He hadn’t even realized he had stopped throwing it. 

“Ah, sorry Max. You know how I get when I’m lost in thought. I’ll throw it a few more times, but then we need to head back so I can get some schoolwork done.” 

Max barked in what Crick hoped was agreement. As he threw the ball for his dog, watching him excitedly rush over to bring it back, he wished he could stay in this wonderful moment forever. Crick smiled, the kind of smile that didn’t require effort. For just a few minutes, he wanted to feel completely unburdened, spending time with the dog that meant the world to him. 

And if he played with Max in the park for longer than he originally planned, it certainly wasn’t because he lost track of time.

Chapter Text

Temenos hadn’t bothered waking up for Crick that morning, as he was too occupied with his own plans to spare the man another thought. He much preferred rising later anyway, long past morning prayer—something he would have undoubtedly been chastised for as a child. 

He was meeting Agnea for lunch, so that he could both thank her and pick up the custom-made boots he’d ordered for Sugarcube. They were going to be functional, yes, but also charming in an… adorable sort of way. The thought made him bristle as he remembered Crick calling Sugarcube adorable just some weeks before. 

Temenos didn’t spend much time on himself, but his morning required a quiet order. Black tea, steeped just so, and toast spread with a thin, perfect layer of raspberry jam. He didn’t want to eat too much before lunch. (He wouldn’t have been able to make himself a larger breakfast anyway—he was hopeless at cooking.) 

Temenos always spent far longer on Sugarcube. Some might argue too long. He pulled her gourmet food out of its designated spot in the fridge and poured it into her automatic feeder, then added a few artisan bone-shaped biscuits for good measure. She deserved it. Finally, he straightened the mat beneath the feeder so it sat aligned with the kitchen tiles. Perfect. 

Behind him, Sugarcube lay in her little princess corner, tucked away in the quiet of the living room. Her space was a miniature display of luxury: a custom-made armoire stocked with seasonal collars and leashes, a large, plush bed perched on a mat embroidered with her name and a toy basket arranged in color order. He would be happy to add a new pair of dog boots soon.  

Sugarcube rose gracefully, paws padding softly across the mat, and approached her feeder. She sniffed delicately at the food, inspecting the placement as if judging whether the arrangement met her exacting standards. Satisfied, she began to eat, each bite deliberate and measured, her tail flicking occasionally in quiet contentment. 

Temenos watched her with an approving nod, brushing an invisible speck of dust from the armoire’s polished surface. He picked up her little brush, running it over her coat with careful precision. 

Ever since Roi had first given him Sugarcube, he had vowed to take the utmost care of her. Roi had chosen her thoughtfully, insisting that Temenos needed a companion who matched his own fastidious nature, someone who could mirror the quiet dignity he carried himself with. “She’s not just a dog, Temenos,” Roi had said, eyes bright with unspoken pride. “She’s a reflection of you. Treat her as you would yourself.” 

Temenos had taken his words to heart and kept his promise meticulously for years now, though it slowly became priority to take care of Sugarcube over himself. Each morning routine, each new item added to her little wardrobe, was a reflection of the affection he felt for the brother who had gifted Sugarcube to him. To disappoint Sugarcube was to disappoint Roi, especially since— 

Temenos sighed. He was getting into his head again. Best to stop now before it’s too late.  

Temenos set the brush down carefully, giving Sugarcube one last approving pat on the head. Her ears twitched happily, and with a delicate flick of her tail, she signaled that she was ready for the next part of their day. 

The corner bakery awaited. The thought of Agnea’s cheerful smile and the warm scent of freshly baked pastries lifted his spirits slightly, though he would never admit it aloud. 

Temenos left his apartment not long after, Sugarcube prancing lightly at his side, and made his way toward the corner bakery.  

“Good morning, Agnea,” he greeted smoothly when he spotted her outside, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. Beside her, Peaches—her Corgi—was decked out in vibrant summer colors, a tiny sunhat perched jauntily on her head. She was sitting attentively and tilting her head as though everything fascinated her.  

“Temenos! Sugarcube looks divine,” Agnea said, kneeling to smooth the little dog’s fur. “I’ve been looking forward to seeing you both. These boots turned out even better than I imagined!” 

“Of course they turned out well, my dear. I’m sure your craftsmanship is impeccable, as always.” 

