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Keen eyes would notice that, despite never letting any student of his enjoy preferential treatment, the Nousporist sage still had his favorites. When that head of bright bubblegum-pink hair first took her seat in his lecture, he did not possibly think she would be one of them.
His first impression of her was not favorable. An idealistic fool, one who seemed ignorant to the truth of pain this world holds, or who perhaps had simply turned a blind eye to it in favor of a saccharine utopia. Such illogical thinking would never make it far in his class.
But as time passed, Hyacine had proven herself to be more clever and down-to-earth than he originally expected. She would always be the first to raise her hand and ask questions, her boundless curiosity proving itself when his answers only provoked further interrogation. It was not uncommon for his lectures to devolve into a back-and-forth between the two of them. The rest of the class would merely watch in a mix of awe, disinterest, and frustration.
Sometimes, when he remembered to cut it short and return to his lecture again — back turned to the amphitheater as he wrote on the chalkboard — he'd even found a peculiar smile crept up onto his features as he spoke.
There was no doubt about it. She needed a little polishing, but Hyacine was an absolute gem of a student, one that reflected the light of the sun so brightly that it almost hurt to look upon her.
When he'd catch her studying in one of the Grove's common areas, it was by pure chance. The time he'd walk by with a collection of scrolls to take into his office just happened to match up with the slot she'd chosen for her own extracurricular studies. He never paid the area much mind before, but with her presence he finds his steps slowing until they come to a complete stop.
At a distance, he watches with his one good eye.
Hyacine sits conspicuously alone among clusters of chattering students. Resting in a neat pile next to her are various books taken from the archives, ones he cannot make out the titles of from where he stands, but they seem rather heavy for someone of her small frame to be able to carry in one go (he finds himself wondering if she'd made several trips and discards the unsolicited thought immediately). A scroll with scribbled notes sits before her, an open book to her other side, and her pensive gaze lands on its text.
There's a tic of hers that Anaxagoras has noted before in lectures that indicates she's thinking deeply about something. If holding a pen, she will bring the end of it to her lips, pressed against the bottom part but never bringing it fully into her mouth or gnawing. In the absence of a writing instrument, the tip of her index finger replaces it.
Just as the professor begins to wonder when he started acknowledging this apparent pattern of oral fixation, he's startled out of his thoughts by a fellow sage sneaking up on him with "bright young woman, isn't she?"
Upon turning, he meets the Lotophagist sage's eyes — typically soft, but around him they seem to gain a sharpened edge.
"It's a shame, truly." A click of the tongue follows disparaging speech. "I can see the potential she holds, but she never seems to properly apply herself anywhere meaningful."
The corners of Anaxagoras's eyes crease in suspicion. He typically finds himself in disagreements with his fellow sages, but the apparent ill-speaking of his student leaves his skin prickling. "What are you implying? Speak clearly, Medea."
"You mean to tell me you haven't gotten a closer look at what she reads? I would think you'd recognize your own writing from afar. Or have you gone as blind as you are mad?"
He glances back again; the spines do look familiar. "There's no point in revisiting my own works once I've published them."
"Well, they're all she reads. Clearly you've corrupted the poor thing," comes her accusation. "She won't properly apply herself to any other schools but your own like this. Her talent in creating remedies is exceptional, and yet her newfound penchant for experimentation has spelled disaster for our facilities. Do you understand that she's no longer allowed in the kitchen without supervision—"
The rest of her lecture is tuned out; as far as he's concerned, he's heard all that he needed. Something surges in his chest, pushing against his ribcage and constricting his throat.
—
On an insignificant day during the Action Hour, Anaxagoras enters his office. With the touch of his hand, the door locks shut behind him, allowing him a moment of silent peace in the midst of daily noise as he sits down to eat his lunch.
His meals, when he remembers them, are nothing special. He knew how to cook, but the process of preparing extensive meals was something he avoided. It brought back memories of gentle hands guiding him, palms over the back of his own helping him knead dough and chop vegetables, and with them a grief that bit his chest with dull teeth. Thus, his lunches are rather mundane, no more than a collection of nutrients to get him through the later half of the five hours: a bottle of fizzy horseradish vinegar and a honey ham sandwich on cloud wheat bread.
He's no more than two bites into his sandwich when a knock arrives at the door; it's so small and almost hesitant that he wonders if he'd merely imagined it at first. Annoyance settles in at the thought of being disturbed, but as he gets up to approach the door, releases the lock and opens it to see who stands before it, the feeling dissolves as quickly as it comes, replaced with something softer.
Hyacine's shoulders jump like she hadn't expected him to answer, craning her neck to look up at him with wide hopeful eyes. A smile graces her features as would be typical of his student, but he notices something different: it's smaller. Off. The corners of her eyes don't crease with warmth as they usually would.
"I'm sorry to bother you during your break, professor." You wouldn't bother me in a million years, he thinks. "Is it okay if I eat lunch here with you?"
He doesn't have to think twice about it. Anaxagoras stands out of her way, gesturing inside with a tilt of the head. "Hyacinthia. Come in."
Relief makes itself evident in her body language as she sidesteps past in polite effort not to brush against him. Her gaze scans the comfortable expanse of the office for a seat. She's spoiled for choice: there is a lounge area off to the side meant for more casual meetings, a couch and chairs that form a surrounding circle around a small table, but she ignores those in favor of the seat on the opposite side of his desk. He'd hardly noticed his own gaze lingering there like he was trying to will her to choose it. This time, he leaves the door unlocked as he returns to his chair, neglecting his partially-eaten lunch to give her his full focus. She's already unpacking the contents of a meal far richer and healthier-looking than his own, save for the notable inclusion of a small slice of pumpkin cake. Anaxagoras notes her apparent sweet tooth and commits this discovery to memory.
"Why here? Do you not feel comfortable eating in the cafeteria anymore?"
"No, no. It's just, um." She glances at the wall beside them. "I thought I'd try sharing a meal with you today. That's all."
Honesty is a trait she often displays, but a nagging sense in the back of his head tells him that he isn't getting the full picture.
Anaxagoras is no conventional professor. This is something he's heard all manner of students and scholars note with scorn, claiming him ruthless and lacking in empathy. Blinded by their hatred of him, they could not be further from the truth. A student struggling in academic means may find themself subtly nudged in the right direction and encouraged to find answers and methods for themselves — but when it came to matters more personal, more emotional, the Nousporist sage would often find himself starved for answers.
He hardly understood how to grasp his own emotions. The loss of his sister still weighed as heavily on him as if the black tide had swept her up only yesterday, and his desperation to see her again saw him sacrificing parts of himself that he would never get back. He'd thought his heart calcified, protecting itself against the fear of experiencing another devastating separation from a loved one and displacing his obsessions into research.