Agnea laughed lightly, swatting at his shoulder. “Aw shucks, Temenos. You’re too nice!” 

Peaches, seemingly eager to join the fun, twirled in a little circle, performing the latest dance routine Agnea had taught her. Temenos’s brow arched slightly, observing the coordinated spins and jumps with mild intrigue. “She’s… quite disciplined,” he remarked, tone neutral but hinting at faint amusement.  

“She is!” Agnea beamed. “We’ve been practicing a bit every morning. She’s such a little star—I’ve made a bunch of costumes for her, too! Isn’t she adorable?” 

Temenos’s lips twitched. Adorable, yes—very different from Sugarcube’s dignified poise. Still, he could appreciate the care Agnea put into it. 

They exchanged a few more pleasantries as they walked, Agnea’s cheerful energy rubbing off on him easily. They reached the bakery door together, and the warm, fragrant air wrapped around them. Temenos’s gaze swept the room, evaluating the arrangement of tables and the bustle of customers. 

That’s when he saw him. 

Crick, standing just behind the counter, curly hair falling messily over his forehead with what looked like a dusting of flour. The sight made Temenos’s jaw tighten imperceptibly. He didn’t acknowledge the man aloud, but a subtle tension gripped his shoulders. Crick was invading his territory again. It’s almost like he knew where Temenos would be, scheming how best to annoy him. 

Agnea seemed to notice his apprehension and followed his gaze; the last thing he expected was for her to visibly brighten when she saw Crick.  

“Crick! Oh my stars, you’re working here now?” she exclaimed, running up to the counter. 

Crick brightened in turn, chatting easily with Agnea as though Temenos didn’t even exist. His eyes flicked between them, a cold knot tightening in his chest. How could someone so bright and open be friends with someone as… unremarkable and irritating as him? 

Agnea’s expression shifted as if she suddenly remembered why she was there in the first place. She turned toward Temenos with a smile that didn’t falter. “Oh! Crick, this is Temenos! Temenos—this is Crick! He and Hikari are both in the school’s fencing club!” 

“We’ve met,” Temenos said simply, keeping his voice neutral and careful not to portray the faint edge of irritation. Today was about Sugarcube, not him. 

Crick laughed nervously, then smoothly took their orders. His hands were dusted with flour, charm unwavering even under Temenos’s measured scrutiny. What a mess. 

Temenos was quietly glad when the interaction ended. He let out a slow breath as he followed Agnea and Peaches to a small corner table, placing Sugarcube carefully at his side. 

Agnea immediately launched into conversation about what a coincidence it was to see Crick there, how lucky he was to live so close to here, and all the little quirks of the bakery he already loved so much. He tried to focus on Agnea’s enthusiastic rambling when the conversation turned to the boots, but seeing Crick had completely soured his mood.  

Finally, after what felt like hours, Agnea reached into her bag and carefully withdrew a small box, decorated with a ribbon. She sat it on the table in front of Temenos, a proud smile on her face. 

“Here they are,” she said. “Custom-made, just as you requested. I think Sugarcube will approve.” 

Temenos opened the box with precise, deliberate movements. Inside, the little boots gleamed—soft, pink leather, perfectly stitched, and just the right size. He lifted one out and held it up to Sugarcube for inspection. He took her tiny yap as a sign of approval. 

Agnea wasn’t a fashion major, nor had she ever pretended to be—but with her family’s business in tailoring, she’d certainly inherited an eye for detail. The careful stitching and thoughtful design spoke of someone who knew instinctively how to balance form and function. It was clear she had spent a long time on them, and he wanted to make sure Agnea knew he was grateful. 

“They’re perfect, though I expected nothing less. Thank you, Agnea.” 

She beamed. “I knew you’d appreciate them. And I must say, Sugarcube deserves the best!” 

Temenos nodded, giving Sugarcube a small, affectionate pat on the head. “Of course she does. Only the best will do.” 

“You really do spoil her rotten,” she said with a teasing tilt of her head. “Sugarcube must think she’s the queen of the world, but honestly… so do you sometimes.” 

 
Temenos blinked, a hint of color in his cheeks. “As you said, she deserves it. That is all.” 

 
Agnea laughed. “Of course—though surely you can admit that you love her company, Temenos.” 