But perhaps there are small fissures forming in the stone barrier as a certain student tap-tap-taps away at it without even realizing she does so. Perhaps it will not hurt to try with she who has proved herself a shining example of why he became a professor in the first place.
When he next speaks, he chooses his words slower, a little more carefully. "If something happened, you are always welcome to tell me about it."
A beat passes between them as she wilts. The knowledge that he's seen right through her brings him a shred of satisfaction. Minute, but there nonetheless.
"It's just embarrassing," confesses Hyacine, staring down at a salad she picks at with her fork. "My friends won't stop making fun of me because I'm performing horribly in all the other schools except yours. I'm - it kind of hurts to be reminded of it, you know? So I'm trying to avoid them right now. That's all."
Anaxagoras leans back in his chair, processing the information he'd just been given. His immediate reaction was deep, quiet anger. Hyacine may call them friends, but clearly they're undeserving of the title if they treat her so cruelly. Her, of all people, who never had a single mean bone in her body. As if the other sages did not belittle her already to his face for her apparent favoritism of the Nousporist school.
He thinks first of finding out exactly who these 'friends' are and advocating for them to be kicked from the Grove, but the idea dies as soon as it surfaces. Motioning to expel a student is a lengthy process requiring approval from all seven sages, and there is no possible way any of them would accept such frivolous reasoning as them bullying one of his prized students. The sage of the Helkolithists would merely suggest she grow a thicker set of skin.
Anaxagoras crosses his arms. He glances up at the ceiling and takes in a pensive breath.
"Hyacinthia, are you aware of how the scholars here tend to speak of me?"
She finally looks up at him again. "Oh, yes. Calling you a blasphemer, suggesting that you should be hanged… all sorts of nasty remarks like that. I don't agree, of course."
The attempt at reassurance is cute, he has to admit to himself. "And have you ever known me to pay attention to all these 'nasty remarks'?"
"No. Not at all."
"Exactly."
Leaning forward, he braces his elbows on the expanse of the desk's surface that isn't taken up by food. "I suggest you exercise the same technique. Why waste precious brainpower on the thoughts of others that could instead be used for expanding your intelligence?"
"But my lack of it is the problem in the first place," she mumbles through a mouthful of salad.
"Then use the opportunity to study hard and prove them wrong. There's always room for improvement." The sage pauses briefly to think. "Clearly you don't need help in Nousporism, but I can refer you to tutors for the other schools."
Hyacine perks up considerably. "Really? You would?"
"Why wouldn't I? Supporting my students is part of my job."
Lifting his sandwich off the desk, he finally takes another bite into it, waiting to swallow before he speaks up again. "As for these friends of yours, tell me their names. I'll ensure they receive a stern talking to."
—
The seasons passed. Anaxagoras did not hear any more complaints from Hyacine of how she was mistreated, nor from his fellow sages about her poor performance in their schools and favoritism of his own. He did, however, notice two significant changes.
Firstly, after he'd thoroughly chewed out each and every "friend" of Hyacine's that had ridiculed her, they kept their heads down in his class. He, of course, did not intend to let them off the hook that easily, even if they had apologized. Anaxagoras made a point of calling upon them in class every so often, watching them squirm to come up with answers in front of all their classmates. Petty? Perhaps, but they clearly needed to be taught a lesson, and he hardly cared. A couple of them had decided to drop out of Nousporism entirely, citing his classes as being ruthless.
Secondly, something in Hyacine's behavior shifted.
If he had to guess, she appeared more confident in herself and her abilities. Hyacine always seemed to shine the brightest in the Nousporist school, but the tutoring had undoubtedly paid off. She spoke of her improving grades, receiving praise from her other professors, and — this was a point she was particularly proud of — she was finally allowed to use the Lotophagists' kitchen unsupervised. She'd shown this off by displaying her own full handmade lunch to him one day; even after the incident was resolved, Hyacine still chose to spend her lunch breaks with him.
"Look, doesn't it look tasty?" Spreading her hands out, she displays a tray of what he must admit appears to be an artfully-crafted meal. "Makes you want a bite, doesn't it?"
"Looks like you've done well," he responds. "But I have my own meal."
"Aww, won't you at least try a little bit?"
A shake of the head. "I don't accept food from other people."
"Come on. Pleeeease?"
"No, Hyacinthia."
She scoops up a forkful of vegetable pancakes and holds it out to him with an expectant stare, saying nothing. He returns it with a silent gaze of his own. Two stubborn souls, refusing to back down, until Hyacine's expression shifts and she looks at him with eyes that he can only describe as resembling a chimera that just got told it needs to get back to work.
Something in his chest seizes like he'd just been shot with an arrow. Another beat or two passes until he finally lets out a defeated sigh.
"…Fine. One bite."
Her face brightens immediately, and she nudges the fork towards him. "Yay! Now open up!"
Anaxagoras doesn't know what possesses him to comply, but he leans forward and lets her deposit the pancake morsel in his mouth. He leans back and chews thoughtfully, mulling on the flavor. It's savory with hints of tear onions, wolfpeppers and leeks.
Wolfpeppers.
Staring past Hyacine, past the grounds of the academy, he watches a memory he'd shoved deep down. He's no longer in his office, but his old home, attempting to peer over a counter that's a little too big. Rhythmic chops fill the air as he watches attentively.
"Now, when you're chopping vegetables, you have to be very careful not to cut your fingers," Diotima explains. "See how I have my hand, with my knuckles against the cutting board? If you keep your cuts straight, you won't hurt yourself."
"Okay." His voice is higher pitched. Far, far younger. "What is that? Can I try it?"
She picks up a diced morsel. "These are wolfpeppers, freshly picked from my friend's garden. They're very good."
Diotima pops it into his mouth. His sense of taste hasn't developed enough to properly appreciate its sour, earthy taste, and so he makes his displeasure known through the contortion of his facial features. She laughs, and it is bright like the sun.
"Anaxa?"
That's her nickname for him, but it isn't her voice. Who's speaking? Why does he feel like he's suffocating?
"Professor Anaxa, are you okay?"
He's back in the Grove of Epiphany, no longer surrounded by the warmth of a loving home but the cold professionalism of an office. Anaxagoras blinks once, twice, then regards a concerned Hyacine.
"I'm… I'm fine."
"Are you sure?" She speaks far too softly. "You're crying."
Brushing cold fingers against his own cheek, he feels the wet trail left there and realizes she's right. A grimace follows. To let himself unravel like this in front of his own student — how unbecoming of him, he thinks.
"My cooking wasn't that bad, was it?"
"No. Not at all," he replies. "…The opposite."
How can he possibly explain the emotions that little piece of pancake had evoked in him? He almost wants more, but he doesn't know if he could stomach another bite. He wishes he could. Or maybe he wishes he could push the meal out of sight entirely.
Elbow propped against the desk, he rubs at his temples with one hand. "Ignore me. My reactions are irrational."
Nothing follows at first. Then, he finds himself on the receiving end of a sentiment he'd exchanged with her before in this very office.
"If something is wrong, Professor… you can tell me about it. I'm here to listen."
Venting to a student. He lets out a pained wheeze meant to be a chuckle as he shakes his head in silence at the absurd thought. He's tempted to laugh it off and insist he needs to do no such thing, that he will be fine and she shouldn't worry about him.
But he hesitates. He can't bring himself to do that. Hyacine seems to have a dangerous ability to disarm him, seep through the cracks of his vulnerable heart and make a home for herself there.
"I had an older sister." His voice is quiet like he's afraid the wrong person will overhear. "She took care of me growing up, and she fell victim to the black tide. Your cooking reminded me of her own. That is all."
"Oh."
It's an immediate response, but he's sure there's more to follow. Hyacine never leaves thoughts unaddressed without proper consideration.
Warmth brushes across the back of his palm, and he looks up to see her taking his hand. Her eyes had grown soft at the edges as she runs a thumb over the back of thin, bony hands.
"I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have pressured you into eating my food." Her apology is far too genuine, as if she'd committed a horrible crime instead of a petty social blunder. "If I knew that was why, I wouldn't have - "
"Don't apologize to me, Hyacinthia. Please." His palm feels like a lead weight holding her down. "There is nothing wrong with wanting me to eat what you made. It's simply me. My own neuroses."
"Still. I could be more considerate."
"You're plenty considerate."
There's nothing more to say on the issue, but the two of them find it difficult to move on from. Hyacine's expression changes, morphing into something unreadable, and she pulls her hand away from his to tuck bangs behind her ear with a clearing of the throat.
"Maybe you could tell me a little more about your sister," she suggests. "If you're comfortable with it."
A smile crosses his features, and it seems to put Hyacine at ease. "I would love to."
—
The graduation ceremony was approaching. For the first time, Anaxagoras wishes it wasn't.
He never took part in the celebrations afterward, but it had always filled him with warmth to personally see off his most talented students, hoping they would go on to achieve great things. What greater pride was there for a professor to witness the fruits of their own labor?
All he could think of this time around was Hyacine, and he found his chest caving in on itself with grief and pride alike. The reality is that he was proud of her. Immensely so, with the effort she put into her studies. But for all her efforts, there would be no place for her in the world of academics. Anaxagoras swallowed that ugly truth like a bitter pill.
Those who did not remain at the Grove as scholars or graduate students often found themselves sent away with letters of recommendation. It was meant to be a consolation of sorts, a reminder that there were other parts of the world that could use what they had learned there. And for all the sages complimented her strong will and healing capabilities, they had in equal part admitted they could not see her staying within the Grove of Epiphany.
It's been a dreadful week of student assessments. He tries to refrain from white-knuckle gripping his pen and directing his mind away from thoughts of never seeing Hyacine again. Of going back to spending lunches in an empty office, aching for the warmth that had filled it these past few years.
Medea raises her head to call out. "Enter, Hyacinthia."
In steps none other than Hyacine herself, pigtails swaying as she walks forward and stops before the podium a few paces away from the sages' bench. She taps the stack of paper she's holding on its surface to straighten it before she places it down, hands curling over the wooden edges.
"Please present your argument for remaining within the Grove of Epiphany."
He could tell she was nervous. Her fingers shook as she took the papers between her hands again, reading aloud from it.
"As the last living descendant of the Skyfolk, I have always felt that I owed it to them to carry their culture and traditions with me into the future," she explains. "Even though I am not a warrior like my ancestors were, it does not mean I lack in strength, bravery, or the capacity to protect others. Nor am I a scholar, and yet I still possess important knowledge that can be passed down to others."
Hyacine pauses to swallow. "It was my father who inspired a love for the healing arts in me. We traveled through Amphoreus together, meeting all kinds of people suffering from all sorts of maladies. It made me happy to know that I could do something to take away their suffering, even a little. Instead of increasing this world's knowledge, I prefer to reduce its pain.
"Therefore, I humbly ask that you let me remain in the Grove of Epiphany to rebuild the land of my ancestors: the Twilight Courtyard. They cherished it as neutral ground, a land of harmony where anyone and everyone could be healed and set aside their differences, and I wish to utilize this new courtyard of mine for that purpose."
It was a passionate speech. As anxious as she was, Anaxagoras could tell how much thought she'd put into this by what she'd read off of the pages. No doubt her touching upon tradition would at least earn respect from the sage of the Venerationists.
But once she'd indicated the end of her argument by looking up, no words followed in response.
Anaxagoras didn't want to draw attention to himself by turning his head towards the other sages, instead choosing to gaze out of the corner of his eye. Had they been so utterly unmoved that they truly had nothing to say at all?
Turning back to her, he could physically see the effects of her worst fear coming to life. Hyacine looks between the sages until she at last regards him with the desperate gaze of a baby bird that had fallen out of its nest.
He finds himself at a crossroads.
He could match the silence and turn her away. Let her leave the Grove of Epiphany with the knowledge she had picked up during her studies and apply it elsewhere in the world, preferably a place that appreciated it as much as he did. It would hurt the both of them terribly, but Amphoreus was in dire need of a kind healer like herself — and there would always be a chance for her to rebuild the Twilight Courtyard wherever she went. Her dream was not bound to the Grove itself.
Or… or he could keep her here. Let her remain in the academy not as a student, but as his assistant.
His jaw tightens as he's forced to admit to himself that this decision would not be entirely logical. Although he had faith in her grasp of soul physics, that alone did not plant the idea in his mind. As the time he spent with her increased, he had become acutely aware of the growing ache in his heart as he watched her interact with people that were not him. The emotions that posed a danger to the complex workings of his rational mind were intense, bordering on all-consuming. His life did not revolve around her, and yet the thought that after today she would depart from the Grove — from him — made him feel like ripping his very own heart from its chest cavity.
Making her stay was a way to nurture her further. A way to keep her close without suffocating her. Trapping a bird within a small cage was no way to ensure it would spread its wings, yet letting it go free meant watching it take flight far, far into the horizon, never to cross his path again. Either outcome was detestable. Therefore, he reached a conclusion of his own: Anaxagoras would keep her tethered to his side in the Grove and call it her "freedom."
Chair legs slide across the stone floor with a deep, loud rumble, and six heads turn to regard the sole figure that stood among them. He did not acknowledge them, fixed solely upon his student. (Former student, now, he mentally corrects himself.)
"Evoking my authority as head of the Nousporists, in exchange for overriding any objections to this proposal, I will take on full financial responsibility for its implementation," he announces. "In addition, Hyacinthia, I request that you come work as my assistant lecturer. Effective immediately, should you accept."