 
He gave a small, imperceptible smile. “It is… tolerable.” 

Sugarcube nipped his hand without breaking the skin, expressing her ire at his comment. He snickered, smoothing her fur. 

Their conversation carried on for a little while after, until Temenos decided to take his leave. But just as he stepped toward the door, a voice called out to him.  

“Ah—um—Temenos!” 

Temenos straightened his posture, chin lifted, as if he were preparing for battle. “What is it?” 

Before he could even fully register the interruption, one of the bakery’s pet cups was thrust into his hands as Crick shuffled out from behind the counter. 

“I—um—figured you’d want something for Sugarcube before you left! I-it’s free of charge,” Crick stammered, his grin hesitant but earnest. 

Temenos’s eyes narrowed, the tiniest flicker of annoyance passing over his face. With as much composure—and as much contained animosity—as he could muster, he issued the command: “Sugarcube, snub him.” 

Crick watched in astonishment as the tiny dog, following her owner’s words, turned her nose up at him haughtily. Temenos couldn’t help the faint curl of satisfaction in his chest as he turned and walked out the door, even as he heard Agnea shriek a thousand frantic apologies at Crick. 

A little ways from the bakery, he looked down at the pet cup in his hands. Crick had clearly given him more than he was supposed to. He gripped it tighter. 

The man simply refused to know his place.  

---

Crick opened the fridge, rummaging past half-empty takeout containers until he found his leftover chicken wings from last night. He stripped the meat from the bone, tossed it into Max’s bowl, and—after a moment’s thought—scraped in some of the sausages he made for breakfast that morning. Max’s tail thumped wildly against the cabinets, making Crick grin. 

“There you go, buddy. The Chef’s special,” he said, stepping back to admire his handiwork. 

He set the bowl down on the floor, crouched beside Max, and let his dog lick his fingers clean when he was done. Then, without hesitation, Crick took a swig from his water bottle and tipped the rest straight into Max’s dish. The retriever woofed in approval, nose buried deep in his personalized feast. 

It always amazed Crick, how easy it was with Max. No second-guessing, no overthinking, no invisible rules to trip over. Just feed him, play with him, love him. Max never judged his clumsy human, never kept him at arm’s length. Crick sometimes wondered why people couldn’t be more like that. 

It was getting toward lunchtime already, and Crick had already finished his morning classes. He didn’t bother making anything for himself—he figured he’d just stuff a pastry in his mouth before his shift started. 

Before leaving, he kneeled next to Max again, hands cradling the dog’s face. “Okay, buddy. Ort will be home soon if you need anything. Don’t get into trouble while I’m gone.” He placed a gentle kiss on Max’s head. Max nuzzled him happily. 

“Love you too—I’ll see you later!” Crick cooed, giving one last scratch behind Max’s ears before standing. 

He slung his bag over his shoulder, took a deep breath, and headed toward the bakery. It was going to be a great day. He was sure of it. 

---

The routine of the bakery was comforting to him—ringing up customers, sliding trays of pastries into the display, trading easy banter with the regulars. It was simple, but nice. On good days, he even got to help with the baking itself. He’d always liked baking, even back when he was a kid, though he’d been steered away from it when his parents deemed it too “soft” of a hobby. 

Now, it was his job, and he could finally enjoy it on his own terms. Mix, knead, shape, bake. The motions were second nature by now. 

He was just brushing flour from his hands when a burst of familiar laughter floated through the open door. He looked up as Agnea pranced inside. Of course. She lit up a room without even trying, and the bakery wasn’t any different. 

“Crick! Oh my stars, you’re working here now?” 

He grinned before he could stop himself. “Agnea! Yeah, I picked up some shifts between classes.” 

Their laughter slipped into easy chatter, as natural as if no time had passed since they’d last seen each other. But then Crick’s gaze shifted past her—and froze. 

Temenos. 

He might as well have been cut from a different world entirely—polished, perfectly put together, his sleek clothes a sharp contrast to Crick’s flour-dusted apron. Sugarcube trailed at his heels looking like she owned the entire bakery floor.  

Crick’s grin faltered just slightly, though he forced himself to keep it in place. His mind raced with questions—how did they know each other? Was Agnea his girlfriend? No, that didn’t fit. He was pretty sure Hikari had said he was dating Agnea. So, what was Temenos’s type, then? Did he even have one? Why was he even thinking about this? 