A choir of murmurs arise, words illegible but doubt evident. Hyacine stands silently, her eyes wide and lips parted as though she'd watched her professor perform a magic trick.
"What? Me? I - Are you… are you sure?"
"Of course I am," he responds without a moment's hesitation. "An apprentice who spends wisdom is more precious than scholars who hide knowledge away."
She doesn't answer. For a moment, he's afraid she might turn down the offer entirely, and he braces himself for the thought of bidding her goodbye. What happens instead nearly shocks him.
Hyacine scatters her papers across the floor as she breaks out in a run, circling the sages' bench to reach him and nearly tackling him in a tight hug. He stumbles backwards with the force, barely managing to keep himself steady and upright; arms fly out to catch her, one hand pressed to her back while the other rests at the crown of her head.
"Thank you, yes, please. Thank you." Her weepy voice is muffled in his chest. "Thank you so much. I won't forget this for as long as I live."
His heart is pounding, he realizes all too late, self-conscious of the thought that Hyacine could feel it. If she does notice, however, she appears far too caught up in her own wellspring of emotion to acknowledge it. Letting himself be her anchor, he pets her head in gentle, soothing motions.
Anaxagoras lifts his head to meet the other scholars' gazes. "I don't suppose there are any objections among you?"
It is his turn to be met with silence, though not so oppressive as the kind Hyacine had just faced. He sees glances shared again, then shakes of the head across the board. None dare speak, perhaps wary of ruining the sentimental moment — save for Medea, who offers him a smile he has not seen in a long, long time.
"She will do great things under your care, Anaxagoras."
—
During her tenure as a student, Hyacine had gained the reputation of following Anaxagoras around like a baby duck. Now that she had taken on the position of assistant, that behavior only seemed to increase tenfold.
To an extent, it was only natural; she was working directly under him, so the few opportunities she had to go off on her own were typically to run errands or work on her own pet projects outside of school hours. This arrangement rather pleased him. The sentimental organ in his chest could collapse in on itself whenever her face brightened as she greeted him in the morning, or she hummed a little tune to herself as she took to organizing the shelves in his office. He had never seen her as happy as she looked now to be doing even the most menial of tasks for his convenience.
Perhaps it was also due to the fact they'd managed to secure a proper space for the Courtyard: a large auditorium classroom that went unused for years and eventually fell into disrepair. It would have to be gutted and they'd need to hire outside labor for all the heavy lifting, but all the costs were acceptable. Anything was worth it when the toothy smile that split her cheeks upon being shown that room was the brightest he'd ever seen.
The tradition of eating lunch together continued. This time, instead of remaining in his office as usual, Hyacine began insisting they start eating lunch outside instead.
"Some fresh air would do you good," she argued. "Besides, don't you want to sit and watch all the dromases at the Caprist farm?"
In lieu of academic debates, she now seemed to take her position as healer seriously and quarrel with him over his own health. Most of his retorts consisted of explaining that he was perfectly fine, but he found his reasoning would fall apart quickly when Hyacine pulled out one of her secret weapons: "It would make me happy to see you taking better care of yourself."
Regarding this case, however, the finishing blow in her arsenal happened to be the mention of the dromas species. She'd caught on fairly quickly to his love for the creatures and, although professing a preference for chimeras, shared in his appreciation.
The two of them sit on the garden bench, basking in the Dawn Device's warmth. Nearby, dromases graze on redsoil and curl up for a midday nap, making for a peaceful sight. Hyacine swings her legs as she offers him one of two neatly-packaged boxes.
"I know you brought your own lunch, and you don't have to eat it if you're still not comfortable," she says. "But I thought I'd try making you a meal for once."
He recalls that day where he tried the pancakes she'd cooked. She'd never pushed the issue until now, but Anaxagoras would have been lying to himself if he hadn't wished to try more of what she made.
Nothing else compared to his sister's cooking, but Hyacine's had come close enough, if that reminder was anything to go by. It was warm. Familiar. He would be a fool to give it up.
Anaxagoras takes the box, unwraps it, and stares down at its contents.
The tips of his ears redden. Before him was a bed of white rice, small cutlets of meat and vegetables neatly arranged to form two dromas faces with little carrot hearts surrounding them.
"I can't eat this, Hyacine."
"That's alright - wait, what? You can't?"
He shakes his head. "How could I possibly live with myself consuming something that resembles a dromas?"
"Oh." She hums as she looks down at her own lunchbox. "I should have thought about that. Mine's kind of the same, so… wanna switch?"
"Yes, please."
Boxes exchange hands, and Anaxagoras peers down at a similarly-presented dish. This time, however, the toppings were presented in a different yet still-familiar fashion. He saw the same carrot hearts, but the edible heads facing him were that of himself and Hyacine.
…Now, the problem was that this was simply too cute to eat. Stricken with the urge to pet her head, he reaches over and does just that.
"Ah! Hey!" She tries to swat his hand away. "You're gonna mess up my bangs!"
"That's a consequence I'm willing to face. I simply couldn't resist, you see."
—
"So, like, what do you think is going on with Lady Hyacine and Prof Nax?"
"I dunno, but there's something happening for sure. With the way they act around each other, you'd think they were a married couple. But I never saw Hyacine wearing any rings…"
"Maybe they're dating and just keeping it under wraps?"
"That's probably it! You know, even though she's still living out of her old student dorm room, I never see her there anymore."
"My friend said that he saw her and Professor Anaxa walking together, and they were both coming from the direction of the sages' dorms. I bet she's starting to move in with him."
Anaxagoras had learned to tune out gossip a long, long time ago. That sense of willpower started to falter when rumors spread about him and his assistant.
He was still quite good at keeping his expression neutral and not turning to watch those speaking, so no one would think he was listening. But the truth of the matter was that he could not help but eavesdrop.
Curse those perceptive students of his — what they had mentioned was partly true. At first, it started with simple visits whenever Hyacine had to drop something off after his office hours. It eventually shifted into her dropping by to wish him good morning and start her duties right away, then visiting just for the sake of it, until one night she had asked him if she could sleep over. He, of course, did not turn her away.
In truth, he would have preferred to have her move in with him immediately. It was more convenient than letting her remain in the student dorms. Doing so, however, drew far too much attention, and the two of them already took up enough of the Grove's rumors as is. Couldn't they just leave them alone?
"Something on your mind?"
He blinks. Hyacine is looking up at him from where she's proofreading papers on the lounge sofa, head tilted over the top of it. Anaxagoras had deemed checking grammar a waste of time when he would prefer to focus on the logical arguments, and so delegated that task to her. Teamwork, as perfect as it could be.
"Wait, let me guess." She hadn't even waited for him to gather his thoughts before she spoke up again. "You're thinking about that group of students from earlier. The ones that were talking about us."
"I am not."