Agnea’s attention shifted smoothly, introducing them like she didn’t notice the tension between them. “Oh! Crick, this is Temenos! Temenos—this is Crick! He and Hikari are both in the school’s fencing club!” 

Temenos’s response was clipped. “We’ve met.” 

That landed harder than it should have. Crick scratched at the back of his neck, laughing nervously. “Yeah. Uh. We have.” He tried to keep his tone light as he quickly slid behind the register like it would protect him from Temenos and asked for their orders. 

Business as usual, he told himself. Just another customer. 

But it wasn’t. He could feel Temenos’s scrutinizing gaze boring into him, and he hated that it unsettled him. He moved quickly, trying to keep his hands steady as he rang things up. He pretended he didn’t notice Temenos peeling him apart piece by piece. 

As Agnea and Temenos carried their trays toward a corner table, Crick busied himself behind the counter. He wiped the counter until it shined, straightened the stacks of napkins, anything to ignore the tightening in his chest. He’d done nothing wrong—nothing but exist—and still, Temenos’s eyes cut through him like the sight of him was offensive. 

He exhaled sharply and forced his shoulders to relax. Today was supposed to be a good day. He wouldn’t let anyone ruin it.  

His hands moved before he even realized what he was doing—reaching for a pet cup. 

Of course, this has to work! 

Temenos hadn’t ordered anything for Sugarcube. And if Sugarcube was anything like her owner, she’d like something refined. Sweet, delicate, indulgent. It wasn’t just a treat—it was a gesture, a peace offering. A small way of saying: I don’t know what I did to make you dislike me, but I’m trying. 

He hoped Temenos would see that. Maybe Temenos would even smile at him.  

Crick’s chest eased a little as he worked, adding more of their dog-friendly whipped cream than he probably should have. Sugarcube deserved the best, didn’t she? And Temenos would see that—even if he didn’t like Crick, he couldn’t possibly reject something Sugarcube would love. It was perfect. Thoughtful. Something that might finally smooth things over. 

But the moment unraveled faster than he could process. A clipped command, a tiny dog’s haughty turn of the nose, and then Temenos was striding for the door with Sugarcube looking very proud of herself. 

He stood there bewildered, Agnea yelling something beside him that he didn’t catch, the sound warped and muffled under the rush of blood in his head. His grin faltered, collapsing. Heat climbed up the back of his neck, flushing hot beneath his collar. His fingers curled tightly in his apron as he pushed off Agnea’s worried questions. 

The sting was sharper than he wanted to admit. He’d only wanted to be nice. But it seemed like with Temenos, everything always backfired. 

He drew in a breath, shaky at the edges, and forced his shoulders to square. He had work to do—customers still waiting, shelves still needing to be stocked, trays cooling in the back.  

Mix, knead, shape, bake. Mix, knead, shape, bake. Over and over again until his hands felt numb. 

By the time he returned home, his face ached from keeping a smile plastered on all afternoon. He dropped his bag by the door and immediately buried his face in Max’s fur, the familiar warmth anchoring him. 

“I tried, y’know?” Crick’s voice came out hoarse. “Didn’t even have to. Could’ve just let him walk out, but I thought… maybe…” He trailed off, huffing a humorless laugh. “Gods, I’m an idiot.” 

Max licked his cheek, tail thumping, as if to disagree. 

Crick smiled faintly, fingers curling into soft golden fur. “Maybe I should just let you handle diplomacy next time. Everyone likes you. You’d probably get Sugarcube to like you in five minutes if Temenos let you near her for longer than 10 seconds.” 

Max had once been a stray—unwanted, overlooked, until Crick found him and saw something worth keeping. He figured he knew how that felt: wandering into someone else’s life, tail wagging, hoping not to be chased off. It was why they got along so well, but Max was clearly better at worming his way into people's hearts. 

Crick tried, gods he tried—offering patience, humor, help, anything that might earn a scrap of warmth. But Temenos had bristled from the start, all sharp glances and clipped words, like he’d caught the scent of something he didn’t trust. And when he’d tried to get closer, he’d done what anyone does to a stray hanging around too long. 

He chased him off. 