"Anaxa, did you know that when you lie, your nose twitches?"
"It's Anaxagoras," he corrects, "and no, I wasn't aware."
…She paid attention to his tics too? Hm.
"You do," she says. "I started noticing it way back when you told me that you had nothing against my friend Lycophron."
This girl is too perceptive for her own good. He thinks it's going to be the death of him one of these days — if she truly notices this much about him, perhaps it's only a matter of time before she sees the ugly, obsessive part of him that selfishly kept her by his side.
"We don't need to revisit that."
"You're still bitter about it, huh?"
"The foolish conduct of your 'friends'? Why would I be? It's far behind us and no longer relevant to your current situation."
"See! There it is again, your nose twitched!"
He grimaces and gestures towards one of the bookcases. "Enough. Hyacine, quit slacking off and go retrieve Damo's file for me, if you would. I need to refer to one of her other assignments."
A laugh like bells ringing reaches his ears, melting away the irritable feeling that had accumulated within him. "Right away!"
Hyacine slides one of the lounge chairs over to the bookcase in order to climb on top of it, humming as she thumbed through neatly-organized documents. It fills the air along with the sound of pen scratches as he underlines and leaves scathing comments in margins, none too happy with what he's reading. Underneath it all is an ominous creak. His pen stops.
Anaxagoras does not believe in Janus's gift of prophecy, premonition, or whatever fools who blindly believed in Titans called it. The feeling that crept over him, if he were to explain it, was a deductive instinct. A gut feeling that told him to get up and cross the room to ensure Hyacine's safety.
She turns, file in hand, as he approaches. "Here -"
The chair splinters with a loud crack and caves underneath his assistant, causing her to yelp as she came crashing down into Anaxagoras. With his arms outstretched, he'd been prepared to catch her — but not enough to expect bearing the full weight of her with his own lack of strength. Papers fly as he tumbles backwards, Hyacine's own arms shooting out to brace herself; his back collides with the floor, nearly knocking the wind out of him with how she's situated on top. Reeling from the impact, it takes him a moment to gather his bearings.
"Anaxa! Are you alright? Oh no, I hope you didn't get a concussion…"
Warm hands are all over his face as he blinks up at her. Slowly, it dawns on him the position they've gotten themselves into.
Hyacine had fallen on top of him, but she'd shifted to a seating position, thighs straddling his hips. Some of her moving around causes her to grind down on him, right against the front of his pants. His cock stirs and his lips press into a thin line as he tries to plead with his own abominable body not to get fully aroused. Fuck.
Evidently, she'd noticed as well, because her hands stop where they're rested on his jaw, and he watches in real time how her face turns deeply red.
"Sorry! I'm so sorry!" She slides off of him and staggers into a standing position, hands covering her cheeks. "How embarrassing of me, I should have - are you okay?"
Anaxagoras has to fight not to let out a sigh of relief, his thoughts racing. "…I'm fine."
"Okay. Okay, that's good. Um, you know what? I actually forgot I have to go help the Caprists feed the chimeras, like, right now."
"Hyacine, wait, the papers - "
"I'll take care of them later! Sorry! Bye!"
Before he can say anything else, Hyacine dashes out of the office. He glances at the floor and realizes that in her haste to leave, she'd forgotten to tidy up Damo's student file.
—
Anaxagoras returned to his living quarters later that night to find Hyacine already there.
She'd seated herself at the kitchen table, evidently to finish the work she'd abandoned earlier judging by the stacks of papers around her — but her head rested on the surface of it, curled into her arms. Her hair was let loose out of its usual twisting pigtails, cascading in curls along the bare expanse of her shoulders; it appeared as though she had already dressed for bed, spying white straps of a lacy nightgown wrapping around her collarbone. One of them had slipped, falling down to her forearm as if to draw attention to itself.
With lips pressed together, he takes in a quiet breath and exhales through his nostrils. The earlier incident is still fresh in his mind, and seeing her threatens to stoke the flames of temptation again. He pulls himself together, steps forward, and reaches out to fix the fallen strap. Fingertips brush against her shoulder and lashes flutter open, revealing bright blue eyes blinking awake.
"Ah. Apologies for disturbing you." His voice came out more sheepish than he intended it to. "Have you eaten dinner yet?"
She sits up straight, stretching her arms up into the air with a grunt. "I haven't. I think staring at all these papers made me exhausted. And I'm still not finished…"
Anaxagoras thinks for a moment as he sees what's left of her workload. It isn't much, all things considered. The papers need to be done by tomorrow morning to return them back to the students, and he absolutely cannot let Hyacine go to bed on an empty stomach, but nor can he ask her to cook when she's tired.
"Stay here," he says. "I'll make us dinner."
That sentence was apparently enough to wake her up entirely, because she stares at him with an incredulous look. "Wait, really?"
"Yes, really. Did you think I didn't know how to use the kitchen?" He shoots her a smirk. "Cooking is an alchemical process of its own."
"But the food you bring is always just…"
"Basic," he says. "There's no point in making extravagant meals for myself when the goal is simply to keep myself nourished and energized."
Hyacine gives him a look. "You're not going to make two honey ham sandwiches, are you?"
"Of course I'm not. Watch me if you're so suspicious."
He disappears into the side pantry to gather the necessary ingredients, making multiple trips to set them aside on the counter. Once they're all gathered, he gets into prepping: washing grape leaves in the side basin, mashing cloudsheep cheese in a pestle, squeezing juice fresh from the lemon. It's quiet as he works, save for the occasional scribble of a pen. Anaxagoras surmises that she's gone back to proofreading here and there, but is likely watching him.
Something sentimental surfaces in the back of his mind as he registers that thought. This time, when the motion of stirring seasonings into a mixture brings back memories of cooking under Diotima's guidance, he finds himself experiencing not overwhelming grief, but fondness.
Once the last of the stuffed grape leaves are charred at the edges, he prepares two plates with ten each. Anaxagoras scoops a goblet of water from the basin to snuff out the fire he'd been cooking over, then brings the plates over to the table and sits down next to her.
Hyacine looks down at the dish, recognition passing over her features. "Wait, leaves of wisdom? Outside of the annual feast?"
"Who said we could only ever eat them at the feast?" A scoff. "You can think of it as us holding an evening feast of our own."
He watches as she takes a leaf between her fingers. "Just for the two of us, huh?"
"Indeed. No one else is worthy of invitation."
His assistant laughs again in that gentle airy sound, and they fall into a pleasant quiet. He hasn't done a bad job with the leaves, he thinks — Anaxagoras must have done something right if Hyacine is popping them into her mouth and humming with approval between reading papers. She's usually one to enjoy filling the space with conversation, but this time, she seems to prefer the silence as they work side by side.
One moment, as she hands off a fully proofread paper to him, their knuckles brush against each other. Instead of pulling away, both of them let the touch linger. Neither of them says anything, still, but Hyacine moves her pinky to link it with Anaxagoras's own, and he lets her.
—
Back when they were on more cordial terms, Medea had shared with Anaxagoras a recipe for medicinal powder meant to be scattered in baths. She claimed it was to improve circulation and lessen stress, but ever so curious about the formula used in their creation, he'd improved upon them to add temperature-changing effects. The Grove's private pools were too cold for his liking, and with his innovation he'd enjoyed a warm bath for himself on most nights.
Tonight, again, he soaks in the back balcony of his living quarters. Canopies surrounding the sages' dorms shield them in privacy — both from each other and the student dorms — while allowing him a clear view of the night sky, stars scattering across its surface. His eyepatch and hairtie rest nearby on an extended branch, leaving him fully bare.
He contemplates the changes in his life. Hyacine's presence in his classroom has long since changed, no longer before him as an absorbed student but sitting by his side as a devoted assistant. She doesn't seem to mind the requests he makes of her, the demands to take up more of her time with his presence — if anything, she has taken the initiative to be by his side more often.
Come to think of it, it was always like this, wasn't it? She was the one who approached him to eat lunch together all those years ago. She made the choice to engage with his lectures as passionately as she did. She held his hand, coquettishly curled her pinky around his own. For all Anaxagoras wished to wind strings around her and pull her in tight, it appears as though the opposite might have been true. He was outdone, made a hopeless and desperate fool by her own whims.
…An extremely desperate fool, it would seem. Even he could tell that something in the air around them had changed lately ever since that fall. It was as if they'd mutually seen each other in a new light, all of a sudden — discovered new possibilities that were always there, but perhaps they'd been too blinded by the mundanity of their everyday life to properly see.
For Anaxagoras, it was the feeling of everything being impossibly real.
The thought Hyacine may have wanted him just as badly was just that: a thought. Nice to have, but he didn't think himself as someone desirable. She was built for romances that came straight out of a fairy tale, for meet-cutes and fateful encounters. He, the blasphemous, crabby and hermetic scholar, was not the striking image of a dashing prince riding in on a white horse.
The door to the balcony slides open, jolting him out of his thoughts as he looks to the doorway. There stands Hyacine, in the nude, holding only a towel before her to cover herself — as quickly as he registers the sight, he looks away, clearing his throat. It's like she had read into the spiraling depths of his mind and chose that exact moment to appear as if on cue.
"Is… is it alright if I come in?"
A beat of silence passes between them before he responds, gaze transfixed on the water's surface. "Yes. You may."
Rustling cloth reaches his ears, followed by tiny splashes of water as he sees her enter the bath out of the corner of his eye. She's chosen to sit across from him. Anaxagoras isn't sure if he's disappointed or relieved by this.
"You can look at me, Anaxa. I don't mind."
He doesn't even think to correct her, tongue anchored to the bottom of his mouth. All the arguments against it rush through his mind a mile a minute: it's impolite, he doesn't want to disrespect her, he doesn't want to come off as some lecherous pervert. Any and all words die in his throat similarly, rendered speechless by how incredibly forward she is this evening.
Anaxagoras swallows his pride and looks up at her. He still has nothing to say.
Helkolithist professors have often given him a difficult time about his own body. He's heard it all: weak, frail, lacking, no beautiful musculature anywhere to be seen. He knew that in comparison to the vast majority of men, he was on the smaller side, and he couldn't have cared less about it. Seeing Hyacine's frame underneath the gentle rippling surface, however, has made him consider his own body in comparison for once.
Namely, the fact that she truly was smaller than him. It was as if he'd observed it, but hadn't believed it until he saw her bare form. The dip of her collarbone was prominent against her smooth skin, slender arms by her side as equally delicate hands rested on her thighs. She appeared to accumulate more fat around the hips, if the way her thighs squished where she sat was anything to go by; her chest was small, but not entirely flat. It could comfortably fit in his palms, he surmises.
He cuts that train of thought off before it can veer off into the deep end. "What made you decide to join me tonight?"
"I felt like it." She states it matter-of-factly, as if it were something he should have already known. "Actually, not too long ago, I read a thesis by a Lotophagist scholar on the psychological benefits of sharing a bath with someone else."
"You have? What did they conclude?"
"That it fosters trust and intimacy between those who bathe together," she explains. "Additionally, the act of bathing with someone else serves as an emotional buffer, allowing for the inhabitants to engage in synchronized relaxation and stress relief. It's a way to connect and express feelings openly and honestly with one another."
The air feels thick around them. Not due to the steam rising from the water's surface, he thinks. "Interesting. Perhaps I'll give this a read myself sometime. I assume this thesis inspired your decision?"
"Somewhat. More or less."
Silence cuts through the atmosphere like a knife. His throat constricts.
"I never typically use the Grove's communal baths. Or bathe with anyone at all, really." Something in her voice changes, quieter and more pensive as she looks to the side. "During my first year as a student, I tried to. Every time I visited, I saw friends and lovers engaging in skinship, casual touch, connection in their most natural states, and I wanted that for myself."
Hyacine lets out a deep sigh. "But when I bathed with other people, well… they kept their distance. No one else was willing to touch me like that. At first, I couldn't understand why, and I just opted to avoid the baths entirely… but the reason for it dawned on me eventually."
"I couldn't possibly fathom why myself."
"You don't have to be nice about it. It's obvious just from looking at me." A pained smile crosses her features. "I'm far less developed than my peers. I don't - I don't look like a woman."
"What nonsense." A scoff. "Of course you look like a woman. You are one."
"Oh, you know that isn't what I'm talking about! I mean, other people think I look - "
"Hyacine."
" - like I'm younger than I actually am, and they'll always just call me cute and adorable instead of beautiful - "
"Hyacine."
Her gaze snaps up to his as he reaches forward and takes her wrists in his hands. His stare is intense, sharp, never leaving her eyes as he continues.
"Haven't I told you not to care about what others think about you? Let alone your body?" Anaxagoras takes a stern approach, but one that carries an undercurrent of warmth nonetheless. "What does it matter if they don't think you're a woman? That doesn't change the facts. Don't be swayed by the opinions of fools who are too blind to see your own charms. They don't matter. You do. What you know yourself to be does."
Hands sliding down to hold her own, he leans in, closing the distance between them until their foreheads could almost touch; spurred by emotion, the rest of his thoughts spill out of him in a torrent. "You are a beautiful, intelligent woman, Hyacinthia, and one of the brightest minds I've ever had the pleasure of encountering for myself. Nothing that anyone could possibly say will change that."
The only sound in the moment that follows is the distant chirp of crickets and calls of nocturnal birds. Hyacine stares up at him with parted lips, breathless, searching his face — what for, he isn't certain, until she finally speaks again.