Crick had to stop thinking about this. Stop trying to make amends for some invisible offense he’d committed. He had schoolwork to catch up on, fencing practice tomorrow, another shift in two days. He’d just have to keep himself occupied. 

He didn’t need anyone’s approval. Especially not Temenos’s. 

And yet, beneath the resolve, the hurt lingered—sharp and quiet, refusing to let go. 

Chapter Text

Temenos!!!! How could you say that to Crick!?! 

The look on his face when Sugarcube snubbed him— 

WHY in all of Solistia would you— 

Temenos clicked off his phone, placing it face down on the table. He felt energized on this sunny, pleasant morning despite re-reading the flurry of texts Agnea had sent him after their meeting yesterday. He had left her on read for the time being, as he felt no need to explain what she should already know. 

He picked up his favorite teacup with delicate hands, sipping slowly at the black tea within. Sitting by the window in the pleasant warmth of the sun, he found himself deep in thought—a common occurrence, as of late. 

Agnea had mentioned something important during their chat—Crick and Hikari know each other. And very well likely, being in the same fencing club. 

Hikari also attended the nearby college, an international student who had met and fallen head over heels for the lovely Agnea after seeing her dance. When Temenos first met him, he was serious and almost subdued, as if he were not used to talking with others so freely. 

What Temenos had enjoyed most about Hikari was his extreme dedication to living up to the group’s expectations for dating their youngest. It was almost funny, if not for Hikari’s earnestness.  

The group’s initial scrutiny quickly turned to endearment for the man who clearly would do anything for Agnea. Over time, she gently guided him out of his shell and made him feel comfortable among their friends. 

They were a colorful bunch, and Hikari fit right in; however, he unfortunately did not share the group’s penchant for juicy gossip. (Though Temenos was loathe to admit that it was mainly himself and Throné who indulged in that sort of thing.) 

That led him to the current problem: how could he get Hikari to talk about Crick? Perhaps if he framed it merely as curiosity, Hikari would entertain him? 

So, Temenos arranged an interrogation under the guise of walking their dogs together on the college campus. He almost felt bad doing such a thing to Hikari, but needs must. There was no way he would ignore an opportunity for information about the man who plagued his thoughts so often. 

As he peered out the window, he caught sight of said man.  

Crick seemed to be enjoying the start of his weekend by jogging in the park with his dog, as if he had nothing better to do. He stopped at a public water fountain to refill his water bottle, sure as always to pour some into his dog’s waiting mouth. He smiled, brighter than the sun itself, as Max finished drinking and proceeded to chase his own wagging tail. 

Watching him, Temenos felt a familiar sting of jealousy, not for himself but for—ah. As per usual, he was letting his thoughts wander. He had somewhere to be. 

Getting his thoughts in order, he cast one last scathing look out his window before putting on Sugarcube’s leash and heading out the door. 

---

Upon arriving at the campus, Temenos was quick to spot Hikari. Red was often his color of choice, originally because it reminded him of home, but also because Agnea once mentioned he looked rather dashing in it; he would hate to disappoint her. 

His dog was just as recognizable. Hikari’s Akita Inu, Kuma, always looked alert and rather dignified standing next to Hikari.  

Though Hikari had only bought Kuma a few months ago at Agnea’s insistence, it was rare to see them apart. The two could frequently be seen exercising together, rain or shine. Once, Temenos had even caught Hikari in a rare moment of rest beneath a tree on campus, having fallen asleep while reading a book on war strategy. Kuma remained at his side, poised at the ready. His ears perked up as Temenos approached, sharp eyes assessing him until he recognized him as one of Hikari’s friends. Satisfied, Kuma shimmied his way beneath Hikari’s arm, curled up, and fell asleep. Clearly, he expected Temenos to take over in his vigilance.  

The two certainly made quite the pair.  

Speaking of them, he could tell Hikari was talking with Kuma even from a distance, as he often did. Hilarious, given only their friend Ochette could understand what their pets were saying in reply. She had mentioned offhandedly once that Kuma wished to be treated as Hikari’s equal. Hikari took it seriously and often spoke with Kuma about important decisions. 

Upon catching sight of Temenos, he gave Kuma a quick nod before turning his attention away. A small smile graced his face at his approach.  

“Ah, hello Temenos. I hope you and Sugarcube are having a lovely morning,” he greeted, falling into stride with Temenos. 

Temenos smiled in return. “Yes, I would say that we are, thank you. And how are you and Kuma? I apologize for the sudden meeting, but I know you two often go on morning walks.” 

“It is no trouble, Temenos. We are both well. And anyway, it is not often that you and I have a chance to speak alone. I am happy to have the chance to get to know each other better—we are friends, after all.” 

Temenos felt a sharp pang in his chest. Hikari had uttered those words with his usual kindness, but Temenos felt like a deceiver. He would have to enjoy his company first before asking about Crick. 

And so, that is exactly what he did. The campus had beautiful, manicured landscaping, with plenty of green space and paths for a casual stroll. It was bright, though not unpleasant. There was even a gentle breeze, swishing through the trees and cooling him in the sun. 

He and Hikari had both casual chats and serious discussions, from dog owner tips to life in Ku. Hikari mentioned Ku’s famous teas, the kind that were brewed with mountain herbs and petals that only grew along the high ridges in spring. Temenos admitted he was rather curious about them, but that he was rather unadventurous when it came to new flavors. Despite that, Hikari laughed and promised to bring him a few packets next time they met. He found himself smiling at that, more than he expected to. 

Hikari’s company was pleasantly calming to him, especially after all the recent chaos. Sugarcube seemed to be enjoying herself as well, happily trotting along and occasionally barking with Kuma as if they were having a conversation all their own. He wished he had taken the chance to do this sooner. 

Though now he felt even worse doing so, there had been an ulterior motive Temenos had yet to achieve. To work, he supposed. 

“Say, Hikari. Agnea mentioned the other day that you’re in the fencing club with... someone named Crick? He works at the bakery I went to with Agnea the other day.” 

Just like Agnea, Hikari’s face brightened at the mention of Crick’s name.  

“You mean Crick Wellsley? He is an extremely talented fencer,” Hikari said with a smile, “I always have to give it my all to beat him.” 

Temenos’s eyes widened slightly, and he nearly dropped Sugarcube’s leash in shock. Hikari has trouble beating Crick at fencing? He had seen Hikari fence before, early on in their friendship. He fenced with such speed and ferocity that he thought for sure no one in all of Solistia could hope to match him. 

Hikari, upon noticing Temenos’s expression, let out a hearty laugh. “Surprised? I was as well. I often hold back against new opponents so they can get used to my fencing style, but after one bout, Crick almost had me on my knees. We became good friends after that.” 

Gods, not only did Hikari know Crick but they were good friends? 

“I am curious as to why you wish to know about Crick. Do you perhaps... wish to get to know him better? Throné once mentioned that you have a particular fondness for blonde-” 

“I believe you shouldn’t take Throné seriously in that regard,” Temenos suddenly cut in, afraid of where that line of thought was going. Hikari looked like he was going to say more but first looked to Kuma. Something passed between them, and he thankfully decided to let the matter go. 

This was supposed to be an interrogation about Crick, not about him! 

 He decided to cut right into the heart of the matter. 

“Forgive me, Hikari but... the Crick I know is quite different than what you described. He’s... rather vulgar and undignified, you see. I am quite surprised you get along with him.” 

At that, Hikari turned to him with a troubled expression. “Vulgar and undignified? I would say Crick is the exact opposite! There must be some mistake, Temenos. Are you sure we are speaking of the same man?” 

Hikari looked at him with such bright, earnest eyes that Temenos wanted to believe him but... there was no way Crick was as kind as everyone believed. 

Temenos knew his presence only served to mock him. 

Suddenly, Hikari perked up with a wide smile. “I know how to remedy this! You must come see him fence during practice this afternoon! Agnea will be there—she’ll keep you company if you would like to observe.” 

An... interesting suggestion.  

“Perhaps I’ll take you up on that offer...” 

It was decided: he would see Crick in action—in a place he wouldn’t expect Temenos to be.  

He parted ways with Hikari, resolved. 

---

Crick loved fencing. He had taken lessons as a boy, though it had taken a lot of convincing to get his parents to agree. Even then, no one had ever come to watch him despite the awards he won.  