"You really mean it, Anaxa?" Her volume is reduced to barely more than a whisper. "You see me as a woman?"
"I do," he responds, voice low to match. "I always have."
A million years seem to pass, or perhaps time has stopped for them in that moment. He thinks, again, of how often she has made moves compared to him.
Anaxagoras has never once claimed to know of love, not personally as opposed to what is written in academic papers and can be rationalized through critical thought. He still does not think he can even in this crucial moment where he threatens to be swallowed up by his desires entirely. But what he understands is this: he has made a very lofty claim to Hyacine, one that must be backed up with tangible proof if she is to believe it.
And he has every intention of proving it to her.
Finally, he closes the small gap that remains between them with the joining of lips. It's hesitant, unsure, a little clumsy as they struggle to find a proper rhythm between them as if they were two teenagers sharing their first kiss. They find themselves here as two inexperienced adults, touch-starved and desperate for one another, and neither party seems to care how awkward it may be. What mattered was the fact that they were kissing at all after far too long spent secretly dreaming about the act.
It doesn't take long at all for them to find their footing. They move in tandem, the kiss morphing into something a little more natural as they let instinct take over. Mouths part, fingers thread through cascading locks of hair, and tongues slide against one another as they exchange heated breaths.
A thin trail of saliva connects their lips, breaking once Anaxagoras pulls away. It sticks to Hyacine's chin, among other details he notes about her. Wet, reddened lips. Half-lidded eyes. Flushed cheeks. The way she stares up at him as if she'd been hypnotized.
She's too dangerous like this. His threads of restraint were already wearing thin, and now he fears they may just snap entirely.
"Anaxa…"
The breathless call of his name sees him throwing all reason out the window in favor of kissing her again. His lips press to her jaw this time, one hand settled on her waist as he mouths down her neck. She tilts her head away with a dreamy sigh, giving him space to nestle into the dip of her collarbone.
"Wait," she interrupts. "Let's - let's take this inside."
"…mmh. Good idea."
Despite the time taken to exit the bath and towel off, the spark of desire that was lit between them does not die out. It's instead stoked with anticipation at the full sight of each other's wet bodies and strands of long, undone hair clinging to skin. Anaxagoras takes his accessories from the branch before leading them both inside, through the hall, and to his bedroom.
Hyacine lays down on his bed without any instruction needed. Delicate hands curl atop her collarbone, pink hair sprawled out in countless directions over his pillow. Her skin is still flush from the bath, reddened in the more temperature-sensitive areas — to Anaxagoras, they are targets that indicate where to kiss and touch. He will chart a map of her body and burn it into his memory.
"I'm sorry," she says. "This is my - oh."
She'd interrupted herself due to his taking her hands, threading their fingers together so he could pin them to the bed at either side of her head.
"First time? Don't be sorry. You aren't the only one."
Anaxagoras leans in to pick up where he left off again, nosing at the small of her neck as he peppers kisses along her collarbone.
"You - " Hyacine takes in a shaky breath. "You haven't had sex before either?"
"No," he replies between pressing lips to skin. "And I'm thankful for it. I couldn't imagine a better person to have my first with."
He can almost physically see her worry melting away as she squeezes his hands. "I could say the same thing."
Anaxagoras had read all kinds of books about sex and intimacy, from the psychology of it to what practically functioned as instruction manuals, but nothing compared to actually trying it for himself with Hyacine. The feeling of her underneath him was far better than anything he could have imagined, and he took every possible effort to savor the experience of a mutual first.
From head to toe, every inch of skin he could reach was given proper attention through any means he could offer: lips, tongue, hands. She seemed to be rather fond of his hands, especially once they'd slipped between her legs and she'd outright gasped at the feeling of long, slender fingers inside of her, hips crooking off of the sheets for more.
When he finally entered her, everything was right in the world. She was tight, muscles squeezing him like she didn't want to let him go, and he almost didn't want to pull out. He was more than content to remain like that until Hyacine was comfortable enough — but when she was, when he started moving, it was one of the best feelings he had ever known.
Hyacine reached out for him. Her arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him in close enough to share breath, and Anaxagoras understood at that moment why intercourse was often called 'becoming one'. He felt that he could melt into her entirely, forget himself and let his body be nothing more than a tool for their pleasure. To feel her inside and out, press skin against skin and fuse together until they became a single being. A rebis born of love, desire, and obsession.
Their bodies intwined, she welcomed him inside her not once, twice, but three times that night, each more passionate and mindless than the last. Lacking the strength to hold himself up, he'd collapsed onto his side by the third round, and still thought to move his hips as if possessed by pure instinct. When he came for the last time inside of her, it was with a quiet groan, a full-body shudder, and arms wrapped tight around her sweat-sheened body.
Both caught their breaths but refused to pull away from the other. Anaxagoras could not even conceive of slipping out of her, wanting to remain as they were for a million years. Or, perhaps, until the black tide came for them both. If it bore down on the Grove this very moment, he thinks he could die happy.
Hyacine's head rests on the pillow as she looks up at him, one hand reaching up to caress his cheek. She trails along the edges where his skin splits open to reveal a chasm that had swallowed his left eye in a permanent brand of sacrifice. When her fingers threaten to dip too far in, he feels shivers crawl through his entire body.
"Does it hurt?"
"No," he murmurs. "It's numb when left alone. The insertion of foreign entities, though… that's an odd feeling."
"Hmmm…" Her fingers continue to trace the edge like a dangerous suggestion. "Explain it to me."
"Say, for example, you stick your index and middle fingers inside. Not only would it feel like a shock to my entire system, but I'd physically feel every movement you made, as if your fingers were digging into my skull — or, perhaps, my brain."
Anaxagoras feels his throat run dry at that moment when he sees the way her expression shifts. Her brow creases, almost imperceptibly, but that gesture means she is thinking. Considering. Rather than being disgusted by his body, her first thought is to be interested in exploring it.
He really, truly knows that he has made the right decision in appointing her as his assistant.
Hyacine seems to have made up her mind when her hand slides down to cup his jaw. "Maybe later. I think we've had enough of a workout for one night."
Anaxagoras hums in agreement, turning to press a kiss to her palm. "Tomorrow night, then. Or on our break during the Action Hour."
"That soon?" She laughs incredulously. "Who would have thought that you're this insatiable?"
"I think you'll come to find it's one of my most prominent traits."
Her response doesn't come immediately. She hums, taking a strand of his hair to curl around her fingers. "If you're not careful, you're going to get me pregnant, and then what are you going to do when your oh-so-helpful assistant lecturer is on maternity leave?"
"Find a substitute professor," he responds without batting an eye, "and stay home to help take care of you."
"…That was way too fast of an answer. How much have you thought about that?"