Dejected, he had eventually given up on it entirely and packed his awards in a dusty box left shoved beneath his bed. He had never bothered buying a shelf to display them; he didn’t even know why he brought them along. A waste of space, honestly. 

He hadn’t thought about it again until Ort excitedly presented Crick with posters advertising the fencing club. 

“When I saw this poster, I immediately thought of you, Crick,” Ort had said with a smile. “I’ll do it with you, so you can totally wipe the floor with me! It’ll be so awesome! I’ve been dying to see your skills anyway...” 

Crick had laughed it off, telling Ort fencing was a thing of his past. Ort shoved the flyer into his hands anyway and told him to seriously think about it. 

Later that night, he sat on the edge of his bed, flyer in hand. Though he hated everything about his life back home, just imagining himself practicing fencing alone in his room at night sent a wave of sadness through him.   

Eventually, he crumpled the flyer into a ball and chucked it at the garbage bin on the other side of the room. It missed, unfurling on the floor just next to it. Apparently, he couldn’t do anything right. 

With a sigh, he moved to stand up and throw the poster out properly; however, his attention was immediately captured by a whimper. Max! 

He rushed to his dog’s side, checking him with worrying hands in case something was wrong. But instead, he found that Max’s attention was glued to the flyer on the floor. He looked... upset. He whined, pawing at the poster. For once, his tail was still. 

“Max? What’s wrong, buddy?”  

He picked up the flyer in his mouth, shoving it in Crick’s face. He had no idea if Max even understood what it said, but clearly, he recognized that whatever was on it meant a lot to Crick. 

So, Crick decided to give fencing another try, if just to make Max happy. 

And now, here he was with a huge grin, stretching his limbs and pulling on his fencing gear. It felt freeing every time he did so, allowing himself to get lost in the familiar movement of the foil in his grip. 

Ort gave him a hearty slap on the back in passing. 

“I hope you’re at your best today Crick—Hikari’s your opponent,” he said with a knowing grin before leaving the locker room. 

Though Crick loved practicing with Ort, there was something special about fencing with Hikari. The man moved as though the foil was part of him, adopting a quick and fierce fighting style so unlike the man behind the mask. 

He learned so much from their matches; he looked forward to going against him every time. 

Upon leaving the locker room, Crick looked at the bleachers to wave at Agnea, who typically came to watch Hikari’s practice matches before going out together.  

He stopped short when he recognized the man sitting next to her. That beautiful, silver hair and piercing eyes covered by long lashes—Temenos. 

He quickly turned his attention away—there was no way he’d let Temenos catch him staring after their latest incident. Just thinking about it brought back that stinging feeling, a want for Temenos to like and accept him. Like how he felt every day in his youth, constantly trying to prove something to someone. 

But in the end, no one ever acknowledged him for anything. He always had to fend for himself. 

“Ah, Crick! There you are!” Hikari’s voice cut through his thoughts. He whipped around to face him, blessedly obscuring Temenos from sight. 

“H-Hikari! Sorry—I was just… lost in thought. I’m ready to go whenever you are!” 

Hikari was clearly buzzing with excitement for their match. He always seemed more self-assured when a fight was on the horizon. Crick felt a rush of joy knowing Hikari shared the same thrill he did every time they stepped onto the mats. 

He needed to focus so he could go toe-to-toe with Hikari. Fencing was something he loved—he wasn’t about to let Temenos ruin that. 

He pulled on his mask and assumed his position across from Hikari. 

I’m going to give it my all. 

“En garde!” 

Those who went against Hikari often chose to go on the defensive due to Hikari’s assertive fencing style—but not Crick. Doing so would let Hikari get the upper hand, quickly overpowering his opponent. Crick learned to give as good as he got. 

Hikari’s first lunge was close, but Crick had expected it and moved backwards in time. Hikari often led with that because it served as a warning for how fast he was—you couldn’t always get out of the way in time.  

Though Hikari continued his assault with overwhelming speed, Crick was no pushover. He had adapted to Hikari’s style, striving to learn how to better parry because of it.  

With each parry, he created a space that allowed him to attempt counterattacks—a brief moment with the upper hand. But Hikari was no pushover either; he parried in turn, almost effortlessly. 

Parry, parry, counterattack, step backwards, parry again— 

Now this is what Crick needed. Something to keep him on his toes, adrenaline pumping. With every lunge, parry or feint, Crick could feel his bad mood melting away. The memory of fencing in his youth no longer clung to him like a shadow—it was part of him. 

Parry, feint, step backwards, lunge— 

He couldn’t let go of how far he had come—both in fencing but also for himself. This life he had made was something to be proud of. It was hard to accept sometimes, but he deserved these small moments of happiness.  

Feint, lunge, step backwards, counterattack— 

Their match continued for what felt like eternity, Crick was razor focused on Hikari’s every move. In reality, it was only a few minutes. With no one to prove anything to but himself, he truly did give his all in the match. He was extremely proud of his improvement. 

So, even when the match came to an end with Hikari as the victor, Crick pulled off his mask and beamed, offering a hand for Hikari to shake. Hikari removed his own mask as well, lips stretched into a similarly wide smile. 

“Crick! You have improved, my friend! It was an enjoyable match,” Hikari said with a hearty laugh, giving Crick a firm handshake. 

“I agree, Hikari. I’ve learned so much from you and I’m... truly grateful.” Though Crick could embarrassingly feel his eyes watering from how happy he was, he quickly blinked the tears away. If Hikari noticed, he chose not to comment on it. 

They chatted a bit more, exchanging praise for technique and reliving moments of the fight. It would’ve gone on longer (as it normally did since the two of them were so passionate about fencing) if not for— 

“Oh my goodness, that was amazin’!” 

At the sound of her voice—her Leaflands accent slipping through in her excitement—Hikari turned at once, just in time for Agnea to fling herself into his arms. He caught her easily, lifting her in a tight embrace that carried her slightly off the ground. The sight was adorable.  

Crick turned away respectfully to give them space and headed to a bench to sit down. He was ashamed to admit it but... he was also slightly envious. 

No matter how many times she saw Hikari win during practice or real matches, Agnea would express how proud she was. He wished terribly that someone felt that way about him.  

Wow, the adrenaline must be wearing off... 

Suddenly tired and a little dejected, he picked up his water bottle to drink in an attempt to clear his head. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ort approaching, smile wide. He sat down next to Crick, giving his shoulder a steady squeeze. 

“Crick, that was awesome! The number of times you parried was incredible and gods how fast you were... I think you’ll beat Hikari next time!” Ort looked at him with such admiration that he could almost forget his previous thoughts. 

Of course, that didn’t stop Ort from noticing the expression on his face. Being best friends, he already knew it wasn’t because he had lost the match. 

“...Hey, Crick? You know that I’m proud of you, right buddy?” he whispered, releasing Crick’s shoulder. 

Crick turned to Ort with a small smile. Leave it to his best friend to make him feel better. “Yeah, I do,” he said honestly. “And thanks, Ort. I would’ve never done this by myself.” 

Satisfied with Crick’s response, Ort nodded and leaned back on his hands.  

For a moment, it was just two best friends enjoying the comfortable silence between them. Until Ort broke it with a snort.  

“Dude, don’t look now, but Temenos is staring at you.” 

What?! How can I not look? 

Crick attempted to subtly glance at the bleachers. Sure enough, Temenos was staring. And the look on his face was... something Crick had never seen before. 

Eyes wide and mouth hung open in shock—it would’ve been comical if Crick wasn’t so confused. How long had he been staring? And why? 

Temenos must have realized that Crick noticed him (maybe he wasn’t so subtle after all) and immediately whipped out his phone, burying his face in it. His cheeks were dusted pink, shrinking in on himself as if he was trying to hide. 

Next to him, Ort burst out laughing, putting his hand on Crick’s arm for support. 

“Hah! You really showed him what you’re made of! I bet he didn’t think you could fence like that!” Ort forced out, struggling to breathe through his laughing fit. 

Is that why Temenos looked so embarrassed? Because he’d been caught looking impressed? Crick honestly had no idea. 

There’s too much to think about right now... 

Crick spent the rest of practice thinking about that moment—thinking about Temenos.  

And even after he returned home that night, he couldn’t help but wonder what caused Temenos to blush such a pretty pink, eyes sparkling. It almost looked admiring. 

He absentmindedly stroked Max’s fur, lost in thought, before settling into bed. 

He forgot all about his earlier sadness, replaced by thoughts of how he could see that expression again.