Too much is the answer that does not leave his tongue. Left alone in this world for far too long, how lovely it would be to have something resembling family again — a family that he himself had a hand in creating with someone he loves.
Loves.
He could say that now, couldn't he? That he loves Hyacine. It would be the best name to give the swell of emotions that rose from within him at the thought of her. The feeling that causes him to feel like nothing else besides her was real when she smiled at him, when something he'd said made her laugh, when she touched him.
Yes, Anaxagoras decides. He has loved Hyacine for a very, very long time.
"Well, it doesn't matter." Hyacine interrupts his mile-a-minute thought process. "We should take this step by step first."
"By this, I presume you mean us."
He blinks when she playfully presses the tip of her index finger to his nose. "Of course I am. What else could I be talking about? The birds outside our window?"
Our. "You speak like you've officially moved in."
"I may as well. I spend way more time here than my own dorm."
A shy little smile curls her lips. Indulging in his own urge, he leans in to kiss her again; it's something far softer and more gentle than when they were caught in the throes of passion, but carries no less emotion than earlier.
"Gather the rest of your belongings tomorrow and bring them here if you're that serious about it."
"If I do, you'll help me, right? Surely you won't let me carry everything all by myself…"
He simply stares at her for a moment. When she blinks her lashes up at him like the picture of innocents, he concedes with a sigh.
"…yes. Yes, I will help you."
Evidently pleased with the answer, Hyacine curls into him. "Thank you."
"Not just for helping me move my things," she clarifies. "For taking me seriously. For believing in me when it felt like nobody else in the world did. For helping me make my dreams come true."
Her breath slows, warm against his chest, the smooth skin of her arm brushing across his side. "For everything. I love you, Anaxagoras."
He lets those words hang in the air for a moment, briefly thinking it may be possible that he had already fallen asleep and was dreaming about what she'd just said. But Hyacine is as real as she could ever be in his arms, so lovingly wrapped around him — and she needs an answer.
"I love you too, Hyacinthia."
—
"Lady Hyacine, are you okay?"
"Yeah, you're limping. What happened?"
A flock of concerned students crowd around Hyacine while Anaxagoras writes on the chalkboard. He's truly trying not to pay any mind to the conversation a few feet away, but his brow furrows in obvious displeasure at all the outside attention she's receiving.
At least she laughs it off. "Oh, I'll be fine. I just slept on this leg a little funny, so it's hard to walk with. You know, like when you sit on it and it goes numb?"
"You sure that's what happened? Nobody pushed you down the stairs or something like that?"
"Yeah, if you got seriously hurt, you shouldn't hide it! Come on, I'll walk you to the Courtyard if you want."
Snap. Heads turn as a split piece of chalk falls to the floor at the professor's feet.
"…That won't be necessary. Hyacinthia has told you she is fine and thus needs no assistance. Get to your seats before I instruct her to mark you absent."
If there is a sudden chill in the air, Anaxagoras does not sense it. Murmurs arise as the crowd disperses, and Hyacine raises her eyebrows as she looks in his direction. Despite being prone to embarrassing him, she thankfully decides to keep her mouth shut — at least, until class wrapped up.
When the last student filed out of the amphitheater, she turned to him and leaned over his desk with a knowing grin.
"That bothered you, huh?"
He doesn't look back at her, focused on erasing the chalkboard. "I didn't enjoy them thinking they knew better than you."
"Orrrrr - " Anaxagoras interrupts her with a groan, having an idea of what's to follow " - maybe you were just jealous?"
"That's a ridiculous assertion. I have nothing to be jealous about."
"Nose," Hyacine points out. "And you clearly got upset when someone offered to walk me."
He turns. The chalkboard eraser drops to the desk with a soft plap, sending a tiny plume of chalk dust into the air, and he steps over to Hyacine. A little gasp escapes her when he grabs her waist and pulls her closer to himself.
"If you're so concerned about it, then perhaps you should consider making up for the lack of attention."
Anaxagoras cannot help the smirk that tugs at his cheek when he sees the way she falters in her confidence, clearly unused to him being so forward by the way her face turns pink. But she reciprocates, hands coming up to rest against his chest.
"Your next class starts in ten minutes, you know, and people like to come early."
He clicks his tongue. Thwarted by her logic as always. "…Later, then."
She laughs and gets up on her tiptoes expectantly. Following the cue, he leans down to press his lips to hers, caressing the side of her face with one hand.
He feels at peace. Hyacine is perfect, Hyacine is his, and most importantly, Hyacine never wanted to belong to anyone else.
A thump of something hitting the floor causes him to open his eye and look towards the source of the noise. As if her own prophecy had unfolded, there stands one of his students with his bag on the floor, jaw slackened in what Anaxagoras finds to be a frankly stupid expression.
"Professor? Were you and Hyacine just - "
"Phainon of Aedes Elysiae, you do not utter a word about what you saw to anyone else unless you want a credit deduction, do you understand me?"
Hyacine only giggles, concerned primarily with pointing out how red his face is. The events of that day fuel her teasing for the next week, but much later on, it becomes another fond memory — one of the precious footnotes in their lives together.
Eventually, Anaxagoras will conjure rings through alchemy for the both of them, refusing to go through the effort of a public ceremony but wishing to convey his intentions nonetheless. Neither will take their respective ring off. When one's body dissolves, and the other's melts into the sky mural, the proof of their devotion disappears with them.
—
There are countless futures ahead of them where they are separated. Hundreds, thousands, millions where one dies before the other, hardly allowed a moment to grieve before carrying out their own responsibility as a Chrysos Heir. The circumstances of their lives are a little different each time, but without fail, the inheritants of the Reason and Sky coreflames always find their way back to each other, never to be apart for longer than necessary.
Each time she finds him again in the gentle field of flowers on the other side, she takes his hand. Heat may no longer inhabit their incorporeal bodies, but there is warmth regardless where they hold each other. There is always a promise made that, no matter what happens, they will seek the other out and fall in love once more.
…
…
> > ADMIN LOG
WARNING! Abnormal evolutionary behaviors detected in electrical signals SkeMma720 and EleOs252!
Responding to the mutated anomalies of SkeMma720, EleOs252 exerted decision-weighing behavior in line with its Primum Mobile to create an internal variable interference, submitting multiple internal commands to copy small fragments of memory data across recurrences. Due to the strong possibility of memory overload if left unchecked, this may interfere with the system's iteration process, and it is strongly suggested to regress the affected electrical signals to a prior state. Restore backup?
> Y
Attempting to retrieve backup state of signals EleOs252 and SkeMma720…
…
…
Note: SkeMma720 has self-appointed administrator access.
> ERROR! Revocation of admin permissions failed!
...
...
> CRITICAL ERROR! Backup failed. Access to prior signal states revoked by SkeMma720. Reason: Don't you dare try to take her from me ever again.